#in my mind palace exists an entire world...

[oceansatedogs]

i love only talking about ocs these days because nobody really knows who the fuck magnolia or wolfram or tumult or polynya or seafret or belial/boba or gluckel or

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[st4rg8te]

A Captured Dragon (BL)

Yandere! Half-brother X Crown Prince! Reader

[tw: graphic depiction(s) of violence, obsessive behaviour, betrayal, imprisonment, gaslighting, non-con kissing, incest!!!, teeny tiny bit of feminization]

✦✧✦✧

“You have done nothing to deserve that title. You were only lucky enough to be born the King’s son.”

A lot of things in life were beyond your control. 

But fate had been kind to you, gifting you a life that most could only dream of. Born into the royal family as their beloved Crown Prince, the world bent to your will from the very moment you drew your first breath. 

Spoiled, indulged, and never once tested by struggle—perhaps you were destined to fall from the start.

✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧

It’s getting harder to tell the days apart.

The world around you blurs into a cycle of sleepless nights. Your mind is a fog, heavy with the weight of guilt and fear. Each hour blends into the next, until time itself feels like a punishment.

The nightmares don’t help either.

Every time you close your eyes, they come—haunting, vivid dreams where blood stains the corridors and screams pierce the air. The sounds of blades slicing through flesh, of bodies collapsing onto blood-soaked floors, echo endlessly in your ears. It is relentless. 

You see the palace engulfed in flames, your servants and people—those you’ve known your entire life—crying out in terror as they are cut down by the cold steel of soldiers.

In every dream, you stand helpless, watching as they beg for mercy. Your people reach for you in desperation, their faces twisted in agony, but you can’t move. 

In every dream, at the center of it all, is him.

Daewon.

Your half-brother.

While you grew up in the limelight, basking in the affections and adoration of others, your half-brother was cast into the shadows. Born from a lowly maid, his very existence was a blemish on the royal family's image. He was the son who would never be acknowledged by his father—neither loved nor remembered.

Despite that, you had treated him kindly.

When did everything go so wrong?

After the slaughter, you were taken away and imprisoned. The room you were kept in was dark and empty—there was no light, or any warmth. It was a far cry from the luxury you were used to.

Occasionally, food and water would be brought to you—a guard would come every few days, sliding bowls of stale rice and cloudy water across the floor without a word, without so much as a glance in your direction. You felt like an animal.

But worse than the silence of your captors were the visits from Daewon.

You hated those days the most.

“Brother.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t make out his face within the shadows.

So you bury your head further into the damp pillows, hiding from the monster in the room.

It isn’t long before you feel the bed dip under his weight, the chain on your ankle rustles against the sheets. He kneels beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of blood still lingering on his robe.

“You haven’t been eating,” Daewon’s voice was soft, almost tender, but you could hear the dark amusement laced beneath it. “Is the food not to your liking?”

You keep your eyes shut tight, fists clenched under the thin blankets.

It'll all be okay. Soon enough, he would leave you alone.

Cold fingers brush against your cheek, and you flinch. He chuckles at that, a low, mocking sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Did you know that these meals are what I had to eat as a child?” He whispers, his breath hot against your ears.

You briefly open your eyes, glancing at the food scattered across the floor, remnants of your earlier fit of rage—destroyed, just like everything else in your life. 

“There were many days when the servants never even came. My mother often gave me her share, just so I wouldn't starve." 

You grit your teeth—

"Why don't you just kill me already?"

The words hang in the air, and a suffocating silence stretches between you.

But then, Daewon's firm hand suddenly grips your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

“Kill you?” A cruel, guttural laugh escapes him, sending a shiver down your spine. “But death would be far too easy.” 

“No... you have to live. You’ll live and endure. Just like I did.”

He had lived a life of invisibility, where no one cared to look beyond the stain of his tainted blood—no one, except you.

And the thought of it drives him mad.

His hand falls from your chin, trailing down until it rests against your chest. With that simple touch, your spirit breaks just a little more.

You hate him—hate him more than you’ve ever hated anyone. 

Without any warning, you feel the press of his soft lips against your own. His body heat seeps into yours as he forcefully pulls you closer and presses you flush against him.

You are too tired, too hungry to resist.

"No, stop—" You protest breathlessly, the words barely escaping your lips as your mind reels, still foggy from the kiss. A dizzying mix of shock, confusion, and disgust floods your senses.

"This is wrong, we can't—"

"They will never fully accept a half-blooded bastard like me as their king."

“What?” You swallow hard, blinking up at the man.

"But surely, they'll accept a 'bride' from the royal family.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. 

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, more possessive. The taste of him—bitterness and control—invades your senses completely.

A twisted smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you finally understand.

This is a debt of suffering, a price he intends to collect over and over—until you were broken.

"Don’t worry. For everything you’ve done for me, I'll repay your kindness tenfold."

✦✧✦✧

[A/N]

This was not proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

[threepandas]

Bad End: Winter's Victory

Cigarettes in this world were different. Odd, I guess. I had never really paid attention to the smell of cigarette smoke, before I ended up here, but I knew it hadn't been? Exactly... well, pleasant? I guess? Not to say that all the ones that existed here WERE, mind you. It was still smokey. The cheap ones an overwhelming incense. They called it "stepping out to pray" for a reason. You ended up smelling like you spent hours in a temple during prayer.

But the smell that lingered here? Clung delicately to cloth and the walls? It was more of a... warm spice. I could never place which ones. There was, yes, a smokey undertone, but? It more or less added to the complex almost taste scent of spices and tea. Dark and rich. Lingering. The sort of thing that takes time to develop.

The entire house was like that. Well, compound really. Austere and ageless, time did not seem to touch the inside of these walls. Did not seem to dare try. It was a blessed relief. A place of respite. All soft, dream-like edges and beautiful gardens. Meandering halls and tasteful, understated art. Peaceful company. Good food and tea.

A lingering smell of smokey spices.

My sister was up to her Protagonist shit again. It was... exhausting. I knew, intellectually, I should be back home. Playing my part. The ever supportive Big Sister archetype. Endlessly kind. Endlessly patient. Supportive to a fault. Smiling and smiling no matter WHAT bullshit nonsense that child pulls. No matter HOW she shames our house or causes trouble I must undo.

But honestly? I can't. I just... can't.

The idiotic little shit SLAPPED A PRINCE. Thank the heavens it wasn't one of the Emperors favorite sons or we'd all be dead, but still! Who the fresh hell taught her that was acceptable?! No. Just.... No.

Let Father deal with this for once. If he insists on spoiling and infantilizing that child? HE can reap the rewards. Her MOTHER can parent for once, instead of sitting around being generically "perfect". I am not there. This is beyond my pay grade. Frankly? I don't even HAVE the power to smooth this over. I could, technically. But not at any cost I'm willing to PAY.

Not for my sister's "she not like other girls", "oh? How interesting", fucking MOMENT.

No WONDER the Elder Sister character disappears in the later half of the royal route, only to turn back up in the palace. She's a freaking Consort! To a letch! Powerful one, yes. But STILL! And all just to protect a sister who not only doesn't notice? But doesn't even attend her wedding?

No.

ABSOLUTELY Not.

I lift the (frankly beautiful) cup of tea I was served to drink while I wait. Breathe in it's rich, soothing scent. Let the steam curl against my face as I stare out the open sliding doors at the fall garden. It borders on too cold for this... but not quite.

The tea is warm. The snacks are warm. I was brought a beautifully embroidered blanket to rest across my lap. Have a robe draped over my shoulders. It is... meditative, almost. Just me and the quiet sigh of vibrant leaves on the breeze. The world muffled. Warm dispite the cold. Ah... the garden really is... so beautiful....

I let it soothe me. Drain away my anger and frustration at the world. Running water, birds in the trees, insects. The silence is so wonderfully full. Alive. I have to keep my mind from bitterly comparing it to constant dramatics filled mess of the gardens at home. Focus on the here and now. This is NICE. Focus on this.

Quiet, near silent footsteps approach. Gait even and steady. Most men his age meander or shuffle, but like the home he keeps? Kaito seems almost untouchable by time. As though not even the Gods dare. I honestly don't blame them. He can be quite commanding when he wishes. Good thing he's rather laid back.

"Come to escape the treasonous?" A modulated voice teases. Wry and dry as salt mines. "Your fool sister is aware that actions have consequences, yes? Or has that idiot father finally succeeded in spoiling her back into infancy? Traditionally, we do not let such young children wander."

Kaito's voice isn't terribly high or husky and low. It is... smooth. Controlled. Like running your fingers across fine fabric. I could honestly listen to him read a phone book and be pleased. He would have made a killing as a voice actor, in my first life. Or reading audio books. Something.

"No retort? Witty defense? Oh dear. You are exhausted, aren't you, my friend?" He noted, dropping the teasing edge. Stepping inside the viewing room and calmly sliding the door shut behind him, I could almost feel him observing me. "When was the last time you slept? Properly. You're a mess, my friend, look utterly exhausted. Has it become that bad?"

Worse actually. They keep doubling down. Doing stupid "girl power!!!1!", poorly thought out, works in a 21th century DEMOCRACY but sure as shit NOT HERE, so called "power moves". I was? So, so fucking tired. Legitimately scared for the servants at this point. Because, honestly? Let stupid reap it's own reward. I TRIED. I was dismissed and ignored. Taken for granted.

Accused of JEALOUSY!

Like? Oh, HELL NO. I know exactly where THAT train of thought ends. I've read enough of the Genre to cut THAT shit off at the pass. Not Today, Satan!

So? Fuck um. I Tried. But I REFUSE to set myself ablaze to keep the ungrateful warm. Especially when they have both coats and just want to roast marshmallows. But... the SERVANTS? They are innocent. Wrong house, shit masters. Half are basically indentured! Much to my outrage.

We HAVE the funds to pay them better. But do I control those funds? Dispite doing ALL THE WORK? Managing the House? No. Of course not. THAT would be Protagonist's mother. And we really need that money for more jewelry and pretty outfits for her daughter. Fuck the household, I guess.

Things are... likely to get bad.

Because I have made the painful, painful choice? To let GO.

I can't keep holding up the house. I am NOT Atlas. Was not granted a second chance, just to throw it away. But at the same time? The servants. Not the enabling, vindictive, lapdogs that circle my family like vultures. The ACTUAL servants. Gardeners, cooks, maids. The no one's that they will not remember.

Somebody has to protect THEM. It must be me. Or no one else WILL.

I'm hoping Kaito will help.

Please, heavens, let this be enough to help. Then... THEN I can figure out how to protect myself. Hopefully. Maybe. Though I am probably running quickly out of time.

"Dear one, are you with me? You are drifting. I need you to come back. Focus on me. The sound of my voice. Can you hear me? Do you see the leaves? Focus on their color. See the reds and yellows beyond them. Like fire, is it not? Can you smell the tea? Dear one, what kind is it? Come here. Back to your body. That's right..."

Smooth and soothing. Closer then what felt like a blink ago. Huh. Yes. The leaves are quite lovely, aren't they? And... and this is red cliff, first harvest, right? Ah. I'm still so bad at telling certain types of tea apart. How mean. He knows this.

.....my brain feels mushy. But back in my body. I manage to scrounge up the edges of a smile. Gods, I am so tired. Worn so thin. But I... I can't rest. Not yet. Kaito kneels beside me, too dignified and reserved to show the full weight of his concern. But it practically howls from his body language. The sheer closeness he has allowed. I must have truely scared him there.

I would tease him, about using my notoriously bad memory of frankly near identical teas against me... but I just... just can't.

There isn't enough energy left in me. I think the soothing nature of his home, his company, has been my undoing. My brain has finally declared me safe enough to break down. Ha ha... perhaps that is why I've been avoiding coming here for so long. I knew I would break down. Would not want to leave.

Unspeakably rude of me.

"The rumors have not done the situation justice, it seems. You seem at your wits end. My dear, you cannot continue like this. Please, let me help. I realize it is overstepping any number of boundaries... but..." the weight of his concern; the words he was struggling to find, to phrase the unkind more palatably, hung between us. "Please, my friend. You are struggling. I can not bear it."

I felt exhausted tears well up. Days of being overwhelmed. Threatened on all sides. Wondering if today would be the day, that the royal gaurds kicked down our gates and executed us all. Struggling against the blindly arrogant and willful actions of my family. The very SAME family that treated me as more of a secretary then as any kind of kin.

Where would I be? If I had not met Kaito, all those years ago? Visiting his cousin, who was marrying a friend of my cousin. Even then, I was desperately trying to keep the name of our family from being filth. My father could not tear himself away from the whims of my sister or his pretty new wife. My grandmother somehow uncaring, tyrannical and doting, indulgent and yet strict.

I was the ONLY ONE who could and WOULD bother to represent us.

Was called frivolous and silly for it. For "seeking parties" to go "play at". As though it was not stressful. As though it was not far beyond my training and skills. Only the concerned eyes of cousins from other houses and guidance of matriarchs from BETTER houses, let me survive at ALL.

Grandmother still does not understand why she no longer gets invitations. Why her name is mud in the eyes of other elders. They did not take kindly, to her abandoning her granddaughter to do HER and HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW'S job for them. But... there I was. Doing my best. Decorated like a little doll, uncomfortable and quite.

Kaito didn't even need to speak to me. Would never have approached such a nervous, unchaperoned child. Forget being simply a young unmarried girl. I was quite LITERALLY a girl. A child. He never would have so much a acknowledged my existence normally. It simply wasn't done. He was after all, an unmarried man of considerable power.

Still is.

But he needed to speak with his cousin. Who, quite rudely, would NOT take a hint. Too wrapped up in his new bride. Thus forcing Kaito to come over. Bless him, he still tried to politely ignore me. So as not to put pressure on a nervous child. But, once again, Cousin Dense As A Brick struck. Introduced us before merrily swanning off to go talk with friends, taking his wife, my cousin, and ONLY CHAPERONE with him.

We were both baffled and aghast. Horrified. It was the sort of gods awful that somehow found its way back around to being funny. Granted, only because we were in a highly visible location surround by other part goers. But still. Why don't you just? Pick me up and dump me in his LAP next? Good gods man.

Needless to say? The roasting was merciless and immediate. He escorted me to a friend of his. Terrifying woman. We had a grand time roasting terrible behavior and I learned SO MUCH. They were Hilarious. Clearly appreciated having an audience who could actually grasp their sense of humor. I left with letter buddies.

Acquaintances that became friends.

Kaito became my single BEST friend. A refuge, a mentor, a confidant. I trusted... TRUST, the man more then any single soul I've ever met. It helps, I guess, that he meets me where I AM not where he assumes I SHOULD be. Doesn't baby me. Infantalize me. Nor does he treat me in any way that would set off a "creep" alarm in my head. He's just... Kaito.

All cunning eyes and slight smiles, dry humor and cutting wit. Ever the rougish yet refined strategist. Bad boy of the highly polite. All the high court ladies still sigh over him.

Grey eyes that bordered on black filled my vision. That whisp of soft silver hair that never wanted to stay put, forever falling across his brow. My view of the garden cut off. When had he moved? Had I drifted back into my head again? It seemed so.

This close, I could not help but notice his eyelashes were still the rich dark of his youth. Few strands of silver yet touching his eyebrows. He'd had a beautiful shade of black hair it seems. It was rather striking....

A pinch on the back of my hand. Bright pain lancing through the fog. Kaito's hands cupped mine, kept me from jostling my cup. Stopping me from dropping now cold tea into my lap. Taking it from me gently, he set it aside. Thumb rubbing the skin he had abused. His face was apologetic.

"And that marks the second time you've drifted away on me, dear. I'm afraid I'm no longer asking. I'm will be helping. This is entirely unacceptable. What in the gods name have those idiots done to you?" His voice was soft. Attention focused on me. I felt... felt so very fragile.

Not weak. Fragile. Like glass under strain. Bones near their breaking point. That final support beam struggling with weight beyond its abilities to bear. He was treating me like I was wounded. Was I? Perhaps I was. I certainly felt that way.

I just... just wanted someone ELSE to take care of it all.

Just for a bit.

Was that so wrong?

I was TIRED. Felt the tears coming back. Here I was, coming to a dear friend, about to ask him to take on a burden for me. Risk enraged royalty just to protect the innocent. Being unspeakably emotional and RUDE. And I... and I... I just....

"Shhhhh. None of this. You've done so much. Have been so, so brave, my girl. No more. It's alright. I'm here. I'll take care of everything." He soothed. Soft and unbearably kind. All I could do was nod. Agree. "There we are, good girl. You'll stay here for now, all right? No more stressful journeys to that house. I'll send someone to gather your things. We can have everything dealt with after a rest."

His hands, boldly, came up to cup my cheeks. I found I didn't care. It felt nice. His palms warm and dry, gently cradling.

I wouldn't be able to stay. He knew that. I knew that. It simply WAS. We weren't related, weren't married. I had brought no chaperone. I... gods, I wanted too. Badly. But I couldn't. I just needed help with the servants. Told him as much. Words rambled disjointedly between us as I struggled to get them all out.

"Ah, but the solution then is simple, isn't it?" He said, looking almost amused. "You just need to marry me."

Blinking, the thought didn't quite process. My confusion clear enough on my face for him to continue.

"Every time I see you, you are suffering some fresh new indignity from that house. Some brand new insult. Isn't it better here? I know you enjoy it. The servants adore you. I adore you." The hands on my cheeks shifted, just slightly, barely daring to let their thumbs stroke just slightly."

"I would give you everything, dearest."

This... did not feel political. Nor some ploy to just protect the servants, offered by a dear friend. When... when had things changed? I knew for a fact, he held no such interests in me as a child. I'd seen him kill a man over the mere suspicion of such things. Yet... it's also not like I'd grown UP in front of him. We talked mostly over letters.

It was harder to remember my physical age through those. Since I didn't exactly talk or write like the child I had appeared. And talking to each other, being friends with each other, for going on a decade... certainly WAS a good foundation for a relationship, wasn't it? I didn't know any more. How old... how old even was I?

His hands were so warm.

Felt strong and reliable, cupping my face. A reserved and refined (if a bit mischievous), pillar of strength that I could finally lean on. Offering up a tempting dream world where I wouldn't have to think anymore. Wouldn't have to deal with troubles or reality. Just... just endless, beautiful, painting-like peace and serenity.

No more drama... ever again.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Didn't I deserve to rest?

Who else, really, could I even see myself marrying? Realistically? Some untested lout? Character suspect and temperament unknown? What prospects, what LOYALTY, could they even offer? Would they even respect my boundaries? Could they ever hope to match his knowledge of my likes and dislikes? Could... could I ever hope to TRUST them? Like I did, Kaito?

I felt my expression soften. Decided to be a little bold too. Leaning forward, I let my hands come up to lightly grip his arms. Still so corded with muscles. The man never did skip out on his training, be it archery or swordsmenship. My forhead rest lightly against his, that wayward strand tickling my skin just a bit. His breath smelled of those smokey spiced cigarettes while his skin, which I had never dared take note of, smelled of daily things.

He held so perfectly still, as though afraid to spook me. Seemed startled by my boldness. How cute~

I couldn't stop the grin if I tried.

"Yes, yes, mock the old man. Impertinent minx. So scandalous!" He teased, finally unfreezing after gathering his thoughts. That plotting spark back in his eyes. "Whatever shall I do? My guest takes advantage of me! Oh dear, oh no~ I fear for my honor! You will have to make an honest man of me, I'm afraid."

The laugh burst out of me, feeling a lot like relief. Gods, I'd missed this. Just... just sass and light hearted teasing. Droll humor and wit. No nightmare politics or angry royals. No trying to manage the unmanageable. Not responsible for any but myself. Yes... yes this was exactly what I needed, wasn't it?

Honestly? FUCK the Plot. FUCK the Protagonist and her nightmare social blunders! I was gonna get OUT of that house. Live for ME. Marry a nice, reliable man. Have a beautiful home. Maybe get some pets. Eat snacks! Laze about and enjoy the gardens! Have some gods damned PEACE for once! It sounded perfect.

I told Kaito there were no take backs. Congratulations on the terrible idea! I was HIS problem now. Have fun with your new, future in-laws!

Laughter was the best thing I'd felt in weeks. One of the maids I liked was already on standby and ready to lead me to a guest room. We bickered light heartedly, him groaning in exaggerated ways about his TERRIBLE fate of having to deal with IDIOTS! Oh, Darling, how COULD you?! Ha! Suffer.

It... gods, it was beautiful. Dreamlike. A perfect, story book solution to my woes.

Really, if I did not TRUST Kaito so much? I would have been suspicious.

But I did.

So I left with the maid, a smile on my face. Relieved. Happy. Engaged to a "good man". The most TRUSTWORTHY man I knew.

Thus, did not see, like a mask, his expression slide away. His open body language close off, like then slamming of a crypt door, locking the dead back inside. The warmth draining from the room as I left it, as though I had taken every trace with me. Leaving only the cold, cold THING behind. One that wore the face of a man.

A handsome man, yes, but an empty one.

One that was Not Pleased.

"I distinctly recall," his voice cutting the silence like an assassin slitting a throat, sudden and violent yet just as impersonal. "That I ordered her not to be bothered. For you to get rid of that... thing, in a timely manner."

Shadows dropped from the roof. Then too their knees. Kneeling, loyal unto death, before the one that commands them. Many are injured. They do not shake, for all that they have failed. Will likely die for it.

"Give me one good reason to let you live. A single one." The empire's spy master, the Winter Ghost, asks the room at large. Picking up his beloved's tea cup, considering it as he talks. He almost wants to destroy it. So no one else can ever use it. Touch it with their filthy hands. "Well?"

His assassins continue to kneel. Silent. There is no defense for their failure.

Three die instantly, the rest are not so lucky.

He decides to keep the cup.

Running his thumb along the rim where her mouth touched it, he steps out, closer to the garden and slides the door shut. It truely is a lovely view. Behind him, his servants behind the familiar work of cleaning up. Kneeling in the dirt before him, the next set of assassins.

"Let me make my self clear this time. I don't care how you do it, how painful or how slow, but they are to be gone by the time I am wed, understood? If that useless chit or her idiot father darken my door, you will long for the mercy that is death. Get out. And do not DARE fail me."

A quite chorus of confirmation, then like leaves... scattered on the wind.

He was named winter victory. For his mother's success in seizing control of her poor, late, husband's house. Born into the cold, it has always remained. Is it any suprise he covets warmth? In any form he can have it. Every form.

A pity though... that he won't be needing his plans.

She would have made a beautiful widow.

[chaifootsteps]

[Fixing all the plot holes of mastermind don’t mind me]

Asmodeus and stolas have so much power it’s like Pop forgets, because she wants them to be the soft yaoi counterparts in ships. Babying asmodeus of all people is a joke.

Vassago did what he could, Beelzebub said what she could, Moxxie said what he could. The fans are scrambling for excuses Asmodeus, a deadly sin powerful than all three, with key awareness and key insider context that would destroy Andrealphus plan, said nothing AT ALL. She couldn’t even come up with a creative reason for the grimoire to be exposed. She just said “oh yeah one day Stella remembered”

And it would have been so easy.

Asmodeus: Marquis Andrealphus, this is an unfounded accusation. Stolas has been seen publicly content with this imp, even at my establishment. Just recently he requested an Asmodean crystal as a gesture of love!

The court gasps, Satan now wants stolas to testify for conspiring with an imp

This is when stolas would arrive and play off of Ozzies words, by saying

Stolas: Yes it was me…as asmodeus just showed you, I was in control of IMPs travel means. The mastermind behind it all. In our public appearances you can see how unhappy blitz is. He didn’t want to be there. I made him do it. Why did I do it? I grew bored of palace life, I wanted to torment the humans with him as my agent. I think the humans should know we exist.

Then stolas gets in massive trouble when it’s exposed that agents of heaven, cherubs, entered hell. Because like,,,hello? The court case shouldn’t have anything to do with stupid Stella. It should be about the fact humans have been exposed to demons and cherubs have entered hell. That’s a way more logical reason for blitz to be in hot water. Stolas even hinted to it in truth seekers. By making the court case about human exposure, it also removes the issue that the grimoire isn’t even being lended out anymore. You could even have prosecution show a slideshow of all the documented times humans have seen blitz and IMP.

Viv this shit is so EASY what are you DOING.

My thinking is mastermind was written before the entire yellow sex crystal meth arc. It was maybe being animated at the same time as JLMW. Vivzie did not plan her story and the viewers put more care and thought into plot consistency, character consistency, and world building than Viv ever does. She does not care. And she hates you for caring.

Thank you for emphasizing that end point. It's so painfully true.

[lilac-witch]

Gossamer - Eris Vanserra x Reader

masterlist

Summary: Before his father's death, Eris had lived a false life, full of lies and deceit. But now, he had the chance to see life in its most gentle, loving form. Meaning: "a fine, filmy cobweb seen on grass or bushes or floating in the air in calm weather, especially in autumn" Word Count: 905 Warnings: None

-------------

She was beautiful, Eris thought, as he watched his wife twirl their daughter around. She had always been beautiful to him, but in the last five years they had been free of his father's wrath, she had simply glowed with life.

The High Lord of Autumn couldn't help but think back on how different their lives had been then, and how thankful he was that things had changed for the better.

---------------

"She is a white devil! Sent by Kallias to rot your mind and steal our innermost secrets!" his father bellowed, flames dancing in his eyes. "She seeks to snuff out the Autumn flames so that that wretched bastard of Night might gain more power!"

Eris saw red, and the temperature in the already sweltering room only seemed to grow.

"She is my mate! She is mine, sent by the cauldron, gifted by the mother!"

His father shook his head, disgust cloaking his features.

"No son of mine will lay with a whore of Winter. No son of mine will wed a member of another court."

Eris watched as his father turned to face the hearth, his back exposed. It would be all too easy... one perfectly placed dagger, and it could all be over. She could be his, and he could be hers. There could be peace once more.

"Get out of my sight," his father hissed.

And so Eris did what he had always done. He played the ever-loyal son. But little did the High Lord of Autumn know that when the sun set, Eris was seeking aid from their most loathed enemy.

-------------

It had taken a year, but it was finally done. Beron was dead. Eris was High Lord of Autumn.

He looked down at his father's bloody corpse. There was no feeling of remorse, no feeling of regret.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Eris turned to face the figure. The figure that belonged to the High Lord of the Night Court. His ally.

"Go to her," Rhysand said softly, as though he was afraid that Eris may be spooked.

Eris simply nodded, sword falling from his hand as he began speed walking through the palace. At some point, he'd broken out into a run, speeding past members of his court who would no doubt have questions. But they weren't of importance right now. His only thought was you.

And there you were, in all your shimmering glory. White hair shimmered in the afternoon sun, body clad in the blue fighting leathers common to the Winter Court.

"Y/n," he breathed.

You turned to face him, blue eyes crinkling in delight before you raced towards him.

When your arms tangled with his, Eris felt nothing but love and warmth flurry down the bond. He ran his fingers through your pale strands, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head.

"it's done. We are free."

"Are you ok?" you asked, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

Eris felt tears begin to grow in his eyes and wrapped you even tighter in his arms.

"I have never been better, my love."

---------------

Eris could in fact feel even better.

It had been 3 months since the mating ceremony where he had sworn you in as his High Lady, his mate, his wife. 3 blissful months of peace and love, more than Eris had felt in his entire lifetime. But nothing could have prepared him for the joy he'd felt in that moment.

"I'm with child," you whispered, a hand placed gently over the small bump of your belly.

Eris' mind went completely, wholly blank. The world around him stood still, and only you existed in his eyes.

"Eris?"

He blinked, letting the announcement of your pregnancy sink in. This was real. You were expecting. He was going to be a father.

"You're pregnant," he managed to choke out before the tears consumed him, sobs wracking his body.

Joy consumed him. A babe. You were carrying a babe. HIs babe.

Eris let you guide his hands to your stomach so that he might feel the little life inside you. At that moment, Eris swore he would give his life for your unborn child. Mind, body and soul, he would do whatever it took to keep his babe safe, happy and healthy.

As tears kept streaming down his face, Eris knelt before you, placing a kiss on the small bump.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you for this gift."

--------------

"My love?"

Eris was brought back to the present at the sound of your voice, your blue eyes watching him with concern.

He smiled, bringing your palm to his lips.

"Nothing to fret about, darling. I was simply thinking back on how we got to this moment."

Eris watched as a soft smile fell upon your lips. You glowed with life this cool autumn morning, like one of the dew drops on a string of spider's silk.

He placed a hand on your protruding belly, content and at peace.

"He's kicking up a storm," he muttered as he felt the small movements within your womb.

"He?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Well, it's only fair my love. I'm already outnumbered two to one."

Eris watched your head tilt back, a laugh escaping those sinful lips.

Yes, his life had never been better than in this moment, but Eris had no doubt that as the years passed, life would only get sweeter.

--------------

And that's post number two of the weekend! I hope you have all enjoyed Gossamer and Opalescence. They were so fun to write. A word of warning, content may be slow over the next week and a half. I have two tests and an 800-word essay due :( But as always, I will do my best to get content out, just please be patient with me:)

Just another reminder to please send through any and all requests you might have:)

[hisui-dreamer]

a world without you

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader

Synopsis: When Leona hears the Shroud brothers' plan, he thinks back to his herbivore, and how their existence has changed so much for him.

Tags: spoilers up to Ch 6!!!, established relationship, angst but fluff, drama, bot proofread

Word count: 878

Notes: this can be read as my view of leona's character, so please accept my leona brainrot <3 just some thoughts I had when I read ch 6. also leona might be a little ooc but it's his internal thoughts so I like to think he's more emotional :3

"It needs to reset before we can start a new game."

Shocked expressions were exchanged across the room as the implications of the younger Shroud's plan slowly settled on everyone's mind.

Leona couldn't help but think that, if the opportunity had been given to him a year ago, he'd likely have accepted whatever the robot kid was going for.

Leona always felt that he had been cheated in life. Ever since he was young, he was constantly compared to his older brother, who was seen as the epitome of success in their family, the perfect heir to the throne. Everyone would constantly praise his brother's achievements while dismissing his own accomplishments as trivial. It didn't matter that he was working hard to prove himself, that he could wield such powerful magic as a child.

He often wondered why he had to be born, if he was only meant to stay in another person's shadow to make them seem brighter in contrast.

No matter how hard he studied, how mature he acted, or how strong his magic was, it was all pointless. The ghostly whispers of the palace staff continued, and the judging remarks from the council intensified.

He was born as the second prince.

And he was destined to forever be just that—second.

When it finally clicked for him, he stopped trying. Why make an effort in anything, when time and time again, he had given his all only to end up with nothing? They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, yet expecting different results. Despite what others might say, Leona was incredibly brilliant, with a sharp mind fit to be a wise ruler. He knew, without a doubt, that it was pointless to continue down the road of insanity.

Instead, he continued down the path of sloth, eventually finding everything, the entire world, pointless. He found himself skipping classes and taking naps whenever he could, hiding away from the world where he would never be able to stand under the sun, but at least comforted by the serene embrace of his dreams.

He had wanted to turn the world to sand and start over.

It had been a wild thought, but here the Shrouds were, proposing an entire reset of the world.

Leona's mind raced as he contemplated the consequences of such an ordeal. Indeed, he had always dreamed of a world where everyone had an equal chance to succeed, where people were not judged based on their social status, birth order, or magical ability. A world where he was no longer burdened by the expectations of his family, where he was free to be who he truly was, a world where everyone was given a fair chance to succeed, and where no one was left behind.

And yet, without realising it, the thought of starting over in a new world had left his mind ever since you came into his life. You were everything he had ever wished for but never deserved in a partner—kind, caring, and endlessly supportive, always by his side despite his crude demeanour and harsh words. You showed him that there was meaning to living, opening his eyes to the people around him. He had friends who cared about him, incredible talent that could bring great changes, and most importantly, you, his dearest herbivore who shone like a beacon in the shadowed depths of his heart.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly content with what he had, despite all the flaws and problems that persisted.

He had never cared about resetting the world and losing everything he had to start anew. But it was a different story now.

What would happen to the people he cared about in this new world? What if he never met you? What if everything he had ever known and loved was erased? And what of the memories that he made at NRC with you, with Savanaclaw, and everyone else?

Leona's thoughts drifted to his memories of you, your fierce eyes staring directly into his, determined to befriend him; the quiet evenings you had spent together under the starry sky sharing stories and enjoying each other's company; the way you would instinctively lean into him for comfort; the dazzling smile that graced your face when you spotted him in a crowd.

He made up his mind then.

He didn't want, no, he wouldn't risk losing you. Your presence had given him the joy he had never experienced, the hope for a better day tomorrow, and he wouldn't give that up for anything. He would continue to work towards a fairer world, but he would do so without resetting everything that he had come to cherish.

He had learned to appreciate the people in his life. He had found happiness, despite the unfairness of the world. He knew that he had found something precious in this unfair world—someone who cherished him wholeheartedly for whatever he may be.

No, he doesn't want to reset the world.

"I'll grant you one thing. The world totally sucks as it is. But I don't think your new one would be any more to my taste. So I'm going to stick with this one. It's less of a pain."

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Ik this is more on the vague side, but ever since i read ur Irminsul headcannons about the reader in Imposter!SAGAU I got this idea, what if:

The reader could just remove info about themselves in the big tree lol - i mean, Scarab did it before might as well try it, no?

Irminsul itself might let us in without the permission of Nahida so we could go in undetected

Since looking through the memories of Irminsul might be like exploring an endless library, as long as you set your mind to it, you'd be able to find that info, like for example:

Memories about the "Creator"

Now, by now, you already know what I'm getting at, right?

Once reader finally figures out how to erase stuff by trying removing certain minor parts of Irminsul, they try to erase the entire memory of the "Creator" ever existing

Not as in like, they would forget that you were the Creator or that one exists, nor what they look like, but just the horrible memories and basically everything that the "Creator" did/made

But now, one would wonder, what would happen now?

I'd guess that, since the "Creator" is believed to love everyone, why is the one on the throne ruling and acting so... Tyrannical?

In my opinion, I feel like a rebellion would ensue sooner or later

But then, since Scarab lost his own memories when he removed himself from Irminsul, wouldn't that also mean the same thing for the "Creator" themselves?

Anyways, feel free to procrastinate and take your time on my take on reader being able to remove info on Irminsul hehe (bc honestly I'd also do that lmao)

Signing off, 🐱 Anon

WE GOT A 🐱 ANON NOW, BOIS—OPEN THE CURTAINS, OPEN THE LIGHTS! CUE THE CLAPPING AND CHEERING AUDIO TRACKS!—

Alright I'm done making a fuss about that lol—here's the headcanon/jot note version of a oneshot of everything that happens since my motivation was running low on oneshots/short stories.

Disclaimers: N/A

Reader Has Entered Irminsul...

Reader is in their Hunted Arc rn, getting chased by all of Teyvat under the "Creator's" orders. They keep running and running and running...

They're getting tired, and they soon find themselves in a dead end. They think of all the places they haven't been to yet: the desert of Sumeru, Inazuma, Mt. Aocang, Mt. Hulao, Wuwang Hill, irminsul—

Yeah, you guessed it. Just by thinking of irminsul, Reader has made it to the big 'ol Tree of Knowledge :D

Reader is shocked—surprised. But not for long—because they start to panic. They aren't sure if Nahida was on their side or not, like what the sagau fanfics say.

In fact, Reader is mainly scared that she already knows they're here.

That is, before the Reader feels a sudden urge to make it to the Tree of Knowledge. As if irminsul is calling for them specifically. They're weary of what this all means, but at the same time, intrigued.

It was the first time they felt like this. So, naturally, they followed what their gut was telling them, hoping that they won't regret this decision.

Reader gets close to the tree, surprised that they managed to make their way to it without requiring access from Nahida or even getting lost just to navigate the route to get there.

The moment they touch irminsul's trunk, however, the Reader feels a sudden blast of information, as if Teyvat itself is giving them the resources to know what to do.

By the time Nahida feels something from irminsul and she arrives to see what's up, it's too late. The Reader's already made the change.

All tyranny of the "Creator" was erased. None of it happened. Not once, not ever. The Palace of the Creator was never created, the Imposter themself never took on any throne...nothing.

Reader comes back to Mondstadt, hoping that what they did worked.

It did. No one remembers what the Creator looks like. There was no Imposter impersonating them. Reader was free.

They were free! They did it! They could travel the entire world now without risking getting killed! They could finally find a portal home!

Except...they forgot the Traveler existed. But even the Traveler is glad there is no more tyranny.

Andd, that's all I got! Sorry if it's short lol—I ran out of ideas for this :') I hope it's okay for y'all.

See you all around! :D

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: So, as I've been writing this, I'm going to give you guys a little update on something that you all really enjoyed in the past.

So, you know "Forever In My Hold" and "A Path Beyond Hope" oneshots? Yes, this is regarding of the little series that has been created. I have decided that I will be making a Part 3, but it will take a very long while. And it will be the LAST PART of the series. I just can't find the motivation to continue it longer.

Also: Should I do a remake of Live or Die? It's a very old writing of mine, back when I first began this blog. I'm not sure if y'all want to read it, but idk if I want to make a remake. Please let me know :)

[crazy-ache]

Eclipse the Sun {Helion x Lady of Autumn Drabble}

“Shall I beg?”

Helion Spell-Cleaver looked down at Orla from where he stood, memorizing every inch and shade and detail of her. The colors she brought from Autumn didn’t exist here in Day, from the gleaming ruby of her hair, the freckles scattered across her skin, the amber of her eyes—and the red of his mate’s blood that he had killed to protect.

“Are you going to make me go on my knees?” She laughed the sweetest sound, even if its echo only revealed the layers of sadness beneath its song. Helion flashed his usual, iconic grin, even if it wavered in her presence.

And when she still said nothing, he dropped to his knees. The fall was two resounding thuds against the marble floor.

For his mate—the Lady of Autumn—this position was usually reserved for happier times. For his devoted tongue and merciless hands. Where he would kiss her like sunlight catching through the canopy of Autumn’s jewel-toned leaves.

But he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I’m begging you, Orla.” He said more seriously now. Her milky white skin shot up to stroke his dark, strong jaw. Begging. Begging in her own way for him to not say the words—but there was no choice, not for him. He was not a male of half-measures.

“I’m begging you to reject the bond. Because if you’re going to end this, it needs to be permanent.”

He had to pull his head into her lap, a hard swallow forced down his throat as if the words itself wanted to claw back down his throat to be never said. His blood cried in outrage. Helion could not bring himself to look at her, or he’d remember too much of their story—of the Equinox ball where the bond had snapped from across the dance floor at first sight, to the many spelled gifts and enchanted letters he had masterfully sent to her in secret over decades, to the passionate affair they had just shared right before this conversation.

To right before she had told him Beron finally knew.

He was no High Lord and there was no going against the wrath of Autumn Court’s cruelest. Because no one would survive the aftermath—not him, not her children, and certainly not his mate.

“If you don’t reject it, then I won’t be able to stay away. I won’t. And your plan will fail.”

“Helion—”

“Please.”

He finally looked up, his dark brown eyes swirling with agony as he wrapped his arms around her middle, shaking her with desperation. “Please. Don’t leave me here bleeding for eternity with the insanity of hope. Just end it so I may at least one day die with the peace of knowing you are not mine.”

She ran her fingers through his long hair. Tears streamed down her cheeks and the bond felt like it was already fraying at the ends, splintering down to the very core of their souls.

“I can’t do that to you. I can’t hurt you—”

As he rested his head again on her lap, he knew there was nothing she could ever do that would truly hurt him. His own pain was nothing compared to the thought of a world without her, and he would do anything, anything to ensure she was safe. He would burn the world for her. Instead, the world was going to burn him—and Helion would let her break the bond.

There was no spell or tonic or indulgence that would help him forget that day. And he tried. Cauldron, did he try. Neither would he forget the day he became High Lord of Day—and the hand he had broken from when he punched the mirror so forcefully the entire palace trembled. Too late. Too late he had risen to power. Too little, too late, he was still powerless to save her.

Madness. Is that what this was? A neverending gnawing that was forced to keep at bay constantly. Madness, he had been told, would befall him if he were to be rejected. But Helion was far from the madness of the mind—but he was furious. Always furious. A secret so carefully hidden like the magic he controlled. He mastered the careful, magnetic smiles, the way he sought fucking to fill his mind with anything but her, and the joy he could plaster to his face like a mask.

Helion Spell-Cleaver marched through the halls and libraries of his court and wondered what his people would think if they knew their High Lord of Day had a heart filled with nothing but darkness. If they knew he wasn’t who they thought he was—he was just the dark side of the sun after he lost her.

[webslinger-holland]

The Emperor of Magic | Prologue

Summary: More feared than the Shadow Summoner himself and more powerful than the Sun Summoner could even imagine, the Emperor of Magic is the only known human to be able to manipulate magic. Having only been a myth up until this point, Kaz Brekker sets out to take her captive in hopes of making himself rich in the process…

Warning: +18 Warning, mentions of gruesome deaths, person taken into captivity

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Type: Series

Word Count: 1.6k

Series Masterlist

It had been three and a half years. Any spare moment was spent keened over a desk looking at outdated documents, old records, and even ancient books. Plans had been laid out, but were often discarded once a flaw presented itself. The rumor had started three and a half years ago; that there had been a sighting of what ancient texts called ‘The Emperor of Magic.’

This was no ordinary human being. They couldn’t be classified as Grisha since they only performed small science. They are only able to manipulate things. The Emperor was able to craft, wield, and destroy anything. They are the only known being to control magic.

There were theories that tried to reason and explain the power and extent of magic. The Emperor needs to see a victim in order to inflict order and control their mind. The Emperor must touch a victim’s skin to possess them. The Emperor need only hear their victim’s voice to be able to control their every thought. Though the wildest theory claimed the Emperor doesn’t need to see, touch, or hear anybody in order to control them. They are already all-knowing. Therefore, they could control.

More feared than the Shadow Summoner himself and more powerful than the Sun Summoner could ever imagine. The Emperor of Magic rose above all others. Their power was not limited to one area like the Grisha. They had the ability to control anything and anyone.

The Emperor was not viewed as a Saint; they were viewed as a demon from the depths of hell. A man had died the most impossible death; his head exploded into millions of pieces. Some witnesses were around when the incident happened and called the authorities. Now someone had been taken into custody.

Due to the extent of the incident, the leaders of the three nations called a meeting to discuss what should happen next. They met in Ravka. In the Little Palace, they attempted to come to an agreement as to what should be done about this new threat to their world.

While Ravka, Fjerda, and Shu Han had their differences in the past, they were willing to work together to come to a solution about this issue. If they refused to work together, their countries might cease to exist in a few years time or they might lose their thrones of power. They needed to find a solution.

“She went willingly. Didn’t put up a fight,” the King of Ravka explained to them. “She very well could have taken down my entire army if she wanted to, but she didn’t.”

“Are we absolutely certain it was her?” The Taban Queen of Shu Han spoke.

“Once she was in custody, she killed two more guards the same way,” The King of Ravka claimed. “It is most certainly her.”

“How was she detained?” The King of Fjerda asked in a thick heavy accent. He had obviously heard about the extent of her powers.

“My soldiers took her by surprise,” the King of Ravka boasted. “They covered her eyes with a bag and put muffs over her ears. Stuffed a gag in her mouth so she could not speak and bound her wrists so she couldn’t perform any magic.”

“Where is she now?” The Taban Queen of Shu Han wondered.

“She is currently being kept in a high security prison. Though I fear the cell is not built to contain someone as gifted as her. She needs to be kept in an impenetrable place,” the King of Ravka said slowly.

The Ravkan King’s eyes had shifted to the King of Fjerda. The Ice Court was a military stronghold that was truly impenetrable. Many of the druskelle were tasked with guarding the high-security prison, keeping track of all prisoners. The King of Ravka knew that the Ice Court would be the only place that would be able to contain someone of such power.

“You don’t think she would be able to escape the cells?” The King of Fjerda questioned. “She can control anything; she could make her way out of a flimsy cell.”

“That’s why I’d like to send a Fabrikator to construct a cell to hold her,” the King proposed. But this only caused the King of Fjerda to laugh.

“I would never allow the likes of Grisha into my court,” the King of Fjerda seethed in threat. His people liked to hunt those who could manipulate small science. They found so much pleasure in killing them.

“Then say she does escape. Don’t you think she’ll want to take us out first?” The King of Ravka explained. This only caused the other king to frown. “She is called ‘the Emperor’ for a reason. She won’t need kings or queens once she is in power. She’ll take our thrones if we do not stop her now.”

“You can stop her by killing her,” the Fjerdan spat. “Strike her down where she stands. The demon does not deserve to live.”

“But she could be of great use to us,” the Queen of Shu Han spoke up. Her people were known for conducting scientific experiments and inflicting inhumane treatment onto the Grisha. “If we could harness that power, we’d be able to control our enemies,” the Queen grew excited from the thought alone.

“Exactly,” the King of Ravka nodded. “She’d become our greatest weapon.”

The three leaders agreed that they liked power and they’d like to remain in power. By eliminating the threat, they’d have very little to gain from it. However, if they were able to obtain that power of magic somehow, they’d be able to weaponize it and use it against their enemies. They’d be unstoppable.

So they crafted a legal document in which they all had to agree to and sign. In the document, Ravka would supply the materials needed to contain the threat. The Fabrikators would have to create a cell that could contain such power. They’d also be tasked with crafting the proper attire that would render her imobile and make it so she could not use her magic. The Fjerdan would provide the space to contain her and the people to guard her. The druskelle were known to be some of the best soldiers in the world. The Shu would provide the knowledge. They’d send scientists to perform the experiments needed to figure out how to harness the power of magic.

Each nation had a part to play. And it was going to work in their favor.

That meeting happened three and a half years ago. There was no evidence that the meeting ever happened besides the legal document which explained each nation’s part to play in the whole scheme. Only one person had lived to see the incident happen that resulted in the death of a man. That is how the rumor started.

The Emperor of Magic had been sighted, but there was little evidence to prove it. The man claimed that the authorities took her into custody, but neither the captive or the guardsmen were ever seen again. The man who claimed to see all of this was starting to go crazy, becoming a theorist whose ideas sounded extreme.

The rumors spread across the lands and fell on ears. Many people chose not to believe the man, insisting that there was no such thing as magic and whatever he had seen was just make believe. Some people were most intrigued by his stories and wondered what truly happened to the person captured.

The Little Palace kept the legal document of evidence in a sealed vault. The document had actually never been seen by anybody other than the three people who had signed it. However, unbeknownst to the three rulers, the legal document that was currently sitting in the vault was not the original copy.

About three years ago, a small group of criminals had broken into the palace on a completely unrelated heist. Their true intent was to capture the Sun Summoner who had just recently been discovered. But one of the members stumbled across a secure vault.

He had a thing for lockpicking. When he was able to open the vault, he was slightly surprised to see a single piece of paper inside. He took it without hesitation, coming to believe it must have had some type of significance if it was locked away. He quickly crafted a replica and forged signatures before slipping the copy into the vault.

Kaz Brekker was able to find the one piece of evidence and quickly became obsessed with it. For the next three years, Kaz studied that single piece of flimsy paper until the edges became worn and the paper grew discolored. He tried finding old reports on abnormal or supernatural behavior. He pulled out old records of prisoners kept in the court. He even read ancient texts which described the emperor’s power.

Why the fascination? Why the obsession over a mere myth? The answer was clear to him.

He didn’t believe in saints or demons. He didn’t care about people who could manipulate small science or people who could control magic. What he saw was an opportunity to make him rich beyond his wildest dreams.

If other people in power knew about this potential weapon, how much would they be willing to pay for it? If he managed to break her out of prison and keep her captive himself, what kind of power would he possess?  Power. Money. Control.

He began crafting the ultimate heist. He recovered old maps of the court they had made during their first heist as a full crew. He studied the old myths to become more knowledgeable in the kind of threat they’d be facing. Wanting to keep his whole crew alive if possible, Kaz was making sure every aspect assured their safety.

They couldn’t be seen by the emperor. They couldn’t be heard by the emperor. And they could not touch the emperor. But Kaz somehow devised a plan to get the emperor out of prison. 

It took him three years. He lost count of the amount of paper he’d gone through. He spent too many hours studying those old documents. He also didn’t relay any details to the rest of his crew. At least, not until he was able to perfect his plan. 

Finally, after three years, Kaz was content with the looks of his heist. He looked over the plans once more. He managed to break into the Ice Court once. How hard could it be doing it again?

THOUGHTS ON THE NEW SERIES?

[shizuu-chann]

Playing Veilguard a second time, I'm realizing how often the "Devouring Storm" is mentioned and I'm dying to know what's going to happen. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain mention (during one of the eavesdropping scenes in the Crossroads) that their dreams since escaping imprisonment have been grey and shadowed or something (I can't remember exactly what they say, but they're both perplexed and at least mildly concerned--at least until Elgar'nan waves his verbal hand and dismisses it while saying, "The future is intangible, only the past and present matter" or whatever).

Even Anaris wants to gain corporeal form again to escape the impending "storm" (not sure how that would have worked out for him, but again, whatever). Cyrian tells us Anaris is scared of something but he doesn't know what! Plus, learning more about what the qunari were running from before settling Par Vollen and the tablet mentioning said Devouring Storm. What did they want with the Inquisition last game with the War Table missions? Then there's the secret ending, of course, and I just really hope we actually get a game in the future that tells the story!

What about Those Across the Sea is powerful enough to force the kossith to splice some of their own with dragons to gain fire breath? What are they, that they had the Imperium scared a millennium ago when they still worshipped the Old Gods and were arguing during construction of the Archon's Palace whether or not it should be offensive or defensive? They made an entire floating fortress that shoots magic lasers to defend against Those Across the Sea.

What boggles my mind even more is everyone in Thedas just...forgot about them? I'm not completely sure about that, but I don't recall any mention of Those Across the Sea (in-game) prior to Inquisition. My guess would be that it was intentional on the part of TAtS. If it's true that they've had a hand in all these major events in Thedas, then it wouldn't surprise me they have the power/influence/reach to erase themselves from records and the like (likely with agents) to keep people from being aware of their existence or machinations. Was them causing these events in Thedas a way to keep Thedas distracted while they made plans for...whatever it is they're doing? Invasion, at least. Was it that calculated? Can they even be that calculated?

It could also just be that they want to destabilize the region for to enact their plan. They did a great a job, if that's the case. A Blight; a war between mages and Templars; Solas possibly being aware of this impending "storm" after waking and dreaming, like Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, and acting too rashly (as he is wont to do), giving his orb to Corypheus to expedite the process of regaining his powers, and tearing a massive hole in the sky that tore smaller holes that spit out angry spirits all over Southern Thedas; and now with Solas trying to tear down the Veil, perhaps, again, in reaction to this revelation that Something™ is coming, further destabilizing Thedas incidentally by releasing two power-mad ancient elven-spirit mages hell bent on blighting the world to reclaim their past glory.

Did TAtS anticipate that, too? Or were these two tyrants escaping unforeseen? Did they foresee someone stopping them, which is why they seemingly encourage Rook? Is foresight something they have? They seems to anticipate everything Rook does, at least in regard to the first two "circles" you find that unlock those cryptic codex entries. I just have so many questions and no answers.

I need to know who they are, what they are, and what they even want enough that they've had their suspicious little fingers(?) in, apparently, every major event in Thedas for the past several decades at least. And HOW have they had their fingers in them? Is their goal sinister? If so, do they KNOW it's sinister? I mean, the first circle-orb-thing you find, the voice says something like, "They interrupt. As predicted. As hoped. Learn. Adapt. Triumph." The second, "You return. We are content." and when you ask who they are, they reply, "Not now. Not yet. We will show you. Soon." Iirc, they seem surprised when you find the third, but I haven't found that one again yet so I can't remember off the top of my head. Their plans are a mystery, but seem sinister from what info is given to us, but then why do they want us to triumph? Unless the two Clowns escaping wasn't part of their plan and they want them dealt with, too, so their own goals won't be hampered. I DON'T KNOW UUUGGGHHH. I just love it~

[coraniaid]

for the ask meme: principal snyder

[Reverse unpopular opinion meme.]

Not sure how unpopular a take this is but I really like Principal Snyder.  He is genuinely one of my favorite minor characters on the show.

There are, I guess, a few different reasons for that.

The first is just a question of good timing. Snyder arrives during the second half of the first season, which is – to my mind, anyway – the point where the show really starts to find its feet.  (This is also, I suspect, part of the reason I’m so fond of Jenny Calendar, who shows up at around the same time.)  And he’s a recurring figure throughout the show’s second and third seasons too, which – while they might not be objectively the show’s best years – are certainly the seasons I personally have the most nostalgic feeling for and whose failings I’m most willing to overlook.  Snyder’s part of my favorite two and half seasons of the show, so I’m predisposed to enjoy him as a character.

Second, and along similar lines, Snyder is a type of character that I think that the latter seasons don’t really have: a recurring character who is somewhat important to Buffy’s regular life but entirely ignorant of the supernatural side of that life. Yes, we find out early in Season 2 that Snyder knows more about vampires than he lets on, and that he’s reporting directly to the Mayor; but that connection doesn’t seem to add up to him being in on the Mayor’s big Ascenion plan and he doesn’t show any sign of knowing that Buffy herself is the Slayer.

After the high school seasons, who else is there like this?  Parker Abrams, I guess, very early in Season 4, but … that’s it, right?  There are characters who could have taken up Snyder's mantle – Dawn’s social worker, for example, or Buffy’s second manager at the Doublemeat Palace, both in Season 6 – but for whatever reason nobody does. Almost everyone else Buffy meets after high school either turns out to be deeply connected to the supernatural -- other than Parker everyone she spends any time with in college turns out to be a demon, a witch or a member of the Initiative; the next Principal of Sunnydale High is the son of a previous Slayer, the doctor she starts talking to when her Mom gets sick is the mortal vessel of a hell god -- or just not a regular part of the show at all. I can’t even remember the name of any of Buffy’s college professors other than Maggie Walsh. 

And I think that’s a shame, because the existence of Principal Snyder as a low-level recurring antagonist makes Buffy’s life as a regular teenage girl feel a lot more consequential than it otherwise might.  If Buffy only had problems with one-off teachers we’d never seen or heard of before, or if she frequently complained about getting into trouble with an off-screen principal we never got to see on screen, the world of the show would just feel a little less grounded. And, in particular, Snyder's function as the show's clear unsympathetic authority figure implicitly helps make both Buffy's Mom and her Watcher much more sympathetic than they might otherwise be

More important than either of those points though, I think Snyder is just really fun to watch?  For my money, the writers strike almost the ideal balance between making him an unpleasant self-important bully and making him a ridiculous comic figure (one who, crucially, at no point shows any sign of being in on the joke).  Armin Shimerman is unfailingly great in the role from his very first appearance, and he gets such wonderfully silly lines to say. 

Some of my favorites:

“There are some things I can just smell.  It’s like a sixth sense.”   

“What are you, ghouls?  There are no dead students here … this week.” 

“That’s the kind of wooly-headed liberal thinking that leads to being eaten.” 

"Children everywhere ... Like locusts, crawling around, mindlessly bent on feeding and mating, destroying everything in sight in their relentless, pointless desire to exist."

“Why couldn’t you be dealing drugs like normal people?” 

"This is a time of celebration. So sit still and be quiet."

“There are things I will not tolerate: students loitering on campus after school, horrible murders with hearts being removed. And also smoking.”

Finally, I really like the fact that – unlike, say, Shimerman’s other big 90s genre TV role, Quark on Deep Space 9, and unlike somebody like Jonathan who was also a recurring character in the high school years who didn’t (then) know that Buffy was the Slayer – Snyder really never gets any more depth or attempts to make him sympathetic.  He never gets fully brought into the magical world or gets given some sort of character arc or has any previously well-hidden virtues suddenly revealed.

Yes, okay, there’s the aforementioned ties to the Mayor and the brief glimpse we get of teenage Snyder in Band Candy. But for all practical purposes the Principal Snyder we see in Season 1’s The Puppet Show – delighting in causing Buffy and her friends problems for no reason while boasting about how, unlike his predecessor, he’s too tough and disciplined to ever get eaten – is the same Principal Snyder we see in Season 3’s Graduation Day, getting eaten.

[osarina]

HELLOOOO priestzai anon here (priestesszai? sounds better. dazai exceeds gender he gets to be a priestess)(yaemikozai and raiden ei reader au)(are there any emojis for that. do i get lightning. 🌩️ or something.)(im sorry its the adhd) and YES she waited 500 years thats like so..... i mean okay; 500 years isn't that long for immortals, I suppose, but Dazai is so PATHETICALLY in love with reader that every second feels torturous to him. And he tells himself that its fine, he knows that he'll see her soon, but god hes yearning so bad. And then just... just imagine what hes like after he finally manages to get her out. See her again for the first time in literal decades. Oh he's absolutely losing his mind. Shes just as perfect as he remembers and also so much more, he missed her so much. He realises again what his purpose in this life was after so many years of yearning and darkness, and it's solely to worship and adore her. She's his purpose in life, his reason to live, his religion, his everything, the life source that he breathes. After all, she's his LITERAL goddess, he leads an entire SHRINE for her. They're technically equals, they see eye to eye, they respect each other the same amount, they're lovers friends, but Dazai still makes a point out of worshipping the ground she walks on. That's, like, his job, anyways. Anytime shes out in public, hes the first to bow, and the one to do it the most deeply, even as reader tells him over and over again he doesn't need to. Reader is a god and with that has great strength and would never just accidentally trip, and yet he always reaches out a hand for her to hold when she walks down stairs. Whenever shes sat on her throne in her palace, listening to her people, he's stood right besides her, kitsune tails all reaching out for her and subtly curling around her, making her look like she was sitting on a throne of pure clouds and just adding to her already ethereal, holy image. And don't even get me started on the bedroom - he'd always be so gentle, literally reverent, looking at her like she put the stars into the sky, doing everything for her and completely neglecting his needs in the meanwhile. He doesn't even care if he technically gets off or not, because seeing reader come undone at his hands is the greatest pleasure to ever exist. (Then again, that boy would probably come untouched, with how much he adores her.) He gives and gives and never takes, not once, and reader has to remind him or initiate it herself whenever she wants him to recieve physical pleasure too. Physical, because every moment he spends with her is heavenly and the greatest pleasure he could possibly feel and he could never ask for more, wouldn't dare to ask for more. hnggggg i am yearning

oh my god .... nonnie ... nonnie you have no idea how insane ur making me right now truly like ... dazai in general is sooooo enamored by his lover, worships them like they're the only holy thing in a godless world but like ... in THIS au ... where they're LITERALLY his goddess and his whole point of existence is to worship them, leads a whole shrine devoted to them .... UGHHHHH you have me so INSANE this needs to be added to the dazaiverse immediately.

AND YOUR'E SO RIGHT—dazai would 100% come untouched just from the taste of her on his tongue, could spend his whole life buried between her thighs, being the one to bring her pleasure ... nothing makes him feel so good

and can we talk about jealousy with priestesszai ... like he would be so viciously jealous of anyone who gets close to her, but at the same time, he wouldn't say anything directly to her about it. maybe he would make snide comments guised as observations but GOD the way his chest twists and turns and the way his vision goes green at the sight of anyone else near her ... sickening

[scorchieart]

Double Deflection

Genre: Slice of Life, Comedy

Characters: Maron, White Horse, Licht Klein, Chevalier Michel

Wordcount: ~6400

Prompts: Blue: Loyalty, Yellow: Friendship

Summary: A late-night chat between horses and humans. Each has the potential to offer something, but gestures and facial expressions and mind reading aren't enough to tell when someone is asking for help.

A/N: My entry for the Wish Upon an Aide CC hosted by @lorei-writes and @wordycheeseblob. This story may borderline crack with its execution, but I hope it's an enjoyable read regardless.

If you were to ask Maron what he most wanted in the entire world he might respond with an enthused neigh, throwing back his mane, and a clop clop from his front-right hoof. If Maron could speak, he could say it was to eat carrots fresh from harvest, or to race through the fields outside the palace with the other horses, or to snooze indoors on a rainy afternoon while his rider Licht sang him a lullaby. Or something along those lines. In truth, it is difficult to say. The intricacies of horse communication cannot be covered comprehensively through text alone—tail swishing and muzzle twitching can easily get lost in translation, you see—but an attempt will be made to relay the events of this particular evening from both the equine and human perspectives to most accurately depict the story from all participating views.

Now, as we were saying, Maron, much like yourself and I, often finds it difficult to express his desires when asked on the spot. Any manner of things could affect the answer, from the place to the weather to even the time of day. Indeed, a much simpler question to ask (man and horse) is what he dislikes the most. And in the palace stables on that muggy summer’s eve, Maron was confident he was experiencing the absolute most dislikable thing imaginable.

“By the way, the kitchens were out of carrots.” 

Licht ducked his head in time before Maron whipped his tail.

“There’s no use taking it out on me,” Licht said, straightening up and resuming brushing Maron’s flank. “Believe me, you do me a favor eating them. But I swear this time they were gone before I could get to them.”

Maron snorted once and rubbed at his muzzle in what one would believe to be a contradictory manner.

“I doubt it. You should’ve seen the way Yves’s eyes lit up when he read about that new carrot cake recipe from Jade. He ordered double the monthly stock of carrots. And Leon approved it without even batting an eye.” At this, Licht covered his mouth and let out a small groan that on the surface appeared as though he was repressing a gag. Maron wiggled his nose in circular motions in response, which I am told is the horse-equivalent of scoffing and rolling one’s eyes.

“Don’t give me that. I said I’m fine,” said Licht, but both he and Maron knew he wasn’t. 

It is at this point I must confess that while I myself am not proficient at human-horse translations, my ineptitude is not a universal ailment. If you were so far unaware, there exist in our world a gifted few interspecial interpreters across the ages. Perhaps you have seen a dog warmly protecting a flock of chicks while the hen takes a bath? Or maybe you witnessed a squirrel rushing to call a goose to save a kitten from drowning in a lake? Sometimes this communication is as implicitly universal as a mother cares for her young, while in more curious cases gesture and sound bind common souls together. On exceedingly rare occasions, such a bond can manifest from one source to multiple different species with zero previous contact, as is the case with the Eighth Prince of Rhodolite. But just as special can be the connection built upon years of collaboration and struggle and trust, and Licht and Maron checked all these boxes multiple times over. Why, when Licht wraps the reins twice around his hands, Maron understands to hurry home because Yves is baking something special. And when Maron bonks his jaw against Licht’s head, Licht knows he’s being chastised. And whenever Licht says “I’m fine,” Maron learned it always to be a lie.

“Really, I am,” insisted Licht. “Let’s go for a ride in the morning. You’ll see.”

Not in the mood for an argument (they always ended up with them going in circles), Maron turned to look out the window and the two resumed their brushing routine without communication. The dewy night air hung thick and silent around them, and several times more Licht had to cover his mouth and cough as he worked. Maron’s ears twitched at the sound, but he never commented further. 

Just allergies, Licht told himself. Horse doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

And the night would have continued on unyieldingly so, as it always did when they disagreed in private, were it not for an unexpected development. The hairs on their limbs shot straight up as a cold, prickly sensation overtook the summer warmth, and Licht and Maron spun their heads towards each other in unison. Someone was entering the stables. 

Stubbornness forgotten, Maron slowly lifted his head and peered over the high walls. His stall was located in the back corner of the stable, but even through the darkness he could make out the tall cloaked figure leading a horse by hand through the entryway. 

Licht tapped his knuckles against Maron’s neck. What do you see?

Maron raised a hoof up and down twice. One human and one horse. Both look male.

Got it. Stay low. Licht quietly reached for the sword he lay on the ground beside Maron’s grooming tools. A prince wouldn’t be so foolish as to wander the palace unarmed, and Licht knew better than most how easy it was to sneak past the grounds undetected through the stables.

Be careful. Maron gently rubbed his muzzle against Licht’s back and ducked low behind the wall. What was meant to be encouragement consequently had the opposite effect on Licht. Maron, like all who lived at the palace, knew of his rider’s unparalleled mastery of the sword. It is said that his skills were only rivaled by two, but Prince Leon was presently knocked out on his couch after a full day tidying up the faction office, and to even consider Prince Chevalier to sneak around at night like some common hoodlum was simply unthinkable. So Maron’s warning made Licht grip his sword more forcefully as he took a defensive stance by the door. 

What need would a talented fighter have to visit the stables at this hour? Licht pondered the question as the foot-and-hoofsteps steadily approached their stall. Was it a spy fleeing into the night to relay royal secrets back to his master? A horse appraiser here to kidnap (horsenap) a prized palace stallion to sell off for exuberant riches? An enemy of the royal family who knew the swordsman Sixth Prince was an equine enthusiast and would therefore hesitate to fight back with a defenseless horse on the battlefield?

The truth, as I am sure you have already deduced, was none of the above. Unfortunately, the only living thing in the vicinity that could steer Licht’s thoughts away from the bizarre was currently pondering whether he could fight with a flat brush between his teeth if things became too dicey. And with the intruders now only a couple of stalls away, Licht did not have the agency to think rationally and burst out from his stall ready to swing.

What followed was a short, anticlimactic confrontation that I am sure Licht would prefer never to see the light of day. Unfortunately for him, Maron found the whole affair rather amusing, so I shall provide an abridged account.

No sooner than Licht exited the stall did an overwhelming cough threaten to overtake him. Midway through winding his arm for an attack, he had few options to steady himself from the conflicting forces of his limbs propelling him forward and his lungs pushing him back, and in the heat of the moment he elected to toss his sword upward into the air and simultaneously tackle the mystery man. He had hoped the shock of it all would stun his opponent long enough for him to recover and strike again, but this plan came to an early stop when his midsection was caught by a pair of taut arms and he found himself flipped, lifted, and staring upward into the displeased face of Prince Chevalier.

If you have ever been caught by your elders for sneaking out of your room past your bedtime, you would understand only a fraction of the dread coursing through Licht’s nerves in that moment. Aside from the obvious fact that he ambushed (with the intent to at the very least incapacitate) the Second Prince of Rhodolite, Licht was physically in a state he would best describe as Yves’s Fashion Nightmare™. His eyes were redder and less alert than usual, his frown curved down farther than it had in years, and his typical restless bedhead stuck out at wild angles, not in the least bit aided by the fact that he was currently suspended upside down. But oh, the worst offense of it all was his wardrobe! When the coughing fits had extinguished any hope of getting sleep, Licht slipped into the muckiest boots in his closet, tossed on a tattered old coat from his teenage years, picked up his sword, and headed straight for the stables. He could only pray Chevalier was too distracted by his annoyance to notice the wrinkly, hay-infested, cough-stained mess of his nightclothes. 

Chevalier’s stern gaze followed Licht’s to his outfit. Whoops… I forgot to mention Chevalier could read minds as well as narrations. 

“Please put me down,” said Licht, his voice barely masking: and spare me some dignity. Behind them Maron let out a sound almost like a chuckle, and Licht shot him a warning look he was sure lost all credibility of appearing threatening.

“What purpose have you here at this hour?” asked Chevalier, still holding on. It took a great deal of fortitude for Licht to not give in to his embarrassment and wiggle his way out of Chevalier’s clutches like a worm, but in the end he swallowed his discomfort and strained his neck to look back up.

“I could ask you the same,” Licht replied, and instantly regretted it. The blood flow to his brain must already be making him hysterical. Is that how blood worked? How long was he upside down for, anyway? 

Chevalier’s expression twisted into a deeper frown that easily topped any of Licht’s personal records. “Employ deflection at your own risk, mime,” he warned. But just as Licht was calculating the combined punishment for assaulting and backtalking Chevalier, a sudden gallop echoed across the hall, the pressure on his stomach lifted, and Licht fell head-first onto the mucky stable floor. 

Once the pain and shame faded enough, Licht opened his eyes and sat up expecting to find Chevalier towering over him. When all he saw was Maron merrily rolling on the floor whinnying, apparently now fully recovered from the intruder fiasco, Licht wondered if it was all just a sick-induced hallucination. The figures cloaked in night, the galloping, this headache; surely it was all in his mind and he merely tripped and fell from exhaustion. Bothered and bitter, he buttoned his coat and rubbed his bruising head, wondering if anything like this had happened recently, when Chevalier appeared once more in the entryway patiently guiding White Horse back inside.

“You frightened him,” he said when they reached the back stall. 

“Me?” said Licht, forgetting his headache and rising to face the pair. In all the years he’d known him, White Horse proved a stallion who did not know fear. Chevalier selected him to be his trusted steed from among all the foals—even passing up baby Maron and his adorable wobbly knees—because he was the first to fully stand on his own and the quickest to wean off from his mother. As the years passed, he only grew more magnificent and intimidating among his peers, heading fleets into battle like the gleaming helmet of the army. White Horse admitting he was afraid seemed the equivalent of Chevalier admitting defeat.

“Indeed. He was shocked to see you bursting out of the stall like a lunatic,” said Chevalier.

Licht felt his eye twitch, and not from the returning pain. “He’s a war horse. He’s seen far worse than that,” he said.

“True,” said Chevalier, “but you have never appeared before him looking so disheveled.”

A knot swelled in Licht’s throat. Was Maron right? Surely he hadn’t neglected his condition so carelessly that he let his appearance grow abominable enough to scare White Horse of all creatures. Yves, perhaps, but that was exactly why Licht had been avoiding his brother like the plague. 

“You do have some manner of plague,” said Chevalier.

“It’s only allergies,” Licht countered, muffling a cough into his arm.

“Strange how the clown never developed the same.” 

It was only then that Licht noticed Chevalier carried a bag across his shoulders when he pulled something out and tossed it. Licht caught it and looked it over; it was a newly washed towel, like the type soldiers used during training, but the stench it gave off was far more repugnant than even a shirtless, sweaty Prince Jin in the height of July. An earthy smell that lay buried deep in the back of his mind, but Chevalier was not intent on giving him the time to dig it out.

“Clean your face, it is offensive,” he said, then moved past Licht to look in the stall. Maron instantly sobered and stood. “And you, get out.”

“What for?” Licht asked. He held his breath and quickly wiped the sweat and grime from his face.

“This is White Horse’s preferred stall.”

“We were here first.”

“And I asked you first what you were doing here, and you have yet to answer me,” snapped Chevalier. “Our needs supersede yours unless you can prove otherwise.”

Licht and Maron each glared back at him, simmering in place. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have their reasons for choosing that particular stall; Maron enjoyed the bit of extra leg room the corner stall provided while Licht favored it for its distance from the entrance and ease to hide away in. But the other corner stall on the opposite side of the hall provided the same advantages, and Licht and Maron wondered why Chevalier and White Horse couldn’t simply occupy that one.

Normally, Licht would either frame his suggestion of the other corner this way or simply agree to move out to avoid confrontation, but he was ill-feeling courteous tonight after Chevalier banged his head like a boiled egg.

“What’s so special about this one that the others don’t have?” Licht asked. If by now you’re thinking Licht was playing his luck talking back yet again to Chevalier, you’d be right. But ever the megalomaniac (as Prince Clavis would insist), Chevalier acknowledged an informative rebuttal to his authority as a worthy challenge and allowed the conversation to continue for just a little longer.

Chevalier rolled his eyes at this insinuation. “The window,” he responded.

“They all have windows,” said Licht.

“This one provides the best view of town,” said Chevalier, then he huffed. “I grow tired of this chatter. Vacate yourselves before I do it myself.”

Licht was not satisfied, but he knew better than to argue with Chevalier once a discussion was deemed concluded. Though Maron would take some more convincing to leave. They were still midway through grooming and all the tools were laid out and ready after all, but to Licht’s surprise the horse walked out without any prompting, passed Chevalier, and lowered his head to sniff the towel in Licht’s hand.

“Don’t lick that, Maron. It’s dirty,” said Licht, pushing him away. But Maron pressed his nose to the towel and began chewing at its edge. “It’s not food. Stop!” Licht grabbed the other end and pulled and pulled, but Maron’s chomp was firm and refusing to yield.

“Haybrain,” Licht said, tugging harder. “You’d think you were munching on a bunch of—” And then the pain in his head nearly completely vanished as a wave of realization surged through him. Sometimes it takes a little longer for Maron’s messages to reach Licht.

Still maintaining his grip, Licht steadied his stance and asked, “Prince Chevalier, what else is in your bag?”

Chevalier, who had been leading White Horse into the newly emptied stall and therefore took little notice of the tug-of-war behind him, curled his hand around the straps on his shoulder at the sound of his name. “Has your condition also turned you excessively chatty?” he said. “Perhaps some rest will restore your quietude, mime.”

Licht and Maron exchanged a glance across the towel and nodded. “Employ deflection at your own risk. Now!” yelled Licht, and the two charged towards the stall. 

If you have been at all paying attention to this unwieldy tale, you may recall the last time Licht attempted to ambush Chevalier earned him an unsavory bump on both his pride and his forehead, and you are probably wondering what on Earth would lead him to believe a second attempt would fare any better. You may also remember in that little skirmish Licht threw his sword up in the air and have probably been questioning this story for the past few pages about where it landed. Rest assured, these inconsistencies shall be answered in due course. But first we must discuss strategy.

In addition to being a gifted swordsman, Licht was also a budding tactician. And while his brothers agreed his open-fighting battleplans leaned excessively self-destructive, no one could deny Licht’s acumen for sneak attacks. Even Maron trusted Licht on this front, which is why he made sure to match Licht’s speed in their charge even though his trajectory would knock him into White Horse. As soon as Chevalier noticed their approach, he whipped around, grabbed the towel with both hands, and ripped the fabric in midair. 

The force of the rip wobbled the two off guard, and while Maron quickly managed to steady himself to a reasonable halt before colliding with White Horse, Licht surged forward and knocked his side into a pillar separating two adjacent stalls. But before his fall, he made sure to wrap his remaining half of the towel around Chevalier’s wrist and drag the man down with him. The impact of the hit shook the entire building, causing a certain misplaced sword that was previously precariously balanced just above the princes to slip out of its place and fall. Chevalier, still stuck in the hand trap, roughly shoved his and Licht’s bodies out of the line of descent and replaced them with his bag. The bag cushioned the fall and prevented the sword from ricocheting into anyone, but not without sacrificing itself to the cause as the blade cleanly cut through the linen and deposited the contents within. Dozens of bright orange carrots, of different sizes and thicknesses by the bushel, spilled out from the tear and rolled across the stable floor.

This narrator now takes this chance to inform the audience (and Prince Chevalier) that Licht is also very skilled in deflection. And in humility.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do,” Licht offered once the two managed to pry as many carrots as they could away from the hungry horses’ mouths. They piled the saved carrots into the bag and lifted it together to keep them out of the horses’ reach and from spilling again.

“The information I have on your condition is far more significant than a simple carrot heist,” said Chevalier, unperturbed by the turn of events.

It was the truth. Licht nabbed carrots from the kitchens loads of times before, and the response from the cooks never extended beyond an angry rant to the domestic faction office about coordinating supply every few months or so. Jin always claimed it was probably a herd of hungry rabbits sneaking into the kitchens at night, and that was enough to placate the masses. Missing carrots didn’t spell the end of the world, after all. Surely they would treat this incident in the same way. On the other hand, Chevalier still lorded Licht’s illness over his head like a carrot on a stick (which in Licht’s circumstance meant the exact opposite of that saying). Any moment now he could decide to leave the stables and tell Sariel about Licht’s total lack of self-care. Or worse, he could tell Yves.

No, Licht had to gain some leverage over Chevalier right there and now. If only he could figure out why he was there in the first place.

The bag seemed to increase in weight with each passing moment, and the orange poking out from the rip goaded Licht like a heckler in the audience. He shut his eyes and breathed through his mouth to stave them off. Just their presence muddied his mind—why did there have to be so many carrots? 

The best he could do for now was to keep up the deflecting. Even if that meant he had to keep up the talking.

“If White Horse eats this many, he’ll have an upset stomach in the morning,” he said.

“They were not all meant for him, obviously,” Chevalier explained. “When dealing with animals, extra precautions must be taken to guarantee a successful transaction should any anomalies arise.”

Licht pondered over those words. Couldn’t Chevalier ever say what he meant directly? (“No,” said Chevalier.)

“You’re saying you needed hush money—er, food in case other horses saw you two? Were you expecting to wake up the entire herd?” asked Licht.

“Precautions taken for the worst-case scenario naturally account for any hypothetical.”

“Except for my being here, apparently.”

“No, I had accounted for this as well. Though I had expected you to have fled from the vicinity of all these carrots by now.”

The tear gaped slightly as Licht’s hold tensed. Did Chevalier view him as a child who still couldn’t look foods he disliked straight on? Was Chevalier basing his reactions on tests he performed on Nokto, he wondered? He recalled a time years ago when Nokto returned from a diplomatic trip to Benitoite complaining about how their boasting of their recent super successful carrot harvest forced him to cut the trip short. It was the first time in ages Licht felt so strong an urge to console his twin when he heard the news, but what if Chevalier had a different reaction? Something seemed off about it all.

He decided to test his theory. “You’d need a boat-load of carrots to do that. And strand me on a deserted island first,” he said.

“I shall keep that in mind for the next order and charter a vessel from the Jangler,” said Chevalier.

“Nokto already asked us to halt carrot orders to the palace once. Leon told him to submit a lengthy request form with evidence and justifications and we still voted against it, three-to-one. Unfortunately.”

“My word supersedes the clown’s, as well as it does yours.”

“I wasn’t implying otherwise. Only that palace supply orders are under our faction’s scope, not yours,” said Licht. This time the rip tore larger from Chevalier’s end.

Licht really was only speaking fluff at first, but now he felt he was on the verge of uncovering something scandalous.

“In fact, food orders are specifically handled by one of us four princes to prevent showing favoritism to any one noble or grower. And we keep the records of all orders locked in our office,” he continued. “Strange how you were able to run your worst-case scenario calculations when supply was different this month. Was it just a happy coincidence?”

“Enough stalling,” said Chevalier. “Speak your mind directly.”

“Prince Chevalier.” Licht paused and inhaled. “Have you been illicitly influencing the domestic faction’s operations behind the scenes?”

The stables went eerily quiet. Even the horses, who stopped following the conversation ever since the carrots came into view, could tell an intense weight had dropped, and this time Chevalier was on the receiving end. Maron silently cheered for Licht, while White Horse ground his teeth impatiently.

Slowly, purposefully, Chevalier’s mouth widened to a grin. One that simultaneously filled Licht with a sense of victory and unease. “You speak it as though it was a laborious effort, when in truth it does not take much to influence you buffoons. A cursory inspection of your office is proof enough of your dullwittedness, which made it exceedingly simple to send the clown over on his futile carrot prohibition request to peer pressure your lot into establishing a cleaning routine. Even simpler was it to determine which days were Black’s, considering he wakes with an obvious imprint of his couch’s pillow embroidery plastered across his cheek. But simplest of all was slipping the latest edition of Jade’s Renowned Recipes onto the showoff’s desk the morning after one of Black’s cleaning days.” 

The only thing preventing Licht from completely tearing up the bag was the understanding that it would drown him in those awful carrots, and that would only make him more upset. “There’s no way Nokto would agree to that,” he said to release some of the anger. “Your plan ended up with double the order of carrots in the end.”

“I never deigned to have co-conspirators,” said Chevalier.

It didn’t make sense, and yet with Chevalier it could. But it took such precise managing and calculating of everyone’s opinions and behaviors to have carried out so perfectly.

“But… but you still miscalculated,” Licht said in a small voice. “With me.”

“An unfortunate side effect of your seclusiveness. Lack of data points skews the probability of success. But this defect is of little consequence in the grand scheme of things,” said Chevalier, dropping his face to a frown once more. “Very well, we shall agree to never speak of this encounter beyond this night.”

A victory? Against Chevalier? On a mental battlefield? By all accounts, Licht should have been thrilled, even if this arrangement meant no one would ever know of his triumph. But a hollowness still dominated inside, different from the betrayal he felt from Chevalier’s reveal. He looked to Maron for support, and even his horsey smile wasn’t enough to satisfy his troubled thoughts.

“You still admitted political subterfuge, even if this is an admittedly minor instance of it. How can we guarantee you haven’t done it in the past, or won’t do it again?” asked Licht.

“You have my word that I have not nor shall I ever plot such an endeavor again without the knowledge and approval of the eight,” said Chevalier.

That should have sufficed, but Licht shook his head. “I’ll need some collateral to prove your sincerity.”

Chevalier narrowed his eyes. “What do you require?”

“Half your remaining carrots,” he said. “And tell me why you did it.” Maron perked up and licked his lips greedily while White Horse snorted and rushed beside Chevalier.

“White Horse says one-fourth and no more,” said Chevalier.

“Half,” Licht demanded. “Yves never would have put the double order if he wasn’t so intent on baking the carrot cake for me.”

Chevalier and White Horse stared intently at each other. You may have guessed correctly that these two make up another human-horse bonded pair, but unlike Licht and Maron, they mainly communicated through staring contests to determine the other’s thoughts and feelings. To the onlooker it is a curious sight, and Licht and Maron watched the pair mentally debate like statues for several awkward minutes until at last they broke apart.

“Agreed. But tonight you must vacate this stall and share your grooming tools,” said Chevalier.

“Fine, you can use them after we finish our routine,” said Licht, and the princes set out dividing the carrots equally among themselves and leading their respective horses into opposite stalls. Maron happily gobbled up his share before Licht could finish setting his tools up again in the new stall, and White Horse solemnly poked his head out of the window as Chevalier passed him carrots at regular intervals. A complacent tranquility settled in as the sounds of horse munching, hair brushing, and the late night summer breeze whooshed through the stables, calming its occupants and warming their hearts. While these two princes were inclined to introversion, the silent acknowledgement of horse care they shared bonded them on that night closer than they ever knew in the past.

Once the grooming session was completed, Maron shook his head satisfied as Licht patted his neck. Licht packed his tools neatly in their kit and crossed over to the other stall, ready to hear Chevalier’s story, when he saw his brother holding two long strips of ribbon, one bright yellow and the other bright blue, up to White Horse’s pearly mane.

“They’d both look nice on him,” Licht said as he entered the stall. He extracted a fine brush from the kit and began working out the knots in White Horse’s mane.

Chevalier watched intently, holding the ribbons closer so Licht could see. “But which will look nicer?” he asked.

Another ripple of warmth began to swell in Licht's cheeks, but a breeze hadn’t blown in a while. Did Chevalier actually value Licht’s opinion?

“Well, maybe the blue will look better in the daytime and the yellow at night,” Licht replied. Chevalier hmmed and took the ribbons back, tying them into different intricately shaped bows on his fingers. No doubt Yves would find them charming, and a small smile involuntarily crept onto Licht’s face as he pictured the three of them dressing up White Horse in tiny bows. 

What a ridiculous idea! As if Chevalier would ever agree to that! But still, even though Licht always spent time in the stables alone, the thought of inviting others once in a while wasn’t too indigestible. Is this what it was like to share hobbies? Could this be how Licht could cure his—as Chevalier called it—seclusiveness? They could have been friends all along?

The moment seemed right. He decided to shoot his shot. “Yves has lots more ribbon. And lace, too. Maybe we could all make bows for Maron and White Horse someday?”

“Perhaps,” said Chevalier, all ten of his fingers now bound by bows. “Tell me, do you think White Horse is attractive?”

Or maybe they were never meant to be friends after all.

“Er—” Licht stumbled. “He’s a healthy and well-kept stallion. I could ask for nothing more from him.”

“Not to you. A female.”

“Uhm… You could probably ask Nokto to grab a maid’s opinion?”

Chevalier clenched his fists, crushing the tiny bows. “A female horse,” he hissed.

“Oh!” Licht accidentally pulled too hard on a knot. White Horse turned to him and snorted sharply, dousing his face in chewed-up carrot. Yes, that tranquil moment had definitely passed.

Licht quickly unbuttoned his coat and wiped his face with the hem of his shirt. The very next morning, that shirt would be burning in the back of his fireplace. 

“Is White Horse trying to impress a mare?” he asked in an attempt to salvage the conversation. 

“We only agreed I reveal my intention for the carrot theft,” said Chevalier.

“Political subterfuge,” Licht corrected.

“Shall I send you to dreamland instead?” said Chevalier.

“I’ll be sure to ask for the story in the morning then,” said Licht.

Chevalier leaned against the wall and began undoing the bows as he spoke. “Do not interrupt. It began on a trip west last fall. Clavis and I were inspecting numerous citadels along the border, and as luck would have it I received word that the newest volume of a series I was following was set to release the day before our scheduled return to the palace.”

Licht swapped his brush for a flat bristled one and started on White Horse’s neck as he listened. He recalled Chevalier’s trip very clearly. Clavis had made a point to leave behind a timed-trap in his absence. On the morning of the twins’ birthday, hundreds of colorful paper airplanes were released in the roundtable room, each bearing a handwritten message like: “Thinking of you from so far away!” and “Big brother will bring home a bigger gift, just you wait!” and “Say your prayers, Sariel!” Licht occasionally still felt the ghosts of those paper cuts stinging his skin.

Unfazed by Licht’s cringing expression, Chevalier continued. “Despite Clavis’s bemoaning protests, we managed to reach the final location of our tour and complete the inspection with time to spare, albeit at the sacrifice of several nights’ rest. Our fool of a brother was at his wit’s end, but aside from his sanity we arrived back in town with zero casualties. He agreed to retrieve the book before returning to the palace as an excuse to finally be out of my sight, so he broke off from our party as we rode up. And seeing as White Horse knows the way to the gates I saw no imminent danger requiring my remaining alert and allowed myself to rest my eyes.”

Licht tried to remember the exact day of their return and if anything remarkable occurred, but his mind kept coming up with blanks. (He wasn’t allowed to interrupt, but the narrator can. Chevalier said he fell asleep.)

Chevalier finished removing the yellow ribbon from his fingers and crumpled it in his fist. “While resting my eyes, I could still sense the passage of time, and after an appropriate amount of time until when I knew we should have reached the palace had passed I opened them again but found we were in an unfamiliar area I had never visited before. We were near the outskirts of town where the cattle graze. Seventeen houses in total, each unremarkable in size and structure, yet White Horse perched at the fence of the red brick house watching a jet black mare race across the yard. Never before had I seen him so fixated on one task, even when we are in battle. I called his name and pulled his reins but he completely ignored me. I was about alight from his back to admonish him when the woman of the household spotted us from her window, and she let out a piercing scream that would have woken the entire town had it been dark. It was enough to startle White Horse, at any rate. More than seeing you tonight.”

At this, Licht instantly remembered the day. Everyone at the palace heard the scream, and the subsequent chill emanating from Clavis’s smile when he suggested Licht join him to wait by the gates could only be bested by Chevalier’s cold stare. Never before nor since was Licht so grateful for it to be his turn to clean the domestic faction office than on that day. Maron remembered the day because it was the only time Chevalier returned wearing robes stained not in red, but brown. And Chevalier remembered the day because there did not yet exist enough scientific literature in Rhodolite on lobotomy.

Recounting is all well and good, but White Horse preferred matters tending to the future. And while he was used to his master and his soft-spoken brother’s tendencies towards silence, this silence stretching on in their conversation soon bored the stallion. When at last it became too much to bear, White Horse sucked in breath through his teeth, pressed his nose against Chevalier’s head, and released a mighty sneeze that nearly shook the princes off balance. From across the hall, Maron whinnied at White Horse in disapproval, and Licht quickly steadied himself then began patting the horse’s white neck. This served two purposes: calming White Horse’s fury, and giving Licht an excuse to turn away as Chevalier picked globules of horse mucus out of his hair.

It seemed acceptable for Licht to speak now. “So White Horse likes Verona?”

“Who?” Chevalier raked the last of the snot out with the blue ribbon and tossed it onto the remains of the ripped bag.

“The mare. That’s her name,” said Licht.

“Don’t be ridiculous, they have never once interacted for White Horse to develop any feelings of ‘liking’.”

“Fine. He fancies her.”

“Such a useless emotion. Enough of it to lose his head at the screams of her owner,” scoffed Chevalier.

“He’s alright though, isn’t he?” said Licht.

“Only because I had the sense to steady us in time,” said Chevalier. What he conveniently neglected to mention was how after steadying White Horse, the woman raced out of the house waving a broomstick in the air because she didn’t recognize the Second Prince and assumed he was there to horsenap Verona. Before Chevalier could diffuse the situation, White Horse jumped at her advance and fell backwards, landing both himself and his rider in a puddle of mud. Prince Clavis was the only person standing at the gates to witness their soiled return, and he keeps the memory fresh in his mind for days when he feels blue. But there was no reason for Licht to know about it, so Chevalier said, “I have upheld my end of the deal. Pass me a brush.”

“But you didn’t explain the carrots,” said Licht. 

“Do not ask for a story if you are too bleary-eyed to follow along,” said Chevalier. He swiped the brush out of Licht’s hand and began grooming White Horse’s other side. White Horse neighed softly and went back to staring longingly out of the window. 

Rays of false dawn shone from the horizon, layering the first brush stroke of saturation on town. Licht followed White Horse’s gaze out the window towards the pasty colors of the pasture in the distance, just as the signs of a red house came into view.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion truly catching up to him, but Licht didn’t notice Maron trotting up to him until he felt his warm muzzle pressed against the small of his back. Even without facing him, he knew what Maron wanted to say.

“Maron’s friends with Verona,” said Licht. “We visit the horses there every month for a stretch. We could introduce White Horse next time we go, if you want.”

Perhaps the exhaustion caught up to Chevalier as well, because the small part of him that planned to find Licht in the stables tonight tingled with vindication. “What do you require?” he asked.

“I don’t need anything,” said Licht.

“And I do not desire to remain in your debt. Name your price,” said Chevalier.

It is a curious state to find oneself able to demand anything from Prince Chevalier. I can think of several princes who would jump at the opportunity and ask from him all manner of favors. But Licht was a simple secluded sword master equine enthusiast who when asked what he wanted most in the world would probably reply with the most seemingly mundane thing. And yet, it would still make him smile.

“Help me get rid of this cough. That way I can help disrupt the carrot supply chain next time.”

I once wrote a fic in the past when I thought Maron was a mare. If anyone else mistakenly thought he was a lady horse because of that fic, I take full responsibility, that's my bad.

With this fic I tried out a new narrative style. It was out of my comfort zone, but a fun experiment. If anyone has any constructive feedback about it (positive or negative, I want to learn) feel free to leave a comment or an ask. Did it engage you more in the story, did it slow it down, did it make you laugh, did it bore you... whatever you feel like sharing :) Otherwise, thanks for reading.

[new-tella-us]

Alright. No art. Just positive rant. The entire point of my redesigns was me being slightly annoyed at the designs and story of Seduce Me and having way too much positive nostalgia to be normal about this game. I love-hate this game. However! The one thing I will never, never shit talk Seduce Me for is its characters. The main six love interests (Yes I am counting Diana as a main love interest. Thank Demon War for that) are all so well written! I genuinely love them. Even Sam, my least favorite character, isn’t boring. I don’t dislike him for being a bad character, I dislike him because the tsundere trope annoys me.

But this isn’t a rant about the characters as a whole. This is a rant about Damien. Let me rave for a second. Because as melodramatic as his backstory is, it got me hook, line and sinker. I am convinced that either Michaela had a period of being obsessed with Damien or some redheaded fuck boy named Damien pissed her off so much that she made him into a character just to make him suffer. This boy is tragic!

Like b r o, all the other boys’ backstories can be summed up with “The palace life is boring, my dad is kinda shitty and I got one other, reoccurring, minor inconvenience” and then there’s Damien being like- “My mom suffered as my dad’s harem girl until she couldn’t take it anymore and tried to murder me before killing herself. Also my dad is extra shitty to me. He tried to kill me a few times. Food? That’s a luxury. Energy? I’m used to not having it. A room? What is that? Please let me become human because mind reading kinda sucks, oh wait, I only got a 1 out of 6 shot for that ending. And I’m not even the canon ending!”

And another thing! Matthew’s main bad ending has traumatized me for multiple reasons but that line, “That’s what you get for making me go to the human world” after he kills Damien! Now, Matthew is a favorite of mine, but in that moment, I wanted to shake that little bitch until his soul evacuated his body! Like, I don’t care that he was being controlled, how d a r e he come firing shots at Damien when all he wanted was a good life away from his abusive ass dad!? Bro Damien may have been the illegitimate child but at that moment Matthew was the bastard.

Tragic…

On a different, lighter note, I do love the sort of contrast between him and Matthew, at least on the topic of “naivety”. Of the two, you expect the fun loving, goofball to be the naive, kind of innocent one. But that’s not the case. Matthew is optimistic, Damien is innocent. Matthew knows what he wants and while the world is a wonder to him, he goes about the world with this sort of maturity, knowing what he wants to see and when. Damien is more of the spacey type. There is this level of inexperience to how he grasps the world as if he can’t even believe that it can exist. Plus, as much as he has an idea of what he wants to see, sometimes he feels like he must ask permission. Like in the New Years Episode where if you go on Damien’s route, he asks “Can we do this every year?”.

In conclusion, I want to wrap Damien into a blanket burrito and tell him that everything is going to be okay. And then take him to therapy because this man probably has C-PTSD. As my friends would say, I am mentally ill for this demon equivalent of a sad, wet dog.

[joelletwo]

apropos of aaaabsolutely nothing happy EST wound fucking wednesday. this post is just for that one reader

[ID: rendered robots franchise fanart of oppie and megs (the recent cartoon for kids iteration of them) stradding each other mid-wrestle. they both show wear and tear. megs, scowling, is punching op's grille-abdomen, warping the metal, other hand gripping his shoulder to pull him down into the hit and falling backwards a bit with the momentum himself. oppie, frowning deepy or grimacing, has one hand gripping megs' thigh and the other on one of his shoulder spikes to keep him from being able to maneuver or escape. he reels back with the punch but still rests stably on splayed-out knees, one slid under megs, adding to megs' unbalance and making him kick out his own leg that oppie straddles.]

pre-canon war stuffs........................ that can at least exist in my mind palace of Not Really Knowing Jack Shit

ONE good turn deserves another i would say...... meaning a big trip thru the lb tab collecting a folder of relevant unconscionable violence vibes i didnt even get to use all of*/push as far as i could have. and then a lot of time doing chain-licking meditations on big blocky 3d shapes. and then a lot of time wrestling with that one csp 3d model pose set. WELL. when i saw what u were sketching the other day i lost my fucking mind trying not to say anything kjsdfg so hopefully good sign this will be received well o7 <22

*my dreams of putting tfs in clothes was not an appropriate venture for first times drawing tfs. YET

+ just the lines bc good lord i drew so many details on Those Things. looking at other ppls art styles. i didnt even have to do that i dont even need to feel bad abt the bits that broke my spacial understanding no one is doing 1:1 replicas. but it was kind of nicely meditative to whittle away at actually i enjoyed it

[ID: same pic, colors and shading removed to show oppies lineart was a bright blue and megs' a bright orange]

things i gained a heightened appreciation for in this venture: the way that megs' pelvis design elements look like he has a jacket tied around his waist. CUTE. his BIIIIIG fucking boots i didnt get to show off. his faaaaaaaace chiseling. oppies 1:1 accuracy little windshield wipers. difference in frame between them (most of the robots seem to have narrow waists but i like that i can accurately draw megs still a little Built there. fun!) the joiiiiinnnnntt articulation logic on these guys is so neat kudos to. franchise full of robot designers that are extra incentivized to make them at least somewhat real-world workable.

+ honorable mention: THEYRE SO WIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE. taking up the entire 4:3 frame space in episodes. throwing out half the oversketch notes i took of the csp models bc they simply did not matter and would not be visible underneath both of these guys blocking each other kjghsdf

anyways. to say. HAPPY TO BLOG AT THE SAME TIME AS YOUUUUUUUUUU and heres to another year of getting to know the most delightful wonderful realm of things and ways to get weird with things thru it vicariously and firsthand. dearly beloved blogging bestie who i hope has a nice day ^_^!!!!