#my stalwart beloved

[railwaycreature]

Closing this series out on June 23rd with Earl!! This has been a really fun challenge :DD

[moonstonecanyon]

(07/19/2024.)

metalmetalmetalmetalmetal

[milesmentis]

Old Man Daren fully realized at long last!!!!

[sakebytheriver]

...

[tyrantisterror]

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anywhere.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could crochet me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

[beloveds-embrace]

(john price x reader who basically manifests him into her life)

It all started with a pie.

A blackberry pie, to be exact. One that you’d spent a good part of the morning perfecting- balancing the sweetness and tartness with the precision of a master alchemist concocting a love potion. You were almost convinced that this particular pie might finally be the answer to your mother’s prayers: an offering so mouthwatering that it would distract her from once again insisting you marry that insufferably dull miller’s son, Thomas.

You had just placed it on the windowsill to cool, the aroma curling through the cottage like a siren’s song, when your mother barged in, cheeks flushed with determination. “I’ve invited Thomas for supper.” She announced, as if she was a witch summoning a dark spirit.

You almost dropped the teapot. “Mother, no.”

“Mother, yes. Darling, you’re not getting any younger.” She clasped her hands like a pious martyr, staring heavenward as if appealing for divine assistance. “Why, you are practically ancient now. Do you know how many children I had at your age? Three! And you- still unmarried. People are talking.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but that’s when inspiration struck. Perhaps it was the sweetness of the pie that made your thoughts reckless, or perhaps the desperation of avoiding Thomas’s endless ramblings about grain prices, and so you straightened your spine. “… But I already have a suitor.”

Your mother paused, mouth pursed like she’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “You what?”

“Yes.” You adjusted your apron with all the gravitas of a queen revealing her long-lost heir, except you were revealing a beloved. “He’s a soldier. Off fighting bravely in the war. Captain… John Price.” You plucked the name from thin air, thinking it sounded stalwart, military-ish and utterly believable.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “And why haven’t I heard of this… Captain before?”

“Well, we didn’t want to make a fuss. You know how people talk.”

Her suspicion melted, replaced with gleaming hope. “A soldier, you say? A captain?”

“Yes,” you continued, your voice growing bolder. Let ir never be said that you did not inherit some of your father’s love for theatrics. “He writes to me. Beautiful letters, whenever he has the chance to, and I always reply. I’ll… I’ll show you one!”

That’s how you found yourself hunched over your rickety desk that night, ink staining your fingers, spinning an epic tale of love and longing so good you justknew Shakespeare was probably rolling in his grave

Dear Captain John Price,

My heart is but a lonely swallow without you. The days stretch long and tiresome in your absence, but I hold steadfast, knowing that one day you will return to me- my brave, rugged soldier.

Yours, faithfully.

You took great care in writing the letter, wanting it to look as if it had been penned by a devoted girl waiting patiently for her beloved captain. Before folding it, you pressed a dried flower between the pages and lightly scented the paper with a dab of your favorite perfume, the fragrance soft and sweet, leaving no doubt that the writer was a gentle, affectionate soul and not an absolutely insane woman tricking her parents. You even tied it with a delicate ribbon, imagining how any soldier would feel cherished to receive such a letter.

To your utter (non)surprise, it worked. Your mother clutched the letter to her chest with a tearful sigh, whispering something about true love. And from that moment on, Captain John Price became your imaginary lover, a sturdy bulwark against matchmaking attempts.

And so, the years passed, and John Price became a part of your life. You wrote letters to him whenever the pressure to marry reached critical mass, each one a little more elaborate than the last. You even took to carrying one of his supposed letters (which you also wrote yourself) in your apron pocket, just in case anyone questioned your devotion.

You never expected, however, for the Captain himself to show up at your doorstep.

It was a crisp autumn evening when the knock came. You barely registered it, too busy trying to salvage the stew that was steadfastly refusing to thicken. When the knock came again, louder and more insistent, you huffed and flung open the door, still clutching your wooden spoon like a weapon and a mighty glare on your face.

There stood a man. A mountain of a man, truthfully. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a commanding presence that seemed to make the very air hold its breath. His face was framed by a well-groomed beard, his eyes a piercing blue beneath a well-worn cap. And clutched in his large hand was a bundle of letters- scarily familiar letters, actually.

His mouth curved into a slow, wolfish grin. “Well, love. You’ve got some explainin’ to do.”

You froze, spoon hovering mid-air. “You- how- who are you?”

He chuckled, the sound more than a little smug. “Name’s Captain John Price. You might recognize me from your rather… heartfelt correspondence.” He held up one of the letters, the familiar scrawl of your handwriting a stark betrayal.

Your stomach dropped. “…Coincidence.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he drawled, stepping inside as if he owned the place. “Imagine my surprise when your letters kept landing in my hands. At first, I thought it was just some lonely girl scribbling fantasies. But the boys kept handin’ them to me- said they lifted spirits, readin’ how you were waitin’ for me.”

You spluttered, backing up as he prowled forward. “But- how did they-“

He shrugged, almost casual. “You put my name and rank on the letters. Found their way to me eventually. You’ve been rather… devoted, haven’t you?”

You sputtered. “Devoted? I was just- avoiding marriage!”

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. “Didn’t stop me from thinking about it. About you. When I read how you longed for me- waited so faithfully- made a man think. Would’ve kept any other bastard from sniffin’ around, I’d hope.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. “I didn’t think you were real!”

He leaned closer, the scent of tobacco and gunpowder curling around you like a trap. “Oh, I’m real, love. And now I’m here. Reckon you owe me a bit of hospitality after all those love letters, no?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a landed fish.

“Didn’t matter if you didn’t mean it, you still wrote it. Made me think of comin’ home to you, of claimin’ what’s mine.” His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek with surprising tenderness. “You made yourself mine. And now, I’ve come to collect.”

Before you can muster a protest, he leans down, capturing the corner of your lips in a kiss, your face frozen solid in shock. When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes your swollen lip.

“That clear enough for you, wife?”

p2

[sordidmusings]

Thirsty Thursday with Mihawk - The Hat Stays ON

Art by koitosoup

A/N: This is very indulgent because I needed desperate and needy Mihawk to exist and this prompt tumbled right on into that to sate me 🤡 (at the airport hoping no one is looking over my shoulder rn too LOL)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: afab!reader, NSFW, p in v, forceful undertones towards beginning, desk sex, creampie, begging, praise, lots of the pet name "love", Mihawk is like super needy he moans "please" dude, he's also very in love, and trying sUPER hard not to finish first by the end 💀, stress relief before Cross Guild meeting, brief moment shit-talking the other two lol turns real sweet at the end cuz I couldn’t help myself

Please enjoy this man being as close to a mess as I think I can convincingly get him ╰(▔∀▔)╯

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk is usually the type of man to fully take his time enjoying every inch of you.

Usually.

“I know, love, I know,” his voice is full of panting desperation, worn to a fluster by his pressing need and his frantic firm thrusts into you. “I’ll make it up to you later, I just -nnhah- just gotta fuck you now -nnnhg fuck- don’t wanna think about anything but how fucking good it feels inside you.”

When Mihawk came to your study not thirty minutes before the next Cross Guild meeting, this was the last thing you were expecting. Though, it did fly right to the top of the list when you saw the intensity of his shining gold eyes on you and the rigidness of his figure, all coiled muscle waiting to pounce and gritted teeth waiting to tear. You’d barely been able to get just his jacket over his shoulders before he was on you, speaking his need and hunger with persistent lips and hands. He was so set on getting his fill that he simply let his prized coat be dragged down his arms and thrown to the floor. Somehow, his hat survived the rush of his motions and the beloved closeness necessary for his demanding kisses.

Though they were rare, you loved the times he was like this, using you for his pleasure, clinging to you and taking you like nothing else in the world would ever suffice in sating him. You got just as much out of these times as he did, but you played it as a favor, partly for the delicious flavor it added to the dynamic to hear him apologize, beg, and thank as much as the stalwart Dracule Mihawk can and partly to earn the long and worshipful treatment he’d reward you with later. You’re not sure how he hasn’t caught onto you yet. Seeing the meticulously controlled man lose himself in his desire for you has you dripping, shown in the wet slap on each strong thrust. It was surely enough to give your abundant eagerness away.

Beyond that, you are just as ravenous for him, thighs clamped around his sides, hands gripping tightly to his tense forearms as he fucks you on your desk. You feel the jump of each muscle from their work sinking a bruising grip into your hips, manhandling them forward and back opposite the motion of his hips to fuck you just like he wants - like you’re a lifeline and if he just digs as deeply as he can into your sweet cunt as quickly as he can then he can finally breathe again.

Your heels pull him in on each quick thrust, the clench of your legs and abs for the motion helping a rhythmic pulse stroke at every inch of your walls and further firm your swollen lips and clit to absorb each delicious impact of Mihawk’s hips. The soft, sweat-damp skin of his back and sides teases your sensitive inner thighs and calves as he fucks you, his obliques dancing especially sinfully against your flesh. You loved admiring the look of his chiseled figure but absolutely nothing compared to the bliss of him using it against you.

The urge Mihawk has to collapse down over you and continuously drag you as close as possible is strong, but it is beat out by the erotic sight of watching the slap of his hips bounce your body. It lets you have a beautiful sight too; Mihawk backlit and looming over you, muscles fully displaying their strength and tone with the lack of his jacket, his curled hair and the feather on his cap swaying in time with him fucking into you. The hat still resting on his head only makes you feel smaller captured under him; he always looks impressive with it on and it makes the shadow he casts over you that much larger.

Mihawk uses an iron grip to throw one of your bare legs to hook over his shoulder. He uses his other hand to grip the inside of the other and shove it to the side, flat on your desk, trapping it down by putting his weight into his hold on your thigh. It forces your hips to turn on their side, giving him a new angle to work you open on his thick cock. The change has each forceful drag of his cock in you feel new again, recharging your nerves in their pleasant screaming. You tell him their call through whiny panting, chants of his name, and streams of “yes! like that, so good, fuck me harder, need it, need you so bad-”

There’s a firm thump and rattle of your desk as his hand plants next to your head to keep from collapsing over you. It leaves him crouching over you like a predator, but the hazy need in his eyes begging you to let him keep feeling this forever betrays the fact that he’s as deeply in your clutches as he tries to snatch you into his. The thickness of your thigh trapped between you helps keep him up as well as his other hand still pressing your leg down. His fingers that are sunk into your thigh dig deeper and tremble with his pleasure and overwhelm.

“Gods, love, you’re perfect, want to live between your thighs,” Mihawk groans, so close you can feel his panting breath cool the sweat on your face. He’s fighting his eyes to stay open, needing to see the pleasure scrunching your brow, loosening your jaw, fogging your eyes. The fluttering of his lids catches your eyes and swells your heart, shooting arousal through you from knowing he’s feeling so desperately good from fucking you. The amber of his eyes is so bright trained on you that it seems to glow through the shadows haunting his face. It makes him look all the more feral as he grips, spreads, bends, and fucks you like he wants to eat you whole. “Just -hahn- need some more from you, can you -nngaaah- do that for me, little love?”

You sob out a moan as you snap your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation. The soreness his weight is pressing through your thigh and the tender stretch from your other leg being folded to your shoulder add more buzzing chaos to the sensations swirling their way through your body to flood your brain. The way he holds you open lets your clit take a soft impact every time he shoves his whole length into your plush pussy, giving the bud more little teases with how your body reverberates from the impact. 

“Look at me while I fuck you,” Mihawk snarls, but there’s desperation bleeding through the growl in his voice. You want to whine back at his request but you want to please him even more. You blink your eyes open and the raw need in them has Mihawk collapse just a bit more over you, feeling the want you and your pleasures ravage through his body begin to burn him alive. The brim of his hat taps lightly on your forehead from his closeness while he pants and moans to you, “Like that, love, fuck you’re so good for me.”

Meeting your gaze is a double edged sword; his arousal magnifies, his soul lights up, and his cock twitches hard but it also throws him to feeling right on the precipice of cumming and he’s not ready to stop feeling you. The siren song of the wet slapping of your hips, the slick sound of your pussy gushing around him and trying to keep him sucked as deep as he can reach, and your panting breaths carrying high moans and pleads and praises all tempt him to let the torrent of pleasure rush over him, promise him it would feel like endless blissful sin. It is all the harder to resist because he knows exactly how delicious it feels to sheathe himself from root to tip in you and pump stream after stream of hot cum into your welcoming walls while your cunt clings to him almost as tightly and desperately as his hands cling to you.

“Love, need you to cum,” Mihawk rushes out. He palms the hand on your thigh up so he can rub circles over your swollen clit. Your moans gain even more volume, filling the air in your office almost as thickly as the sweet, musky scent of sex.

“Need it, please,” he whispers breathlessly, “Need to feel you -nnnnhhah- love, love, need to feel your cunt sque-heeze me.” 

His vision begins blurring from the strain of staying right on the edge of cumming, barely holding back the powerful orgasm built from the burning in his muscles, the tingling in his fingers, the swirling in his head, and the throbbing of his cock. Giving up on trying to refocus them, he scrunches his eyes shut and lets his forehead fall down to rest on your temple, finally bumping his hat to fall onto the desk next to you. His closed eyes allow him to focus in better on all the other ways you are filling his senses, latching especially to your open mouth serenading him with needy babbling and fucked out moans.

“Can you be -ghahh- good and do that for me?” Mihawk pleads against your cheek. “Can you cum for me?”

“Y-yes, please, wanna be -mmmngh- good for you,” you whine back to him. His hips stutter at the tone and you feel his lips pull up around gritting teeth, an airy “fuck” sneaking past them.

“You are, sweetness, you are sooooo good for me,” Mihawk praises, swirling his thumb more insistently across your slick clit. The increase and pressure and perfect timing with his firm thrusts has your core tightening in threat of bursting. Your thighs had already been shaking in warning of your coming orgasm, but now the trembling is seating itself in every clench of your walls around Mihawk’s thick cock, wringing tighter and longer on each pulse. Your nerves sparkle and buzz more with each clamp down, the blazing rub of his throbbing dick and its bulging veins whiting out your mind. “Now come on, love -nngh- cum on my cock -fuuck please- let me feel you, make me cum -nnnghah- need to fuck you full.”

With a sob of his name, you finally fall over the edge. It feels as overwhelming as you had been expecting since he first stormed in and threw you over the desk. Your hands and cunt cling to him in need of a tether and in need of more; while your body is trembling with the bliss of your orgasm a tiny piece in the back of your mind is waiting for the final thing that will melt your whole body into a honey drip of heaven.

Mihawk doesn’t leave you waiting long; he is only able to feel your pussy milk him a handful of times before he can hold his end off no longer. With slurring groans of endearments and praises, he is overtaken by pleasure and can think of nothing beyond the relief of pumping you full of his cum with his twitching cock and grinding hips. The force of it has his thighs quake and numb out, making his weight crumble over you as he can no longer hold himself up. He nuzzles his face down the side of yours until he’s tucked panting against your neck, forehead pressed snuggly against your racing pulse.

You welcome his weight with open arms, one dragging him ever tighter to your heaving chest and the other winding its hand into his thick dark hair to ensure he never leaves. Both of you are still gasping for breath, your pressed chests rubbing and shaking against each other much like your greedy hips do as they ring out the endless pulsing beats of your orgasms. Your cunt and core continue to massage down on him and wring every bit of tight and bubbling bliss from his still hard and pumping cock that they can get. 

The feeling of being not only filled with his large and achingly hard cock but also the swelling heat of his cum makes your eyes roll back. He’s filled you full to bursting, now leaking out of you on every grind and the warm sticky sensation and sound matched with his pelvis massaging small sweeps across your clit prolongs your peak. You get to spend a long time suspended in the feeling of your body bursting with heat and joy and relief and electricity, all shoving your soul right out of your skin only for Mihawk’s presence to trap you right back into the storm raging in your nerves.

Mihawk begins to feel foggy and a bit delirious as he finally releases his pent up need in you, finally sates his ferocious hunger for your delicious touch, finally finds his comfort and peace stuck as close to you as he can possibly get. He makes a halfhearted attempt to bring his mind back to his body but is happily distracted by the aftershocks that jolt your body and flutter your cunt. They pull extra little spurts and groans from him each time and he’s defenseless to the contentment he feels following their slowing pace into the warm hover of affection that always envelops him after sharing bodies with you.

It takes a long time for either of you to actually come back to yourselves. The whole time you are afloat, you guide each other with trailing touches from limp but loving hands, quick kisses stolen between smoothing out your breath, and gentle squeezes in the embrace you keep on each other, needing those little moments where it's even more of a hug than a hold. Mihawk chases the touches that tease across the dips of his lower back or scratch up the back of his neck and across his scalp just a little bit more than the others. You feel too boneless to lean into almost any touch at the moment, but you do manage to roll your head to the side so you can gaze at your grandfather clock in the corner.

“I don’t think there’s time to make you presentable for them,” you sigh out with no real remorse. Mihawk is of a similar mind.

“Not my fault if those two don’t have anyone to take care of their needs,” Mihawk mumbles dryly. “Also not my problem if they’re mad I’ve had mine met.”

The laugh you give at his attitude earns you one of your favorite prizes: Mihawk’s lips making the slow curl then spread into a real smile. It is only topped when they close again to press a kiss in the shape of that smile on their resting place against your skin with enough love to reach straight through that skin and nurture every beat of your heart.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Adventures of Mary Darling

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

Science fiction great Pat Murphy has written some classics – including books that were viciously suppressed by the heirs of JRR Tolkien! – but with The Adventures of Mary Darling, she's outdone even her own impressive self:

https://tachyonpublications.com/product/the-adventures-of-mary-darling/

The titular Mary Darling here is the mother of Wendy, John and and Michael Darling, the three children who are taken by Peter Pan to Neverland in JM Barrie's 1902 book The Little White Bird, which later became Peter Pan. If you recall your Barrie, you'll remember that it ends with the revelation that Wendy, John and Michael weren't the first Darlings to go to Neverland: when Mary Darling was a girl, she, too, made the journey.

Murphy's novel opens with Mary Darling and her husband George coming home from a dinner party to discover their three children missing, the window open, and their nanny, a dog called Nana, barking frantically in the yard. John is frightened, but Mary is practically petrified, inconsolable and rigid with fear.

Soon, Mary's beloved uncle, John Watson, is summoned to the house, along with his famous roommate, the detective Sherlock Holmes. With Holmes on the case, surely the children will be found?

Of course not. Holmes is incapable of understanding where the Darling children have gone, because to do so would be to admit the existence of the irrational and fantastic, and, more importantly, to accept the testimony of women, lower-class people, and pirates. Holmes has all the confidence of the greatest detective alive, which means he is of no help at all.

Neither is George Darling, who, as a kind of act of penance for letting his children be stolen away, takes to Nana's doghouse, and insists that he will not emerge from it until the children are returned. He takes his meals in the doghouse, and is carried in it to and from the taxis that bring him to work and home again.

Only Mary can rescue her children. John Watson discovers her consorting with Sam, a one-legged Pacific Islander who is a known fence and the finest rat-leather glovemaker in London, these being much prized by London's worst criminal gangs. Horrified that Mary is keeping such ill company, Watson confronts her and Sam (and Sam's parrot, who screeches nonstop piratical nonsense), only to be told that Mary knows what she is doing, and that she is determined to see her children home safe.

Mary, meanwhile, is boning up on her swordplay and self-defense (taught by a Suffragist swordmaster in a room above an Aerated Bread Company tearoom, these being the only public place in Victorian London where a respectable woman can enjoy herself without a male escort). She's acquiring nautical maps. She's going to Neverland.

What follows is a very rough guide to fairyland. It's a story that recovers the dark asides from Barrie's original Pan stories, which were soaked with blood, cruelty and death. The mermaids want to laugh as you drown. The fairies hate you and want you to die. And Peter Pan doesn't care how many starveling, poorly trained Lost Boys die in his sorties against pirates, because he knows where there are plenty more Lost Boys to be found in the alienated nurseries of Victorian London, an ocean away.

More importantly, it's a story that revolves around the women in Barrie's world, who are otherwise confined to the edges and shadows of the action. In Barrie's Pan, Wendy is a "mother," Tiger Lily is a "princess," and Mary is a barely-there adult whose main role is to smile wistfully at the memory of when she was a girl and got to serve as Peter's "mother."

And Holmes? Apart from one love interest and a stalwart housekeeper, Holmes has very little time or regard for women. This is so central to the Holmes cannon that the Arthur Conan Doyle estate actually sued over Netflix's Enola Holmes movie, arguing that Enola displayed basic respect for women, a feature that doesn't appear until the very end of the Holmes canon, and – the estate argued – those final stories were still in copyright:

https://www.cbr.com/why-enola-holmes-has-nice-version-sherlock/

Murphy's woman's-eye-view of Peter Pan, Neverland and the Lost Boys dilates the narrow aperture through which Peter Pan plays out, revealing a great deal of exciting, fun, frightening stuff that was always off in the wings. She gives flesh and substance to characters like Tiger Lily, by giving her the semi-fictionalized identity of one of the many American First Nations people who toured Europe and Africa, putting on Wild West shows that won eternal fame and cultural currency for the "American Indian," even as the USA was seeking to exterminate them and their memory.

Likewise, Murphy's pirates are grounded in the reality of pirate ships: democratic, anarchic, and far more fun than Robert Louis Stevenson would have you believe. While Murphy's pirates are about a century too late (as are Barrie's), they are in other regards pretty rigorous, which makes them extraordinarily great literary figures.

If you read David Graeber's posthumous Pirate Enlightenment, you'll know about the Zana-Malata of Madagascar, the descendants of anarchist pirates and matriarchal Malagasy women, who pranked and hoaxed British merchant sailors for generations, deliberately creating a mythology of south seas pirate kings:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/24/zana-malata/#libertalia

This hybrid culture of bold, fierce matriarchal Malagasy women and their anarchist pirate husbands play a central role in the book's resolution, and Murphy's pirate utopia is so well drawn and homely that I found myself wanting to move there.

This is a profoundly political book, but it's such a romp, too! Murphy has a real flair for this kind of thing. Back in 1999, she published the brilliant There and Back Again, an all-female retelling of The Hobbit (in spaaaaace!) that was widely celebrated…right up to the moment that Christopher Tolkien used baseless copyright threats to get the book withdrawn from sale:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/There_and_Back_Again_(novel)

Billionaire failsons of long-dead writers notwithstanding, you can still read There and Back Again by borrowing a copy of the book from the Internet Archive's Open Library:

https://openlibrary.org/works/OL15436385W/There_and_back_again

Murphy's mashup of Holmes, Pan, South Seas pirate anarchists, and other salutary and exciting personages, milieux, furniture and tropes of the Victorian adventure story is an unmissable triumph, a romp, a delight.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/06/nevereverland/#lesser-ormond-street

[evilminji]

Know what's been haunting me? And my Yandere loving brain?

What if... an SI-OC? Fffffucked UP™?

Like? STRAIGHT up "....Oh No. I have? GRAVELY miscalculated."? Cause? And I'm probably wrong here, or forgetting nuisances, but? Dooku? Left the order and began his Fall? NOT because he disagreed with the vast majority of Jedi philosophy... but?

Because of what the Jedi had BECOME.

Senate attack dogs. Indentured servants. Following NOT the Force or their Orders Mandate, but a mere GOVERMANT. Politicians. Straight into ruin and slaughter no less! It was vile. Corrupt. A perversion and degradation of HIS beloved Jedi Order.

He was proud and filled with grief, isolated. Palpatine chose well.

But! He was ALSO a Master Jedi with DECADES of Mastery under his belt. You do not become that with out clear vision of what you want. Who you ARE. And Dooku? Very CLEARLY planned on winning. Killing Sidious and taking his place. An unfortunate necessity, really. In his Grand Plan™.

Too?

Start over, obviously.

Instead of just leaving and starting a NORMAL Religious Schism, building a temple on Serrano, and publicly calling his old Council members lil bitchs. Slap fighting in the town square, as is traditional. Maybe sending pass aggressive notes back and forth in the hands of increasingly spoiled Padawan, because OUR temple at least FEEDS these POOR WAIFS. Etc etc?

Dude went the SITH route. Of... you know... "kill everybody".

Bit extreme. Just saying.

However! Dooku? Not well! In fact, DEEPLY unhinged and masterfully hiding it! Because he is, in fact, a MASTER jedi! And know how to fucking DO THAT. So that slow creep of Deepyly Crazy? No one sees it. Gives ya time to miss the countdown to Boom, as it were.

Which leads to our dearly beloved SI. She? Is a well meaning IDIOT. She can't help it. It's the Force, man. All that feel good juice, clogging up her brain! Making her? Optimistic! Vaguely perky! Wanting to see the GOOD in people!!!

Disturbing, she knows. But it is what it is.

And MASTER Dooku? Feels? Stern but warm. Stalwart. Like one of those ancient trees or great temples in a quite moment. Old and powerful, not necessarily KIND, but certainly not UNKIND. Just... fussy, you know? Proper. Collected and self contained. Doesn't like messy and dirty and needless noise.

So... what's an itty bitty Crecheling to do? To stop this Respected Master from falling? Well... Yoda seems to think "babies" works? And SHE is Baby...

Better scrub down so I'm EXTRA not "why are all children so... sticky?" and make my self look as presentable as possible. Then? Plan: Stalk the Respected Master Dooku Like A Duckling is a GO~! Yoda finds this INSTANTLY hilarious. Starts feeding her insider information (One of his many, later Great Regrets).

Dooku likes THIS tea. Meditates in THIS garden. Ask him about THIS subject, no one listens to him rant about it, he'll enjoy lecturing you about it for HOURS. She actually learns quite a lot! Man's a good teacher. And SHE? Is a dutiful, polite, thoughtful, shining young paragon example of what he feels the Jedi SHOULD be.

She LISTENS. Unlike his foolish peers. She tries to better herself, day by day, instead of running around screaming and playing in mud. Asks after etiquette from the courts he's traveled too, so she does not offend in the future. Does not react with blind disgust to questions others would deem heretical!

Instead? SHE comes from a JEDI place of approach with compassion and consultation of the Force. What creates the most GOOD? How can we strive for the kindest, most ethical, most equal social possible? What brings the universe the most Light? Where do OUR duties end and the duties of OTHERS begin, and when is it time to call them on their failings, should there be any?

It is? Delightful~ if he were not already committed to his path, he would seriously consider taking her on as a Padawn. Like the Granddaughter he never had. In FACT? He is conflicted. While he does not wish to lose the bright little light he has become so accustomed too? He should probably do what is best for her.

He IS leaving after all. Eventually. Perhaps after Qui-Gon finally knights his own padawn. He can convince the man to come with him. A talk between them has been so very, very long overdue. And the man is like a son to him. Young Obi-Wan is a fine young Jedi. Upstanding and collected, could use a bit of tempering. Outrageous flirt. It would be hilarious.

It's a good plan.... right up until it isn't.

Until the Council's BLINDNESS lead his SON to dying alone. For Sidious little games. And the place in HIS chosen lineage is USURPED by some WHINY SAND COVERED BRAT who can not CONTROL himself! No. NO.

Absolutely Not.

As far as HE is concerned? HIS lineage? Goes him, Qui-gon, Obi-Wan, and then SI-OC. No Sand Brat. Is he spiraling? Oh yes. Has been for a while. But now? NOW someone just kicked out a major support beam. The building is a'shaking. SI-OC is worried. Knows this could make or break his Fall.

Doesn't realize that ship has sailed LONG before she arrived.

Jedi Master's do not Fall over night. It is the slow erosion that kills them. Death by ten thousand cuts. He was already thousands deep. Bleeding and bleeding, beyond her abilities to heal. Yoda could have changed things. He is a Master. But a mere Crecheling? An untrained child? No. She stood no chance.

Does not realize that, as she stands in the heart of the storm. The center of the bear trap. As composed Master Dooku grieves and rages, hair disheveled and robes a mess. No, he can not come to the comm right now. No, he is not taking visitors, thank you. Please, Master Dooku. Please! Drink some tea? Eat? Something. Anything. I beg you.

It is a focal point. An anchor to cling to, in that great Fall. As SI-OC fusses with blankets and music that might help, pressing her small and fragile light against his shields like a comforting weight. As though trying to protect him from the pain. As though ANYTHING could protect him.

Sits with him, in remembrance.

Comes with him, to the funeral.... where stands the sand brat. At HER Master's side. As though enough has not been stolen. How dare he? How dare THEY? To allow this!? Hatred festers. Rage. The mania that Darkness brings. He sees now. Ooooo ho ho, does he now see.

The Order has become Rotten. It cannot be saved. The Jedi have lost their way.

The old must be purged... and they must begin again.

It's all so CLEAR now. So simple. The path forward. Its so obvious now, HE is not leaving, oh no, THEY are leaving. It would be madness to leave a vulnerable Crecheling in such unfettered corruption. Exposed to the nonexistent mercies of Sidious and his ilk. Not to mention, Force knows what filth they'd attempt to stuff in her head behind his back!

Knight Kenobi is an adult. Can comport himself and defend his person. SI-OC can not. She is just a youngling. Should have BARELY been a padawn. But... things have changed.

SI-OC fall asleep, comfortable and certain she is perfectly safe, in MASTER Dooku's apartments. Just another Tea Time and obscure Force Philosophy lecture. Maybe some hands-on etiquette lessons. There are many, MANY different ways to take tea. And... man... the room is so cozy. Always so comfortable and tastefully inviting. Warm an... an snoozy... feelin... *thunk of a small child falling over, dead to the world*

Drugged? Sleep suggestion? Soothing bedtime tea? Yes. Yes, he did. She stood literally negative chances. He scoops up HIS granddaughter and leaves droids to pack the rest. Tucks her under his cloak. No one thinks to even check. Who would? He is trusted. Respected. It is well known how he dotes upon the child. Old age has softened him, some jest.

The dangers of attachment indeed. But it is not HIM who is in danger. It is HER who his attachment endangers. Because he can not let go. WILL NOT. Because it can crossed from caring to obsessive. Possessive. To mine, mine, mine.

Children are not property. Not toys or trophies. Teddy bears to squeeze until your hurt stops. They are living, breathing, entities in their own right. Which is something a JEDI would be able to accept. The SITH? No. No, see, his Great-grandpadawn is HIS. This is HIS family. HIS Jedi order. HIS plan to "fix" everything.

She done fucked up.

She wakes up on a ship to Serrano with COUNT Dooku.

His... his eyes turn Interesting Colors now. Ha ha... she is... staying Very Calm. It is REALLY important to stay VERY calm. No sudden movements. We Do Not startle the Darksider! Eeeeeeverones FRIENDS here! R-Right?

Oh of course. Nothing to be worried about, dear. You're just going to his Manor until the NEW temple is finished. (Neat. Terrifying. So, SO many horrifying parts of that sentence). And SI-OC? Pulls the good ol "never argue with the crazy person with a gun" technique. Smile and Nod! Mmmmhmmm! G-great! Can't wait!

(Oh god, help me)

War breaks out. She's on THE Separatist planet. But not? Before crazy grandpa? Has hired bounty hunters to find him force sensitive kids. You know, for the NEW Jedi order. Because we're all pretending here. Smile and nod, fellow hostages. For the love of the Force, smile and nod.

She's not entirely even certain half these children were from families that WANTED to give them up. It makes her sick to think about.

She still has to have Tea Time. Because she, a child, is the HEAD of the New Order. And he has decades of Jedi knowledge to impart. Also? Lonely and fixating. We're a happy family. Because I say so and have hostages. That's why you love you, don't you dear? *SI-OC with a wide, terrified hostage smile* mmmmhmm!

The Jedi? Have figured out what happened. Crecheling mysteriously disappeared at the same time a Count Dooku? They originally thought she tried to follow him. Got lost or grabbed by slavers. But now... NOW? Oh Force they know they horrifying truth. The Darksider stole a CHILD.

Everyone remembers SI-OC. She was the sweet little duckling. Well behaved and polite. A kind child. Worried for Count Dooku. And now look at what's happened?! The CIS is trotting out the "head" or their "new order" and it's their lost Crecheling. Now a teenager. Terror in her eyes and a fixed jedi smile.

The Creche Masters have to be physically dragged away from stealth ships. (They're just going to talk! They're jUST GOING TO TAL-!!!) Plo Koon is fucking HELPING and that's NOT helpful! No, your commander do NOT have "a point"! You can not do just a "little bit" of murder as "a treat"!

A certain Quinlan Vos? Never heard of him, of course, rocks up to this New Order with a smoothie. Has betrayed the OLD order and the Republic. Definitely for realisies and not because he's here to spy! Heeeeey, kiddo. How you holding up?

Answer? Oh THANK GOD, AN ADULT JEDI! Halp! Followed by gross sobbing. So... you know... not GREAT. Wouldn't recommend it.

But! The INTEL. Sweet holy shit, kid. Chips. Palpatine. Dooku behind the Clones. Everything ELSE she's quietly been noting down. Uuuuh, yeah. Yeah that WILL be... real useful.... Holy shit. No, seriously, give him a second. Just like that? Huh. Didn't even have to convince you. Wow. Okay.

Well then! Let's fuck over some Sith!

How the Shadows go about it? Probably very action movie and nail biting. High octane. Sweet big budget cgi effects. They get the De-chipped clones involved. Fox gets to finally, FINALLY shoot his boss. Never a happier man. He deserves it.

But that's not important. What IS? Is Quinlan Vos? Showing up to the Temple, with a burger and smelling strongly of smoke, and like.... over 450 force sensitive younglings, teenage and below. And probably a litter of tookas. Because what? Were they supposed to LEAVE them?

She takes One(1) step into the temple and gets hit with like? Three generations of Guilt Complexes. Man Pain. Yoda, Obi-Wan, AND Anikin? Mother FUCKER, you were 9! What were you supposed to DO? Bite him?! You literally JUST GOT HERE. *SI-OC has used Logic against Skywalker Guilt... it is not very effective!*

When? When will she be freeeeeeee? Cannon Yoda had the right idea.

She should go hide in a fucking SWAMP.

@babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @lolottes @hypewinter @mayfay @hdgnj

[mydadleft471]

A Jester Indeed Part 3

I've brought the milk!

Lookie! Lookie! I'm doing it! I'm posting something for Messmer! Crazy, I know lmao.

Anywho, I had so much fun with this. I made Messmer a cocky little shit at the end because I can do whatever I want.

Side note: if you live in the USA rn like I do, it's a bit hectic to say the least. Please keep yourself and others safe. You have rights and I am with you. People of color, LGBTQ+, etc. are safe on my blog. If you have an issue with that, eat grass.

Thank you all for the crazy support, likes, reblogs, comments, and overall good vibes!

Link to my masterlist here!

Link to part 2 here!

Your mind had been spinning since you got back to your chambers in the evening. Lying in your comfy bed and squeezing your eyes tight did nothing to dissuade the tide of thoughts swirling through your mind.

Sir Ansbach was safe, and you were glad of it, as he had been a kind soul and stalwart in his deeds since you met him all those weeks ago. Though under Miquella’s influence, he assisted in any way he could and wished you luck when you told him you were going after Messmer. You can only assume he followed after you once Miquella’s charm broke upon your entrance to the Shadow Keep.

Now, he was probably pouring through information in an attempt to locate Miquella’s true reasoning for being in the Realm of Shadow. Something big was in the works, that was for certain, but the Demigods seemed to always have plans one could never fathom. Perhaps he wanted revenge on you for killing his beloved twin? But that couldn’t possibly be it; his followers would’ve killed you instantly upon seeing you. Maybe he considers you a threat.

Whatever it is, it has your stomach churning.

The lust for freedom, for adventure: you never thought it would land you here, at a Demigod’s side, in his Keep, as an ally. From what you had seen, the rumors of Messmer the Impaler seemed false, like rumors gone awry. But at the same time, you had seen the extensive damage his presence had caused in his many years in the Realm of Shadow. The Hornsent villages and towns had been nearly erased with only skeletal remains of buildings and homes left over. 

But even after all he had done, you couldn’t’ seem to hate him. Through your adventures, you had discovered his troubled past and his curse. You’d learned of his fate steered by Marika’s hands; a fate he took in stride to please his mother. You pitied him, if anything. 

You recall back to how much faith he put in you, a lowly Tarnished, as you were often called. Someone unfit to rule. Yet Messmer allowed you to speak among his council as a trusted advisor and treated you with the same amount of respect he treated the rest of his men with. He wanted your advice, your help. The thought makes your stomach tie into knots and flip over itself.

Finding yourself much too restless to continue laying down, you pushed your covers back and began pacing around your room. The cold air hits your skin and you move over to your fireplace to throw two more logs on. Soon, the flames roar and dance, the goosebumps on your body gradually fading.

On your dresser, a few old books, almost crusted over with dust, sat waiting for you to flip through their pages and delve through their mysteries. As much as you’d like to sit down and read them, you knew you’d be too jittery and anxious to focus on anything they said.

As luck would have it, a knock sounded against your door, making you jump a little. The moon had long since taken its place in the starry sky, and it was late. Salza was always in bed by this time, or, at the very least, busy in his study. He told you he preferred a few hours of solitude, which you totally understood.

It was too late for any servants to bring you anything, as they already had outfit choices laid out for tomorrow and dinner was a few hours ago. 

You were hoping it was Queelign so you could punch him right in his smug face. You probably wouldn’t get into trouble. Probably.

You quickly threw on a crimson silk robe for a bit more decency, as you were currently only in a thin sleepshirt and your underwear.

But when you opened the door, you were surprised to see Messmer, of all people, standing almost sheepishly at your door. His hand was curled into a fist, like he was about to knock again, but you opened the door before he had a chance to.

“Messer? Oh, sorry,” you fumbled a bit, curtsying. “Lord Messmer.” You wanted to ask why he was here so late, but you figured he would tell you.

“Good evening. I apologize for bothering thee so late. If it would be alright, I would like to come in and speak.”

“Oh!” You practically squeaked out, very conscious of how little you were wearing. “Sure thing.”

You opened the door wider for him and scooted out of the way. He lowered his head just slightly as a thank you. His serpents hovered over to you as he passed and one booped your nose with its head. You gave it a small pat before closing the door and walking further into your room.

Messmer sat himself down on your sofa near the fireplace in your room, his body much too large to actually fit on it. He made it work, but you let out a chuckle as you sat across from him in a comfy armchair.

“What is so humorous?” He took off his helmet and set it onto the nearby table, combing through his fiery red hair with his sharp nails.

“You barely fit on my couch.” You shake your head at him, still chuckling to yourself.

“Very well. ‘Tis not mine room.”

“I know. It’s just funny to watch.

You quickly realize he’s probably here for more important reasons than idle chit-chat, so you give him silence for when he’s ready to speak.

A serpent coils underneath his hair, and he lazily strokes its scales. “I would hear thine thoughts of today’s happenings.”

“What specifically?”

“Miquella, perhaps.” He focuses his gaze on you, and you feel very small.

“Well,” you begin, “I don’t really know. He’s up to something, that’s for sure. He placed some charm on his so-called Followers, so he’s powerful enough to influence people to do whatever he wants. But if he needed to put them under some sort of spell in the first place, I don’t trust his motives at all.”

“‘Tis a cowardly thing to do: to misguide others as one sees fit. Respect is earned.” Venom laces his tone and you see him ball his hands into fists where they lay on his lap.

“He even rid himself of St. Trina. I found her dying beneath the Cerulean Coast.” You shake your head at the memory, briefly wondering if Thiollier is still by her side, begging for her poison.

Messmer shifts, his body angling further towards you. “St. Trina?” He repeats the name with uncertainty.

“Miquella’s alter ego. She’s the patron saint of sleep, from what little I know of her.”

“Miquella possessed another self?” 

You almost mention Marika and Radagon, but you don’t think he’s ready to hear about that. Instead, you focus on Miquella. “Yes. At the cross where he abandoned her, it said that he abandoned his love.”

“He intends to rid himself of everything. Everything Mother gave him.”

“I suppose so. He’s been throwing parts of himself away left and right.”

“He shall come to regret his choices, I am sure.” Messmer spreads his hand over the arm of the couch, feeling the softness of it.

“I just don’t understand why he left everything behind. The Haligtree was full of his followers, including his sister. He abandoned them after promising them a better life.”

“Thou didst battle with the Blade of Miquella, no?” His serpents flick their tongues at you, almost like they’re excited to hear your answer.

“Yes. It was a hard fight. She was probably the greatest warrior I’d fought.” You shudder thinking back to her words, her blade, and her ferocity in battle.

“Dost thou believe her to be enchanted by Miquella as well?”

When you encountered Malenia, she appeared to be sleeping. She awoke and told you of her strange dreams that sounded like the Battle of Aeonia. Despite doubting how much of her was left after being ravaged by the rot, she proved a challenge. When you thought you had beaten her, she rose again as the Goddess of Rot. Was it her choice to blossom into something more, or was it simply forced on her, by Miquella or someone greater?

Perhaps you’d never know. Still, she remained Miquella’s loyal blade until the end. Maybe he did charm her, or maybe she was just that devoted to him.

You remember Mohg, towering over you. He had devoted his entire dynasty to Miquella, and whether that was for the power an Empyrean could bring him, or something more sinister, you remain unsure. One thing was for certain; he guarded Miquella’s body, or what you assume to be his body, with his life. 

You adjust the ties at the front of your robe, securing them tighter around your waist. “I don’t know. I don’t think charming a Demigod is out of the question for him.” 

Messmer closes his eye and sighs. His brows knit together, forehead wrinkling with stress. You want to reach out and hug him and let him know that you’ll get through this. That nothing is impossible for you, much less so with a powerful Demigod by your side. Great Rune or not, Messmer was someone who could hold his own in combat, as you had learned firsthand.

Messmer breaks the silence, opening his eye slowly, as if he’s afraid of what he’ll see when he does. “Couldst thou have been charmed? Thy story of seeking adventure false?”

You shake your head ferociously back and forth. “No! I was in control of my own actions the whole time. I felt no different when Miquella’s charm broke. I swear.”

He looks at you, his false eye glowing a bright gold, painting his face with what looks like false sunlight. There are bags underneath his eyes, and you can see just how tired he is. His posture, though straight, is incredibly strained.

You stand from the armchair and plop yourself next to him on the couch, your body barely squeezing in beside him. He, of course, straightens and tenses as you near him. You don’t pay him any mind, and you delicately take one of his hands in yours. It’s heavy and warm, almost like you can feel the weight of his entire world by having his hand in yours.

“I swear to you I am who you know. I’m the Tarnished that stubbornly stopped you from plucking out your eye. I’m who you trusted to speak among your most loyal followers. And I will stay with you and fight whoever I need to to keep us safe.” 

His eye is wide and he searches your face desperately for any kind of deceit. Once he finds none, he slowly raises his other hand to cover yours. You relax into the feeling, though his skin is calloused from years of war.

“I apologize for doubting thee. I promise it will not occur again.” He speaks low and soft, afraid to disturb whatever peace has settled over the room.

“It’s okay. It’s hard to trust people.” You shuffle an inch closer to him.

“Thou said us.” 

You tilt your head, confused. “Huh?”

He smiles. “Thou promised to fight. To keep us safe.”

You nod. “I did.”

“What wouldst thou have me do? I am no stranger to war, as thou hast seen.���

“I think you’re misunderstanding. I meant that I would fight alongside you to keep us safe. I don’t intend to refuse a Demigod’s help in battle.” 

He blushes, face going red. He looks away from you and he squeezes your hands. “I see.”

You think about teasing him, but you’re not sure if he’d survive that after all that’s happened today.

You gently slip your hands out of his, but you stay by his side on the couch. He looks slightly disappointed.

“Maybe I’ll ask Sir Ansbach what he knows of Miquella. We can do some research together so we’re more effective. I know the Storehouse pretty well thanks to Salza.”

There’s a breath of silence before Messmer speaks. “Dost thou hold affection for this Sir Ansbach?” 

If you were drinking something, you would’ve spit it out. You imagine your eyes are practically bulging out of your head with how out of the blue that question was.

“Interesting question, but no. We’re just friends. Come to think of it, I really don’t know much about him. I met him when he was charmed.”

Your answer seems to somewhat satisfy Messmer. “I bid thee be careful. Thou dost not know his motivations as of yet. Nor do I.” He says that last part a bit quieter, like he was trying to speak to himself.

You quickly pick up on what’s going on and you smile.

“Who knows? Maybe we’ll become great friends.” You say with a teasing lilt to your voice.

Messmer’s eye narrows almost immediately. His serpents rise up from where they were curled up underneath Messmer’s hair and start to writhe a bit.

“What?” You ask, feigning innocence.

“I wouldst prefer thee keep distance from him.” His voice is short and clipped.

“Messmer, are you jealous?” You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking.

“No. I am wary.” 

His red face indicates that he’s lying.

“You are so jealous.”

“Of whom? Sir Ansbach? Nonsense.” He doesn’t look at you.

“Whatever you say.”

In an act that leaves your stomach on the floor, and one you’d never expect from him, he tilts your head up with a finger underneath your chin, leaving you eye to eye with him. Well, eye to eyes. His face is intense and beautiful, something dangerous yet captivating. The point of his nail prickles under your chin, making you shudder.

“Thou’rt under my protection. Sir Ansbach is yet unknown to me, and I shalt consider him a threat until he proves to be otherwise. Dost thou understand?” He keeps his voice low and authoritative, imposing in a way that shows he understands how much power he holds over you.

“Yes.” You barely manage to croak out.

He removes his hand and stands up, towering over you still sitting on the couch.

“I shalt leave thee be for tonight. I thank thee for conversing with me.”

You spring up from the couch to lead him out of your room. Your legs are a bit shaky and you struggle to maintain your composure. He notices, and you can see a prominent smirk on his face. Your stomach does somersaults.

You reach the door after what feels like hours and you open it for him, albeit a bit too quickly.

“Have I offended thee?” He asks with mock concern.

“No! No, no, not at all. Just tired. Very tired. Long day.” You stop yourself from rambling.

“Then I shall leave thee. Rest well.” He bows slightly to you. 

You curtsy back on shaky legs and almost fall over your ankle. He catches you by your hand and pulls you up, smirking down at you all the while.

“I will admit I quite enjoy having thee blush for me.”

You think you’re going to die.

“Just—shut up and get out of my room.”

He outright laughs at that, slowly letting go of your hand before walking out your door. He gives you one last look before he leaves. You want to say something witty, but you can’t think of anything, so you hastily shut your door, the hinges groaning slightly at your speed.

You can practically see him smirking on his way to his chambers right now.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Overworking ✧

Plot : Your husband come home late again, and he’s too tired to argue.

The luminescent glow of the wall clock cast stark shadows flickering across the empty living room signaling midnight had long since passed.

Yet the apartment remained engulfed in stifling silence absent your husband Kento's reassuring presence filling the vacant spaces.

Your fingers drummed with steadily mounting agitation as each excruciating minute trickled away unanswered while you waited up alone on the worn couch.

It wasn't like Kento remaining entrenched at Jujutsu High working ungodly overtime hours was anything new lately, but tonight the resentment coursing your veins felt particularly acidic.

Gnawing into your composure with each pulse thundering that he'd once again prioritized his job over coming home to you like some insensible workaholic slowly squandering the precious remaining moments of your lives together.

So when the solitary echoes of his key scraping into the lock finally jarred the stillness, you shot upright immediately.

Chin raised in taut defiance while mustering the courage to confront him directly instead of meekly accepting Kento's feeble apologies and hollow justifications justifying this madness again.

The second your husband's hulking silhouette emerged in the threshold, you pounced without preamble.

"You're late. Again..."

Uttering the terse observation in clipped tones from between gritted teeth while actively assessing Kento's condition for the first time.

Disheveled tie dangling askew with his usually impeccable shirt and slacks wrinkled in haggard disarray. The sallow olive complexion only accentuating the bruised insomnia shadowing the heavy-lidded sag framing those rich bourbon irises clearly drained from sheer exhaustion.

Still, you braced awaiting the standard reflexive dismissal waving away your protective concerns as irrational hyperbole yet again.

Sure enough the indomitably stern furrow pinched across Kento's brow deepened in that telltale scowl preceding the well-worn rebuttal.

"Not now...I'm too tired to get into this tonight."

Immediately you recoiled from the uncharacteristically curt growl dripping in ill-concealed exasperation as he brushed past you towards the kitchen.

Clearly reaching the limits of his endurance and primed to counterattack like a wounded grizzly any impudent challengers foolish enough to pester further.

But the spark of indignation glowed red-hot behind your breastbone entirely eliminating any instinct for retreat tonight.

Not when Kento seemed hellbent on self-destructing through pursuing this flagrantly unsustainable pace.You swiftly followed at his heels hurling the accusations rapid-fire without filter.

"Why are you running yourself into the ground like this?! Working around the clock until you completely burn out or end up hospitalized?!"

Already his broad shoulders visibly tensed beneath the withering barrage while you mercilessly drove each rhetorical javelin home without allowing quarter.

No longer willing to stay passive as the man you cherished most wasted away before your eyes.

"And what about me? Do I not even factor any considerations about how I barely see you anymore besides like this - just discarded afterthoughts at the end of every grueling day?!"

Your throat constricted choking back the scorching bitterness now spilling unchecked across your blurred vision while Kento whirled to face your naked desperation head-on once more.

Every haggard line etched across those beloved Nordic features now seemed to deepen into craggy ravines utterly foreign and unrecognizable from the stalwart protector who'd stubbornly staked his entire existence upon safeguarding your shared sanctuaries.

"You think I revel in being away from my home drained like this? That I enjoy even a single second not by your side every night?!"

His roar simultaneously blasted both palms down upon the kitchen island's laminate surface with a percussive crack shuddering the tiles beneath your sock feet.

Unleashing the full tempest of Kento's frustrations that had evidently been steadily amassing into their own maelstrom these endless evenings alone.

"Every second sacrificed I'm away is to ensure you want for nothing! That our home remains secure from any potential threats! So you can live in peace while I handle these burdens!"

The wounded snarl flayed your viscera more savagely than any blade ever could. Shattering your ribcage wide open and laying your vulnerability bare before the man you'd always relied upon to shelter your most tender places from harm.

Before he instantly softened registering the mute horror stricken openly across your ashen features.

"Kento...that's not on you. If that's how you see it then...then I'm the one who failed."

But it was already too late to capture the venomous barb lancing out beyond your control.

The gaping void abruptly swallowing every lingering scrap of light still flickering behind your husband's visage surgically excised the very last remnants of air from your lungs.

You stood there paralyzed in that vacuum watching Kento physically recoil as if struck directly across that chiseled jawline.

Entire body tensing while the pitiless overhead fluorescents seemed to bleed away what little remaining color tinged those hauntingly cavernous pits now boring directly into your soul with singular uncompromising focus.

"Is that what you really believe...?"

The softly uttered words sliced you more lethally than any razor-edged steel forged by mortal hands ever could.

Rendered more agonizing by the bone-deep undercurrent of absolute loss now permanently severing whatever fraying lifelines still tenuously tethered you both to this point.

"Then you need no longer waste your evenings awaiting my return."

Even bereft of any inflections or venom lacing each syllable, the impassive delivery could do nothing to blunt the lacerations shredding your essence with every concise proclamation.

Feet already rooting to the very earth beneath while he turned without another glance disappearing beyond the hallway's shadows.

Leaving you adrift in a desolate, lightless world now devoid of anything to cling to beyond the scalding moisture already streaking down your hollowed cheeks.

You wasted away countless lifetimes in that void before somehow resurfacing in your shared bedroom consumed in numbness.

Numbly pulling drawers open on autopilot to shovel what meager belongings you could feasibly remove in a single bag while the man you loved lay entombed just beyond that dividing wall.

Unable to so much as utter a farewell...

The muffled sobs rattling your chest gradually gave way to an eerie calm overtaking your senses while automatically gathering those final essentials together.

Your motions felt disembodied and almost dreamlike - existing outside yourself surveying these mechanical preparations from some detached astral plane.

Until the bag's feeble weight balanced over one shoulder snapped you back into a razor-sharp presentience abruptly ricocheting off those cavernous bedroom walls now closing in all around with smothering permanence.

With nothing left delaying that precipice you couldn't avoid crossing no matter how desperately your psyche recoiled and retreated to those warm familiar shadows where he eternally waited.

You didn't look back or allow even the faintest broken whisper to escape while swiftly departing through the living room's archway into the vacant corridor beyond.

Each purposeful stride carrying you farther away from Kento and whatever fragile tapestry still barely clinging between your existences rapidly began unraveling behind.

At least until those first frigid droplets pelted the nape of your exposed neck signaling the night's deluge opened completely from the heavens above.

But still you pressed onwards, feet mechanically propelling you through the lobby then bodily out into the torrent with skull bowed in vacant resignation.

Allowing the punishing currents to immediately drench and plaster every stitch of fabric clinging to your skin in icy shackles now without a single conscious thought towards seeking meager shelter from nature's fury.

That was until the deafening roar erupting from behind shattered the hypnotic trance entirely.

"Y/N!!"

You staggered dumbly whipping about to find Kento's towering silhouette materializing from the building awash in halos of harsh illumination cutting through the downpour's veil like blazing searchlights.

His expression contorted into something primal and harrowing beyond lucid recognition while frantically scanning every inch of your drenched form now paralyzed before him.

Disbelief and heart-rending desperation etched behind the searing intensity now searing directly into your very marrow from those rich ember irises that had always been your touchstones in life's tempests.

Igniting reflective sparks to life where your soul's pilot light had nearly extinguished entirely under those scouring torrents unleashing in merciless retribution.

Suddenly Kento surged across the tarmac in two strides with his sodden blazer already stripped away to immediately drape the swathe of fabric around your trembling shoulders.

Immense oak-trunk arms effortlessly enveloping you against the indomitable wall of his chest while frantically trying to shield you from the punishing onslaught still pounding relentlessly all around in biblical wrath.

Yet not even those granite bastions offered sanctuary as chilling pinpricks numbed your entire body beyond feeling or substance now.

Leaving you a hollowed-out husk vaguely conscious of Kento's remorseless whiskey rasp shredding past your ear canal over the din of the downpour lashing against every exposed surface in scourging waves.

"Y/N...I’m sorry. I was just tired, please I never meant it. It’s just… work have been more exhausting lately, and I’m on the edge sometimes. I lied, I want you to wait for me above all else."

Each gut-punching admission brutally lacerated past all your remaining defenses as he clutched you so fiercely against his pounding sternum those shuddering heaves transmitted into your own rhythms.

Until his soaked bangs completely plastered across those raw features allowing you to drink in every agonized fissure.

"But please, don’t go. I’m begging you"

The desolate cries finally shattered every carefully regimented barrier you'd armored around that hollowed-out vacancy eating away at your soul's foundation.

Each raw and utterly shattered syllable pouring from Kento's very essence jolted those tiny embers still flickering no matter how decimated or waterlogged beyond hope of revival.

So when he finally wilted into that hushed horrific reverie while cradling your face in his battle-calloused palms like spun glass, you instinctively leaned into those colossal furnaces emanating from his gaze consuming you whole once more.

Offering the only meager benediction left within you to bestow while reaching up to reverently brush away those crystalline rivulets streaking his granite features that held more significance beyond nature's downpour.

The frantic thrum of both your racing pulses immediately surrendered into perfect intuitive synchronicity once more.

Gently guiding Kento back through the torrent from that lightless brink he'd pulled you away from towards sacred sanctuaries still smoldering eternally where your twin beacons would never be extinguished again...

[myslashyvalentine]

The MSV 2025 Archive is Open!

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

We made it. That is no small thing this year with the current world events. There would be no My Slashy Valentine without all the amazing writers, old and new, who take this challenge on during the winter doldrums (or in the southern hemisphere, the summer sweats!)

A special thanks to Zhie, who double checks my matching, is an excellent sounding board, a tireless promoter and stalwart fandom ringleader.

Congratulations to all our new writers who completed their first swap: Abel/ baby_bat_98, Amanda/Thinwhitedutchess, Angela/ChillinbytheFire, BalrogBalls/TimelessUtterances, blueberryrock, cloudbower, Lanthanum12, Laufey/fullofleaves (though technically a veteran from 2004!!!), LiselleLascelles, Meredith/Rian, Misty/MysticFinde, Mona/queerofthedagger,  Mouse, Saint/saintstars, Shannon/ElrondsLibrary, Tamatoa/thereisamanmadeofcrabs and  Victoria/0ur_Ouroboros! Please check out their stories and make them feel welcome. 

Thanks always to all our veteran writers who continue to participate, tell their friends and show new participants that this is a fun Valentine's Day tradition! Together you all make this swap a vibrant part of the Tolkien community.

And now, for your reading enjoyment… The 2025 My Slashy Valentine Collection.

My Slashy Valentine 2025: The Master List!

Abel/baby_bat_98 wrote The Shape of Us for Nuizillien Aglarien wrote Things That Were for MysticFinde Amanda/Thinwhitedutchess wrote Lost in the solitude of his immense power for Rian Angela/ChillinbytheFire wrote Back in Business for DragonofMordor Argleena wrote Learning to Love Yourself Through Being Loved for Abel/ baby_bat_98 Azh/AdmirableMonster wrote Heartsease for Narya_Flame ♥ Azh/AdmirableMonster wrote and some nights we're choking on the words (but some we light on fire) for Heather/ohboromir ♥ Azh/AdmirableMonster wrote a little light to call my own for elladansgirl BalrogBalls/TimelessUtterances wrote Altitude Sickness for Amanda/Thinwhitedutchess ♥ BalrogBalls/TimelessUtterances wrote Bumping Exoskeletons for elladansgirl Bird/ingenious_spark wrote Shipwrecked Heart for i_did_not_mean_to BloodwingBlackbird wrote All the snow has turned to water for Azh/AdmirableMonster blueberryrock wrote The ones we hurt for Nuredhel bluehair wrote SERVANT for cloudbower cloudbower wrote Desire path for JazTheBard chrissystriped wrote "I will risk the Wrath of the Valar" for bluehair ♥ chrissystriped wrote In his Light for elladansgirl EclecticKefi wrote A Cold and Uncaring Place for RaisingCaiin Elennalore wrote Lesser Rings, Higher Passions for EclecticKefi Elentarial/BaccaratBlack wrote What These Bones Know for starlightwalking Elio/silverfisting wrote worm moon for Angela/ChillinbytheFire Elleth wrote Spring Feast for thurinngwethil Fey/ThatFeanorian write The Future We Fight For for Mona/queerofthedagger fictional-hr-department wrote Plant me where the red deer feed for Bird/ingenious_spark Gilithlin wrote Coming Home for reindeer_pizza Heather/ohboromir wrote Khajmel for sallysavestheday IDNMT/I_did_not_mean_to wrote Is it love? (When you hold me, when you touch me, it's so powerful) for Ladywithaquill IgnobleBard wrote Which Thou Must Leave Ere Long for Shannon/ElrondsLibrary Jade/Elladansgirl wrote Comfort From A King for  BalrogBalls/TimelessUtterances JazTheBard wrote A Visit to the Forges for Lanthanum12 just_jenni/jenni4765 wrote ON THE STREETS OF TIRION NO ONE KNOWS ANYTHING for a_world_of_whimsy Kit/kitkatkaylie wrote Finrod's Very Cunning Plan To Pull A Luthien for mangacrack LadywithaQuill wrote His Blonde King for fictional_hr_department Lanthanum12 wrote Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl for NiennaWept Laufey/fullofleaves wrote Occidental Philology for senalishia ♥ lynndyre wrote When I fall and time goes slow for kitkatkaylie maglor-my-beloved wrote Remembrance for Argleena ♥ maglor-my-beloved wrote All that is Gold for elladansgirl mangacrack wrote Wrong Side of Heaven for Elio/Silverfisting Misty/MysticFinde wrote You Will Understand When You're Older for Mawgy

Meredith/Rian wrote The Care and Feeding of Touch-starved Warlords for Fey/ThatFeanorian Mona/queerofthedagger wrote puissance (stay my hand now) for Victoria/0ur_Ouroboros Mouse wrote Two Captains for Tabru Narya wrote Affection for BloodwingBlackbird NiennaWept wrote wrote sweet wine and marble dust for Saint/saintstars Nuinzilien wrote The Power of Persuasion for Blueberryrock Nuredhel wrote For I am thy Lord for Tamatoa/thereisamanmadeofcrabs Pages/Lost_inMiddleearth wrote Been with you such a long time (You're my sunshine) for phyncke RaisingCaiin wrote speak not to me of fine things for Laufey/fullofleaves reindeer_pizza wrote Quality Assurance for steadfastalysanne2022 Saint/saintstars wrote A Way Back to Happiness for maglor_my_beloved sallysavestheday wrote Hear Me in the Song of the Waves for mouse Senalishia wrote Where you go when you're gone for LiselleLascelles Seregons wrote Feathers Fall Slowly for Gilithin Shannon/ElrondsLibrary wrote she hath my love, even through the darkness for Elleth starlightwalking wrote I'm here for ChrissyStriped steadfastsalyanne2022 wrote Sons of the Wilderness for seregons Tabru wrote Tears Unnumbered Ye Shall Shed for Melusine6619 Tamatoa/thereisamanmadeofcrabs wrote Thaw for Elentarial/BaccaratBlack ♥ Tamatoa/thereisamanmadeofcrabs wrote on those cold and star-bright nights for elladansgirl Tethys_resort wrote Patinka for Aglarien thuringwethil wrote take this lonely heart for Pages/Lost_inMiddleearth Victoria/0ur_Ouroboros wrote This shaking keeps me steady (I should know) for just_jenni Whimsy/a_world_of_whimsy wrote Legacy for elennalore

—————

[sketchy-scribs-n-doods]

"Because none of those sailors have ever described a siren with salt and pepper hair, wrinkles, and flinty eyes that can make a man balk at fifty paces with nothing but a glance. Beautiful faces and voices that can entrance the most stalwart of men, that’s what they talk about. It doesn’t matter if they’re half-right. Where they’re wrong is what matters."

———

My art for this year's OFMD Reverse Big Bang!

Siren!Izzy has always lived in my head rent free, even before s2 when we finally got Con's lovely singing voice on screen, so I just had to make something for it— with a Stizzy focused Steddyhands twist! I'm a sucker for a secret mermaid saving their reluctantly beloved sailor lol.

The lovely @acesaru was the best partner I could have asked for, a talented writer and lovely all around person to collab with! They perfectly capture Izzy's character voice and the banter between Stede and he is an absolute delight lol. The fic they wrote inspired by my art (and many many discord ramblings together lol) is amazing and the second chapter featuring my art drops today!

Please go check it out for yourself and drop a kudos/comment! <3

[sunflowersatori]

My Girl

I’m writing this at 1am because I’m feral BUT i digress…

Headcanons for what type of woman Castor and Pollux (because @fanaticsnail said those are their names and yes) would have as a partner

So for Pollux I imagine his girl would absolutely be That Bitch™️ and in the most iconic way. The hair is right, the fit is tight (in uniform if she’s a marine, and casual if she isn’t/is and is on leave). She’s a gossip, a tease, and dishes it out to her man as good as he dishes it out to others. These two are absolute chaos gremlins together. They will show up unannounced to Castor’s place and make a huge mess in the kitchen before he convinces them to not try to cook when they can’t. They end up sipping wine at his dining table while he makes dinner for them all. This woman would be fiercely protective of her loved ones and what they stand for, the type to fight tooth and nail, to claw and scratch and yell to be with her man. I think together they would also be able to find that vulnerability with each other, and in private moments they can enjoy simple things just as much as goofing off and being little shits. Pollux would worship in the way of offering himself up as of to a deity, willing to let her flames consume him in sweet oblivion. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to him.

Now for Castor, my sweet beloved boy. I apologize for any projecting that might happen here, he has my heart rn. I think he’d be with another marine, and his woman would be the stalwart lover, shouldering burdens with him without question. She’s the type that people say is just like him in public, reserved, collected, maayybeee sometimes there’s a stick up her ass. She sticks to her guns and won’t let people push her around about it though. She has asked Castor on multiple occasions (five) if he wants her to beat up Pollux for making fun of him, and has followed through (once) ((she suplexed him through a table at dinner and Castor just sat there with wide eyes while Pollux’s girl cackled and recorded the whole thing on den den)). Castor would be one hundred percent soft for her, the type to gruffly respond “yes ma’am, of course maam” when she’s trying her hardest to be strong and give commands even if she’s hurting. This man worships the ground she walks on and would do anything for her in such a like sworn knight protector way, not because she’s a woman, because he loves her.

Anyway that’s my inane rambling. Please please please please add more hcs, I crave The Content

[thatgayunoriginalbastard]

Fuck it. Random ass scene for my vampire AU.

As Antinous woke up, the first thing that he noticed was that he was hungry. Very hungry. A kind of hunger that he had never felt before and as such was impossible to describe.

The second thing he noticed was that it was the middle of the night. It felt calm. It felt strangely safe, even. But everything also seemed...louder. Not just the sounds, but every texture against his skin and every scent in the air and every color in the sky was louder. And brighter, too. He couldn't see any sources of light other than the moon and stars, but every star was like a torch.

The third thing he noticed with Telemachus laying on top of him, covered in dried blood and healing burns. Clearly he had gotten up to something fun. Antinous' memories still felt fuzzy. He could remember there being an attack on the palace and Telemachus being exposed as a vampire. He remembered doing his best to help fight but being overwhelmed and captured, brought into the sunny area in front of the palace. He remembered Telemachus being told to either walk into the sun or watch him die and then be forced into the sun anyways. He remembered begging for Telemachus to choose the second option. He remembered Telemachus hesitating.

He remembered his throat being sliced open.

He...wasn't dead. He should have been dead. He should have bled out and had his soul cast down to the house of the stalwart god of the underworld. And yet there he was, laying on the floor of the palace with the love of his life sleeping peacefully on top of him. Antinous slowly brought a hand to his throat, feeling a thick scar where the slice had been. And after reaching one end of the scar, his hand kept moving to feel something weird on the side of his neck. Two scabbed puncture marks.

Oh.

That's what happened.

That's how he was still alive.

Telemachus turned him into a vampire.

"'Tinous?" Telemachus weakly said as he woke up, having been disturbed by Antinous' movements.

Antinous looked into his lover's eyes that swirled with red and blue, hand still on his neck, and watched as guilt instantly washed over him.

"Antinous I- I'm so sorry. I know what we had talked about and what we agree to but...we agreed to you being able to grow old with me. We didn't agree to you being murdered when we've only had a few years together. I couldn't lose you. Not yet. Not like this. Hate me for as long as you want, or even leave me if that's what you desire, but-"

"Little wolf." Antinous interrupted, smirking up at his fellow king, "Why would I ever want to leave you?"

"Because I turned you." Telemachus said, tears forming in his eyes, "I infected you. I spread this horrible curse to you, going against all the times I said that I would never turn anyone, especially you. You should have gotten to live a normal life, not this god-hated one that I live. And I didn't even get your permission to do so! I'm just as awful as the vampire who turned me."

"My love, you were turned when you were a child by a vampire trying to kill you. You only lived because of your great-great-grandfather happening to swoop in. Meanwhile I was supposed to die by that hateful mob, but lived because you made the choice of being with me forever instead of losing me too soon. And I can't think of why I'd ever hate you for that."

"I...you can't be...you have to..." Telemachus stammered, his eyes gaining a slight golden glow, "Tell me that you hate me. Please."

Antinous just chuckled and gave Telemachus a soft kiss.

"Sorry, that's not going to work this time. Seems like I'm immune to your compulsion powers now. Which will make sex slightly less fun but eh, at least you can bite me wherever you want. Can't exactly turn me twice, after all."

Just as Antinous hoped, that was able to bring a smile to his beloved's face, softly laughing at Antinous' refusal to ever take his self-hatred seriously. Telemachus kissed him, Antinous holding his face so that he could feel their lips against each other's for as long as he could, letting their mouths be pressed together until they had to break it so they could breathe. They both started at each other for a few moments, knowing that even if things would change, they would be able to figure it out together.

"Serious question though, what are we going to do now that I can't be your human blood bag anymore?"

Telemachus thought about it, before sighing with a smile and laying back down.

"I'll figure something out, puppy."

"You always do, little wolf. You always do."

(If you want more context: read this post)

[foreststarflaime]

Ok you did swords (fabulous), how about AGSZC as dragons? (Rawr)

Oh you are speaking my language!!! 🐉 You caught me while reading my beloved Loki comics so this turned out rather poetic and metaphysical lol

Angeal: There is a dragon whose scales are as indomitable as proud mountains, known to all the kingdoms throughout the land. Known, but not feared—for his hoard is not one of gold, but of love. He is strict, but fair—if your heart is true, he is quick to love you, and you go forth from his presence with his blessing and protection. It is said by the bards of old that all shields came from his shed scales, gifted so that they might protect their wielders from harm.

Genesis: There is a dragon from whose breath burns the fire of the hearth, a fire around which all storytellers sit to weave their words of glory and doom, to bring hope and awe to any who need it. His tongue is of silver and his scales of burnished ruby, glinting gold in the firelight. His fire can bring ruin to a countryside, but that ruin will also bring rebirth, with new green shoots emerging from the ashes—it will grow stronger, this time. He may kidnap a princess or two from time to time, but that’s mostly so Angeal will come tell him off (give him and his stories the attention they deserve).

Sephiroth: There is a dragon who fell to earth one fateful day. Ever since he could remember, he had soared through the stars, borne aloft on the ethereal winds of the cosmos to wonder at its vast majesty. But this day, he peered too hard in his solitude at a planet bustling with life, and in doing so he strayed too close and was drawn by its gravity to crash upon its soil. His wings, made of the stuff of stardust, could not bear him aloft again, built for the soft breath of space as they were. So now he spends his days gazing at the beauty of the night sky, and finds some solace in the stories of wonder Genesis spins for his mind’s eye, and the stalwart companionship of Angeal.

Zack: There is a dragon who is often seen running amongst the wolves, only a bit larger than them, whose hoard-instinct is fulfilled by treasuring all of life’s experiences. He loves the freedom of running on the open plain, teasing his wolf-friends on occasion by picking them up suddenly for a quick glide down from a larger hill. He is often mistaken for a hatchling, but when he or anyone he loves is threatened, you will be assured by the strength of his teeth in your throat that he is just as fierce as any larger dragon.

Cloud: There is a dragon who was hatched with coal-black scales, smaller than most and quiet. Most were inclined to think him easy prey, and he only seethed at their mistake, but did not correct it. He took each blow the world threw at him, looking to the stars and dreaming of something greater. Eventually, the pressure built up enough that his scales turned diamond-blue and sharper than anything the world had seen. He suffered no bully any longer, to him or to any other.

Um. I’m attached. I guess I have a dragon au now