#Google Notifier

[jakdaw]

for commissions, do yall prefer reaching out via email so you can put all your details down, or using a google form and letting me come to you?

[lettucefather]

team submitted the paper to the journal without eliminating the color-coded highlights

[fitsinthepalm]

sooo in case anyone was wondering how my day has been. found out the concert i was going to tonight was cancelled about 2 hours before it started

[perilegs]

i've become our company's go-to person for creating what are essentially forms used to ask for things and assign tasks for different things bc i know the system best, and, i think i may cry, i got the clearest instructions i've ever gotten in my entire life. it had pictures and flowcharts with the perfect amount of supporting text and it was so clear and precise and i know EXACTLY what i need to do based on it <333

[thefabelmans2022]

lmao the priceline app forced me to enable biometrics settings on my phone and set up touch id so that i could log in to the app and access my prescriptions. what the actual fuck.

[afjol33]

[febuwhump]

FEBUWHUMP 2025 PROMPT LIST

this year's prompts were chosen through an open suggestion poll (in which we received over 4,000 prompts) and a subsequent vote, where 5,019 votes were submitted. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and the febuwhump mod's favourites that remain have become the alternates. the first prompt in the 28, "vocal chords", was our number one prompt of the vote, with 1,625 total votes.

i am so insanely excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and i hope they're inspiring enough to trigger a whole month's worth of creativity for you!

as an extra added challenge, some creators will be undertaking another, smaller goal, of including apples in each of their prompt fills as an ode to the wildly popular prompt suggestion of "apples" that didn't make it through to the poll. this is totally optional, but is a good extra challenge if you'd like to take part in it!

if you have any questions, please check out the faq before sending an ask, or skim the blog's previously asked questions to see if your question has already been answered.

please note: notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form released towards the end of febuwhump, and if you are interested in joining the febuwhmp discord server, the link will be available to do so for one week towards the end of january.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

FEBUWHUMP 2025 PROMPTS:

DAY 1: vocal chords

DAY 2: holding back tears

DAY 3: pinned down

DAY 4: hivemind

DAY 5: not trusting reality

DAY 6: forced to stay awake

DAY 7: alternate timeline self

DAY 8: bleeding out

DAY 9: necromancy

DAY 10: magic exhaustion

DAY 11: demonic possession

DAY 12: used as practice

DAY 13: “i don’t trust anyone else”

DAY 14: becoming the monster

DAY 15: icarus

DAY 16: eaten alive

DAY 17: power instability

DAY 18: living weapon

DAY 19: death wish

DAY 20: “i did good right?”

DAY 21: put on display

DAY 22: “grab the little one”

DAY 23: gunshot wound

DAY 24: forced to beg

DAY 25: bound and gagged

DAY 26: concealing an injury

DAY 27: post-victory collapse

DAY 28: recovery

ALTERNATE PROMPTS:

is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!

ALT 1: major character death

ALT 2: blowtorch

ALT 3: pick who dies

ALT 4: body swap

ALT 5: die a hero

ALT 6: emergency surgery

ALT 7: body horror

ALT 8: on the run

ALT 9: in another life

ALT 10: feeding tube

RULES:

soft rules:

prompts should be answered in the form of whump

creators can produce any kind of media they want

you don't have to complete all the prompts to take part

you can use the prompts after the event ends

you can complete them in tandem with any other event

you can post to any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing links and prompt fills posted to tumblr

if you want to be featured on the hall of fame, you must inform this blog by the 3rd of march that you have completed all of the days using the provided form

if you have questions, consult the faq before asking

hard rules:

to be a completionist, you must complete all 28 prompts, in order, in whatever medium you want, before the end of the event

(specifically for being featured on the blog)

when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:

febuwhump (or febuwhump2025)

the relevant day's tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2...

nsfw (if relevant)

any important trigger warnings

you can also tag the blog: @febuwhump

I cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog. a random selection of properly tagged works will be reblogged every day of february.

[neveraloneforeverlonely]

My phone really needs to distinguish between the mens and womens teams cause I was so confused seeing we were 1-0 up knowing kick off isn't till 2pm

[volosdarling]

Number 3 (What would their song to each other be?) and number 6 (What small quirks do they love about each other?) for VolIno with the ask game? :D - ⏰️

OMG I HAD THIS IN MY INBOX FOR SOOO LONG AND I KEPT FORGETTING TO ANSWER IT HELPPP IM SORRY orz

✨️ASK GAME✨️

3. What would their song to each other be?

✨️INO:

trust me IVE BEEN LOOKING FOR A SONG THAT DESCRIBES WHAT HE MEANS TO ME AND AS SOON AS I FIND IT I WILL POST IT! BUT THE SEARCH ISNT OVER YET!

✨️VOLO:

I ALREADY PUT THIS ON OUR LITTLE RELATIONSHIP MEME THINGY BUT ILL SAY IT AGAIN COS ITS A GOOD SONG (if youre unhinged a little)! Bernadette by IAMX IS LIKE VERY CLOSE TO HOW HE THINKS OF ME... YES IT SOUNDS LIKE EVIL CLOWN MUSIC BUT THATS JUST HOW IT IS WIth us

6. What small quirks do they love about each other?

✨️INO:

I LOVE THE WAY THAT HE DOES THE METRONOME FINGER MOTION WHEN HES EXCITEDLY TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING!!! its so cute when he does that i call him my togepi (audience groan). THIS IS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT:

OK actually IN GENERAL I LIKE HOW HE GETS EXCITED ABOUT HIS INTERESTS I LOVE TO HEAR HIS THEORIES, TRANSLATIONS AND EXPLANATIONS!!

✨️VOLO:

ID IMAGINE WHEN WE FIRST MET HE REALLY THOUGHT MY STRANGE SAYINGS (AKA PHRASES FROM MODERN DAY LIKE IDK. "OHHHH NINE ELEVEN........." or "We need to kill this guy right now" ) WERE CHARMING AND WOULD PICK THEM UP FROM ME BUT LIKE IN THE STILTED GUY TRYING TO SOUND HIP AND COOL WAY. so im sorry for teaching volo nine eleven ITS NOT FUNNY but i cant stop saying it when something bad happens

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

in every universe

── bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

THE TAG LIST IS FULL!!!! check the comments for my backup @.

according to every website i’ve checked, there’s no exact date that bucky fell off the train, they only say sometime in january of 1945. but i need a specific date for this so we’re pretending that it’s january 26.

* yes the pic on the right is from tfatws but thats not necessarily when this takes place. before thunderbolts* though, hence why it’s still avenger!reader. steve didn’t go back to be with peggy, nat and tony are alive because i said so hahdbzjsrjxh. its not super important for this but they do make appearances.

* no use of y/n but i do use she/her. no descriptors other than reader being shorter than bucky. according to google, sebastian is somewhere between 5’11” and 6’0” so do with that what you will.

* readers powers are similar to wanda maximoff, but the energy is a dark blue, hence the hero name dark surge. this isn’t related to my other thunderbolts*!bucky piece, i’m just using the same name. reader can also time travel and travel the multiverse. i know i know too many powers, but shhh you’ll see.

In the entire time you’ve known Bucky, you’d say he has always hated you. Steve would, and does, disagree. He says that Bucky doesn’t hate you, he’s just reserved around everyone. And Bucky, well, you don’t know what Bucky would say. You’ve given up on trying to form any sort of genuine friendship, and have just accepted the fact that he wants nothing to do with you.

But you don’t see it. The longing glances when you’re talking to someone else. And you don’t understand. If he hates you, why do the 2 of you keep being paired up for missions? You don’t see that on said missions, his first priority is to find you so that he can see for himself that you’re safe.

One day, he overhears that you’re being sent back in time to collect some very important information. Your tasks? Find Colonel Phillips work tent, photograph papers from a specific folder, and come back to the present.

It’s a simple enough mission. But when he hears the chosen date is January 26, 1945, Bucky swears his heart stops. It’ll be fine, though. It’s the day he fell off the train, but it won’t affect you… right? If that’s the case, though, why is it now hours past the time you were supposed to return, but no one on the team can get ahold of you??

now that the writing gears are finally turning again (thank you thunderbolts*), i’m finally posting this preview. if you’d like to be notified when this is posted, let me know! it’s a series, so expect to be tagged with each chapter

TAG LIST ── FULL! 50/50 SPOTS TAKEN. will tag my backup below where i’ll be reblogging updates. follow and have notifications on if you didn’t get on the tag list!

@saucysasha2035 | @nerdypengu | @stell404 | @violetlilites | @purple-ninja26 | @mizz-kraziii | @athenniene | @raajali3 | @theodoredarcybarnes | @person-005 | @imaginecrushes | @loveandlewis | @goldfishsmemory | @shaheea | @bizathv | @chimchoom | @aneiraaislinn | @limitlessxxx | @keigoloveminty | @qvynrand | @je-suis-prest-rachel | @anonymously-buckys | @ifilwtmfc | @x3zerochanx3 | @marianastudiesart | @iwachansupremacy | @sexyvixen7 | @peter-parkers-gf | @knowledgeableknitter | @nojamsonmytoast | @rcarbo1 | @buckysbestbabymama | @baw1066 | @roofwitty779 | @buckysgirl27 | @imrealytired | @silverdoragon | @tombraiderjones2505 | @arabellax0 | @nadacarcan | @memedin4 | @eclecticpoetic | @buck-this-nasty | @herejustforbuckybarnes | @dawnmtg | @oliviamitchy | @dopecrusadechaos | @cillsnostalgia | @youngfriendsharkparty | @bokjaz

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 2.

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*Author's note: OMG. Thank you guys so much for all the engagement on the first part. I didn’t think my first post would get that much reaction. Also yes I am spree writing this is! If you notice a mistake let me know. PS, the school named in this chapter is fictional and does not exist in the real world.

Alfred listened to the ringing phone line waiting for Bruce to answer. Seeing Miss (Name) in the hallway had been a surprise. He was fairly certain she was supposed to be away at Miss Rose's Boarding School for Young Woman in STEM. After two years of studying in the UK it was strange to have her appear without any notice. Especially since she hadn't visited or sent word in the past.

"Hello Alfred." The line stopped ringing and Alfred was greeted by Bruce.

"Master Bruce. Have you gotten any word from (Name)'s School about a sudden break in the school year?"

"No, why?" Alfred narrowed his eyes at the phone. Well that didn't make sense. Surely her school would notify them if she left.

Alfred began going through his memories. When was the last time Miss Rose's had called the manor? He couldn't seem to recall, they did have the manor's house number on file. "Well she just arrived at the manor and get into a bit of a scuffle with Master Damian. He thought she was an intruder and because I didn't know about her return I couldn't inform him about her in advance. Thankfully she seems unharmed but that was not a good foot to start their sibling relationship on."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "That’s odd, we should have received some kind of notice. Alfred can you call Miss Rose's to see what's going on. I'll wrap up business here quickly and be on the next flight home."

"I will see to it sir." The phone call ended. As Alfred began looking for the correct number to call next, Dick came into the room.

"Hey Alfred, why didn't you tell me baby bird was coming back?" Dick gestured behind him towards the kitchen.

Alfred shook his head slightly, typing in the school's name on Google. "I was not aware she was returning today."

Dick blinked twice, "Wait, what? Her school is in Australia, how did she get on an international flight with no one being aware of it?"

"Her school isn't in Australia." Alfred's eyebrows scrunched together. Dick's mouth made an 'o' shape before clamping into a thin line. Alfred narrowed his eyes at the look before correcting Dick, "Her school is in Birmingham, UK."

"Right, right. Umm, still though how did she get back here without anyone being notified. Even than it's the middle of October, shouldn't classes still be in session." Dick placed his hand to his chin. His eyes took on the focus look he got when he was working on a case or solving a puzzle. Alfred finally got the number written down. Dick looked up at Alfred. There was this dawning look on his face, "Hey Alfred."

"Yes Master Dick."

"Something is really wrong here, we need to keep an eye on her."

Alfred nodded listening to another phone line ringing in his ear, "I agree."

You had to come up with a plan. Escaping the facilities hadn't happened because of rash promises of passion. No it took a year of observation, planning, and waiting. It took you learning every detail that had been place in front of you. Yes you had emotions and gave yourself little dramatic moments but you can't live there.

You grabbed an abandoned notebook on your desk. It was covered in stickers with the first three pages being scribbled on. You ripped them out before beginning to write out everything you knew about the facilities. One they had access to all kinds of medical equipment but it was older equipment that struggled to work sometimes. Two the gaurds were heavily arm with scratched up weapons. The scratching was probably where the serial numbers would've been. Third they had issues getting supplies from a Sionis. Fourth it was based in Gotham evidenced by you being able to find the manor days after escape.

On the next page you wrote out your family member's names. You also add in the new people, Duke Thomas and Damian Wayne. You had written down Talia but stopped to think for a minute.

Yes, your father had likely cheated on your mom with her. But did that make her guilty of destroying your mom's romance? Did she even know about your mother? Maybe your mom was the reason she left causing that line in your mother's diary. Even than you need to focus on the experiments. You could worry about your mother's betrayal later. You scratched Talia off the list.

When you flipped to the next page, there was a soft knock on your door. It creaked open revealing Duke. He offered you a soft smile as he poked his head into your room. "Hey, are you doing okay?"

You looked him up and down. Duke was new to manor and you still couldn't tell if he was visiting or lived here now. A small part of you questioned if he knew about your kidnapping. Did any of your siblings actually know what happeneded or had Bruce just told them the boarding school lie? Did he plan to do it to them too once you proved a success?

You turned back to your notebook scribbling the questions. You'd need to look into during your investigation, "I'm fine."

"I heard about Damian attacking you in the hallway." Duke inched into your room. You turned back a page and underlined Damian's name. Even if he had nothing to do with your suspicions about your father, you were not going let him act like him towards you. Duke chuckled nervously behind you, prompt you to close the book. Can't have them finding out... yet. "Is there someway I can maybe cheer you up? I mean you're clearly upset about something and I want to help if I possibly can?"

He continued to ramble on. You looked around your room as he talked. Eyes landing on your closet you had a slight realization. In your time at the experiments, you had grown. They may have torture you but they hadn't starved you. After all they need you healthy to ensure 'proper' results. The only clothes you had that fit you were probably the ones you were wearing. "Actually there is something."

"Oh! Yeah, what do you need?" Duke smiled brightly. It was as if his teeth were glowing with inner light. If your siblings and by proxy Duke had been told a lie, playing along with it would be smart. After all planning and observing meant staying unnoticed. You offer an unsure smile hoping it would play into what you were saying, "It's a long story but I left the boarding school in a hurry so I completely forgot to pack clothes."

"Okay." Duke made a weird face. Crap, that's not good.

"Yeah and I had a grow spurt so, most of my clothes here don't fit me anymore." You rubbed the back of your neck. Duke's face shifted into realization at your words. Crisis averted for now. You plowed ahead to keep him from asking about the school, making up a lie was not a good idea right now when you knew nothing about theirs. "I need to go clothes shopping. Can you take me to the mall?"

"Of course. What time did you want to go?" Duke made an awkward finger gun gesture towards. He looked tense. Not the tense you saw from the gaurds when you started pressing the line. It was more like the intern in the experiments who never looked at you directly.

You grabbed your notebook and stood. There's was a small backpack by your desk. You slid the book in before sling the bag over your shoulder, "Can we go now?"

"Yeah, let me just stop by my room to grab my keys and wallet." Duke held the door open for you. The walk to his room was quiet and slightly tense.

When he stopped at a door on the second floor you couldn't stop yourself from blurting, "So, you live here?"

"Oh yeah." He walked into the- his room. There were a few posters and some knick knacks on the few bookcases. More importantly there were moving boxes in the corner. Some of them were disassembled but a few were still intact with clothes scattered around them. In fact most of the room was covered in stary papers, clothes, etc. Duke grimaced, "Haha, I just moved in two months ago. Let's agree to not tell Alfred about the mess."

"He probably already knows and is silently judging you." A nervous laugh bubbled out of your stomach. The information swirled inside of you uneasily. Two months was awhile but not long in the grand scheme of things. Plus if Alfred didn't mention you than Duke probably didn't know anything. That would make him innocent in your kidnapping.

"Ahh here they are!" Duke's voice broke you out of the mixed up thoughts in your head. He was holding a silver chain with a dark brown wallet and several keys hanging from it. In his search he had basically ripped apart his laundry basket. He kicked the mess back towards the now mostly empty basket, "You ready?"

"Yeah. Can we get something to eat well we're out?" You felt ridiculous asking. It was another stark reminder of how normal everything but you felt.

Yet Duke didn't hesitate to smile at you and offer his hand, "Heck yeah. There's this awesome pizza place in the mall the serves the biggest slices I've ever seen."

"I don't remember the last time I had pizza."

"No way! Let's go, we need to get you a slice ASAP. This is a pizza emergency." Maybe you could make a new normal with him. Once you destroyed the experiments. Duke Thomas was officially off your list for now.

Something had shifted in Duke. He remembered asking his parents for a little sibling when he was four maybe five. They had kissed him on the forehead and told him that they didn't need another kid when they had a perfect one in front them. It had made him feel happy for a little bit but he always held that small hope.

He thought he would get that with Damian. To a degree he did but it didn’t feel right. Damian was too competitive and strong willed. Duke didn't feel like a big brother, he felt like a contestant at worst, a good friend at best.

Taking (Name) to the mall today had made him feel like a big brother. Seeing her slowly relax around him and get excited over tiny things. Like the cute dress at Justice, the pizza slice that was as big as her head, and the look on her face when she saw Barnes & Noble. He probably spent his whole allowance for the week but he didn't care. He had made his little sister happy.

They had one last stop to make before going home, Claire's. Duke insisted that she look around well he grabbed something. He went straight to friendship necklaces. There were quite a few to choose from. Crystals, Cats, The Wicked Musical. Than he saw it. Two pastel tie-dye koalas hugging each, it was perfect. Duke immediately grabbed it before going to find her.

That's when he noticed something was wrong. She was staring at something and shaking violently. The look in her eyes told him that she had gone off somewhere else mentally. He looked towards what she was looking at to see the piercing station.

There was an attendant cleaning off a newly open needle. The smell of alcohol wipes and disinfectant clear in air. He placed himself in between her and sight. "What’s wrong, kiddo?"

"I wanna go home." (Name) didn't speak above a tight whisper. Something in Duke began howling. This was wrong, she shouldn't be scared. He was there to protect her.

"Okay, but first I need you to tell me something. Where are you?" Duke tried to remember what they do for Jason when he gets like this. Fuck why was it so hard to remember grounding right now.

"I don't like needles." Her eyes flicked to his. They were wide and blaring with barely contained rage.

"That’s okay, but I need you to tell me where we are." Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tighten. He continued on, "I need to know you're here with me. Mentally."

"The Mall."

"We can go." Duke grabbed her hand gently. They paid and left. Once they were in the car, she relaxed again. Duke palmed the necklace in his hand. He had taken it out of the package. His own necklace was already around his neck.

She was staring out the window. The look in her eyes made Duke pause. She was watching the setting sun like it was first time she was seeing it. Mute awe painted her face like a classical painting. Duke pulled the little koala out of his pocket, "Hey, I got you something."

"Is it half the back seat?" She looked behind her to the bags. Barnes & Noble, The Childern's Place, Justice, and Build-a-Bear. Four places that equated to Five separate bags. Duke snorted before bursting out laughing.

"No. Jeez no, it's this." He held out the little koala necklace to her. Her eyes looked towards his own chest, where the other koala already hung. A friendship necklace. She took it into her hands gently. That classical painting look returning, mixes of sentimental joy and some unnamed human emotion that was baffling.

"Thank you, Duke."

"It's no problem." Duke wrapped his arm around her in an weird side hug over the center console. He had always wanted a little sibling and now that he had one he was never to going let her go.

"We might want to get back to manor before curfew." (Name) pointed to the digital display announcing 6:15pm. Duke cursed, shoving his keys into the ignition. She began to laugh hysterical. The manor was two hours away and 'curfew' aka patrol debrief was at 7pm. Duke flew out of the parking lot with manically laughing ten-year-old.

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Tag list:

@stove-top96 @00hellohello00 @mysticalhills

[ruinix]

Jack with a pillow princess! Day ruined. I will not be able to think about anything else for the foreseeable future.

My apologies, lovely. I just couldn't resist. Side note, I just decided to google the term (just to make sure, y'know) and damn, i am missing half the definition?? Now, I know. Anyway, pillow princess...yesyes... (i would like to report the jack smut has been...deleted again...so let me give you some thots)

18+. Whore thoughts. Unprotected sex. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Jack, without a doubt, spoiled you so much that you would just surrender. You would turn into mush, melting into his touch, unable to do anything except for grinding and seeking more and more. He doesn't mind doing all the work during sex. Shamelessly, he would prefer it.

He would get so captivated by your expressions. The way your eyebrows meet, your eyes being swallowed by your pupils, your lips parting where your lower lip was red from how hard you bite down on it. The way you would lick up the air trying to catch the sweat that drips from his temple.

So allured by your breathy whines and moans. The way you sounded so fucking desperate as you would say, "Please, please, Jack. Need more. Give me more," was turning him on. He loves hearing those fucking pleas.

So amused with your desperation. You would try to spread your legs for him even more as if he wasn't already doing that. You would just lie there and take it. There would never be any complaints from you because Jack would flip you over to fuck you from behind. You would be screaming your pleasure and coming so hard around him. Even when he presses your lower back, gripping your hips up, forcing you to arch your back, you would just let him.

Always so wanton when he spanked your ass red. So whiny and pathetic when he purposely changed up the angle, not hitting that delicate spot that would bring you quicker to your orgasm. So pitiful when you started to cry for not getting what you want. So fucking beautiful when he would finally oblige. So pliant as your pussy clenched around him with your orgasm until you couldn't stop coming.

Jack was so used to giving you all the pleasure because he felt the same.

Every night with him buried deep inside your pussy, with him seeing your fucked out expression, with him not stopping when you passed out from exhaustion was a delight. He wouldn't get tired seeing you and your greedy pussy that would drip with his cum.

He felt so good fucking you. It felt so wonderful to love you physically and emotionally and fucking spiritually—whatever that means. He wouldn't mind giving and giving. He would gift you the world but he knew that you only need him. His cock. His tongue. His lips. All of him is just for you. He wouldn't mind if he was the object of your pleasure, because you were his. His good girl. His angel. His princess.

Just a few added thoughts for you. Have fun, lovely. 🫣🙂‍↕️😏

-> more thoughts? List. Want to be notified? Join my taglist!

[taintandviolent]

Rien ; Marquis de Gramont x Reader

summary: You get a new job as stablehand at the luxurious palace of Marquis de Gramont, and the job is everything you thought it be. Marquis, however, isn't.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.7K | French dialogue (translations provided), smut with a sprinkling of plot, fingering, female reader, dirty talk, degradation (name calling, spanking), humiliation, abuse of power / power play, manipulation, Vincent being an absolute asshole (because he is one), abuse of power, brief food play, uhhhh - I think that's it.

a/n: deepest apologies for any errors in the French; I studied it in briefly in college and speak like a child. I tried to use google translate as little as possible, so most of this is just... painfully scraped from the confines of my mind. banners by @/saradika and @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Exactly two weeks after you’d started working for him, you’d laid eyes on the elusive Marquis. Most of the time, you were ordered by other staff to ready and bring out a specific horse before returning to your duties, never interacting with the infamous owner. However, one afternoon, he, the Marquis, walked through the stables himself. You had been brushing Bellefleur, a beautiful mare with the temperament of an angel, when you heard his voice echoing through the paddocks. He was speaking angrily about a man whom you didn’t know, discussing matters that didn’t concern you. You peeked up over the edge of the stable as he approached. 

It had been audacious to speak to him at all, considering, but something in your gut moved your limbs without thinking. You took two large steps backwards, moving your body into the opening of the stable. 

“Bonjour, monsieur.” (Good morning, sir.) 

He stopped walking, hands in his pockets. He seemed to consider that he’d just been spoken to, but finally asked what your name was. You told him, albeit somewhat shyly, unsure of whether or not this would result in you losing your job. 

There was no reply, however before continuing on down the long pathway, his heavy, lascivious gaze lingered on your body for far too long to be considered accidental. You had looked down at your own image, wondering what it was that he saw. The tightness of your uniform, perhaps. To a man’s gaze, the way your breasts filled your blouse, the way your trousers hugged your soft thighs and rounded out over the curve of your rear could be cause for a persistent gaze.  

The visits to the paddocks became more frequent after that. 

Some days, he was very cordial, responding curtly, but acknowledging you all the same. He went to you directly to retrieve the horses, fulfilling you with a false sense of importance and power. Other days, he ignored you altogether, dismissing your existence as easily as hay on the ground. So, why had you been developing a lust for the man? With so few interactions and none of them tempting in nature, it was almost embarrassing. 

Today is not one of the days where he ignores you.  

“Rien,” he growls from behind you. (Nothing.) You hadn’t even heard him come in, nor had you heard his approaching footsteps. You turn abruptly to face him and like usual, are staggered by the way he looks. He’s dressed immaculately, this time, wearing a light grey suit. 

“Rien?” you ask, confused. The brush drifts away from Eclair’s neck as your hand falls to your side. “Monsieur?” (Sir?)

“That’s what you are. You are nothing. As much as they are nothing to me, you are nothing.” He gestured dismissively, you assumed, to the other stablehands.  

Your brows knit together, visibly offended. “I…” 

You blink, stopping yourself from continuing any further. Though the Marquis spoke perfect English, you’d been told that he preferred his employees to speak in French when addressing him. Something to do with respect. 

He continues. “And yet…” 

Feeling the need to swallow, you wet your throat and find your words. “J-je ne suis pas sûr de comprendre, monsieur… Je…” (I’m not sure I understand, sir.) 

You swallow again, and look up into his piercing green eyes. “Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire?”  (What do you mean?)

He grabs your chin hard between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it up towards him. The harshness of the action startles you and the brush goes clattering to the cement floor, echoing throughout the paddocks. The closeness, though laced with hostility, has you throbbing between your legs. 

“You don’t understand what I mean?” His French accent is heavy, dripping like cream from his tongue. 

You shake your head, wincing as his fingers dig deeper into your jawline. “Non, j-je suis désolée.” (No, I-I’m sorry.)

“I know it’s difficult for you to express yourself in my native tongue, ma petite.” (My little one.)  You furrow your brows; he was so insulting without even trying. So insulting, in fact, that you can’t even focus on the charming little nickname he threw in. Wanting to prove him wrong, you clench your jaw as you take a step back, weakly attempting to pull yourself from his grasp. Your father had taught you French from the time you were a baby, you spoke it very well, and you – 

“Look at you,” he starts, his eyes sweeping over every feature on your face. “Tending to my horses every day. Cleaning their shit from the ground on which they walk. Pauvre petite chose…” (Poor little thing) 

As he speaks, you’re at a loss for words, unsure of how to proceed, how to answer him. Your ego is bruised and your jaw is sure to follow; the harder you try to wrench your face from his grip, the harder that grip presses into you, digging into the bone beneath the flesh. He bends down, putting his mouth dangerously close to your face, close enough to feel the heat that radiates between you two.

“J’en ne pas stupide.” (I’m not stupid.) He snips, looking down at you with unbridled hostility. 

He repeats the words against the shell of your ear, which sends a vicious shiver down your spine. Your cunt twinges with heat again, and the shuddering doesn’t stop – as though you’ve been out in the cold, freezing from a winter’s chill, your body quivers deep within your core.

“Je sais...” (I know) You acknowledge feebly. A blush crawls up the column of your neck. 

“I see the way in which you look at me. It is not a secret, you know?” 

He takes a single step forward, closing in the distance between your bodies. With no indication, no warning, his free hand cups your cunt outside of your pants, fingers stretching down between your legs. You inhale to gasp, to ask him what he’s doing, but the hand that holds your jaw slips fluidly over your mouth, silencing it. You gaze up into his eyes, searching them for an explanation, but he’s too busy to look at you, to give you any sort of comfort. Instead, he’s locked on the mound between your thighs, watching as his own fingers explore over the fabric, already feeling the damp heat that penetrates the fabric.

At this taste of what’s beneath, Vincent’s long, lithe fingers then make quick work of your trousers, opening the front of them and deftly slipping inside. You freeze, knowing that your body is about to betray you. Violently. Cruelly. His digits dig past the warmth of your folds, slipping past your quickly swelling clit, delving deeper. The brief contact is enough to send you toppling into his arms, but somehow, you stay upright and instead, tighten your fists into fleshy wads. The pads of his middle and ring finger smear at your entrance, searching for the answer to a question he didn’t ask. He taps your leaking slit a few times with a lazy curiosity. Immediately, you can feel your slick stringing from your cunt, spreading easily over your folds.

“You’re wet,” he hisses. “Whore.” 

Somehow, you feel the word before you hear it. It lands like a crushing slap to the face, and your cunt responds by clenching hard, leaking more out into Vincent’s waiting fingers. They twitch against you, pressing to your entrance and slipping inside just enough to make your knees buckle. 

He walks you back against the wood, sandwiching you between Eclair and the door. You strain against his grip again, flitting your gaze towards the horse whose ears twitch but other than that small movement, doesn’t seem bothered by the altercation happening next to him. Almost embarrassed, you whimper softly and look back to the Marquis; his gaze is on you now, watching every miniscule flicker of emotion. Your brows knit together as you shake your head in disbelief, unsure of what is happening. 

“Hm?” He prods your entrance with his middle finger, inserting it to the first joint. Your mind buzzes, blanking on words – in any language. It slips in further with no resistance and your lids flutter helplessly, as the sensations take control of your body. Searching, scrambling for stability, you flatten your palms against the cool, smooth wood of the stable. A bridle hangs down next to your pinky finger, and you have half a mind to wrap it tightly around your hand.

Crooking his finger slightly, he pumps it slowly in and out of your wet cunt. “You like that, no?”

His slow ministrations have you reeling, shivering in front of him. Silently, you wonder what would happen if you said yes. You open your eyes to his, and swallow. Up until now, you stood on your tiptoes, trying to escape his lewd actions, but now, you let your weight down, pushing his finger in all the way to the knuckle. His finger curls, hitting a deeper spot within you that has your toes curling within your boots. Your eyes roll back in your head at this, feeling overwhelmed. Weakly and awkwardly, you stumble over your next words, mumbling them clumsily into his fingers. “… qu’est-ce que tu fais…?” (What are you doing?)

He chuckles through his nose – at what, you don’t know – but as quickly as his hand has slipped in, it disappears, leaving you to pitch forward slightly into his long torso. He examines his finger briefly, which glistens with your arousal. With no regard for your own pleasure, he shoulders you off, and retracts his other hand from your mouth, allowing your breath to tumble out. Wordlessly, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a white handkerchief, hastily wiping his fingers on it before tucking it back into the confines of his slacks. 

You collapse against the wood once more, your chest heaving with laboured, confused exhalations. This time, Eclair shifts away from you slightly, and huffs out a breath. The Marquis watches you, the hints of a smirk upon his shapely, seductive lips. Though you were still fully dressed, you felt unnervingly exposed. Humiliated, even. You reach forward to button yourself back up, doing your best not to fumble with the clasps.

“Follow me.”

Before you can blink, he’s already left the stable. You hurriedly exit, and grip the handle of the door, sliding it shut before securing the latch. The Marquis is already briskly walking away, his long strides carrying him farther and farther away from you, fully confident that you’re following him. As quietly as possible, you trot up behind him, not wanting to irritate him by being slow. The warm smell of wood shavings fills your nostrils as you run, but the second you’re behind him, you’re assaulted with the rich, expensive scent of his cologne. You inhale it deeper, wanting it to stain your lungs. 

As you follow him through the grounds, you take in your surroundings, head swinging to and fro to gobble up the visuals of unknown territory. You only ever got to see the stables and the fields behind it, which was necessary for riding and walking the horses. Naturally, your curiosity is peaked when he leads you both inside the towering, luxurious palace he calls home. Down opulent hall after opulent hall, with attendants opening each and every door that he comes to, you finally make it to your destination. 

The room is massive, and seems to glitter with all the gold details. You’ve never been to Versailles, but you assume the grandeur is similar. It’s sparse in furniture, save for a red velvet couch near the entrance. At the end of the room, sits a large table, adorned with every cake and pastry you could dream of; tiny crystal dishes of raspberries and strawberries, plates of cakes and cookies. They’re all picturesque, and the air is cloying, heavy with the scent of sugars and fragrant fruits. 

He beckons you with two fingers – a specific choice. A violent chill runs down your spine, feeling like there’s ice water cascading down the length of it. Once you’re standing next to him, looking at the dishes in front of you, you feel the weight of his aura, his existence. A few moments ago, you were merely a stablehand. Now, you were something else – you knew not what yet – standing inside the palace, a place where very few had the privilege of being. The tension between you two weighs heavy on your shoulders. 

Abruptly, the Marquis reaches over to pinch your mouth open, squeezing hard until your jaws pop apart. You wince, but succumb to his touch, albeit a little too easily. While watching intently, he brings a cream puff to your mouth, setting it carefully on your tongue. Instincts kick in, and you close your mouth, chewing carefully as cream oozes out from between the layers of fine puff pastry, and you swallow it down. 

He clocks your satisfied reaction, and smirks. “Delicious, isn’t it?” 

You nod apprehensively. It is delicious, of course, though your thoughts are tangled in the undisclosed eroticism of the moment, and the sickeningly unobvious reason why he’s brought you here. He picks up a macaron and carefully takes a bite, holding his other hand underneath his mouth to catch any crumbs, though none fall. 

“Comment dit-on… gourmand de sucreries?” (How do you say… greedy for sweets?)

“Sweet tooth,” you breathe, suspecting he already knew the answer. “You have a sweet tooth.”

“Mmm. I do.” The sound is syrupy within his throat. 

Surely, he hasn’t brought you here to enjoy some pastries. You swallow again, and muster up the courage to ask him: “Que voulez-vous de moi?” (What do you want from me?)

You brace for the oncoming response, half expecting him to say rien again. Instead, he finishes the macaron, and turns to you again, leaning forward. He reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek, combing it gently behind your ear, and hums, his fingers lingering on the softness of your jaw. His voice is hushed as he tilts his head down to look at you.

“Tout. Je veux tout.” (Everything. I want everything.) 

With your faces inches apart, the Marquis de Gramont captures your mouth in a searing kiss, one that oozes dominance, staking his claim in your core. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, prodding past your lips and teeth until it finds your own wet muscle. Instinctively, you kiss him back, but your frazzled nerves inhibit any true passion. Your lust is clouded by uncertainness, tainting the otherwise intoxicating experience at hand. His hand flies to the nape of your neck where he pulls you closer, deeper. You taste his essence and raspberry-flavored remnants of the macaron, and you swallow into the kiss, your lids fluttering helplessly. But no…

You jerk your head back away from him. Your tongue sweeps out over your bottom lip, cleaning up the mutual saliva that has spread across it. 

“J'en suis pas une pute.” (I’m not a whore.) 

With his hand still on your neck, he laughs, the sound vibrating in his throat. “You will be.” 

And again, his mouth is on yours, hungrily claiming it as though he deserved it. Which, in his mind, you knew, he did. He deserved everything he wanted, and perhaps, that was the essence of why you were here – he wanted you, so he’d have you. 

He continues to kiss you in such a way that leaves you gasping for air – literally – and every time you do, his mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, your ear. Refusing to remove his lips from your body, he’s ravenous, devouring you like he would the sweets on the table. 

“Monsieur,” you plead, babbling senselessly. “Monsieur,… why?” 

“Because,” he hums into the crook of your neck. “Ahh, you weren’t listening, were you?” He clicks his tongue in disappointment before continuing. “As I said before, I see the way in which you look at me, watch me, desire me.” He presses a long, tender kiss just below your ear, and his hand ghosts up over your stomach, coming to rest on the fullness of your breast. “And because, I want it.”  

He’s unbuttoning your blouse before you can stop him. Not that you’d want to, anyway; you’d been dreaming about this for weeks. As he works to expose your chest to him, carefully slipping each  button from its slit, he murmurs into your collarbone, the feeling sending another convulsive shiver down your back.

“Tell me… Do you value your position?”

You nod hurriedly, hoping to convince him. A single, long finger ghosts your shoulder, trailing down your arm. “Then you agree to be my little slut, hm? For me to use whenever I desire, oui?” (Yes?)

While the realization hits you like a ton of bricks, you gulp down your words. There’s no sense in protesting to preserve your feeble morals; not when you want him the way you do, and not with your job at stake. He reaches around your back, undoing the clasp of the bra. Your tits fall free then, and his large comes to cup one of them, kneading the supple, pliant flesh while your nipple grazes the smooth skin of his palm. You whimper, your hand jerking up to grip his bicep. The stimulation entices your arousal further, warmth pooling between your legs again. He worsens your condition by rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling a pathetic sounding mewl from your lips. You roll your eyes to the ceiling, silently cursing him. 

His hands move away from your breast, up to your face, where roughly, he prods your mouth with his fingers, examining your teeth and tongue. Much like he would a horse, you realize. The sensation is terrifying, but erotic and you grip his arm harder. Wordlessly, he reaches behind him to the table filled with decadence, and with two fingers again, scoops up a healthy dollop of cream frosting from atop a cake. 

“Suck them,” he growls.

It’s a command, not a suggestion, and you obey it, drawing them into your mouth tentatively. Your lips – bruised and swollen from his assaulting kisses – tighten, closing around his digits, all while maintaining eye contact with him. As though you were starved for it, you suck gently, while your tongue begins to swipe back and forth, removing all traces of the cream. You weren’t an idiot – this was a test. A test which you pass with flying colours apparently, because the Marquis actually smiles as he withdraws his fingers from the warm confines of your mouth. 

Heat roils in your core as he disconnects from you, and you can do nothing but watch as he pushes the delicate dishes to the left, haphazardly clearing a space on the table. Your eyes sweep back and forth, watching as the cakes and pastries crowd each other. He doesn’t seem to care, single-mindedly only thinking of what he’s about to do to you. He turns back to you, his green eyes burning with arousal. Again, the Marquis unbuttons your pants, this time, aggressively pulling down the zip. He gestures to the table with a nod of his head. He doesn’t have to tell you what to do – you know what he wants. 

In silence, you take your place in front of the table, and hinge your body at the waist to bend over the ornate surface. Cruelly, he yanks your pants over the plush curve of your ass, exposing you to him. There is another rustle of fabric behind you as the Marquis frees his own aching arousal from his slacks. You hear him hiss through his teeth; you presume as he takes his dick into his hand. Your body jolts forward as you feel the pads of his fingers prod tease your leaking slit, smearing your arousal through your folds. 

His hand stretches over your ass, taking a fist full of it before drifting down. He reaches your cunt, admiring her from behind. With a hitched breath, he pulls apart your folds with the pad of his thumb, revealing your aching, wet center. 

“C’est parfait… mm.” (It’s perfect…)

Praise? From him? You swallow the lump in your throat.  

He shuffles behind you, bringing his body closer. That’s when you feel it; the searing hot head of his cock pushing insistently against your clenching slit. You whine and press your thighs tightly together, a desperate attempt to alleviate the building pressure. Futile, because the moment he notices this, he kicks your legs apart with the toe of his polished shoe. 

“Dis-moi que tu veux que je te baise.” (Tell me you want me to fuck you.) 

“Please…. Please.” 

A hand comes down upon your ass cheek, the sound of it echoing throughout the room like a gunshot. The pain sears through your nervous system as the skin swells up, blooming like a flower with the imprint of his hand. “You can do better than that!” 

You try again, this time in French. You knew he was condescending about you speaking French, but there was a deep rooted need to prove that you could. “B-baise-moi… baise-moi, s’il te plait, monsieur.” (Fuck me, fuck me please monsieur.)

He chuckles, and you just know he’s shaking his head, perhaps calling you The American in his mind. He presses the heavy tip deeper into your folds, smearing it down over your swelling clit and combining both your fluids. Your hips jerk instinctively, and your brain stutters as you try to speak. The arousal that leaked from your core had become too much. Much to your dismay, it was too difficult to think in another language and you whined desperately. He lifts his hand high and hardly pauses before he brings it down for another series of sharp smacks to your ass. You make a fist around nothing, wincing as the skin starts to flush an erotic, rosy hue. With each one, your cunt aches, confused by the melange of pain and pleasure that coursed through your body.

“Count them for me.”

You do. Your weak and tiny voice counts the resounding strikes, feeling the heat spread across your skin like fire. “One… t-two… three… four… five - ah! Six!”

He interrupts you suddenly to ask: “You know my name, non?” 

The assumption spoke volumes. You nod against the table, relieved that the assault on your ass had stopped. 

“Use it.” 

Almost uncertain, you murmur his name. “V-Vincent… please fuck me, I want your cock so bad. I have since… since I started working for you. Please.” 

A guttural sound vibrated his throat. It made sense; everyone called him Marquis. Marquis de Gramont. Monsieur. But no one called him by his birth name, and that, had become erotic to him, hearing it tumble off your lips in a desperate, wanton tone. 

He was rotten, cruel and terrible, and in any other situation, your last words would’ve been a lie. But here, they weren’t and you knew it. Despite all your trepidation, you knew they rang true. His cockhead lines up to your entrance, prodding it hungrily, and he leans his hips into yours. With a quirk jerk, he forces himself inside, breaching your aching heat. He bottoms out, sinking in until the flesh of his torso is pressed against your ass. The feeling is all consuming, immediately, filling you to the brim. 

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, unable to vocalize the staggering sensations that rip through your body as he splits you open. He finds a bullying pace quickly, fucking you hard against the table. Your hips bump into the ornately trimmed edge, no doubt bruising them. After a few deep thrusts, he pauses, withdrawing his cock to the tip, only to slam it all the way back in with a deep, strained groan. 

“Fuck,” you whine, your cheek smashed against the table. “Fuck, please.” 

Vincent pays you no mind, your plea serving only as fuel to continue his assault on your sopping cunt. His hands grip your hips tight, pulling them back towards him with each thrust. The room is filled with the lewd melody of skin slapping against skin, fine china clattering against each other, and the mixture of his grunts, moans and your desperate, pathetic whines. You can’t help them, try as you might, because the vicious way in which he fucks into you rocks your whole body.  

“Dis-moi,” he grunts, his accent heavy with arousal. “...dis-moi comment ma bite se sent bien en toi.” (Tell me how good my cock feels inside you.) 

You understand his words, but you’ll be damned if you can formulate so much as a yes in French at this point. Your gaze grows hazy, lids heavy as his dick pounds into you. “It feels… it’s so fucking good, Vincent! Fuck! Harder. Harder!”

His hand comes crashing down on your ass again with a thwack! You cry out, hot tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

“Don’t…” He breathes, struggling with his own words. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

Spoiled, you think. Spoiled brat. But, regardless of him not wanting to be told what to do, his hunger for your trumps his indignancy, because his hips buck into you with a newfound power, slamming his body against yours with abandon. The head of his cock bumps into your cervix over and over again, hammering it. You feel the coil in your stomach wind tighter around itself, a telltale pressure building deep within. Your walls clench around him warningly. 

As if he realizes that he’s just done exactly what you told him to – or perhaps he feels your cunt’s desperate tugging –  the Marquis pulls his cock from your wet slit with a shlick and roughly grips you at the shoulder, spinning you around. With no effort, he hoists you up into his arm, his cock bobbing below you. Your ass bumps against the table as he sits you down, dragging you to the edge of the table. He looks down at your cunt, already swollen and red, and brings his fingers to it, slipping them inside. He then brings them to his mouth, sucking your combined arousals from his fingers. You watch, enrapt. 

“Remember what you said to me earlier, about not being a whore?” 

You nodded, panting. 

“Do you still feel that way?” 

You hesitate, but ultimately, shake your head. You’re a slut for him, a slut for the way he fucks you, uses you. The concept alone is enough to make you come, but you don’t, eagerly waiting for his cock again. He exhales through his nose, smirking. “I didn’t think so.” 

With his hands bearing down on your hips, he sheaths himself inside of you again, burying himself. The new angle brings a strangled cry from your lips, echoing in the vastness of the room. It doesn’t take long for you to come back to the high of your orgasm, having been edged before. 

“Regarde-moi.” (Look at me.) 

You do. Your half-lidded gaze connects with his intense one, watching him. You reach up, allowing one hand to grip his shoulder, digging your nails into the fibers of his fine suit jacket, while the other lays atop the nape of his neck, feeling the damp, warm skin there. His fingers blindly find your thigh, slipping underneath it to pull it up to your chest, pulling your ankle atop one of his shoulders.

“Uhh fuck–!” he groans, shivering at the new depth he reaches. “Fuck!” 

All at once, his hips start bucking into you with a frenzied rage. You feel his muscles tighten against your thigh just before his cock jerks inside you, twitching as the first wave of his orgasm hits him. White, hot ropes of cum glaze your insides, coating you in pearlescence. The feeling draws you over the edge, and your cunt flutters around his dick, coating it in your own searing arousal. 

For a moment, he stays there, resting his sweaty forehead against your own. Your leg falls heavily back against the table, rattling the dishes next to you. The sound rouses him out of his post-coital stupor, and with a deep sigh, he slowly withdraws his softening cock from you, pulling a gush of his release out with it. You, completely fucked out, could do nothing but sit there, arms quivering as you hold yourself upright.

 He brought his fingers to your entrance, swiping up some of the excess cum dripping out of you, pushing it back inside your spasming cunt. "Hold this inside, ma petite. As a reminder.”

You shudder, feeling his finger enter your swollen cunt once more. You look down, watching as he makes sure not a drop is wasted. 

“Rien, huh?” you ask, with a biting tone.

“Oui, rien.” (Yes, nothing.)

[sneeblbop]

Sneeb’s (reworked) commission sheet !!

Emergency comms to pay bills / medical fees / therapy / etc etc

I won't go into much detail because I've already done so several times, but basically i need extra help with affording basic necessities!! ^__^

(instructions on how to comm will be all the way on the bottom, but read through the post before commissioning pls!! Here r all the price details)

STATUS: OPEN

*Prices are subject to change depending on complexity / amount of characters, and I have the right to decline anything I don't want to draw !!

WILL do -

Furry/anthro

Robots/mecha (if it's too complex i may decline)

Humans

Animals

fanart/ocs/ships

Minorly suggestive stuff

WONT do -

Proship (pedo, zoo, incest, etc)

Nsfw / Fetish

Complex backgrounds

Hate symbols

Real people

Gore

*if you're unsure on if i'll draw something, don't be afraid to ask!!

Examples:

Instructions / General rules and info:

You will either send me an ask, or comment on this post to notify me that you are interested in commissioning me. This step is important so that i know to check my google forms !!

After doing this, you will fill out this form.

The form will tell you what to tell me so that i can start on your commission.

Once i read through your form and determine whether or not i want to take this commission, i will tell you by responding to your ask/comment. (edit: im shadowbanned atm bc i changed my email, so ill let you know if i accepted your comm via email / ask so you get a notif!!)

Once you know that ive actually accepted this, then you can pay me. Payment is done upfront, on my kofi.

Once i get your payment, i will start drawing as soon as i get the time. This time can vary because i am still in school!

Once i am done, i will send the finished commission to you via email/account that you have provided for me in the form.

If you need any corrections, you can send me an ask/comment and ill dm you to get it figured out. (prices may vary depending on how big of a change you want).

[ralfmaximus]

January 24 2024 Scam Alert:

There's a new phishing email making the rounds that looks like an authentic message from Google, warning you that unless you take action your Gmail account will be closed and all your messages deleted. All you have to do is click the link to confirm or deny the action.

It is, of course, fake. It collects your password "for verification" then hijacks your account.

Don't click any link in an email no matter how official it looks. Instead, go to your Gmail dashboard directly. If there is indeed any risk Google wants to delete your account, you'll be notified there.

[ginsdelusions]

Soldier, Poet, King

Romantic things w the Amphoreus men as this trope... I randomly got this idea hyeheheh anaxa is so not poet but oh well... I googled the love poem verse and no, I still didn't play the quests lmfao I am descending to madness, freestyling all of my works fr. If the font looks weird it's because I am on my phone rn

Phainon - the Soldier: Being with a soldier was not easy; the agony of having him go to war was almost unbearable. Although he sends you regular letters, promising his return and notifying you about his day to day life; letting you know the thoughts that rummaged through his mind, writing down love confessions, what reminded him of you, what he missed... you still couldn't help but be anxious. What if something happened to him? Quenching your worry, Phainon poured his heart into his letters, proclaiming that he will soon be home, craving your presence and wilting without it. The promise of return that he has been making throughout all this time never breaks; his true mission always being the return to you, the love of his life.

Anaxagoras - the Poet: Anaxagoras could hardly be called a poet. He was a scholar, exploring the reasons and ways of life and how it functioned and florished. He researched day and night, obsessed with uncovering the truth behind everything. He questioned it all, wishing to prove theories and gain knowledge on the ways of the world, scribbling neat and detailed protocols. But, the protocols were not the only thing he was scribbling. Anaxagora's tough, prideful exterior was difficult to break through. Once you did, after years and years of trying and working out your relationship, you found that being patient with this relationship was your best decision. You smiled at the paper on the kitchen table that your beloved scholar had left for you. 'You give me the life of kaleidoscope as serendipity'.

Mydeimos - the King: Being married to the King of Castrum Kremnos was a surreal experience. Mydei might be a man surrounded by strife, and a warrior in his own right, but his heart was gentle and kind. While his closest friends and servants knew about this, too, only you truly knew his truth, his thoughts and feelings. And he didn't have to tell you, either - a gaze was always just enough. So, when you two sit on the thrones and the senators enter and propose new laws for the kingdom, and his golden eyes look at you, a smile forms on your lips as you stare back at him, like whispering an intimate 'I love you, too.'