#Have you ever changed primary ship?

[fiercynn]

okay, if you have ever made or reblogged a “hold your nose and vote for biden” post, this is for you.

here’s the fucking thing about these kinds of posts. i've been seeing them since i first returned to tumblr in, I think, late 2022? they've certainly increased in frequency since october 7, but they were there before too, ready to counter any kind of opposition to biden that has cropped up. many of them are not just trying to educate people about what positive things biden has done, which, like, at least I can understand the motivation behind those ones? but so many of them are directly in response to people criticizing biden, and their only real point is “sure you’re upset at this thing biden did, but have you considered the election?” starting YEARS before the next presidential election, mind you.

and october 7 only made that clearer. i don’t think it had been a week before i saw these posts cropping up. can you not see how fucking ghoulish that is? to look at the rightful pain and anger of those whose relatives and communities are being slaughtered with active american support, to respond to one of the few pieces of agency most americans have in influencing what their governments do – their vote – by saying “yes but trump would be worse.” as if the primary people you’re lecturing – palestinians, muslims, arabs, black people, indigenous people, disabled people, other marginalized people – don’t remember exactly how bad it was under trump!

and even if you think not voting is an empty gesture – something i, who studied political science at a mainstream american lib college, who has worked as a field organizer on a previous democratic presidential campaign and for several policy campaigns, who currently works in public policy in america, used to believe, but have absolutely changed my mind on – what is in no way an empty gesture is saying publicly that you will not vote for someone. the arguments people usually have about why simply not voting is bad are that you can’t tell why someone is not voting, so it is as likely to be apathy or disenfranchisement as it is a political statement. but saying publicly that you will not vote for someone, and why you will not vote for them, absolutely is a political statement, and potentially a powerful one! but you choose to negate and/or ignore that by trotting out the “lesser of two evils” bullshit.

and then there’s the whole “yes but people will DIE under trump”. PEOPLE ARE DYING NOW. even if you’re fucking racist and have decided that palestinian lives don’t count, have you forgotten biden’s ongoing covid minimalism and dismantling of the CDC’s covid research and prevention infrastructure? have you forgotten his increase in spending for law enforcement scant years after the murder of george floyd and his administration's surveillance of protesters, including cop city protesters? have you forgotten his recent ramp-up in deportations of undocumented immigrants, including the active continuation of many trump-era policies?

maybe you have forgotten all those things and do purport to care about palestinians, but you just think that biden is doing his best to influence netanyahu and is getting nowhere! but then you must have forgotten all of the things that biden and his administration themselves have done to further this fucking genocide, including:

continuing to send arms to israel

putting together a military task force within days of yemen’s red sea blockade and attacking yemeni ships

bombing yemen

bombing syria

bombing iraq

vetoing three ceasefire resolutions at the united nations

testifying to defend israel and its genocide and occupation at the international court of justice

refusing to rescue palestinian-americans stuck in gaza

halting funding to the united nations relief and works agency for palestinian refugees (UNRWA) based on israeli claims that 12 of UNRWA’s over 30,000 staff were hamas agents, even though u.s. intelligence has not been able to independently verify this

lying that he’s personally seen photos of babies beheaded by hamas when he hadn’t because they didn’t exist (and even when his own staff cautioned him that reports of beheaded babies may not be credible)

questioning the number of palestinian deaths reported by the gaza ministry of health (when even israel has not questioned them, since they are in fact proud of those numbers)

perpetuating lies about hamas having committed the attack on al-aqsa hospital

questioning united nations reports of adults and children raped by israeli soldiers while claiming to have proof (that no one else has seen) of hamas doing the same

honestly so many more things that i can’t remember them all but others feel free to add

or maybe you haven’t forgotten any of that, and think that you’re still justified in lecturing people about why they should vote for biden, because you genuinely believe trump would still be worse. if that is the case, you have still failed to see that by saying you will vote for biden no matter what, you are part of the problem of biden continuing to act like this. because biden is counting on fear of trump to win him this next election no matter what else he does. despite his appalling polling numbers, despite the knowledge that he is losing the palestinian-american vote, the arab-american vote, the muslim-american vote, the black american vote, the youth vote – despite all of that, he is secure in the idea that he will still win because he is better than trump. can you not see how that allows him to act without impunity? how it becomes increasingly impossible for his base to influence what he’s doing if he thinks that they will be with him no matter what? this is how you make yourself complicit to biden’s actions, by not affording anyone even the slightest power to hold him accountable for anything.

and in most cases, the “hold your nose and vote for biden” thing is the response of people who aren’t even being instructed by others not to vote for biden. it is their response to people saying they themselves are choosing not to vote for biden. fucking ghoulish.

[muletia]

Yknow what? At this point if megatron is obbsessed with human pussy then might aswell make soundwave join the party too. Hooray! Another decepticon joins in!!! Because we all know soundwave is very loyal and trust worthy to megatron, and megatron trust more to soundwave then the rest of the decepticons. Both honestly insane for y/n

Starscream on the other hand- he thinks this is getting ridiculous and just stare in horror😭

wrote this instead of studying. i cannot stop thinking about them handsome obsessed mechs man. and as for starscream - I have way different plans for him in this au thanks to one very delicious anon ask :))

When Soundwave joins your merry band of obsessed Decepticons, there’s no way for you to escape from the Nemesis (I mean, you’ll manage somehow, because this is crack—anything goes, and the bullshit flows freely). His master had already instructed him to monitor you constantly, especially since Optimus somehow keeps breaking onto their ship. Initially, Soundwave simply carried out the order without questioning his master’s decision. There wasn’t a shred of personal desire, sympathy, or sentiment in his actions.

Well, his motives change drastically when he concludes that you’re worth his attention. Curiosity turns into attachment, attachment into need, and need into hunger. From that moment, the order ceases to be an obligation fulfilled out of loyalty. It transforms into care. Into the need to protect. Under no circumstances could you fall back into the servos of the Autobots. Your place was here, on Megatron’s lap and under his watchful gaze.

I don’t think Soundwave hides his feelings. Even though he’s mute, calculated, and above all, a cold-blooded spy, Megatron easily guesses that his second-in-command has plans for you that go beyond his primary orders. His body language gives him away—tiny deviations noticeable only because of the eons of history they share. It’s subtle but undeniable. And astonishing, because Soundwave betrayed him. The most loyal follower stepped beyond the boundaries of an order, proving that the impossible became possible—that an apathetic machine could feel.

At first, Megatron is furious. He didn’t plan to share. He had already claimed you—you belonged to him alone, and once he won the war, you were to stay in his servos forever. There was no room for another mech, for anyone else. But possessiveness doesn’t get the chance to take root, completely consume his processor, and lead to irreversible, harmful decisions. This arrangement might prove fruitful, after all. Megatron still trusted his spy—more than any of his other subordinates. And so, he allows the partnership.

Your freedom on the Nemesis may have expanded, but hopping from one crazed Decepticon to another came with a catch tied to a suspiciously practical offer. Megatron informed you that from time to time, his second-in-command would take care of you, so you could forget about ever seeing the Autobots again. However, he didn’t tell you that his second-in-command was just as unhinged as he was—and apparently had plans for you that extended beyond passive observation.

Soundwave isn’t as touchy-feely. He doesn’t hold you against his chassis for hours to prove that his badonkers are bigger than his rival’s. He doesn’t demand touch from you, either. But there are moments when he forces closeness: stroking your hair, examining your body with his thin digits, massaging your back. He isn’t invasive like Megatron, nor harsh in his affections. His movements are subtle, carrying greater respect for you. After all, you didn’t fully belong to him. He only got a fraction, a small piece to calm his raging processor chanting your name. Megatron holds the reins and always will.

It’s most evident when they’re together in the same room. It’s on Megatron’s throne you sit, on his lap, as he recites Cybertronian romantic poetry or his own verses—mostly concerning his turbulent, sick feelings toward you. Soundwave is merely an observer. He doesn’t dare ask for more. He takes the scraps, but they’re enough because you’re close, because he has consistent access to you. He’s also content with his leader’s victory (at least until you return to the Autobots), because when you’re on the Nemesis, everything falls into place. The fire in their sparks burns fiercer, more fervently.

[lovezbrownies]

They make me laugh. (Yandere!Queen.)

General Masterlist - Nia’s Masterlist

Synopsis: You come in from a distant land as a gift to the queen of Xelera. You are a ester of high stature, an amazing jester with skills and talents no average person would dream of, yet these skills come back to bite you in the ass as they are the cause of the obsessive queen’s newfound interest in you.

PAIRING: Queen Nia Bloodwen x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Darling depicted as energetic and naturely happy, no use of y/n, slow burn, 11k words, darling kind of an ass but doesn’t show it, I’m so sleep deprived I forgot what I wrote I can’t lie to u idk if there’s anything else I need to warn you abt. Request can be found here.

“A court jester? Really? How pretentious do you think I am?”

Queen Nia’s voice rang through the opulent chamber, sharp with disbelief, her amber eyes narrowing as she cast a scrutinizing look in your direction. The sheer absurdity of the proposal seemed to offend her, as though the very idea of a jester in her court were an insult to her dignity.

You, on the other hand, stood with a wide, beaming smile—so tight against your skin it almost hurt, but you didn’t mind. If anything, you were ecstatic. Here you were, standing before the Queen of Xelera, presented as a so-called ‘gift’ by your own king, Finley of Luminia. Of course, you had no say in the matter. It was meant to be an honor, a diplomatic gesture, but to Nia, it was evidently nothing more than an inconvenience.

It was almost amusing, really. The contrast between your homeland and Xelera was as stark as the sun and the moon. In Luminia, jesters were cherished, a staple of the court—an embodiment of wit, laughter, and lighthearted mockery. But here? Here in this stiff, silver-clad kingdom halfway across the world, you might as well have been an alien creature. The nobles around you looked at you with thinly veiled disdain, their sharp gazes cutting into you like the edges of their finely tailored coats. Even now, murmurs rippled through the grand hall like an incoming tide, whispers of derision and disbelief slipping past pursed lips.

But you didn’t care. In fact, it was downright hilarious. Their disapproving stares, the uptight posture of Xelera’s nobility, the way they sneered as though you and King Finley had sullied their pristine halls—it was all too much. More than once, you had found yourself smothering laughter during important meetings, only to be met with Queen Nia’s razor-sharp glare. Those piercing, crimson-hued eyes could flay a lesser person alive.

King Finley, however, had never once scolded you. He never tried to suppress your flamboyance, never told you to rein yourself in or act ‘properly.’ If anything, he reveled in your antics, often turning to you whenever his primary jester was away. He liked having you around, found your company enjoyable rather than grating. And you? You liked your king.

Which made this whole situation all the more frustrating.

You had no desire to be shipped off to the other side of the world like some bargaining chip, especially not to a queen who clearly had no appreciation for your craft. The thought of spending your days under the rule of a woman who saw no value in entertainment, who looked at you as though you were an insect crawling across her marble floors, was nothing short of unbearable.

A gift? No. You were no gift. And you certainly weren’t planning on making things easy for Queen Nia Bloodwen. That was neither here nor there. Your joy was contagious—you knew that much for certain—and you were more than ready to put on a show once again. This was your craft, your art, the very thing that made you who you were. And no amount of disdain from the Xeleran court could change that.

King Finley, ever the showman himself, sat beside Queen Nia at the long, opulent dining table, draped in silk and glistening with the shimmer of golden candlelight. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine curled through the air, an indulgent contrast to the tension thickening between the two monarchs. He leaned forward with his usual charismatic ease, a charming smile curling at his lips as he moved to defend your honor.

“Oh, my dear Queen! No, I would never assume such a thing,” he said smoothly, lifting his goblet with a flourish. “You are a woman of great taste, and I would not dare insult you with mere frivolity! However, what I mean to say is that we royals—hardworking as we are—deserve some measure of entertainment now and then.” He paused, letting the words settle between them like a well-placed melody. “I have my own jester, and I must say, they have been quite the delight. So, I thought—why not extend such joy to you? A gift, not out of condescension, but care. Someone to liven your halls, to ease your burdens, to bring laughter into your days of labor. They are one of my finest, and I offer them so that you might find some solace amidst your many responsibilities.”

Queen Nia did not react immediately. She remained perfectly still, her posture unwavering, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across her high cheekbones. There was a stillness to her, something unreadable beneath the measured elegance of her crimson gaze. Slowly, she turned her attention to you, her piercing eyes raking over your form with quiet scrutiny, lingering for a breath too long. If she had found you lacking, she did not say. If she had already made up her mind, she gave no indication. Instead, she exhaled, slow and deliberate, before resting her cheek against the knuckles of her gloved hand.

“Entertain me?” she echoed at last, her voice smooth as velvet, yet edged with something sharper, something unspoken. Her gaze flickered over the table, over the gathered nobles who had been watching this exchange with barely concealed amusement. “Entertain others?” The faintest ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, as though she found the very idea amusing, as though she wished to see you falter before the weight of expectation.

Then, finally—

“Fine.” The word fell from her lips like a challenge, low and deliberate, the weight of the room shifting with its utterance. “Show me what you have in terms of entertainment, jester.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and electric, the tension of the court’s scrutiny pressing down upon your shoulders. But you did not wither beneath it. No, quite the opposite. Your grin, already wide, stretched further, a rush of exhilaration bubbling beneath your skin. You had performed before kings and queens alike, had stolen laughter from the lips of the sternest men, had turned entire courts into captive audiences with nothing but your wit and a well-timed flourish. And now, here in the cold and stifling halls of Xelera, in the presence of its indifferent queen, you would do so again.

Without hesitation, you moved.

A fluid motion, effortless, as though the very air bent to your will. The heavy silence that had settled over the court was about to shatter—because whether Queen Nia wanted it or not, you were about to put on a show.

You leaped and twirled, each movement a calculated risk, your body twisting through the air with effortless precision as you danced along the edge of danger. Jokes spilled from your lips between flourishes, sharp and self-deprecating, weaving humor into the spectacle as you hurled yourself into stunts that made even the most composed nobles shift in their seats. You balanced on precarious edges, vaulted over obstacles with reckless grace, each feat more daring than the last, knowing full well that tonight demanded something greater—something new. And so, you pushed yourself further.

The air in the grand dining hall pulsed with anticipation as you took your place at the center of the polished marble floor, the flickering candlelight glinting off the golden filigree of the chandeliers above. With a dramatic flourish, you sprang into motion, your body a blur of effortless grace. You launched into a backflip, the embroidered hems of your jester’s attire flaring like the petals of an opening flower before your feet met the ground in perfect silence. Without hesitation, you kicked off again, twisting into a flawless aerial, the world spinning around you as gasps rippled through the assembled nobles.

"Try not to blink, my lords and ladies," you called as you landed smoothly, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from your sleeve. "I’d hate for you to miss the one entertaining thing about this evening." A few stifled chuckles rippled through the crowd, though some nobles shot wary glances toward Queen Nia, who merely raised an eyebrow, lips curving just slightly at the edges.

You didn’t give anyone time to dwell on it. Pivoting on one foot, you hurled yourself into a handspring, balancing on a single palm before arching your back into a controlled walkover, your spine bending like a willow in the wind. "Now, I’d wager none of you could do that," you mused as you straightened, dusting your hands off. "But then again, I suppose it takes a certain lack of self-preservation to hurl yourself at the floor and trust it to be kind."

Laughter and scattered applause erupted as you transitioned seamlessly into a series of rapid cartwheels, each landing precise, each movement flowing into the next as though you were weightless. Then, in one final flourish, you sprinted toward the banquet table, using the edge of a chair as a springboard to launch yourself into a breathtaking mid-air twist, your body coiling like a ribbon before you landed atop the grand dining table in a crouch—one knee bent, arms outstretched, the flickering candlelight casting dramatic shadows across your face.

Silence. A breath. Then a ripple of hushed conversation.

You straightened slowly, surveying the sea of nobles with a lazy grin before your gaze landed—deliberately—on Queen Nia herself. Dark, unreadable eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between you. "Your Majesty," you murmured, dipping into an exaggerated bow, your grin sharpening. "I do hope I’m not overstepping, but if you wanted me on my knees before you, all you had to do was ask."

A flicker of something—amusement? Surprise?—crossed her face before it smoothed into something unreadable. She tilted her head, studying you as if trying to decide whether you were bold or simply foolish. Intrigued, but not yet charmed. "I see my court has invited in quite the performer," she mused, voice measured, though her gaze lingered just a second too long. King Finley shot you a look of utter joy and pride, happy that you went beyond the expected.

With a final flourish, you spun, twirled, and leaped, each movement as theatrical as the last, your bow exaggerated to perfection. The performance might have ended, but you were far from finished. As you landed gracefully on the opposite side of the room, you positioned yourself beside a stoic palace guard, seamlessly slipping into a game of mimicry. Every tilt of his head, every subtle shift in stance—you copied it all with uncanny precision, an artful display of absurdity meant to amuse those still lingering at the table. It was a quieter kind of entertainment now, something light to accompany the soft clinking of silverware and murmured conversations as the nobility indulged in their evening meal.

But still, there was the Queen. Watching. Measuring. Considering.

Since she had yet to decide whether you were to be part of her court, you made your exit with all the ridiculous grandeur you could muster, each step a deliberate display of absurdity, knowing full well that her eyes followed your every movement. And if she wanted to judge you, then you would give her something to judge.

Once outside, you quickened your pace, weaving through the grand halls until you finally caught up to King Finley and his retinue, falling into step beside him with your usual whimsical gait. With a dramatic sigh, you spread your arms wide, grinning as you turned to him.

“So?” you asked, tilting your head, voice laced with playful exasperation. “What did she say? Does this Queen Nia want a court jester, or shall I keep my clothes in my bags, Your Imperial Highness?” The question carried more weight than mere curiosity—because really, of all people, why was he so determined to offer his second-best jester to some distant queen he hardly spoke to?

It was safe to say you didn’t want to leave Luminia. This was your home, the place where your roots ran deep. The streets, familiar and filled with memories of your family and friends, felt like an extension of yourself. And, of course, there was Nyla. Your beautiful, radiant Nyla.

Seven years—seven long, joyous years you had spent together, sharing moments of quiet affection amidst the chaos of the court. Your love had bloomed in the backdrop of jesters, royal functions, and the ever-present laughter that echoed through the halls of King Finley Sutri IX’s palace. Nyla wasn’t just your girlfriend—she was your other half, the person who understood your heart, your humor, and the very essence of who you were. The life you’d built together felt perfect, and you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

You still remembered the first day you’d joined the court. You had been little more than a nameless performer—one of many jesters vying for the king’s attention, just another face in the crowd. The jesters, a lively bunch who lived and breathed performance, were housed in their own section of the palace, a space that resembled an apartment complex but with the underlying sense that you were always a little out of place, a little apart from the rest of the world. 

But Nyla... Nyla was different. She had already established herself as the king’s favored jester, cementing her position long before you had arrived. She had her own area of the palace—larger, more lavish, a place where she could live, train, and inspire the new recruits. It was here that she taught the fresh faces how to entertain and delight, honing their skills to meet the palace’s high standards.

Yet when it came to you, Nyla saw something more.

You weren’t like the others. You had this innate ability to bring joy and laughter to everyone around you. It wasn’t just a skill—it was who you were. Your happiness was infectious, even when you weren’t trying to be funny, even when you thought no one was watching. It was clear to Nyla from the moment she saw you outside the palace walls, during a rare break in the routine, that you weren’t just a jester in the palace; you lived for the joy of making people smile, even in the world outside. You were a jester at heart, whether you wore the costume or not, and that natural joy was what drew her to you.

If it hadn’t been for Nyla, you probably would have remained just another performer in the background of court life, another face lost in the sea of jesters. But it was her—a jester who saw your potential—that had changed everything. 

You were second only to Nyla in the king’s favor, and it was all thanks to her. She had been the one to take the risk, to put her faith in you, and to encourage the king to see what she had already known: that you had something special to offer. And for that, you would always be grateful.

Maybe, just maybe, if you had toned it down a little, taken a step back and settled for being third favorite instead of second, you wouldn’t be standing here now, stuck in a foreign kingdom, paraded before a queen as if you were some kind of precious trinket. The thought gnawed at you, but you shoved it aside, unwilling to let frustration cloud your mood. With a deep sigh, you forced yourself to snap back to the present, looking up at King Finley, the ever-present warmth of your smile returning despite your inner turmoil. You waited, eagerly, for his response to your question.

“Well, my dear jester,” King Finley began, his voice warm and reassuring as always, “she hasn’t yet made a decision, no. So for now, we can keep your things in your luggage, yes.” He paused, offering a knowing glance before continuing with a hint of amusement. “But I do have high hopes. Queen Nia seemed thoroughly entertained and, dare I say, surprised. Good job teasing her, by the way.” He chuckled softly, a glint of approval in his eyes. “She is… proud. Likes it when someone she barely knows goes out of their way to compliment her.” His tone shifted to one of gentle praise, a nod to your talents. “It’s always good to catch the eye of someone like her. We’ll see where this leads, my jester.”

Despite the lingering unease inside, his words offered a glimmer of reassurance—or at least, they should have. But the truth was, none of what he said actually comforted you. If anything, it only made you more anxious. You could only hope that Queen Nia was too proud, too self-important to ever accept a jester into her court. Yes, that was it—she would turn you down, refuse such a ridiculous gift, and you’d be back in Luminia before you knew it. Right? Of course…

Yet, as the days slipped by, your hopes began to wane. A full week had passed, each day spent performing for Queen Nia, each moment dedicated to entertaining her with your best material. And still—still—she hadn’t made a decision. Every morning, you found yourself standing before her again, flashing your best smile, summoning every ounce of your charm and skill, secretly praying that today would be the day she dismissed you. 

But she never did. Instead, she sat there, crimson eyes watching your every movement, lips curved into something unreadable as you danced and spun, cracked jokes and mimicked those around you, did everything in your power to prove yourself unnecessary.

One more day. Just one more day. Tomorrow, King Finley would leave, returning to Luminia, and if the gods had any sense of mercy, you’d be going with him.

Even the king himself had begun to lose his patience, his usual lighthearted demeanor soured by Nia’s apparent indecision. At first, he had been amused, endlessly entertained by her sharp remarks and feigned indifference, but now? Now, he looked downright peeved, his frustration barely hidden behind his diplomatic smile. And who could blame him? Every evening, after she had watched you perform with rapt attention, eyes never once straying from your figure, she would turn around and complain.

"Too mediocre," she would scoff, her tone almost lazy, as if she were barely interested enough to insult you. "Too predictable. Your spins are weak. Your routines are uninspired. Surely, Finley, you wouldn’t gift me something so… unimpressive?"

Unimpressive. You almost laughed at that. You had yet to repeat a single routine in front of her. Every act, every trick, every well-timed joke had been crafted specifically to suit the audience, tailored for her amusement. And yet, she criticized you relentlessly, her words as sharp as the glint of her golden rings when she waved her hand dismissively. You knew, deep down, that none of her critiques were genuine. They were unfounded, completely and utterly false.

You didn’t care. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You almost hoped she hated you—hoped she would find you insufferable enough to finally dismiss you, send you back to where you truly belonged. It was an odd thing to wish for, but the longer you spent in Xelera, the more you realized that no matter how extravagant or cheerful you were, this country would smother you. 

This was a place that demanded structure, precision, and unwavering seriousness, a land of cold efficiency and lifeless perfection. You thrived on laughter, on spontaneity, on chaos wrapped in ribbons of joy, but here? Here, you felt yourself suffocating beneath the weight of their expectations.

Xelera was known to be the most technologically advanced nation in the world, revered for its sharp-minded rulers and their near-flawless governance. But with that brilliance came an unsettling truth—one that gnawed at the edges of your mind the longer you remained here. The royals rarely smiled, their faces carved into expressions of practiced neutrality. Even among themselves, they seemed almost mechanical in their interactions, their words measured, their emotions buried so deep they might as well not exist at all. 

The palace staff were even worse. It wasn’t just that they refrained from showing emotion in public; it was as if they had been forbidden from feeling altogether. Even in private, even when the walls themselves should have provided some sanctuary, they remained as rigid as ever. You had seen it firsthand—your every performance, every joke, every exaggerated fall meant to pull even the most reluctant chuckle was met with the same cold, glassy-eyed indifference.

You had even singled out Queen Nia’s personal assistant once, determined to break through that icy exterior. Just one laugh, one twitch of the lips—that’s all you wanted. But of course, you had failed miserably, the assistant's expression remaining as impassive as ever. You had played it off with a grand, theatrical bow, pretending it was all part of the act, but the failure had left a bitter taste in your mouth.

This land was strange. Unnerving. The palace itself, though undeniably beautiful, unsettled you in ways you couldn’t fully explain. The halls stretched endlessly, lined with massive, painstakingly detailed paintings of past rulers and historic battles. Yet, unlike the warm, vibrant portraits that adorned the halls of Luminia’s palace—where kings and queens smiled proudly, where landscapes were painted in hues of gold and emerald, full of life and movement—these paintings felt sterile. Every face was expressionless, every brushstroke too perfect, too meticulous. The city beyond the palace walls was no different, gleaming and modern, with breathtaking architecture and flawless streets that should have been inviting but instead felt cold, lifeless.

It was all too perfect. A kind of perfection that didn’t feel real.

And that terrified you.

Because if you stayed here—if you were forced to make this place your home—you feared you would lose yourself entirely. You would become like them. A hollow shell in brightly polished clothes, another statue among the endless rows of solemn faces. And that thought alone was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You snapped out of your thoughts just as your routine came to a close, arms outstretched in a dramatic flourish, the vibrant energy of your performance still lingering in the air. The echoes of your movements, the effortless spins, the well-timed acrobatics, and the sharp wit woven into your every gesture left a certain charge in the room—one that even Queen Nia, with all her stoic pride, could not fully ignore. You cast a final glance over the assembled nobles, each one still processing the spectacle you had put on, before delivering your last joke with a devilish smirk.

“I asked one of the palace attendants how their day was. Do you know what they said? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. In fact, if I had listened closely, I might’ve heard their very soul sigh in resignation!”

A beat of silence—then laughter, some genuine, some reluctant, rippling through the court like an unexpected gust of wind. Even those too proud to acknowledge your talent couldn’t help but let a breath of amusement escape them, their carefully measured expressions betraying their enjoyment for just a fraction of a second. You reveled in it, the way humor could disarm even the most rigid of aristocrats, the way your words danced through the air like an uninvited guest they could neither dismiss nor fully welcome. It was a delicate balance—teasing enough to entertain, but never enough to offend. At least, not too much.

With a flourish, you shuffled backward, settling beside a guard with exaggerated stiffness, throwing a salute as if you were a soldier awaiting orders. “At your service, my dear court!” The jest, combined with your overly formal stance, earned another smattering of chuckles, though some had already turned back to their hushed conversations, retreating into their political labyrinth of alliances and whispers.

That was the end of your performance, but you were not dismissed. You never were. Instead, you remained, drifting between gestures and silent antics, a shadow of merriment amidst the looming seriousness of the court. It had always been this way—your presence tolerated, encouraged even, so long as it did not interfere. You were a fixture in the grand machinery of politics, a decorative piece to lighten the mood when needed and ignored when not.

Not that you cared. You weren’t supposed to care. You were paid to remain blissfully ignorant, to exist as nothing more than a whirlwind of laughter and mischief, a distraction from the weight of diplomacy and governance. It didn’t matter if war was on the horizon, if treaties were crumbling, if betrayals were being whispered between sips of wine. Even if the entire world were on the brink of collapse, your role remained the same—to dance, to joke, to ensure that no matter how dire things became, there would always be one voice in the room that never carried the weight of worry.

And yet, despite their expectations—despite their dismissals—you heard everything.

It was impossible not to.

You were always in the room, always on the edge of things, always listening. Nobles, so quick to disregard you as an entertaining fool, never bothered to lower their voices in your presence, never spared a second thought about the knowledge you could amass simply by existing within these walls. To them, jesters were simple-minded creatures, incapable of grasping the intricacies of ruling a nation, of war and power, of politics and deception.

Oh, how wrong they were.

You had learned long ago to let their assumptions work in your favor, to mask your understanding beneath a veil of theatrics, to bury your knowledge beneath layers of laughter. You knew the game well—better, perhaps, than some of the very nobles who played it. And so, as the court resumed its discussions, as voices dropped into hushed deliberations, you remained where you were, a silent observer wrapped in the guise of a fool, every smile, every twirl, every exaggerated gesture ensuring that no one would ever suspect just how much you truly knew.

And so the performance continued.

Yet as you gleefully sang and danced by yourself, laughter bubbling in your chest as you twirled and shuffled across the polished marble floors, your ears couldn’t help but catch the shift in conversation between your king and Queen Nia. Their voices, though tempered with royal decorum, carried just enough weight to draw your attention.

“Well, Your Highness,” King Finley spoke, his tone warm and filled with the smooth charm of an experienced ruler, “I must say our stay here in your glorious Xelera has been nothing short of magnificent. Truly, there is no nation quite like yours, Queen Nia.”

No nation as lifeless as this one, you thought with an amused snicker, continuing to prance about with exaggerated motions, your body a constant blur of movement as you mimed an unseen partner, the embodiment of whimsy itself.

But then—her voice, sharp and poised, cut through the air like a blade. “Yes, yes, of course. Speaking of your visit… is your jester leaving along with you?” She barely gave King Finley time to react before continuing in that same measured tone. “I must admit, though I despised the very notion of court jesters, I found them… quite entertaining.”

Your feet nearly missed a step. The words, so casually spoken, sent a creeping chill through your spine.

You dared to glance toward the table, watching as your king, ever gracious, beamed at the unexpected praise, but something was off. His smile, though bright, lacked its usual warmth—his eyes, the ones that always carried an air of mirth and playfulness, seemed dimmer somehow. And there it was: a tiny, almost imperceptible furrow of his brows, gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Sadness.

It was subtle, but you knew him too well not to notice. The great King Finley, the man who had taken you in without hesitation, the man who laughed at your ridiculous antics and defended you even when others sneered, was heartbroken.

And you understood why.

You were a jester, a clown, a performer meant only to amuse. To most, you were nothing more than a fleeting moment of joy, a silly little thing to be passed around at royal leisure. But to him, you had been more. His court had been your home. His people, your audience. And though he had never said it outright, you had come to know the truth—he had seen you as more than a simple fool. You were family, even amongst his army of biological and adopted children, he will still see you as if you were one of his own. 

He hadn’t expected it to sting, hadn’t thought it would matter so much until the moment was upon him, and now he was doing what all rulers were trained to do—concealing it behind a well-practiced smile.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair. You didn’t belong here, didn’t belong in this rigid, joyless kingdom where laughter was a foreign concept and faces remained carved from stone. You belonged back home, where people actually smiled, where your antics were met with warmth and not stiff indifference.

And yet, as Queen Nia studied you with those calculating red eyes, the weight of her words settled upon you like chains locking into place. You weren’t going home.

Just as you were about to step forward, ready to crack a joke or two—perhaps even do something absurdly over-the-top just to shake your king out of whatever had dimmed his usual exuberance—Nia spoke. And what she said made your stomach twist so violently you nearly gagged.

“I think I’d like to take them in,” she mused, her voice smooth yet utterly devoid of warmth, as if she were discussing an acquisition rather than a living, breathing person. “Yes, I will accept your gracious gift and send you something in return upon your departure. You are most thoughtful, King Finley.” She tilted her head slightly, those sharp crimson eyes settling on you with the slow satisfaction of a cat toying with its prey. “I must say, they have brightened my days more than I’d like to admit.”

Then, she chuckled.

A sound so light it should have been pleasant, yet it carried an unnatural hollowness, a cruel undertone that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. There was no real joy in it, no true amusement—only something cold and condescending, like the sound a noblewoman might make while watching a street performer flounder in the mud. It was laughter for laughter’s sake, yet you could tell she wasn’t truly entertained, wasn’t truly moved by anything you had done. It was an acknowledgement, yes, but not the kind you wanted. It felt like a hunter deciding to keep a particularly amusing animal as a pet rather than finishing the kill.

And for the first time in your career—hell, perhaps your entire life—you tripped.

Not the deliberate kind of trip meant to make others laugh, not the exaggerated stumbles you so often performed with a flourish to elicit chuckles from your audience. No, this was real. Your foot caught on nothing, and before you could even process it, you landed flat on your ass with an unceremonious thud. The impact jolted through your spine, momentarily rattling your senses, and for a fraction of a second, you felt truly, utterly ridiculous.

A beat of silence.

Then, the inevitable reaction. Hushed murmurs rippled through the court, the faint rustling of fabric as nobles turned to witness your humiliation, their expressions ranging from mild amusement to disinterest. The guards remained statuesque, unreadable, their gazes fixed ahead as if they hadn’t just seen the Queen’s newest possession fall flat before her. And at the center of it all was Queen Nia herself, her expression one of sheer, unrepentant delight. The smile that curled her lips was neither cruel nor particularly kind—it was something far worse. It was satisfaction, quiet and knowing, as if she had expected this outcome from the very beginning.

“I see this was… unexpected for you, jester,” she remarked, her voice laced with mock sympathy, as if she hadn’t just upended your entire life with a single, offhanded decision. “But worry not. I shall treat you as your King has. Perhaps, if you keep your good behavior, I’ll allow you to visit Luminia once more.” And she smiles down at you, you almost wanted to cry and cause a tantrum, but you had only laughed, cracked another damn joke, and went back to whatever it was you were doing earlier, but now you had a lot more on your mind.

And that was what solidified your position as the new and only court jester of the Xelera Courts. There had been no grand announcement, no elaborate ceremony marking your change in station—just a simple exchange of words, an idle agreement between two monarchs, and suddenly, you were no longer a jester of Luminia but of Xelera. Your purpose had not changed, nor had your craft diminished in skill, and yet everything felt… different. Alien. The moment King Finley left, you would no longer be a performer among familiar faces, no longer the bright spark in the courts of a king who had always treated you with kindness. No, here, you were simply another piece of the queen’s collection, another fixture of her pristine and soulless court, meant to entertain and obey.

And despite how well you performed, despite how your presence alone seemed to please Queen Nia in some way you could not yet comprehend, something within you felt—wrong. As if you had been hollowed out and left behind as nothing more than an echo of who you once were. You laughed, you danced, you spun tales and played the fool, yet there was an emptiness to it all, a gnawing absence that no amount of applause or polite chuckles could ever fill. Your heart, once so full of warmth and joy, now felt like an aching void without the presence of those you loved.

Saying goodbye to King Finley had been the hardest. You had performed your duties well, cracking jokes, twirling in exaggerated flourishes, pretending as though nothing had changed, even as every fiber of your being screamed to run after him, to beg him to take you home. Instead, you bid him farewell with a grin stretched too wide, your fingers curling into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped imprints in your skin, the only thing keeping you from breaking down in the middle of the court.

But the King—he had held nothing back.

You had never seen him cry before, not once in all your years at his side. Yet there he was, standing before you, a man in his fifties, weeping openly as he prepared to leave you behind. It was almost cruel, as if he had only just realized the weight of his decision, as if his grief could somehow undo the fact that he had been the one to hand you over in the first place. And still, you could not find it in yourself to hate him. This was a political move, a means of strengthening relations between Luminia and Xelera, an arrangement that would ensure Luminia’s access to Xelera’s superior technology. You understood that. And yet, understanding did nothing to soothe the ache in your chest as you watched him depart.

Letters became your only solace, the thin thread that kept you tethered to the world you once knew. Messages flowed back and forth between you and those in Luminia, some filled with lighthearted tales, others heavy with grief that could not be spoken aloud in the queen’s court. But more than anyone, it was Nyla you wrote to the most.

Every letter to her was a plea, disguised beneath poetic musings and bittersweet recollections—memories of stolen kisses in hidden corridors, whispered promises beneath the glow of lantern light, the quiet comfort of simply being near her. You wrote to her as if the words alone could bridge the unbearable distance, as if they could somehow bring her closer despite the walls that now separated you.

And Nia read every single one. In secret of course. You had no clue, lest you explode and run away, or at least Nia thinks you might do that, but she didn’t know you enough to say what exactly you would do. Nonetheless, none of your letters were permitted to exit the palace unless they were first read by the queen.

She paid little mind to the correspondence between you and others, but the letters addressed to Nyla? Those, she scrutinized. Every word, every line, every carefully veiled emotion—she absorbed them all, her expression unreadable as she pored over the evidence of your love for another. Yet she never mentioned them aloud, never confronted you, never questioned the depth of your affections.

At first, Nia had convinced herself that her fascination with you was purely practical. You were new to her court, an unfamiliar presence in a kingdom where information was everything. It was only natural for her to ensure that nothing dangerous was slipping through the cracks, that none of your correspondence contained anything that could be used against her, against Xelera. That was the only reason she read your letters.

Definitely not because she found herself drawn to you, intrigued by the way you poured yourself into ink and parchment, desperate to know more than what your performances allowed her to see.

Because she wasn’t desperate.

Not in the way it felt when she read the way you wrote to Nyla, when she traced the longing in your words with her eyes, as if by reading them enough times, she could uncover some secret that would lessen the gnawing irritation that came with knowing that your heart so clearly belonged elsewhere.

She told herself it was simply curiosity. That it was only natural to want to know more about you—after all, she had spent years surrounded by people who spoke only when necessary, who withheld emotion with the same precision they wielded their swords. And then you arrived, as bright and lively as a flame in a sea of cold, unfeeling shadows. It was unnatural for someone to be so open, to be so liked. And yet, your letters revealed the truth of it.

You had no shortage of friends. Those you wrote to spoke of missing you, of shared jokes and memories, of moments that made them wish you were still in Luminia. Your family adored you just as much—siblings, cousins, distant relatives who all seemed to share in the warmth you so effortlessly spread. And it baffled her. You were the complete opposite of what she had assumed—a person who performed joy in public but was dull and embittered in private. But no, you were genuinely happy. You enjoyed life in ways that felt almost foreign to her, and the more she read, the more she realized how wrong she had been about you.

She didn’t know how to feel about that.

Back then, before she accepted you within her court, she didn’t know what to make of you, whether you would be useful or not, and yet, as the days passed, and the deadline for her decision loomed ever closer, she found herself hesitating. She should have made up her mind by now. Should have either confirmed your place in her court or dismissed you outright. But something about you still felt unresolved, as if she had yet to truly see you.

Then, on the second-to-last night, she finally did.

Standing at her bedroom window, draped in the cool hush of midnight, she saw the lone figure outside in the palace gardens. A familiar silhouette, wrapped in sleep attire, moving softly amidst the carefully manicured hedges and moonlit paths.

You.

For the first time, stripped of performance, stripped of duty. And Nia, watching unseen from above, felt something shift within her. Something that had been quiet before, something that now stirred with unspoken interest. 

At first, Nia’s intention was simple—just a quiet command from her window. She had heard your soft steps in the garden below, seen the fleeting silhouette of someone in night attire, and figured that you, like the rest of the palace staff, needed to be reminded of the need for rest. Nia was expected to maintain some level of authority, to uphold order, to be the steady hand of command that guided the palace in even the smallest moments. She would have called out to you, chiding you in her usual manner, bidding you return to your chambers for the night, reminding you of your duties as a guest in her court.

But as she approached the window, ready to utter those very words, something halted her. A sound. A voice, so unexpectedly beautiful that it seemed to pause time itself.

You were singing, softly at first, but with such clarity that it was impossible not to be drawn in. The melody floated across the garden, floating on the breeze, caressing the moonlit night. She froze, her fingers brushing against the windowsill as the soft rustling of the garden’s leaves was overtaken by the purity of your voice. The song was a strange lullaby to her ears, words in a language she could barely remember. Lumin, of course. It was a language she had never really mastered, dismissing it as something she didn’t need to know. But now, standing there, watching you as your feet dipped into the cool water of the garden’s lake, she wished she could understand every syllable, every note.

Nia had spent years learning the languages of her allies, the foreign tongues that served her political agenda. She had been taught the intricacies of Xelera’s closest neighbors, the customs and courtly norms of each land. She could speak every language but her own heart, but now, as she watched you sing, she realized how much she had neglected to learn the language of Lumin—the language of the people who had raised you, of the world you had come from. And it unsettled her. What was the song about? What stories did you weave with your voice in the dead of night, alone in the garden under the cool gaze of the stars?

The truth was, she was mesmerized. Nia hadn’t expected you, the lighthearted and seemingly carefree jester, to have such depth, to carry such hidden corners in your soul. To her, you had been little more than a jest, a puppet in her court to entertain her and the nobles, a thing to laugh at when the weight of the palace’s endless duties became too much to bear. But as she listened to your voice, her perception began to shift. You weren’t just a jester. You were a person, with dreams, with pain, with a history far beyond the simple jokes you told and the performances you gave. Your spirit was more complex than she ever gave you credit for.

And something else flickered within her—curiosity. Why were you so happy all the time? You had no reason to be, not really. The court saw you as a tool for their amusement, and yet, you danced through it all with a smile, cracking jokes even when you must’ve been suffering inside. Nia wondered what had broken you, what had molded you into someone so genuinely joyful despite the weight of the world you carried. She thought, for a brief moment, that perhaps you had been taken advantage of—used—and yet you still remained steadfastly cheerful, a testament to a resilience she couldn’t fathom.

Nia felt her chest tighten. Was it pity? Was it fascination? Perhaps both. But there was one thing that was clear: she wanted to know you. The real you. Not the jester the court saw, not the entertainer who wore their joy like a mask, but the person beneath it all. The one who could pour so much of their heart into something as simple as a song.

And from that night forward, her gaze followed you differently. Every smile you gave, every joke, every little flicker of light that danced behind your eyes, it all began to be scrutinized with a deeper, more intentional interest. You were no longer just the jester in her court. You had become an enigma, something she could not quite understand, yet something she desperately wanted to.

What was it about you, she wondered, that made you so happy all the time? What had shaped you into this person who found solace in the quiet of the night, who could sing in solitude with no fear of judgment? Why did you seem so content despite being a mere pawn in the grand schemes of the court?

And then it struck her—you were too expressive for your own good. In her own heart, Nia knew what it was to hide behind a mask. She had built her entire life on control, on carefully crafted facades. But you? You wore your emotions like a second skin, unafraid to reveal yourself. It was both beautiful and tragic, and Nia couldn’t help but feel a protective urge stir within her, something she hadn’t felt for anyone in a long time.

From that night, she had a new understanding of you, of your brightness, of your warmth. And despite the distance she had always kept from her court, despite her cold, calculated demeanor as queen, Nia found herself drawn to you in a way she couldn’t quite explain. You had touched something within her, something buried deep under layers of control and distance. And Nia, in her quiet, calculating way, made a decision: she would protect you.

Nyla hadn’t written in months, not a single word. Not even a small token of affection. It was a silence that gnawed at you in ways you couldn’t put into words, a hollow, gnawing ache in the pit of your stomach that seemed to grow with each passing day. The court murmured that she was doing fine, that nothing had changed, that life in Luminia went on just as it always had. 

But you, deep down, couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal gnawing at you. Was it possible that she had moved on, that she had found someone new to fill the space you once occupied? Could your fiancé, that woman who once promised you everything, now simply be waiting for you to fade from her life? The more you asked your friends in the palace about her well-being, the more their answers rang hollow in your ears, like a lullaby with no melody. Yes, she’s fine, they’d say, but it felt empty, like a practiced line to ease your anxieties.

Had she truly forgotten you? Was this part of her plan all along, to rid herself of the jester she once adored so she could open space for someone else? Maybe there was another jester now, someone who filled the void left by you, someone who could offer her more than you ever could. Your heart twisted with each thought, each possibility more unbearable than the last. You shook your head, trying to force the thoughts away. Dwelling on such things would only lead you to your demise. It would be your undoing if you let the worry fester, growing until it consumed you completely. You couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not when you had other things to focus on.

You had a role to play.

The rope was high above the court, its taut line a reminder of the dangerous stunts that you had become known for. It was here, suspended in mid-air, that you could forget everything—forget the ache of being abandoned, forget the sting of unanswered letters and silent promises. 

This, this was where you belonged. You had trained for years for moments like this, when your life was suspended in a delicate balance of skill and courage, where the thrill of the crowd’s reaction was all the affirmation you needed. You didn’t need answers from Nyla. Not when you had the roar of the crowd, their collective breath held in anticipation.

With a grin, you stepped out onto the tightrope, your balancing stick absent as you juggled instead, the colorful balls arcing gracefully through the air, reflecting the light of the lanterns below. The sense of weightlessness filled you, and for a moment, it was as if the world and its troubles had disappeared entirely. There was only you, the rope, and the laughter that bubbled from your chest as you effortlessly tossed and caught the balls, delighting in the dramatic gasps and exclamations from the nobles below.

You weren’t nervous. You never were. The tightrope, the high fall, it was all just part of the show. The danger wasn’t real—it was simply a part of the act, a performance designed to tease, to push boundaries. And the reactions? The sweet sound of gasps, the collective holding of breath, was as delicious to you as any applause. It made you feel alive, in control, even when everything around you was unraveling.

But there was always that small part of you that loved to tease the crowd, to push their limits and make them think, Just maybe. And so, as you juggled, you let one of the balls slip from your grasp, watching it tumble through the air with calculated precision. You let it fall just a little too far. 

The nobles below sucked in a breath, a few screams echoed through the hall, and you could almost taste their fear. The sweet, delicious tension that hung in the air as they imagined your fall—your inevitable doom—was almost too much to bear. But you weren’t worried. No. You could feel the rope beneath your feet, steady, unwavering. You would not fall. You never would.

With a flourish, you darted forward, catching the ball in your hand with effortless grace. The crowd let out a collective sigh of relief, the tension that had built suddenly breaking like a dam bursting. You laughed, your voice light and teasing, but underneath it was the familiar feeling of power, of command. “My court!” you called out, a grin spreading across your face. “Please, I am humbled by your concern. But fear not! I have this under control. You shall never see this jester fall from this rope, I promise you!” You could see the nobles exchange nervous glances, some still clutching their hearts as if your fall had truly been a possibility.

They always reacted this way, the same every time. They never knew what to expect from you, and that was part of the charm. You were a performer, a jester, and nothing could rattle you. You’d always known how to balance risk and reward, to dance along the edge of danger without ever truly falling. 

The court loved it, feeding off your confidence, their fear melting away in the face of your bravado. And yet, the emptiness inside you, the loneliness that gnawed at your heart, refused to be silenced by any applause or laughter. It lingered there, persistent, as you finished your performance. The crowds cheered, as they always did. But inside, something was slowly withering away.

Soon enough, the performance came to an end, and with it, the court was adjourned. The nobles filed out, their faces still flush from the excitement of your act, leaving behind the lingering hum of admiration that you were all too accustomed to. The raucous applause echoed in your ears for just a moment before the silence of the palace settled in. As customary, you were given the rest of the day to spend however you wished—at least that was what Nia allowed. Sometimes she granted you the freedom to roam the city or take the day for yourself within the vast walls of the palace. Other times, like today, she called upon you for private entertainment, her work as queen keeping her preoccupied with responsibilities behind closed doors.

You didn’t mind, of course. The queen had her duties, and you, as her jester, had your role. But there was something unsettling about the way she had come to treat you. Unlike King Finley, who had always addressed you with the title of jester in a casual, almost detached way, Nia’s words seemed to carry more weight. There was a strange intimacy in the way she spoke to you, a personal connection that you couldn’t shake, even if you tried. At first, you didn’t think much of it, chalking it up to the difference in their leadership styles. King Finley was kind, personal, and fun, while Nia was sharp, calculating, and far more direct. But over time, you began to sense something more beneath the surface.

She paid you generously—more than King Finley ever had—and when you had pointed out the disparity, asking if she truly meant to pay you so much, she simply smiled and waved it off with a casual shrug. “I’m just making sure you won’t ever miss Luminia. Xelera is better for you, trust me, my jester.” Her words were too soft, too deliberate. Too… personal. There was something in the way she addressed you that made your stomach twist with uncertainty.

It wasn’t just the money, though. It was the way she saw you, the way she claimed you. You were her jester, and that wasn’t something you could easily ignore. King Finley had always referred to you in that way, but it was a title he gave to anyone in his court, a general endearment, a sign of the loyalty he expected from his people. But Nia? No, she reserved the title for you alone. “My jester,” she would say, as though you were something far more precious than the rest. Something she could hold close.

The way she looked at you sometimes made your skin crawl. It wasn’t the warmth of a queen who simply cherished her entertainers, no. It was the gaze of someone who was keeping you under lock and key, someone who saw your talents as an extension of their own control, someone who needed you more than they ever let on. Her touch, her words, all seemed calculated, as if she were subtly weaving you into her own intricate web of power.

As you stood at the door of her private office now, ready to entertain her once again, your mind raced with these thoughts. You had spent so much time in the queen’s presence, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slowly shifting the lines between jester and something else entirely. Something… darker. A pedestal, yes, but also a cage. And it seemed you were being slowly encased in it, one delicate string at a time.

You didn’t mind it, spending a few hours with your queen, even if she was a bit touchy at times she never took it too far, yet you still had to hype yourself just a bit, a few quick steps, a few playful twirls, and you stood outside the door to her office. You adjusted your colorful tunic, pulled the jester’s bells that hung from your hat with a tug of your fingers, and then, in true form, threw the door open with an exaggerated flourish. You had to make an entrance, after all—it was your job.

“Ta-da!” you called, throwing both arms wide in dramatic flair as you practically leaped across the threshold. “The most entertaining jester in the land, ready to bring laughter to your royal ears!” You spun around, just barely managing to avoid the door slamming behind you as you dropped into a low bow, the bells on your hat jingling like a melody. “At your service, your majesty,” you added with a grin, keeping your posture exaggerated, your back arched dramatically.

Your entrance was met with a soft chuckle from Queen Nia, her eyes never leaving the pile of documents she had been inspecting. She was the picture of composure, but you had begun to know her well enough to see the tiniest flicker of amusement beneath her practiced calm. You could always tell when you hit the right note. But today… today felt different. There was something almost calculating about the way her gaze lingered on you.

You straightened up, straightening the wrinkles in your costume as you made your way toward her desk. A cartwheel, a swift turn of your body, and you positioned yourself in front of her, ready to perform your usual tricks and routines. You juggled the balls you had kept tucked into your sleeves, tossing them high into the air, each catch punctuated by the slight jingle of your bells. “Shall we make this meeting more entertaining, my queen?” you asked, keeping your tone light and playful, trying your best to disguise the lingering discomfort you felt about your growing suspicions.

Nia finally looked up at you, her eyes flickering with that same calmness you’d become accustomed to, but it was different now. There was something else there—something more personal, more possessive than you remembered. Still, her smile remained poised, though the glint of something more dangerous flashed for a moment in her gaze. “I see the jester has arrived in full form,” she said, her voice smooth but sharp, a glimmer of something else—something perhaps more intimate—sneaking into her tone.

You nodded, grinning like you always did, though the smile felt a little more strained than usual. “And always ready to serve,” you responded with the same practiced cheerfulness, though internally, you couldn’t ignore the nagging sensation that there was more to this than just playful entertainment.

You blinked in surprise, momentarily thrown off balance—not by a tightrope this time, but by the sharpness of Nia’s words. She leaned back in her ornate chair, fingers steepled in front of her lips as she fixed you with a gaze that was anything but playful. Her eyes, usually filled with mischievous glints or veiled amusement, were now darker, more serious. The playful edge that usually laced her voice was entirely absent, replaced with a quiet command that resonated deep within your chest, a pressure that weighed you down with its intensity.

“Your act today…” she said, pausing, each word deliberate as she drew out the silence between you. “Don’t do it again. I did not enjoy seeing half the court almost get sent to the hospital from heart attacks, and much more, I did not enjoy seeing you balance your life on that thin rope.” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the air with a cold precision that felt foreign coming from her. Nia, who usually allowed you your little bits of ridiculousness, your foolish stunts to bring a smile or laughter, was now a queen entirely different. Her voice, though quiet, held a weight behind it that pressed down on you, forcing you to listen, to heed her words with the gravity she intended.

You blinked again, the shock of the sudden shift in her behavior making your usual quick-wittedness falter. But you couldn’t let that stop you, couldn’t let her see you shaken, not when you had always been the one to keep things light, to bring joy into the room with your antics. So you swallowed down the knot of discomfort that had formed in your stomach and grinned, forcing your usual playful energy back into your movements. 

You straightened, a dramatic flourish in your bow as you responded with as much charm as you could muster. “Of course, Your Majesty,” you said, your voice carrying a mock-serious tone that only barely masked the unease bubbling beneath. “I shall never again entertain your court with such a dangerous feat, for fear of giving them all the thrill of their lives.” You finished with a bright grin, hoping to diffuse the tension, to return to the atmosphere of lighthearted chuckles and dismissal. 

Instead, she tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction more as if she were sizing you up, measuring something unseen. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have, stretching out between you as if she were waiting for something—an admission, perhaps, or maybe just your obedience. The air in the room grew thick, and you found yourself shifting under the weight of her scrutiny, though you kept your expression bright, your grin unwavering.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke again. “Come here,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less commanding. It wasn’t a request, nor was it laced with the usual teasing drawl she sometimes used when addressing you. No, this was something different—something heavier, more deliberate. You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, stepping forward with an exaggerated bounce in your step, arms spread wide as if to show you held no tricks up your sleeves. “As you wish, my queen!” you declared with dramatic flair, twirling once as you moved toward her, letting the bells on your attire chime merrily, a stark contrast to the underlying tension in the room.

As soon as you were within reach, Nia moved swiftly, her grip firm and unyielding as she caught you by the wrist and pulled you down—straight onto her lap. A gasp caught in your throat, surprise momentarily rendering you speechless as she wrapped her arms around you, holding you in place with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the warmth of her body pressing against you, her embrace far more intimate than any you had ever received before. 

Her chin rested against your shoulder, and before you could make some quip about personal space, she nuzzled herself into the crook of your neck, her breath warm against your skin. The gesture was… tender, and yet, there was an underlying intensity to it, something possessive in the way she held you, her arms locked around your waist as if she had no intention of letting go.

Your breath hitched, the words you had been ready to speak dying on your tongue as Nia’s grip tightened ever so slightly. You had spent enough time in her court to know she was not a woman prone to unnecessary affections, nor was she someone who indulged in idle comforts. And yet, here she was, holding you so close, her presence engulfing you like a slow-moving tide, her breath fanning across your neck as if she were memorizing the very shape of you.

“You are reckless,” she murmured, her voice lower now, almost tender, but laced with something deeper, something that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “You treat your life like a game, balancing on ropes, dangling above the court like some—some foolish acrobat.” Her fingers trailed along your side, slow and deliberate, before settling against your hip, possessive in their stillness. “I don’t like it.” Another pause, this one longer, heavier, filled with the weight of unspoken words. And then, softer, barely above a whisper— “I don’t want to lose you.”

It was the closest thing to a confession she had ever given, and yet, something about it felt strange, unsettling in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. You were used to playful flirtations, to charming nobles and teasing kings, to the easy, fleeting affections exchanged in courtly games. But this… this was different. Nia was not asking for your attention—she was demanding it, carving her claim into the very air between you, as if daring the world to take you from her. 

And you, foolish jester that you were, had no idea that the letters you had so painstakingly written to Nyla, the ones you had sent in desperation, had never reached their intended recipient. Nor did you know that the replies you had so long awaited had never even been written, their ashes long since scattered by the very woman who now held you close.

Nia’s breath seemed to slow as she nestled further into the crook of your neck, her arms tightening around you in a way that both soothed and unsettled you. It was an odd sensation, the juxtaposition of warmth and restraint, of her closeness being both comforting and stifling. She was not asking for permission, not even waiting for an answer; her actions spoke louder than any words could. She had you in her embrace now, and the more you shifted uncomfortably in her lap, the more determined she seemed to hold you there.

“Why do you struggle?” Her voice was soft, a strange sweetness to it that you hadn’t ever heard before, as though she were speaking to something fragile, something precious she feared would slip away. Her fingers danced lightly along your back, drawing circles against your skin. “You’re mine now, whether you like it or not.” She chuckled softly, her lips brushing against your ear, the warmth of her breath sending a tremor through your body. “I’ve made sure of that, haven’t I? You’re here, with me, and you’re not going anywhere.”

The words, the intensity in her voice, made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. You had never wanted to be this close to her, not in the way she seemed to want. You had always thought of yourself as a simple jester, someone whose duty was to entertain, not to be the object of such possessive affection. But she was your queen, and you had sworn an oath, hadn’t you? To serve her, to follow her commands. You could not, would not, disobey.

But even as those thoughts raced through your mind, you felt her lips brush against your neck once more, soft and lingering, as if she were memorizing the feel of you. She was nuzzling into you now, a sigh escaping her as her arms tightened even further. Her actions were so tender, so needy, and yet… suffocating. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want her to be this close, to possess you in such a way. But as her fingers continued to trace invisible patterns across your skin, you swallowed your reluctance, your desire to pull away. You couldn’t move, couldn’t bring yourself to resist—she was your queen. And queens did not ask for permission. They simply took what they wanted.

“Stay with me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the words slipping past her lips like a secret only meant for your ears. “Please… stay.” And despite every instinct in you telling you to break free, you found yourself nodding, ever so slightly, as if the small gesture could make this all feel more bearable. The moment you gave in, you were trapped, and you knew that deep down. But still, you stayed.

[bitofanupsidedowner]

not to be that guy but honestly... milkvan being canon would not even mean anything to straight people. it would be unimpressive as far as the actual show goes, but it's also impressively uninteresting outside of it too. it's literally just a drop in a bucket, it's one of a million toxic straight ships revered for the sole virtue of not being gay. it would be essentially meaningless even to the people who adore it because it doesn't say or change anything.

i don't think they get how demoralizing it is to grow up gay and see your love only ever portrayed as a tragedy or a punchline. even before you know that this is the way you experience the world, you know that your experience is deemed as fundamentally wrong, lonely, and unsympathetic.

brokeback mountain was made into a joke by the general audience. people still so frequently turn homosexual desire into something perverse or something to laugh at. maybe they do know and they just don't care, but the point is byler would actually have an impact. it has a message to it that, unlike mike & el's relationship, actually lines up with what the show's been telling us.

and yes the complete truth is that technically, that's not something that's at all obligated in order to make a ship good or worth doing. almost every straight couple in media, even the really good ones, fall under that category because straight people don't really have a lot left that needs to be said about them, but it is something that is crucial to understand when it comes to thinking about the longetivy of your work and how it's remembered.

what is this saying now, what is it going to say in the future, what does it say about the past? how does it resonate with the kids of today, yesterday, and tomorrow? and byler would say something about overcoming obstacles that milkvan just couldn't since their primary obstacle is their own innate inability to love each other in a way that's healthy.

like yes, you're absolutely right that it's possible that the show whose core message is about uplifting people who don't fit into society's expectations is going to throw that away and tell the same story everybody else has already told, throwing a perpetually-tortured gay kid into the depths of despair and trapping three traumatized teenagers into a cycle of shame that they pass onto the next generation, but what does that say, and why do you want so badly for them to say it?

[d4n1elll4]

───〃𖹭 ZUKO

Even though you'll probably fail over and over and over again, you have to try to every time. You can't quit because you're afraid you might fail.

NAVIGATION ⋮ MASTERLIST

𖹭 A CLASSIC by unfriedough [DRABBLE] [0.8K]

⇢ 2 teenagers, 1 bed.

𖹭 BACK TO YOU by unfriedough [ONESHOT/HEADCANONS] [2.7K]

⇢ You’re mute, and you get kidnapped by zuko when gathering materials. When on his ship, you realise maybe there’s more to him than what meets the eye.

𖹭 BENEATH THE BLOSSOMS by passable-talent [ONESHOT] [1.2K]

⇢ Zuko finds peace by the turtle duck pond, where his mother once taught him kindness. You join him with apple peels and quiet affection, helping him rest and feel like himself—if only for a little while.

𖹭 BENEATH THE ICE by passable-talent [ONESHOT] [1.7K]

⇢ You saved a firebender from drowning under Northern Water Tribe ice—no name, no questions. Months later, you never expected the quiet boy you saved to be Prince Zuko.

𖹭 CAUGHT IN THE ACT by melzula [DRABBLE] [0.7K]

⇢ A private moment between you and your boyfriend is interrupted by your unsuspecting friends.

𖹭 COLD HANDS by fandomlit [DRABBLE] [0.3K]

“Your hands are freezing.” “Thanks, I get it from my mother.” ⇢ Zuko warms you up when you’re cold.

𖹭 DAI LI | PT.2 | PT.3 | PT.4 | PT.5 | PT.6 | PT.7 | PT.8 by passable-talent [SERIES] [17K]

⇢ You met him as Lee, a kind waiter with a scar and a soft smile. You fell for him slowly, between tea cups and late-night chats. But when truths unravel in Ba Sing Se, you learn he’s Zuko—Fire Nation prince and traitor to his uncle. Furious and heartbroken, you flee with Team Avatar. Yet when he returns, asking for a second chance, all you can do is walk away… because love doesn’t erase betrayal. Will you be able to forgive him?

𖹭 DAMSEL IN DISTRESS by satuguro [ONESHOT] [1.5K]

⇢ In which desperate times call for dsperate measures.

𖹭 DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT by gladerwolfstarkimagines [ONESHOT] [4.3K]

⇢ You tease Sokka and Suki for being embarassingly romantic and they get revenge when they realise you like Zuko.

𖹭 DESTINED TO BE YIN AND YANG by firelordsfirelady [SERIES] [40K]

⇢ When Y/N—a princess of one of the Water Tribes—is told she’s leaving her tribe, she never expects that she’s to be betrothed to the Fire Lord’s son, nor was she prepared to be exiled the very day she arrived at the Fire Nation. With her life in the hands of her new fiancée, how will life change for the princess?

𖹭 DESTINY by cecilysobsessions [ONESHOT] [6K]

⇢ You are hired as fire lord zuko’s personal bodyguard. Being the stubborn man he is, he doubts that you can protect him. You’re going to prove him wrong.

𖹭 EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON by atlabeth [SERIES] [120K+]

⇢ As a servant in the Fire Nation, you’ve learned that life is often unfair. But as you venture through a tumultuous relationship with a certain prince, you come to realize a very tricky lesson: everything happens for a reason.

𖹭 FIGHT ME, LOSER by unfriedough [HEADCANONS]

𖹭 I WON’T SAY I’M IN LOVE by iloveboysinred [ONESHOT] [1.4K]

⇢ Zuko had never been one to express himself in the right ways, anger had always been his primary emotion. But, when he meets you, a rouge fire bender helping the Avatar, it becomes hard for him to accept the growing warmth in his chest every time you look at him.

𖹭 IMAGINE TRYING TO HELP ZUKO CONVINCE EVERYONE THAT HE’S GOOD… by theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction [DRABBLE] [0.3K]

𖹭 IN YOUR EYES by zukosprettyprincess [ONESHOT] [2.3K]

⇢ When Zuko falls for a member of the gaang, he fears that his mistakes may ruin his chances with them.

𖹭 LIFE-CHANGING FIELD TRIP by beifongsss [ONESHOT] [3.1K]

⇢ You just want to test the waters and see if Zuko likes you back, after all, Sokka has been telling you that he does indeed like you. However, every time you try to get close to the prince, he either runs away or ignores you.

𖹭 LIVE FROM EMBER ISLAND: THE WORST ROMANCE EVER (APPARENTLY) by gladerwolfstarkimagines [ONESHOT] [3.2K]

⇢ You and Zuko barely tolerate each other. At least that’s what you thought. But after a certain infamous Ember Island play spins the wildest version of your story , suddenly everyone is convinced there’s something between you two. (Spoiler: Everyone bu you knew)

𖹭 LOVESICK LOSERS by unfriedough [ONESHOT] [2.4K]

⇢ Growing up with the prince, you two were inseparable. And once he was banished, you hadn’t seen him again for years, that was, until you joined team avatar and began fighting against him, and then eventually fighting alongside him.

𖹭 NERVOUS by fandomlit [DRABBLE] [0.2K]

⇢ Imagine Zuko being nervous on your wedding day.

𖹭 OF FIRE AND TRUST | PT.2 by gladerwolfstarkimagines [TWOSHOT] [8.5K]

⇢ Aang ran away with a friend who was visiting when he ran away. After being thawed from the iceberg and meeting Zuko, you can just feel his anger, so everytime you two meet you are just friendly. By the time Zuko joins the crew you are the only one who fully vouches for Zuko because you’ve always seen the good in him.

𖹭 OH, SPIRITS by atlabeth [ONESHOT] [1.8K]

⇢ Literally just the ‘there was only one bed’ cliche with Zuko.

𖹭 PAST LOVERS by fandomlit [DRABBLE] [0.7K]

⇢ Sokka and Zuko talk about their past loves.

𖹭 STRESS RELIEF by passable-talent [ONESHOT] [2.3K]

⇢ Zuko’s been tense all day, but you know just how to fix that.

𖹭 TRANSFERRED by atlabeth [SERIES] [23.6K]

⇢ Trying to run from your past is hard, but falling for your brother’s roommate is even harder. Little do you know that he’s falling for you as well.

𖹭 WHERE IT HURTS by passable-talent [ONESHOT] [1.7K]

⇢ After a rough day, Zuko asks you to sit with him—not as the Fire Lord, but just as a boy who needs to talk. You listen, reassure him, and remind him how far he’s come. In the quiet warmth of his room, between kisses and confessions, he finally lets himself be loved.

[yayasvalveplay]

Megatron would definitely have a private breakdown in im an autobot about all the times he tried to kill Orion, Oppy finds him & tries to offer some comfort but Megatron just keeps arguing that he should have known, it's so obvious now, he still has all the same little quirks

& Oppy argues there's no way he'd be able to notice those during a battle & that he was grieving, if anything he should have remembered when he saw Megatron, no before that when he used to dig through the archives to find old war footage of Megs, which is when said bot interrupts him with a joke about how nothings changed about Orion not being able to keep his eyes off Meg's frame, & that Orion shouldn't blame himself because he was shadowplayed he wouldn't have any memories to recall even if his unchanging tastes lead him to falling in love all over again

Which is when Oppy is like 🥺👉👈 actually, i kinda had a ton of wet dreams that i now realise might have been memories i only recognised it was you in them after they showed us some examples of deception propaganda in the academy training, i was digging through the archive for jerk off material probably was too horny to notice how poorly doctored half of the primary sources i read were

We could make this more evil tho, why would the council go to the trouble of doing all that to Orion when they could have just made an example executing him or fake his murder by a warframe etc well they find out the first time they interface, Oppy has been implanted with a honeypot sleeper virus set to transfer & activate slave coding in them both

It's terrifying to suddenly no longer have control over their frames, at least they can communicate through their new spark bond

Someone goes to check up on them the next day only to find they've taken Drift's ship & are heading to a rendezvous with UM who makes some comment about how you can't edit the slut out of someone's base coding it seems

I love the first half of this.

The second part I'm not so sure about. I think they were way too confident in their shadow play to think Orion needed slave coding.

Ultra Magnus: "It's not like he'll ever be on the field."

Ultra magnus was going to make sure of that, weather that be courting Optimus himself,making him his secretary, or throwing him somewhere else where he'd never be able to see the war zone.

Archa 7 took those options and threw it out the window. But it still got him off the field never seeing a decepticon warship.

What do you mean you found the allspark and a decepticon warship is after you?

[zeroducks-2]

Do you really think reverse flash is in love with Barry? I don't mean for this to sound snarky I'm just confused. Thawne killed Barry's mom how can you say he's in love with him? I like all the things you post and rb about them I really enjoy the ship. I just don't get it can you explain?

The question "how can Eobard be in love with Barry if he hurt him" has both a short answer and a long answer. The short answer is that people are very much capable of hurting the ones they love, on purpose or by accident.

The long answer is that Eobard is a deeply disturbed individual who has never been the recipient of love, and because of that and of many extremely traumatic events (including but not limited to being brainwashed in prison, being trapped in a timeless limbo alone for years, being tortured and treated like cattle and put in sensory deprivation for ludicrous amounts of time, dying at the hands of the only person who had ever shown compassion towards him), he has a skewed perception of a lot of things and is extremely bad at emotional regulation.

Moreover, and this is something which is easy to overlook but it's actually very important, Eobard is not human. His actions are informed by his traumas, but the way he approaches pretty much everything (including his "problems" with Barry) isn't done the way a human would.

Eobard is a timeless, deathless creature which embodies one of the driving forces of reality itself (the Negative Speed Force). He lived probably more than a few hundred years considering how he keeps running around through time doing stuff, and how he keeps going back to watch past events and adjust the way he will interact with the timeline next.

He knows the huge impact that killing Nora will have on Barry, but from a moral and ethical standpoint it's not a big deal for him. Nora is less than a speck in time, an NPC who served her role for that briefest moment in which she existed. She is a big deal because she is a big deal for Barry, not because she's meaningful in any other way.

"But then he did want to hurt Barry when he killed her" Yes, absolutely he wanted to. Eobard didn't "just" kill Nora Allen - he went back in time and changed everything about Barry's life, made it so he had no friends, made him grow isolated and insecure and shy, lacking confident in his abilities. And he did it because he is very, VERY angry with Barry for one, and also because isolating Barry makes it easier for them to grow closer.

And it worked! Back in the Silver Age, when Nora and Henry were alive and not in prison, Barry couldn't be bothered with Eobard. For him Eo was just a random criminal with superspeed, and sure he was threatening because speedsters always are, but not that much of a big deal.

Now? Now Eobard is a primary element in Barry's life, a constant he's had to deal with basically since birth, someone who rewritten his entire life to make himself part of it in an indelible manner.

It worked because now Barry is more likely to fall for Eobard's manipulation, to listen to him, to just accept that he's THERE because he's always been. Near the end of Running Scared, Eobard tells him "run away with me", and Barry says yes.

Back in the Silver Age there would have been no way.

It's worth mentioning that to understand Eobard, you need to understand that everything he does, every single thing, has the end goal of being with Barry. Whether he's trying to protect him or trying to hurt him or trying to manipulate him, whether they manage to work together against a common enemy or they're on opposite sides of the fight, every single one of Eobard's actions is motivated by love (his personal, inhuman version of love).

"But if that is the case, then why doesn't he just tell Barry 'I love you'?"

Two reasons, and one is meta.

The in-story reason is that every time Eobard tried to do something good without masking it as horrible, it went sideways and backfired spectacularly - mix that with poor emotional regulation, and you have someone who's not going to be able to handle rejection and is outright scared of doing good things openly. I think if he told Barry "I love you" and Barry reacted badly it would hurt too much. Also he wants Barry to understand, and thanks to a couple of competent writers who sadly don't work on Flash anymore, we were getting there.

The meta reason is because DC is homophobic, plain and simple. Eobard DID SAY I love you many times except with words, because DC editorials won't let him. That's it. It's the same reason why Joker can't tell Batman "I love you" and has to do weird ass word plays and even more weird ass attention seeking maneuvers. They're stunted by reasons which no one but DC itself can control.

So in short. How can Eobard be in love with Barry and hurt him so much at the same time? Because he doesn't have many ways of express love, he has a hard time being caring, and every time he allows himself to be soft it backfires. Because he wants Barry to belong to him and will isolate him and make him suffer to get there. Because he's angry with Barry -- Barry hurt him too, rejected him and left him alone and refused to accept that Eobard is his lightning rod for a long time.

Eobard easily lashes out when he's hurt, and the less grounded he is the more vicious and violent he turns.

"But Zero, how can Eobard think that Barry will ever forgive him for having killed his mom?"

I don't believe Eobard was ever looking for forgiveness, but fun fact. Barry did forgive him already. Barry is not human either, and at this point I think he'd forgive Eobard just about anything, and despite how difficult everything is between them, he really wants to get to a place where they don't need to hurt each other.

The problem with this, and it's one of the reasons why they have so many issues communicating, is that Barry is in denial about many things - about being the Speed Force, about Eobard being in love with him, about how they're two constants through time and two sides of the same coin and basically can't exist without each other, about how they're each other's lightning rod.

Their relationship is very complex, absolutely not what it looks like at first glance, and it's colored by all the hurt there is between them. But again, ultimately understanding Eobard is understanding that love is what motivates him, even when he does the most horrible unhinged things.

In conclusion, have this panel from The Flash Age which is one of my favorite Flash comics, in which you can see the way these two manage to trust each other and fall into the right rhythm, despite the oceans of misunderstandings and suffering between them.

Pages from The Flash Age, by Joshua Williamson. In which Barry tells Eobard to "do the right thing", and Eobard just does it.

[mikayuumouse]

(asking you about sskk since you asked which I've already asked to starlightshadowsworld )

Hey so this is quite random but remember when akutagawa thought he'd finally killed/beaten atsushi in their battle on that cargo ship in s1? In the manga after Akutagawa's anger has finally calmed down he, with a sorrowful expression on his face, wonders, "what killing him does anything good for me?" Later in the guild arc we see him making killing atsushi his final goal though he does say killing him a hundred times won't give him any satisfaction in rage. In 55 minutes ( we can assume it happens after the guild arc and before the cannibalism arc) akutagawa confirms that he doesn't hate Atsushi but he just can't simply move forward unless he tears him apart. Which is made more complicated when Atsushi realizes akutagawa had a sorrowful expression when he (aku) cut his (atsu's) throat. Showing the duality of Akutagawa's words and heart.This duality becomes more prominent when Fukuchi asks akutagawa if atsu's life is that much important to him. You can literally see the expression of shock and realization on his face. Also point to be noted he didn't answer the question. So my question to you is, when did his feelings start to change? when did he start to associate atsu's death as his primary goal? When did he realize he didn't actually want that? I'd love to hear your interpretations!

Omg wait this is such an interesting ask oml. Genuinely obsessed with the evolution of Akutagawa's feelings towards Atsushi 🙏

I think that when Fukuchi asked him "is his life that precious to you?" it was definitely when he genuinely realized how much he cared about Atsushi and Atsushi's life. And another thing is, I don't think Akutagawa died to save Atsushi because Dazai ordered him to, I think he did it simply just because he wanted to save Atsushi and would give up his life for that. Dazai did say "you know the reason yourself don't you?" when Dazai claimed that Akutagawa would save Atsushi, so I think Dazai is aware of how much Akutagawa actually values Atsushi, but in his usual Dazai manner, he didn't give Akutagawa any answers

But I think Akutagawa started caring for Atsushi before the fight with Fukuchi. I personally think that ever since they've met, Akutagawa has been enamored of sorts with Atsushi. His eyes lit up and he said "that's more like it" when Atsushi transformed in front of him when they first met, and this was before he learned Atsushi was Dazai's new subordinate

I don't think Akutagawa's ever hated Atsushi for WHO he is, he even said "I only hated you for your good fortune". He was envious, but never hated Atsushi as a person

(on a side note, it's clear that they get along in a non hostile environment from reading BEAST. They get along flawlessly so you can't say they're not compatible, in a domestic setting they are. And that's why I personally think they make the perfect couple and should get married)

I think Akutagawa's first feelings towards Atsushi were very conflicted. I think he admired Atsushi's strength but also hated it. Their fight on the cargo ship with Kyouka probably didn't change much, but Akutagawa inevitably learned more about Atsushi through that fight, and also how he valued Atsushi's life

On the Moby Dick fighting against Francis is when I think Akutagawa's feelings shifted from a type of animosity to more of...a connection. I think on the Moby Dick is when Akutagawa's character started to be intertwined with Atsushi more. They fought together instead of against each other (although they also still fought each other) and I think that made Akutagawa's perspective really change, where he started to respect Atsushi

(also there was a rainbow in the background when they finished the fight so um 👀)

The cannibalism arc, in my opinion, is when Akutagawa fell in love with Atsushi. (I know Sskk isn't canon LMAO but let a girl have her delusions<3). Okay, on a canon note, it's not that he fell in love (🤞) but I think Sskk's relationship GREATLY changed within the cannibalism arc (more people need to talk about it I swear)

Atsushi and Akutagawa had a talk about why Atsushi "saves people even though he's a coward" (to loosely quote Akutagawa), and Atsushi said because it was the right thing to do. But what he didn't say was that he was selfish and saved others to have a reason to live, he only thought that with a flashback to his orphanage. But later on, Atsushi says to Akutagawa "you already know the answer" after Akutagawa asks him why he saves people again. That really goes to show how much they understand each other without words, because Akutagawa does know

I think this really strengthened their understanding of each other

Also Pushkin shoots at Akutagawa and Atsushi pushes him out of the way right after they have that conversation, so that shows character development. I know you can technically argue "well it's Atsushi of course he'd push his teammate out of harm's way" but Atsushi knows how strong Akutagawa is and his capability with Rashomon, he could probably block that bullet. Yet, despite that, he's still scared Akutagawa's going to get shot and get hurt, so he pushed him to the ground anyway. Because he cared

Also in their fight against Ivan, it's the first time they use Kokko Zessou/Kokuto Zessou (I can never remember the spelling but it's just Beast Beneath the Moonlight x Rashomon). It's when they stop bickering and work together, it's when they put innate and unwavering trust in each other

A thing about Shin Soukoku is that a lot of their relationship goes unspoken. Because they don't need the words. And their trust is something that's not said with words, yet it's quite clearly there

So back to core question of this ask, I think Akutagawa's feelings started to change ever since the Moby Dick. I think he realized how changed they were after the fight against Ivan, and I think alongside his realization that he trusted Atsushi and genuinely cared about him, he realized he couldn't break the promise he and Atsushi had made

Also, regarding the six months deal, I have so many questions for how that's going to go down. Akutagawa can't kill Atsushi. Atsushi can't kill Akutagawa. I wonder how Asagiri is going to write that

And the only real reason why Akutagawa ever wanted to kill Atsushi was because of Dazai and Dazai's validation. If he proves himself to Dazai and defeats the weretiger, he'll finally get recognition. But now, Akutagawa doesn't seem to need Dazai's validation, regarding chapter 123. I really don't think there's any point for the six months deal to actually happen, but Asagiri might use it as a manoeuver to be able to let Akutagawa and Atsushi talk together

And oh my GOD chapter 123. And 122. The path of Akutagawa's feelings towards Atsushi is definitely long and sort of up to interpretation with some bits, but in the latest chapters, we know how his feelings have ended up

(this man is madly in love with Atsushi no one's changing my mind)

The past few chapters have had a lot of Akutagawa introspection and development, and it's honestly so interesting to finally see what he actually thinks of Atsushi. It's far from hate at this point, and what his feelings for Atsushi were along the way are definitely something complex

His feelings now are...well there's a lot to comb through. He cares about Atsushi, Atsushi is his reason to live, he'd do anything to get Atsushi back, he's dealing with the loss of Atsushi...

Oh I can't wait for this arc to unfold

But yeah those are my thoughts/slight analysis on how I think Akutagawa's feelings have changed, thank you for the ask :DD

[swiiivet-screamathon]

Waffled - Another Shadow Milk Redemption One lol

Shadow Milk followed Pure Vanilla back to Crispia and found out being powerless, bored and influenceable makes you really bad at staying villainous.

Content: Non-Linear Short Stories & Art

Themes? Genres? Whichevers more correct: The chance for redemption, the autonomy required to become better, being granted the opportunity to make our own choices, the time needed to rehabilitate, the evolution of change

Premise Summary: After Pure Vanilla (Pv) became the Cookie of Deceit and accepted the "corrupted" Souljam it turns out the reason why it was turning from blue to white wasn't because he was losing his faith in the Truth, but because Shadow Milk (Smilk) had inadvertently given it some of his own powers, resulting in him becoming significantly weakened compared not only to just Pv's newly acquired awakening but also the Souljam's Smilk infused power he now held, causing Smilk to flee after his valiant effort. Once he notices that his tower is crumbling and Pv planning to leave he makes a very brash decision due to being emotionally raw and very angry; so he decides to follow Pv when they depart from Beast-Yeast so that he can potentially get a new opportunity in the future to regain his powers and get his revenge. Pv however knowing Smilk so intimately knows that him following them back home is incredibly likely and plans accordingly. That plan being to not return to the Vanilla Kingdom but instead lead him to the Cookie Kingdom with the intent of executing a friendship plan as an underhanded, sneaky redemption arc right under Smilk's nose, no matter how long it takes.

After a long, methodical process Smilk slowly recognizes that in this weakened condition on top of being surrounded and outnumbered means that he cannot get what he wants in the present moment, that scenario on its own makes any villainous plots difficult to execute. So with nothing else to do besides stare at Pv for more months he allows himself to get distracted by one inquisitive cookie, who seems to not be all that dissimilar from him fundamentally. But yk, this distraction and intrigue doesn't mean anything at all, obviously, he's toootally still planning on getting that souljam back and return his powers, thats fully on the agenda and it's frankly embarrassing you think that plan has just been dropped-- just uh, yk, it doesn't need to be right now, does it?

Predominant Characters: (Primary) Pure Vanilla, Shadow Milk, Strawberry Crepe (Supporting) Espresso, White Lily, Dark Cacao (Notable Mentions/Tertiary) Black Raisin, Candy Apple, Black Sapphire, Golden Cheese, Gingerbrave, Strawberry, Wizard + Frequent One Off Cameos

AU's Goals: Primarily a canon compliant/in character method for Smilk to be redeemed. Secondarily get Smilk and Strawberry Crepe in the same room together + Analysing Smilk's character when pushed and stretched. Tertiarily to get Smilk to interact with most of the other cookies.

Ships?: Yes and No, shipping is not canon compliant which goes against the main intention of the au, but for funsies I wanted to anyways so I have a tag for when the shipping is intended. The reader is never obligated to view any posts as either explicitly platonic or romantic, the tags are just for authorial intent; you can have your own opinion about it lol.

White Lily, Dark Cacao, Pure Vanilla, Shadow Milk-- all in a fun pile together :p

Will you roleplay?: I mean I never intended to, but I can dust off my roots if anyone wants me to, sounds fun; but it'll probably not be "canon". If anyone does I'll prob add a tag for it

Can I contribute in any way?: Sure lol, its not like I can stop anyone but if you're someone who needs permission this isn't like, my baby or anythin, I'm not gonna be mad if you want to create off my ideas lmao. Would be neat not to yap to myself though

Tags: #waffled au -> for the "main story" - #syrupy waffled au -> authorial intended shipping - #waffling waffled au -> if anyone else ever makes content I'll reblog it but I'll have super scathing comments beware /lh

Additional Comments: Read the tags if you want insight on how I'm thinkin lol-- Also I the op is heavily disordered and not the greatest of writers, so hopefully any mistakes don't ruin anythin for any o you

Also just to clear my own conscience, "Why do they look different/have a redesign? That's not very canon of you." Disregarding that I don't think havin new costumes automatically makes them incompatible w canon, I think it makes a better story to see their appearance change and evolve as they evolve, so I'm gonna do that-- which tbf would make it non compliant cause crk isnt a good story HA (/j ofc lol)

[artisticwizard]

General Grevious

Sleeper agent phrase activated.

Favorite thing about them

Fucking. Everything? I adore robots and he's a cyborg. I adore aliens and he's an alien. I love characters with four arms and guess what. On aesthetics alone he's gorgeous to me. He's been my fav character in star wars ever since I saw him in the movies, and He's been probably one of my top favorite character since then as well. Disclaimer, but I like the Legends backstory for him so much more so I usually default to that when talking about him. His backstory??? MWAH. MAGNIFICENT. STUNNING. POETIC. LIED TO AND USED ALL OF HIS LIFE? He thinks always that he is doing what is best for his people. He lost his literal other half in the war, his true soulmate to slavers of his people, swept into the sea. He changed his name to grievous to let his grief be known to all of his enemies??? My fucking GOD. He was a demigod among his people. He is a canon polyamourous king who has several wives and sired many children. He was a strategic mastermind and sought out by the sith for his genius. His hatred of the jedi was falsely implanted in him by sith interference. He thinks that the jedi are to blame for his cyborg body when it was the sith all along. Fuck man. I couldn't write a better character if I tried, and I have. Literally a character so doomed by the narrative that he is the epitome of tragedy to me.

Least favorite thing about them

I understand why he has to lose a lot, because the primary message of star wars is that good always triumphs over evil. The light will always beat the dark. I get that. I just dislike how he seems to lose in ways that are embarrassing? Anytime he loses it seems to be in an almost childish way that's unbecoming of him. It's why my favorite rivals for him are Obi Wan or Kit Fisto. Both of them are incredibly intelligent jedi masters that use strategy and his own ego against him, which make the times he is defeated against them more satisfying than other times.

Favorite line

Jedi. You are surrounded. Your army is decimated. Make peace with the force, now. For this is your final hour. But know that I, General Grievous, am not completely without mercy. I will grant you a warrior's death. Prepare! (followed by one of the sickest fucking lightsaber fights ever)

brOTP

Hard to answer. He doesn't have many friends. I wouldn't consider them friends exactly but his bickering with Asajj Ventress is always a treat.

OTP

I've dabbled in almost every grievous ship I can think of. I can't say I prefer one more than the others enough to make it an OTP. Some of my favs are obigrievous, asajj x grievous, Ronderu x Grievous, and dooku x grievous. TECHNICALLY one of my favorite ships features an original character from a fic I've read. Fanfic writers who make compelling and engaging OCs for their fics are amazing *wink wink nudge nudge at the person who sent this.*

nOTP

None I can think of.

Random headcanon

The Kaleesh are a reptilian species in general, that will not stop me from giving him some cat-isms. What if he purrs. What if his eyes get big when he sees something he likes. What if he likes scenting things. What if he bellows like a crocodile. What if he chuffs like a tiger. Shut up.

unpopular opinion

I already stated this, but I prefer his Legends backstory over his canon one. I've come around to not hating his canon one as much as I used to, but I still prefer the other.

song i associate with them

Literally I cannot think of one. I am a failure. A sham. A facsimile of my former self.

favorite picture of them

All of them, but this has been my discord icon forever. I have no clue who drew it but it was part of a doodle page here on tumblr and for the life of me I cannot find the original artist.

[short-for-melancholy]

Intro post, intro post... this'll do for now

Hi hi! Mel's not my real name, she's just a character of mine, but you can call me that and I'll respond to it. I'm a writer with little to show for it. I like cats, creating fantasy characters, and collecting and cataloging isekai anime.

I rarely follow anyone back because I'm very particular about what ends up on my dash, but if I see you in my notes I will take notice and consider you a friendly acquaintance, so don't be afraid to interact with me!

If you want to DM me and I don't know you, please tell me what you're messaging me about! It makes me anxious if you just say "hi" and I'll block you instead of dealing with it. There's no such restriction on Asks, though!

I'm aroace so whatever you do, don't flirt with me<3

the following is a collection of information about my ocs! you can click their names for a link to their associated posting tag, and for collections of girls, you can click on each one's name for a link to their personal introductory post.

Girlie Compendium

Mel

24, 5'6", cis, lesbian, human

it's not actually short for melancholy, she's just mel. as a child, mel's family died protecting her and she was left orphaned in the street. with nothing left to live for, but unable to justify suicide after her family's sacrifice, mel picked up a blade and threw herself into adventuring, hoping to die excusably in an attempt to provide for herself. 18 years later, she finds herself the strongest swordsman alive, having survived encounters with every monster shes come across, though not without scars. she has no special skills or magic, but her ability to fight without fearing death and her natural combat prowess have served her frustratingly well. mel leads a solitary, untethered life, as expected of one who never expects to make it home. her most notable wound is her missing left hand, which was incinerated when she first fought a dragon at age 12. since dragonfire wounds never fully recover, she has to keep much of her arm bandaged to keep the smouldering flesh from spreading further.

Hikari Ni'naritai

25, 5'4", cis, aroace, moon miqote

(art by @atelier-aria)

hikari is my final fantasy 14 warrior of light character. a former conscript of the garlean military in othard, hikari changed her name and defected to eorzea in an attempt to escape her vicious past. if youre not familiar with japanese, 'hikari ni naritai' translates to 'i want to become light', and she's made this a personal creed. her story after defecting follows the events of the game pretty closely, though her meteoric rise to the status of Hero did untold damage to her mental health. her favorite things include fighting, sugary sweets, costuming, and fishing. she started adventuring as a mage, but shes too stupid to cast spells and is much more comfortable in a physical role. her primary driving force is her need to be a perfect, shining example of infallible heroism, and her secondary motivation is redeeming her enemies, because as the worst person to ever walk the earth, she has to believe that everyone can change so she can believe in her own change.

Aoi Furukane

28, [height to be updated, shes shorter tho], cis, bisexual polyamorous, au ra

aoi is hikari's normie friend! they met on the ship to vesper bay, separated when aoi continued to limsa, but met back up again later. aoi left a comfortable life in kugane to go where the wind takes her, which happened to be adventuring in eorzea. she was present with hikari through stormblood, but didnt take part in shadowbringers, and now serves in a more supportive role as hikari's problems become more and more world-threatening. she did go to the new world with her for dawntrail though, as a vacation that quickly went out of control. even when shes not involved though, aoi serves as hikari's confidant and closest friend. she was the first to learn about her past and often lends an ear to her depressed ramblings. aoi's a mage and a healer. her hobbies include scrapbooking, crochet, wearing leather jackets, and helping cid finalfantasy test fucked up motorcycles.

Euthalia "Lia" Pontikos

1024, 6', cis, pansexual aromantic, elf

Lia is a monument to my hubris. she is the epitome of what i believe a wizard is. lia is an elf who has exactly two hobbies: studying magic and having weird polymorph sex. she's always looking for new knowledge and experiences, but she has trouble forming connections with others and doesnt emote well. after pioneering and mastering magic as an adventurer, lia grew bored and developed a spell to travel to a different random universe, where she would be able to study the magic there from scratch. she's repeated this process numerous times, visiting a number of worlds and developing a minor interest in cataloguing curious similarities between worlds, until she landed on a world that didn't have magic. luckily, it was technologically advanced enough for her to get a job working on warp speed space travel, and she stole their prototype ship to escape that universe in a desperate gamble. she's now spent the last 500 or so years searching for a way to gain some kind of inborn magic to use in case of similar emergencies. she hasnt managed it yet.

Anestesia "Nest" Blackmoor

17, 5'7", girl-adjacent (she/they), demisexual lesbian, human

Nest is the daughter of two shitty nobles. Due to her poor behavior as a child, her parents sent her to a remote boarding school to learn proper decorum. this did not work, obviously. she often snuck out to play with a family of orcs she found while exploring the woods around the school, where she learned to fight. nest's primary hobby is getting into unnecessary fist fights, and their second hobby is protecting girls. occasionally these goals align but mostly she just likes fighting. surprisingly, nest is actually smart, and she picked up a baseline level of magic at school, which she's been working to incorporate with her swordplay. nest is still figuring out her sexuality but im sure if they find a girl to protect, that will sort itself out pretty quick.

Violet

real age ???, physical age 14, 4'8", Girl Presumably, aroace, human?

(art by @s-lycopersicum)

violet has a few iterations, like an automaton created by a vampire horologist, but in her primary iteration she was a mid-tier modron in Mechanus in the service of the god of order Primus. modrons can be promoted from one tier to a higher tier when a spot needs filled, and by a similar process violet was 'promoted' to a human, as a sort of experiment to see if order could be restored to the material plane in this way. however, between the confusion of the human experience and her lack of clear orders (she was simply ordered to Increase Order), violet was a failure. she woke up in a dark bedroom, so she put everything in the room in alphabetical order and left through the window, where she walked due north until she luckily came to a city with a temple to primus in it. a worker there named Enba (created by @neurodecadence) took pity on her and allowed her to stay, where she was given a name and earned her keep organising the library every day. after a year, she felt the presence of her god leave her and realised she somehow misunderstood their directions. now she is searching for a new way to bring Order. violet has a curious interest in fashion, though she doesnt understand it at all. she's red-green colourblind. she reorganises her things every day, with different sorting methods. she gives off the air of something very obviously trying to imitate a human girl, but in a cute way rather than an unsettling way.

Valyrie

35, 6'3", trans woman, demisexual lesbian, half-elf

valyrie was orphaned when her hometown was burned down. she was rescued by a priestess of a temple and taken in, where she was raised as a holy assassin. she's a proper follower of the god they worship, but her duties to the church come second to her quest for vengeance against the person who destroyed her home and family. officially, her title is Priestess, and she introduces herself as such, but she prefers to wear a priest's outfit. she likes the pants. she keeps most of her body covered to hide her burn scars. valyrie's physique is most similar to a starved child stretched on a torture rack. she rarely smiles because her smile scares children. she's soft-spoken but firm. she could sneak a knife into a public bath.

Dr. Anarcha "Ann" Marion

30, 5'6", cis, lesbian, human

Ann Marion got her medical license revoked for performing experimental healing magic on a patient, resulting in his death. the patient was doomed anyway, and she only did it as a last resort, but it was determined that the pain experienced by the patient caused him to go into shock, accelerating his death and therefore placing the blame firmly on Dr. Marion's shoulders. despite healing magic being the domain of the divine, dr marion is more attempting to replicate the effects through intellectual arcane means. she rejects the gods for creating humanity to be so eminently fallible and murderable. her goal is to overcome death and evil through advanced medical technology. she has since completed her work on her healing spell (including an anesthetic preparation) and continues to experiment with more advanced healing. in its early stages, dr marion's healing spells would leave a visible herringbone-pattern scar, but she's perfected it now. she has several of those scars on left her arm from where she practiced on herself. she has a pet adder that she's modified to replace its venom with healing potion. her primary combat spells are for healing, but she does also work with necrotic spells, poisons, and diseases for damage.

Cassidy

32, 5'11", trans woman, lesbian, half-elf

cassidy comes from a very large family. her parents are a legendary 5-member adventuring-party-turned-polycule who've spawned a catastrophic number of exceptional children. each of her dozens of older siblings are independently famous or powerful in some way, including her identical twin brother. cassidy took a more mellow path in life and got married. unfortunately, her wife died in childbirth, and cassidy did not deal with it well. she left their child with her wife's parents and went off to try and find herself adventuring, even though she knows she'll never live up to her family's reputation and skills. she is so tired. currently partied up with Caroline.

Adela, Witch of the Veil

???, 7', cis, aromantic lesbian, erstwhile elf

Adela is the rotting corpse of an ancient evil reanimated by a god of peace and forced to serve. she hates this so so much. she once subjugated the world as the dreaded Witch of the Veil, leading terrible armies against the forces of good and laying waste to whole cities with a single wave of her staff or swing of her blade. now, adela is forced to do good deeds and protect others under penalty of death. she cannot even suggest violence. as such, she relishes any opportunity to kill afforded to her by her work as an adventurer, though such privileges must be granted by her church-assigned handler. her primary goal is to reclaim the relics of her ascension from the old days (her Veil, her Blade, and her Staff) so she can break the god's hold on her and resume her quest of world domination. critically, this will not work.

Elyria

23, 5'3", cis (derogatory), bisexual, human

Elyria is an annoying nightmare of a woman who shows up in a number of universes and has been noted by Lia as a 'curious and irritating multiversal semiconstant'. she's an accomplished and deadly assassin with a talent for arcane magic and a fanatical obsession with the holiest god she can find in whatever universe has spawned her. she dedicates all her kills to the god she worships and claims her arcane tricks are divine magic granted to her because she is a holy servant of the lord. she frequently uses a nun's habit as a disguise for her work, and she also uses it to indulge in her nun kink. sometimes these two goals intertwine. its her greatest joy to defile the divine with her earnest, misguided worship. whatever god she worships hates her so so much and wants her dead. shes dumb as hell and i love her.

étoile

???, 3', sexless girl, aroace, doll

étoile was created by a mad wizard in the throes of apotheostic euphoria as a tool through which she could maintain a connection to the material world as she ascended to godhood. She can't speak, but she's able to communicate concepts and feelings telepathically. She's not shy per se, but she takes a while to open up to others and doesn't readily offer information about herself. But once she's more comfortable, she's very open about what she wants and how she feels, in her own way. If she likes you, she'll let you write your name in her Cursed Book so she can write messages into your brain or maybe save your life. The wizard god IS potentially watching everything through her eyes, but it's impossible to know when, and étoile wouldn't have told you anyway.

Caroline Miller

23, 5'5", cis, we'll call her "bicurious", human

Caroline Miller is a normal girl with no problems. She grew up as the middle child (of 5) in a loving family who ran the mill in a midsized rural community. She's very friendly and quick to pick up on others' emotions. She decided to become an adventurer because of a local coming-of-age tradition wherein the mayor, an amateur diviner, foretold that she would make an excellent adventurer. She attended some local seminars on adventuring basics before moving to the city to intern with an established party and get some hands-on experience. With her natural charisma and familiarity with the family lute, she took on the mantle of Bard. At the end of her internship, she celebrated by getting drunk with her party and dying a streak of her hair pink. Currently partied up with Cassidy, but she has yet to meet her eccentric family.

Robin

???, 5'10", cis, lesbian, soul bound to a weapon

Robin is the closest thing I have to a universal game avatar. She began as an NPC in my DnD game, but I've created her in Monster Hunter and Bloodborne and will continue creating her in any action game i play that lets me. She was created initially as an excuse to have a scythe-wielding character in my game despite scythes being extremely unwieldy, so her general lore is that a powerful wizard bound her soul to a scythe, and then some other more kind wizard created a body she would be able to possess so she could pass as human. Unfortunately, since she needs to maintain contact with the body to possess it, she's had to learn to wield herself as an effective weapon. The exact weapon she's bound to changes from game to game, and her canon is more fluid than most of my other OCs to allow her to fit other settings. She's a generally carefree woman who loves adventure and fighting, and she doesn't tend to think too deeply about anything.

Unnamed Angel

???, 5'9", sexless girl, aroace, fallen angel

one day i'll name her... the angel once served a great creation god, but when that god was destroyed, all the angels in his service fell to the material realm. as a creature created for the purpose of worship, she shows extreme reverence towards all creation, especially living creatures, but shows similar reverence towards destruction, because the object of her worship was destroyed. desecration of life is an act of divine worship, and she finds particular beauty in the eyes of living things, which she preserves and collects. She often spends a great deal of time staring at her own eye in the mirror, though she's managed to hold back the urge to pluck it out so far.

Elemental Sisters

Peach: ???, 5'7", cis, aroace, earth-aspected human

Eltah: ???, 5'10", cis, bisexual, water-aspected human

Vasch: ???, 5'0", cis, aromantic lesbian, air-aspected human

Lefah: ???, 5'3", cis, demi, fire-aspected human

Four kidnapped orphans whose hearts were fused with the cores of elementals, granting them powerful combat abilities. raised by their creator, a monstrously abusive paranoid minor noble dabbling in unethical science, to believe themselves to be artificial homunculi whose lives were directly tied to their creator's, they first discovered this to be false when he was killed by Eltah and they were forced to flee. now, with nothing but each other and their ludicrous combat power, the girls struggle to understand that they might not be merely weapons after all. NOTE that they are not biologically sisters or related in any way! so it's okay when they kiss!

Seven Deadly Sisters of the Ruined House of Everart

First Sister of Greed, Reese Everart: 29, 5'11", cis, ???, human

Second Sister of Pride, Vana Everart: 27, 5'6", cis, ???, human

Third Sister of Wrath, Ira Everart: 27, 5'6", cis, ???, human

Fourth Sister of Lust, Erin Everart: 24, 5'9", cis, bi, human

Fifth Sister of Sloth, Aletha Everart: 21, 5'2", cis, ???, human

Sixth Sister of Envy, Orchid Everart: 19, 5'4", cis, ???, human

Seventh Sister of Gluttony, Zalea Everart: 19, 5'4", cis, ???, human

When Baron Lucius Everart and his wife Liliana angered the corrupt nobles of the kingdom, they found their seven beautiful daughters cursed with wickedness, and within a year the pair was dead, and the house fallen to ruin. In the ensuing argument, these seven went their separate ways, vowing to never see each other again. But years later, Vana seeks out Aletha (who had not left the abandoned manor) and together they embark on a quest to reunite the seven sisters and restore glory to the house of Everart, and hopefully break their curses in the process. Note that these ones ARE biological sisters, so we won't be discussing them kissing each other.

[doodlegraveyard]

High its been a while im always wondering how people will handle bloom's and sky's relationship especially on sky's side so i wanted to know how your gonna do it

Hi again Seth @seth-the-whalelord!! Thank you for being interested :)c

Big blab ahead:

Sky is so hard for me because im trying not to let the residual haterism from my childhood keep me from writing him a good arc. There’s not a lack of criticism for him in the fandom so I won’t beat a dead horse. Honestly the bones of the story are there - he fucks up plenty, and he causes some good conflict and story drama, I honestly think the story just needs to follow through.

A lot gets fixed by just……..working on Bloom and Sky being friends? In general I have beef with how aggressively paired off everyone in the winx/specialist groups are and I think its a bit ridiculous how it seems at times like they don’t have friendships with each other outside their significant others. With a cast as huge as Winx has, communicating a group dynamic is SO important to combat it feeling bloated.

I think a big Sky problem to me is, he does some things that we see are short sighted/ hurtful to Bloom, but its like…I feel like when he’s not doing something that we (fandom) is booing at him for he’s also not doing anything that interesting? When Riven does something that sucks the story makes sure you know it, everyone says it sucks, the narrative knows it sucks. But he’s arguably the Specialist who has the biggest story beats, and that’s memorable. I think it really does not help Sky in any of our memories that the main things he does in early seasons are when he ditches bloom when he sees the fake prophecy from the trix, and that he dated her while neglecting to say anything about his arranged marriage, and that it doesn’t REALLY feel like he made any changes or did any growth about these things.

So a lot of what Bloom and Sky have going on for me are[loose vibe outline]: they mutually crush on each other early on, but they don’t really know each other. I like to imagine they’re both the bantery-y type so they have a lot of fast paced clever exchanges. They have the idea of someone, and of course that isn’t a stable thing to have a relationship based on - they wind up hurting each other because that’s what happens when you date the idea of someone in your head. They would spend MOST of the story not actually together, but they’re very important for each others arcs

My Bloom had a much more defined misfit weirdo vibe growing up, so some of what she deals with in gaining this group of friends is these underlying trust issues she has. She very much is ‘hot and cold’ - goes from being impulsively smitten with Sky before she knows him that well to thinking the worst of him once she thinks that he’s purposefully fucking with her feelings.

Meanwhile Sky really wants to be seen as Normal and likes Bloom because he sees her as a down to earth girl. However he needs to actually look at himself and realize that the way he was raised and the privileges he has /do/ affect his perspectives and how he acts, and he has to own up to that. a lot of the time because hot-headed Bloom will call him out on it. And being okay with the fact that the charming ‘normal’ girl he likes actually has a lot going on that takes priority over him!!

Sky starts out defensive but comes to really value the person Bloom pushes him to be. He likes her because of her fiery passion and ability to stand up for what she believes, something Sky would be envious of. Meanwhile Bloom, ever the escapist, learns she'd rather know him, a guy who has worked hard to gain humility and be a better person, and a friend who will stand by her even at her worst, than just the rakish knight in shining armor she took him for. I have this idea of doing something with the relationships where im not defining every endgame ship… my goal is that Sky is definitely written as one of Blooms primary potential romantic interests, and they have chemistry and growth together such that you can easily imagine them together by the end of the series/story, but I’m not actually making anything set in stone official.. so u know ppl can do what they want….

[ficsforfundota]

Sci-Fi AU Billy x Mer!Steve w/automaton Max! @stmonstercalendar

Rating - G

Characters - Billy Hagrove, Steve Harrington, Max Mayfield.

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Billy Hargrove

Read on a03 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/65716291

Read Below The Line!

Comment to be tagged when I post <3

Billy checked the device around his wrist, another job was coming in. His brows furrowed as he read over the communication.

Another order for the intergalactic zoo.

He had done a few jobs for them previously, but rarely did he do jobs for the zoo at this scale. He let out a soft sigh and hit the accept button. The amount of stellar chips he was getting for this job would pay for a year's worth of meals and maintenance of his ship.

He would need to go to guandrant twelve of the galaxy, multiple of the planets there were inhabited by mer creatures and were 98% water over land mass. His ship could convert itself into a submarine which included a capture mechanism.

Checking the dashboard he punched in the coordinates for the planet Coralia and eased into the captain's chair. His automaton partner beeped and whirred as it sat at his right. “Ready Max?”

The child-like automaton nodded, fake red curls rolled down her back. She looked like a cyborg and many planet goers assumed she was alive, which made getting more rations easier. A child, or something that looked like a child, was great for conning the masses.

“They continue to order from you,” she noted, “by my calculations this is their thirty-eighth order from you alone.”

“They know I can get the job done.” Billy muttered. “I’ve always been on time or early and they enjoy the discretion.”

Max only nodded, her blue eyes scanning the window taking in all the information. All in all Max was his sister, she was a special kind of android that learned with every interaction. While she had a set amount of knowledge and could ‘speak’ many languages her primary duty was to be a companion. She could have a real conversation and sometimes Billy forgot she was nothing more than bolts and wire.

“We will be there in an hour,” she noted as her eyes darted between stars and space matter. “Do they want a mer with a fish lower half or a fish top half?”

“From the order it looks like top half human, lower half fish. They’re usually prettier, more fun to look at. For a zoo at least. Out of all the beasts I have captured, none have ever been humanoid…”

Max cocked her head. “You look upset.”

Billy shook his head. “I’m not upset, just not sure how to feel about it I guess…”

Max closed her eyes for a moment, calibrating more information she had learned about her ‘brother’. “Is it because it can talk to you when you catch it?”

“Maybe… Not sure yet, never done it before.”

Max nodded, she bent her elbow and a key began to slide out from the silicone she twisted her arm once the key was inserted into the dashboard. “The coordinates are locked in, you can rest if you need.”

“Thanks Max, but I’m okay. I do need to eat though.”

She watched him as he left the cockpit, humans and their need to satiate their needs. She felt the design of humans was subpar at best but she would never tell him that. They were as close as a human and an automaton could be, thanks to her motherboard she was more ‘human’ with emotions and thoughts to a degree. She still had no need for sleep or food, though an oil change was nice every once in a while.

She sat back in her charging port and watched the galaxy zoom past, planets and asteroids, stars and fellow cargo ships. Billy returned, wiping his mouth of his meal. “We almost there?”

“We should be descending shortly, the ship will transform as it hits the water. I would put the belt on.”

Billy laughed and did as she suggested, he knew very well she was programmed to care for him but he liked to think she did care for him on her own accord as well. The ship began to descend, he gripped the seat, his nails digging into the leather.

“Ngh…”

“It’s okay Billy.” She placed her hand on his shoulder softly. Billy smirked at her, the ship began to creak and make noise as it attempted to change itself from flying cargo ship to a submarine. Max watched as the galaxy disappeared and the world came into view. Blue green water covered the mass of this world.

Billy’s eyes rounded as they began to descend, beautiful coral and aquatic creatures came into view. Max was taking it all in, attempting to get a clear picture of the species that she could see to add to her log.

“Alright the first mer we see, unless it is clearly injured, we catch it.”

“I will enable my heat sensors.”

Billy looked her over with a soft smile, he looked back over his instructions to make sure there weren't any specifications for the mer before turning back to the controls. He took control of the ship, taking it off auto and began to search.

Ever since he was a young child he had been interested in the creatures and humanoids of the galaxy, he had wanted to go to a good school to learn more about them but he had learned early on his family was low on credits and schools didn’t want ‘asteroid trash’. So he took up smuggling.

“I believe we have found some,” Max said softly as she pointed forward. Billy squinted while trying to look towards where she had pointed. He ruffled her synthetic hair with a smile.

“Good job Maxie, it looks like a group.”

Max smiled, Billy maneuvered the ship forward. It cleanly sliced through the water like a large whale. The mers began to scatter as a large net arm jutted outward and attempted to catch one.

Max watched, her eyes taking in all the information they could as she watched bright and dull colored tails flash in color. “They seem agitated.”

“They don’t want to be separated from one another, but it is needed. We need the credits.” Billy sighed as he continued to click buttons in order to capture a mer. “Max, make sure the tank is full of water, we need to keep it in the same water temperature so it doesn’t die.”

Max got up, her body made a faint metallic ticking noise if you weren’t looking out for it, you would never notice the sound. She got to work, punching buttons and waiting. The sound of water filling a large glass tank filled the sound of the ship. “The tank is full, ready and waiting for the specimen.”

Billy grinned, his eyes locked on one mer with beautiful mint green scales, a nice toned upper body and gorgeous milk chocolate brown hair. Billy honestly thought he was one of the prettiest men he had seen in all the galaxy, sucked that he was half fish. He did know however if he was going to want to stare at a mer everyday, that was the mer he would want to watch.

He leaned forward, biting his lower lip and furrowed his brow as he used the net in an attempt to catch the gorgeous mer.

The net tangled around the mers fluke and tail. Billy punched the air in excitement. “There we go, okay it should place him in the tank and we can head back to the intergalactic zoo.”

Max nodded, she smiled big, her gears shifting as she turned to watch as the mer was inserted into the tank. The mer panicked, his fists slamming against the glass in terror. His tail wrapping around himself.

“He is very pretty, from my understanding of their species he is a more beautiful one of their species.” She smiled and grew closer to the tank.

The mer sank to the bottom of the tank, pulling their tail into their chest.. “Please…”

“Oh, I can understand your dialect.” Billy grinned. “Look this isn’t anything personal, I need the credits and you’re the best one of the lot.”

The merman cocked his head, before dropping his head against his tail. Billy felt somewhat bad, this was the first time he had captured something that could speak back to him without Max helping bridge the conversation and the first time they looked so similar to himself.

Billy bit his lip as he began to punch in the intergalactic zoos coordinates. Max was watching the mer with curiosity, she was trying to take in as much knowledge as she could get from the nervous mer. His scales were slightly glowing, his hands were shaking slightly as he moved with the ship. Each turn caused the water to slosh which caused him to the do the same.

Billy looked back at him as he whined. “Pl-please.. Please put me back.”

“I’m sorry fish, I can’t.”

“I’m not a fish.”

“What’s your name?” Max asked. “Do you have a name?”

“Little girl please… Let me go….”

“What’s your name?”

“Max don’t talk to him.” Billy tried to shush her.

“It’s Steve,” the mer grew as close to the glass as he could, “please let me go.”

Max turned towards Billy. “Why should I not speak to him?”

“You’ll get attached.”

“I cannot get attached, he is not in my system to become attached to him.”

Billy snorted and ruffled her hair. “I will get attached. I was projecting.”

“Oh, are you lonely for a human companion? I noticed your cheeks flushed and your temperature rose when you saw him.”

Billy rolled his eyes at her, trying to hide his face from her. She knew too much and that was a bit of an issue.

He sighed as he looked back at the mer who was swimming back and forth in panic. Billy got up and grew close to the tank. He placed his hand on it and the mer did the same mirroring him.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be well taken care of. I know that much… I’ll come and visit you….”

“I want to go home.”

“I know.. I just… I need the credits and I don’t think I could part with you now…” He sighed, looking the mer over with uncertainty. Max was working on steering while Billy contemplated what to do with the mer. He was gorgeous, and he needed the money, but he was starting to let his conscience get in the way.

Steve looked towards the open windshield. His home became smaller and smaller as they got further and further away. He thrashed his tail back and forth which only caused the water to slosh around him more. He turned and sighed, lowering back to the bottom of the tank, tears hidden by the water around him.

“Look, it won’t be too bad….”

Steve looked up at him, his lip jutting out. Billy groaned, he needed those damn credits but that mer was pretty and it was starting to mess with his head. “Max turn the damn ship around, I’ll find another way to earn those credits. We can always get a less humanoid mer, I can say I was confused….”

Steve lifted his head up in excitement, Max punched more coordinates in and the ship began to descend once again. They hovered above the ocean, Billy popped the tank and allowed him out. Steve dove under the waves before returning with a handful of gorgeous shells. “These are worth a lot to us, they may help you.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “Wh-what. I was going to sell you.”

“You put me back..” Steve leaned up and kissed Billy softly. “You could make this world your home… There may be a lot of water, but there are land masses.”

Max and Billy looked between one another, they could make this place work. Even if it was just temporary. “Max, how much would these sell for?”

Max scanned the shells. “More credits than he would sell for,” she smiled.

“You’ve got a deal, pretty mer.”

The mer dove back under the water before returning with a fish, before stealing another soft kiss. He was just glad to be safe and returned home, it helped that this human was very handsome.

Max mapped out a good place to set up their base, and Billy noted all the things he wanted to know about the mer named Steve. He could take the loss of the intergalactic zoo credits if it meant he would get to see him everyday.

[i-want-it-all-or-nothing-at-all]

Why you should NOT purchase an STP device

This is advice for newly out transmasculine people, particularly ones who plan to use men's public restrooms. I've been out for 10 years, and I want to share my experience with the next generation. Here are some things I wish I knew when I first came out:

1. STPs can be expensive. They were more expensive when I first came out, but still, if you're a broke kid or broke young adult or broke anyone, you have to think carefully about what you spend your money on. When I came out, I was lucky enough to have fairly masculine women's clothes to wear, but some people buy a whole new wardrobe, including chest binders. You may spend money on changing legal documents, and that can cost hundreds or thousands of dollars depending on the document and the government you live under. Medical care may also be hundreds or thousands of dollars for you, depending on your insurance. Many companies who make STPs are also in the U.S., and if international shipping rates apply to you, that's an additional expense. If there's something you can go without, it's definitely an STP.

2. I had to buy half a dozen STPs before I found the right one for me, and this is very common. When you read through reviews, one common thing people say is "This is the best one I've tried so far" or "this is not as good as the one I already own." Also, I'm 5 foot tall, so I struggled to find something small enough to look natural, fit comfortably between my somewhat thick thighs, and hold enough liquid that I could use it without spills. If I had bought the right one the first time, I would have saved close to a thousand dollars. The reality is that you will probably have to buy multiples before you find the right one for you.

3. Plenty of cis guys use the toilet to pee and avoid urinals. The privacy is very nice to have. Having an STP is not likely to meaningfully help you pass if that's your primary reason for wanting one. Everyone's life is different, but I've personally never been in a situation where having something realistic would have helped me pass in front of cis men staring at my naked body, and even the most realistic (and expensive) ones aren't that realistic. Other than at the doctor's, I'm not in situations where I am naked in front of strangers, ever. But more importantly, my preferred STP would never allow me to pass. It's designed to be functional, not realistic, and in my experience, the ones that focus more on being functional are better. You'll be in situations where you want to be able to use it to pee much more often than situations where you want it to look realistic if your life is anything like mine. Get on hormone blockers early if you can, or on T early. It makes a huge difference.

4. On the topic of passing. I thought an STP would help me pass. I was desperate to pass. But the reality is that no one is staring at our crotches most of the time. The truth is that, unless you were genetically blessed, your chances of passing are low if you aren't on T in most circumstances. Even once you're on T, if your genetics aren't in your favor with how T will affect you, you won't pass well. It's a truth I'm still wrestling with, still trying to accept about myself. I hate making phone calls because my voice is too feminine. Building muscle helps, too. I have a chronic pain disorder and a condition where my knees are deteriorating from my use of them, so heavy exercise isn't possible for me. My hips are wide, my voice is high, and that's just how it is.

5. Peeing standing up is not all it's cracked up to be. Not for me, at least. Half the urinals I've peed at have had urine all over the floor. I'm also not very good at convincing my body, which has been trained for years to pee only sitting down, that peeing while standing is fine, actually. Not to mention, I never feel 100% empty when I pee standing up. Having to control your stream is also a pain. It takes me three times as long to pee as the cis men around me. I've learned to just deal with it, but early on, it made me feel like I stood out like a sore thumb. If your dysphoria is bad, the stress of doing something so public may worsen it for you.

Now, for those of you who can afford an STP comfortably and want to know what I use, it's the Flip-N-Tuck. It took some getting used to since the way you wear it is different from anything I had used before. I like that you can wear it with any underwear. I think the shape, size, and length of the urine cup are great. I wish the shaft could be a bit longer, but I think that would interfere with how it packs. Using it has a big learning curve, but not in the way other STP devices do. The positioning of the urine cup was super easy for me, but it might have to do with the fact that I've used so many other STP devices before this one. What is awkward about it is flipping it. It involves a lot of moving things around down there, which is why I prefer to use it when the urinals have a divider. It makes peeing take a bit longer, but it's worth it to me since I feel so confident I won't have any accidents with it. Confidence that I won't pee all over myself goes a long way to getting my muscles to relax so I can actually pee. However, my very favorite thing about the Flip-N-Tuck is that it doesn't go between my thighs. I find that way more comfortable with my thick thighs, though it would be even more comfortable if the balls were smaller or just nonexistent. I find their presence unnecessary.

However, the Flip-N-Tuck is $165 plus shipping on the FTM Essencials website, a very pretty penny for anyone on a budget. For a more budget friendly option that I also had no accidents with and fit between my thighs well enough, I recommend something like the Number One STP, which is $52 plus shipping on the same website. Rigid is always better for peeing if you ask me. The biggest issue with the Number One STP is that it's not at all like a packer. You're going to want it very between your legs because you'll look like you have a weird bulge. The thing is, rigid generally is better for peeing while softness is generally better for packing. That's the genius of the Flip-N-Tuck to me. It's rigid, but the flipping makes it still tuck well. Regardless, you may still not have $52 plus shipping to spare.

The TLDR is that there are so many better things you could spend your money on than an STP device. They are the farthest thing from an essential.

[quinloki]

Ik you said it's unlikely to figure out Marco is a yandere but... I keep thinking abt somehow picking up on it and running off anyway. The paranoia, always looking over your shoulder, never staying in one place for too long, but of course he catches up. You're sleeping in a small inn when he finds you, quietly slinking into your room. He preemptively puts the little "do not disturb" sign on the door handle before closing and locking it behind him. When you wake up, it's to a large, warm hand gently but firmly pressing against your back as he lines himself up.

….

I just.

….

/sits down/

Look.

I -

Fuck.

Maybe it’s Ace, or him and Izou and Thatch. They just really like you, and much as they love their brother, they know, right? If they didn’t care about you they’d maybe be able to look away, but you need to know.

So they tell you about his obsession. How deep it runs. How absolute it is. How it’s okay if you stay, but you should know.

Once you know, you can see it. That madness behind his easy expression, the obsession burning in his eyes.

The others help you, you wouldn’t have cleared the ship otherwise and you know it. You have money enough, but your sparse with it, camping mostly at first until days and weeks turn into months.

Until you start risking day jobs and off work here and there at different islands. Just a wandering jack of all trades, nothing exciting.

When you wake to the hand at your back you had been dreaming sweetly. Of the Marco you thought you knew and of the life you could have had. Maybe it’s his name moaned from your lips that changes his plans.

Instead of binding you and dragging you back, he decides to claim you first. While you’re wet, and needy, and able to take him easier.

Your groggy mind needs a moment to realize this isn’t the gentle and kind man of your dreams.

“You’re mine,” he declares, eyes bright with a myriad of emotions, but obsession primary among them. He pushes in slowly, carefully, fingers reaching around and teasing your clit as he leans down over you, the hand at your back shifting up and pressing you down from between your shoulder blades.

“Say it, pretty bird.” His voice is deathly calm, leaving cold knots in the pit of your stomach.”

“Say you’re mine, yoi.”

“I…” a whimper takes over as he hilts inside you, the sweet pleasure nearly cruel in your fearful state. “I’m yours.”

“Good little bird.” He hums, moving slowly in and out, fingers teasing your clit. “I know why you ran, and I forgive you as long as you don’t do it again.” He presses heavy against you, lips against your shoulders before he nips at your ear.

“You won’t do it again, right my sweet little song bird?”

Tears slip down your cheeks as vivid images of being legless and caged flash across your vision. “I won’t, I won’t. I w-won’t,” you gasp as he shifts a little, sending sparks of pleasure through you in that deft way he’s always known. “Luh-leave you, eh-ever again, I swear, I swear!”

“I believe you, yoi.” His words drip with doubt, but you’re too mired in the pleasure he’s forcing upon you to argue. “Make sure I have no reason to doubt you, pretty bird.”

“You won’t, ahh-mmm-fuck, you won’t!” You cry, your reassurances turning into babbled sounds of pleasure as you came hard against him.

Marco’s teeth sink into your skin as he fills your throbbing cunt. By the time he’s done you have half a dozen heavy bite marks sunk into you, bruising kisses mottling your skin, and cum leaking from your pussy.

He’d forced orgasm after orgasm from you, not giving you time to recover between, not slowing when you cried from the painful exertion. Flames flickered against you, soothing overworked muscles just enough to push you into another orgasm, never enough to fully ease the ache.

Now he’s kissing every mark he’s stained onto your skin, gentle fingers easing the ache in your body. Exhaustion overtakes you in the midst of his tender care, and even as you sink into a deep sleep you’re certain when you wake you’ll be back on the ship.

[seiya-starsniper]

20 Writing Questions

Thanks for the tag @ml-nolan!!! <3

How many works do you have on AO3? - 118

What's your total AO3 word count? - 497,197 (I'm not too far behind you, Kick!)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Six Degrees of Separation (Dead Boy Detectives/The Sandman)

wicked and divine (Arcane)

Dreams for a Dozen Cats (The Sandman)

A Dream for a Viscount (The Sandman)

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified (The Sandman)

Fun fact, #1, #2, and #5 are the first fics I wrote for those fandoms!

What fandoms do you write for?

I've written for The Sandman primarily, though it's been dethroned by Arcane as my primary fandom. I've also written for DCTV, Gotham, Loki TV, Tiger and Bunny, and Castlevania Nocturne. I've also currently got a couple of Solo Leveling fics in WIP status.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I love replying even if it takes me ages sometimes 😅😅 It's so much fun to build that rapport with people who read my works!

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

if you marry me, would you bury me? - a Zaundads canonverse fic with an omegaverse twist. Silco and Vander were once mates, but uh....after certain events, that's not possible any longer. There's no happy ending, and actually the #1 request I've received to continue it is to AND MAKE IT MORE UNHAPPY 🤭

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

God that's like asking me to pick a favorite child, I deal primarily in happy endings lmao. I'd probably say it's between two fics: and if I get burned, at least we were electrified, which I think is the fic with the biggest payoff on a happy ending and always remember, we’re burned for better, which I think is is the fic with the most hope in the ending

Do you get hate on fics?

LOL yes. I actually got AI GENERATED HATE on a fic recently and it was offensive tbh 🤣 Not only was the comment generic slop commentary, it was mean generic slop commentary! Cannot believe people cannot even be assed to write their own hate these days. In general though, I don't really get hate comments, especially not on AO3. FF.Net though...that was another story 😅

Do you write smut?

I do! I didn't for years and then I decided fuck it why not for my first Sandman fic and now here we are.

Do you write crossovers?

I do! My most popular fic is a Dead Boy Detectives x Sandman crossover 😄 I've also written a Sandman x James Bond AU, and an Inception x Sandman AU with @five-and-dimes

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! lovers over enemy lines is available in Spanish! Spread the monsterfucker!Silco truth 😄

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

When Dreams Become Reality with @five-and-dimes I've co-written other fics in the past but most of those are lost to time and old livejournal blogs.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

OH GOD. That's a hard one. I've obviously written THE MOST fics for Dreamling so that one will always have a special place in my heart. But my comfort ships that I'll always read fic for are 00Q and BakuDeku, so I think they deserve to be up there too.

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have SO MANY DREAMLING WIPS that I doubt I'll ever finish. Season 2 may change my mind, and I genuinely hope it will because I do miss writing for them. But after writing for other ships and fandoms the last few months, I've just had no interest in returning my Dreamling fics.

What are your writing strengths?

I'm very good at dialogue and writing angst. Also I've been told I'm pretty good at smut and fluff, which delights me since I like to be well rounded 😄

What are your writing weaknesses?

DESCRIPTIONS. I am terribly at writing physical descriptions, or like, how a character feels or what they see when they see another character. My writing is very action oriented, which is great for smut and for dramatic effect, but I have genuinely written a scene in a fic and then changed seasons without my notice. Also descriptions does also include locations 😅 I've been working on it a lot and I think I've gotten a lot better with practice, but it's still a challenge for me.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I would rather not unless I had someone native to that language helping me write line by line. I actually often bother @eobardthawneallen or @yamru for help in replying to AO3 comments in Spanish 🥰

First fandom you wrote for?

Yu-Gi-Oh! That fandom still has a very soft spot in my heart as well <3

Favourite fic you've ever written?

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - this was my first sandman fic, my first smut fic, AND my first long fic. It was also my first fic after a long period of not writing much of anything. I started a lot of fics, and even put up a quick 1k character introspective fic on AO3 2021, but 2023 is when I really felt the drive to write fanfiction again. This fic is always going to be one of, if not my all time favorite fics I've ever written because it's such an accomplishment for me on multiple levels.

No pressure tagging @gabessquishytum @five-and-dimes @chzva @virgo-dream @the-apocrypha @tj-dragonblade and anyone else who wants to play!