#I hope to do as many asks as I get

[emry-stars-art]

Im a little late but I think I wanna try something

This post by @kedreeva is a fun WIP Wednesday Game! I’ll paraphrase the rules here:

Post up to five file names of your wips (not titles, file names)

Post a snippet from one of them, something you’ve written in the past seven days

After you’ve posted, people can send an ask with one of your file names, and you must write three sentences in that file.

Since I don’t have five separate wips I thought I’d try posting five scenes im writing/want to write of the royal au 👑 help me decide what to work onnnnn

My scenes are:

another horse ride

first day

responsibility II

Andrew freshening up

bath

Some of these you can assume what’s happening by the names so 👀 hooray for descriptive titling

And a snippet from ‘responsibility II’:

Day came out of a side door. More of an everything room adjacent to the infirmary, used for temporary housing and storage and countless other things Andrew had no knowledge of. Day looked about to stalk down the hall, but stopped in the doorway upon seeing Andrew.

“Your Highness,” he said, and it was that same tone that he always had on when dealing with Abram. Annoyed and worried at the same time. Andrew knew first hand that Day never used it with Abram; it was only the concern leaking through when he talked to anyone else. “What have you gone and done with Abram’s hair?”

“…What about it?”

“He won’t let the dresser touch it. He won’t let me touch it, and he keeps talking about you. That it shouldn’t be his decision to cut it. Care to explain?”

If you want to participate, please go check out the original post to get the full read on it! Happy writing 🥰

[somegrumpynerd]

Cross has trouble getting to sleep alone in his room and goes looking for a distraction, but ends up finding a solution for both of them

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

[airoarts]

Leader and deputy

[Image description: a digital painting of Squirrelstar and Ivypool from Warriors. Squirrelstar is a small dark red cat with green eyes, standing in front of the much taller Ivypool, a gray tabby-and-white cat with blue eyes and many battle scars. The background is dark blue. end ID]

[bixels]

While I do think anon was rude, I do think it's pretty shitty to set up all this stuff you were going to add the au and then just drop it. It's disappointing. Definitely unfollowing.

Bye.

[sergle]

people being dramatic about "american cheese" (in quotes bc americans didn't make it) is one of my favorite topics because it's funny to see people talk about it like it's a biohazardous waste when it's literally just Cheddar That Has Been Watered Down With Milk, And Then Emulsified

[ricky-mortis]

Have some Ted doodles- as a treat.

[thefirstknife]

Besties, I need help. Especially people who have a lot of reach on twitter.

Two of my friends had their Destiny names forcibly changed at the roughly the same time. Their Destiny names were "bisexual mara sov" and "trans king oryx." They just logged in and got a pop-up saying that for some "crossplay" reasons their names were changed to a default Guardian####. None of them are using crossplay. Both are on Steam only, if that's important.

One of them posted to Bungie forums and got this reply:

Both of my friends suspect that they were mass reported. Obviously falsely. Their names are not breaking any rules and are in fact canonical statements about the characters. They always play together so if some homophobe sees them, they would report both, so it would make sense why this happened to them at the same time, possibly (the other option is that there was a wave of forced name changes happening recently that caught them both, but for all intents and purposes, their names should not be subject to change).

This upset both of my friends quite a lot. It means there's enough homophobes out there falsely reporting their names. It's also upsetting to think that these reports were reviewed and then accepted. I genuinely don't think there was a manual review. If there was, I think everyone would like to know which rules this is breaking and why.

Another friend tried raising this issue on the official Destiny 2 reddit, but his thread was not approved by moderators because of "politics":

Thanks reddit! /s My friend also messaged the moderators, but to no avail.

The only thing that remains is trying to raise this issue with the community managers somehow, but clearly this isn't possible on reddit, so we want to try twitter. Unfortunately with the way twitter works, unless you have the reach, nobody will see it. One other friend literally made a twitter account for this to tag the Destiny 2 Team, but as expected her attempt has zero visibility. These are her two tweets. I'm not sure what would be better; to just boost this existing tweet or to make new tweets tagging Destiny 2 Team, but if anyone knows and thinks they could help, feel free to do either!

I don't expect much to happen, but I would like to at least try bringing some awareness to this because it's quite upsetting if homophobes can just mass report a completely innocent name, while absolutely gross names are allowed and visible every day in the game. It's also not a good look if these mass reports are acted on without review, and they are worse if they were acted on WITH review.

A lot of people have usernames that are about in-game characters; I think a lot of us would like to get some information on why these aren't allowed anymore. Both of my friends have had them for years.

Anyway, if anyone knows something they could do or has the ability to get this visible somehow, it would be appreciated!

[buwheal]

...Unfortunately, no. I don't doubt that you hear something, but we can't hear anything on our end. What does it sound like?

(If you’re going to help out, it’d great to also add something to distract him :-) )

[xenonsdoodles]

B1 dimivain :)

Disaster at Ailell

if there is one thing I love to do it's putting feralmitri in situations where he's forced to care about something other than vengeance. maybe it's just heat exhaustion though, maybe he's fine

[starflungwaddledee]

offering three cookies 🍪🍪🍪

(<< part 1)

[ganondoodle]

okay, bc i have seen this argument alot now (and it also seems to be the view point of aonuma himself..) is that "zelda cant do everything link does bc whats the point then"

and i take personal offense on that bc its a stupid argument (in. my. very. personal. opinion.- not judging people for liking it. its a ME thing)

whats the point? its that its her. its still a different character, different in story, background, personality, but i WANT to play zelda and she can do everything link does, why does she have to be so restricted and be bend over backwards to find some new way to make her 'useful' when link gets to do basically everything no questions asked (the only thing thats hers is like .. sealing power and sacrificial maiden, which i find a little underwhelming to say the least), if theres no point to it why are there always modders that model swap link with someone else, and in that case it has even less impact bc its an artificial model swap with no changes to the story (which can and should still be different when its the vanilla game with a different protagonist... its still a different character), clearly theres joy in just the model being a different one- and that isnt even to mention the story possibilities, since, again, its stil a different character

if we ever (never ... i know who we are talking about here) get to play as ganondorf i want to him to be just as versatile and active as link is, if we got a point and click adventure game for him instead bc 'whats the point' id be disappointed too- you can find any sort of excuse/explanation for zelda to be singled out but the fact remains it tracks with how female characters are often treated, and that hits a very sore spot for me

i guess i am unfortunately one of those annoying people that want to see female characters be treated exactly the same as male characters, possibly bc i am myself afab but identify as agender and have a deeply personal dislike for anything 'traditional' feminine bc i cannot and never will be able to truly live as myself in real life, it influences all of my work, my work is as just as much as my opinion on this, very personal

and in line with my point about modding, i see theres joy in just beign able to play as her even if its like this, i get that, i also get it for the creative aspect (though that mechanic worries me even more for the future bc it really seems to be the path now that -freedom = good, linear anything = bad-) it is a different idea and its not like i cant see that value- im not trying be "right" either, just bc i have that opinion doesnt mean i need everyone to agree, its a very personal thing, if you like it good for you! not for me though, and i think both of that is equally valid

i just personally wish she was allowed to be just like link, fight just like him but be different bc its still her and not him in the end- to be physically/playstyle like jsut like him, but you know ... as her, i dont think shed stop being zelda if she could wield a sword just like him

i dont really know how to get my point/feelings across, i dont want to step too much into personal stuff nor spam people with something that ultimately doesnt interest me alot, im just saddened by it really

(EDIT: bc i forgot to add this on here again; this isnt as much of a problem as it might sound like here, just the main topic i wanted to talk about; why im so uninterested in it is MAINLY bc i dont trust them to write anything interesting/care about lore anymore after totk, im always on the more pessimistic side that thinks its most likely worse than id hope and i know even the past games arent perfect or super interestingly written, but now its much more just a general distrust, together with everything like the price ... im just much less hopeful and cant get excited until i see more of it, like im waiting for the game to get out and reveal that its just as much of a mess and money i regret spending- kind of fear)

[lovesickeros]

can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

I saw Gianni retweet your art on Twitter and I was like "I wonder if he knows...?"

I don’t think so >:3

Trick people into reposting gabe ass with one simple trick! Click here to find out how.

I didn’t even notice that happened cause I turned off all my notifications everywhere a few days ago for peace and quiet

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #39: Gladiator's ELEVENTH Anniversary! (+ BONUS: Fic-to-Art #36...)

And here we are! March 26th arrived and I did not forget about it, but I paid for my ambitious madness with my wrist and forearm. Somehow, I finished my intended pieces on time, but I do not advise that you ever try to make 9 artworks in 3 days. No, sir. Bad life decisions, that's what that was... but this fic, as anyone knows, moves me to do things I never thought possible, starting with writing the fic itself!

It's really crazy every time it hits me that I've been doing this for as long as I have. It's been a complicated, chaotic journey, with its many ups and downs, but ultimately, it has been our journey. For some people, this is just one more fic in the pile: for me, it's been the best adventure of my life so far. Everyone who has ever been touched by Gladiator, who has ever cherished this story, who's looking forward to the big conclusion, who wants to see how the chaotic war is going to end... you're all part of this crazy adventure along with me, and I can only thank you for joining me.

This year, I had no time to make as big a project as I usually go for. Thus, I did a sort of free-for-all edition of Fic-to-Art over at Patreon and challenged myself to draw as many scenes as I could, out of their suggestions. I even sprinkled in a few scenes I impulsively wanted to draw because I loved writing them or because I look forward to writing them... and this is the result!

In order, the scenes are as follow:

Sokka combing Azula's hair, a common occurrence throughout the story.

Azula watching over a convalescing Sokka in the Chase of Jeong Jeong arc.

The outcome of Sokka's final battle in the Superior Gladiator League, namely a moment where Sokka and Azula more or less gave away their relationship's true nature to the public by raising their hands towards each other...

And now, spoiler territory! Some were by my choice, some by Patreon requests:

An important moment shortly after Sokka and Azula reunite.

Azula confronting her father, with a LOT of backup.

Xin Long's long-awaited freedom.

The aftermath of the final battle.

The full-blown confirmation of their relationship to the general Fire Nation populace.

Sokka, Azula and Hotaru's first night together

And the big final one is ACTUALLY Fic-to-Art #36 but hahaha woops I didn't post it here on time because it was super hard to finish since I had a LOT of things going on... but here it is now! :'D it's a glimpse VERY far into the future of this fic's timeline!

Alright, that should be enough talking and explaining. Some things are vague, some things aren't, but ultimately I really hope you guys will be looking forward to the scenes you haven't seen yet, and to Gladiator's eventual outcome.

So now... with all this being said and done, I'm gonna go take a trip down memory lane and watch my Tenth Anniversary video once more! Feel free to do the same thing if you'd like to commemorate the fic, I think it's a good way to experience Gladiator all over again, hahaha.

Thank you if you read all this, and if you read all THAT: 5 million word landmark, here we come! Thanks for hanging out with me across ELEVEN years of Gladiator!

[tanoraqui]

the real problem with The Silmarillion is that the creative sandbox is SO big, from the literal world map to the many-millennia timeline to the characters who are half historical figure constructed from 6 different half-contradictory drafts, half mythical archetype, and don’t even get me STARTED on the theological philosophy… that there is NO chance anyone else will remotely properly write the fic in your head. In other fandoms, I can be pretty sure that at least the people in the carefully chosen 12-person discord server I belong to all have the same fic in their heads that we jammed together at 2am, with the same interpretations of character and theme which we’ve debated and discussed at length. But The Silmarillion? You can spend 3 hours discussing a single character in like a 5-year period and walk away completely happy with shared headcanons BUT SIMULTANEOUSLY certain that their interpretation of the character is fundamentally different than yours, such that any fic they write would suffer from notable if not severe “he would not fucking say that” disorder…and that both your and their interpretations are completely reasonable reads of the text, so you can’t even be mad.

So you HAVE to write ALL your own fic or it’s AGONIZING.