#I wish I was better at illustration than writing

[hiddenbysuccubi]

archiveofourown.org/works/51242092/chapters/129477979 Hello I am here with my humble offering. A person-enters-fantasy retelling of BG3. Think Oz, think Lost in Austen, Alice in Wonderland, but this is a fully realized adult entering Faerun. Trauma meets trauma. Humor to cope with trauma meets nitty gritty. I don't know. In Act 3 I'm gonna make the upper city be a thing and fighting Cazador will be prefaced by a masquerade ball. Loviatar's love and Volo's lobotomy! Hurt/comfort. Who knows what's in store in this, my self indulgent Isekai carnival ride!

[clairdelunelove]

badges of honor

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (sticker drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, protective!ghost

synopsis: ghost doesn't understand the appeal of receiving stickers, a tangible reward, after the completion of successful missions. never thought it was necessary for his efforts. however, his mindset changes when he finds out you're the one handing them out–

a.n. just a silly lil blurb that floated around in my mind for some time! decided I'd write it and I'm thinking about writing something similar for könig too! hope you're all well! and if you wish to show more support here's my kofi! <3

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holding onto the belief that ghost would stubbornly swallow his pride and allow you to decorate him in cutesy unnecessary stickers.

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it starts with price’s recommendation of implementing a routine of handing out stickers after successful missions. he insists it’s a great way to dial into intrinsic motivation. to keep the task force motivated to dedicate their best into every operation. a way to recognize positive behavior. a byproduct of hoping for the most favorable outcome in war where the only images are bloodshed, conflict, and hostility. it’s a stark difference. “who knows,” price’s shoulders lift into a casual shrug as he addresses the fierce group settled around him, “it might just help you lads.” it’s a harmless and cost-efficient idea to justify the boxes of tangible reinforcements that are shipped to the base. literal cartons of sticker books that range from the traditional ‘great work!’ to ‘prized soldier!’ and the notion seems childish (disguised to be more of a scheme, in all honesty). that is, until the pieces of sticky, illustrated adhesives start working– boosting the soldiers’ determination for the taste of victory– because you’re the one handing out the affordable versions of chest candy. they adore saccharine treats. and over time, so does ghost. 

ghost who initially loathes the new process that price endorses. he’s good at his job. knows he’s an expert in clandestine tradecraft. doesn’t need a miniature label tapped on his chest to recognize that no one does a better service in infiltrations or sabotages in risky environments than he does. he’s in and out like a gust of wind. well, more similar to a grim reaper that takes and punishes whoever he deems fit. a brutish force not to be reckoned with. and he reasons that this little sticker ceremony ultimately wastes time. precious alone time that ghost exploits to catch up on some well-deserved rest or exercise. because training after an intense mission totally makes sense to the lieutenant. yet, he’ll doggedly line up with the rest of the task force and await getting crowned with the bane of his existence. doesn’t wish to stir the pot with price and sit through being lectured. so he stays. and he’s a bit taken aback when he catches a glimpse of you handing out the stickers; a beaming smile on your lips while you press an overly exaggerated thumbs-up design onto the front of a soldier’s vest. 

ghost who rasps, “I’ll pass,” before your fingers can pin the sticker onto him. unaware that his voice would come out grainy from the weeklong mission and, involuntarily, blunt. brash. the complete opposite of how he wished to sound towards you. notices the surprise in your eyes due to the acidity of his voice and how you instinctively shrink from him. he shifts, straight away, and hastily tries to take back his tone of voice. to right his wrongs. to atone for his mistake. however, your nervous movement is swiftly replaced with your usual upbeat nature as you plaster on a grin and dramatically bring the back of your hand to your forehead to mimic a fall, “woe is me.” you exhale pointedly while mentioning, “whatever shall I do with all these stickers then?” and ghost understands that it’s so typical of you to hide your hurt with witticism. you’re too considerate. too bright. a touch of color to his monochrome soul. venturing a step closer to you, he lightly scoffs at your melodramatic behavior and remarks, “woe is most definitely not you. now get up, pup.” and before you can comprehend, his gloved hand wraps around your wrist to gently pry it away from your face. “changed my mind,” he murmurs while indicating to the book of stickers that you casted aside, “pick one f’ me, will ya.” 

ghost who refuses to comment on your shaky fingers to save you from embarrassment. it’s endearing that despite the layers of heavy clothing, you’re still hesitant to touch any part of him. “you’re all set,” you quickly chirp before stepping back to admire your handiwork. or so you tell yourself that excuse. in reality, you’re teetering on the edge of becoming distracted by the heat that he radiates. and he savors how your gaze dances across his masked face but evades his intense eyes. the most profound part of him that reduces you to stumbling on your words like a drunk. intoxicated by him. it’s like he’s drinking you in and allowing himself a selfish taste of your beauty. a thought that causes you to heavily gulp. to take your mind off of the blatant yearning, you teasingly raise the sticker book up to him, “how about I add another one? this one has glitter—” “that’ll do,” ghost interjects and turns to leave. his immediate answer and retreat brings about a genuine laugh from your lips. it’s music to his ears. wagering a glance to his chest, he notes the sticker you chose for him. cursive letters twisting into ‘you’re a star!’ followed by a smiling gold star draws his attention. you don’t spot it but as he leaves, his gloved fingers reach up to smooth the sticker over his vest. to pat it down so it stays a while longer. 

ghost who attempts to convince himself that his disinterest toward the small slips of adhesive paper is still the truth. they’re just for show, right? no one really pays attention to how some of the stickers varied in size. they’re all mature adults. and it was completely unrelated how there’s regular bickering amongst various recruits that compared their hard-earned rewards. doesn’t admit that his chest visibly swells with pride whenever the other soldiers point out that ghost always receives the biggest sticker. purposefully taunts them by stating, “get better then, yeah?” he also fails to acknowledge that you’ve coerced and conditioned him to accept them like a pavlov experiment. after all, your unwillingness to comment on how he noticeably leans over so you can put stickers wherever you wished must mean that it doesn’t happen. and in the scenario where it could perhaps occur, you shouldn’t blame him because ghost was certain no one else had the willpower to brush you away. you with gentle fingers and an angelic voice. singing him a siren song whenever you mutter, “for your excellent work, lieutenant,” as you smooth on another ridiculous sticker. his heart stutters in his chest when he feels how your hand tentatively flattens against his chest. the broad muscle causing you to hum appreciatively before gracing him with a coy smile. an interaction that replays in his mind whenever he’s awake and follows him to sleep. 

ghost who clenches his fist so tightly that his blunt nails bite into his own palm when he overhears a lowly recruit outrightly insult the implemented routine. hears them utter (when you’re out of earshot of course because goodness forbid that they have courage) ‘bullshit’ and how you were ‘off your rocker for putting up with this waste of time.’ and ghost isn’t usually responsive in situations like this. he’s got a covert operation to focus on in about 15 minutes. a level-headed person was far more intimidating and efficient during classified matters. now, however, his heavy boots thud against the floorboards when he stalks toward the recruit. an abrupt wave of darkness and unabridged horror before the recruit is face-to-face with ghost. “problem?” he asks challenges, voice dead and devoid of sympathy. his head slowly tilts and the action creates a dismal shadow over the eye sockets of his mask. ominous and menacing. everything that ghost is infamous for. knows he’s won when the recruit’s apology is nasally and on the verge of crying but their reaction isn’t his personal interest. what he does undertake as his responsibility, though, is when he’s called into price’s office for a debrief. he pockets some of the miscellaneous sticker books that sit on the superior’s desk. wordlessly hands them to you when you’re both briefly passing each other in the hallway. and while you profusely thank him for the additional sets (vaguely wondering what caused the change in his behavior), you playfully press a sticker above the lower portion of his mask– right where his lips are. somewhere new. you leave him rooted to the spot, the sweet gesture sending him into a stupor, and call over your shoulder, “compensation for the stickers!” he watches as you hurriedly dart away before he can react but there’s no need. he unabashedly smuggles more stickers from price’s office in hopes of reaping a similar repayment again.

ghost who reasons that stickers aren’t that bad if you’re the one giving them out. he organizes himself with the rest of the force, a brooding figure that patiently waits in the back of the line. favors being the last one because you’re able to utter more than a few words of encouragement to him. if he’s lucky then you converse and excitedly share your day with him– like you currently are. “want me all to yourself, do you?” you heartily tease him upon noticing that he’s consistently been last in line for the third time in a row. he shifts on his feet, makes a show of looking around at his fellow team members that are filtering out of the room, and deliberately concedes, “‘suppose so.” his frank answer is followed by a flustered roll of your eyes but it’s the genuineness that causes your heart to flip. you force yourself to concentrate on the task at hand– giving out prizes. unsteady fingers lifting at the sticker page, you skim the options before spotting a perfect one. your teeth catch the edge of your bottom lip as you can’t help but question, “you say that to everyone, simon?” his real name on your glossy lips. a prayer that he desires to hear being chanted over and over as he holds you in his arms. the gaze he wraps you in is burning. tempting. exhilarating. you push yourself up on your toes to reach out and place a sticker on his cheek. on the hard shell of his skull mask that you’ve learned will ultimately end in halfhearted chiding because the adhesive is difficult to remove off of it. ghost catches a glimpse of the sticker that you’ve picked. the bolded words of ‘#1 lieutenant’ flashes at him. and the sticker is like a brand you’ve adorned him in. an embellishment that he proudly displays and wears because it’s what you’ve given him. he hums, dark and inquiring, when he leans to graze his masked lips against your inner wrist. his eyes are heady and half-lidded. clouded with a violent craving for you– always you. visibly strains to make contact with your exposed skin by tilting his head to place another chaste kiss on your hand while murmuring, “just to the sweet ‘n pretty ones that I fancy.” 

[cobragardens]

The Colors of Crowley

Black is the color Crowley uses to cover himself, red is the color that represents Crowley to himself, and yellow is the color that represents Crowley to Aziraphale. What each color symbolizes and how it's used give us important information about Crowley (and to some degree Aziraphale) and about the ineffable relationship.

I feel kind of dumb writing this post because I'm sure it's glaringly obvious to everyone else, but there's this Metro UK article of all things (the Metro is owned by the hardcore rightwing Daily Mail, btw, so please don't link to it) that mentions the red stitching on Crowley's gloves in 1867, and it made conscious some details I had only subconsciously noted, so fwiw to anybody else, here are my notes on the colors associated with Crowley in Good Omens and their significance in the context of the way each one is used.

I don't think we need to cover black-as-evil in Western color symbology. [And yet here's a long-ass paragraph about it anyway! --Ed.] Light:dark::good:evil has been a thing with Christianity since before Christianity was even Judaism. The Israelites picked it up from the Zoroastrians way back before YHWH had subsumed El as 'God,' which may have been before they were Israelites as well; I mean it was a LONG time ago. Good Omens has been using black and white to represent Hell and Heaven, respectively, long before the show. In the UK, the book was published in paperback with a choice of black or white cover with an illustration of the contrasting character in the contrasting color: Crowley illustrated in black, Aziraphale in white. The current hardcover is grey.

Crowley wears black, and the Bentley is black. At the metanarrative or authorial level this is obviously for the purposes of the black/white demon/angel contrast, but on the intra-narrative level, the Watsonian level, it's interesting to note that Crowley doesn't have to wear black. He's obviously not free to choose from the full color palette, but Furfur's shirt and sash are is dark emerald green, Dagon is in ultramarine (as befits a marine Elder God), and Shax has only been on Earth for four years before she's wearing head-to-toe oxblood. When she shows up later in battle dress she's got a lot of oxblood there, too. And yet Crowley wears black.

Authorial reasons aside, black suits Crowley for a couple intra-narrative reasons. For much of history, black was the most expensive color to dye and maintain in clothing, and as a result it has always been fashionable. And for several centuries in Christendom, wearing black was also a sign that you were in mourning, which was a social and religious obligation when someone close to you died. Whether you could wear other colors with it depended on how long ago that death had occurred.

Again: black is what Crowley chooses to cover himself, and as there is a sharp distinction between how Crowley presents himself to fulfill his obligations and who he thinks of himself as being, there is likewise a distinction between the colors that represent those two quantities as well.

Red is the color the show uses to represent Crowley to Crowley. The most obvious reason is his hair. This is another change from Book Omens, where Crowley is described as having hair that is "dark." A lot of fans in the UK hated the change when S1 came out because fans hate change and the British have a thing against gingers, but Crowley's red hair suits him better than dark imo because the Mother of Demons in Jewish religious literature, Lilith, is traditionally depicted with red hair. Red hair has been associated for more than a millenium in the Middle East and England and Wales with sorcery, witchcraft, demonic influence/possession, and satan-worship.

Crowley wishes his mom was this cool with snakes.

A good case can be made that Crowley genuinely likes the color red in addition to considering it demonically appropriate. I say this for three reasons. Firstly, because when he has a (limited) choice of (again, demonically appropriate) colors, he always chooses red. The marble of the desk in his apartment is not green or grey. He can have any color stitching on his gloves or lining of his jacket collar he wants, but it's always red. Secondly, it's not only red he chooses, it's almost always bright red.

We know Crowley's red isn't supposed to represent blood or violence, because we have another demon character whose use of red represents just that, and it's not the same red:

Compare Shax' oxblood and burgundy to

and

and

and

Crowley's red isn't just red, it's lipstick, cherry, crimson red. And in case we weren't sure that we should read this red as symbolizing passionate, romantic love:

Romantic symbolism aside, bright red is also the color of passion (romantic or otherwise), optimism, heat, vitality, life, (hell)fire, and warning.

Red and black says don't fuck with Jack.

The third reason I think we can safely say that Crowley actually likes the color red is that he hides it. It's always tiny little touches, some of which you have to look for to see. (I still don't know where they snuck in the red on his Elizabethan habit, e.g.) And we know this color is a risk for him, and that he is right to hide it, because Ligur, who doesn't approve of any of Crowley's less-than-fully-demonic embellishments and may share Hastur's opinion that Crowley has gone native, comments on one of Crowley's more noticeably colorful items.

And I think the red tells us one more thing about Crowley, too.

Bright red is the colorest of colors, you know? When we can choose only one color to represent all colors, to represent colorfulness itself, we choose bright red (even in cultures where red symbolizes other meanings than it does in Western art).

Remember how Aziraphale gives Crowley's jacket a tartan collar when he swaps bodies with Crowley and impersonates him in Hell because Aziraphale feels the need to maintain some small secret token of his identity, some tiny unremarked sign of something he loves and thinks is beautiful, when he is down there alone in the gloom among enemies?

Crowley is down there alone among enemies every second of every day and night, whether he's in Hell or on Earth. And he's already had his identity stripped from him once. If you were someone who said

about this

and then you got recruited by the fash downstairs bc the fash upstairs threw you out for not being fashy enough and you had to start wearing nothing but dark colors and more importantly had to hide everything that made you feel warmth or softness or joy, and that was it, that was the deal for eternity, but you could add one (1) little touch to everything you wore to remind yourself that there is some beautiful part of you left, something you loved once, that no one has yet been able to steal or brutalize out of you...what color would the stitching on your gloves be?

Lastly, Yellow represents Crowley to Aziraphale. I'm going to skip the chain of evidence for this bc I think it's obvious, but the way it's used also lends itself to some inferences supported in other areas in the show.

Here's where I think changing Crowley's hair to red from Book Omens' dark is a good decision in another way. Crowley always has red hair, and if he has any color in his clothes it's going to be red. Red is eye-catching; it always stands out, but it doesn't stand out as demonic. And yet the color Aziraphale associates with Crowley and calls "pretty" isn't red.

I suspect that when Aziraphale says he can make Crowley an angel again, Crowley hears "You're not good enough for me to accept you as you are, let me fix you" because these are words Aziraphale has said to him many times, and has meant some of those times. But

tells the audience differently. The color Aziraphale associates with Crowley, the color he calls "pretty," is the color of Crowley's only overtly demonic feature. Aziraphale doesn't love the angel he knew who isn't Crowley, he loves Crowley, the demon, the person he is now, his yellow demon irises.

Yellow appears in three other places in S2, and they're all symbolically significant, and in fact serve to establish another symbolic significance to the color yellow in addition to that of Yellow Is the Color of My True Love's Eyes.

One of them is a feather duster:

Crowley reacts to a feather duster like a cat confronted by an unfamiliar object

The other three are private conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley:

The walls that surround Crowley and Aziraphale when they speak openly about their situation and how they will handle it are drenched in yellow, and that is super interesting, because in Western color symbolism yellow is the color of fear. The archangel of whom Crowley and Aziraphale are both (rightly) terrified wields a tool the color of fear. The color of fear saturates the backdrop of conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley when they have to discuss their situation and their actions openly.

Remember how Aziraphale's voice shakes here?

Crowley realizes the crows have just handed an angel evidence the angel can take to Hell and use to have Crowley killed

Even the Bentley, that clear sign of Aziraphale's love for Crowley, is also a yellow coffin enclosing him. For Aziraphale, thoughts of Crowley are always entangled with fear, because Crowley is not just Crowley, he is also Crowley's Fall.

And I think fear is what Crowley's eyes themselves represent. For Crowley, fear is now a fundamental part of his perception, his nature, his identity.

The angel Aziraphale once knew is not Crowley, and yet from what we've seen, the chiefest difference in character between this sweetheart and this mischief-maker--

--is that the Starmaker does not know yet that he should be afraid, and the Serpent does. That knowledge and its fear has, shall we say, colored his view of the world.

Aziraphale learns that fear early by observing others rather than Falling himself, and knows enough that by the first time we meet him in the Before, he is already afraid.

Pink was once symbolically equivalent to red; in modern Western color symbology it is a color of innocence, youth, beauty, and first love. Hashtag just sayin'.

The cruellest thing this suggests to me is that, rather than rebellion or his propensity to ask questions, rather than the knowledge of good and evil, the Starmaker's Fall was caused by his innocence. it wasn't the questions that were the problem: it was that he didn't know any better than to speak them out loud.

Y'all, Crowley and Aziraphale do not suffer from communication problems. Despite both being male-coded and British, they don't even seem to lack emotional intelligence. What they do have is a universe of silence and fear they have to communicate within and around. What they lack is the safety to speak and love freely. The true color of Crowley is crimson, but someone gave him those eyes, and Aziraphale either watched that happen or knew about it, and now Crowley covers himself in black--which btw is also the symbolic color for mystery and secrets--and only lets Aziraphale see him as he really is now, because Aziraphale won't judge him for his yellow eyes (or punish and forsake him for his questions). Because Aziraphale carries that fear with him too.

[xyouami]

PROLOUGE ::

*ILLUSTRATION MADE BY XYOUAMI!! (me :cute:)*

"I've known you more than anyone. Your parents, your grandparents, your friends, it doesn't matter. No matter how long I'll do this, l'll do it until you'll be able to rest."

★ SYNOPSIS : in which case, your life has been happy and cheerful ever since. Nothing stopped in your way, and you cherished it. Wanting to keep continuing your dreams and wishes as is. But that stops immediately after a death that'll stop time for you—but not him. Scaramouche, your best friend.

THEMES/WARNINGS : Angst, Fluff, gore, murder, strong language, suicide, characters dying, reincarnation, hint of romance, slow burn, modern time, corny as shit, GN reader, reader is energetic social butterfly bc it adds contrast to the story PLSS,

(TUMBLR POST WILL CONTAIN CHANGES, WATTPAD WILL HAVE FULL ORIGINAL. Also basically a shoujo manga type in the Prolouge, watch out ☠️ (Reason for this: my wattpad writing is absolute shit so tumblr masterlist is better)

"Hey, Scaramouche!" Y/n called out.

"What took you so long?" Scaramocuhe scoffed. "I'm sorry, Hu Tao was taking too long." As Y/n said that, Hu Tao jumped on Y/n's back.

"Hey, hey!" Hu Tao giggled.

"You slept in! Did you at least eat some breakfast I made?"

"Yeah, it was really, really good!" Hu Tao said.

"What did you like? I'd love it if I were to pack some for you." Y/n smiled warmly at Hu Tao. Hu Tao was living with Y/n's family due to her not having a home yet. Hu Tao's caretaker, Zhongli, is out for a business trip. So until then, for the rest of high school, she will have to live with Y/n.

"Where's Yanfei?" Y/n asked.

"She's sick today, so she can't come to school. She has such a high fever! I'm worried." Hu Tao moped.

"Cmon, she'll be fine in a few weeks. It takes a while for her to get well whenever she gets sick, right?"

"Yeah, but what makes me even more worried is that she has a fever. This rarely happens."

"Cmon, let's go already. Do you guys have your tickets?" Scaramouche asked.

"Yep!" Hu Tao held out her ticket.

"Mhm." Y/n held out theirs, too.

"Alright, let's go." When Scaramouche said that, the doors of the train opened.

"Let's go, let's go!" Hu Tao said happily.

The train wasn't really busy at this time of day since it was still the morning.

"How's Kazuha?" Y/n asked Scaramouche.

"He's doing okay. Why ask?"

"I heard recently, his close friend got murdered."

"Ah, I know. That was years ago, though."

"4 years is really short, you know?" Y/n said in a quietly soft tone, sounding tired yet full of hope.

"But yeah, he's okay."

"I've heard he's made a new friend already, his name is Shikanoin Heizou... right..?" Y/n looked at Scaramouche.

"Yeah." Scaramouche looked blankly at Y/n. Y/n's eyes were always shining no matter how sad they could be.

"Hey, Y/n you down for karaoke?" Hu Tao giggled.

"Hm.. tonight?"

"Yeah! I've got coupons! You could invite your friends!"

"Oh, I'm so down!" Y/n said brightly.

Scaramouche looked at the back of Y/n's head as they talked to Hu Tao. 'How could I ever have them as a friend? Tch, I've known them since 7th grade. And now we're in sophomore year. They're a bother, but at least I have something to tell Nahida when i get home.' Scaramouche thought.

"Hey Scaramouche! Are you down for karaoke tonight?" Hu Tao asked.

"Can't, I've got tutoring.

"Oh yeah, I remember you've got tutoring every Tuesday and Thursday." Y/n said with a deadpanned face, followed along with a small smile.

"I've told you that like 7 months ago!" Scaramouche said."

"Just admit it, I'm better than you." Y/n smirked.

"Shut up." Scaramouche flicked Y/n's forehead.

"Ow! At least be grateful! Without me, you could've never passed those tests!" Y/n said angrily.

Hu Tao laughed. 'Wow, cuties in a pod.' Hu Tao smirked.

————

Y/n looked at their phone. "9:48 am... we'll get there by 10:02 am and classes start at 10:49 am." Y/n muttered.

"You sure keep track of time a lot.

"That's because I wanna be on time every day." Has anybody seen Y/n late to class? Nope. It's not such a thing.

"Little ol perfecto." Scaramouhe bonked his hand on Y/n's head.

"Hey, can you stop?"

"Make me."

Y/n did a slow turn to Scaramouche. He immediately drew his hand back to himself and moved his gaze to the window across from them. Y/n and Hu Tao were listening to music through their earbuds and humming playfully to a song.

Hu Tao and Y/n chatted as Scaramouche dazed himself out. "Were almost here." Y/n took out theirs and their earbud in Hu Tao's ear.

"Hey, the song wasn't even finished!"

"Were almost here, cmon." Y/n nudged Hu Tao's bag gently.

Y/n put their phone and earbuds in their school bag and picked it up from the ground.

"Scara." Y/n muttered. They gently nudged his arm to bring him back to his zoning out dreamland.

"Uh, yeah, right." He got up with his bag as they left the train station. Just a couple minutes of walking.

"How much again?" Hu Tao put a hand to her chin with a playful grin.

"2 minutes." Y/n replied.

"Ganyu on watch out duty again?" Hu Tao asked. It was eerily quiet.. but it was comforting?

"Yeah." Before even Y/n could answer, he did it for them.

Scara, Hu Tao, and Y/n made it to the school gates as small amounts of students were going towards the school. Hu Tao exhaled.

"Can't believe Tevyat High is possibly the most ghetto but expensive school in the city." Hu Tao yawned.

Y/n laughed. "Hey, Ganyu!" Y/n waved.

"Oh? Hello!"

"Is Layla in the library with Kaveh?"

"Yep. Just go in there and look for them. They should be at table two. But how are you guys doing? I haven't seen you guys in forever." Ganyu smiled.

"I'm doing well." Y/n said.

"I'm doing great! I'm a little tired, though." Hu Tao said. Ganyu gave Hu tao a nod.

"Hello, Scaramouche. How are your studies?"

"I don't study." Scara said blankly.

"Oh, well. You should study. It's a good habit to develop." Scaramouche just looked at Ganyu with a deadpanned face.

"Me and Scara will be going now. Bye Ganyu, bye Hu Tao!" Y/n waved to them goodbye.

"Byebye!" Hu Tao waved. Ganyu did a small wave goodbye as Y/n caught up with Scaramouche.

Y/n exhaled.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just tiring trying to keep my energy up, I didn't sleep much last night. I had a bad feeling something was going to happen today."

"What? That you gotta study for the test tomorrow?"

"I think so..." Y/n moped.

"It's fine, N/n."

"Hey, you used my nickname!" Y/n pointed out.

"Yeah? So what?"

"I've never heard you in my life say that!" Y/n beamed with light.

"Tch." Scaramouche scoffed. Scaramouche listened to Y/n ramble until they got to their classroom. They saw Thoma and Yoimiya talking.

"Hey Thoma! Hey Yoimiya!" Y/n waved.

"Hey, hey! Tell Hu Tao I said hi, and whats up?"

"Hm? Where's Ayaka? She's usually here with you guys." Y/n said.

"She's off heading errands for Mr. Ginger."

"You mean Tartaglia?" Thoma said.

Scaramouche looked at Y/n. Scaramouche.. felt wrong. He felt everything was about to go wrong. And he felt like his intuition was right.

"Scaraaaaa." Y/n waved in Scaramouche's face.

"Hm? What?"

"You were spacing out."

"Uh, yeah." Scaramouche replied in a sarcastic voice and turned his head away.

"Is that just all you say?"

"I don't know."

"Dude, get your shit together." Y/n giggled. Y/n sat at their sear while Scaramouche pulled up a chair and sat in front of them.

"Anyway, let me tell you something..." Y/n rambled and rambled on and on for 10 minutes straight to Scaramouche. He listened and didn't say a single word. Y/n didn't care if he was listening or not. They just kept on going.

"Y/n." Scaramouche cut them off mid sentence.

"Hm? Yeah?" Y/n smiled at Scaramouche.

"Do you... like anyone?"

"Ouuh!! Nows the time I tell you!"

"So you do?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Who is it?" Scaramouche asked plainly. He raised an eyebrow

"Hmm... when I was in 8th grade, and a freshman, I used to have a crush on... Kazuha!" Y/n whispered.

Scaramouches heart stopped.

"Do you still like him?"

"Well... I'd guess I'd say yeah. He's a nice guy, and he's really cool. He's generous, smart, pretty, kind to everyone, and he's calm and collected." Y/n paused and their smile faded. They looked to the window of the outside to their right.

"Although..." Y/n stared at the window with bright spring leaves falling down.

"He's just too good for me. I mean, we're best friends and everything, but I have you. Even if I do get with Kazuha, you will forever be my best friend." Y/n said.

"What about Hu Tao?"

"She's a good friend too. But I've only known her since 8th grade. You, on the other hand. I've never had a closer friend than you. All of my childhood friends dropped me because I wasn't my best and that I wasn't just a good friend in general. You've probably been the friend I've had longest."

Scaramouche thought about that, drowning in his thoughts again. Until the teacher clapped his hands to get back in their seats. He immediately drew his seat back.

-------

Hu Tao yawned as she packed her bags.

"Cmon, let's hurry and go to karaoke!" Yoimiya excitingly said, as Ayaka came up.

"Hello! Mind if I join? My brother said it would be alright."

"Yes, of course!" Yoimiya said to Ayaka.

"You coming?" Y/n looked at Scaramouche.

"Yeah, Mrs. Miko said Xingqiu would take cover for my tutoring."

"Ah! That's wonderful! Get more people!"

"I have ten coupons! I have plenty." Hu Tao smug face.

"Woah! Now I know who to exactly bring." Yoimiya said.(

Sorry if there's so many timeskips I'm just lazy ok (　'⊇｀)

—— at karaoke bc I'm a lazy ass mf

"So how do you work this thing?" Heizou asked, he inspected the device and scrolled down endless songs to count.

"Okay, so first, this is the search bar to look for songs if you wanna sing. Here is the queue of songs people are going to sing..." Y/n rambled how to work the karaoke device and microphone to Heizou who was a newbie.

"Oh, thanks a bunch!" Heizou said.

"No problem!" Ayaka sang a song, and of course, everyone in the room clapped loudly and cheered.

Y/n looked at Scaramouche just drinking a soda."You wanna sing?"

"No." Scaramouche immediately replied with no hesitation.

"Awh, but the reason to come here is to sing! Not drout out." Y/n said to Scaramouche.

"Y/n! Your next!" Ayaka said, she held out the microphone to Y/n.

——— after karaoke bc I'm a lazy ass mf AGAIN. (full version in wattpad)

Hu Tao sang, Heizou sang, Kazuha sang, Thoma sang, everyone sang, but Scaramouche.

"Scara, do you not want to sing?"

"Um." Scaramouche moved his gaze to Y/n, then looked away.

"Yeah? I'll do a duo with you."

They searched up a song they liked, "Alright, get yo butt over here!" Y/n grabbed Scaramouche's hand.

"Hey, wait!" Scaramouche exclaimed to protest.

"Here's the microphone, I believe you like this song a lot. So you'll sing it with me! I know you can sing, I've heard you hum and sing songs aloud before. Don't be shy!" Y/n nudged Scaramouche.

"It's not that...—"

"The song's starting, get ready!"

"Whew... I'm wiped out." Hu Tao said, while wiping off some sweat off her forehead.

"Were going home now." Kazuha picked up his bag from the ground and went to Heizou.

"Right! Goodnight, Kazuha! Goodnight, Heizou! Get home safe!" Y/n gave them a small smile and wave.

"You too." Kazuha smiled, and left with Heizou.

"You down for a sleep over?" Yoimiya said.

"Ah, I wish. But I can't." Y/n said.

"Why not? Have some fun at least." Yoimiya nudged their shoulder gently, then chuckled.

"Well, goodnight Scaramouche and Y/n! Get home safe!" Ganyu left.

"We'll be heading out with Thoma." Ayaka said.

"Right, you want me to call Ayato for you?" Thoma asked.

"Yes, and you might wanna stay with the sleepover group as well. You live quite far away. Ayato can just pick you up." Ayaka said while pulling her phone out.

"Right, well then. It was nice being with you guys. Goodnight and get home safe!" Thoma waved goodbye. Yoimiya, Ayaka, Thoma and Hu Tao left as Scaramouche and Y/n followed behind.

"Did you have fun?" Y/n asked.

"A little." Scaramouche mumbled.

"What? Can you repeat that?" Y/n said.

"I said I didn't."

Y/n giggled. "Next time you will. I promise you."

Y/n nudged him with their arm. And picked him up from the seat, and led him away to the exit.

"Thank you for joining Izumi Karaoke!" A staff member said.

Y/n waved goodbye to the staff as they waved goodbye too.

"Right. This is a goodbye until tomorrow!" Y/n said outside the building.

"Goodnight, Ayaka, Hu Tao, Yoimiya, and Thoma! Get home safe!"

"We will! You too with Scaramouche!" Hu Tao waved.

"Goodnight!" Hu Tao and the others waved goodbye as they walked away.

"We should go now." Y/n turned around and stopped for Scaramouche to come.

"I'll walk with you, it's dangerous." Scaramouche quietly muttered.

"Right." Y/n giggled.

They walked the dimly lit streets as cars and people raced by them. Y/n and Scaramouche went to the stairs leading down to the train station. Y/n bought a ticket for themself and turned to Scaramouche who was waiting.

"I'll be alright by myself."

"You sure?" Scaramouche asked, he raised an eyebrow.

"Yep! Goodnight Scara, and get home safe." Y/n smiled warmly at Scara. The train got there just in time, they boarded the train.

"You too. Stay safe."

"See you tomorrow!" Y/n smiled and waved goodbye as the train doors closed.

The train left as Scaramouche stood there. "Stay safe, N/n." Scaramouche turned around and walked away.

it quickly dawned to the next morning, it went how everything usually went. Same days, same hours, same minutes, same seconds.

Scaramouche walked to the train station where Hu Tao and Y/n usually meet.

Scara sat at the nearest bench as they scrolled on his phone. 4 minutes quickly passed, but no sight of Y/n was to be seen.

"Where is Y/n..." Scara knew that Hu Tao wouldn't be there because she had stayed over the sleepover.

"Did they oversleep? They've never been late before. Unless they're feeling unwell." Scaramouche dialed Y/n's phone number and stood up from the bench, impatiently tapping his foot.

The train station radio went blaring.

"Breaking news, last night at 8:53 pm, a high schooler named L/n Y/n was murdered at Tevyat cityscape. Their body was found at 9:02 pm, murderer is unknown and stab wounds are fatal. Relating to the case of-"

"What?"

Scaramouche could've swore he dropped his phone.

@xyouami 10/21/23 3:35 pm

[onwhatcaptain]

A slice of this week's chapter from my K/S novel!

Spock opens his eyes in the meldspace. For all but a moment, Spock sees himself through the mind of another and with his own eyes. He sits in the captain’s chair, his legs crossed, his chin thoughtfully turned in the direction of Kirk, who is bent over the science console, with all the rigidity and formality in his posture that Spock carries. He turns, and smiles at Kirk, who raises an eyebrow back—together, it dawns on them that it is difficult to distinguish between their distinct sensations, thoughts, and experiences. Spock looks down at his hands. They are his own, his fingers slender and long. It is his body, no doubt. Yet he is, without a doubt, Jim Kirk. Spock does not sit this way, and he does not smile this way, so that his lips are curved up like so. No, his own smile is a playful ghost, one that asks if it is a figment of the imagination. This is Kirk’s smile. It allows itself to be exposed and yet it is private. Only for him. So much confidence, so much certainty that has never belonged to Spock is running through his veins. He is borrowing Kirk’s sureness, his authoritative calm, his gentle amusement. How different he is from his friend.

If you liked that bit of writing, you should check out my fic "I Shall Do Neither" here at AO3! Details below:)

I Shall Do Neither (17867 words) by onwhatcaptain Chapters: 4/22 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Psychological Trauma, Mutual Pining, Five Year Mission (Star Trek), Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Post-Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Aftermath (Star Trek), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Biology, Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Vulcan Mind Melds, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling Through Vignettes, Missing Scenes Between Episodes, Plot, Cover Art, Canon Divergence, Digital Art, Illustrations

Summary:

In the wake of the kal-if-fee on Vulcan, Kirk is dead. When T’Pau tells Spock to live long and prosper, he knows he shall do neither. This is a story about men who love each other, and the lengths they will go to for one another.

- Foolish, he thinks. I have been a fool.

  How he had wanted so desperately to prove his Vulcan side. How all his life it had felt like a performance, and yet, to be finally subject to the most Vulcan thing of all destroyed him. The stripping of logic. All sense torn from him. His carefully constructed barriers had collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. To be granted his wish this way was a type of mockery. How he had wanted to be fully Vulcan. To prove that the blood which runs through his veins was not so human.

 How wanting had been better than having. -

This story is told in two parts across 21 chapters, and will be updated on Fridays.

[nerdyrevelries]

Jo March: The Pragmatist

One of the most common complaints I hear about Little Women is the way it ends. Many people think that Jo stifles her creativity and gives up on her writing in order to marry Professor Bhaer, which isn't true. Jo writes a very successful book in one of the sequels, Jo’s Boys, but let's set that to the side because what I really want to discuss is what Jo actually thinks of the writing she’s doing in the latter half of Little Women. 

In Part I of Little Women, we see the type of writing that Jo does prior to selling her work. In “A Merry Christmas,” the family puts on The Witch’s Curse, an Operatic Tragedy, which seems to be a Shakespearean melodrama. In “Jo Meets Apollyon,” the book Amy burns in anger is “half a dozen little fairy tales.” In “The P.C. and P.O.,” Jo writes a comedic poem and a lament for one of Beth’s cats. Finally, in “Secrets,” Jo submits a tragic romance to The Spread Eagle (one assumes that this name was less funny when Little Women was originally published in 1868.) The Spread Eagle doesn’t pay beginners, so we can assume that everything written up until this point is the type of writing Jo does for herself when there’s no pressure to make changes to please an editor in order to get a paycheck. 

Part II begins with the chapter “Gossip,” which catches us up on what’s been happening over the past three years. Jo is now a regular contributor to The Spread Eagle who receives a dollar for each story. She refers to them as “rubbish,” so she doesn’t seem particularly proud of the writing she’s doing, but she’s in the process of writing a novel she hopes will win her fame and prestige. 

In “Literary Lessons,” Jo observes a boy reading a newspaper story illustrated with a dramatic scene of “an Indian in full war costume, tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat” and two men stabbing each other while a terrified woman flees the scene. When the boy offers to share, Jo agrees more because she likes the boy than because of an interest in the story. The story is sensation fiction, which Jo privately thinks is trash anyone could have written. However, when she learns the author is making a good living from her stories, Jo decides to try her hand at this new style of writing. She submits the story to a contest the newspaper is running and wins $100. Jo uses the money to send Beth and Marmee to the seashore. She’s proud of her ability to earn money to help her family, so she continues to write these kinds of stories since they are lucrative. 

She later finishes her novel and sends it to multiple publishers, only one of whom is interested, and only if there are major cuts and revisions. After conflicting advice from her family, she decides to make the requested changes, which earns her $300 and some very mixed reviews that lead Jo to respond, “Some make fun of it, some over-praise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I’d printed it whole or not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged.” 

In “Calls,” Jo reluctantly joins Amy to return calls to their neighbors with generally disastrous results. One incident involves Jo receiving a compliment on her writing. 

Any mention of her “works” always had a bad effect upon Jo, who either grew rigid and looked offended, or changed the subject with a brusque remark, as now. “Sorry you could find nothing better to read. I write that rubbish because it sells, and ordinary people like it.”

This passage makes it very clear that Jo isn’t proud or fond of what she is writing. The reception to her novel combined with the money she can make from sensation fiction has changed Jo’s primary motivation for writing. She is no longer doing it for the love of writing or because she’s pursuing her dreams. She’s trying to make money to help out her family.

I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing. We all have periods in our life when we take a job that we aren’t extremely excited about because it will allow us to achieve something that is more important to us. However, it’s a different narrative than is usually spun about Jo who is frequently depicted as continually working towards her dream. There is a role in Castles in the Air that fits that narrative. It’s called the Striver, but I don’t think that’s the role that Jo has. Instead, Jo is the Pragmatist, which is a role about setting aside your dreams for the moment because you have other responsibilities. Both are interesting conflicts, but they lead to very different conclusions when it comes to Jo’s story! 

With that in mind, let’s take a look at “Friend,” which follows Jo in New York. She’s now writing for a newspaper called the Weekly Volcano, which has required Jo to make so many changes to her stories that she decides to have her work published anonymously. That certainly wouldn’t be a good career move if she was truly trying for fame! She’s also come to greatly respect a man staying at her boarding house named Professor Bhaer. One day, he makes a comment about a newspaper that publishes sensation stories like the ones Jo is writing. Her response is telling:

Jo glanced at the sheet, and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a lunatic, a corpse, a villain, and a viper. She did not like it; but the impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure, but fear, because, for a minute, she fancied the paper was the “Volcano.” 

Professor Bhaer notices her look and guesses the truth, but instead of letting her know this, he decides to gently explain his reasoning. After this, Jo goes back to reread the stories she has been writing and decides to burn them. Far from stifling her creativity, Professor Bhaer is the one who sees that Jo is ashamed of her writing and reminds her that she is capable of more.

This is part of a series on the literary inspirations behind game elements for my upcoming tabletop RPG based on the novels of Louisa May Alcott and L.M. Montgomery, Castles in the Air. To see a complete list of the posts I’ve written thus far, check out the master post. If you would like more information, visit the game’s website!

[flanaganfilm]

Hey Mike! I'm really sorry to hear about your experience on Hill House. I do a lot of work in VFX in pre/prod/post and I know that sort of production that feels like a sinking ship day in and day out. I do hope you have found some catharsis now that it's over.

The show shook me. Changed me. Made me reckon with myself as a storyteller and as a person. All for the better, I assure you.

I hope to one day tell such an impactful story of my own, either through one of my short films, or through the novel series I'm writing/illustrating. Which brings me to my question: How do you navigate the complexities of having authored a work that did so much harm to yourself but also did a lot of good for others? What lessons do you hope aspiring storytellers like myself take from your difficult experience? Thanks :)

Thank you for saying this.

It's true, HILL HOUSE was a very negative experience to make - but I will always be profoundly proud of the finished product. It's some of my favorite work. I may never again face down something as challenging as episode 6, and I love the impact it has on a lot of its viewers.

There's a weird thing that happens when you finish a project - it really ceases to be yours in any way at all. It belongs immediately to the audience, and they're given an experience that you will never have. When HILL HOUSE came out, I didn't watch it - I'd seen it hundreds of times by that point, but at the same time, I've NEVER seen it.

Every frame of it is informed by my experience making it, or my intentions, or the compromises we made here, or the line we cut there that I wish we'd kept, or a bad day on set, or a problematic actor, or a visual effect we never quite got right (there are a LOT of those in HILL HOUSE, some of them still make me wince.) So I'm never able to WATCH the show. It's a tradeoff we make all the time - if you're lucky enough to make a movie, or a TV show, that's the price of it - you'll never be able to watch it.

But, I get to see how it affects other people. More than anything else I've made, HILL HOUSE seems to have the largest and most passionate fanbase. (BLY is a close second, though that's a whole other blog entry - I could write a book about the complicated, fascinating experience of the BLY fandom).

But with HILL HOUSE, I'd hear a lot from people who lost loved ones, who navigate complicated family dynamics, and who have wrestled with depression or grief. It means the world to me. It's a strange divide, as I'll never see the show that they saw - but I am so grateful that it touched them the way it did.

I'm just about at the point where I think I'm capable of sitting down and truly watching HILL HOUSE. It takes years sometimes. I've watched a lot of my early work, like HUSH or GERALD'S GAME, and finally had the experience of really SEEING it. But HILL HOUSE has always felt a little too raw, and my memories still overpower my ability to separate myself from it. Maybe that's changed. Maybe I'll give it a shot this year. Half a decade seems like enough time.

But yes, it is complicated and strange with all of them. I so badly want to watch MIDNIGHT MASS, the project that was the most personal to me - but it flew off into the world just like they all do. I spent a decade working on it, and felt it flowing through me every day - like it was a part of me. But the moment the show was done and released into the world, it wasn't mine anymore, just like all the others. I remember feeling almost knocked over when it departed, for some reason I thought that one would always feel like a part of me... but no. They're like children, they all have to go live their own lives, and they don't belong to you. Not really.

[mask-of-prime]

V/T and Even More Tiifu

Was horribly artblocked from writing the plot for the remainder of VG's storyline and had been overcome with sudden Tiifu brainrot out of nowhere at the same time, so I did the only thing that was making me feel better: Ship Art.

You know how Kiara and Kovu are known for their strictly round Pridelander features vs strictly angular Outsider features respectively, or how Simba and Nala seem to contrast with square features and saturated, reddish color scheme vs neutral/greenish colors and smooth, slanted features? Vitani and Tiifu's physical gimmick seems to be contrasting body types lol. From the way I design their definitive adult models, Vitani is underweight with a broad upper body while Tiifu is overweight with narrow shoulders and a curvy lower body.

A revelation I've had the past few days is that I seem to have an easier time drawing round Pridelander characters with a tablet rather than a mouse. I normally just use a mouse at home and only just started getting properly used to drawing with a tablet provided at my school. I'd better start getting used to using a tablet, it's a required industry standard.

Another thing I seem to be experimenting with is this kinda xeroxed look that Silver Age Disney films once had, like that sketchy, barely-erased lineart.

Top left is referenced from this lovely cat picture sent to me, and the bottom right takes inspiration from those videos of people squishing animals' faces when getting really into petting them lol (like this for example)

Other illustrations include sketches of expressions Tiifu is least likely to show, a fullbody sketch showing her (lowkey medicine cat-like) hunting party healer attire, with a quadruped-accessible pouch crafted by none other than Makini.

Lastly, on the top right is a cold-ridden Vitani (this one is a visual I often get -- no matter what comfort character -- when I feel immensely stressed or upset. Thinking about it now and I'm wondering if a hurt/comfort visual like that might stem from the fact that I wish stress was visible like being sick was, and secretly wishing for that attention and babying if someone were to notice)

[dyemelikeasunset]

would you be able to include flag country names for the dom&mor characters lineup? ty!

(i love how diverse all your art and characters are, i wish i could read thru all about your ocs and stories like browsing through a wiki in an autism way)

THANK YOU!! In fact I can do you one better and write little blurbs for everyone! Including our leading ladies too of course Under the readmore:

Mor's side

Morgan: Jamaican American Lesbian. Mor's parents came from Jamaica but she was born in the US, where she grew up with her mom in Boston before moving to NYC. Mor went to university for a BA in Graphic Design and met most of her friends there. She works from home these days. Mor doesn't really realize she's the resident Pretty Girl in her group of friends (she has bad self esteem)

Lexi: American Nonbinary Lesbian. Lex met Mor in high school when they both played on the softball team, and they both came out to each other. They've been able to stay friends all these years cause their tastes in girls are wildly different. Lexi belongs to a different group as the rest of Mor's friends since they didn't go to the same college, but they're Mor's very annoying ride-or-die

Panos: Greek Ethiopian and Bisexual. Panos met Mor through their shared degree and has been a mentor and big brother figure for her since. They help onboard her to a lot of projects, and the two of them rely on each other professionally. He never really stops talking about his wife and daughter-- it's the price everyone has to pay, since he's so reliable and understanding and helping everyone all the time

Ryan: (Sansei) Japanese American and Gay. Out of Mor's art friends, Ryan is the one who's most practical about his job. Instead, he puts his energy into being a menace in his dating life. He loves to gossip about his and Mor's very messy love lives and is convinced Morgan is just as much of a heartbreaker as he is behind her innocent facade. She has unfortunately told Ryan all her dirty laundry so he teases her relentlessly every chance he gets

Barjis: Malay Trans and Bisexual. Barjis came to the US with their boyfriend to pursue their degree and also start their transition. They have a surprisingly cute illustration style and work with Panos and Mor often. They love to talk animated movies with Morgan, and it's one of the few things that gets them to talk a lot. Very skittish and tired all the time, and has a bit of a fear of "normies"

Elsa: Norwegian Lesbian. Elsa is Mor's unwitting rival in love because they always crush on the same girls (Ryan loves to tease her about this). Elsa is currently losing (Mor: 7, Elsa: 2) but she's not bitter, just single and sad. She's currently working in web journalism even though she wants to publish her novel. Friendly and considerate, but awkward

Dom's side

Dominique: Korean/Chinese and Asexual. Dom was born in Beijing but grew up in Seoul with her mother. She started working as a model at 16 and moved to the US alone when she was 18. She's currently coming back into the modeling world after a 2 year hiatus. She's charming and good at socializing, but she doesn't really know how to make friends, which frustrates model coworkers who want to be closer to her

Farid: Afghan French and Gay. Farid became a model in his late father's footsteps, so he's often accused of being a nepo model. He's fussy and annoyed easily, but he can never refuse helping people. One of Dom's only real friends, he's a bit like a little brother to her and relies on her a lot. He has a bad habit of dating married men and acting like it doesn't matter to him (it matters. A lot.)

Maithili: Indian Canadian and Pansexual. Maithili is breezy and easy-going, but behind her dreamy facade is a very level-headed personality. She works with Dom often for body diversity shoots, but she'd really like to do more high fashion. Very flirtatious, calls Dom and Farid her "work boyfriends" all the time

Wynter: British Trans woman. Wynter started modeling a little later than her peers. She was scouted after a big transition point, so modeling has brought her a lot of euphoria. She's one of the more mature personalities in Dom's life, and looks after her and the other models a lot. She lives with her boyfriend and is hoping he'll propose soon

Evita: Argentine American and Bisexual. Evita started as a social media influencer and has been able to make her way to the runway as a petite model. Despite their nonchalant persona, they work very hard and are very passionate about their job. Her current romance hangup is how oblivious Dominique is, and she knows she needs to move on

Inessa: Russian (and no fruity business). Inessa met Dom backstage at a Fashion Week while having a breakdown that Dom helped her through, so she's been attached like an inprinted duckling ever since. The type of straight girl who is obsessed with pretty women in a platonic way, so she really wants to get to know more about Dom's cute new girlfriend

[astralartefact]

NieR Re[in]carnation The People and the World Transmigration and the End of Reincarnation

If Red is the color of ______ then why did I ____ the ending of NieR Re[d ]carnation?

Between YoRHa:Dark Apocalypse, some of the RoD stories and now this, a pattern has been established:

If I didn't really like the ending of a NieR story, chances are 100% that given a couple hours to days I will figure myself into "This is the best thing ever written, I committed blasphemy against the god king by ever doubting his vision."

Because to be open and honest about it, right after playing it the ending was kinda boring to me - because if you paid attention to the periphery and knew the deep lore you already expected 90% of the reveals, the only really new thing is the rundown on what happened to His, Her and N2.

Let me phrase it like this: the Time Loop Theory didn't really need confirmation up until now. It was a thing because it fits the themes, but acknowledging it wouldn't really add anything because the vague sense of inevitability already exists simply by alluding to it and the previous narratives all already had it built into them without it anyways - so I think the only reason they hard confirmed it now was because it literally added to the story. Him and Her being stuck in the time loop of humanity's failure is why they despaired.

So long story short, the stuff they 'confirmed' I didn't really need to be confirmed (cries in no y:da) and as fine as it was, not having an immediate "Oh Shit!" Moment made the chapter kind of boring. So while kind of neat it didn't really do anything for me.

But I also finished Reincarnation at 5AM. So I went to sleep and Io and behold, I awoke to a revelation by the god king:

This was amazing. This story logistically paid off on the entirety of the game's narratives in a single chapter all while talking about something new. What the fuck. Once again, this shouldn't work. How did they do that??? How is the writing in this game so tightly unified despite being literally fragmented into 20-ish individual stories??? This game has the most writers of all NieR games and yet every single story is pulling at the same rope??? Like, how???

To me NieR Reincarnation is about two things: Number 1 - Reincarnation is a Cage, all humans are born into some level of agency-less-ness and wouldn't you know it, they have no agency about that Number 2 - 'Humanity' is a more complex thing than just 'Being of the Human Species' (which is basically the NieR theme)

I think the Robots in the cast illustrate this the best: Dimos and Marie and Yurie and 10H (and Noelle and 063y and F66x) were made for a purpose, but they didn't choose their purpose, their creators did for very specific reasons. But against all odds they find themselves human and humans have wishes and dreams, even if it's just to fulfill their purpose, they seek out the agency to make those dreams come true and if they pray for their dreams to come true they will find a way.

By experiencing the pain and despair of solitude He became human, because He wanted, He wished to not experience it anymore. By experiencing the pain and despair of the machine lifeforms N2 became human in the same way and She became human by incorporating N2's experience of pain into Herself.

And as Humans they pray for a better future. And maybe they can't do it on their own, because they're human and humans fail and cry and shit and die. Maybe they desperately need the help of someone who can help, even if it's just a little girl who is selfless enough to offer them an encouraging hand despite all of the mistakes they made. But by praying for their dreams to come true, by not outright denying the possibility of a better future, simply by hoping this better future exists we can reach it, because we're human. We will find a way.

So even I, from one Prayer to another, want to Thank You for Praying. Please believe in the future you want to see, because otherwise it will not happen. And remember, all Prayers lead to the Cage.

Also Drakengard symbolism because GODDAMN IT, JUST MAKE ANOTHER DRAKENGARD GAME YOU-----

They called her the second girl, but she's at least the third!!! (i think four if you count crym?) (but i'm pretty sure only i do that so let's do three)

I'm fucking pissed. You dare to leave the Drakengard Shit, MY beloved Drakengard Shit, as subtext symbolism??? How dare you. How absolutely dare you. I hope you know I am praying for Drakengard 5 (not a mistake) Yoko Taro and as I have established in this post you yourself have said that prayers come true if you believe in them so go ahead. I'm waiting.

No Seed of Resurrection talk, No word on Mother, No Accord, just the girl with One's horns doing the Manah stuff I deserve, because I called it back when Replicant Remake came out.

No but really though, I wonder if there might be a reason that we got basically 0 answers to Drakengard stuff and only answers to the NieR side of things. Apparently - and I have no quote for this, I just read some chatter about it - Yoko Taro has said that the next NieR game is planned, but will only come after another game he's making... and well... if this final chapter has made anything clear by omission it's that Drakengard isn't NieR... Just saying...

Also, this still it wasn't a Y:DA reference after all... They didn't even slightly allude to it q_q #AnoggForReincarnation is truly over...

But let's talk about the color Red for a second, because I have a thought.

I'm not going into it too much, we all know Red is a pretty symbolically heavy color in general, but in NieR and honestly even more so in Drakengard especially - they literally just did stain a girl in white in blood again, that's the Drakengard thing - but...

Mama's Pod is also Red. She receives a Red Carnation, a common Japanese Mother's Day gift, from 10H which is the key to 10H unlocking the truth. Clearly Red isn't just Hatred... but I haven't thought enough about it to really tell you what that's about. I will have to think about that - and if I ever come to a conclusion on that front I will tell you all about it.

Anyways, that's it for now... I can confidently state that NieR Reincarnation is my favorite NieR game and honestly by a long shot. I don't give a shit that it's a Gacha, I can't do anything about that and Yoko Taro, Yuki Wada and the Rest of the Team did the absolute most with the hand they were dealt, because clearly someone up in Square Enix does not like what the silly mask man is doing and doesn't give him the budget and creative liberties he truly deserves.

Once again a sincere Thank you for Praying - please believe in the future you want to see, no matter how distant and unattainable it may seem. You will still have to look out for and grab the hand reaching out to actually reach it - but you will only see that hand if you're hoping for one to come your way in the first place.

Speaking of which, here is my Prayer for the day: #AnoggForWhateverComesAfterReincarnationBecauseIfThisWasReplicantEndingEPayoffThenY:DAPayoffHasToBeNext

[lets-try-some-writing]

I just finished reading your “Optimus as Unicron’s Sparkling AU” (IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST PEICES OF WRITING I HAVE EVER READ) and there was something I was left wondering about. What if Optimus joined the Decepticons in his exile instead of the AutoBots. However you want to do it is fine, whether that be because of Unicron’s constant urges, or the Prime just feeling so betrayed. Again it’s up to you entirely. But really you writing is astonishing, and absolutely amazing. Thanks!

Thank you so much for the praise!! My dear requester you have literally made my day with this (after I dug through my pile of requests to find your lovely idea). I love this whole concept, thank you very much. I wish I could draw better so that I could illustrate these scenes.

Previous part here. Part most relevant to the request here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Autobots wallowed after they chose to send their Prime away, but left alone to heal and to think, Optimus's thoughts wandered. As he hid in an old garage, trying to compose himself and come to terms with all that had come to pass, he started to reminisce. He thought back on his life and all that had led up to his current situation, and as he did, he found his opinions shifting.

Over the first week, he remained firm in his belief that what he did was right. He struck his maker down, for if he hadn't, there would have been nothing left of his foster Sire's efforts. He could not condemn the one who raised him to continue on without a legacy. That was a faith he kept close to himself, but his thoughts regarding his mortal life began to be questioned. He fought for the Autobots to stop tyranny and to ensure that Primus's creations remained free. Megatron wished for freedom too, but his actions were monstrous, terrible by any moral definition. But then again, what was Optimus if not the creation of monstrosity?

By the end of the second week, Optimus began to doubt, not even bothering to move from his hiding place as he thought. At first he was plagued by guilt for even questioning, but then as he continued his contemplation, pieces he never considered began to fall into place. When he was Orion Pax, he was middle caste and was not shown the darker sides of society. He was foolish in his actions and his words, going on to provoke Megatronus by stealing the spotlight the Kaoni warrior deserved and fought so hard to obtain. He was willing to accept that he was wrong in that regard. But when he ascended to once again become a Prime, was he really wrong to fight back? Megatron killed mecha, he stripped them of their choice by tearing the council down without a care for those caught up in the backlash.

But then again, when was peace really ever an option? Mecha still would have suffered if things had been done slowly as he had hoped so long ago. There would have been pain all the same, it just would have lasted longer and been more drawn out. Fighting back against Megatron's revolution turned rebellion only brought greater suffering than if he had just allowed his former brother in arms to win. Not only that, but was Megatron really that wrong in his ideals? Yes they were more perverted from time and bitterness, however he still fought for freedom did he not? If Optimus had been there to steer him in the right direction, he could have appeased his maker by ensuring change was a constant while also assuring that his foster Sire's children didn't wipe themselves out in civil war.

By week three he came to a startling conclusion amidst his wallowing. He had failed in both his directives by trying so hard to maintain mortal morality. He was a creation of Unicron, his function was chaos and due to the kindness of his foster Sire, it was his duty to ensure his chaos was directed into something useful. In attempting to be something he wasn't due to his time as Orion Pax, he failed to bring change. The war was horrific, but it was static, nothing of note ever shifted. Always death, always battle, but there was no change. And in the never ending death, he was also failing his foster Sire by allowing his creations to drive themselves to extinction, even going so far as to encourage it by driving the war on and refusing to yield.

His Autobots didn't want him anymore, they feared him and all that he was. Even his oldest friend and his sparkling wished him to vanish. Optimus could not grant them that, he was eternal, destined to walk the stars until they went out and the universe unraveled. However he could fulfill his function and in doing so, finally bring about an end to the war that was driving his foster Sire's children to extinction.

When at last Optimus stirred, he did not reject his maker's touch. He relished in it. The Matrix pulsed in warning but Optimus ignored it for the most part. It was there to keep him on track, he would heed it when required, but his duty was long planned. He had a mission, a goal. He had to end this foolish war, and he was not afraid to wield the power granted to him from his birth to do so.

Thus as Optimus pushed himself up and abandoned the place he had taken shelter in, he found himself wandering. His frame broke apart into what it was in the beginning of times, a mess of energy and corruption balanced only by enough order to keep it contained. Unicron smiled and praised his creation through their bond with every passing moment as Optimus drew more and more upon his maker. In a matter of days, all remnants of the adaptation Optimus performed during the age of Primes faded away to reveal his true colors. A giant even amongst Cybertronian kind, he walked the surface of the earth, all its flora and fauna bowing to the one son of the being which spawned them. The Matrix screamed in concern, flaring wildly to try and reign Optimus back in, and it worked to a degree. Optimus's thoughts shifted, his ideals warping in response to the influx of his maker's power, but never did he become what his maker intended. Primus's touch was still powerful, but more subdued.

His attachments faded somewhat, ending up still present but distant in the ways of immortals gazing down upon their short lived comrades. He cared for his former team, he still loved his dear Autobots, but he knew what was best for them. The foolish children of Primus could not see their faults. The Decepticons were cruel, they were wild, and they were most certainly lost. However the Autobots were no better, their corruption ran deep, so deep in fact that only looking through the sight of one beyond mortality revealed it to him. Optimus had been so wrapped up in his war and maintaining morality that he hadn't seen the indoctrination, the functionalism, and the rampant biases that would most certainly lead to reinstitution of the council should the Autobots win. Changing their path was impossible now, but Optimus had no desire to kill those he held dear. He merely needed to play the side that needed his aid, just as he did with his false siblings during the first age.

They would hate him for it, but did they not hate him already?

With his frame having lost all its Cybertronian adaptations beyond the general form of one, Optimus was left with no ability to use internal commlink communication or any sort of technological advantage to contact Megatron. However Starscream quickly proved useful as soon as the seeker in exile was captured. Starscream shook like a leaf when he was wrenched out of the sky, and thus he complied swiftly when Optimus forced his shattered frame components to rattle in a mimicry of true speech.

Optimus: C̷o̴m̸m̸u̴n̴i̶c̸a̶t̷i̵o̷n̸ ̴m̷u̷s̷t̴ ̵b̷e̷ ̷a̸c̷h̵i̶e̴v̶e̵d̵.̷ ̶C̴o̴n̵t̷a̵c̶t̴ ̷M̸e̷g̶a̸t̴r̷o̸n̴ ̶o̵f̶ ̵K̵a̴o̶n̶.̶ ̶I̴ ̸m̴u̵s̸t̸ ̴s̵p̵e̸a̶k̵ ̶w̷i̴t̴h̴ ̶h̸i̷m̴.̴ ̶

Starscream, terrified for his life and unwilling to risk it: Of course my Lord.

Starscream was dutiful, and within the groon Optimus had communications established. It was of course an understatement to assume that Megatron was shocked. He witnessed Optimus's full might as Unicron woke, so seeing him in such a state once more put him on edge. However against all his expectations, Optimus did not threaten, he did not demand or speak in strange clinical whispers as he had last they met while the Prime was filled with the Unamaker's power. No, instead Optimus merely uttered his decree.

Optimus: M̴y̶ ̴m̵i̸n̶d̸ ̸w̴a̵s̵ ̷c̸l̴o̴u̵d̵e̶d̶ ̶b̵y̵ ̸m̵o̶r̷a̷l̴i̷t̸y̵ ̵t̶h̷a̵t̴ ̷I̷ ̷w̶a̴s̷ ̴n̸o̵t̸ ̵m̸e̷a̸n̶t̷ ̸t̶o̵ ̶c̶o̶m̶p̶r̴e̶h̴e̵n̷d̶.̷ ̴I̴ ̵d̷e̶v̸i̴a̴t̸e̴d̷ ̴f̵r̷o̶m̸ ̷m̸y̶ ̶p̵u̷r̴p̴o̷s̶e̶,̵ ̶a̵n̵d̵ ̴a̴l̵l̷ ̵o̷f̶ ̷P̸r̴i̸m̶u̸s̷'̴s̸ ̸c̷r̸e̴a̵t̵i̷o̶n̴s̸ ̸h̵a̵v̵e̵ ̵s̸u̴f̶f̶e̸r̵e̴d̷ ̵f̷o̷r̵ ̶i̵t̴.̴ ̵

Megatron: What do you want Prime?

Optimus: I̵ ̷w̵i̸s̷h̸ ̸t̸o̶ ̵m̴a̸k̶e̵ ̵t̷h̸i̸n̴g̸s̶ ̶r̸i̸g̷h̷t̴,̶ ̸t̷o̶ ̷e̷n̴d̵ ̵t̴h̶i̸s̶ ̸m̷e̵a̶n̴i̷n̵g̵l̸e̸s̸s̶ ̶s̵t̸a̷t̴i̸c̸ ̷c̵y̷c̶l̷e̶ ̶o̷f̷ ̷d̵e̸a̸t̸h̴ ̷a̸n̸d̷ ̶d̶e̷s̴t̵r̴u̷c̵t̸i̶o̶n̷.̸

Megatron: So you wish to slaughter me and my Decepticons with that newfound power of yours?

Optimus: N̸o̷,̴ ̷t̶h̴a̸t̴ ̶i̸s̸ ̵a̶ ̷w̵o̴r̶t̸h̷l̸e̷s̵s̵ ̶e̸n̸d̶e̸a̸v̴o̵r̸.̴ ̸T̶h̶e̴ ̵A̴u̴t̷o̴b̷o̴t̸s̴ ̴a̷r̷e̵ ̶g̷o̵o̸d̸,̵ ̴b̴u̷t̷ ̴t̷h̵e̷y̴ ̵a̸r̸e̶ ̸m̶i̷s̴g̶u̴i̶d̴e̸d̴ ̸s̶o̶ ̶g̵r̶e̶a̵t̵l̶y̵ ̵t̴h̶a̸t̷ ̶I̵ ̴c̴a̶n̵n̷o̴t̵ ̵f̶i̸x̸ ̶i̵t̷.̴ ̸T̶h̵e̷ ̷D̵e̴c̴e̷p̷t̷i̶c̷o̸n̴s̷ ̴a̷r̷e̸ ̵l̴o̴s̸t̶,̴ ̴b̸u̴t̵ ̵t̵h̷e̵y̶ ̵c̴a̵n̸ ̵b̷e̴ ̶f̶o̷u̵n̴d̶.̶

Megatron: Get to the point.

Optimus: I̶n̷ ̷e̶x̴c̸h̷a̵n̶g̶e̵ ̷f̴o̷r̵ ̶m̸y̷ ̴A̶u̸t̸o̸b̷o̷t̸s̸ ̵b̸e̴i̶n̴g̶ ̸a̷l̶l̸o̵w̸e̵d̶ ̶t̴o̴ ̷l̸i̵v̸e̵,̷ ̴I̷ ̶w̷i̷l̴l̶ ̸j̷o̵i̴n̵ ̸y̷o̵u̴ ̵a̸n̶d̵ ̷f̴i̵g̶h̷t̸ ̷f̴o̷r̵ ̸t̶h̷e̶ ̷f̵r̵e̸e̷d̴o̶m̵ ̷o̵f̵ ̶y̴o̶u̴r̸ ̶k̶i̴n̷.̷

There was a great silence from all present as the words were spoken. Starscream froze up, incapable of processing the Optimus Prime of all mecha was about to jump ship and swap sides. Soundwave very nearly lost his mind the moment the audio from the commlink was relayed to him. Every other present commander had to reboot their audial systems just to be sure they heard right. As for Megatron? He stopped, his optics wide as he listened and waited for the other shoe to drop. When Optimus said nothing else, he rebooted once and then nodded simply.

"I always knew you would make a fine Decepticon"

With no reason to doubt the Prime in his declaration and sensing Unicron's affirmation through the vague connection Megatron held to the chaos god, Optimus was soon allowed on board the nemesis. He was met with raised blades and increadible suspicion due to his prior behavior, however within a few weeks, that hostility all but vanished as Optimus proved his worth. The Decepticons were still wary of him, his field and nature as one of the Unmaker's creations ensured that. He was their opposite, a thing that was similar to them but not the same. Even still, the Vehicons laughed in joy when Optimus joined them on the battlefield as one of their own for the first time, much to the horror of the Autobots there to fight.

Bulkhead: Optimus? What are you doing?!

Optimus: I̶ ̵w̶a̵s̸ ̷l̶a̶x̶ ̷i̴n̷ ̸m̷y̵ ̷d̸u̷t̵i̸e̸s̴.̷ ̸B̵u̶t̷ ̶n̶o̵ ̷l̸o̴n̸g̵e̴r̵.̵ ̶I̷ ̶w̵i̵l̶l̵ ̴e̵n̷s̷u̸r̶e̶ ̷t̷h̶i̴s̶ ̶f̵o̷o̴l̷i̸s̸h̸ ̷w̸a̸r̶ ̶c̴o̵m̸e̸s̶ ̶t̶o̴ ̷a̵n̸ ̵e̴n̸d̶.̴

Arcee: Have you lost your mind!? What does that even mean!? What are you doing with the Decepticons?!

Optimus: D̷o̸ ̴n̷o̵t̸ ̶f̴e̸a̷r̴ ̸l̵i̵t̴t̵l̵e̸ ̵c̴h̴i̵l̵d̵r̷e̴n̷,̶ ̶y̴o̵u̷ ̸b̴e̷l̸o̷n̷g̴ ̵t̴o̸ ̶m̵e̴,̸ ̵a̸n̵d̴ ̷t̴h̶u̷s̷ ̴I̷ ̵w̵i̴l̸l̸ ̵m̶a̴k̶e̶ ̴s̴u̷r̵e̷ ̸t̴o̷ ̸k̵e̶e̶p̷ ̷y̴o̸u̷ ̴a̶l̴i̶v̶e̴ ̸a̸s̴ ̶I̴ ̵s̴e̶t̴ ̴t̵h̵i̵n̶g̶s̵ ̸r̴i̴g̸h̷t̶.̷ ̴

Unicron rejoiced as his son wrecked havoc on the battlefield. The children wept as they watched the recordings of the event. Bumblebee pulled away, blaming himself for his Sire's fall. Ratchet grew more and more guilt ridden, and the rest of the team were not much better off. They had failed and in their hubris they had driven their leader into a darkness they feared he would never emerge from. All the while the Decepticons grew more and more hopeful, all eager to see the war brought to a close even if none were comfortable around the Prime who now bore their emblem with controlled apathy.

[zoyaofthegardvn]

Hey, doll :)

I know you are currently drowning in requests, but I wanted to ask if I could request an angsty mor x reader. However, if someone has already asked something like that just disregard this one xx

ILY 🌺

New Friends, Old Insecurities (1)

A/N: Yes yes yes! I love writing angst to fluff stuff! Thanks so much for the request, anon! :) This will be divided into two parts!

CW: None! But this is pure angst, so the fluff isn't til I write a part 2!

Update: Part 2 is now posted! Read it here!

---

You sighed as you watched Emerie and Mor spar, taking a seat off to the side so that you could finish up the work you'd brought along with you. You decided to come today because you've been missing your mate, but it's clear that you won't be receiving any of her attention today like you so desperately craved.

Ever since Nesta had become best friends with Gwyn and Emerie, they'd become close to everyone in the Night Court. In fact, you'd grown especially fond of Gwyn, and now considered her one of your dearest friends. Emerie and Mor had clicked, and their friendship had taken off fast. You were happy that Mor was making more friends, especially female friends as she'd spent so long just with Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. But, you were, in fact, jealous.

You tried not to be. Really. But it was a deep insecurity of yours, that Mor would find someone better and leave you. She was just so bold, so confident, so commanding and brave. And so was Emerie. You were reserved, and quiet. You weren't a warrior like Mor, sticking to more intellectual pursuits. You didn't like to party, and you never had any interest in learning a sword. You had always wondered if Mor wished she'd been mated to anyone but you, but for the most part, you were able to look past the insecurities, as your relationship with her was loving and perfect.

But she was spending so much time with Emerie. They'd train together even when the Valkyries weren't, they'd go to Emerie's shop and talk weapons for hours, they'd patrol the camps as a pair and often sat together to talk about anything and everything. It'd been weeks of this, and though it was you that Mor came home to every night, you that she made love to, you that she said she loved, you genuinely had your doubts.

You were interrupted from your thoughts when someone came to stand in front of you. Looking up, you're greeted with Gwyn's kind smile.

"Hey," she says, hand over her eyes to shield from the sun.

"Hey," you respond, but your heart isn't in it.

Gwyn looks back over her shoulder, to where Mor and Emerie are laughing as they take a water break, and she looks back to you with concern in her eyes.

"S'fine," you shrug, a bit embarrassed that others had began to notice your mate's affections for another female.

Gwyn shakes her head. "It's not," she says, reaching her hand out to grab your own. She pulls you up and places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm done for the day, how about we go into town before dinner? We could go to the bookstore?"

You glance behind her, where Mor hasn't even turned to look at you or made her way over to say hello, and then you nod. "Yes, I think I'd quite like that."

---

"She adores you, Y/N, I think she's just forgotten how it's like to make a new, true friend, you know?" Gwyn says, taking a sip from the hot tea she'd ordered from the bookstore cafe.

Your eyes roam the shelves in the Fantasy section, your iced coffee clutched in your hand. "I never see her anymore, and when I do, it's when we're getting ready for bed, or she's about to leave in the morning, or I see her when we're all in a group. And even then, it's like she's not even with me."

Gwyn hums, then grabs a book with an emerald green cover, a dragon illustrated on the front. She flips it over to skim the back. "It is pretty shitty, I'm not denying that. But I don't believe it's because she loves you any less than she always has."

You shrug. "I don't know what to do anymore. The only time it even feels like we're in a relationship is when she wants to have sex."

Gwyn's head snaps up. "That's just wrong! I'm sorry she's making you feel this way. You deserve better. Have you tried talking to her about it?"

You shake your head, and try to stop the tears welling in your eyes. "No, I haven't. I don't know how."

Gwyn reaches out and rubs your arm gently. "You're one of my best friends, Y/N, we'll figure it out together."

You smile at her, a pure, genuine smile, something you hadn't done in weeks. "Thank you, Gwyn."

She returns the affection, then hands you the book she'd pulled. "This sounds like something you'd enjoy."

---

You and Gwyn spent hours at the bookstore, browsing and reading. Gwyn had been right, the book she'd found was exactly what you enjoyed, and you two read your new books, hers being an obscene romance title, for a while at an outdoor table, sipping your drinks and sharing a few slices of lemon cake.

You two also discussed how you'd confront Mor, and when. It was decided that you'd ask her about it tonight, before bed. You'd remain calm, and you'd try not to cry. You would avoid an argument, and you'd explain how you'd feel. It was a good plan. A solid one, that you hoped would work.

You two decided to leave as the sun began to set, knowing you'd be late for dinner at this rate, but you wouldn't miss it entirely.

You could hear your friends laughing and drinking as you arrived back at the house, and as you and Gwyn slipped your shoes off, you heard Cassian call, "There they are!" before him and Azriel came into the hallway.

Azriel smiled at Gwyn, bending to plant a sweet kiss to her lips before pulling her along to the dining room, where a full meal awaited her. You grinned at them, beyond excited that they'd finally accepted their mating bond.

Cassian clapped you on the back, smelling strongly of wine, and pushed you into the room as well. Instantly, your eyes fell to Mor. She was sat next to Emerie, who was sat in the seat you usually occupied. Instantly, your smile vanished. Gwyn met your gaze and rolled her eyes, shrugging, as if to say, "Screw them."

Your lower lip trembled at the small betrayal, but you swore to yourself that you weren't going to cry. Rather than take a seat at the table, you made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass of wine.

As you poured, you heard the door swing open behind you, but you didn't care enough to look.

"Where've you been today?" Mor asks, curiosity lacing her tone. Usually, you told Mor about your every move. Mostly because she worried when she didn't know where you were, and you liked the idea of someone caring about what you were doing.

You still didn't turn around, filling your glass nearly to the brim before setting the bottle down and taking a deep sip.

"I went to town," is your curt reply, cold and to the point.

You hear her take a few more steps towards you, but before she can reach you, you spin away from her and head towards the door, straight back to the dining room where you take an empty seat beside Gwyn, across the table and on the other end from where Mor and Emerie have taken seats.

Mor enters shortly after, looking confused, and she stares at you a long while when she notices that you'd sat as far from her as possible. You refuse to make eye contact, instead, you focus on making yourself a plate of the dinner Feyre and Elain had made. It smelled divine, and you were starved.

Conversation remained light, and mostly, you could tune out Emerie and Mor's voices, whatever conversation they were having. Gwyn, bless her, spoke to you nearly the entire time. She was a great friend, and a welcomed distraction.

When everyone began to clear their plates and put stuff away, you instantly went to the door after cleaning your mess. Usually, you and Mor would hang out for a while, then make your way home together. Without fail, nighttime was reserved for one another.

You waited by the door for a while, growing impatient and nearly ready to just leave Mor behind and wait for her at home, when she came around the corner.

"Hey," she says, furrowing her eyebrows at the sight of you all ready to leave.

"Are you ready?" Is how you respond, again, cold and to the point.

Mor rolls her eyes, confused and a bit agitated. "Well, actually, Emerie wants me to come to the shop tonight and work with her, I just wanted to let you know."

Cold dread washes over your body, your heart dropping. Once again, Mor is choosing Emerie over you, and once again, you're convinced that she wishes Emerie was her mate and not you.

"Are you serious right now?" You whisper, voice angry and brittle.

Mor says nothing, just looks at you with a questioning glare.

You laugh, humorless and bitter. You throw your hands up. "Well, Mor, you just have the most fun, and how about you stay there tonight, since you're so fond of her, hmm?"

So much for not starting an argument.

Mor recoils. "Excuse me?" she grits out, beyond offended.

"You heard me. Stay with her tonight, let's stop pretending like you don't prefer her to me," you spit, your voiced hushed as you're aware of all of your friends just in the next room over.

Mor shakes her head. "You cannot be serious right now," she glares at you like you've gone mad. "So, you're jealous?" she asks, and you don't respond. She scoffs, "I thought you were better than that."

And that, to you, is the nail in the coffin. You can't help the tears that well and spill over your cheeks. You look at her, you shake your head in disappointment, then you pull open the front door and leave.

---

You made it back home in record time, in case Mor did decide to come home, you didn't really want to face her. You slam the front door shut behind you, and in the privacy of your living room, you let loose a sob.

For weeks she'd been neglecting you, ditching you, spending more time with Emerie than her own mate. Her wife. She'd started giving the time of her day always dedicated to you, to someone else. She was never home. She hardly acknowledged whenever you were in the same place as her, and when she was home, it was to have sex, then sleep, then repeat. It hurt. And you couldn't take it anymore. You could feel the bond pulled taut between the two of you, and you closed yourself off from it entirely so that you could try to forget it even existed.

You're in your bedroom, still crying, when you hear the front door open. Mor.

She calls your name, sounding beyond frustrated. When she can't find you anywhere, she goes upstairs, and throws open the bedroom door.

When she barges in, her eyes land on your form, sat on the bed, head in your hands.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?"

Your head shoots up. "Me? What's gotten into me? I'm not the one falling in love with another woman!" Your voice is shaky, and your hands tremble as you take Mor in, her hands on her hips as she paces the room.

"Are you nuts? Emerie is my friend! I cannot believe you're acting like this out of jealousy!" She shakes her head like she's disappointed, like she's scolding a child for bad behavior.

You stand up, but you don't approach her. "And what about your mate?!" you roar, pointing a finger at her. "What about the female you married, the female you never fucking see anymore? Huh?"

Mor looks taken aback by your sudden shift from sadness to rage. "We've been bus-"

"DON'T! Don't give me that shit!" You bring a hand up to wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. "You're the one that's been busy with another female, I've been here, the whole fucking time, waiting for my mate to act like she's still in love with me!"

Mor flinches like she's been struck. "You can't be serious! Of course I'm in love with you Y/N, and I have seen you, every night I come home an-"

"And you fuck me then go to sleep, so you can wake up and see Emerie again." You spit, knowing it's a low blow, but that it's also true, and a cruel part of you wants to hurt her the way she's been hurting you.

Mor pales, her jaw clenches and her hands begin to sake with barely controlled anger. "We have never, ever, just fucked, and you know that. How dare you? How dare you act like every time we're together it doesn't mean something more than that?" Her voice cracks at the end, and it surprises you, that she'd start crying over this too.

"Do you think about her when we have sex?" You know you're just antagonizing her, but truly, you're convinced that you're not the female she's in love with anymore.

Mor's eyes widen, and she snarls before marching towards you. "Don't you ever fucking say something like that again! I have never not shown you that I'm in love with you!" She's in your face, and her angry tears are spilling from her eyes.

You push past her and make your way to the closet door, needing to put distance between the two of you.

"No, you've just started spending your entire days and evenings with her, only coming home to have sex with me then leave before I wake up. You've only been dedicating your time spent with me to her and her workshop, our breakfast dates to training sessions with her. You've been neglecting to ask me about my day and how I've been so that you can tell me all about your day with her. You've just been ignoring me when I'm in the same room as you two, because you're clearly having too much fun with her to be bothered. And you've started giving her my seat at the dinner table, because rather than find out where I am, you'd rather have her fill my place."

Mor's dead silent, staring at you from across the room. Her tears are still dripping, her hand is clenched into a fist and her other hand has come up to cover her mouth.

"All I've wanted these past few weeks is your attention. Your love. And no matter what I do, I can't seem to get it. But... but Emerie has no problem." You pause and take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "So, no, Mor. Maybe you've not exactly shown me that you're not in love with me, but you have shown me that you're falling in love with someone else."

She chokes on a sob. "No, Gods, no, baby. No. Never could I love anyone else."

You're crying again, and you choke on a sob mixed with a bitter laugh. "I-I think that you want to believe that. Mor, I've always known that I'm not right for you, mates or not, I think you know it too."

You turn and open the closet door, entering the small space and grabbing one of your larger bags. Mor walks in after you.

"T-That is not fucking true!" She blubbers, heaving deep breaths as she watches you pack some of your clothes.

"B-Baby, s-stop," she tries to plead, but you ignore her, and shake her hand off when she tries to grab your arm. You've just been grabbing things at random, but you need to get out of this house, now, so you can only hope that you've grabbed enough pants, shirts, dresses, and pairs of bras and underwear to actually last you a while.

You storm out of the closet and head into the bathroom to grab toiletries. Again, you grab at random, hardly able to see through your tears. And, of course, Mor follows.

"Y/N, p-please stop, we can talk about this, plea-"

You whirl around. "I've said all I needed to say! I'm done, Mor. I'm done."

Mor cries harder, looking down at the floor in utter devastation. The sound of her sobs breaks your heart even more than it already has, and you resist the urge to comfort her, to tell her it's okay, that you two can move on.

Reentering the bedroom, you throw the bag on the bed so that you can zip it up. Mor trails after you, and watches as the love of her life gets ready to leave her.

"Baby, please, I-I love you, so fucking much. I'm sorry, I-I'm so, so sorry," she can hardly get it out from how hard she's crying, and you know that if you turn around, you'll break. So you focus on sliding your bag up your arm and putting your shoes on. When you're ready, you make for the bedroom door, and you practically run down the stairs, eager to get away from the heartbreak tainting the house that was meant to be your home.

Again, Mor grabs your arm before you can open the front door. "Please don't leave, let me make this right," her voice is a whisper, muffled from the congestion caused by her crying.

You close your eyes, you don't turn to look at her. "I love you, Mor, I always will," you hear Mor's breath catch as she waits for you to finish, as she hopes that you'll relent, that you'll put the bag down and take her into your arms and let her explain and apologize and let her change so that she never hurts you again. But you meant what you said, when you told her that you couldn't do it anymore. "But I'm done. I-I'm sorry."

And with that, you're ripping the door open, and leaving into the night.

---

A/N: Whew! That was angsty! Also, just wanna add, I love Emerie! I tried to not make her sound like a female trying to take Mor away from reader, but she is the source of the issue here. Just please know that my characterization of her is not book accurate and was changed for the sake of a fight fic, I love Emerie a lot!

[lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Wrote this for my secret santa friend, hopefully he'll love it as much as I did writing this. I really like Pomefiore and Ignyhide chapters a lot, but Diasomnia, bro, Diasomnia has my heart, ngl. I don't even have words to describe everything it's making me feel so far. Although something I know for sure is that chapter 7 made me fall in love with Diafamily even more than before. (Also tagging you @hanafubukki I feel you're gonna like this)

“Papa, can you read to me?” A familiar little voice caught the attention of the fae who was lost in his own thoughts, tired eyes looking at his son with interest as he patted the seat next to him, small smile on his lips.

The boy took his place next to his father on the sofa, bringing with him a large book of fables and myths, and birds that rested on the open window, singing. Normally Lilia would read to him right before putting him to sleep but Silver needed to distract him from whatever was troubling his old man right now. His father did that sometimes, staring at the horizon without saying anything as if he was recalling precious but painful memories. Despite his young age, Silver could detect conflicting feelings in his father's eyes.

But it was okay, Silver was there to hold his father's hand and kiss his wounds just like his father did for him.

“What story do you want me to read, Silver?” His father asked, letting the boy lay his head on his lap like he always did. A hand automatically came down to play with the silver strands of his hair, twirling the strands and massaging his scalp with slow movements.

Silver thought for a while. For the past few days he had heard Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Snow White and several other funny stories. But he had his favorite. It was a story he really liked but he didn't know how to put into words why yet, maybe in the future he would come to understand that it was because of the message behind the story.

“Goldilocks!” He responded promptly.

Lilia let out a nasal laugh, already preparing to tell that story for the tenth time that week. Despite wanting to share tales of Little Thumb, The Match Girl, and Hansel and Gretel with Silver, Lilia couldn't resist giving in to Silver's request once again. His eyes lit up each time he read to him, as bright as two diamonds reflecting the excitement the young boy felt.

Lilia prepared, using his best storyteller voice. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful bear family living in a distant forest."

He turned the book to show the illustration of three brown bears for Silver to see, and even though the boy had seen that drawing a million times, he smiled widely and touched each of them with his finger. For a moment, he wished to meet a bear and become friends, as he was already capable of befriending other animals.

They do look cozy, Silver thought with a smile, imagining how comforting it would be to snuggle with a bear to sleep.

"[before lunch...]. The wise mama bear already set the table before leaving, so they could eat as soon as they returned from their walk." Silver wondered what kind of food bears ate and shivered. He hoped it was better than his father's food.

The story continued smoothly with Silver laughing at Goldilocks' antics, but what he was really paying attention to was his father's face. Lilia was now visibly calmer and relaxed, no longer sad in his thoughts, no longer lost in his memories. And that made Silver smile. He didn't like it when his father was sad.

And he imagined that no other child liked it either.

"Finally, she tasted the soup in the smallest bowl, and it was warm and delicious–"

His eyelids were getting heavier as Silver relaxed, listening to his father's voice trailing off until it disappeared. Imagining being friends with bears and eating alongside them, Silver let himself be lulled by the affection offered and the comfort he felt, his eyes closing completely. Everything was okay now; his father was smiling again.

Lilia leaned in and gently kissed his son's forehead, looking at him lovingly.

Humans grow so fast, the fae thought.

It's not like he didn't know this fact; it was clear that he knew, and he was reminded of it every day. Every second spent with his son was more precious than the previous one. Still, five years passed quickly, five long years where his heart was filling with the purest kind of love. The love of a father for a son, the same love he felt when Malleus's egg hatched, and he could see his beloved sister's child.

It was a difficult feeling to put into words. But he knew instantly when he held Silver in his arms for the first time that his little world would change and change for the better. His bloody days turned into joyful days spent with his son, filled with small joys and simple actions that touched his heart more than he could realize.

The fae let the book rest on the couch, standing up with his son in his arms to put him to bed.

He could always tell another story to Silver when he woke up.

[ashfae]

A03 meme

A03 meme time, except I've been writing and posting fanfic to the internet since before A03. And before fanfiction.net. And before Geocities. And before the World Wide Web. There's fic of mine with ASCII doodle illustrations somewhere out there where the wild BBSes once roamed…I was tagged by @moveslikebucky; thanks Buckie, here goes. <3

how many works do you have on Ao3? 54. (and yes if we added in all the fanfic outside of A03 it'd be a larger number but I can't be bothered to consolidate it all)

what’s your total Ao3 word count? 341,744, which is better than I was expecting, yay.

what fandoms do you write for? At the moment it's just Good Omens, but there's been a lot of Dragon Age, some Lord of the Rings, and way back in the day there was Harry Potter and a lot of anime. I am toying with dipping my toe back in LotR, there's a thing I wrote ages ago that's entirely finished and just needs editing and I've been meaning to get it out there for ages. It's long though, so that'd be a commitment.

what are your top five fics by kudos? What Custom Strictly Divided (507) Like an Echo Far Away (415) (this one wasn't in the top five last week when I first started writing this post! So I think @mielpetite gets all the credit for boosting it with amazing fanart) What Comes From Your Hand (402) Give Me Your Illusions (346) Nightswimming (307)

do you respond to comments? Yep! Sometimes just with "Thanks!" or hearts but I try to. Though they get away from me sometimes and then I do a bunch all at once.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Definitely Warmaiden, which is my "What if Éowyn got the One Ring?" fic, from an idea that occurred to me one day and wouldn't leave. Clearly that doesn't end well for her, or anyone. From GO fandom it's probably Silent Night, which I still want to expand into a larger fic to be a set with Give Me Your Illusions. Someday, someday.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of them! But for the happiest I'd say Swan Lake Revised, cowritten with @mostlyjustgoose. And if we ever get part three up it'll be even more happy. And smutty. Very smutty.

Do you get hate on fics? Very rarely. I've been lucky there.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Oh here's the irony. I used to do a lot a lot a LOT of online roleplaying and mygod I wrote smut. So much. So. Much. I don't do as much rp these days but even so the threads I have going are still frequently pure filth. But in fic, much less so, even though I want to. Why it all gets channeled into rp and not as much into my fanfic I do not know. Honestly I want to write a lot more of it. Smut forever!!

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Sometimes, when I have a good idea. But the craziest one I ever wrote, ages ago, was a pure crackfic for my 21st birthday, where I imagined a bizarre party for myself in which LOADS of fictional characters (mostly from anime) showed up so I could make them interact in wacky ways. It was utterly ridiculous but amused me. Making all the characters voiced by Megumi "She's Everywhere!!" Hayashabara meet up and wonder why they all sound alike, for example. Also I wish I'd written an Artemis Fowl breaks into Gringotts to rob it fic before I became so disillusioned with both Artemis Fowl and Harry Potter. Heigh ho.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yep. It was impressive how lazy the person was about it too, they stole all the html as well. Someone brought it to my attention pretty quickly.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Twice, yes. Into Portuguese, as I remember.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Hi @mostlyjustgoose, I adore you, please co-write things with me forever. <3 Our baby is Unusual Strings, a reverse omens AU love story, and it's SO. CLOSE. to being done. So close. Aughhhh. I love our angel!Crowley and demon!Aziraphale so, so much.

What’s your all time favorite ship? Aziraphale and Crowley, Faramir and Éowyn, Hiccup and Astrid. Don't make me choose between those three, my head will explode.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Shut up shut up I will finish all of them ALL OF THEM I SAY…sigh. Beauty and the Battousai. Though I should probably mention A Demon in the Dreaming and The Queen Bee. (they're plotted and outlined and parts are written aaahhh come on ADHD meds help me out here)

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, definitely. I'm good at putting humour into things. Got compared to Patricia Wrede once and honestly, life goal achieved there. I can do memorable phrases and descriptions and edit well.

What are your writing weaknesses? What is plot. Why does it hate me. Why are my original characters one-dimensional cardboard. What is worldbuilding and how do I do it without getting stalled into paralysis. Baaaah. This is why my original novel will never be finished and I keep running back to fanfic instead.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Hoo boy contentious subject! I love reading it so long as it's translated somewhere in the footnotes, I'd be happy to write it if I knew other languages, the question of whether it should be italicized or not has apparently Officially been settled by The Publishing Industry on the side of Not.

First fandom you wrote for? Oh gosh I think it was the Dragonlance books by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. The first that ever got shown to other people was Ranma 1/2 though.

Favorite fic you’ve written? It's still What Custom Strictly Divided. Though Unusual Strings comes very close.

Gaaah I'm always worried I'll tag people who don't want to be tagged so, erk, um...if they're willing, @racketghost, @indieninja92, and @holycatsandrabbits! And you, if you're reading and want to do this, please say I tagged you. I meant to really, honest. ;)

[tetrakys]

I played the honeymoon episode last night (only Castiel and Nath's routes so far), and I have mixed feelings. It’s not a bad episode at all, if Love Life had been like this throughout it would’ve been great. I WISH it had been like this. We spend the whole time with the crush and we have a chance to know more about them and work together as partners to survive a dire situation. It’s nice to see Candy and her spouse being compatible and a team. But, and here is where I feel like I'm demanding and nitpicky, I feel like these things would’ve worked better before the honeymoon, throughout Love Life, not in the final episode that imo should’ve been a fluff feast. I think AL got me used to such high quality romance that going back to Love Life's writing feels lacking (although highly improved compared to the rest of the season). Also I've always felt the LL's writer doesn't have a good grasp on Castiel's character, while on the other hand he can write well Rayan's inner voice imo. In general though the way he writes romance isn’t exactly of my taste. Hence why I'm very happy that Alternate's writer is the one working on New Gen.

Other than this, I enjoyed the sexy scenes and the illustrations, I find them all very beautiful, we end things with a bang (literally).

I'm sad we're saying goodbye to 12 years of MCL, I sort of already said goodbye after the weddings so I'm not feeling as emotional as before, and I also look forward to start anew with New Gen. My hype is high!

[palestinian-fundraising]

PLEASE READ AND REBLOG🇵🇸

Help Ahmed get his family to safety

Message from the creator:

My name is Ahmed Al Daalsa and I am from Gaza, Palestine. I am writing to you with a broken heart and seeking your help for me and my family. We have lived in constant fear for 180 long days, not knowing what each day will bring. With your kind support, you can give me and my family hope and a chance to escape this horrible life that we have endured and still do on a daily basis.

I am a visual artist, cartoonist, and photographer seeking to develop my talent. I was very active in the art community before this war started. I have also participated in many art exhibitions and was active through workshops, and have previously worked with children to entertain them in schools. During this time, I also took on small projects to help and support my family as we went through this difficult time. Unfortunately, it seems that no matter what, we are not able to get through this without asking for your support.

In addition to myself, I have 6 family members I am also supporting:

My father is a 52 year old security man in a bank and my mother is a 48 year old teacher, both are currently unemployed. I am the oldest.

My sister Raghad is 20 years old, married, and has a baby boy that she delivered during this war, afterwards her house was destroyed and she moved in with us.

My brother, Mohammed, 18 years old, is a senior in high school and feels like all his dreams have faded away.

Hala, my youngest sister is 14 years old, now without education or schools to go to.

And my beloved youngest brother, Hassan is only 4 years old. He doesn't have a clue what war is, he is just too young to understand, and only wants to play. All of us are living together in this nightmare that we wish we could wake up from.

We fled from our house 60 days ago. In the Deir al Balah camp, we live in terrible conditions. There is no safe place in Gaza. We all live in fear that we will lose our lives in this cruel war. When we went back to our home, we found that our house was partially destroyed. We have no windows, doors, electricity or water. We have faced significant loss, and I have lost a lot of my friends. My dreams of creating and selling comic books together with my friends has now been replaced with grief, as several have passed away or relocated out of Gaza.

All my family and I seek is the hope that we have lost along this war. We ask for your kind support in helping us relocate to Egypt for safety, a chance to survive, and a better life. The cost for leaving Gaza to Egypt from the Rafah crossing border for adults is now between $5000-$7000 USD per adult and $2500-$3000 USD for minors younger than 16 years old. For us, this is extremely expensive and not something we can afford or save up for. Life in Gaza is extremely expensive and all essential goods have skyrocketed. Everyday we are struggling, but we keep on going because we all have dreams to live for and, hopefully, we can pursue our lives and dreams one day because of your kind support.

Your donations will directly help us cover costs of crossing the borders, coordination fees, transportation, and provide essential cash assistance to cover living expenses in Egypt.

Please share this campaign wildly to help us reach our goal and bring my family to safety. Any of your support means a lot, no matter how small the contribution.

If you are interested in following more: My recent art is the reflection of the devastation around me and my attempt to keep dreaming of the life I wanted for me and my family. I am illustrating coping with my family's displacement through art as an outlet. You can see more of this on my Instagram and TikTok.

Thank you for your generosity, compassion, and taking the time to read this.

Ahmed Al Daalsa

____

I'm Hoda Amel in Oslo, Norway and I am supporting & organising this fundraiser on behalf of my dear friend and talented artist, Ahmed and his family in Gaza.

All donations will be transferred to Joan Campmany Jiménez a friend of Ahmed's in Spain, and then to Ahmed Al Daalsa as the final beneficiary.