#course feedback

[starcurtain]

One thing I wish I'd see more of among Ratio fans is some thought about how he views himself as a teacher.

Like yes, of course he refuses to compromise on the quality and rigor of the education he imparts, and he would find it unforgivably unethical to lower his standards in order to pass more students who had not genuinely learned the material. This is core to his character.

However, as someone who is a teacher IRL, I know the absolutely miserable feeling setting that kind of standard can cause. There's the obvious disheartening sense of disappointment ("Are students these days really not capable of doing the work correctly? Is our future in danger, if this is the highest level of understanding our current generation of students can achieve?"), but even worse than that is the self-doubt.

"Is this somehow my fault? Am I not teaching this material in the right ways for the students to learn? Is there something I could have done differently to get through to these students? Would a better teacher have a higher passing rate?"

We know that Ratio does (or at least did) struggle with feeling inferior to the Genius Society, so I think it is also likely, as much as he absolutely will not budge on his academic standards, that he has doubts about his teaching ability as well.

This is the man who wants to educate the entire world to cure the disease of ignorance, and yet only 3% of his actual students are able to get there. How can someone who gets so few of his direct students to a state of enlightenment hope to enlighten the whole universe? If so few students are successfully learning the material of a given class, doesn't that mean the teacher is doing something wrong?Would a better teacher--would a genius, maybe--not be able to impart their knowledge more efficiently and educate even the most challenging of students?

As someone constantly struggling with that balance between keeping academic standards high while also meeting the needs of today's students, I think the passing rates of his courses must affect Dr. Ratio much more deeply than I've seen fans discuss. I think he would question himself harshly over his class success rates, and I think he must be constantly trying to push himself to become the best teacher he possibly can be.

tl;dr: I hope one day the HSR fandom will stop sleeping on the fact that Ratio is an actual practicing professor who probably has astronomical levels of teacher angst. 😂

[mayhemspreadingguy]

“You who never arrived in my arms, Beloved, who were lost from the start.” –Rainer Maria Rilke

[deerspherestudios]

I'm so excited for day three (way to much) but before it comes out, I have got to ask, how many endings\future endings does day 3 have? just wondering so I can make sure I got all of them :) and one last thing... OMG THANK YOU FOR MAKING THIS GAME!

(you don't have to answer)

There will be one (1) new bad ending! Narrative-wise it's hard to have a total fall out with Mychael considering MC's position, but it's not impossible (I'll hint at what you'll need to do since this bad ending is something you have to actively go for for it to show up).

Also! Speaking of, I only have the bad ending sprites left before I can start the countdown so I'm excited for that!!

That said, as much as I'd wanted to, sadly I don't think I can release it within August as planned (since I like to do final tweaks and refinement during the 7-day countdown) but! It will definitely be out by September! <3

[canisalbus]

Just wanted to say I'm really happy that you have shared so much about your characters! I've been following you for a long while now, and I think I remember your post expressing worry about talking about your characters. After seeing all the love shown to them, it makes me happy that you decided to!

Aaa thank you for your kind words! ;-;

[22.7. Editing these here]

[toadboat]

When they do, I'll be right behind you.

[squoobest]

this pleasant étoile shows up at your door

[tennessoui]

it’s like baby gorl there’s no way I, the author who wrote the fic you’re commenting on and who is the intended audience for this comment, am gonna agree with you 😿🙏 some things can just stay on your chest 🙏

[starryharps]

the veil of love

pairing: rhaegar targaryen/ arryn! reader

summary: rhaegar visits an old flame at the eyrie, determined to do things right this time.

word count: 2,741

part of: heartlines series

tags: angst with a happy ending (smut, fluff in later parts)

a/n: prefacing this by saying that this is a nonlinear series titled "heartlines", many questions about the reader and the nature of her relationship with rhaegar will be subsequently answered. but I will say, the next chapter is smut. haha.

read on ao3 | masterlist |

there was a storm picking up, the prince noted as he cursed his way into the journey across the narrow bridges that connected the formidable fortress of the vale.

you were situated in the last tower of the eyrie, according to jon arryn. the most isolated one of it all. rhaegar grimaced at its height as he entered the reception hall, nodding to the ladies in waiting. the climb towards the top of the tower proved to be endless, but he found himself in front of a grand door of mahogany regardless.

how will you react? will you smile kindly on him, eyes sparkling upon seeing your lover after four years? or would you throw a shoe at him, cursing whatever is left of his scant bloodline and hoping he falls through the moon door? or would you do nothing, ignoring his presence like you always did when he teased your inability to play the harp or when he read a couple of chapters of the romance novel you shared in advance?

his cheeks flushed slightly at the memory, remembering how you once asked him to act out a few scenes with him. oh, the things you had teased out of him.

rhaegar shook his head.

he knocked.

the door creaked on its own, almost inviting him in. he could swear he heard the sounds of pages turning. you were most likely reading, he inferred. the ivory light crept in his vision as he opened the door fully, taking in the blue chambers cloistered at the top of the tower, and gasped at the regality of it.

blue so dark, it was indigo. everywhere. constellations drawn on every bit of the ceiling stretching up and up and up, to the cosmic hand-painted tapestries and scattered paintings, a few left to dry. there were instruments of all types scattered in an organized manner: telescopes, vials, maps, and books. gods above, so many books were pouring out of the shelves. by the glowing white canopy bed was a giant glass-stained window that refracted a rainbow of lights. rhaegar could hear the echoes of the strong wind howling. he marveled at the strength of the glass to hold up at such an altitude.

his eyes shifted to the corner of the room, where a window lay open, and there, in all your glory, alive and breathing, you sat. clad in arryn blue, reading a book, the wind kissing your cheeks as you leaned by the window.

he looks at you. you’ve paled a bit in these unforgiving heights, there’s a certain sense of unease in him as he notes your figure hidden by the loose robes. you’ve thinned out, there’s a lack of something in you that he can’t quite pinpoint.

you raise your eyes at him and quietly lock in a staring contest with the prince regent of the seven kingdoms.

the winds howled louder.

neither of you speaks, rhaegar stands by the door. gripping it like a terrified child, he wants to run to you, do ablutions, prostate, and beg. but your aura is one of quiet lethality. he could do angry, he could do sad, he could do hysterical….but he couldn’t do….whatever this was…an air of nothingness that seemed to emanate from you.

“your grace.” he winced. it was always rhae.

he held back his tongue. watching you put a bookmark and close what you were reading.

“what brings his grace to the eyrie?” he hates this. he hates the tone. the lack of musicality and mirth in your voice. how you would harmonize with his vocals and run around, laughing as he took in the happy tones he wanted to drown in, those memories being one of the few things he remembered from his otherwise somber childhood.

he calls out your name, unable to stop the wavering in his mouth, and takes a shy step forward, boots clacking against the smooth marble. gods, you were so close, just within his reach.

you depart from the reading nest, shuffling towards the solar of the room, and put your hands in front of yourself, almost protective.

“i came…to see you.” rhaegar exhaled.

“there was no need to your grace. i am well. a letter would’ve done. you needn’t climb the eyrie for me.”

he quietly put his sword to the table in front of him, and walked closer. “i had to. letters wouldn’t be able to do justice to what i wished to say.”

he met her questioning gaze, restraining himself from slipping further into them, but the task seemed more and more so arduous.

“you…you fled. that night.” he watched as you took interest in the sword at your table.

“my family had to return sooner or later.”

“lord arryn and his retinue were to embark within a month, yet you rode out on horseback weeks in advance, vanished into the vale…left the palace within hours.”

“the vale cannot be left alone for long.”

rhaegar pressed on, frustrated. “no,” “the royce and lord arryn’s fostered wards were present at the eyrie. you fled. you ran away.” you left me.

he watched you watch the window.

“there was nothing left for me there, in that palace.”

“i was there.”

“the prince of dragonstone was there. but rhaegar wasn’t. to be wed to elia of dorne. for political purposes. with zero fight from the groom-to-be. despite the court knowing he had a lover of three years lurking right next to him as the deal was finalized by the king.”

rhaegar recoiled at the jab, it was as if dragonglass pierced him straight into his heart. the iron tones of your voice hammering him, wounding his chest at the cruel remark.

“n-no.”

“you promised me. underneath the star showers to be mine. you told me over and over in the kingswood, by the waterfalls that i am yours. that we would run hand in hand by the grasslands together, plucking fruit and making play endlessly. rule the realm with peace and prosperity, rebuild the peace your father had ruined brick by brick with me by your side. our song of sky and the dragon.

there is no emotion but a hollowed loss in your voice as you continued, “for years. you promised me. for years of this endless winter, i thought a spring of our love would bloom and i would vow myself to you till the end of my days. you said you were mine. i thought you were mine.”

rhaegar felt tears prick his eyes, he breathed deeply.

“i…” he took your name again. “politics..”

then, rage seethed in your icy gaze.

“politics?” you scoff. “you wish to lecture me on politics? your match was political, yes. but let me remind you dorne is already on good terms with westeros. the alliances with house dayne, yronwood and martells were strong regardless and were stable. viserys showed an interest in doran’s daughter from a young age itself when she had visited. what does the vale lack that the dorne has for us to be cast aside over and over in alliances? your king demands of our warriors but won’t wed one of his kin despite openly knowing that his son has been besotted with jon arryn’s niece for years!”

“you know the girl is weak, you know she is frail! i doubt she’ll be able to handle a child, leave the poor girl alone, let her be in dorne. grant her this mercy. you rejected the tyrell match, the dayne match, the blackwood match, yet you accepted the martell match. but why couldn’t you for once in your life grow a spine and run after the one thing you have claimed to love more than your god forsaken prophecy for once? let me suffer in her place, I am begging you, let me burn with you."

“my father will murder you!” he spoke out, frantic.

“and you’ll let somebody else take in my place?” i gasp out. “are you that cruel your grace?”

“i was trying to protect you.”

“you’re shit at protecting things.”

“from him.” his voice cracked “from myself.”

“..what?”

“the prophecy.”

“shut the fuck up.”

his eyes blazed. “listen to me!”

“no!”

“i didn’t want you to be part of my suffering!”

you gawked at him.

“tread carefully.”

rhaegar put his hands up, breathing deeply before he continued. 

“i didn’t want to hurt you.” rhaegar was on his knees by now, holding your blue robes.

“i know how i can get. i know it. i know i would’ve forced you into a life you didn’t want.”

“so just scurry me to the side under the garb of care, an awfully easy excuse.”

a flash of irritation crossed rhaegar’s face. “you do not understand, the prophecy-“

“your ego is as magnanimous as the oily black stones that make the citadel. your entire sense of self is trapped within the five lines you read when you were a boy and made to believe it was for you and only you. the only time you feel ease with the shadows of your mind is when you take points of your life and bend them to fit the narrative of the eight thousand year old prophecy in a language you don’t even speak properly. did you ever stop to think how many in the past have tried the same? how many of them believe themselves to be azor ahai?”

your chest was rising up and down like a madman as you seethed. “the only time you stood up for yourself and not the identity of the prince who was promised was when you kissed me for the first time near the godswood. i threw a wrench in your plans by existing. and you were frightened by the way we completed each other. perhaps you loved me for a bit, but ultimately you kept me to bide your time with me for three years until you found a suitable match for yourself and sire three heads of a dragon who will save the world and be this all powerful messiah while you overthrow your father.”

“you are a selfish, spineless, cowardly prick of-“ rhaegar didn’t let you finish the sentence, grappling your knees and knocking you down to the myrish carpets, holding you close to him. he smelled like lilac and gooseberries.

“you weren’t a wrench,” he muttered, refusing to let go.

“and i never used you to bide my time until a, so you say, better match came up.” you sighed.

“i swear on my honor. i love you. i didn’t use you. we learned to walk together, played together, i watched you lose teeth and you saw mine, we studied together. hunted together. played as king and queen in the godswood. can a seven-year-old plot that early?”

“i know i hurt you. i know it was stupid of me to agree to that arrangement in front of you. i humiliated you. i should’ve said something. but i had plans.” he shuddered. “we…we were planning on rallying dornish support to remove the king. i intended to…take over.”

“and what does dorne have the vale doesn’t? one word from you and uncle would’ve descended our knights.”

“i didn’t have a choice…the king was set on a dornish alliance, i was merely trying to make the best of a situation. i would’ve joined the vale’s support had..had the match not been forced on me.”

putting the palm to your head. “and then?”

“i…i turned to you, only to see your face, you, you were so distraught, i….followed you, but you were gone. and i didn’t hear from you for months.” his voice broke.

“everybody told me you accepted the match happily and chatted with her.”

rhaegar had tears in his eyes. “poor elia. the…the emotions she’s seen of me. i ..i cried to her. pleaded to her and oberyn. please. to do something. they know about you. they were uncomfortable with aerys as elia’s father in law too. they convinced doran to withdraw the offer but aerys was resolute in watching the match go forth.”

rhaegar continued, “so i….i did the unthinkable.”

your heart dropped. this idiot.

“...what did you do?” 

“i broke it off.” he murmured to the floor. “i couldn’t do it. wrote to all the lords. citing my intentions for the throne. many responded…then, i ran.”

you stilled, aghast.

“did you…don’t tell me…did you start a rebellion against the crown?”

he nodded slowly.

you felt the earth shift under your feet.

what in the seven fucking hells is wrong with you? you wanted to scream.

“why?” you asked instead.

he responded, feverishly. “he burns people to death. he upsets century-long relations. he hurts my mother. he exiles my guard. he sabotages my relationships. the lords are stewing, ready to overthrow, i can’t keep seeing this. i can’t keep watching this.”

“please. besides this, i did for you. i do not want to live out my life without you by my side.”

“-but your prophecy.”

he shut his eyes, as if in pain.

“i,” he takes a deep breath, as if his lungs are shattered with glass. “heeded. to what you said. i lulled on it…when you were gone. i heard your ballads and songs…i….realised that in the quest for a future that may or may not exist, i failed to see the beauty that surrounded me in the very present moment.”

he gathers himself as he continues, “prophecies…may be true, and they mostly come true when one steers clears of them. i remembered this as i recalled everything that i’ve chased at the end has run away from me..unlike things that hold onto me for far too long when i haven’t been paying attention.” he looks at you, smiling softly.

he breathes, burying his face into your lap, “i came to the realization, after years of being away from you that, even if the prophecy doesn’t come true, i won’t base my existence off it anymore, i would, do what the realm needs me to, be a good ruler, and assure happiness..make song and love, and hope of being loved in return by the one i want.”

rhaegar notices you take his hand, and he quivers, as he continues.

he kisses your hand.

“i have come to ask you for your hand in marriage. not just as the future king of the seven kingdoms who would have the privilege of a lifetime to have you as his queen. but as the rhaegar you grew up with and made flower crowns with. who watched me play the harp over and over till my fingers bled, carved stars within the wood of the same. who snuck in food in my satchel when i disappeared to summerhall. who dreamed of running away to lys or pentos with you when all of this is over for a long vacation.”

silence. silence greets him. you seem frozen to him, looking at him with pensive eyes and a neutral face.

he softly calls out the name he had given you, indigo eyes wide, and sad, yet tinged with hope, of longing.

slowly, your face broke. it began with the eyes, slowly melting like a glacier, joining the sea of emotions that colored your face red with tears as you shook. rhaegar couldn’t help himself, his tears followed as you grabbed your robe your free hand, sobbing into your other.

he put his head in your lap, feeling your hands run across his silver-white hair, remembering how often you used to do it those nights in his chambers. and he let himself cry.

he called out your name weakly, “…please.”

you kicked him slightly, muttering a “of course i would, you fool.” before taking him in your embrace, the two of you crying within each others arms as the storm picked up.

“of course i will. i have loved you since for as long as i could remember. how could i deny you? how could i ever say no to you?”

rhaegar chuckled wetly. his dourness subsided a little as he relished in your warmth.

“i don’t have much of good memories, and despite them being only a handful, i know that, my happiness begins and ends in the shape of your face, written in the tongue of your soul.”

the winds rattle the eyrie once more.

[evilkitten3]

some reminders that i think this site could use:

-it is still not ok to be racist

-it is still not ok to be antisemitic

-it is still not ok to be islamophobic

-it is still not ok to be misogynistic

-it is still not ok to be classist

-it is still not ok to be xenophobic

-it is still not ok to be intersexist

-it is still not ok to be ageist

-it is still not ok to be ableist

-it is still not ok to be fatphobic

-it is still not ok to be -phobic of anything under the lgbtq+ umbrella

-not even if you really dislike someone

-not even if you really dislike their spouse

-bigotry is not bad because it's targeting the wrong people, it's bad no matter who it's targeting

-hating someone for something outside their control is still bad

-sweeping generalizations of large groups of people will inevitably include smaller marginalized groups within that larger group and if you forget about this they will accuse you of bigotry towards them and you will deserve it

-the above does not separate those marginalized peoples fully from the larger group, nor does it make bigotry towards them acceptable

and also

-someone having a different opinion from you does not make them automatically a bot or a psyop. it makes them a person who has a different opinion than you

-fallacies, propaganda techniques, and means of spreading mis/disinformation are not just things to watch out for from those you view as opposition, but also things to keep an eye out for concerning your perceived allies and yourself

-sometimes people just don't know things or know incorrect things. this is not a statement of their moral inferiority. not everyone is actively out to do harm, some people just have questions or are wrong about things

ok? ok

[coralhoneyrose]

Ya know, since I only write Chrobin, I actually have no idea if everything I write is cursed to be long or if this is specifically a function of the fact that once Chrom and Robin start talking to each other, they just will NOT stop.

Which I like, actually! Their friendship is sold so convincingly in game that I think I (and a lot of people) came away really buying into their comfort with each other and the idea they would have lots to talk about. It makes writing conversations between them a lot of fun even if sometimes that also means watching the word count climb higher while I helplessly try and figure out a way to get them to sTOP FLIRTING ALREADY, GOD

...All of this to say that I am real close to finishing my first draft for the next chapter and that right now it's like 20% Actual Things Happening and 80% Chrom and Robin Just Talking, so :') I hope you all like dialogue asdkj

[deefighter2739]

A little sneak peek of something i've been cooking…

[daenysx]

is it just me or did the interactions on fics get so low in general lately

[starlightiing]

put your finger on my pulse || pierresteban

Pairing: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon

Rating: There is no smut, but it's quite heavily suggestive. 18+

Warnings: Brief, light cardiophilia. Some questionable manhandling.

Summary: Esteban is still smirking, even if the amusement has gone completely from his eyes. His lips are curled in an almost sneer-like grin, eyes crinkling in the corners as he looks down on Pierre. Slowly, his lips part for just a brief moment as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. He looks like he has much to say, and it makes Pierre nervous.

If anything even remotely snarky comes out of Esteban’s mouth, he will put his fist in it.

“It is not fucking funny,” Pierre spits out, venom laced heavily in his tone as he approaches Esteban. His pace is quick and fierce, and it matters little to him the differences in their height as he comes within inches of Esteban’s personal space. “So shut the fuck up, stop making jokes, and be fucking serious for once in your life.”

Esteban is still smirking, even if the amusement has gone completely from his eyes. His lips are curled in an almost sneer-like grin, eyes crinkling in the corners as he looks down on Pierre. Slowly, his lips part for just a brief moment as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. He looks like he has much to say, and it makes Pierre nervous.

If anything even remotely snarky comes out of Esteban’s mouth, he will put his fist in it.

“Fine,” Esteban seethes, and it catches Pierre a bit off guard, “I will shut the fuck up. But only if you also shut the fuck up.”

Ah, there it is. Pierre’s blood boils immediately, a reaction saved for Esteban and Esteban only, as there is not one single other person in the world who can evoke this kind of raw, guttural anger inside of him. He sees red, his hand twitching into a fist at his side and trembling slightly at the need to bury itself right into Esteban’s nose -

But then there’s movement. It comes so quickly, so suddenly, that Pierre’s eyes dart around to track Esteban as he leans in. It’s moments such as these that Pierre is grateful for his reflexes, as he begins to move before his brain has even fully processed just how close Esteban’s face is to his own. He backs away from the advances, feet skillfully dancing around one another to keep him just out of range until –

Until his back hits up against the wall, and Esteban has him pinned like a predator would its prey. 

Pierre swallows, watching as Esteban’s eyes trail from his eyes to his lips, down to his neck, and then back up again. “What the fuck are you doi-” 

His sentence is cut short when Esteban reaches forward and grabs Pierre’s neck, both thumbs coming to rest on each of his carotid arteries beneath his jaw. The grip is surprisingly gentle, even though Pierre flinches in anticipation as he expects a squeeze or some form of choking motion - but that never comes.

Startled, and perhaps even slightly scared, Pierre reaches up and circles his fingers around Esteban’s wrists, attempting to pull the grip off of his throat. Esteban holds strong, however, and his hands hardly move in response.

“Esteban?”

“Your pulse is racing.” Esteban says suddenly, like it is the most ordinary and normal thing to say in a situation like this.

Pierre swallows again, feeling Esteban’s thumbs shift with the gentle motion of his throat. “What are you talking about?”

Esteban seems unbothered by Pierre’s question, eyes still fixated down on his throat. “Is that excitement or fear?” Esteban asks, his voice low and husky. “Or maybe a little of both?” His eyes slowly trail back up to meet Pierre’s, and they’re focused and intense - but not angry, not like Pierre expected to see.

“You are not making sense, fucking let go of my neck.” Pierre bites back, and only then does the pressure of Esteban’s thumbs become a threat. 

“Both,” Esteban says, smirking devilishly at Pierre. “It is both.”

Suddenly, Esteban presses into Pierre with enough force to pin him up against the wall. It’s not aggressive or forceful, it simply…is. His hands hold firm on Pierre’s neck, never faltering once as he leans in close, lips hovering just a mere breath away from touching.

Pierre exhales sharply in one moment, and Esteban’s lips are on his in the next.

It happens so fast that it makes Pierre’s head spin. His eyes widen, and his body’s instinct is to push up on Esteban’s hands and free himself from the looming chokehold. But oddly enough, Esteban’s kiss is so gentle. So tender and so sweet, and the polar opposite of everything angry and heated and aggressive that’s led them up to this very point.

He does what makes the most logical sense in his highly illogical brain, and he kisses back.

Esteban’s lips are warm and soft, and even as Pierre kisses back with a twinge of a bite, they do not falter. Slowly, Pierre’s eyes involuntarily flutter closed as he leans into Esteban, and his hands come to rest over each of Esteban’s wrists, where his fingers curl into the delicate skin above the respective radial arteries. 

Against the tips of his fingers he feels the feather-light tap of Esteban’s pulse and inhales sharply through his nose, surging forward to deepen the kiss. Esteban hums out a sound of surprise, but allows the kiss to progress into something hungrier. Pierre is not exactly polite when he slides his tongue into Esteban’s mouth, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Esteban bends to Pierre’s will, his tongue gliding in tandem with Pierre’s instead of fighting against it as expected. Pierre pushes more, works the kiss harder and more aggressively until Esteban breaks them apart with a desperate gasp for air.

“Fuck you.” Pierre pants out, meek and breathless.

Esteban smiles. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Pierre’s grip tightens on Esteban’s wrists, and the rapid thump of Esteban’s pulse becomes more pronounced at his fingertips. For a moment he had nearly forgotten, but a smirk curls his lips as he looks up, smug and confident, and says, “Hey, asshole, your pulse is racing, too.”

“So it is,” Esteban muses, voice smooth and silky as he bumps his nose into Pierre’s, “And yet not nearly as fast as yours.” His thumbs slowly apply pressure against Pierre’s throat, careful not to press too hard and disturb the blood flow.

Pierre makes a noise similar to a mewl, his breathing rasped under the pressure against his throat. He can feel his own pulse thundering against the pads of Esteban’s thumbs and oh, God, he could melt into a damned puddle right there and now - likely would, even, if Esteban’s hands were not holding him up so graciously. 

“I want you-” Pierre rasps, his voice strained by the force on his throat. Esteban looks all too delighted with himself, but he loosens his grip so Pierre can speak. “I want you to fuck me.” “Again, ask nicely.” Esteban taunts, licking his lips in the most insulting manner.

Pierre’s eyes narrow, feeling Esteban’s pulse increase against his fingers. Finally, he has something of an upper hand here. Finally, he has a way to see straight through Esteban’s high-and-mighty bullshit. Esteban wants him just as badly, just as desperately, and with Pierre’s fingers on his pulse, he will never be able to hide it.

“I was not finished. I want you to fuck me to the pace of my heartbeat.” Pierre says, straightforward and firm, with a sparkle of mischief glinting in his eye. “Pretty please?”

In one quick motion, Esteban releases his grip on Pierre’s throat and instead grabs his hips, hoisting him up in the air like he simply does not weigh anything at all. There’s a fire in his eyes that Pierre has seen only scarcely before, and it’s at that moment he knows -

“I win.”

[eldrith]

I’ll get around to the 11 or so anons that just popped up in my inbox telling me they didn’t like my a golden cage fic or the way i write eventually 🫶🏻

but fr im gonna take a step back with the discourse and answer other stuff,… maybe ill pretend i never posted anything on this fucking website for a bit lmao😭 peace and love

[dogpawsswapgod]

Jinx and Vi should be friends again so Jinx can build her sister the gnarliest strap of all time

[gouinisme]

my teachers gave us ai generated feedback. i need to kill them badly