#like. do you know who the character is? do you know who owns the character? do you understand the context they're from?

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

---------------

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[pipthepiper]

You could make a Yandere Virgin Viktor, what he would be like if he were in love with his new assistant, but he hasn't declared himself yet..

( I don't know if you make yandere characters, if you can't do that I understand and I'm sorry for this request )

yandere!virgin!viktor who knows — just knows — you’ll be the one to take his virginity the instant he lays eyes on you.

he’s been waiting. waiting so long for that special someone to show up — the someone who he could give himself to wholly and completely, with absolutely no regrets.

and you are that person. viktor just knows it.

it’s in the soft way you speak to him, the way your gaze lingers on him from time to time, the occasions when you subtly slide against his front to allow your plump rear to graze his cock — you want to take it, it’s so obvious; you want him to completely lose his mind as he buries himself inside your pussy over and over, as he loses every bit of his innocence with each drag and slide. as you take it from him.

you want to be the one to fuck him up entirely. and anyone could see it, right? it’s not just viktor.

he’s sure sky can see it, more than positive that jayce can too — doesn’t miss the way jayce sometimes bristles with jealousy when you snuggle yourself into viktor’s personal space and talk so low it’s like you’re whispering to him (and only him); and viktor doesn’t even try to shake off the satisfaction it makes him feel.

you’re his as much as he’s yours.

and that’s why you don’t pull away when his hand “accidentally” grazes your soft chest as he reaches past you to grab something. it’s why you don’t bring any focus to the way his eyes practically undress you, despite the fact that you’re very aware of it. it’s why you lean into his touch, why you hug him for a fraction of a second longer than anyone else at the end of the day, why you smile and giggle so much when he talks to you.

viktor knows it, but something is holding him back; maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s doubt, maybe it’s his complete lack of experience — maybe it’s all three rolled into one. even the irrefutable fact that it’s destined by the stars fails to give him the courage to act upon it.

but one day, he will. one day he will bury himself deep inside that hot cunt of yours and lose every bit of sanity and innocence within your walls; he’ll fuck you so good that all the waiting will be worth it. he’ll give you his everything until you cry from how painfully deep his love is embedded into your bones.

he’ll make you see the truth.

but for now, viktor will simply fuck his own fist while he fantasizes about you; eagerly biting into his lip and craving the day he can merge your realities together to create one entirely new, entirely unique to just you two.

because that’s how it’s meant to be. viktor knows it.

actually my first time ever writing yandere pls be gentle </3 i actually really enjoyed writing this so thank you so much for requesting! gotta get back to the other drafts i have so many jfc thank you all for reading and i love you so much!

[bluzebub19]

I have a request for how the Arcane characters (Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Heimerdinger, Ekko) look so that the reader can access their cuteness. Maybe they are doing or saying something to the reader and the reader suddenly starts hugging and petting them, calling them cute. How would they react to this?

Note: So... I'm the only one who thinks Heimerdinger is really cute. Why aren't there fanfics with him? Mysteries of life..

Arcane characters being called cute by their s/o while they're working

Writer's note: Thanks for requesting! It took longer than I expected because I kept deleting some of the dialogue from how cheesy and cringe it sounded lmao. Heimerdinger is not on my list of characters I write for, but I figured I'll write him this one time. I hope you don't mind that I also added Mylo, cuz why not?

Request/s: Open!

Warning/s: Get a dentist. This is some tooth-rotting fluff. Not proofread and english isn't my native language.

Character/s: Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Heimerdinger and Mylo

● Viktor tends to get lost in his work, mumbling equations or sketching out blueprints for his projects. You find this incredibly endearing, but not when he gets so absorbed that he forgets to eat or sleep.

● If you suddenly hug him or call him cute, he’ll freeze in shock at first. He blinks up at you as if you just said something in a language he doesn’t understand. Then, his cheeks will flush a light pink, and he’ll chuckles softly. “Cute is... not a term I hear often. But thank you."

● Over time, he grows more comfortable and secretly enjoys the affection. He may even lean into it, but he’ll never outright admit it. Instead, he might deflect with a shy smile and, “You should focus on more important matters."

● Yeah no, that's a sign for you to keep doing it.

● Jayce is the golden boy—confident, charming, and ridiculously handsome. He likes to appear professional and put-together, but you know him well enough to see through that exterior to the dorky, hardworking man beneath.

● When you hug him out of nowhere while he cooks and call him cute, he blinks for a second but chuckles as he turns to look at you. “Cute? Babe, I’m going for ruggedly handsome and sweet here. But I'll take it."

● Still, he's flattered and loves the affection you give him. And unlike Viktor, he's not afraid or shy to show you he wants more of it. He might pull you closer and say, "You're one to talk." He's a romantic and albeit cheesy guy.

● Now, you probably might be thinking about why and how is he cooking, but that's for another headcanon! (I just realized how I'm not even sure whose side am I on. Can he cook?? Cuz I feel like he can. But I also see him burning food-)

● Jinx, as we all know, is pure chaos, always working on something explosive or messing around. She has a habit of humming and singing off-key to herself while she works, which makes you think she’s oddly cute in her own... quirky way. To be honest, it’s hard not to find her enthusiasm contagious, even if it’s a little dangerous.

● One day, you catch her doing exactly that while painting her trademark designs on one of her grenades. The sight just makes you smile as you walk up and wrap your arms around her, telling her, “You’re so cute when you’re focused like this,” or something of the sort.

● She’ll throw her hands up and turn to look at you, trying to play off your compliment as a joke. “Woah, you might be crazier than me!" She grins and laughs softly, before making her voice sound more gruff, "Ya buttering up the author nightmares with your mooshy stuff!”

● But after her initial over-the-top reaction, she’ll soften. “Fine, soak it all in.” She shrugs and continues working. But deep down, she really loves the affection and she's getting more and more attached to you. You're giving her the kind of love that she thinks she never deserved in her life, so she really appreciates these little things you do. She might even snuggle up to you later, claiming it’s to “soak in all this ‘cute’ energy.”

● Oh, by the way, she'll make this happen a lot more often. By how, you ask? Well, by doing the same thing to you, of course! It becomes a little challenge betweem the two of you who calls the other one cute first and catching them off guard with it.

● Vi is all tough love and sass, but there’s a soft side she shows only to the people she really cares about. You notice this when she’s being protective or just in those peaceful moments when you're both alone together.

● If you call her cute, she’ll raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Cute? Babe, I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

● Later, she’ll definitely tease you about it, saying something like, “So, how’s it feel dating the cutest person in Zaun?” or "Am I still cute?" with a playful grin. She'll be teasing you and making you smile with that while she's half naked and flexing her biceps (she knows you love them), or when she just got done with a fight and is still holding her gauntlets.

● She loves it, don't let that teasing fool you.

● Heimerdinger is an adorable bundle of wisdom and fluff. You often catch him rambling about science with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile. Look at him! He's just adorable!

● One day, as he’s showing you a tiny contraption he just finished, you can’t help but reach out and pet his fluffy head, saying, “You’re the most cutest genius ever.”

● Heimerdinger chuckles, his mustache twitching with amusement. “Ah, well, I suppose I do have a certain charm about me, don’t I?”

● He pretends to be unaffected, but you notice the way his tail swishes slightly when you hug him. “I must say, your affection is quite... energizing! Perhaps I should study its effects further.”

● From then on, he might start subtly seeking out your affection—like casually leaning into your hand when you pet him or “accidentally” bumping into you while working.

● Ekko is talking to you about his plans for the Firelights while sketching upgrades for their hoverboards.

● You were quietly admiring him, the way his eyes light up and the focused furrow of his brows, when you suddenly blurt out, “You’re so cute when you’re focused.”

● He freezes for a second, then looks at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Cute? Me?” He grins, a soft laugh escaping. “You sure you’re not talking about yourself there?”

● He rubs the back of his neck, trying to act nonchalant, but the smile gives him away.

● “You’re not getting away with saying that,” he teases, leaning in to nudge you lightly with his shoulder. He goes back to doing his work before playfully adding, “But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just start believing it.”

● It's these little things that matters. These moments, even if simple, it gives him hope and motivation to make the world a better place. The way his eyes soften when you look at him in that moment, and how he lets his guard down just enough to show you he cares — it’s clear that, while he teases, he loves the attention, and he loves you even more for it.

● Dude's got lines fr fr

● Mylo has always been the type of guy who had a sarcastic, sassy remark ready. We all know that from how he treated Powder.

● When you suddenly hug him and call him cute, he freezes for a second, unsure of how to react. “Cute? Me?” He scoffs, trying to play it cool, but it's very obvious he's a bit flustered by it. “Out of all the compliments you could’ve picked, you went with cute? I’m more like... cool, and handsome.” He throws a dramatic, exaggerated pose, trying to hide his nervousness.

● Despite his teasing, there's a small, pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tries to act nonchalant, but the way he keeps glancing at you shows how much he’s secretly enjoying it.

● “Seriously, though. I’m cool, alright?” he continues, trying to regain his confidence. “I don’t do cute. But, uh... thanks. I guess.” He says softly as he shrugs, clearing his throat.

● Later on, when no one’s watching, you might catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a small smile on his face, clearly still flattered.

Can you guys guess which is my favorite based on how long their headcanons are

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Personality Idioms

to describe your characters

All Brawn and No Brains - Refers to someone who’s strong and muscular, but not very intelligent.

Armchair Critic - People who pretend to know a lot about something, but really don’t know anything about it at all; those who sit back and criticize the way you do something without getting up and helping out. There’s a little armchair critic in all of us. Have you ever criticized an athlete’s performance (or, more likely, a ref’s call)? Or judged a dancer or singer on a reality TV show?

Born with a Silver Spoon in one’s Mouth - Means you come from a wealthy family with a high social position. The spoon you actually use these days probably isn’t a great indicator of your wealth, but in the Middle Ages, only commoners used wooden spoons. This idiom speaks more to the spoon-bearer’s personality than just their social status: Entitled, naive, presumptuous. All the qualities you’d expect of someone who wasn’t allowed to leave the palace walls.

Butter wouldn’t Melt in his/her Mouth - Describes someone who appears demure, innocent or sincere, but is actually unkind and devious. It’s saying you’re so cool and collected, that you wouldn’t even be warm enough to melt butter.

Doubting Thomas - A skeptic who refuses to believe something without personal experience or physical evidence. The idiom comes from apostle Thomas (Didymus), who did not believe Jesus had risen from the dead. He said to the other disciples: “Unless I shall see in His hands the imprint of the nails, and put my fingers into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.” While being skeptical and demanding truth are wonderful qualities to have when learning new things, constant doubters can also come off as being overly critical or looking down on others’ beliefs.

Dyed-in-the-Wool - Describes a person’s deeply ingrained political, cultural or religious beliefs. It comes from the fact that when wool is dyed before it is woven, the color is less likely to fade. In the positive sense, you could be a dyed-in-the-wool sports fan, meaning you’re faithful to your team, even when they suck. But, it can also mean you are unwilling to be open to other ideas or beliefs because of how ingrained you are in your own opinions.

Long in the Tooth - Means someone's old. This idiom likely comes from the practice of examining horses’ teeth to determine their age. It’s generally an unkind or humorous way to refer to people who do something they seem too old for.

Shrinking Violet - An exceedingly shy person. This idiom is typically assigned to girls, but who’s “Violet?” The poetic origin of this idiom was describing the flower, not a girl. Sometimes, this idiom is used as “she’s no shrinking violet,” which describes a woman who is outspoken and not afraid to express her views.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[bunnwich]

HELLO! Do you have a summary of how you portray Leona's personality in your stories? I'm a big fan of your Leona and Yuu stories and I've read them multiple times www /gen I always feel like you just nail how he would act and say things and you inspire me to work on my own fics and get better at writing scenarios with him. Than you in advance ily🙏 🦉anon

How I Portray Leona in General and in Romance

HI ANON! So I've gotten this question a few times and someone in my discord asked me basically the same thing so I'll share with you what I wrote a few months ago about Leona and the general way I write him. (it's quite funny bc a lot of these things come up in Chapter 7 when we see his dream. I AM CURSED WITH APOLLOS'S GIFT OF PROPHECY WITH THIS MAN ISTG)

I hope this is helpful?? I would like to point out that the way I write Leona is fully based on my biases and life experiences. And that a big part of fandom is projecting what you wanna see in characters while still making them feel like the same character we know in canon, yk? Good luck with your fic writing! And thank you!! mwah mwah.💚 --

So Leona takes himself as a direct person, BUT he hides A LOT. He purposely misdirects people to get a reaction out of them. (Ex: pretending to be incompetent to anger someone) or he's playing with them. HE LOVES GAMES. Everyone is a chess piece, he has to feel in control bc that’s all he has ever had over everyone else; his wits. He’s a dickhead. He will say offensive shit to scare people off.

It’s a test to see who sticks around. He has no reservations when it comes to this. You take him as he is. And despite how some people write him he’s kinda silly? Like dad jokes. Why does he joke so much about eating people, who knows? (He says shit like Namby-pamby ffs) Why are you a 40y/o in a 20 y/o body?

I HC he purposely talks casually and gruff to distance himself from his upbringing. (I like to mix proper language and slang with him bc it feels right? Also lots of animal puns, and nicknames. HE'S CORNY AF)

In general, I don't think Leona is an entirely romantic person in canon, however in my timeline, I do HC that he, like Scar has this ��want vs need problem” with connection to others. He thinks it's just praise he wants (or to be king) BUT he NEEDS TLC. What was Scar MOST jealous of at the end of the day?? Mufasa’s connections, a ✨queen✨, a family! BEING KING DID NOT MAKE SCAR HAPPY!! He needs to be needed and in Chapter 2 novella, he admits he HAS to numb himself to not care. I feel like this is something he constantly battles with. Yeah, he's lazy but it's partly bc he’s tired. He’s burnt out.

On the surface, he projects 100% nonchalance. He wants you to think everything he says is just "off the cuff", but it's not. He plans everything!!! He’s a mentor, big bro, caretaker. He is not the best at comforting words but he enjoys being a leader bc people appreciate him and look up to him. Something he never got at home.

Leona and ✨Romance✨

He fools himself into thinking he has the upper hand at first and keeps his distance keeping an eye on the object of his affection. Why would you catch his eye? Well, his greatest strength is picking up on OTHER STRENGTHS. Chessmaster. He is a mentorrrr and caretaker lowkey, he wants others to NEED him and rely on him. HE WANTS YOU TO NEED HIM.

At first, he would place himself in your path, trying to be helpful in a very tsundere type way. But he would still be causal and keep ruffling your feathers to gauge how you feel for him. He guards his heart pretty heavily. And more and more he is slowly collecting info about you he would find more ways for these meetings to happen until he realizes: "Oh shit, I’ve caught feelings." This one is the winner. He’s the king of nonchalance but also...he’s a very overly sensitive person. No doubt he’s freaking out a little, he doesn't wanna screw this up. But, he’d never show it.

I do think he wants to be challenged and given some pushback (insert manga panel about "something being harder to get and therefore is better"), He wants to WORK for it, to prove himself to you that you SHOULD choose him. He wants to impress you. It makes him feel alive. A person who keeps him on his toes.

And once this ”game” of cat and mouse starts to happen. He might start to let his guard down if you are shown you can be trusted with his VERY VERY delicate feelings, that you DO accept his flaws, treat him differently than all others, and see past his gruff demeanor. It is a test of sorts. He is testing that you can “handle” him. MORE GAMES.

He’d let you set the pace though. He won't be the first to give in. To kiss you or confess first. But he would fall first HARD. He’s not been given much one-on-one attention in his life so he would crave that time with you. Physical touch is a big one, but he would not be pushy. He'd tease your boundaries and become addicted to your time together.

But yeah, this push and pull goes on for a while, all the while he’s gauging how you react to this. Memorizing it all.

He’s def one of those texters who erases their sentence like 5 times when they are nervous bc he is cookin' up the RIGHT response to endear you. (Not in a sappy way of course more in a: “I know you miss me, mouse.” snarky sorta way.) Though he can be self-deprecating on bad days. He’ll act confident, though soften up behind closed doors.

I think once he realizes that you have picked up on his simpery and there's no going back...all bets are off. He doubles down, no longer ashamed of hiding it. (Assuming at this point the person has reciprocated these feelings too!) He wants to be yours and he’s not subtle. Someone to be by his side.

Then you get the REAL simp Leona, who lowkey mumbles the sappiest shit to you in his native language when he holds you, (bc he’s still embarrassed to be vulnerable, though this will fade over time) He’ll be your biggest supporter, and wants you around him as much as you can be.

This just keeps going until you're married. Congrats you now have a lion to take care of forever.🦁 Hope this helps!✨

[honeytonedhottie]

decentering men and recentering urself⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💅🏽💓

the secret to decentering men and not having ur entire world revolving around them (bcuz it should be revolving around you, duh) is having a fulfilling life. it makes me ICK so bad when im watching a video or reading a post and im rly loving it, and then it'll find SOME way to make it revolve around men. like can we not?…💬🎀

WHY WE CENTER THE OPPOSITE SEX ;

a lot of people find themselves centering their lives around the opposite sex in an attempt to fill a void within themselves. they do it because they aren't happy with themselves or their lives, or maybe its learned behavior. whatever the reason is, its NOT hot.

some things that someone who centers men might think are "oh my life is so boring, maybe it would be spiced up if i got with a man" or "maybe it'll bring some excitement into my day" like EUGHHH. obviously the solution is to find ways to make our lives fulfilling but how do we do that? and how do we get to the root cause and squash this self sabotaging behavior?

SELF AWARENESS ;

if u have nothing going on for u, ofc ur gonna be energetically desperate and accepting anything and EVERYTHING. practice self awareness and try to get to the root cause of why u center men through things like shadow work, therapy, or just straight up having an honest conversation with urself cuz i swear it helps.

when you make the conscious effort to build ur dream life you'll notice that people that are on the same mindset as you will vibe with the REAL you. the need to fake/adjust urself to fit in with other people will dissipate because ur fitting into ur own standards and ur connections will be more meaningful because of it.

TAKE UR POWER BACK ;

no ones actions should ruin ur day or make u upset for more then a day (even less) cuz its YOUR world. 💕🍰

make time for YOU, doll. plan self care routines for urself every week. doing face masks, journalling, vision boarding, WHATEVER U LIKE TO DO. making time for urself reminds u that ur the main character of ur life so u dont have to settle for crumbs.

stop giving that power to someone else and dictate how u feel, NOT the actions of a significant other or the opposite sex or anybody. the reason why its important to make sure that ur the center of ur own life is so that you can be happy and fulfilled regardless of if there is a man or if there isnt a man present. so the objective is to decenter men -> and then put yourself at the center

GET A HOBBY ;

find something to make ur life fulfilling. pursue ur OWN interests and try out different hobbies if ur unsure of what ur interests are yet. cultivate ur world to the point where it GLEAMS with perfection and then do a little extra. build a life that u love so much that whether u get male attention or validation doesnt even matter cuz their opinions have little to no relevance 💀

challenge yourself: next time you catch yourself thinking, ‘would a guy like this?’ flip it and ask urself "hey, do i like this?" start checking with yourself first instead of checking with others.

MAKING THE DECISION TO DECENTER MEN ;

decentering men simply means that ur deciding to no longer think, feel, act, dress, or plan ur life around a man or for the validation of any man…💬🎀

relationships will actually get BETTER when u decenter the opposite sex. cuz ur not looking for someone to compete with and ur whole on ur own. this sets the stage for balance and mutual respect and THATS hot.

you can be in a relationship and still decenter men. decentering men simply means that you are the priority, not the relationship. how can we tell if we're decentering men or not? here are a few questions to help you know if u are ->

if i did not care about looking good to the opposite sex what would i actually like to wear?

if i did not get married, how could i create the best and most abundant life for myself?

what hobbies/interests do i have that dont involve being around men/have male attention as a component of it?

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hello! It's me the one who requested reader sleepwalking. Can I be sleepwalk anon?

Sorry I didn't know you were overwhelmed by my request yesterday, I was reading the rules carefully and I was like— "ah ok so meaning they can write 4 or more characters, imma request!"

You can do the main sss hedgehog boys for sleepwalking reader or just sonic and shadow, is that makes you comfortable.

Again, sorry for making you overwhelmed!

A/n: yeah, sorry, it's my fault for not making it clear to begin with.

Triple S x reader who sleepwalks

Sonic:

Sonic has a habit of staying up late, so it’s no surprise he’s awake when you begin your sleepwalking. He’s lounging on the couch, watching a movie, when you shuffle out of your room, arms slightly outstretched, your face completely blank.

At first, Sonic thinks you’re just messing with him. Talking to you as if any other normal day. But you don’t respond. Instead, you march straight past him and bump into the coffee table.

Sonic’s grin falters when you mutter something incoherent under your breath, rubbing your knee absently before walking into the wall.

“Wait… are you sleepwalking?” Sonic whispers to himself.

He jumps up and jogs over to you. "Uh, Y/N? You good there, buddy?" He waves a hand in front of your face, but you only mutter again, turning sharply and walking toward the kitchen.

"Alright, this is either going to be really funny or a disaster waiting to happen," though hes not gonna stop you now as hes genuinely curious, so he just continues following you.

He watches in silent amusement as you open the fridge, stare at its contents for a solid thirty seconds, then grab an apple, only to drop it immediately and shuffle away. You make a beeline for the sink, turn on the faucet, and start washing the counter.

"Okay, yeah, this is gold," Sonic mutters, pulling out his phone to record the scene.

When you bump into the kitchen table, mutter again, and sit down in the middle of the floor like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Sonic finally intervenes. He gently steers you back to your room, all the while stifling laughter.

The next morning, you wake up to sonic all up next to you, shoving his phone in your face as you groggily watch the video of yourself sleepwalking, complete with Sonic’s commentary.

"And here we have the rare Sleepwalking Y/N in their natural habitat. Truly majestic. Ten out of ten entertainment."

Silver:

Silver is a light sleeper, so when he hears footsteps at three in the morning, he immediately bolts upright. He’s halfway to activating his psychokinesis when he realizes it’s just you, wandering around aimlessly.

At first, he’s worried. Very worried. Did you have a nightmare? Are you okay? But then he notices your vacant expression and the way you keep bumping into furniture without reacting.

"Wait… are they sleepwalking?"

He watches as you stumble toward the bookshelf, run your hand along it like you’re looking for something, and then pull out a random book. You open it, flip a few pages, and then hold it upside down, muttering something under your breath.

Silver doesn’t know whether to laugh or try to wake you up. Instead, he decides to quietly follow you, just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. He uses his powers to move objects out of your way as you shuffle around the room. When you trip over your own feet and fall onto the couch, Silver gently places a pillow under your head with his powers, smiling softly.

"You’re so weird," he mutters, sitting down to keep watch.

When you eventually get up and start wandering again, Silver patiently just follows you around the house. Waking up to Silvers sheepish explanation on what happened.

"You were, uh, walking around and muttering stuff," he says. "I didn’t want to wake you up, so I just made sure you didn’t, you know, fall down the stairs or something."

Shadow:

Shadow is not amused. He’s a heavy sleeper, but even he can’t ignore the sound of you knocking over a lamp at three in the morning. He storms out of his room, fully prepared to scold whoever’s causing the commotion, only to freeze when he sees you standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at the floor like it personally offended you.

"Y/N," he says sharply, but you don’t respond. Instead, you turn and start walking toward him, your steps uneven and your expression blank.

"Y/N?" he tries again, still no answer.

You brush past him, muttering something incoherent, and head straight for the couch. You sit down, pick up a throw pillow, and hug it like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Shadow, upon peicing together your sleep walking, stares at you for a long moment, his arms crossed. He debates whether or not to wake you up but ultimately decides against it. Instead, he sits down in a nearby chair and watches you closely, making sure you don’t do anything dangerous.

When you eventually get up and start wandering again, Shadow follows you with a deep scowl. When you try to open the front door, he steps in front of you, his arms crossed.

"You’re not going outside," he says firmly, even though he knows you can’t hear him.

The next morning, he confronts you over breakfast.

"Do you have any idea how much noise you made last night?" he asks, glaring daggers at you.

When you look at him in confusion, he sighs and explains. "You were sleepwalking. You almost walked straight out the door at three in the morning."

In short terms bro is done with you /j

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech

When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis. Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.

Series Masterlist

Dinner wasn’t much to write home about—a plate of lukewarm spaghetti that could generously be described as "functional," paired with a salad so sad it could star in its own soap opera. But you had something better: entertainment.

And by entertainment, you meant the literary dumpster fire currently sitting in your hands.

This book. This book.

The plot was so catastrophically terrible that it looped around to being hilarious. You chewed your subpar spaghetti and flipped a page, trying not to laugh too hard at the sheer absurdity of what you were reading.

The villainess, a talented duchess and renowned potion maker, was saddled with some of the worst clients in existence. The saintess—of course, she was a saintess, because originality was clearly out of the question—was engaged to the Duke of the North. Why? Who knows. It wasn’t like they seemed to like each other. In fact, she was also having a very public affair with the prince.

And not just any prince. A balding prince.

Because nothing screams “romantic rival” like the slow and tragic retreat of one’s hairline.

They were both the worst. The kind of people who would demand a 12-step skincare routine from their servants but would balk at paying them a living wage. When the villainess refused to make them more potions for ridiculous requests like “immunity to insults” (seriously?), they decided to frame her for crimes and have her executed.

The sheer audacity.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. The villainess had a fiancé—Jade Leech, poor guy—who tried his best to help her escape. And what did she do? Sacrificed herself so he wouldn’t get dragged into her mess. Noble, sure, but also infuriating because she died for them.

And then Jade, now heartbroken and understandably bitter, became the main antagonist. Only to be defeated by the same cartoonishly bland protagonists who caused the entire mess.

It was like someone handed a six-year-old a book contract and said, “Go wild, kid. Just make sure it has betrayal and love triangles, and throw in some magic potions or something.”

You forked another sad tangle of spaghetti into your mouth and tried not to choke from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. The characters had all the depth of a kiddie pool, the plot holes were big enough to drive a carriage through, and the pacing? What pacing? This story had clearly decided pacing was for cowards.

You flipped to another page, nearly snorting when the saintess justified her affair by saying, “It’s what the goddess would want."

Sure, Jan.

And just as you were about to take another bite of dinner, it happened.

A mushroom. A mushroom.

You didn’t even realize it had slipped into your spaghetti until it was already lodged in your throat. Panic set in as you clawed at your neck, gasping for air while your brain helpfully supplied one last thought:

Can’t believe a mushroom took me out. Goddammit.

And then everything went dark.

The first thing you notice is the carpet: thick, plush, and entirely too luxurious for someone who had been laughing themselves to death over garbage-tier literature just moments ago. The second thing you notice is that you’re alive, which is great. Except you’re no longer in your cozy little living room.

No, you’re in a gothic mansion straight out of an interior decorator's fever dream. Dark wood, brooding paintings, and vials of suspicious liquids lined up neatly on shelves. For a second, you think you’ve wandered into a Dracula fan convention, but then it hits you.

The novel. The Poisoned Duchess and the Frozen Heart of the North.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding. “No. No, no, no, no,” you mutter, sprinting to the nearest mirror. A familiar (and obnoxiously beautiful) face stares back at you. Elegant curls, piercing eyes, and an expression that could curdle milk. Yep. You’re the Duchess—the villainess who gets executed for daring to have standards.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan, gripping the edge of the vanity. “I was just making fun of this! How did I end up here? Is this karma? Did the mushroom do this?!”

You spend a good ten minutes pacing the room, muttering to yourself like a squirrel with a caffeine problem. “Okay, okay, think. The Saintess and the Prince are nuts, and they’re gonna come here demanding potions for their ridiculous nonsense like ‘immunity to sarcasm’ or whatever. Solution? Close the shop. Sell it. Let some other poor soul deal with their unhinged requests. Genius! But what next? What about the fiancé—oh god, Jade!”

Jade Leech. The fiancé you had casually dismissed in your tirade against the novel. The one who was supposed to be self-sacrificing, and eventually doomed. But now he’s your fiancé, and you’re not about to let him become collateral damage in this flaming dumpster fire of a plot.

“We’ll run away!” you declare, pointing dramatically at an imaginary horizon. “We’ll elope, move to some peaceful countryside, grow tomatoes, and live a happy, Saintess-free life. Screw the plot. Screw the Duke. Screw the Saintess and her balding fiancé—”

You’re mid-sentence when the sound of a door opening interrupts your theatrical monologue. You spin around and freeze.

Standing in the doorway is Jade Leech himself. And oh boy, the novel did not do him justice. His sharp features, soft teal hair, and piercing eyes make your brain short-circuit. The man looks like he walked out of an ethereal fairy tale and promptly decided to make everyone else look like peasants.

He leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and raises a brow. “Well, this is quite the scene to walk into.”

You blink. And then you blink again, because your brain is still stuck on handsome fiancé alert. “Uh…”

Jade smirks, clearly amused. “Is this a private performance, or can anyone join? Because I’m not sure who you’re planning to screw, but it sounds… ambitious.”

You want to die all over again. “I—uh, would you… like to join my plans?”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “Plans, you say? That depends. Do these plans involve anything more exciting than managing a potion shop?”

“Yes! So much more exciting!” you blurt out. “We close the shop, sell it, cause some chaos, run away, and live happily ever after far away from this stupid place! No Saintess. No Duke. Just… us. Tomatoes. Maybe a goat.”

Jade chuckles, the sound warm and entirely too pleasant for your frazzled state of mind. “You’ve certainly caught my interest. All right, I’m in. A little chaos sounds much better than… whatever normalcy is supposed to look like.”

He steps closer, and you swear your brain bluescreens again because wow, personal space doesn’t exist here, huh? Jade offers his hand, his smile sharp but oddly sincere. “So, where do we start, my prodigal Duchess?”

You take his hand, still half-dazed. “Step one: Screw the Saintess.”

He laughs again. “Now that’s the kind of plan I can get behind.”

Meeting Jade's brother was like getting hit by a rogue wave of chaos. You'd thought Jade was the wild card of the family, but then Floyd Leech burst into the room like a hurricane wearing a grin.

He looked at you with an intensity that made you feel like you were being appraised for your entertainment value, then immediately announced, "You wanna screw with the Saintess and the Duke? Oh, I’m in.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at Jade, who gave you an apologetic shrug, clearly used to Floyd’s… energy. You decided, then and there, that you were extremely lucky to have been paired with the Leech brother who at least pretended to respect social norms.

Floyd, however, was a force of nature and, admittedly, a useful one. He seemed far too enthusiastic about the chaos you were planning, but hey, when life gives you a human typhoon, you use it to wreak havoc.

Then there was Azul Ashengrotto. Meeting him felt less like talking to a person and more like negotiating with an overly polite shark. “I can provide you protection,” he said smoothly, pushing a contract toward you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You glanced at the contract, then back at him. “And what does this… "protection" demand in return?”

“Oh, nothing too demanding,” Azul said, waving his hand as if it was all very casual. “Just a few favors in return. Small things, really.”

You stared at the fine print and felt your soul start to sweat. This wasn’t just protection—it was a fast track to selling your soul to the fish mafia.

“Tell you what,” you said, shoving the contract back toward him. “I’ll sell the potion shop to you for cheap if you help me with whatever plans I come up with.”

Azul tilted his head, intrigued. “And what’s in it for me?”

“You get to own the best potion shop in the kingdom without dealing with the Saintess and her entourage of entitlement.”

His eyes gleamed. “Done. But if you get arrested, you won’t mention my name.”

“Deal,” you said, shaking his hand. Internally, you made a note to burn the shop down if things went south. Better a pile of ash than Azul owning it and your dignity.

The next day, you decided to drop by a boutique to prepare for the Saintess’s tea party. Not because you cared about the event, but because you cared very deeply about ruining her day.

You knew exactly what she was planning to wear—some pastel monstrosity—and you were determined to outshine her. You’d wear an upgraded version of her outfit, but classier, sharper, and absolutely dripping with pettiness.

The boutique owner was taking your measurements when you told them to send the bill to your butler. That was when Jade, who had been quietly browsing nearby, strolled over. He casually slid his arm around your waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “Send the bill to me.”

You whipped around, scandalized. “Excuse me?!”

He leaned in, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just want everyone to know you’re my fiancée,” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too close to your ear.

Your brain promptly blue-screened. He was too close, his scent too distracting, and his hand on your waist was doing things to your equilibrium. The boutique owner pretended not to notice your obvious malfunction, but Jade? Jade looked like he was having the time of his life.

“Fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you tried to collect the scattered pieces of your dignity.

“Good,” Jade said, his smirk widening.

He didn’t let go of you after that. Oh no, he kept his hand firmly on the small of your back as you left the boutique. Every step was an exercise in not collapsing from the sheer audacity of his touch.

Meanwhile, Jade looked perfectly at ease, as if his sole purpose in life was to see how long it would take you to spontaneously combust.

By the time you got back to the mansion, you were sure of one thing: Jade Leech was going to be the death of you, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

The tea party was shaping up to be the highlight of your career as a petty agent of chaos. You arrived late, naturally—nothing screams “I’m better than you” quite like waltzing in when everyone’s already seated.

The moment you stepped into the pavilion, a collective gasp swept through the crowd. Your dress—custom-tailored, one-of-a-kind, and effortlessly overshadowing every other outfit there—practically glowed in the sunlight.

The Saintess, perched at the head of the table, turned to greet you, her expression instantly souring when she caught sight of your gown. Oh, you could practically hear the cogs in her head screeching to a halt as she realized you’d completely outdone her.

“Oh my,” you said, offering a demure smile as you made your way to your seat. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice as sweet as arsenic. “What a… bold choice of dress.”

“Oh, this?” You gestured casually, as though you weren’t wearing something that could stop traffic. “My fiancé picked it out for me. He has such excellent taste, don’t you think?”

You didn’t need to look directly at her to see the way her jaw clenched. You could feel her rage simmering from across the table. After all, her own fiancé, or even the Balding Prince, hadn’t bothered to buy her a dress, let alone one that could compete with yours. You almost felt bad for her. Almost.

From there, the afternoon devolved into a series of increasingly petty power plays.

When the Saintess poured herself a cup of tea, you made a point to remark on how “rustic” her teapot was.

When she complimented the garden’s flowers, you chimed in with, “Oh, are these the same ones you tried to grow last year? I remember hearing how they all died!”

Every little comment was a carefully aimed dart, and she was too polite—or perhaps too afraid of snapping in public—to retaliate. The guests, of course, were eating it up.

The pièce de résistance came when the Balding Prince himself approached you during the party.

“I need a potion,” he said, puffing himself up like a rooster trying to assert dominance. “For my, uh, hair.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all the scenarios you’d envisioned, this was not one of them.

“Your hair?” you echoed, doing your best to keep a straight face. “What kind of potion are we talking about here? Growth? Volume? Shine?”

The Prince’s eye twitched. “That’s… none of your business,” he snapped.

Before you could respond, Jade—bless him—“accidentally” bumped into the Prince from behind, sending his ridiculous feathered hat tumbling to the ground.

The gasp that followed was deafening.

There it was, in all its glory: the shiny, blinding expanse of the Prince’s balding crown, gleaming like a beacon of despair in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, the pavilion was silent. Then someone coughed. Then someone else giggled. And before long, the entire tea party was a symphony of poorly stifled laughter.

“It’s, uh, a royal tradition!” the Prince stammered, clutching his hat and jamming it back onto his head. “A sign of wisdom and… and…”

He trailed off, clearly out of excuses, and fled the scene faster than you’d ever seen anyone run in formalwear.

The Saintess looked like she was about to implode. Unfortunately for her, the Third Male Lead (Yes, there were 3 of them) chose that exact moment to swoop in, all charm and wit as he began lavishing her with attention. You leaned back in your chair, sipping your tea and basking in the chaos like a cat who’d just knocked over an entire shelf of priceless antiques.

“Nice work,” you murmured to Jade, holding up your hand for a discreet high five.

Instead of obliging, he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours, the smirk on his face practically criminal.

“You’re far more fun than I expected,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You stared at him, your brain immediately short-circuiting. Your default response to most situations was sarcasm or snark, but this? This was uncharted territory.

“Uh… thanks?” you managed, your voice coming out embarrassingly squeaky.

Jade chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as if to emphasize just how flustered you were.

“Come on,” he said, his tone far too casual for someone who’d just ruined you in front of an audience. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

He kept his hand on the small of your back as you walked away from the pavilion, and you were pretty sure your soul left your body every time he leaned in to whisper some biting comment about the Saintess or her rapidly expanding collection of admirers.

One thing was certain: you were having the time of your life, and this was only the beginning.

The day begins innocently enough, which should have been your first warning.

You’re peacefully reading in the library, enjoying the silence, when Floyd barrels in like a hurricane. “Oi, c’mon, you gotta help me!” he hisses, grabbing your wrist before you can protest.

“Help you with what?” you manage to ask as you’re dragged down the corridor, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“It’s Jade,” Floyd says ominously. “He’s made mushrooms again.”

Ah, that explains it. You’ve heard rumors about Jade’s culinary experiments, but you’d yet to experience them firsthand.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Floyd grins, the kind of grin that promises nothing good. “Well, I told him you love mushrooms.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You what?”

Before you can bolt, Floyd shoves you through the greenhouse door and slams it shut behind you.

Inside, the room is warm and humid, filled with the earthy scent of soil and plants. At the far end, Jade is bent over a terrarium, meticulously arranging its contents with tweezers.

He looks up when he hears you enter, his expression brightening. “Ah, you’re here!”

Your heart sinks.

Floyd’s words echo in your mind—you love mushrooms. If only he knew. Mushrooms were the reason you got isekai’d in the first place, and the trauma of choking on one is still fresh in your memory. But now, faced with Jade’s expectant gaze and a plate of what looks like sautéed mushrooms on the table, you realize you’re trapped.

“Floyd said you were eager to try these,” Jade says, his tone polite but unmistakably pleased.

You glance at the mushrooms, then back at Jade. He looks so hopeful, like someone who’s spent hours perfecting a recipe and is finally sharing it with someone who’ll appreciate it. You swallow hard.

“Of course!” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I love mushrooms.”

You sit down at the table, and Jade places the plate in front of you. The mushrooms actually smell... good. Earthy and buttery, with a hint of garlic and herbs.

“Bon appétit,” he says, watching you intently.

You pick up a fork, your hands trembling slightly, and stab a piece. You can do this, you tell yourself. It’s not the mushroom’s fault you died. It’s just food.

With one final breath, you pop the piece into your mouth.

...It’s delicious.

The flavor is rich and savory, perfectly balanced, and the texture is tender without being mushy. You blink in surprise, then take another bite.

“Good?” Jade asks, and there’s a slight smugness in his tone.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from eating more.

Jade’s smile widens, and something in his expression softens.

After finishing the plate, you linger in the greenhouse as Jade continues tending to his terrariums. You watch him work, his hands deft and precise as he rearranges moss, misting the plants with care.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, feeling unexpectedly at ease.

He glances at you, then gestures to a nearby shelf. “If you don’t mind organizing the vials, that would be helpful.”

You nod and get to work, sorting the various bottles of nutrients and spores while Jade hums softly under his breath. The atmosphere is peaceful, the kind of quiet that feels alive rather than stifling.

Once the terrariums are in perfect order, Jade brews a pot of tea, and you both sit at a small table nestled among the plants. The tea is fragrant, its warmth soothing as you take a sip.

Jade sits across from you, one hand resting lightly on the table. Absentmindedly, you reach out and place your hand over his.

He freezes for a moment, his eyes flicking to your joined hands. His usual calm demeanor falters, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “You’re quite bold,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You suppress a grin, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before turning your attention back to your tea. “And you’re holding my hand,” you point out casually.

“I suppose I am,” he says, his voice steady again, though his ears are noticeably red.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, sipping tea and enjoying the greenhouse’s serenity. Jade, ever the polite menace, pretends to be unfazed, but you catch him glancing at your joined hands more than once.

You smile into your cup, the taste of mushrooms and tea lingering on your tongue.

You wake up to the sound of maniacal laughter, the kind that belongs to either an evil overlord or someone who just discovered how to unlock infinite in-game currency. For one groggy moment, you wonder if the devil himself has come to collect you for your sins. But as your eyes flutter open, reality (and dread) sets in.

It’s not the devil. It’s Floyd.

“Why?” you croak, sitting up in your chair and rubbing your eyes. “Why are you like this?”

Jade, ever the epitome of composed chaos, is sitting calmly across from you, sipping tea and looking highly amused. “Ah, you’re awake,” he says with a smile that suggests nothing good is about to happen.

“I had the best idea!” Floyd exclaims, still cackling. “It’s gonna be hilarious!”

Jade gives you a knowing look, the kind that says, This is going to be a disaster, but I want to watch it unfold.

You should probably shut this down. You should. But instead, you wave a hand and mumble, “Sure, go wild.”

It turns out “wild” was underselling it.

Floyd’s “brilliant” idea? Convince the Saintess to organize a grand sword-fighting competition under the premise that the Balding Prince would absolutely win. To no one’s surprise (except maybe the Saintess), she fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“She’s been gushing about how he’s ‘a natural-born warrior,’” Floyd reports gleefully during the planning phase. “She’s even betting on him!”

You glance at Jade, who is practically glowing with smug anticipation. That should have been your first clue to intervene. Instead, you shrug and think, Eh, it’ll be fine.

It was, in fact, not fine.

When the announcement of the tournament goes public, the Balding Prince—bless his fragile ego—realizes he has a slight problem. Namely, the fact that he’s never held a sword in his life, let alone used one. Naturally, he comes crawling to you.

“I need a potion,” he demands, his tone somewhere between entitled and desperate. “To, uh, enhance my… swordsmanship.”

You lean back in your chair, trying to look unimpressed. “Oh, I don’t sell potions anymore,” you say airily.

The Prince glares at you, his bald spot gleaming under the room’s chandelier. “I’ll pay you.”

“You can’t afford me.”

“How about enough gold to fund your entire territory for the next twenty years?”

You sit up straight. “You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness.”

The potion you make for him is top-notch—for two hours. After that, well, let’s just say it’s going to be a long day for the Balding Prince.

The tournament goes about as chaotically as you expect. Jade, a genuinely skilled swordsman, carves his way through every round with ease. The Prince, meanwhile, is barely holding on, relying entirely on the potion to scrape by. Somehow, by sheer luck and Floyd’s endless meddling, the Prince manages to make it to the final round.

By this point, the Saintess is practically glowing with excitement, convinced her fiancé is about to cement his status as a legendary warrior. “He’s going to win for sure!” she squeals, clapping her hands.

You sip your tea, barely suppressing your smirk. Oh, sweet summer child.

The final round begins with Jade and the Prince stepping into the arena. The crowd roars with anticipation. The Saintess is preening in the stands, while the Empress looks vaguely mortified, as though she knows what’s about to happen but can’t stop it.

And then, right on cue, the potion wears off.

The Prince’s stance falters immediately, his grip on the sword going from “warrior” to “child holding a bat for the first time.” Jade doesn’t even have to try. One expertly placed strike sends the Prince’s weapon flying across the arena, and the match ends with the Prince sprawled on the ground, dazed and defeated.

The crowd erupts into laughter, and you’re pretty sure you see the Emperor facepalm.

To add insult to injury, the Emperor himself has to present the winner’s diadem to Jade. But instead of wearing it himself, Jade turns to you with a wicked grin.

“For you, my dear,” he says, placing the diadem on your head with a flourish.

The crowd loses it.

The Empress looks like she’s contemplating disowning her son on the spot. The Saintess bursts into tears and flees the arena, with the Prince stumbling after her, trying to explain his humiliating defeat.

You, meanwhile, stand in the center of the chaos, smiling peacefully.

“This,” you murmur, “is the best day of my life.”

The market was lively, the kind of lively that felt one loose cart wheel away from utter chaos. You’d gone there to buy something mundane—perhaps herbs, maybe a decorative pot, who even remembered anymore? What you did remember was spotting Azul, impeccably dressed as usual, standing at a stall that sold ornamental quills.

“Azul!” you called out, dragging Jade with you as you made your way over.

Azul turned, one brow arching as he spotted the two of you. “Ah, the duchess and her ever-present shadow. What brings you here?”

“Just window shopping,” you said vaguely, though Jade’s sudden fascination with terrarium accessories suggested otherwise.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, the three of you were headed to a charming little café. It had the kind of ambiance that said, I’m wildly overpriced, but look at our aesthetic! Jade held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, marveling at the array of desserts in the display case.

You barely had time to settle into your seat when the atmosphere shifted.

There she was.

The Saintess.

You tried to ignore her, truly, but her obnoxious aura was as subtle as a bull in a porcelain shop. She was seated nearby, flanked by her entourage of lackeys. They whispered, they giggled, and they kept looking at you. You rolled your eyes and leaned closer to Jade and Azul, focusing on your conversation.

But peace, as usual, was not in the cards.

One of the lackeys—a girl who had the smug look of someone who thought her two brain cells were revolutionary—approached your table. In her hands was a steaming cup of tea, and the moment you saw it, a sense of foreboding settled over you.

And then, with all the subtlety of a villain in a children’s cartoon, she “tripped.”

The tea flew through the air in slow motion, a graceful arc of impending disaster. You braced for impact, but Jade moved faster. He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the scalding liquid. Most of it missed him, but a splash landed on his hand.

“Jade!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm to inspect the burn.

Meanwhile, the lackey straightened herself up, not even bothering to fake remorse. “Oops,” she said, her tone so insincere it could’ve curdled milk. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You carried a boiling cup of tea across the room, aimed it at our table, and ‘accidentally’ threw it at us?”

She shrugged, her smirk widening. “My dad will pay for any damages. And you’re overreacting. It’s just tea.”

Overreacting? Oh, you were about to react, all right.

Azul, meanwhile, was unusually quiet. His tie had been stained in the splash zone, and his tight-lipped smile was beginning to look like it could crack glass.

The lackey continued, oblivious to the metaphorical storm clouds gathering over Azul. “Anyway, if you keep making a scene, it’ll just look bad for you. My dad’s pretty important, you know.”

“Oh?” Azul said suddenly, his voice as smooth as silk but with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “And who might your father be?”

The lackey puffed up with pride. “He’s the finance manager for the duchess’s estate!”

There was a beat of silence. You exchanged a glance with Azul, and then your lips curled into a predatory smile.

“Azul,” you said sweetly, “guess whose daddy is about to lose his job?”

The ride back to your estate was tense—for you, at least. Jade sat calmly beside you, his hand resting on his knee, but you couldn’t stop fussing over his burn.

“Stop squirming,” you said, dabbing at his hand with a damp cloth.

“I’m fine,” Jade insisted, though his amused tone suggested he was enjoying your concern far too much.

“You’re not fine,” you retorted. “What if it scars? What if it gets infected?”

“Then I’ll have a mark to remember your attention by,” he said, his lips twitching into a half-smile.

You glared at him, but your fussing didn’t stop. By the time you reached the estate, you were practically vibrating with righteous fury.

The finance manager stood in your office, visibly confused.

“You’re fired,” you said bluntly.

His jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

You crossed your arms, your smile as sharp as a blade. “Ask your daughter.”

“What does she have to do with this?” he demanded, his face turning red.

“Everything,” you replied. “Guards, escort him out.”

He sputtered and protested, but you didn’t care. Justice had been served.

Later, after the physician had checked Jade’s hand and declared him fine, you collapsed onto the nearest couch, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. Without thinking, you ended up sprawled across Jade’s lap.

He stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly before he cautiously placed one on your back to keep you from sliding off.

“Comfortable?” he asked dryly, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him.

You hummed in response, already half-asleep. Within moments, your breathing evened out, and you nodded off.

Jade, for his part, was thoroughly smitten. His usual composure cracked as he replayed the day’s events—your fiery anger on his behalf, the way you’d fretted over his injury, and now, the way you looked so peaceful resting against him.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, and he allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

“Quite the enigma,” he murmured to himself, already planning how to keep you close.

The ballroom was a spectacle of opulence. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting soft golden light on the polished floors and the parade of nobles in their finest silks and velvets.

This was supposed to be a night of grand announcements, of declarations of love, and of the start of some “epic romance” that would undoubtedly be inscribed into the annals of history—or, at least, that's what the original novel promised.

But as you stood to the side with Jade and Floyd, it was evident that this version of events was hurtling off the rails.

Enter: the Duke of the North.

The poor man barely stepped into the ballroom before his eyes landed on the prince and the saintess. You could physically see the will to live drain out of him as his shoulders slumped, his gaze unfocused like he was calculating the fastest way to fake his own death and disappear into the wilderness.

It was almost pitiful. Almost.

The prince, meanwhile, had puffed up his chest and was grinning like he hadn’t recently been humiliated in front of half the kingdom. And the saintess—oh, she was trying, bless her delusional heart.

Smiling demurely, batting her lashes, and putting on a performance that might have worked if her reputation hadn’t already been stomped into the dirt by your carefully orchestrated chaos.

You leaned toward Jade and whispered, “I think the Duke’s trying to plot his own escape.”

Jade’s lips twitched in amusement, but he kept his usual calm demeanor. Floyd, however, cackled loudly enough to draw a few stares.

Then, the moment arrived: the prince stepped forward, his cape swishing dramatically as he raised his goblet. “Tonight, I announce my bride-to-be, the one chosen by the heavens themselves—the saintess!”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly out of obligation, but you were too busy watching the Duke. The man visibly sagged with relief, his shoulders dropping like he’d just been unshackled from a lifetime of servitude. You could practically hear the mental thank the gods echoing in his head.

And then, as if shedding the weight of the world, he turned on his heel and made a beeline—toward you.

You blinked, momentarily stunned as the Duke of the North, the supposed male lead, bowed deeply and extended a hand toward you. “Would you honor me with the first dance, my lady?”

You opened your mouth to decline, because this wasn’t in any script you remembered, but before you could utter a word, Jade smoothly stepped in.

“Apologies, Duke,” he said with his signature polite menace, “but she already promised this dance to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Jade’s hand found the small of your back, and he gently yet firmly guided you to the dance floor. The Duke was left standing there, his hand still outstretched, looking mildly bewildered.

“Don’t worry!” Floyd piped up, appearing out of nowhere. “I’ll dance with you!”

Before the Duke could protest, Floyd latched onto his arm and practically dragged him into a lively—and utterly chaotic—dance that looked like a mix of a waltz and a sparring match. The Duke’s expression alternated between horror and resignation, while Floyd grinned like he was having the time of his life.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as you watched the scene.

Jade glanced down at you, his expression softening as he took in your laughter. His usual cool demeanor melted for just a moment, replaced by something so tender it made your heart stutter.

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

You were in love with him.

And not the “oh, he’s handsome and I tolerate his presence” kind of love. This was the “I want to spend my life laughing and dancing and plotting petty revenge schemes with you” kind of love.

The thought was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face in Jade’s chest.

He stilled for a moment, surprised, but then his arms encircled you, holding you close as he continued to sway to the rhythm of the music.

He didn’t question it, didn’t tease you, didn’t even comment. Instead, he rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his voice low as he murmured, “Are you all right?”

You nodded into his chest, your cheeks burning as you clung to him like a lifeline.

As the music swelled around you, you felt his hand tighten slightly on your waist. When you finally peeked up at him, his gaze met yours, and there it was again—that look of unguarded adoration that made your knees weak.

It was, without a doubt, the best dance of your life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ballroom, the Duke of the North was being spun around like a rag doll by Floyd, who was cackling loud enough to echo off the walls.

You caught sight of the saintess in the corner, her smile strained and her fingers clutching her goblet so tightly it looked like it might shatter.

All was well in the world.

The ballroom was buzzing with conversation, the glittering chandeliers casting light on a gathering of nobles too caught up in their own intrigues to notice the storm brewing in one corner. That is, until a sharp, shrill voice cut through the air.

“You think you can just ruin my family and get away with it?” It was the girl whose arrogance had gotten her father fired. Her finger pointed straight at you, her expression a mix of fury and desperation.

The ballroom stilled as the girl pointed her trembling finger at you, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass. "You think you can destroy my family and just walk away? You're nothing but a tyrant with too much power and zero empathy!"

Her father, standing nearby, was frantically gesturing for her to stop. “D-Dear, perhaps we should—”

“Shut it, Father! I’m handling this!” she snapped, tossing her poorly styled curls over her shoulder. She turned back to you, eyes blazing. “Everyone should know what kind of monster you are. Workplace harassment! That’s right—I said it!”

Before you could even process the absolute absurdity of the accusation, the Duke of the North stepped forward like some knight in an overwrought romance novel.

“You will not speak of her in such a way,” he declared, his voice booming with righteous indignation. “The duchess is a paragon of nobility and grace!”

The crowd collectively oohed, but before you could roll your eyes hard enough to dislocate something, the Saintess shot to her feet, looking utterly scandalized.

“This man,” she hissed, gesturing wildly at the Duke, “didn’t even fight for me, his divinely chosen match, but now he defends her? A woman who flaunts her defiance of heaven’s will? Blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy?” you muttered under your breath. “Blasphe-you, lady…”

Unfortunately, the Balding Prince chose this moment to stumble into the fray. “Uh… Are we…arguing?” He puffed up his chest, desperately trying to seem relevant. “As prince, I demand order!”

You took one look at him, with his shiny scalp gleaming under the chandeliers, and decided he wasn’t even worth the effort.

Meanwhile, Jade, ever the picture of composed menace, sidled up to your side. His eyes locked onto the Duke’s hand, which was still resting on yours. With a polite but firm gesture, Jade brushed the Duke’s hand away as though it carried the plague.

The Duke looked affronted. Jade just smiled. But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind of smile that promised future inconvenience.

You, however, had officially hit your limit. You stepped forward, raising your voice over the din. “Enough!”

The room froze. All eyes turned to you as you launched into your tirade, starting with the Saintess.

“You!” You pointed directly at her, ignoring the way her cheeks flushed with outrage. “Do you honestly think the universe revolves around you just because you’ve got a shiny necklace and a tragic backstory? Newsflash: It doesn’t. The only divine will I’ve seen is everyone’s will to avoid your self-righteous sermons. Go back to your prayer circle and spare us your dramatics.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but you were already turning to the Balding Prince.

“And you! Stop sending letters to my estate asking for potions to grow hair or stretch your bones. I’m a duchess, not a miracle worker, and no amount of magic can make you interesting. Get a personality—or at least a hat.”

The prince turned beet red, his hands twitching as though debating whether to flee or argue. You didn’t care.

You swung your gaze to the girl whose father you’d fired. “And as for you, congratulations. You’ve just confirmed that stupidity really is hereditary. Your dad didn’t lose his job because of me. He lost it because he was stealing more money than the royal treasury had left after your little shopping sprees. You’re lucky I didn’t throw both of you in jail.”

Her father, now sweating through his cravat, looked like he might faint on the spot.

Finally, you turned to the Duke. “And you. I appreciate the effort, really. It’s sweet that you think I need defending. But I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need saving. And, oh—” You reached out, grabbing Jade by the arm. “I happen to have a fiancé whom I adore. So maybe put your chivalry elsewhere.”

Jade, for his part, looked smug as he allowed himself to be pulled along, his composure completely unshaken.

The ballroom fell into stunned silence as you swept toward the exit. Then—

Floyd’s laughter broke through like a cannon blast. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face. “Oh my god—that was amazing—! Balding prince—hat—”

Azul smirked, hiding his amusement behind a gloved hand. “Well, that was certainly… enlightening.”

You didn’t even look back as you pushed open the grand doors. “Idiots, the lot of them,” you muttered.

As you exited the ballroom, you couldn’t help but glance up at Jade. He looked unusually pleased, his lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly, though the twinkle in his eye said otherwise. “I simply find your methods... inspiring.”

The two of you made it past the grand doors before the realization hit you like a carriage with no brakes.

You had just declared, in front of everyone, that you loved Jade.

And he knew it. Oh, did he know it.

He walked beside you, his usual calm and collected demeanor now infused with an insufferable smugness. His smile was the kind that could sell snake oil to a herpetologist.

“Darling,” he said, his voice laced with honeyed amusement, “you’re unusually quiet. Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps you’re shy after your… heartfelt proclamation?”

You refused to meet his gaze. “Shut up,” you muttered, staring resolutely at the carpeted hallway like it held the secrets to the universe.

“Now, now,” he crooned, leaning closer. “Why won’t you look at me? Surely you wouldn’t deny me the honor of basking in the gaze of my beloved?”

Your face burned hotter than the ballroom chandeliers. You covered it with your hands. “Leave me here,” you said dramatically. “Leave me here to rot in peace.”

Jade chuckled, and it was the kind of sound that sent shivers down your spine—warm, teasing, and entirely too pleased. “Why on earth would I do that?” he asked, his tone deceptively innocent. “Especially when my beloved looks so… endearing in their embarrassment.”

You peeked through your fingers, ready to deliver some biting retort, but the words died in your throat.

Jade’s expression had shifted. He wasn’t just amused anymore—he was smitten. The way his mismatched eyes softened as they looked at you, the faint smile that carried more affection than smugness, the subtle tilt of his head like you were the most fascinating thing in the world—it was all too much.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you grumbled, your voice weak.

“Like what?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he gently reached for your hands.

You tried to resist, but he was insistent, pulling them away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Before you could think to stop him, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a teasing peck to rile you up—it was slow, deliberate, and completely disarming. You melted against him, any thoughts of resistance dissolving as you instinctively pulled him closer.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this book wasn’t the irredeemable mess you’d always thought it was.

After all, it had given you him.

The decision to expedite the wedding wasn’t exactly born of romance. It was born of the Duke’s increasingly deranged letters, the last of which included a poem so long and melodramatic it might as well have been a novel in verse.

Jade, to his credit, only raised a single brow at your muttered curses as you ripped the latest letter into confetti. “Darling,” he said mildly, “perhaps this is a sign to finalize our own arrangements before our dear Duke decides to recite his poetry at your doorstep.”

You had agreed, of course, which led to your current predicament: drowning in swatches, floral arrangements, and pamphlets for curtains—curtains, of all things.

“This one feels too garish,” you muttered, holding up a deep crimson drape. “But this one’s too boring,” you added, pointing at a pale beige option. You groaned and flopped back in your chair, glaring at the wedding planner. “Why is there no middle ground? What am I paying you for?”

The poor planner looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. Before you could unleash more frustration, Jade plucked the pamphlets from your hands with infuriating ease.

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm but fond. “You’ll give yourself gray hairs fretting over curtains. We can always elope, you know.”

You gaped at him. “Elope?”

His smile turned mischievous. “Yes. A quiet ceremony in the woods, perhaps, with only the birds as witnesses. Far from meddling Dukes and curtain debates.”

For a moment, you almost entertained the idea. But then you shook your head, laughing softly. “I suppose I’m being a bit dramatic.”

“A bit,” Jade echoed, though his teasing lilt softened as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “You don’t have to do this alone, my love. Delegate.”

The wedding planner, who had been cowering behind a stack of color charts, practically lit up. “Oh, yes! Delegate! Please, delegate!”

You sighed, leaning into Jade’s touch. “Fine. You’re in charge now.”

The planner looked as though he might fall to his knees and kiss Jade’s shoes in gratitude. Jade, ever the picture of elegance, merely chuckled.

“Excellent choice,” he said smoothly, guiding you away from the table of chaos. “Now, let’s find something far more enjoyable to argue about—like the wedding cake flavors.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Jade managed to turn your stress into something almost enjoyable. Perhaps rushing the wedding wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The room was an over-the-top vision of wealth: chandeliers the size of small planets, flowers flown in from who-knows-where, and a cake so tall you were half-convinced Floyd could climb it and look smug doing it. Every noble in the kingdom was here, decked out in silks and sequins, pretending they weren’t secretly gossiping about you and your eel fiancé.

You barely noticed. Jade was standing in front of you, looking so unfairly ethereal you wondered if the universe had been playing favorites. His mismatched eyes were locked on yours, and his smile was small but so genuine you almost forgot your carefully planned vows.

Then, of course, chaos. Because how could anything in your life go smoothly?

From the back of the ballroom came a loud, wet, obnoxious wail.

“Oh, for the love of God,” you muttered under your breath, and Jade’s lips quirked in amusement.

“I LOVED HER FIRST!” the Duke sobbed dramatically, his voice shaking with the intensity of his grief.

“Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently,” Floyd snapped, his voice cutting through the crowd like a knife.

And if that wasn’t enough, you could faintly hear Azul’s oily, persuasive tone somewhere off to the side. “Yes, Lord Evermore, just a tiny signature on this insignificant little contract. You’re not using your soul for much, anyway, are you?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, biting back a laugh. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was your wedding. Of course it was going to be chaotic.

But when you looked up, there was Jade, his gaze steady and full of a quiet devotion that made the rest of the madness blur into the background. His vows were perfect, as expected, and when it came your turn, you stumbled over the words a little, because how were you supposed to focus when he was looking at you like that?

Then came the kiss.

Jade dipped you in one smooth motion, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that sent the room spinning. Applause erupted, and you swore you heard someone sniffling behind you.

“Is the Duke crying again?” you murmured against Jade’s lips.

“I believe Floyd threatened him,” Jade replied, far too amused.

“And Azul’s... oh no, is he signing contracts?”

Jade only smirked, kissing you again. “Should I be worried that you’re more interested in their antics than your new husband?”

“I’m not—wait, husband?” You blinked at him, the word sinking in, and for the first time in ages, you felt completely, blissfully happy.

As you stood there with your chaotic, ridiculous found family around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, your life had taken a turn for the absurd, but if it brought you to this moment, maybe that cursed mushroom wasn’t so bad after all.

“Remind me to thank that mushroom,” you said with a grin.

Jade’s laughter was soft, warm, and entirely yours. “If it brought us together, I might build it a shrine.”

You laughed, pulling him closer. You’d faced chaos and conspiracies, chaos and hilarity, but in this moment, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Trash Novel Masterlist

All Masterlists

[blackynsupremacy]

TAKE IT EASY

pairing: nicholas a. chavez x black!fem!reader

summary: an innocent cuddling session to ease the stress of your boyfriend’s burden turns into something more.

contains: based on this request, 18+ content mdni, fluff, romance, cuddling, hurt/comfort, swearing, making out, groping, titty/nipple play, dry humping, cumming in undies, implied smut towards the end

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @thabiddie23 @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @venic-bxtch @stargirl-mayaa @miguelspvssy

“how you feeling, babe?”

you questioned in a soft tone towards your boyfriend, nicholas. you were alarmed when he came in with such a downcast expression on his face. once you offered if he’d like to talk about it, he only wanted to do so while in your arms. the lamp on the bedside table shown an amber glow in your shared bedroom as you and nicholas laid comfortably on top of the duvet. you sat upright against the headboard of the bed while his large figure wrapped around yours, his head resting against your chest like his own personal pillows. it made your heart melt as he leaned closer within your touch while you smooth his brown hair with your fingers.

“m’feeling a little better.” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your chest. you sigh in relief, he’d been through so much today on set. nicholas had been practicing a monologue that was integral to his character. the tricky part was that it was a seven minute monologue that he had to memorize verbatim. no matter how many hours of effort he put in, there was a still some lines that he kept fumbling over which increased the director’s frustration towards nicholas. after that, they decided to film the monologue another day and finish with the rest of shooting other scenes. he expressed to you that he felt like a failure and that maybe he wasn’t cut out to be an actor. it pained you to see the love of your life so discouraged and you immediately validate his hurt, but shut down any doubts that he had towards his abilities.

“everybody’s going to have failures, nicholas, but y’know what didn’t fail?” you quiz, gazing lovingly into his eyes.

“hm?” he responded, awaiting your answer.

“that they chose you. out of all the people who auditioned for that same role. whose talent actually got the part? it was you. you were the one—just like how you’re the one for me.”

speechless at your proclamation, nicholas could only turn a deep shade of red and bury his head deeper within your bosom. the sound of your steady heartbeat eased the sorrows and bullshit he endured today. in this moment, nothing else mattered, he just wanted to feel closer to you right now. nicholas leaned his head up, inching his face close enough to where the tip of your noses would brush against each other,

“thank you so much, doll. y’know you’re the one for me too, right? you always know what to say—” nicholas takes opportunity to plant a soft, lingering kiss to your lips in which you instinctively return with passion before he pulls away to speak again,

“i love you.”

“and i love you more.” you tenderly reply.

“y’know what else could make me feel better?” he asked. you raise a brow to catch the vibe he was trying to throw with that lopsided smirk on his face. you already knew.

with that, he sits himself upright to grip your waist in order to gingerly flip your position on the bed, laying you flat on your spine. nicholas dives in to take your lips with his again, his kisses grow more fervent with each connection between them. once his hands roam the the sides of your waist, your mouth is slightly agape as you hum into his. this gives his tongue the chance to ease its way in to swirl around yours in a sensual dance. it was all electrifying, you bring him in closer by wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your manicured fingers digging into the skin to ground him in the position above you. in that moment, your hips bump against each other. craving more, you jolted yours up to meet his again in hopes that he would read your signal of what you wanted to do. nicholas was an expert at reading your body, he pulled his lips from yours and started to show his affection on your neck while he steered his hips in the direction of your own. you moan out when the sensation of his hardened length collided with your clothed clit, dampening the panties you donned for today.

“mm—nicholas, more.” in a just a few words you beg, wrapping your legs around his hips, grinding to meet where he’s at. he guides you onto his lap using his hands on the small of your back to guide you upright. your movements cease momentarily once he gets a glimpse of your attire. he chuckles in amusement when he sees you wearing nothing, but his maroon harvard sweatshirt.

“what did i tell you about taking my clothes, huh?” he teasingly quizzes, his fingers grazing the hem of the fabric that rests above your thighs. you smirk already knowing the correct answer,

“that i look better with them off.” you giggle.

“damn right, baby. here—allow me.” with hands already at the end of the shirt, he swiftly lifts it off your body to reveal your bare upper half. after he removed his shirt and sweatpants to reveal toned body, your face heats up as he’s mesmerized by your chest, your erected hershey kiss nipples begging for his touch,

“niiiick! don’t just stare.” you playfully whine as you chuckle.

“you are so beautiful. how can i not? c’mere.” he guides your body closer, instantly kissing along your lips, neck, and collarbone. his lips ghost over where your heart is to pause and glance at you to ask for permission,

“touch me.” you take his hands and place each on your chest. you sigh in pleasure, prompting them to squeeze on the plush skin, “please.” you didn’t have to ask twice as nicholas went straight to work. with every knead and roll, you moan as your hips resume to grinding against his.

“fuck, i love your tits—so damn perfect.” your boyfriend grunts, jolting his hips to meet yours, so both of you can get a quick release. if the sensation of your clit gaining friction from his impressive girth within his boxers wasn’t enough, then him enclosing his warm mouth around one of your nipples was going to make you go crazy. nicholas made sure to completely bury his face within your chest, covering every inch of your brown skin with affectionate kisses and stimulating bites. he’d alternate by having a hand massage one and his mouth taking care of the other, you give him praise as you hug onto his head while gaining speed within your hips,

“s-shit! ah, nick, just like that, baby! don’t—mm, stop. fuck, you’re the best i ever had!” with every affirmation, he grew more passionate in every movement he was doing, he grew harder when the dampness of your underwear met with the sensitive, leaking end of his clothed tip. at this rate, you were both ready to hit your peak as your movements got sloppier and desperate,

“ngh! nick, m’gonna cum!” you exclaim, that fiery pit growing intense.

“you’re bout’ to make a mess in those cute little panties, huh? let go f’me, sweetheart. you deserve it.” you both continue to grind your hips in harmony, smashing your lips together as you both let your orgasms rush rapidly within your undergarments.

fortunately, nicholas was good and ready as he helped you both strip down to nothing. he had the desire to make you feel good just as you did for him, but this time he wanted to feel you—all of you.

[katherynefromphilly]

Some of my stories were there, too (thank you @lenetaylor for letting me know!) and also are gone along with the whole Fanfic community.

Stuff like this happens over and over, so…

Here’s 5 things to do if anyone tries to make money from fic:

1 - Submit takedown request / support ticket / whatever other process

2 - If it’s on an app, TELL APPLE and GOOGLE that the app is enabling illegal monetization of other people’s copyrights

3 - Find a Disney-owned example on the illegal site, and then GO SCREAM AT DISNEY ON SOCIAL that someone is monetizing their characters! Oh the horrors! And what a good person you are for telling them about it! Maybe they’ll send you to Disneyland. ;)

4 - Tell everyone on Reddit, Bluesky, Tumblr, etc., about it, to mobilize the fandom

5 - Go into Whois and find out the hosting provider and then tell the web host that their customer is violating their ToS with illegal sales

TL;DR - Definitely protest on your own and as a fandom — but don’t forget to sick the corporate dogs on them!

(Also — To the person in the replies who did want an AI audio podfic of their story — If you’re interested in using AI tools yourself to create an audio version of your own story for AO3, read this article by indie author Joanna Penn. She’s been researching AI and writing for a decade.)

Fic-stealing AI site alert!

Heard about this on Bluesky, checked and they have four of my fics up! The site posts AI cover art and an AI-generated audiobook of your fic, along with the full text. I haven’t found a way to request fic get pulled from yet, I’ll update if I do.

A screenshot of my fics on the site:

UPDATE:

@museaway has dug into the domain registration and found where/how to report things to their host:

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason will forever be my comfort character, forever and always

Jason knew from an early age that love was conditional. This was especially more so if you lived in Gotham, and if that was the case then love was more or less something that’s purely transactional. The moment you lose the ability to give anything to someone else, you’re more then likely left to die in an alleyway or in a far away abandoned warehouse that was rigged to blow up.

Love was a weapon utilised in every possible way then what it was meant to be used for, and so Jason didn’t grow up with a very good experience with love or what others claimed as love.

Yet he read books where love was pure, love was powerful and empowering to the people who had the chance to experience it, love was scary and brutal as it was beautiful and something everyone desires to have in their life; whether or not it was real for everyone will chase after it blindly and carelessly as though their self worth was dependent on such an emotion.

He’s read books where love could break someone so badly that they can’t get up, where love can cause more cuts and wounds than knives and other weapons could ever inflict. He’s read books where love has left people wonder their self worth and if anyone else could love them as deeply and truly as the person who had just walked out of the door.

However Jason wondered that if people did love that deeply, wouldn’t you want to stay with that person even through the toughest times of their lives? Help them pull through instead of abandoning them when they were in the most need of their life? To Jason that didn’t sound like love at all as he couldn’t help but see himself in these characters that only saw the worst in themselves, truly believing that love wasn’t for them nor ever will in how their entire lives was the biggest example of such.

However all that changed with time the moment you entered his life and for good.

Jason was on the defensive as his eyes wouldn’t leave you as all you did was simple things for him unprovoked, unwarranted, as though you wanted to do these things for him. You would care for his books as though they were irreplaceable while rearranging them in alphabetical order, clean his weaponry and armour before he could early in the morning, and even would him breakfast in the morning when you noticed that he didn’t eat nearly as much as he should to properly function.

Jason didn’t know how to feel, nor how he could repay you back in response and even when he did, you would just brush him off and tell him that you could handle it, telling him that he shouldn’t worry about doing anything for you purely because you did things for him one day.

‘I just wanted to do these things for you.’ You tell him with a smile. ‘You’re a busy man and you don’t have nearly enough time to catch up to everything and I merely wanted to help clear your schedule somewhat while you’ve got your hand full.’ You add and Jason could only stare at you.

‘You wanted to?’ He said with a raised brow. ‘Sweetheart, there’s no such thing as people doing things for others out of the kindness of their heart, everyone wants something in the end as nobody is above their own desires.’ He then crossed his arms over his chest as a look of unconvincing overcame his face at your words.

You frown at this but didn’t hold such views against him, Gotham wasn’t a city where love was genuine and not corrupt nor unhealthy to some extent, if anything your heart ached for him as you could only imagine a young Jason having to learn this cruel lesson in the worst possible way; one that left a permeant scar upon his heart that would ache painfully as a reminder that in a city of Gotham love didn’t exist unless it was for transactional or conventional purposes for even more corrupt figureheads.

‘Love shouldn’t be used to hurt people, it should be used to help people and allow them to gain the strength to let others into their heart and trusting that person to not stab them in the back, love should be used between friends, family and lovers and no one else who could corrupt an innocent emotion such as love.’ You stepped closer to him as you watched his eyes and the flickering of emotions within them as his jaw clench and he would straighten his posture as though he was trying to scare you off with his height, it wasn’t working.

‘Love should help you realise that the love you’ve been receiving is not love at all, Jason you deserve love much like everyone else, for someone will look at you and see a beautiful man with scars that tell stories that they can only hope you’ll be ready to share with one day at your own comfortability.’ You finished as you rested your hand upon his bicep, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, as your thumb caresses a faint scar of his. It wasn’t a touch tender as anything Jason had experienced before and it both frightened and intrigued him at how much he needed this.

Had he found the love that the books he’s read in the past promised? That child in him said yes with such an eagerness, but he was still uncertain but knew that he felt safer with you than he did anyone else, and that was certainly a start in his eyes.

[comradekarin]

Zuko encouraged katara to murder Yon Rah. Aang didn't want Katara to do something that she would regret. Just because Toph is anti authority doesn't mean she would support katara killing someone.

zuko didn’t encourage katara to do anything of the sort. he didn’t tell her what to do. he actively went to talk to her loved one to inquire about her anger about him because he knew there was something deeper at play (which, ironically, zuko is the first character to do so with katara without being promoted to). aang didn’t want katara to do something that she would regret…. nowhere did katara claim that she would murder that man. and imposing forgiveness on to her, comparing kya’s murder to appa being stolen (which, also ironic considering how he freaked the fuck out on her and toph and was never required by the narrative to say sorry to either of them), and being patronizing is not having someone’s best interest at heart. katara didn’t just lose her mother—she lost part of her self, of her childhood. katara has been haunted by the image of her mother dying for years, and finally she has the chance to confront the man who did it and only zuko stood by her! even her own brother compared her to a madman that tried to murder innocents in his pursuit of “justice”. you would have forgot sokka was katara’s brother the way he was acting like aang’s cheerleader that episode. but ofc it was just big bad katara that needed to say sorry for what she said, right? its just stupid that this was one of the most important moments of katara’s character arc and no one stood by her except for zuko.

aside from the fact that toph (and actually ALL of the gaang) have a body count… toph would have stood by katara because that’s her friend first of all. nevermind how most of their earlier issues with each other wasn’t just personality clashes but the fact that katara babied tf out of aang. but we have an episode where katara is being dogged on by aang and arguably sokka and you make toph a no show? SUKI a no show? and yon rha isn’t just some random dude, he’s a murderer and the cause of katara’s worst nightmare. but the fact that aang thought she was going to do something bad/was going to forgive before she even went and he turned out to be wrong (katara didn’t kill because she has her own moral compass and it’s a kids show duh and she even tells him she’d never forgive that man) tells me everything I need to know.

insinuating anything else tells me you’ve fallen for the misogynistic narrative that katara needed aang or zuko to tell her how to feel or act about one of the most important moments of her life. she needed someone to be there for her, and it gets this fandom so upset when you truthfully say it was only zuko who was.

[gold-onthe-inside]

Christmas Request: Spencer catches wind that one of JJ’s kids (or his own kid) doesn’t believe in Santa, so he commits to growing out his beard, dying it white and dressing up as Santa to bring a lil holiday cheer to the kiddos - can be xOC

santa's little helper 🍬🎅

who? spencer reid (post prison) x bau!reader

summary: after finding out henry no longer believes in santa after he missed last christmas, spencer dedicates this year to bringing the magic of christmas back to his godson's life... with a little help from you, of course.

content warnings: fleeting reference to cat adams, a little kissing, spencer with a beard, ambiguous status of reader's relationship to spencer (could be a wife, fiance, girlfriend, up to you),

In the 12 years you've known Spencer, he's never been keen on growing facial hair, and it had never been something you'd thought twice about. And then Cat Adams had come into your lives and had been determined to ruin the happily ever after the two of had fought so hard to make. Spencer's prison sentence had rivalled only Emily's faked death in the pain it had caused you two, the only difference being that at least Spencer wasn't actually dead. The two of you were a month and a half away from the anniversary of his release, and he'd completely stopped shaving for that year, growing out his facial hair.

You hoped that if it was something serious, he'd have told you, or if not you, his mandated therapist. Besides, other than that, he was taking care of himself, eating well, had finally started sleeping better, you had nothing else to complain about. You'd brought the beard up a couple months ago, but his brow had furrowed in concern and his brown puppy dog eyes baring his heart to you when he asked if you didn't like it. "No, I do like it," you had insisted, which was true. You'd learned early on that Spencer could play around with his hairstyles and you found him no less attractive (just never ever grow out a mullet again, for the love of God).

You'd grown used to it, too, his scruff tickling you when he'd kiss you, which was practically every time he got the chance these days. It's your turn to host the Christmas Eve party and the two of you are going over the house with a fine tooth comb, armed to the teeth with cleaning supplies, and that's when you find the white hairspray, mid-way through your bathroom cleanse. Which would go well with the Santa suit tucked away in the back of his wardrobe. You knew Spencer had his silly moments - with his mismatched socks and magic tricks, and with the amount of times he's pulled stuff out of your ear just to make you smile couldn't be counted. But it felt out of character for him to spend the whole night you had planned (Secret Santa, dinner, and Christmas movies) with white hair and a beard.

He's using all the body strength he has in rigorously cleaning the kitchen floor, intent on making it so clean you could eat off of it, when you trudge downstairs, hairspray in hand. "Spence, is this yours?" you asked, skipping the last step, to the kitchen and he looked up, then froze at the sight of the hairspray.

"It's not what it looks like," he tried, sitting on his knees and you narrowed your eyes.

"It looks like you're planning to dress as Santa at some point," you said, leaning against the doorway, and you watched him stand up and pull off his gloves.

"Okay, yeah, maybe it is what it looks like," he said with a sigh, taking a seat on a bar stool. "Henry, uh, doesn't believe in Santa anymore, so JJ and I were planning to let him stay up tomorrow night and catch Santa in the act."

"Oh," you said, nodding at first, but then frowning a little. "I mean, what's wrong with Henry not believing in Santa? He's like, 9 years old. That happens."

"I know it's developmentally appropriate for him to be questioning these things," Spencer said, letting out another little sigh. "But that's not why he doesn't believe in Santa anymore."

Your frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

He wet his lips, not quite meeting your gaze. "Last Christmas… he asked Santa for me to come home," he said quietly, almost ashamed. "And then when I wasn't there…"

"He stopped believing in Santa," you filled in the rest and he looked so sad. "Spence," you said softly, crossing over to hug him, setting the spray on the kitchen island. "It's not your fault."

"It is," he said, choking a little on his voice as he tucked himself into your arms.

"Honey, you were framed, it's not your fault," you insisted, rubbing his back.

"I just… I can't be the reason he doesn't believe in these things anymore," he mumbled into your shoulder.

"Okay, okay," you said, pulling away to look at him, your hands cupping his neck, thumbs stroking his bearded jaw. "Can I help?" His lips twitched into a smile at you.

"Well, um… Honestly, I think I'm gonna make a mess of the hairspray, and you did such a good job at Halloween with Jack's Cyberman costume--"

"I can do that," you murmured, kissing him gently, and his hands loosened to grasp your waist.

Now, here he sat in front of the mirror in the bathroom, watching you meticulously section and spray his hair, which was already damp from the shower.

"Did you know," he started, and you hummed in recognition that you were listening. "That Saint Nicholas was a real guy? He was Greek."

"The Greeks had saints?" you asked.

"Not really," he said, shaking his head as you sectioned out another piece of hair, coating it gently in white hairspray. "Not the kind you're thinking of, but Nicholas of Myra was real. Born in the third century. He apparently had a reputation for secret gift giving, like… leaving coins in people's shoes."

"Keep your head still," you chastised through a giggle.

"Sorry," he mumbled, tilting his chin up to keep still. "He died from natural causes in like, 340, which, for the time, was a good run. It was like… a hundred years later that he became a saint, but by then of course, all of the people who knew him personally were long gone."

"I hate when that happens," you murmured, shifting his chin so you could colour his beard next. "Appreciating people for what they've done after they've died."

"Well, he was very well respected during his life. The story goes that three separate couples were having financial trouble, and in those days, a daughter without a dowry would either never get married or would become a prostitute. So, according to the story, Saint Nick came in the middle of the night and climbed onto their roofs, and dropped three small pouches of gold down their chimneys."

"Honey, I'm gonna need you to be quiet or you're gonna taste hairspray," you said, colouring his jaw, just the hair around his lips left.

"Sorry," he said, his words muffled slightly, and you could see that he was trying desperately not to smile, his shoulders shaking. "I'm done," he said, and you were fairly sure the shake in his voice was from suppressed laughter.

You chuckle quietly, colouring the last of his beard. "All done, Mr Claus."

"How do I look?" he asked, getting out of the chair and taking a look in the mirror, his eyes going wide. "This looks incredible!"

"Yeah?" you asked, stepping away. Spencer had a habit of exaggerating your accomplishments, but you had done a pretty good job with his hair.

"You're a miracle worker," he said, turning to face you, and you could see his excitement. "Now, Santa needs to go get dressed." You chuckled, stepping out of the bathroom so he could get dressed, and sat by the foot of the bed, waiting.

When he reappeared ten minutes later wearing the Santa suit, the white hair and white beard you'd given him made him look like an old man, but there was a brightness in his eyes as he did a little twirl. "How do I look?" he asked, and in spite of how silly he looked, you couldn't help but find him handsome.

You laughed to yourself. "Perfectly in character. Though you could use a little belly."

"Are you saying I'm too thin?" he said, faking offence. He knew he was skinny but sometimes a little gentle ribbing was warranted.

"I'm just saying, Santa's supposed to be fat."

"I take good care of my cardiovascular health, thank you very much," he said, and he looked so ridiculous in the suit, with the white hair and beard, that you were unable to take the conversation seriously. "You know, the modern version of what Santa's supposed to look like was invented in the nineteenth century," he said, his hands on his hips, still very much in character. "Before then, Saint Nick was usually described as an older, slender man, and before that, he was more of a demonic black man. It's only in the fifties that the modern image of Santa was created."

"Okay, okay," you said, holding your hands up. "Skinny Santa it is." You checked your watch. "We should go before Henry actually falls asleep."

Spencer's expression went from Santa to slightly terrified very quickly. "Crap, is it time already?"

"Relax," you assured him, kissing his cheek before leading the way out. "It's just a little breaking and entering. You leave the gifts, you slip right back out."

"Just a little breaking and entering," he repeated dryly. "Why doesn't that make me feel better?"

You snickered quietly, grabbing your coat and car keys. "For someone who's supposed to be a hardened felon, you're so innocent."

He took offence to that. "Hey," he said, as you both started out of the house. "I was incarcerated for three months. I am very much street wise now."

You opened the passenger side door for him. "Streetwise? Really?"

He climbed into the passenger seat, sticking out his tongue at you as you shut the door.

"I know all about the street life," he said, as you got into the driver's side. "I know how they talk, I know what they do, I know..." His voice trailed off as you shot him a look. "Okay, so maybe everything I know about the street life comes from television."

You couldn't help another laugh as you started the car.

His lips curled into a smile when he saw your reaction, and he leaned across the middle of the car to kiss your cheek. He sat back in his seat and you began the short trip to JJ's house. "Alright, JJ said she's gonna leave the back door open," you said, going over the plan with the same gravity you used for unsub takedowns. "There's cookies and milk left on the kitchen counter. The tree's in the living room."

"Got it," Spencer said decidedly, nodding. "Cookies, milk, tree, simple."

You turned off the headlights as you approached the house, killing the engine across the street. Spencer got out of the car and jogged across the street, ducking around the side of the house. He found the back door like you'd said, and went inside, very much in undercover Santa mode. He went into the kitchen, making for the counter where the cookies and milk were, and that's when he heard it. Quiet footsteps coming down the stairs. Spencer panicked, trying to find a place to hide, but there really wasn't one. The cookies and milk were left in the middle of the counter, there weren't any cupboards or anything of the sort. He was stuck, with only the Christmas tree as a possible cover. There was nothing he could do but hope that whoever was coming downstairs didn't flip on the light as he dove behind the tree.

The footsteps stopped, and Spencer held his breath, his heart thudding in his chest as the Christmas tree needles dug into his skin. He could see a pair of little feet in front of him. They weren't JJ, which could only mean- "Mr Claus?" the little voice said, and he shut his eyes, praying to something, anything that he hadn't been caught by Henry.

After a long moment, he peeked out from behind the tree, only to find Henry staring right at him. "H-hi," Spencer stuttered. "I-I didn't realise you'd be awake."

Henry's eyes went wide. "I-It's really you." He had that childlike glee that came with finding out about the magic of Christmas, and while Spencer would usually give anything to have that look come back on Henry's face, this was a little inconvenient.

"Ah, I-I mean," Spencer fumbled over his words, trying to come up with a valid reason he would be in JJ's house at this moment, wearing a Santa suit and munching on cookies. "Um..."

"Where's your reindeer?" Henry asked, completely enthralled by Spencer, and he realised that he actually hadn't thought of a cover story to accompany the Santa suit.

"Oh, they're in the- they're in the sleigh," he said, and even he thought it sounded stupid when he said it out loud. "They're getting a rest while they can."

"The ride must be hard," Henry said, and Spencer was quietly impressed by that. He was just as smart as his parents, and he probably would have called him out on his lie if he'd given an excuse about a magic sleigh.

"It sure is," Spencer said, trying to keep his voice calm, and he hoped that the rest of the night wasn't going to be as awkward as this interaction had been so far. "Do you mind if I finish eating these? I only get so many breaks tonight." It was the sort of thing he could imagine a real Santa saying and Henry's eyes widened at that.

"Oh, of course," he said, stepping back. "I, uh, need to go to the bathroom." And then Henry was running upstairs. Once he was sure the kid had walked away, Spencer leaned against the wall, letting out a sigh and he silently hoped that you weren't watching him struggle. He finished off the last of the milk and the cookies, and, once he'd composed himself, he made his way to the living room and over to the Christmas tree. He dropped the bag of gifts under the tree, just as he was supposed to.

Meanwhile, Henry was upstairs, trying to get JJ to wake up. "Mom, Mom," he said, shaking his mother gently. "Wake up, Mom, you gotta see this."

JJ grumbled as she got up, Will shifting beside her, but still deep asleep. "What is it, Henry?"

"Santa is downstairs," he said in an excited whisper.

"He is?" JJ asked, rubbing her eyes and yawning a little, Henry pulling her out of bed with all his might.

"Yep. He's downstairs in the living room," he said, dragging her out of bed, and he wasn't kidding because his strength was remarkable. JJ let her son pull her down the stairs, neither of them seeing Santa sneak out the back door. He jogged across the street to the car, getting inside. You watched him in mild amusement as he shut the door, and he was slightly out of breath, which was a comical combination with the Santa suit.

"Mission accomplished?" you asked, a smile on your lips.

"I got caught," he breathed, his voice sounding slightly panicked, and your smile faded into concern as you realised he was serious. "But I think I covered it."

"Did he realise you weren't Santa?" you asked.

"I don't think so," he said, and he did seem a little unsure. "He didn't mention anything about it, and he seemed excited by me being there, but I honestly don't know. It's probably a fifty-fifty chance that he realized it was me."

Meanwhile, Henry had dragged his mom downstairs to an empty living room. "I swear he was here," Henry protested, and JJ was still half-asleep and only slightly confused. "I-I saw him."

"M sure you did, baby," JJ murmured. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"No, I did see him!" Henry said, looking around the living room. He ran into the kitchen. "And he was eating the cookies and the milk!"

"Well, he probably left, Henry," JJ reasoned, following him. "He's got a lot of kids to deliver to."

The wonder on Henry's face was replaced with disappointment, and JJ pulled the nine year-old into a hug. "I know it sucks, baby," she said. "But I'm sure Santa will have left you lots of gifts." Henry huffed, pouting, and JJ smiled down at his adorable expression. "Come on," she said, starting up the stairs. "Back to bed, kiddo."

Once they reached upstairs, Henry climbed into bed, and JJ tucked him in. He looked slightly upset, but JJ planted a kiss on his forehead. Even at nine-years-old, he still wanted to believe in Santa. "So, you believe in Santa again?" JJ asked.

"I told you," Henry said, his voice indignant, sounding very much like his father. "I saw him."

JJ couldn't help a smile, ruffling his hair. "I know."

He gave her a sleepy smile, and then yawned, snuggling down into bed. “Goodnight, mom,” he mumbled.

"Goodnight, baby," JJ murmured. She watched him for a moment, waiting for that slow rise and fall of his chest that meant he was breathing like only the asleep could, and once she was sure he was asleep, she tiptoed out of his room, shutting the door quietly behind her, thanking Spencer in her head.

[dammit-tazmuir]

@grievingbovine I am always happy to gush about Paul ;w;

Also I feel like... I'm not sure if it's more "codependency isn't always bad" or "codependency is a term we've grown to use too liberally when what should actually be the defining factor isn't the behaviors involved but whether or not those are actually hurting the people involved" or something in between or adjacent to that. It also feels like there might be kinda two definitions people use interchangeably? One being the more medical term and the other a looser thing of like, deeply dependent on each other.

But semantics aside I know what you mean, and yeah.

It is, generally speaking, unhealthy to be SO dependent on a SPECIFIC person that you can't live without them. Cam and Pal post-explosion had a very unique situation, whereas for most cases in real life, it's better to at least like... need SOMEONE, a purpose, a cause, but also be capable of seeking a new one if you lose that, after time to process and grief. A Camilla whose whole life revolved around Palamedes but didn't get him back learning to live again for Nona, as a hypothetical, or Harrow who would not let herself survive alone but can live for God and for Gideon and for Alecto and for the memory of those lost to conceive her and who may find other purposes still. Ofc no one is arguing Harrow is healthy about that, but like, if you CAN'T find an internal sense of worth, a purely external one is still infinitely better and healthier than none!

It feels very silly but a straight up life-changing thing for me as someone who does the same shit was the anime Gurren Lagann throwing around the phrase, "believe in the me who believes in you." Over time it morphed into "believe in the you that I believe in", and ultimately into having genuinely self-assurance, but taking even one or two of those steps is like... YEAH? Yeah! You know? External validation can be so meaningful and powerful, and isn't antithetical to internal by any means. If you can find it in even a handful of different sources, even better. A thing I try to tell people a lot when it comes to mental health too is you don't have to Get Better to get BETTER. It's not "you're unhealthy and must be fixed" or "you're 100% healthy in all ways". Less unhealthy and more functional than you were is amazing and to be celebrated actually!!!

But at the same time?

Ya know, no, I agree, I DON'T think it's a bad thing to need to NOT be ALONE. I understand the importance of being capable of surviving alone, at least long enough to seek new connections. And living for a person or cause is always easier than dying for them ("you could have lived for her, but you didn't know how"...), especially if you're living for their memory after they're gone, but people should try to do it anyway! But to just..... want to be devoted to someone? To thrive on supporting or caring for other people???

That's not what I'd call "toxic codependency", that's humans being a social species. Hell, that's looking at stories and seeing how many supporting characters are vital to helping a hero succeed and deciding "that sounds awesome actually! Not everyone needs to be the hero, I would love to be a supporting character!" Especially when you're not losing sight of your own needs in the process.

Like... Sacrifice and martyr mentality can be horrible destructive things that do more harm than good, but sacrifice is also objectively a major way people show love. Parents doing without a little more to make sure their kids get something nice, someone doing a chore they don't like because they know their partner hates it more, etc. The difference between "my needs aren't important, I'm not important, I'll always prioritize others because I don't take care of myself in general" and "I have weighed the pros and cons and decided that I can handle this and wish to put someone else first in this situation" is not always apparent from the outside but it's an extremely important distinction. There's a difference between being needlessly reckless and hard on yourself versus making a decision to achieve an end you want even though it costs you something.

Cam trying to hide how rough carrying Pal was on her wasn't her being needlessly reckless, it was her being a stubborn bitch who knows she's tough as hell. If anything people have more grounds to criticize her going against Pal's interests and wishes by not giving him information he needed to make properly informed decisions! To think that he was in any way taking advantage of her when she'd have found a way to kick his ass if he'd tried to force her to stop is wild lmao. (Not to mention Pal literally killing himself— he was still Around but objectively dead all the same!— in the "dying for someone is the cruelest thing you could do to them" book. Like he ain't making big sacrifices fueled by his love for and trust in her too smh.)

And honestly? Yeah that does sound like the kind of thing that could save the world. Our world would be a better place with less people striving to be main characters and more people eager to support each other. More people should be saying "No you will let me help you, you son of a bitch. Don't you dare tell me it's Too Much." >:( So many people are afraid of Being A Burden but more people need to understand— from the perspective of the person with that fear and as friends wishing to help someone who has that fear— that only the person offering help can decide what is A Burden to them! It's not the other person's decision to make!

Palamades didn't have a right to tell Camilla not to push herself to keep him around when that was her choice, and anyone fearing their loved ones sacrifice too much for them don't have a right to tell them to love them less, either. Sometimes— often, really— the alternative is worse. And part of me has to wonder if some people are averse to acknowledging that because if they did, then they'd have to acknowledge that letting someone else help you can be actively beneficial to them, and constantly refusing to ask for or accept help is in turn actively depriving them of something that would help them too. <.< Too bad everyone, gotta let people love you.

Locked tomb hot takes:

Insisting that the birth of Paul is only a tragedy because of the uneven power dynamics between Palamedes and Camilla as Necro and Cav invalidates Camillas autonomy and undermines her as a character capable of making her own decisions. It also undermines Palamedes constantly checking for consent. He understands more than most that there is an uneven power dynamic and actively works to respect her autonomy as much as he can while also respecting their bond/positions as necro and cav.

In a world where those who identify as men have no natural power over those who identify as women or neither, we can not apply the same cisheteronormative expectations of male behavior to male characters.

Camilla made every. Single. Choice. Willingly. She had reasons for it, and Palamedes respected that more than readers seem to. We get plenty of examples.

"What would you do if you discovered Camilla was a murderer?”

“Help her bury the body,” said Palamedes promptly.

“Sextus.”

“I mean it. If Camilla wants someone dead,” he said, “then far be it from me to stand in her way. All I can do at that point is watch the bloodshed and look for a mop. One flesh, one end, and all that.”

GtN chapter 30

NtN chapter 17

The relationship between these two may be codependent, but it's predicated on trust and consent. The whole way through. This is the life Cam wants to live. Becoming Paul was what *she wanted*.

I find it strange that some people think they know what's best for her more than she does, just because she's a cavalier.

[artbyblastweave]

I’ve been vaguely following TF2 comics (I’ve read 6 and 7 and know a few plot beats and the general storyline) and from the outside it seems like Engineer and Pyro have gotten way less “screen time” than anyone else

Pyro makes sense, there’s only so much you can do with them but Engineer feels way to engaging to be left out like that

so am i wrong or is Engie just not shown to much, and if so why?

Engineer is noticeably out of focus in the comics, and there are two important throughlines in his characterization contributing to this.

The first is that out of the nine mercenaries he's always been the most plugged in to the backstory- the comic where we learned his real name is the one that introduced the backstory, he's the only one of the mercenaries to have actually canonically met one the Mann brothers, the only one who for sure knows what the gravel wars are ostensibly being fought over- and that level of involvement with the background plot, coupled with his genius, level-headedness and comparatively high empathy, makes him difficult to position front-and-center as a protagonist without breaking a bunch of things.

The second thing setting him apart from the rest of the mercenaries is that while he's enough of an eccentric to rise to the challenge of the setting's gonzo insanity, he's almost never the instigator of any of it. His Meet the Team video consists of him sitting and relaxing while his sentry guns mow down waves of assailants, monologuing about the measured practicality of his escalating response. His response to the teleporter tumor problem in Expiration Date is a grounded and practical approach to a ridiculous situation (that's exacerbated by Soldier.) He's minding his own business when a rocket full of space guns lands on his back acre on Christmas Eve, he spends the entirety of Loose Canon flummoxed by Blutarch's amoral insanity (though importantly, he's nonetheless willing to take the man's money for services rendered.) He's a fantastic straight man when the narrative needs such a figure, but his isn't a flashy insanity. He's not Soldier, he's not Medic, he's not even Heavy as far as out-of-pocket gag behavior goes. Almost all humor involving the Engineer has to do with his reaction (or lack thereof) to the bizarre carnage around him.

These factors are reflected in the role he ends up playing in TF comics 6 and 7. He's kept in the background of the plot in a reactive role, doing his professional best as an Engineer to maintain the Administrator's life extender- a frustated care-provider to a deeply unwell patient who doesn't always take his advice, a grounded, practical facilitator of what ultimately turns out to be the most deranged behavior of the entire story, seeing his contract out to the bitter end. And this is the way in which his apparent groundedness wraps back around into a distinct brand of crazy, no better than anyone else. The Administrator's real plan is something he's a reasonable enough person to disapprove of in the abstract. He's clearly aware something is rotten at the core of all this- he describes Miss Pauling actually managing to recover more Australium as her having created a problem rather than having solved one, he was on some level relieved to realize this was all drawing to a close. But none of this was something he was willing to break his professional obligations over and thus something he (and two generations of his family before him) deliberately kept themselves in the dark about so that they wouldn't have to reckon with it or make that call.

This passivity and level-headedness allow him to play an extremely important narrative role once everything is out in the open- he's the only member of the main cast who can present Miss Pauling with her Road-to-Damascus moment over what to do with the remaining Australium with any credible gravity. He's the only character left in the main cast besides Pauling herself who's plugged in enough that his analysis of her situation carries any weight. He's the only one of the Mercenaries from whom "If you keep it, I won't help you" means anything at all or is even a believable ultimatum- the rest of the mercs might have been freaked out by The Administrator specifically, but do you really think they wouldn't have just kept following their friend Miss Pauling if she kept signing their checks? He does what he's always done- he examines the situation, lays out the available options, and leaves the final call up to others. The only thing that changes- and, to some extent, a sign of his off-screen character development- is this time is that he finally draws a line in the sand as to what course of action he'll lend his expertise to. He threatens to finally, finally remove himself from the situation unless Pauling decides that she wants him to help her finally, finally solve the problem once and for all.

[luneemeritus]

"pilot Stolas was better!!" no, he wasn't.

"bring pilot Stolas back!!" no ❤️

You want an evil, manipulative, abusive villain with little to no redeeming qualities that is a Goetia and has cool powers? We have two of them: Stella and Andrealphus. If it's only about the 'asthetic', a character doesnt have to be evil to be cool, Stolas's demon form and powerful moments are already amazing, and although he's powerless now, I'm pretty sure he will get his status back at least for a while to make a badass scene.

What the Hellaverse doesnt lack is amazing villains. If critics were so much better and creative than Vivziepop, they wouldn't turn a complex, well written, well designed and well acted character like Stolas into a boring Valentino 2.0 just because the pilot version seemed creepier. Lmao Stella is literally what all of Stolas's haters claim to want, look how well they're handling her. Seriously I've seen people saying that Stella needs a sympathetic reason to be a fucking abuser, but when Stolas (not an abuser) has sympathetic reasons to be who he is and do what he does, it's suddenly not okay.

Stolas is the only character I've ever seen who: sacrifice his life to his lover, and is still called "selfish" and "not enough for Blitz"; is seeing being abused by his wife since EP2-Season 1, even singing about how his life with her was miserable yet he remained strong for his daughter, and people will still claim that Stella turned out to be abusive "out of nowhere"; is forced to marry someone he doesn't love, is abused by said person, spent years alone and enduring that misery, and when he finally chooses to stay with the one person that never abused him, he is an "evil cheater"; sacrifices his own safety and happiness to make his daughter safe and happy, and ALWAYS — always — take accountability when he fails her (or when she thinks he failed her) as any good parent would do, and still be called a bad father (addition: forced to have said child but loves her anyway🤡). Just say yall alergic to character development.

I lost the Tiktok now because I blocked OP, but the big argument about "how much pilot Stolas is better" is a lie basically: canon Stolas, (abuse survivor, has the best development of the show alongside with Blitz, a loving father who remained strong for his daughter), is a "loser" (also a twink in a derogatory way, which is funny like, just say the f slur, we know that's what you mean🤡 specially calling a male abuse survivor "coward" and "loser" lmao like we know), while the pilot Stolas is a "manipulative, inteligent, cold villain" uuuuh no he wasn't lol hate to tell you dude, Pilot Stolas wasnt an evil interesting genius that was sooo intimidating, nah he was just creepy and honestly as funny as the canon one. Yeah you just hate the gay owl being well written. Pilot Stolas has 2 minutes screen. Canon Stolas has two seasons of development, he is the better one, I'm pretty sure people who say this don't even remember half of the pilot.

So it's not really about Stolas's actions, or mistakes, or him being a good or a bad person (he is a good person). He could be the most perfect, excellent, flawless victim, the 'wokest' most self aware pure angel, it's still not enough. Because it's not about him, it's about a version of him that never came to be but haters love to whine about it.