#never says that but its not supposed to 🔥

[reidmania]

maiden name | s.reid

summary; reader is struggling to accept having to change her last name, spencer is there to remind her he will love her regardless.

warnings; fem reader, talks about changing names, reader has a healthy childhood (the fact this is a warning?!?) reader grew up with two brothers, fiancee!reader, almost smitten spencer, mentions a childhood dog death, doubts, anxiety, hurt x comfort, a little angst but its pretty sweet overall, happy ending duh! Reader graduated highschool and uni

an; HAI GUYS!! first fic in who knows how long 🔥🔥

Spencer was perfect. The proposal was perfect. Private, safe, romantic. Everything you had always dreamed of and more. He had made sure you had gotten your nails done recently enough, he made sure you loved them. He used Penelope and his female coworkers to figure out exactly what ring you would want. Of course, he already knew, but their reassurance helped.

You didn’t see it coming, but that wasn’t a bad thing. saying yes to spending the rest of your life with Spencer Reid was the easiest thing you had ever done. You never doubted that for a second, the fact you wanted Spencer, everyday, for the rest of your life. To feel the warmth of him when you woke up, or to see the small note on your bedside table when he had to wake up early for work and didn’t want to disturb you.

You wanted his long rambles, and beautiful mind everyday, for as long as the universe would allow you to have it. You wanted his too sweet left over coffee’s when you were running late and he offered you the rest of his so you didn’t have to wait for your own to brew.

You wanted his fears, everything that made him second guess, you wanted every chance to reassure him, you would spend the rest of your life reminding him how perfect he was to you, for you, and you would do so happily.

You were completely enthralled by Spencer from the moment you met him. And he never let you second guess if he felt the same when his actions made the answer clear as day. Spencer was the person you wanted to have a family with, to grow old with.

So why, a week before your wedding did a daunting feeling fill your stomach.

“You alright, baby?” Spencer’s hands gripped your waist gently as he moved past you in the kitchen, where the two of you were supposed to be cooking dinner. This had been routine, something you fell in love with. One night, dedicated to making dinner together. Eating it while watching some documentaries, because to you and him date nights didn’t need to be fancy, just together.

You however had zoned out, probably for the last long while. You had been cutting tomatos but your thoughts had gotten the best of you, leaving you staring at the knife in your hands, but not really looking at it. Now, snapped out of your daze, your head turned to Spencer as he held out a sheet of paper towel for you to wipe your hands.

You took it, pushing a soft smile to your lips. “Sorry- Yeah.” You said, eyes moving to the paper towel as you wiped away the juices the tomato had left. Spencer seemed unconvinced but hummed, moving to wrap his arms around your waist, his chin finding place on your shoulder.

The way his hands slipped under your (his) t-shirt, fingernails drawing gently up and down the skin of your waist, made you smile. The action so gentle and full of everything you needed in that moment. “Talk to me, sweet girl.” The touch a grounding reassurance that Spencer Reid, was not the issue.

And while you couldn’t seem to pinpoint the exact reason, you knew that reason was sitting in your childhood home, at the breakfast bar in the morning, the house smelling sweet with whatever your mother had been cooking for breakfast, the front door left wide open as your brothers came in and out, noise following where ever they went. Their friends coming in to steal a slice of toast, or a piece of fruit before they drove you all too school.

Because your house was the type of house they could do that.

The reason was in the living room on weekends, where you watched your brothers laughing and fighting over the mario kart round they had been playing, while you sat on the floor in between your mums legs while she braided your hair. Your dad due home from work any moment, which would be followed by more chaos and laughter because Saturday nights were movie night.

It was in long car rides full of meaningless bickering with your brothers, then a lot of giggling, pit stops and bathroom breaks. It was in your dad carrying you inside after you fell asleep in the car, which eventually turned into your brothers carrying you inside, when everyone got older and your dad’s back was no longer equipped for carrying body weight, your brothers never minded.

The reason was in your brother’s shared bedroom curled up in one of the beds, both of them on either of your side, all three teary eyed and sniffling because your childhood dog had just passed away and at 15, there was no where safer then in your older brothers arms. The reason was in how they allowed you to sleep on a mattress in their room for a month after, because your room felt too lonely without your dogs company anymore.

The reason was in when you graduated from high school, and your family cheered so loudly you couldn’t hear anyone else. It was in the flowers they gave you, in the hugs — and how it was the exact same when you graduated from university. It was in doing the exact same for your brothers when they graduated.

You hadn’t realised Spencer’s arms were wrapped around you, at some point you shifted, or he shifted you so your face was buried in his chest, cheeks tear stained. His hand on the back of your head, rubbing gently over your hair. Movement so tender it made you realise now Spencer’s arms were the safest place in the world.

“M’ sorry” you sniffled as you pulled away from the hug, the knuckles of your fingers coming to wipe away the wet spots under your eyes that left an uncomfortable residue of everything you were feeling. A shaky sort of breathless laugh leaving your lips, “It’s not a big deal, I’m being dramatic.” You smiled up at Spencer, a sad sort of smile.

He smiled back but you could see the worry in his eyes as he leant over to turn off the stove. He could read you better than you could, well enough to know this wasn’t a conversation you could have while juggling between cooking dinner. His hands then moved to cup your face, thumbs replacing your knuckles as he wiped away whatever was left on your cheeks.

“If its making you cry, its not dramatic, its how you feel.” He mumbled gently, eyes dancing over your face. Before he leant forward, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, the sort of one that made you exhale and melt into him a bit, the soft, lingering one he saved for moments when he knew you needed it. “Talking about it?” He asked, because he knew you, and knew sometimes all you needed was to cry, words weren’t always necessary to deal with it.

But you nodded, sniffling slightly. “Talking about it.” You agreed gently. Back of your hand coming to wipe your nose, followed by another sniffle.

Spencer smiled, “Okay pretty, go sit on the couch and I’ll make you a tea yeah?” He offered gently, you knew it was more because he knew you’d need a minute to mentally prepare what you were going to say, he knew you’d do that better without his gaze on you. He knew you’d be more comfortable on the couch, in the corner where you had a place to sink into in the corner because at least once, you would feel silly and embarrassed. Spencer knew you.

You nodded, offering him a grateful smile to which he responded by scrunching up his nose a little playfully, pressing another two quick kisses against your forehead before letting you go so you could walk to the living room. Which you sat, trying to make sense of your own emotions.

He didn’t take long but you know he waited till you nodded to follow through with entering the living room. He sat close, but not close enough to overwhelm you if your emotions became too much, but still close enough for you to feel he was there, enough to remind you that he was not the reason you were down.

The candle, the one lit in the middle of your coffee table, the same one your mother had lit your entire childhood didn’t help the way you were feeling, but it didn’t make it worse. In a way it was comforting, just no longer comforting enough.

“Did i do something?” Spencer asked, because he knew figuring out what the issue was vaguely would help him help you, and it would help you build the courage to tell him what was going on, and what you needed from him in order to fix this.

You shook your head, smiling gently. “No, Spence. It’s not— Nobody did anything. It’s just me.” You said quietly, his face twisted into something familiar, concern, doubt, worry. You hated that, and he knew you did. When he jumped to conclusions in his mind, overthinking getting the better of him.

“Second guessing?” He asked, his lip then caught in his teeth as he tried not to show how much getting the answer terrified him. You knew what he meant, second guessing the wedding, getting married. You almost wanted to laugh at his lack of understanding of how impossible it was for you to doubt that, when he was him, and oh so perfect, all the time even when he wasn’t — especially when he wasn’t.

You shook your head again, “No.” it was simple, straightforward because it was true.

He sighed something similar to relief, his eyes studying yours for a moment. “You gotta help me out here, angel.” He silently pleaded with you, because he tried not to show it, but you knew your random crying and emotional change was concerning to him, because he cared about you in an all consuming way.

“I don’t— i don’t know how to make it make sense.” You said quietly, looking down to fiddle with the engagement ring on your finger. Not because you were thinking about taking it off, but because it was something safe, and fiddling helped calm you down.

“Word vomit, I’ll put it together.” He said. A familiar line you had heard a hundred times, and he always seemed to prove that.

You sniffled again. “I- I just-“ you sighed, “I want to make it clear I’m not doubting you or us or anything— And its not that I don’t want yours.. Really its not— I like the way it sounds. I love your family.. Your mum- i feel bad i feel this way. I love you and I’m yours forever, I want this, I want you and I can’t wait” You breathed out, then your voice broke and the tears started all over again, a wet lining on your eyes that made your vision blurry and you afraid to blink, “And I’ll really miss my last name.”

You didn’t watch Spencer’s face twist into something a lot gentler and softer, as he shuffled closer on the couch to wrap his arms around you. It was easy to melt into him, so secure and safe and something that made this so difficult. Something you should be excited for feeling so scary and distant, and you really did feel bad you felt this way.

“You don’t have to change it, honey. You- I would take your name a million times if thats what you wanted — You don’t- Oh Im so sorry baby.” He mumbled as he pressed a handful of kisses into your hair, his hand moving to smooth it over in between.

“We could hyphenate it, if that’s what you wanted. God- Honey I don’t care about whose last name we take as long as I have you.” He said gently, voice so soft and honest in made your stomach twist and you wish you could better explain yourself, but you melted into him, letting the tears fall from your eyes.

A shaky breath left your lips, “Its not even so much about the name.” You spoke out quietly, “I guess— Its just my family, my life- Im good with change, y���know I am— I just.. I want yours— I’m just really gonna miss mine.” You breathed out.

He nodded and you could feel it, his hand moving from your head to your lower back.

“Okay— Thats okay. We can wait a while, yeah? You don’t have to change it immediately, we can wait till you have processed it and you’re ready. And if then — You decide you want to keep yours, or you want me to change mine, thats okay too. Sounds like a plan?” He offered.

Perfect Spencer Reid. He never failed you remind you. His patience and gentleness everlasting and unconditional.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[good-beanswrites]

Happy 0203 day ❄️🔥🎉 I don't know if these are specifically meant for ships, but have a little platonic normal au thing I wrote of them hanging out and being silly :3

Yuno narrowed her eyes to study the shirt she was holding up to her unwilling model.

“No.”

She angled her head, undisturbed. “You don’t get any say in this.”

“I get all the say in this – they’re my clothes!”

“And it’s my birthday gift to you. So zzzzzzzzip!” she mimed zipping her lips, though she knew Fuuta was incapable of any such thing. She pulled the shirt away from him. “There’s nothing wrong with this one! It’s cute.”

“That’s exactly what’s wrong with it.”

She thought it would have been harder to convince Fuuta to come along on a mall trip this close to his birthday, but he’d answered her text almost instantly. He said he’d allow her to buy one pair of fancy sunglasses, and only so he’d have something cool to wear once he could take his eyepatch off. That one pair became two, then added clothes to match, then a handful, and now they stood beside a massive stack of items she was considering.

“Just try it~”

Yuno gave him a gentle push towards the dressing room. She could only laugh as he went spewing complaints the whole way in. 

A few minutes went by and she busied herself with sorting the clothes they’d looked at, pairing up tops and bottoms and jackets and scarves. Fuuta would probably tease her for shallowness if she admitted how much she enjoyed activities like this, but there was something about it that just lifted her mood. Shopping trips with her classmates left her feeling a bit hollow, but Fuuta’s wildly honest commentary always made it more fun. 

Right as she was starting to feel a twinge of impatience, he crept out. He was still clutching the shirt and hoodie he’d removed, covering up most of his chest. Yuno eased it out of his hands, leaving him with an expression of utter panic.

“It’s awful.”

“Are you kidding?” She pressed her hand to her cheek. “It’s super fun!”

He was looking less at the new shirt, and more at the people passing by, or checking over his shoulder, or down at the floor. Restless hands tugged at the collar, then the hem. It was certainly more form-fitting than his usual picks. 

As much as Yuno liked the look, she didn’t want the poor guy completely folding in on himself. 

She made a grand swing of her arms, ending in an X. “I like it, but I suppose we’ll add that to the ‘no’ pile.”

“What pile…?”

“I mean, you still have to try these on.” She scooped up the stack of clothes beside her and dropped the whole heavy mess into Fuuta’s arms.

“Eh? Which ones?”

“All of them.”

“All of them? Are you fucking –!”

He tried to protest, but his raising voice caught the attention of some other shoppers. His face burned red and he practically sprinted back inside before he could retrieve his original clothes from Yuno.

She folded them neatly over her arm, no longer excited that it forced him to try something else on.

Had she been too much? She thought this was something fun for him, but he was genuinely uncomfortable just then. What if, all this time, she’d only been projecting her own enjoyment onto their outing? Her stomach sank. She knew he took up her invitation so quickly because he didn’t have any other plans. She’d completely taken advantage of his loneliness – dragging him out here just for her to have a blast while he had no other option.

His phone buzzed from the hoodie pocket. 

He still hadn’t come out of the dressing room. So, he really was that uncomfortable. She bowed her head at her selfishness. They’d go right home, once he returned. 

His phone kept buzzing. Yuno glanced down in its direction.

She was never one to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. In her defense, this wasn’t a good sign given Fuuta’s history. She fished it out of the pocket, promising herself just one peek, for his own good.

A groupchat was firing off notifications.

@ fuuta where are you?

he said he was ditching, remember?

are you serious?

Broooo I thought he was kidding…

He’s out with a girl FR? No way, I still think he’s lying

you know you forfeit your spot if youre not here when we start the tournament

He was so hyped for this 💀 

must be quite the girl, huh

cmon man, we need you!

I can’t believe he’s finally touching grass 🙏

TRUE

happy for you man

“Is that my phone?”

Yuno nearly dropped it in surprise. “I – uh, it was going off, and –”

“Sorry.” He snatched it away without even glancing at the screen. “So?”

“So…?” Her heart raced with the panic of getting caught. He looked at her like she’d gone insane.

“What do you think of this thing?” He gestured to the new shirt he’d put on. “This was all your idea, but if you don’t want to be here as much as I don’t, we can –”

“No.” Her face broke into a smile. She exhaled. “No, I’m really glad we’re here.”

He blinked at the sudden warmth in her voice. “O-okay.”

“And I think it looks perfect. Really suits you~” It made sense he’d pick this one next; it sat right within his usual style. “Ooh, ooh! Why don’t we keep alternating things in your comfort zone! That would definitely help.” 

“Or we could just buy this one and be done with it.”

She kept her expression neutral. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

His face was obscured as he headed back to the dressing room. “I wish,” he spat, “but I’m fucking stuck with you.”

Yuno couldn’t help it as her smile spread even wider. 

She called after him, “hey, try on that colorblock one next.” 

“Ugh. It’s ugly. And asymmetric.”

“So’s your face. Put it on.”

“Oi!”

[zeeposting]

guess who wrote a 798 word story on how scroll and quill met 🔥🔥

its very long so

Scroll sighed. He didn’t want to go to whoever's party this was. 

“Chin up, sweetie.” His mother didn’t turn around, yet could tell he was sulking.

“Can’t I stay home?” He pleaded, once again.

“You need to make some friends, Scroll. This is a good opportunity!” 

He sighs again as the car pulls into the venue. He wishes he had denied his mothers wishes and taken Fuzzy, his beloved cat plush, with him.

“It’ll be fun!” She promises. Scroll doesn’t believe her. He just wants to go home.

As they walk in, he sees a lot of people. Too many people. He grabs onto his moms leg, not wanting to stray far from the one person he knows. She walks over to various people, having short conversations, but Scroll doesn’t say anything.

He clings tighter to his moms leg the more people notice him. He doesn’t know any of these people, so he doesn’t see why he should talk to them.

He glances over, across most of the parents, spotting a few kids running around. Around his age, it seems. Some of the kids are a pencil, an ink pad and a scruffy looking feather. A quill, maybe? Feeling his mother begin to move, he reverts his attention back to his mom, moving onto a container of fish food and exchanging a few words.

The fish food leans down towards him. “Hello there, little guy!”

Scroll leans away. Even though the fish food chuckles at this, he thinks it makes it clear he wants to go home. He thinks. 

“Sorry about him, he’s not… social.” His mother apologizes. Why does she need to say sorry..?

Then his mother walks up to a pen. Scroll, being 5, struggles to read the label. He doesn’t bother to listen to the conversation, and looks back at those kids he saw. The feather seems… intimidating, honestly. He watches as they run around, one or two fall, but his attention snaps back to his mom and the pen when he hears his name.

“Scroll’s not the most social, but I’m hoping at some point he’ll talk to some other kids.” His mother sighs.

“My son’s pretty friendly, but ends up scaring off his friends. He’s… chaotic.” The pen glances over at the kids that are running around. 

Scroll looks back to see the quill biting someone. The pencil was trying to drag them off, a packet seeming to yell, and an ink pad… also biting them. Any of those kids could belong to the pen, they all seemed chaotic.

The pen and his mother converse for a bit, but he doesn’t pay much attention. The group of kids running around seemed… interesting. His focus wavered between the conversation and the kids, but he didn’t say anything.

“We’ll just have to see if they get along, I guess. I’ll bring him over if you want?” The pen proposed, pointing over at the group of kids. 

“Sounds like a good idea, thank you!” His mother smiled, glancing down at Scroll. “Try to make some friends, okay?” 

“...where’s she going?” He ignored what she asked, and instead countered with a question about the pen.

“Well, Gel Pen wants to see if her son and you can be friends!” She smiles awkwardly, glancing back up.

Scroll sees the pen— Gel Pen— walking back with the feather. Him? He thinks, worried about how the feather will act. I don't want to talk to… that! 

       As they approach, he begins to hear their voices fade in. 

       “...so no biting.”

       “Awwh, okay… but can I-”

       “No, Quill.”

       “You didn't even let me speak!”

       “I know you well enough to know what you were going to say.” Gel Pen smiles, looking up to wave at his mother. Scroll kept holding onto his moms leg tightly.

      Gel Pen introduced Quill to his mother and they started to talk, but Scroll didn't quite pay attention. He silently analyzes Quill, seeing how he seems confident with himself. 

       “...and paired with how much he bites, he tends to scare off his friends.” Gel Pen sighs.

       “No I don't!! My friends are my friends because they like me!!” Quill interrupts. With his expression and slightly whiny voice, Scroll can't help but laugh.

       This catches Quill's attention, who looks over at Scroll. “Oh, hey, do you want to play tag with us?” Quill smiles, gesturing to the other kids he saw.

      Scroll glances back up at his mom, who's avoiding eye contact with him. “Uhm, sure…?”

      He can hear his mother sigh with relief. Quill grabs Scroll's wrist and pulls him over to the other kids, dodging all the parents standing around. 

      Scroll stumbles over his own feet, but he can't help but feel excited to meet those other kids.

[skythealmighty]

man. there are so many object shows out there. I NEED TO CATCH UP ON SO MANY why are the4e so many anyway Exclamation Mark (NOT AB) im killing you. he would get bullied off tumblr

#rocket talk #roc save #NOT THE ANIMATIC BATTLE ONE that ones fine #i mean the one in my header #hes an asshole #why do i keep accidentally hitting the number keys lately

(7 notes)

📉 storyboard-but-better Follow

i cant believe my contestants are so pissy over the second challenge still!!!! it was a coherent challenge i think "survive me killing you" is pretty straightforward!!! besides theyre fine now >:/

⏰ timeisatool Follow

Maybe it's becausw you killed them?

📉 storyboard-but-better Follow

well thats stupid

⚪ fuckingcircles Follow

I KNOW RIGHT!! my old contestants got SO pissy when i killed th3m!! just because theres no recovery... 😒

⏰ timeisatool Follow

You dont have recovery????

⭐ everybody-smile-smile-smile Follow

arent u supposed to be dead

⚪ fuckingcircles Follow

well im NOT so

❗ black-and-red Follow

Ugh, I haven't even killed anyone that much and they're still pissy! Honestly... just do the challenges and you'll be fine! I only threatened them..

⭐ everybody-smile-smile-smile Follow

well i thought i killed circle but ig not! and square but nobody else died idk why everuones so afraid of me... whats so wrong w wanting to make a perfect object show?

⏰ timeisatool Follow

Um

🔥 betterheatsflamesman Follow

yeah theres nothing wrong with that! you gotta do what you gotta do for your object show

⏰ timeisatool Follow

😰😰😰😰😰

⏰ timeisatool Follow

I want to leave this group...

#i thought we were all just supposed to be wacky and weird 😰😰 #mom come pick me up im scared...

(34 notes)

🔥🔃 betterheatsflamesman Follow reblogged 🪔 slay-style-queen

🪔 slay-style-queen Follow

Hey guys, just managed to get sponsored with my object show idea!!! (No thanks to you Lip Stick lol) wish me luck!! Also go keep an eye out on Village of Objects Official :D

🪔 slay-style-queen Follow

what the FUCK

🪔 slay-style-queen Follow

oh my god how do you all stay sane actually

4️⃣ four-therecord Follow

we don't! welcome to the club

🪔 slay-style-queen Follow

im never doing this again

#:)

(4,294 notes)

📻 annie-annie-ooh Follow

Who's Animatic?

#It's Your Fridge DJ! #I appreciate all the lovemail and the concern! ❤ #I don't understand some of the asks but thank you anyway!

(725 notes)

🧪🔃 test-tubular Follow reblogged 💥 fans-fantastic-features

🫵 have-you-heard-of-this-os Follow

Have YOU heard of:

🫵 have-you-heard-of-this-os Follow

Please stop debating on whether or not this "counts" as an object show, this was requested by an anon. If you want to do that on your own time on your own blog, feel free!

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

SORRY ABOUT THAT SJEHSKEB will move i promise 🙏

anyWAY on another note i miss this showww 😭 i was so intrigued about it but i guess i understand its cancellation... if anyone wants to come up with a rewrite w me hmu my ao3 is in my desc!!!!

⭐ everybody-smile-smile-smile Follow

just as long as you clarify its unofficial!! (:

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

its on ao3 ofc its unofficial

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

WAIT A GODDAMN SECON

#Fan we were /on/ an object show and technically famous I'm not sure why you're surprised at this point #Also get off your phone we're at Purgatory Mansion

(11,374 notes)

anonymous asked: hey greeny can you say trans rights for everyone out there

🟢 greenyguy Follow

trans rights AND trans wrongs. even if you like burger king i still support you <3

#burger king sucks ass tho dont do that to urself

(34,193 notes)

💥 fans-fantastic-features asked: im SO sorry for the sudden reply earlier, up until your post i thought hfjone was just some weird wild experimental show?? then again i shouldnt be surprised if happy star themselves is on this goddamn site (also sorry in advance for my friend TT sending you asks about alternate universes. shes a science nerd of all types and needs data or sm) if you want i can tell you what i know about your situation in a private chat, ive done a lot of deep dive analysis posts on my blog too and trust me when i say a LOT of the internet wants to help free you and everyone else you have plenty of help available spotty replies tho im investigating smth

🎒 liam-plecak Follow

I... yeah, I'd like that. Thanks.

(34 notes)

anonymous asked: battery ui is kind of already jailed but still

🔒 your-fav-would-be-jailed Follow

Battery from Ultimate Insanity would be jailed!

🔋 theft-and-battery Follow

Yeah

#Why did someone earlier send in that Walkie Talkie person? #I approve of the Blender submission though #Hate that guy

(12 notes)

🎒🔃 liam-plecak Follow reblogged 💥 fans-fantastic-features

🕹 fire-cartoon-schtick Follow

cant have shit in this fuckass hotel 😒😒😒 lens just died 😔😔

🕹 fire-cartoon-schtick Follow

#WHAT THE FUCK #DONT JUST DROP SMTH LIKE THAT AND DIP #ARE YOU OKAY?? #ARE YOU TALKING ABT A GAME???

hi! rhanks for the concern! 😁 i am unfortunately not talking about a game lens is actually dead please help me (dms r open 🙏🙏)

#Since I've gotten a lot of followers recently I feel like I should boost this #I'm busy with my own issues but maybe someone else can help?

(5,204 notes)

⚪ fuckingcircles Follow

i want my SHOW BACK i want my CO HOSTS BACK i want calculatory DEAD i only MILDLY HATE happy star i dont KNOW WHAT ELSE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT

🥝 gela-not-jelly Follow

🫵 Fanny kinnie

⚪ fuckingcircles Follow

who the FUCK is fanny

#im CIRCLE not a goddamn FAN #who even names themselves fanny anyway

(382 notes)

⚪battleforcircle asked: oml spiderman pointing meme

⚪ fuckingcircles Follow

you sent me this FIFTEEN TIMES get OUT of my ASKBOX!!!!

📉 storyboard-but-better Follow

why are there two of you...

⚪ fuckingcircles Follow

theres only ONE of me i dont know who this IS!!

⚪battleforcircle Follow

theres three of us just three of us

#idk why either tbh #tumblr just recommended his acc to me one day #he seems fun to annoy tho so ive taken it upon myself to do so #tee hee

(89 notes)

📶 she-walkie-on-my-talkie-till Follow

Hey so why is a known criminal on Tumblr?

📶 she-walkie-on-my-talkie-till Follow

Hello???

[astrae4]

THROW HIM AWAY! | Han Yujin

IN WHICH yujin wants to cuddle you, but you want to cuddle mr. carrot. A Valentine’s Special

FEATURING Zerobaseone’s Han Yujin and you, a highschool au

WARNINGS: kissing and sugar sweet nicknames

NOTE: Happy Valentines everyone! Here is for my jebewon readers and Yujin stans. Love you all (muah muah muah 💋) and please help me reblog hehe~ it’s my first time writing for zb1 so tell me if you want more works for them in the future!!

MORE WORKS: navigation | zb1!masterlist

IF THERE WAS ONE THING you treasured more than your stash of shoes, it would be the stuffed bunny doll that Yujin gave you during his confession. A pink, soft plush (you named him Carrot) with a white bow wrapped around its neck. You still remembered the day he gave it to you, after school with trembling hands as he rapped out his confession, eyes looking everywhere but you. You remember accepting it shyly, face feeling hot as it implied that you like him back.

That was three months ago.

Now, it seems that you grew very attached to the doll, not being able to sleep without it. So much so that you brought it with you during your Valentine's sleepover with Yujin.

Yujin had begged asked his mother to let him invite you to his house for a sleepover as his valentines day surprise. You were excited, and thankfully, your parents had let you come. The day was perfect in your eyes. You arrived in the evening and played video games with him and his brother until dinner time. Then, you had dinner with his parents. After, you and Yujin washed the dishes before finally having alone time together.

He had surprised you with strawberries covered in chocolate that he made himself (it tasted questionable 😨 but you still ate it, silently praying that you won’t end up in the toilet bowl) and gave you a small bouquet of flowers. (it was the last of his money but he’d never admit it)

You kind of almost teared up, thanking him by giving the boy a kiss on his cheek.

After, you played seventeen matches of uno and two matches of scrabble (Yujin rage quitted scrabble which was why you played uno so many times) before it was time to sleep.

”Can I have the right side—”

”Sure, now cuddle me,” he said impatiently, opening his arms.

Unfortunately for him, luck wasn’t on his side.

”Okay, but—” you took out Carrot, “Carrot goes in the middle.”

“Are you kidding me.” (the boy was like🧍🏻🙁)

“What.”

“Why are you holding that, we’re about to cuddle.”

“Are you rejecting Carrot right now, Yuyu? He’s our child.”

”Throw him away!”

”NO 😠😨!”

“He can live without hugging you tonight, it’s supposed to be just you and me..”

“Well, I can’t live without him.”

Yujin dead stared at you, before pulling the covers over his head and back-facing you. Oh..he was sulking alright. You looked at him, then at Carrot, and sighed.

“But I guess I can’t live without you most..so Carrot can sleep alone tonight..”

You could literally hear the gear in his head run as he peaked his head out of the blanket, giving you his boba eyes.

“Really?” He asked.

You set Carrot aside, going under the blanket and sandwiching him in a hug immediately, “yeah.”

He let out a noise of complaint, but you knew that he was enjoying it most since he didn’t retaliate and hugged you back, burying his face in your head. (Thank goodness you used your peach shampoo today)

A bit of silence passed as you basked in his warmth before you broke it, face looking up at him.

“Yujin.”

He let out a hm? as a reply.

“Happy valentines, love you.”

He looked at you with lovesick eyes before giving the fastest smooch (peck) in the lips. You were shocked, and he was 😼 because he was very proud of doing that.

The boy let out a giggle 🔥 (how dare he after he gave you a bomb) and went back to his previous position.

“Love you too~ goodnight and sweet dreams my honey bunny sugar plump pie.”

“Why do you have to ruin the moment.”

“Lol.”

“Goodnight too I guess..”

It was safe to say that you couldn’t sleep well that night; somewhat because Yujin forgot to tape his mouth so he snored so loud and drooled on your head, mostly because of his previous words and actions. (You’d never tell him that it was because of his previous behavior though, his head’s already big enough…)

TAGLIST — @heemingyu @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @lonewolfjinji @teddywonss

© astrae4 2024 | please don’t copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms! — inbox open for conversations and requests.

[decepti-thots]

🔥

Oooh, dealer's choice. Okay. Hmmm.

I think that MTMTE does not ever really manage to coherently bring together its ideas around things like functionism or the cold construct/forged idea, tbh. As ideas, it's very easy to latch onto in transformative fandom and try and do something with them- but on the flip side, I think that when you really try and just look at what the comic does with them in the text, they do not ever come together in a way that has a clear narrative goal, or is always well executed.

This feels weird to say when both concepts are incredibly necessary to the comic itself. They aren't superfluous elements you can take out and the comic is still what it is! Despite that, if you try and do a close read of the comic itself, it quickly feels apparent to me that a) in universe, diagetically, they are not very consistent and you often find yourself going 'wait, what?', and b) non-diagetically, in the realm of 'is this a stand in doing real world social commentary', it's straight up a mess much of the time. As worldbuilding, it's wishy-washy and inconsistent; as allegory or anything like it, you often wind up going 'hm. well. that doesn't really work'.

Is cold construction supposed to be a commentary on classism? Maybe- but the degree to which the text reinforces that a degree of real physical difference exists makes that touchy, frankly. Is it then using that to talk about class and disability as it relates to class? This would be an interesting angle- but the comic has too many issues around its treatment of the latter to invite uncritical use of that lens, in my opinion. Sometimes, racism gets invoked, but of that I can only say I think it is an ill-advised approach the comic does not explore well! Functionism, meanwhile, gestures at a lot of stuff, but never really convinces me the comic is quite sure what it's getting at there. Again, the question of classism comes to mind, and it's all clearly a response to the stuff set up early on in IDW1 by Megatron: Origin, which invites such commentary and critique. But there's just too many holes in its treatment of certain characters to make a lot of sense. The inconsistency means trying to do an actual read across the whole comic winds up maddening. (Source: I've tried.)

And if we justify this by saying 'not everything is allegory, sometimes worldbuilding is just worldbuilding'... well. It just still doesn't add up! In the moment, it seems to make sense, but attempting to extrapolate out into an actual consistent sense of how that world works, or worked pre-war, quickly falls apart for me. Which brings us back to the idea it's not literally consistent but is Doing Thematic Work, which... see above! We run into The Issues again!

This is not to say I think there's nothing interesting to be gained from engaging with this element, to be clear. But I find it's most productive for me when I engage with it from the baseline that it's a fairly muddled, inconsistent, and ultimately difficult to pin down element that, while very important to the comic, is not one of its narrative strengths. Very much a part of the comic where I think admitting the meat is in doing work as a reader to make it work for whatever reading you want to do is a good way to approach it, rather than assuming the comic itself has done that leg work. (And sometimes, that will mean being critical of it; I really do think there's stuff in there that deserves unpacking in how it's handled.)

[knyontop]

You should totally write like..a zombie reader...x toga... for me because your writing is so awesome sauce😈🔥

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

OMG ANYTHING FOR YOU!! Btw I decided to make this yandere just bc i felt like it;3

Tw: possessive behavior, yandere stuff, force feeding, knifes, Toga cutting reader, talks of murder snd stuff.

Ft: Toga Himiko, Dabi, Shigaraki Tomura, Bakugou Katsuki, and our amazing, handsome, beautiful, reader.

Toga:

・When she first saw you she was in such awe.

・LIKE YOUR SO CUTE OMG YOUR THE FIRST ZOMBIE SHES EVER SEEN!!?

・when she first lays eyes on you she KNOWS that she needed to have you.

・she couldn’t wait to see you all covered in blood! Your cute but you would be cuter with a few cuts and scraps~

・Toga makes sure to get some of your blood, Tomura would be happy to have a zombies blood!

・unfortunately, they aren’t here for you there here for Bakugou but before she left she blew you a little kiss before leaving. You were confused to say the least.. (but also flattered)

・ever sense the training camp you’ve been getting weird love notes by your “secret admirer, Toga” she put her name?? I thought it was supposed to be secret??? Whatever😭

・Toga is genuinely soooooooo so so so in love with you.

・your face, your eyes, your body, the way her knife cuts perfectly into your sensitive green skin. She just cant get enough of you she just wants to gobble you up!! (Pun intended)

・the league is getting tired of all her rants about how much she loves you🙁 (hang in there dabi)

・she wants you, no she needs you to be with her forever! And she will have you all to herself. Soon.

・she has to beg Shigaraki to let her kidnap you, he thinks its way to risky! Which is it but hey, you only live once so come help her break into a high school full of kids and heros and kidnap one of the students there! It should be easy enough right? Yeah, yeah they will be fineeeeee..

・you woke up🙁

・Dabi put a heated hand over your mouth, it wasn’t hot enough to burn you just to warn ya that hes willing to kill you right here right now. (BITE HIS FINGERS OFFSIBSUHIBDIYUG)

・him and Toga were able to get you knocked out so it would be easier to bring you back to base~ she was giggling and blushing the wholeeeeeeee wayyyyyyyyyy

・once you wake up, your tied to a chair in a rusty abbandened building with Toga in your lap cooing at you and caressing your face.

・Toga has her knife right at your throat and everything in her wants to push it through and watch your blood drip down your gorgeous body.. but, you would die and Toga would never forgive herself for that soooooooooo just little cuts! (For now)

・sense your a zombie she thinks that you can only eat and drink peoples blood so she tries to make you drink hers, you two would be apart of each other! Isn’t that so romantic!? (She will force you to drink her blood)

・she rants to you about everything, food, missions, life problems, just everything. She acts like she didn’t kidnap you!

・she forces you to say I love you back. (You almost died from blood loss the last time you refused.)

・”Awh your such a cute little zombie!! I just want to cut you alllllllll up!”

・Toga is not the best yandere to be with so i wish you guys good luck, your going to need it.

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

This was fun :3

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: affection and other cravings

“But you admit it! You did tempt me!” “I offered you warm food during a storm,” Crowley argues. “If you call that temptation, I’d hate to see you talk to an innkeeper.” Aziraphale scowls some more. Crowley shrugs. “Besides, no harm done. You seem to be enjoying yourself.” He has Aziraphale there. “Still,” he says, spreading his hands wide. “It has to be said—” He glances up to the sky. “—for anyone listening, that I am not at fault for my appetite.” “Never said you were,” Crowley says. “Just said you liked the oysters.” or, an examination vis-à-vis food and forgiveness

Length: 29,115 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit/ Spice Level 🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, Post S2, Through the Ages

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by JustStandingHere

*Minor Spoilers* There's just so much to enjoy about this post season two story. It's tone is so witty and clever, I was instantly charmed by it and laughed and smiled often. But it pairs that humor with beautiful philosophy and heartache.

We open with a brief look at their past, watching various scenes through the ages involving temptation, indulgence, and conflicts of faith. We watch Aziraphale as he struggles between his beliefs and what he is supposed to believe. Questioning what really is sin and what really is divine? We then move on to their present, with Aziraphale newly in Heaven and Crowley left behind. It presents a much softer version of events than we sometimes see. It takes the Metatron's offer mostly at face value, and Aziraphale truly believes he can improve the place. But escapes to earth to satiate his hunger (both literal and emotional) will open his eyes to reality and he will finally break free. The resolution was badass, yet understated in the best way, and I feel like it fit perfectly with the spirit of the universe.

It's mostly safe to read in public; there's a sex scene towards the end of the story but it's fairly short and not too graphic. And that scene contains a line from Crowley mid-sex that made me snort giggle. I won't spoil it for you; you'll know it right away when you get to that scene. This was a very charming and charismatic take on a post-season two world. I know this won't be the version we get in the show, but it definitely feels like something we could see with these two. Its characterization, of Aziraphale particularly, was absolutely top notch. It just really understands his character and there’s so many lines I wanted to highlight. I’m very glad I read this one!

Read it here, fic by JustStandingHere

[bloodpen-to-paper]

QSMP Awards 2024 Summarized

-The audio was scuffed for the first half. I don't mean a little crispy. I don't mean with a slight echo. It was fucked in every way imaginable. The audio sounded like it was going through a blender. Then it kept getting too loud, then too quiet (so much so we couldn't hear), all while being way too crispy. Charlie Slimecicle monologued to the audience while the team was trying to fix it but since the audio was both too crispy and too quiet we couldn't actually understand anything he was saying. This carried on for about 7 minutes with him holding two microphones, neither of which was working, before the stream crashed (again)

-All the staff are apparently Cucurucho, with one of them being a "main Cucurucho"

-Missa wore a "Quackity my beloved" shirt. I could not explain to you what the blazer over it was supposed to be.

-Everyone else at the ceremony was shown through discord call. I'm convinced Charlie has never seen German or Lenay's faces cause he did not know it was them until Quackity said their names

-The screen was supposed to switch between showing all the people on the discord and it kept switching between the same four people. If I have to hear Q, Charlie and Missa chant "Foolish" or "Pol" ever again-

-Mariana showed up and Charlie immediately went into bitter ex mode. He also hit on Mariana. Multiple times.

-We got a patented Ironmouse "coño" and chat lost their shit over Luzu existing, as expected

-Mariana looked like Michael Jackson, Bad's background could've been the set of Breaking Bad, Roier had a ski mask, lots of people learned what Lenay, German and Vegetta's looked like for the first time, and Mike had a kawaii filter

-Somehow Bad didn't even get nominated for Best Cucurucho Jumpscare, showing that even non-red carpet events can produce award snubs (congrats to Bagi!)

-Though I yearned for Maximus getting nominated for his Eh Vegetta prank, we all knew the win had to go to Vegetta for the mines

-The audio eventually became bearable but the echo never fully left. At some point there were like three or four overlaps of Vegetta giving his acceptance speech

-Acau won for Best Death from getting killed by an enderman (in my heart Foolish's accidental death by Pomme's sniper that got him eliminated from the elections won, but we did get Quackity dying to a fly as a nom so I feel complete. Also congrats to Acau!)

-The Qsmp shop is officially open! We got eggie merch :]

-Quackity forgot to roll clips for the Best Purgatory 2 Moment nominees and almost read out the winner before we got the montage (Wuant won! It was the clip of him being told he lost and he accidentally did a flip. They weren't able to get the acceptance speech on stream so we saw it from Quackity's phone)

-Funniest QSMP Moment nominees were all fucking hilarious, its hard to pick just one but Maxo winning for when he respawned after a lore-heavy moment in Pierre's bed to his own moans being remixed into a song absolutely deserved the win

-Saddest QSMP Moment was unnecessary and the admins will be hearing from my lawyers for making me relive Dapper's first lost life, Dia de los Muertos and the end of Purgatory 1 (Jaiden and Roier saying bye to Bobby won, Roier changed his screen to black and white and held up what looked like a mini Cucurucho being used as a cross)

-Best QSMP Original Song was played prematurely when the category was Best Language Exchange, and we got a spoiler for the winner (YD and Hugo's exchange won and YD's audio was muted so we just saw her Vtuber model getting excited)

-The aforementioned Best Qsmp Original Song had Gordinho Gostosinho looping aggressively over Charlie singing the Juanaflippa song, which I hope to god gets clipped cause it was hilarious (I'm glad the Roier and Cucurucho rap got nominated). Charlie was very confused why they had him announce his own win.

-Best PVP unsurprisingly went to Etoiles for his colosseum Code fight, after all he is the Best🔥 (the other noms were great too, we had Philza vs Tubbo in Purgatory, Bad and Maxo eliminating El Quackity from the elections, and a cute sparring session between Pac and Richas)

-Best Qsmp Fails went to Fit for that time Pac's internet cut out during their date (of course he bragged about his Brasilian boyfriend after learning he won for best loser)(also if it was up to me Quackity's fly deaths would've been added to this category just sayin')

-The audio problems were revealed to have been roleplay the entire time. Yep. All part of the lore.

-Speaking of, most of the winners who were in the discord call could not be heard so they had to give speeches through Quackity holding his phone up to the mic

-Best Roleplayer went to Roier for his Doied arc (the screen prematurely showed him before they could read the announcement, and his speech was him kissing the camera)

-Worst Server House went to Mariana accompanied with the classic clip of him reacting to the admins roasting his started base; Mariana was part of the discord call but left at some point so he couldn't give a speech, to which Charlie jumped on the opportunity to roast his absence like a shark smelling blood (they rightfully nominated Quackity for his clip of Acau reacting to his failure of a starter house, and apparently Carre's base is just his bed on a dirt plot)

-Most Iconic Clip went to Pac for stealing the Qsmp Logo (the other lovely noms included Foolish and co. accidentally closing their house door after a creeper came in an attempt to shut it out, and Tina reacting to a mob giving Felps a blowjob)

-The Most Bankrupt Islander went to Niki for being broke, we stan (during the nom montage we got a passa tudo mention)

-The Creator Who Spent the Most Time on the Server Award went to Bad, which was shocking to no one, although they did use his Barbie Girl clip for the nom montage (they also used Fit wearing a wig for his clip)

-The Qsmp cake for the one year anniversary had the text "FELICIDADES ALBERTO". We do not know who Alberto is. Pol was losing it.

-Tubbo won for The Creator With the Most Deaths (106), while The Creator With Fewest Deaths went to Philza (he only had 1!). Philza was able to be heard through stream but the hosts didn't know this so they would hear him from Quackity's phone and repeat what he was saying even though we could hear him

-Everytime the camera cut back to the hosts Charlie, Quackity and Missa had more cake on their faces

-Most Distance Traveled (in Minecraft) went to Etoiles (6,000+ km jfc)

-Creator With the Most Mob Kills went to Pierre (162,960 mob kills. what the fuck.)

-They accidentally read the award for Creator With the Most Damage Taken (Foolish) during the Best Builder announcement, confusing the shit out of everyone, especially cause the screen showed Mike instead of Foolish. I am still unclear who won Best Builder

-Creator With the Most Blocks Placed went to Mike!!! (MIKE WIN VAMBORAAAAAAAAAAA🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷)

-We had to uncomfortably sit through Missa feeding Charlie cake (and just Charlie in general)

-There was an In Memorium segment of the passed eggs (Quackity shat on a grieiving Charlie for Flippa only lasting 11 days, but in Charlie's words, "to you it was 11 days; to her it was a lifetime"). Charlie commentated and had nothing to say about Trump because he didn't know jack shit about Trump (though he did make a wall joke which is exactly what Maxo would have wanted godbless🙏)

-The stream ended with the discord people saying goodbye, while Roier was holding up the mini Cucuruchos and didn't move the entire time. I know he wasn't frozen because he blinked.

-Maxo sent in his acceptance speech video last minute and Quackity hyped it up as a mysterious final entry but Charlie guessed it was Maxo and spoiled it on accident

-Speaking of, Maxo's entry was him walking around heaven looking for Trump </3

-Charlie gave a heartfelt speech about the people he met through the Qsmp, all while looking like ate out frosty the snowman <3. Missa simpy thanked Alberto (we still do not know who Alberto is)

-Tubbo wasn't present in the discord call because he thought him streaming meant he couldn't join. After the stream Quackity called and Tubbo realized he was allowed to join the whole time

-We ended on a montage of various moments, with a message of excitement looking forward to the next year!

And of course, here are the screenies I managed to nab of the hosts slowly deteriorating into cake

[ai-em-maes]

🔥🖤 Whispers of a Burning Flame 🖤🔥

~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter Index

Characters - Self Insert OC x Aemond Targaryen

Summary - After escaping capture by a rival family, Vaemyra Blackwood takes residence at the Red Keep, where she embraces her newfound identity as a dragonrider of Valyrian blood. Her presence catches the eye of Prince Aemond, and the two slowly grow closer amidst the shadows of their shared peculiarities.

Word Count - 2.7k

Content - 18+, Major slow burn, fluff, a smidge of angst, smut in later chapters

A/N - n/a

Likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

At the next sunrise, Aemond sauntered out for his morning exercises. Chatter and clashing steel filled the training yard, punctuated by sharp, commanding barks. As the prince navigated the throng of hulking knights and their squires, he spotted a dainty head of silver hovering at the arms station. He drew nearer, and found Vaemyra scrutinizing the array of weaponry available for use. 

Aemond offered her a soft smile. “My Lady.”

Vaemyra glanced up, and for a split second, her breath caught at the sight of him. As much as she still delighted in his presence, a night’s sleep had done little to assuage her worries from the evening before. 

“Oh. My Prince… Good morrow.” In her hands was a held a shabby, hand-drawn bow.

“What brings you here on this fine day?” inquired Aemond.

“I was hoping to find a more suitable archery set to practice with,” Vaemyra sighed, placing the weapon back on its rack. “The equipment I’ve used here at the castle thus far is, well…” 

“Shitty. I’m aware. It’s been years since our Master of Arms has refortified our selection.” 

A silvery chuckle escaped Vaemyra’s lips. “I suppose I’ll have to return to Raventree Hall on dragonback to retrieve my own bow and arrows.”

Aemond went tense. He was unsure whether the statement was another of her jests, but the thought of Vaemyra leaving the Keep unsettled him deeply—even for the short time it might take for her to journey there on dragonback. Some overly fearful part of him even worried he might never see her again if she returned home. 

“There’d be no need for that,” he blurted. 

Lady Blackwood shot him a questioning look.

“What I mean to say is…” He swallowed. “…I would very much like you to stay.”

A smile illuminated Vaemyra’s face, bright as the summer sun, and the prince’s pounding heart fluttered like a bird in its warmth.

Vaemyra bridged the distance between them. “I might be swayed to oblige.” Her voice was sweet as birdsong.

Aemond’s hand burned at his side, yearning to reach for her.

Not a moment later, Ser Steffon approached to inform the prince it was past time for his drills to begin. Lady Blackwood curtsied and left them to their practice.

As he sparred, Aemond fought harder to keep his focus than he did to keep his footing. Even once training had concluded, his stomach remained in knots. Aemond glanced back at the arms station, filled with its shoddy bows, dull arrows, and all manner of other rusted and worn weapons. He pursed his lips in thought, Vaemyra’s last words echoing in his mind. “I might be swayed to oblige.”

A clever grin tugged at the corners of Aemond’s mouth. The dragon prince wasted no time making his way to the armory to speak with the Master of Arms and his bowyer.

Lost in reveries of the prince, Vaemyra strolled through the Keep on her way from the training yard. However, this bliss came to an abrupt end when she felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck. Her body reacted first, as if seized by an invisible force, and she slowed her pace to survey the corridors. She saw nothing of note, at first. A huddle of chattering ladies and their maids. Several Queensguard knights with their squires in tow. A maester on his way to the library with a satchel of scrolls.

But then, there it was. A silver shadow. Vaemyra squinted, and when her vision focused, she made out the shape of the King Consort, Daemon, lurking at the far end of the hall. Their eyes met, and she felt the heat of his smoldering stare on her skin. And then he vanished.

Three days later, Vaemyra still couldn’t shake the bizarre encounter from her mind. Not having the faintest idea what it meant, she wondered if she’d somehow imagined it all. But she knew, without a doubt, that it had filled her with a creeping unease. She paid a visit to Nightgleam, and found the dragon restless, unable to cease grumbling or flicking about her tail. Vaemyra nuzzled her cheek against Nightgleam’s warm scales in an effort to soothe them both. 

After a long morning on dragonback, Lady Blackwood was eager for rest. Upon entering her bedchamber, her eye immediately drew to a peculiar shape resting on the bed. She stepped closer, and waiting for her was a sleek, hand-drawn bow of yew, stained a deep black. Immaculate etchings of dragons adorned its limbs. Beside the bow lay a leather quiver, holding twelve black arrows tipped with dragonglass. The arrows’ fletchings were ravenfeather.

Just as with the dagger, a letter bearing the Targaryen seal accompanied the new gifts.

“Stay with me”, it read. Once again, the letter was unsigned, but there was no mistaking the identity of its benefactor.

The exquisite craftsmanship of the archery set left Vaemyra utterly spellbound. Arrows could be crafted quickly enough, but a bow this fine would have taken at least a fortnight to construct. And yet here it was, mere days after she had expressed her desire for new equipment. Prince Aemond must have had it specially pulled from the royal armory, just for her. With a blissful smile, Vaemyra clutched the bow to her chest. 

Rest could wait. Vaemyra flew from her chambers at once to find Aemond and thank him. She hurried through the Keep, occasionally stopping passersby to inquire of the dragon prince’s whereabouts. But when he was nowhere to be found in the Scholar’s Wing, the training yard, the Great Hall, or any of the courtyards, Vaemyra relented and resolved to try again later. He must be occupied. I wouldn’t wish to disturb him.

In the lonely passageway leading from the Serpentine Steps, Vaemyra sighed and turned about. She then found herself face to face with Daemon Targaryen. 

“Your Grace,” she gasped. Her curtsy, quick and unsteady, betrayed her lingering shock.

Daemon’s eyes combed over her with the same intensity as they had a few days before. “My Lady,” he purred. 

A slight tremor passed through Vaemyra’s body. “Might I be of service to you today, Your Grace?” She was unsure of what else to say.

Closing the gap between them, the King Consort pressed his palm against the wall beside her head, pinning her in place. His gaze groped her up and down, like a hungry wolf upon a lamb. 

“I overhead you recently,” he lilted, towering over her small frame. “Speaking about me to my one-eyed nephew.”

Vaemyra realized he must have been referring to her jape with Aemond about the dagger. She shuddered to think that neither she nor Aemond had been aware of his presence.

“I’ve had my eye on you since you arrived here, you know…” Daemon murmured. He brushed the side of Vaemyra’s face with the back of his fingers.

Though nearly petrified, Lady Blackwood still summoned the willpower to keep her defenses intact. “What is the meaning of this?!” she demanded. Her lips pressed into a thin, dark line. She tried to shove him away, but it only spurred him on.

Daemon brought a finger to her chin, tilting her face towards his. “My nephew is mildly intriguing—I’ll grant him that much. I suppose I understand why you might think yourself to be infatuated with him,” he whispered, drawing their lips closer. “But he can’t please you. Not like I can.” 

His touch was suffocating. It invaded the depths of Vaemyra’s mind, though she could not fully comprehend why. She felt captive, and powerless. And for a brief, but terrifying moment, she was back in the Bracken camp.

That very instant, a fist sent Daemon staggering sideways, nearly toppling him to the ground. In his place stood Prince Aemond, trembling with rage.

“My, my”, Daemon crooned, his smile wicked. He straightened and swallowed the blood from his lip. “Such disrespect for your King Consort.”

Aemond hissed through gritted teeth. “How dare you lay your filthy fucking hands on Lady Blackwood.”

Daemon advanced on him until they were eye to eye. “Oh? And what do you plan to do about it, nephew? Tattle on me to the Queen like a little boy?” 

Aemond’s glare blazed like violet dragonflame. “I’ll kill you.”

Vaemyra’s eyes widened, and she gasped aloud.

Daemon cackled. He placed a hand on Aemond’s chest and gave him a light push backward. “Is that so?”

The moment Aemond’s hand jerked toward the hilt of his sword, Vaemyra threw herself between the two men. She seized the prince by the wrist and yanked him down the corridor, away from his uncle. Daemon stayed there, sneering.  

Aemond trailed behind Vaemyra as she bounded through the halls. When she was certain they were safe from prying ears, she stood directly beneath him, hands balled into petite fists. 

“I thank you dearly for rescuing me from that ordeal,” she huffed, “but what in the name of the Fucking Gods would possess you to threaten the King Consort?! He could have your pretty head mounted on a spike!”

Aemond lapsed into a brooding silence, eye refusing to meet hers.

“Are you even listening?!”

“He won’t retaliate. It would mean admitting what he’d been doing alone with you.”

Vaemyra buried her face in her hands and released a heavy, troubled sigh. “Gods, let us pray you are correct.” She shut her eyes and turned away from him as she tried to compose herself. How could someone so intelligent be so recklessly stupid?

Several minutes passed in silence before Vaemyra pursed her lips and spoke again. “Thank you for the bow and arrows. …They’re extraordinary.” 

Aemond perked up. “Of course. You…deserve fine things.” A faint red tinged his ears.

She spun to face him again, her smile full of affection. “You are very kind, My Prince. I suppose I won’t need to return to home anytime soon. …But now, I should like to find a quiet place to ease my mind from…all this.” Her voice softened. “Are you alright? Is there anything you need of me before I go?”

There were many things Aemond wished to ask of her. An embrace. A kiss. A promise to be his. But he merely shook his head.

Lady Blackwood nodded, then began to take her leave. But before she could reach the end of the corridor, the prince called after her. 

“Do you truly think my head is pretty?” 

Vaemyra glanced at him from over her shoulder. She flashed a coy grin, then continued on her way.

However, as the day wore on, her thoughts kept circling back to that moment at the Serpentine Steps, and the suffocating dread that had taken hold of her.

That night, at the Hour of the Wolf, Vaemyra writhed in her sheets, whimpering and short of breath. Visions of her capture tore through her dreams like a storm. She saw herself, happily loosing arrows in the wood. Then heard the gurgled screams of her maid as her throat was slit. Tasted the grimy rag in her mouth as she was gagged and tied. Felt her body stripped and shaved like a sheep. Smelled the stench of ale on the men’s breath as they gripped her face through wooden bars.

When she could suffer no more, Vaemyra convulsed awake, slick with cold sweat. Her eyes ricocheted deliriously through the darkness of the chamber. With one hand clenching the neck of her chemise, she channeled all her might into breathing, deeply, from her stomach.

Night terrors were nothing new to her. In the weeks since the abduction, she’d been visited by them periodically, but this particular dream had been especially visceral. She pulled her knees to her chest and watched the moonlight weave in and out from behind the clouds outside her window. When this did little to dispel her restlessness, Vaemyra rose from bed, lit a candelabra, and ventured from her chambers into the halls of the Red Keep.

The castle teemed with life in the sunlit hours of the day, but at night, it was cloaked in an otherworldly stillness. Even the serfs and nightwatchmen floated through the corridors like wayward spirits. The cold stone beneath Vaemyra’s feet chilled her as she wandered aimlessly. Eventually, her attention was drawn to the glow of a distant hearth, its orange light flickering through the darkness like a tiny heartbeat. She followed it into a chamber—a tapestry room—and set her candelabra on a nearby trestle.

Facing the hearth were two tufted armchairs a small distance apart—one empty, and one with a crown of silver hair peeking from over its backrest. An arm sleeved in leather draped to its side. Vaemyra crept closer until the figure’s identity revealed itself.

“My Prince?”

Aemond’s head snapped toward the sound of her voice.

“My Lady.” He began to rise in formal greeting.

“No, please. There is no need,” Vaemyra protested as she took the other armchair. 

The prince resettled in his seat, heart thumping at the sight of her in nothing but a chemise. He cleared his throat. “What has you up at this hour?”

“I suppose I might ask you the same,” she teased, looking solemnly into the fire. 

In truth, Aemond’s encounter with the King Consort had left him too agitated to sleep, and the tapestry room was a favorite of his for restless nights. But at the moment, his own troubles were of little concern. Not when Lady Blackwood seemed so shaken and weary, as if trapped beneath a sullen veil. Her face, usually brushed with dark paints and powders, was bare. Her exceptional beauty remained, but never before had Aemond seen her so exposed. So vulnerable.

The prince studied her dotingly. “Is something the matter?” 

“Just a nightmare. I have them often these days,” Vaemyra answered in a voice so faint that Aemond struggled to hear it. She did not move her eyes from the crackling hearth. 

“I see. …I regret I hadn’t realized you were bearing such a burden.”

The lady shook her head. “I do all I can to conceal it. I know I am different. A Blackwood, and yet not. I look nothing like any of my kin. And my mother, sweet though she was, was a whore. I’m peculiar, and dark, and no one’s idea of a proper lady. I hear how others at court speak of me. Heard it my whole life. I pretend that I don’t, to appear strong, but I do. When the world sees you as lesser, you cannot afford to be weak. So I keep my weaknesses hidden, lest the world devour me whole. Even when the pain of all I’ve endured threatens to tear me apart.” She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “…Forgive me. I mean not to trouble you, My Prince.” 

Aemond leaned forward and delicately laid his hand over hers. “Trouble me. Please, trouble me.” 

Her breath hitched as she met his gaze. “Aemond…I mean, My Prince—”

“Call me Aemond, if it pleases you. As it pleases me.” 

“…Aemond.”

“Vaemyra.”

Illuminated by the firelight, they drew closer. Their breaths mingled, and then their lips joined in a passionate kiss. Vaemyra caressed the prince’s cheek, ebony nails stark against his alabaster skin. Aemond savored her with a slow, deliberate devotion, as if he were memorizing the very sensation of her against him. The warmth of her skin, the taste of her lips. She answered with equal fervor, her mouth pressing to his with a desperate hunger, as though she could never get close enough. The kiss deepened, full of longing and need, leaving them both burning and breathless.

The stir of passing nightwatchmen disrupted Aemond and Vaemyra’s trance. They pulled away from each other, and one could have heard a pin drop in the pregnant silence that followed. At last, the echoes of the watchmen’s footfalls faded into the corridor.

“…It is very late,” Vaemyra whispered. “I should return to my chambers.” She swiftly rose from her seat and glided to the doorway. Just as her hand reached for the candelabra, the prince spoke.

“I would court you with more grace if I knew how.”

The lady’s heart skipped a beat, then fluttered like a thousand butterflies taking wing in a summer breeze. 

“Your every gesture has gladdened my heart,” she replied, gazing back at him adoringly. “Goodnight, Aemond.” 

“Goodnight, Vaemyra.” His voice was soothing and tender.

Then, Lady Blackwood descended softly into the hall and back to bed, long before her maids could find her missing.

[aceofwhump]

Hi Ace! Any advice for this newfound adult? (18)

ALSO ALSO I love your page so much its literally one of the bestEST!!! In my eyes you're like a whump celebrity! 😀🔥

Asdfghjkl omg thank you so much!!! You're too kind! I'm glad you enjoy my blog! And hello! Welcome to the adult world! It sucks! lol sorry. I'm not the best at adulting at all but sure I can share some advice. Some things I've learned since turning 18:

Other adults are just as dumb as you feel. We're all drowning and have no idea what we're doing so it's okay to feel like you have nothing down and don't know what you're doing. Cause we all feel like that. We're all just kids trying to make our way in the world.

Work should not be the center of your world. Work is supposed to be the place you go to make money so you can live your life. Don't let it take over your life. Don't let the frustrations of work destroy your mental health. No job is worth that. If it gets to be too much and it's affecting your health, it's time to find another job.

Maintaining friendships can be harder as you reach adulthood because schedules get crazy and people move and such but it's so worth the work. It won't be as easy as it was in high school because you're not gonna see people every day. You have to work hard to make time to see people and remember to text your friends every now and then even if it's just a "hey I'm thinking about you" or sending them a funny gif or video. Make the effort. Reach out to people you care about. Tell them you care about them.

Now I don't know your home life but as someone who still lives with their parents and has never moved out, THAT'S OKAY TO DO. You are not required to move out as soon as possible just to say your an adult. Life is hard and expensive and sometimes it's nice to have people to come home to.

Don't worry about what others think of you. Wear what you want, enjoy your hobbies whatever they may be, eat what you want, live you life for yourself. Not for others. You'll be happier. Trust me.

Go out there and try things!! You're young! Do things! You never know what you might find until you look.

Learn how to budget but remember that it's okay to spend money on "stupid stuff" that makes you happy. Go ahead and buy that stuffed animal or toy you've wanted since you were a kid.

Lists are very helpful for keeping track of important dates, chores to do, bills to pay. Makes lists. Keep them up on the fridge or a bulletin board above your computer.

Take care of your health. Brush your teeth, try to eat healthy, go outside for a walk, etc.

The best advice I got concerning credit cards was this: use one for big purchases but only use it when you have the money in your bank account to pay for the item. So like, go buy a chair with your credit card and then as soon as you can, pay the credit card bill with the money you should have in the bank. That way you don't end up going into massive credit card debt because you're spending money you don't have.

Be patient.

Be open to new things and meeting new people.

Be kind but take no shit. You never know what the other person is going through and we all handle stress and fear in different ways. It never hurts to just be kind when you can. When you can't be kind? Take no shit. Don't let someone walk over. Stand up for yourself.

Wear sunscreen!!!

Find a hobby. And I mean something you do just for yourself that has nothing to do with making any money. Create something. Learn to crochet or knit or make things with wood or draw or build legos or sew or cosplay or write or make movies or photography. SOMETHING that lets you use your hands and that you do just for yourself because it makes you happy. It's also a great way to meet people. Most of my friends I've met through my hobbies. Hobbies are great for your mental health

Put the phone down sometimes and just be in the moment. Just enjoy life for a bit without thinking about taking photos for social media.

Work hard but don't kill yourself. It's good to work hard and have a good work ethic but remember to take a break and don't push yourself beyond your limits.

GO THRIFTING!!! I can't say that one enough. People tend to look down on places like Good Will, Savers, and thrift stores but I can buy a brand new couch for like 30 dollars at these places. I have bought an entire wardrobe for next to nothing. Go thrifting. You'll find some really great things for cheap.

Ask for help when you need it. It's not shameful to ask for help. And that's for everything. Don't understand something at work? Ask a coworker or manager. Not sure how to cook something? Ask a friend or family member if they know how. Struggling with your mental health? Ask for help from a friend or family member. ASK FOR HELP

And finally, there is no deadline or boxes you need to mark off to be considered an "adult". You don't have to get married, buy a house, have kids, etc. to be successful at adulting. Live your life how you want to live your life.

Good luck nonny!!!!

[poisonedace]

Inferna Academy

9922 words | Mature | Part 5/12 Author's AO3: PoisonedAce Story Link: Inferna Academy Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Summary: Blitzo refuses to fade into the background, even as his father demands he play shadow to his childhood friend Fizzarolli at Hell’s elite university. “Fizzarolli’s our ticket to the big time.” “Don’t screw up.” “You’ll never make it on your own." Everything changes when he reunites with Stolas, a Goetia prince shackled by suffocating expectations. What begins as a quiet connection blossoms into a love neither anticipated, built on stolen glances, whispered conversations, and study sessions full of laughter. But, their happiness is short-lived. Stella’s schemes threaten to tear them apart, straining their love and fracturing Blitzo’s friendship with Fizzarolli. A story of star-crossed lovers, broken trust, and fragile hope. Can Blitzo and Stolas find their way back to each other, or are they destined to remain distant souls, yearning for what could have been?

😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈

Chapter Five: Beneath the Spotlight

😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈

Blitzo plopped his tray onto the table across from Fizzarolli, the sound muffled by the constant hum of activity. He dropped into his seat with a grin, already enthusiastically digging into his meal.

Fizzarolli barely touched his food, absently prodding a lump of charred meat with his fork. His fingers tapped an uneven rhythm on the edge of his tray, causing Blitzo to groan inwardly. His expression was tight, his usual humor replaced with something distant.

Blitzo frowned, watching him for a moment before speaking around a mouthful of food. “Alright, what’s with the mopey face? You look like someone stepped on your tail.”

Fizz glanced up sharply, his fingers halting mid-tap. “Oh, I dunno,” he said, his tone biting. “Maybe I’m just marveling at how someone thinks they’re too good for the rest of us these days.”

Blitzo blinked, caught off guard. “Too good? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Fizz rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “You’re always off with him now. You can’t seem to stop talking about how great he is—Stolas this, Stolas that. It’s like you’re fucking him.” Fizz looked up, eyes narrowing. “You aren’t fucking him, are you?”

Blitzo raised an eyebrow, a grin slowly creeping onto his face. “Ohhh, I get it. You’re jealous,” he teased, his tail flicking behind him.

Fizz stiffened, his jaw tightening as a spark of frustration flared in his eyes. “Jealous? Of what? Your noble groupie?” he fired back, his voice sharper than usual. “Please.”

Blitzo laughed, brushing off the tension with ease. “If you’ve got a crush on him, just say so. I’ll put in a good word. He’s into charity cases.”

Fizzarolli scoffed, his fork clattering against his tray as he set it down with more force than necessary. “Yeah, right. Like I’d waste my time on someone who probably irons his socks.” His voice carried its usual snark, but the edge wasn’t playful—it was pointed. “Get real, Blitzo.”

Blitzo tilted his head, catching the flicker of something uneasy in Fizz’s expression. His tail flicked behind him as he leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting to something more casual. “You know,” he said, “it’s okay for you to have friends, right? I mean, I don’t throw a fit when you’re off tinkering with one of your gearhead buddies. But apparently, I’m supposed to stay lonely?”

Fizz’s fingers twitched as he avoided Blitzo’s gaze. “Stop being ridiculous,” he muttered.

Blitzo frowned, setting his fork down with exaggerated care. “Am I, though? Because it sure feels like every time I talk to Stolas, you get all weird about it.” He leaned back, his arms crossing as he watched Fizz closely. “What’s the deal? You scared I’m gonna trade you in for a new best friend?”

Fizz snorted, but his smirk was fleeting, a shadow of its usual self. “Like anyone could replace me,” he muttered, shoving his tray aside with a dismissive wave. “I’m just saying—don’t let your noble buddy fill your head with crap.”

Blitzo laughed, but the sound was harsh even to his own ears, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Fizz. “Relax, Feathers isn’t brainwashing me or anything. And even if he tried, it wouldn’t stick. My skull’s way too thick for that.”

Fizz didn’t reply immediately, his fingers tapping idly on the table. “Yeah, well...” he muttered, more to himself than to Blitzo, “nobles like him don’t just help people for nothing.”

Blitzo raised an eyebrow at the remark but chose not to press further. Instead, he brushed it off with a shrug, picking his fork back up. “Whatever you say, Fizz.”

The tension between them lingered, unspoken but heavy, like the faint hum of a storm on the horizon.

Lunch ended with an uncomfortable silence lingering between them. As they left the dining hall, the noise faded and was replaced by the quieter hum of distant chatter and footsteps echoing off stone walls. The contrast was stark—just the two of them now, walking side by side through the academy's corridors.

Blitzo glanced at Fizz, who had been unusually quiet since their exchange. “So... you gonna keep sulking, or do I have to start singing to cheer you up?” he teased, his grin light but probing.

Fizz didn’t take the bait; his shoulders tense as his fingers twitched at his sides. Finally, he stopped in his tracks, forcing Blitzo to turn back.

“You’ve been off, Blitzo.”

Blitzo raised an eyebrow, his tail flicking behind him. “Off? What are you talking about?”

Fizz crossed his arms, his fingers gripping his elbows tightly. “Ever since you started buddying up to Stolas, it’s like you’re not even here anymore.”

Blitzo blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in Fizz’s tone. “You’re acting like I’m ditching you for some noble study, buddy. Chill out.”

Fizz’s voice rose, his usual humor replaced by something rawer. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so busy trying to impress him!”

Blitzo flinched at the accusation, his tail lashing sharply. “Impress him? I’m not trying to impress anyone! He’s helping me with stuff I actually need to learn, okay? Not everything’s about you, Fizz.”

Fizz stepped closer, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Yeah, well, it sure feels like it! You’re supposed to be here to help me, not flirt with royals.”

Blitzo’s fists tightened, and for a moment, he was too stunned to reply. “Flirt with—are you serious? That’s what you think I’m doing?”

Fizz threw his hands up, his joints clicking. “What else am I supposed to think? You light up every time he talks to you!” He faltered, his smirk fading. “Hell, Blitzo, I don’t even care if you wanna cozy up to him or whatever, but don’t act like it’s not screwing with us.”

Blitzo’s tail lashed again, his claws twitching at his sides. “That’s not fair, Fizz! I’m allowed to have other people in my life.”

Fizz’s expression was twisted, and there was a mix of anger and something more vulnerable. “It’s not about that, Blitzo. It’s about—” He stopped, his fingers curling into fists as he looked away. “Forget it. Just forget I said anything.”

“No, say it!” Blitzo snapped, his voice louder than he intended. “You clearly have something to get off your chest, so go ahead!”

Fizz glared at him, his voice shaking with emotion. “Fine. You wanna know? I don’t like feeling like I’m losing you, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Blitzo stared at Fizz, the rawness in his voice cutting deeper than he’d expected. “Fizz, you’re not—”

“Save it,” Fizz interrupted, his voice quiet now. “Go ahead, Blitzo. Do your thing with Stolas. Just... don’t forget who’s always had your back.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as Fizz turned and walked away, the soft sound of his feet on the stone echoing in the empty corridor.

Blitzo leaned against the wall, his horns lightly tapping the cold stone. The dull thunk echoed faintly, mirroring the turmoil in his mind. The argument replayed in his head, each word cutting deeper than the last.

Fizz had always been there, no matter how much Blitzo messed up. Losing him wasn’t an option. But then there was Stolas—the noble who shouldn’t have given him a second glance but did, who saw him not as a tagalong but as someone worth teaching. How could he balance both without tipping everything over?

Blitzo shook his head, shoving the thought aside. “What the hell am I doing?” he muttered to himself.

He pushed off the wall and started walking, but the weight of Fizz’s words lingered, pressing down on him like a storm cloud he couldn’t outrun.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

The library was a haven of calm amidst the academy's chaos. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched to the arched ceiling, and the soft glow of Hellfire lanterns cast warm light over the aged spines of countless tomes. The hum of activity from the dining hall was a distant memory here, replaced by the faint rustle of pages and the occasional creak of a chair.

Blitzo sat hunched over a table near the back, his tail flicking in irritation as he stared down at a dense text filled with diagrams and runes he barely understood. Stolas sat across from him, poised and serene, his glowing eyes scanning the page with ease. Between them lay an assortment of books, parchment, and pens, the cluttered arrangement mirroring Blitzo’s scattered thoughts.

“Blitzo,” Stolas said gently, not looking up from the book he was flipping through. “You’ve been staring at that same page for the past five minutes. Something on your mind?”

Blitzo’s mouth twitched, and he straightened slightly, his tail curling defensively around his chair. “What? No, I’m just... uh... processing. Yeah, that’s it.”

Stolas raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his beak. “Processing? Or avoiding?”

Blitzo sighed, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic groan. “Fine, you caught me. I’m distracted. Happy now, Feathers?”

“I’m content when you are,” Stolas replied smoothly. “Now, do you care to share what’s on your mind? Or shall I continue to guess?”

Blitzo hesitated, tapping his claws against the edge of the table. “It’s nothing. Just... y’know, stuff.” His tail flicked sharply, betraying his discomfort.

Stolas’s gaze softened as he set the book aside, folding his hands neatly on the table. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets distracted by ‘nothing,’ Blitzo.”

Blitzo snorted, deflecting with a crooked grin. “Maybe I’m just bored outta my mind with all this fancy noble jargon. Seriously, who writes this stuff? It’s like they want us to hate it.”

Stolas chuckled, though his eyes remained steady on Blitzo. “A valiant effort at misdirection,” he said lightly, “but I suspect there’s more to it than that.”

Blitzo avoided his gaze, focusing on the book in front of him. “Look, I didn’t sign up for a therapy session, alright? Let’s just stick to the snooze-fest text.”

They lapsed into a brief silence, but Stolas’s curiosity lingered. He tilted his head slightly, studying Blitzo as he tapped a pen against his notebook. For all his brashness and humor, there was a guardedness to the imp that intrigued Stolas. How fascinating, he thought, that someone so openly defiant could still be so careful with the parts of himself he let others see.

“You know,” Stolas said after a pause, his tone quieter now, “the way you simplify things—even in this mess of a text—there’s a kind of honesty to it. You never try to be anyone but yourself. It’s... freeing.”

Blitzo looked up, startled by the sincerity in Stolas’s voice. “Uh... thanks, I guess? Not a lot of people would call me refreshing.”

“That’s their loss,” Stolas replied with a faint smile.

Blitzo chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Man, you’ve got a way of making things sound all fancy. If I tried that, people would just think I hit my head.”

Stolas laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded. “You don’t need to do anything with it. Simply take it as it is.”

Blitzo shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he returned to the book in front of him. Stolas watched him for a moment longer before picking up his text again, his expression pensive.

As the evening wore on, the library grew quieter, the flickering lanterns casting elongated shadows across the tables. Blitzo yawned, stretching his arms over his head and leaning back in his chair.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” he announced, slamming his book shut. “If I try to cram one more word into my brain, it’s gonna explode.”

Stolas chuckled, marking his page with a slip of parchment. “Very well. Perhaps it’s time for a break.”

Blitzo stood, stretching again. “How do you read this crap for fun? I’d rather stick my head in a hornet’s nest—it’d be faster and less painful.”

“It’s not so bad once you’re used to it,” Stolas replied, gathering the books into a neat stack. His tone softened as he added, “Besides, it’s a distraction from other matters.”

Blitzo tilted his head, catching the shift in Stolas’s demeanor. “Other matters? Like what?”

Stolas hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. “It’s family,” he admitted, his voice soft. “Not something I usually talk about, but... it’s far from harmonious.”

Blitzo studied him for a moment, his tail flicking. “Yeah, well, guess everyone’s got something, huh?” He shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “Family drama’s more my speed—at least that crap’s explosive.”

Stolas smiled faintly but tilted his head, his glowing eyes softening with curiosity. “Speaking of family... I’ve noticed you’ve been practicing with Fizzaroli more than usual lately. Is there a particular reason?”

Blitzo paused, his tail flicking sharply before curling loosely around his leg. “Oh. Uh...” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Stolas’s gaze. “My family’s circus is coming for the Harvest Festival. We’re putting on a show.”

Stolas’s eyes lit up, and he straightened with excitement. “A performance? That’s wonderful! I’ll make sure to attend.”

Blitzo’s tail wrapped around his calf, and he waved his hands quickly. “No, no, you don’t have to do that. It’s just... y’know, some lame circus act. Nothing fancy.”

“Nonsense,” Stolas said with a wide smile, his tone firm. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’m sure you’ll be spectacular.”

Blitzo sighed, muttering under his breath, “Yeah, spectacular. Me and Fizz can’t get our shit together, but sure.” He glanced at Stolas, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “Seriously, you don’t need to come. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me,” Stolas replied, his voice earnest. “I want to see what you’ve been working so hard on. Besides, I haven’t been to the circus since we met. I’d love to get a chance to go again.”

Blitzo snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked out of the library. “Yeah, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you if it’s a mess.” His tone was flippant, but the faint flicker of a blush on his face hadn’t escaped Stolas’s notice.

~o0o~~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

The library’s calm had been a reprieve, but as Stolas stepped into his dorm room, the air grew heavy. The dim glow of a solitary lantern cast flickering shadows that twisted along the pristine walls. His side of the room was immaculate—every object meticulously placed—but its order felt hollow, like a script he’d memorized too well—a reflection of duty, not of him.

He set down his books with a quiet sigh, the weight of the day settling over him. His gaze landed on the envelope waiting on his desk, and his chest tightened. It didn’t belong here, in the sanctuary he’d carved within the academy walls. And yet, here it was, waiting like an uninvited guest.

The wax crest of the Goetia family gleamed under the lantern’s light, its intricate design sharp and unyielding.

Stolas approached slowly, his claws brushing over the seal before carefully breaking it. The words inside greeted him with their usual precision—elegant, calculated, and suffocating.

Stolas, It has come to my attention that your focus has been misplaced lately. While I understand the distractions of your studies, it is imperative that you remember your responsibilities as a Goetian heir. Your actions have consequences—not just for yourself, but for our family’s reputation. Your current associations are unseemly and reflect poorly on the legacy we are duty-bound to uphold. Do not forget your place. As always, I expect you to correct this behavior swiftly. With our impending union, I trust you will make the appropriate choices to honor our family’s name and future. After all, protecting the Goetian legacy is not just a responsibility—it is an obligation. Sincerely, Stella

The letter trembled slightly in Stolas’s hands as he read and reread the words. Every line was crafted to remind him of his place, to suffocate any hint of individuality beneath the crushing weight of duty. Accusations of neglect. Thinly veiled threats. Expectations that stretched far beyond his reach. Each word clawed at him until the paper felt heavier than it should have.

His talons scraped against the paper, their faint rasp breaking the suffocating silence. For a moment, he considered tearing it apart, the thought sparking a flicker of rebellion. But then his eyes caught the Goetian crest stamped at the top—a stark reminder of the ever-watchful legacy looming over him—and the idea crumbled, just like his resolve.

With a sharp exhale, he folded the letter slowly, pressing each crease down with precision as though taming his frustration. He placed it on the desk with deliberate care, staring at it for a moment longer before turning away.

His steps were restless as he paced the room, the flickering lantern throwing fractured shadows across the walls. The perfect order surrounding him began to feel distorted, like a prison too pristine to escape. His shoulders tensed, breath shallow and uneven.

“Unseemly associations,” he muttered bitterly, the venom in his voice unfamiliar yet cutting. “For the family name. Of course.”

The words clung to him like chains, dragging him back to every lesson drilled into him since childhood. Duty. Honor. Legacy. Concepts carved into him like grooves in stone, shaping a mold he’d never chosen. He stopped near the window, his palm pressing against the cold glass. The chill bit at his skin, grounding him briefly as he stared into the endless red-black of the night sky. The vastness beyond the glass mocked him, freedom tantalizingly out of reach.

Stolas sank into the chair by the window, resting his forehead against his palm. His glowing eyes dimmed with exhaustion as his reflection stared back at him in the glass. For all her control, Stella couldn’t take everything—not yet, in any case.

His mind drifted to Blitzo—the imp’s raw honesty, unpolished humor, and the way he seemed utterly free of the shackles Stolas felt with every breath. Blitzo didn’t demand perfection or suffocate him with expectations. He just… was. Reckless and defiant, Blitzo challenged everything Stolas had been taught to value. There was something about him, something unrestrained and real, that drew Stolas in like a moth to a flame.

But that freedom felt impossibly far away.

And yet, Stella’s words loomed like a specter. Do not forget your place. The engagement was a chain pulling him back to a life he’d never chosen. The letter was a reminder of the inevitable—a future he couldn’t escape.

“What do you want from me, Stella?” he whispered, his voice low and raw. “Haven’t I given enough?”

Stolas’s talons clenched against his knees as his thoughts swirled—a storm of guilt, anger, and longing. The choice before him felt impossible: to follow the path carved for him or to risk everything for the briefest taste of something else. Of something that felt like his.

For now, all he could do was stare into the darkness and wonder which path would break him first.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

The stage creaked faintly beneath their feet as Blitzo and Fizzarolli moved through the motions of their routine. The festival crowd bustled in the distance, their distant laughter and chatter a low hum that barely reached the center of the stage, the area closed down for practice. The lights above cast harsh shadows, but the usual magic of their performance was missing. Each step felt heavier, and each move was less precise than it should have been.

Blitzo stumbled over his footing during one of their flips, and Fizzarolli’s timing was just a fraction off. They landed unevenly, their breathing labored, and their synchronization nowhere near the perfection they usually achieved.

Blitzo sighed, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “This fight’s screwing everything up, Fizz,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “I can’t even focus.”

Fizz avoided his gaze, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “Yeah, well... maybe if you weren’t so busy cozying up to royalty, this wouldn’t have happened,” he shot back, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

Blitzo’s tail lashed behind him, but before he could respond, Cash’s voice boomed from the side of the stage, cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Blitzo! What the hell was that?!” Cash bellowed, his fists clenched as he stormed toward them. “You call that a routine? You’re ruining the act with your half-assed bullshit!”

Blitzo flinched but quickly straightened, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m not the only one messing up!” he snapped, gesturing toward Fizz. “Maybe yell at him for once instead of always blaming me!”

Fizz stiffened, his gaze darting nervously between Cash and Blitzo.

Cash’s eyes narrowed as he marched closer. “Don’t you dare talk back to me, boy,” he growled, his voice low and menacing.

Blitzo held his ground, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Why not? You’re always on my case! Maybe if you actually paid attention, you’d see I’m not the only one screwing things up!”

The crack of the slap echoed across the stage. Blitzo’s head snapped to the side, his cheek already reddening as he staggered back. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The faint creak of the stage beneath his bare feet was the only sound heard, filling the space where words failed. Blitzo didn’t wait for anyone to say more. He turned sharply and stormed off the stage, his hooves thudding heavily against the wooden planks.

"Blitzo!" Fizz called, his voice laced with panic. He took a step toward his friend, his hand twitching uncertainly as he made to chase him. But Barbie appeared at his side, grabbing his arm and stopping him in his tracks.

 "Stay here," she said firmly, her eyes locked on Blitzo’s retreating form. Her tone left no room for argument. "I’ll handle it."

Fizz hesitated, torn between listening and following, his gaze darting between Barbie and Blitzo. Barbie didn’t wait for further protests. She took off after Blitzo, her pace quick but deliberate as she followed the faint trail of his hooves he’d left behind.

She found him slumped behind a large tree near the edge of the forest surrounding the festival grounds. His breathing was ragged, and his arms were crossed tightly against his chest. His nails dug deeply into the skin of his forearms, blood trailing down his arms and onto the legs of his costume.

Barbie’s heart twisted as she crouched in front of her brother. “Blitzo,” Barbie murmured, crouching in front of him. He didn’t respond, his crimson eyes fixed on the ground. Seeing him like this—so small, so broken—was a punch to the gut. She pried his claws from his arms, her touch gentle but insistent. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep this up,” she said softly, struggling to talk over the tightening of her throat.

Blitzo finally looked up at her, his crimson eyes rimmed with tears, makeup smeared into streaks of black and red. His lips trembled as he muttered bitterly, “Who cares.” His voice cracked, and his claws dug into his arms again. “I’m just a fuck-up. What’s the difference if I hurt myself? Doesn’t matter.”

The words hung in the air, raw and cutting, and Barbie’s chest ached at the pain in his voice. She didn’t reply immediately, her hands gently prying his claws away from his arms once more. Then she pulled him into her embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Her hand cradled the back of his head, holding him close to her chest.

“You didn’t ruin anything. It was just practice,” she whispered, her voice steady but soft, her lips brushing against his forehead. “You’re not a fuck-up, Blitzo. You’re just tired. And hurt. And that’s okay. It’s okay to feel like this.”

Blitzo’s breath hitched as the dam broke, and quiet, shuddering sobs spilled out of him. His tears soaked into her costume, his body trembling as months of frustration, guilt, and pain poured out. Barbie didn’t say anything else, didn’t shush him or try to force him to calm down. She just held him, her grip firm and unwavering.

Minutes passed until his cries slowly subsided into hiccups and heavy breathing. Barbie stroked his horns gently, her nails scratching lightly against them in a soothing rhythm. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Let it out.”

When Blitzo finally pulled back, his cheeks were blotchy, streaked with dried tears and smudged makeup. His crimson eyes were bloodshot, glistening under the faint light filtering through the trees.

Barbie reached into her pocket and pulled out a wet wipe, dabbing at his face with surprising care. “You look like hell, kiddo,” she teased lightly, though her voice was still warm and comforting.

Blitzo sniffled, his tail flicking weakly behind him. “Gee, thanks,” he muttered, though a faint, shaky smile tugged at his lips.

Barbie grinned, brushing stray tears off his face. “That’s more like it.” She folded the tissue, tucking it into her pocket before tilting his face up with a gentle hand. Her expression sobered as she saw the dark bruise spreading across his cheek. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes darkened with anger. “That bastard,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers ghosting over the bruise without touching it.

Blitzo winced, trying to pull his face away, but Barbie held him still. “Stay put,” she said firmly, though her tone was laced with concern. She took a deep breath, her voice softening again. “You didn’t deserve that, Blitzo. None of it.”

Blitzo’s gaze dropped, his tail curling around his leg. “Maybe I did,” he mumbled. “I keep screwing everything up. Fizz, the routine, everything.”

Barbie’s grip on his chin tightened, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t you dare,” she said, her tone fierce now. “You’re not the reason for any of this, Blitzo. You’ve got so much on your plate, and you’re still here, still trying. That’s more than most people can say.”

Her words hit something deep within him, and Blitzo blinked, his lips parting slightly as if to argue, but nothing came out.

Barbie smiled faintly, reaching into her bag to pull out her compact mirror and foundation. “Now, let’s fix you up. You can’t go back looking like this, or they’ll think you’ve been wrestling with a bear.”

Blitzo frowned, trying to lean away. “Barb, I’m not going back. I’ll just mess up again.”

Barbie stilled, her hands hovering over her makeup. “The point, dumbass,” she said, though her tone held no bite, “is that you keep going, no matter what. You’re not doing this for Dad or Fizz or anyone else. You’re doing this for you. And maybe that cute noble you keep talking about.”

Blitzo groaned, covering his face with his hands as he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Barb, come on,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

Barbie laughed softly, patting his hands away so she could dab the foundation over his bruise. “Mama would freak if she saw this,” she said after a moment, her tone softening. “You know she misses her baby, right?”

Blitzo’s expression faltered, his voice quieter. “Yeah, everyone misses Fizz.”

Barbie rolled her eyes and gave him a light shove. “I meant you, idiot.”

She took out an eyeshadow palette, tilting his chin up to fix his makeup. “You’ve always been the pretty one,” she said with a smirk.

Blitzo snorted. “Don’t be stupid. I just got the incubus gene. Makes me look prettier than I actually am.”

Barbie laughed. “I got it too, loser. That’s not it.” She added a touch of shimmer to his cheeks and nose, then leaned back to inspect her work. “There. Almost good as new.”

Blitzo glanced at her, his tail flicking nervously.  “Thanks, Barb. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Barbie smoothed down his costume and fixed the collar, her smile softening. “You’d manage,” she teased, but her voice wavered. “But you don’t have to. I’ll always be here, Blitzo.”

Blitzo nodded shakily, and for a moment, they sat in silence. The distant hum of the festival reminded them of the world waiting beyond the trees. But for now, in this small bubble of safety, Blitzo let himself breathe.

The wooden bleachers creaked as Stolas adjusted his seat, settling closer to the edge of his spot near the front. The air buzzed with energy—children’s laughter mixing with the whir and clatter of the nearby rollercoaster. Its rickety wooden tracks groaned faintly, blending with distant cries of joy and occasional screams of thrill-seekers.

Stolas’s glowing eyes scanned the stage eagerly, his talons tapping lightly against his thighs. The chatter of the crowd rose as the lights dimmed, and he gasped audibly when the stage lights burst to life, illuminating the platform in a golden glow. Clapping enthusiastically, his tall frame stood out even among the cheering crowd, and his gaze darted around, searching for one face.

And then, there he was.

Blitzo stepped into the spotlight, his wiry frame commanding attention as he moved with confidence. The shimmer of stage powder highlighted the sharp lines on his face, and his eyes gleamed brighter under the lights. Each movement radiated charisma, and Stolas felt his breath hitch.

He looks incredible, Stolas thought, his chest tightening. His energy, his focus—it’s magnetic.

Beside him, Fizzarolli moved with equal precision, their chemistry on stage undeniable. They began with a seamless series of flips and synchronized cartwheels, their movements fluid and captivating. The trapeze ropes descended from the ceiling, and Blitzo leaped onto one with daring ease, his tail curling for balance as he twisted mid-air. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Stolas leaned forward, wide-eyed with awe.

Each leap and twist carried an undercurrent of defiance, as though Blitzo was determined to prove someone wrong. The spotlight followed him, and his form was a perfect balance of grace and raw determination. Every twist and turn was sharp and precise—except for the moments when it wasn’t, which only made the performance feel more human and real.

“He’s amazing, isn’t he, Your Highness?” a cheerful voice said suddenly, breaking Stolas’s trance.

He startled, turning sharply to find Millie grinning at him. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “I hadn’t realized—well, yes, he’s absolutely breathtaking,” he said, his voice filled with wonder as he turned back to the stage.

“MOVE,” a sharp, imperious voice snapped behind him.

Stolas sighed heavily, his shoulders stiffening as Stella loomed over them. Millie didn’t flinch, leaning closer to Stolas, her hand on his thigh for balance so she could look around Stella.

“No, thank you,” Millie said pleasantly, tilting her head to peer around Stella. “This seat’s perfect. Oh! You see that girl?” She pointed toward the backstage area where Barbie could be seen watching from the wings. “That’s his twin sister.”

“His twin sister?” Stolas’s interest was piqued, but when he tried to follow Millie’s finger, Stella’s imposing figure blocked his view. He reached out a hand and grabbed Millie’s hip to steady her. Her hand had slipped when Stella moved closer, and she’d leaned too far forward. “Stella, do get out of the way,” he said, irritation creeping into his tone. “I’m trying to watch the show, and you’ve nearly made Millie fall.”

“She’s in my seat,” Stella replied coldly.

Stolas waved dismissively behind him. “She was here first, and there are plenty of other seats. Besides, we were having a conversation before you so rudely interrupted.”

“Stolas—” Stella began, her tone sharp.

“Enough, Stella,” he cut her off firmly. “Go find another seat or go away.”

After a tense beat, Stella huffed and turned sharply, climbing a few rows up to sit behind them. Stolas exhaled quietly and turned back to Millie. “They do look alike, don’t they?” he mused. “Both are very beautiful. I wonder—do you think it’s luck, or does their family choose partners for their looks?”

Millie shrugged, her eyes glued to the stage. “I dunno.” She winced as Blitzo reached for the trapeze, only for his grip to falter. He plummeted to the stage with a sickening thud, blood spurting from his nose as gasps rippled through the crowd. “Shit,” Millie winced, her hands gripping the edge of her seat while Stolas’s glowing eyes widened with alarm. The crowd’s reaction was mixed—a murmur of gasps and uneasy applause rippling through the festival grounds as Fizzarolli hesitated mid-act, his movements faltering.

Barbie burst onto the stage in a flash of determination, her feet slapping sharply against the wooden planks. Her posture was commanding, exuding a confidence that cut through the stunned silence. Without missing a beat, she gave Fizzarolli a quick signal—a subtle hand motion that told him to carry on. He hesitated for only a moment before resuming the routine, his arms twirling in exaggerated gestures to recapture the crowd’s attention.

She crouched next to Blitzo, who was struggling to sit up. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, smearing against his pale makeup and staining his costume and the stage. She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, her voice low but firm as she muttered something only he could hear. Ignoring the audience, she looped an arm around his back and carefully hauled him to his feet.

The crowd’s applause grew louder, more confused than enthusiastic, as Barbie steered Blitzo offstage. Her sharp glare toward Cash, who loomed near the wings, was enough to keep him momentarily silent. Her expression was one of barely contained fury as she disappeared into the shadows with her brother.

Stolas’s heart clenched as he watched, his feet already moving before he realized it. “Excuse me,” he murmured to Millie, stepping past her and making his way toward the backstage area. The applause from the audience felt distant, muffled by the roaring in his ears.

He rounded the corner just as Cash’s booming voice broke through the tense quiet like a thunderclap. “YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE DISGRACE TO THIS FAMILY! CAN YOU DO NOTHING RIGHT? PRINCE STOLAS AND HIS FIANCEE ARE IN THE CROWD, AND YOU MADE A COMPLETE EMBARRASSMENT OF US!”

Blitzo flinched under the weight of the words, his shoulders hunched and his tail curling defensively around his waist. His head hung low, and the ice pack Barbie had shoved into his hands trembled as he gripped it tightly.

Barbie’s face twisted with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. “He wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t swollen half his cheek and messed up his view!” she snapped, stepping in front of her brother, shielding him from their father’s wrath.

Cash snarled. “Get back on stage, Barbie.”

Stolas paused, lingering just out of sight for a moment as he took in the scene. Blitzo looked smaller somehow, his usual bravado stripped away under Cash’s tirade. Barbie stood firm, defiant, and protective, her eyes blazing as she faced down their father.

This wasn’t just an argument—it was a battlefield, and Stolas knew he couldn’t stand by and watch. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped into the room, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the tense standoff.

A large shadow loomed over Barbie, and she turned, her eyes widening slightly before recognition set in. She straightened her posture, her expression hardening as she faced her father once more. “I’m telling Mama when we get home,” Barbie retorted, her voice icy and unwavering. “You’re why he avoids going back.”

Cash’s face reddened, his fists clenching at her defiance, but before he could respond, Barbie turned sharply, pivoting to Stolas. She dipped into a quick, polite bow, her voice softening slightly. “Your Majesty,” she said with restrained respect, then spun on her heel and strode back onto the stage. Her expression transformed into a bright, radiant smile as she waved to the crowd, seamlessly picking up the act where Fizzarolli had left off.

Cash shifted his weight, his jaw tightening as he turned toward Stolas. “Y-your Highness, I apologize for my son’s—”

“Leave us.” Stolas’s voice was cold, cutting through Cash’s attempt at justification. His glowing eyes narrowed, radiating an authority that left no room for argument.

Cash opened his mouth as if to protest, but the fire in Stolas’s gaze froze him in place. With a sharp huff, Cash stormed off, his heavy footsteps echoing backstage as he disappeared.

The tension in the air lingered, thick and suffocating. Stolas exhaled softly and turned his full attention to Blitzo, who sat slumped against a wooden crate, his hands pressed tightly to his bloodied face. Stolas knelt beside him, his movements deliberate and gentle, and reached out to pull Blitzo’s hands away. “Blitzo,” he said softly, his tone warm with concern, “let me see.”

Blitzo flinched at the touch, his crimson eyes darting to the side. “Stolas, you don’t need to—”

“Shh,” Stolas interrupted, dabbing at the blood on Blitzo’s face with a handkerchief retrieved from his pocket. His movements were careful, almost reverent, as though Blitzo might shatter under too much pressure. “You’ve got a black eye, but I don’t think your nose is broken.”

Blitzo gave a weak, bitter laugh. “Great. I can still screw up my next performance without looking too ugly.”

Stolas tilted his head, his glowing eyes scanning Blitzo’s bruised face. “You didn’t screw up,” he said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “The strength and courage it takes to perform—especially in circumstances like these where the entire student body and their families are watching—is more than most could ever hope to achieve. I think you were remarkable.”

Blitzo blinked at the unexpected words, his tail flicking behind him nervously. “Yeah, well, tell my bruised ego that when I’m not flat on my ass in front of royalty,” he quipped, though his voice wavered slightly, the humor not fully masking the emotion beneath.

Stolas’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I’m telling you now, bruises and all,” he said, his tone unwavering. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to people who can’t see what’s right in front of them.”

Blitzo’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his usual bravado faltered. “It doesn’t matter what you think. It’s never enough for him.”

Stolas’s expression darkened briefly, but he quickly softened his tone. “What matters is what you think of yourself, Blitzo. Don’t let anyone take that from you—not him, not anyone.”

Blitzo looked away, his claws fidgeting with the edges of the ice pack Stolas had gently placed on his cheek. “I don’t know what to think,” he muttered. “Feels like everything I do just... isn’t enough.”

Stolas reached out again, placing a steadying hand on Blitzo’s shoulder. “It’s enough,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “You are enough.”

Blitzo let out a shaky exhale, his head tilting slightly as he processed the words. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice rough but genuine. He looked at Stolas then, his expression a mix of uncertainty and something softer. “I mean it. Thanks.”

Stolas smiled faintly, withdrawing his hand but remaining close. “I’ll stay here for a while,” he said softly, settling beside Blitzo on the floor. “Just until you’re ready.”

Blitzo didn’t respond, but he didn’t push Stolas away either. Instead, he leaned back slightly, letting himself breathe as the distant murmur of the crowd and the faint music from the stage drifted through the air.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

After the performance, Stolas and Blitzo found themselves at the festival that was sprawled across the campus like a patchwork carnival, vibrant and chaotic. Stalls lined the pathways, their makeshift signs painted in gaudy colors and adorned with tattered streamers. The air carried a mix of tantalizing smells—roasted nuts, caramel apples, and sizzling meat skewers—blended with the sharp tang of cheap fireworks. Amid the laughter and chatter, bursts of frustration punctuated the night; voices rose in arguments over rigged games and overpriced prizes. Somewhere near a dart booth, a customer’s shout echoed, “This is a scam!” followed by the clatter of darts hitting the ground.

Blitzo ducked beneath a swaying banner advertising a ring-toss game, his tail flicking as he navigated the uneven cobblestone path. Lanterns strung between trees cast a dim, flickering glow, their light failing to mask the scuffs and cracks in the festival’s cobbled-together attractions. A stuffed bear dangled lopsidedly from one of the prize hooks, its missing eye and frayed fur a stark testament to how long it had been put up as a prize. Above it, a demonic bat-like creature perched on the stall’s awning, letting out a low, unsettling chitter that blended with the murmurs of the crowd.

“Man, this place is a madhouse,” Blitzo muttered, glancing over his shoulder. Stolas followed at a more measured pace, his tall, regal frame out of place amidst the disheveled booths and rickety attractions.

“Festivals like these are meant to be lively,” Stolas remarked, his glowing eyes scanning the scene with a sense of excitement. A burst of laughter from a nearby stall was interrupted by a child’s wail of disappointment as their parent argued with the booth operator. Stolas tilted his head, observing the chaos with mild amusement. “It’s a celebration, after all.”

“Yeah, well, my kind of celebration involves way more booze,” Blitzo quipped, though his gaze lingered on a nearby stall. A faded sign above the booth read Win Big! while a tired attendant handed a cheaply sewn stuffed animal to a disappointed customer. Blitzo scoffed, quickly looking away. “What’s the point of winning? You pay ten bucks for a five-cent prize. That’s capitalism at its finest.”

“Don’t you work at a circus?” Stolas’s smile curved slightly as he noticed the fleeting glance. “Perhaps there’s more to enjoy here than you’re willing to admit.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, tugging at the hem of his jacket as they continued walking. Around them, voices rose and fell—a mix of excitement, frustration, and occasional bursts of sarcastic laughter. A juggler near the fountain fumbled his act, the dropped pins met with groans and a smattering of halfhearted applause. Lanterns swayed in the slight breeze, their golden light mingling with the faint glow of sparklers clutched by some of the younger students. Just above the sound of it all was an eerie hum that pulsed faintly from somewhere beyond the crowd, the sound low and resonant, like a massive unseen insect lurking just out of sight.

The festival's din softened as they wandered further from the main square, following a winding path to a small hill overlooking the event. The laughter and arguments grew distant, replaced by a faint, rhythmic chirping—like crickets but with a sharper, more metallic edge. The occasional rustling of leaves carried an unsettling undertone as though something unseen was watching. Lanterns gave way to the reddish sheen of moonlight as they climbed to the hilltop, where the view stretched over the carnival’s scattered glow.

Blitzo flopped onto the grass with a dramatic groan, his arms spread wide as he stared up at the night sky. “Finally, some peace and quiet. Thought I was gonna lose my damn mind back there.”

Stolas lowered himself more gracefully, sitting beside Blitzo with his legs folded. He glanced down at the imp, who was tapping his fingers absently against the grass. “You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys large crowds.”

Blitzo shrugged, his tail flicking in agitation. “Crowds are fine. It’s the festival noise. Sounds like Hell’s karaoke night, and I’m the idiot without earplugs. Reminds me of...” He trailed off, his tone shifting. For a moment, his fingers stilled. Then, with a scoff, he brushed it off with a quick, “Forget it.”

Stolas didn’t press him, though his curiosity was piqued. Instead, he turned his gaze upward as the first fireworks streaked across the sky. It burst into a cascade of blue and green, illuminating their faces with fleeting light. The sound of the explosion echoed across the hilltop, and Blitzo flinched, his tail curling tightly around his ankle. His ears flattened instinctively, and for a split second, his breathing hitched.

Stolas noticed immediately. “Are you alright?”

Blitzo sat up abruptly, waving a dismissive hand. “What? Yeah, I’m fine. Just—fireworks are loud as hell. Who even needs ‘em?” His voice was sharper than intended, the crack in his usual bravado slipping through.

Stolas hesitated before placing a gentle hand on Blitzo’s arm, his tone softening. “They’re just sounds and lights. They can’t hurt you.”

Blitzo glanced at the hand briefly before exhaling, the tension in his tail loosening slightly. “Yeah, I know. It’s just... whatever. They’re loud.”

Blitzo’s breath hitched as he felt Stolas lean in closer, the space between them narrowing until only the faint warmth of the owl demon’s presence remained. His tail flicked sharply against the grass, a telltale sign of his nerves, but he didn’t pull away. It wasn’t like him to freeze—Blitzo always had a quip or a jab ready to deflect when things got too real. But now, for some reason, his words failed him.

Stolas hesitated, his glowing eyes searching Blitzo’s face for the smallest sign of resistance. When none came, he leaned in further, his movements slow and deliberate, as though afraid the moment might shatter under its weight.

Their mouths met softly, a brush of warmth that felt like stepping into the unknown. The fireworks above crackled, their colors washing over the hilltop in fleeting waves of light. For Blitzo, the kiss felt startlingly real—no pretense, no bravado—just a quiet, unspoken connection he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle.

When they finally pulled back, it was slow, reluctant, as if both were afraid to break the spell. Stolas’s hand lingered on Blitzo’s arm, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his jacket in a grounding gesture. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed impossibly still.

Blitzo cleared his throat, his usual swagger returning in fits and starts. “Well, uh... you’ve got good timing, Feathers. Fireworks and all,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Stolas chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on Blitzo’s profile. “Perhaps they’re not so pointless after all?”

Blitzo leaned back against the grass, his tail loosening its tight coil as he exhaled slowly. “You’re a real sap,” he said finally, his tone teasing but devoid of malice.

Stolas’s lips quirked upward in a faint smile. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Blitzo leaned back, folding his arms behind his head as he let out a slow exhale. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, his tone softer than usual. “I’m a sucker for a good view.” His gaze flicked toward Stolas briefly before returning to the dark sky, where the last of the fireworks painted faint trails against the stars.

The moment lingered between them, fragile yet powerful—entirely theirs.

But like glass under too much pressure, it shattered with a sudden, sharp crack.

“So this is what you’ve been doing?” Stella’s voice pierced the air like a dagger, cold and cutting. She stood a few feet away, her posture rigid, her eyes blazing with fury. “Frolicking with the lower class while tarnishing your family’s name?” Disgraceful!”

Blitzo shot up, his tail flicking sharply as he turned to face her. His crimson eyes narrowed, and his usual bravado flared to life despite the tension. “Hey, maybe you should mind your own business, Lady Snooty. The guy’s just trying to have a life.”

Stella’s attention snapped to him, her lips curling into a sneer. “And you think you’re the one to give it to him? How quaint.” She took a step closer, her disdain palpable. “Do you even understand who you’re speaking to? You’re nothing more than a temporary distraction—a joke.”

“Stella, enough!” Stolas’s voice rose, sharp and commanding, as he stood, his tall frame imposing as he positioned himself between Blitzo and her. His usual composed demeanor cracked, replaced by a rare and deliberate show of authority. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“Oh, but I think it’s exactly the time,” Stella retorted, her tone dripping with mockery. “You’ve humiliated yourself—and me—for the last time, Stolas. Frolicking on a hilltop like some commoner? Do you have any idea what your little escapades could cost us? Cost me?”

Blitzo stepped forward, ignoring Stolas’s held-up hand that was silently urging him to stay quiet, his fists clenched, but this time his voice carried a sharper edge. “Maybe you should lay off. You’re acting like this is some royal scandal when all he’s doing is taking five damn minutes for himself.”

Stella’s eyes widened in mock surprise before narrowing with icy disdain. “And who are you to speak to me like that? A filthy little imp with no place and no purpose? Spare me your self-righteous drivel.”

Blitzo opened his mouth for a retort, but Stolas raised a hand, stopping him. “Blitzo, don’t,” he said softly, his tone heavy with exhaustion. He turned, his height casting a long shadow over the hilltop as he turned to face Stella fully. “I suggest we discuss this in private,” he said evenly, though his voice carried a warning edge.

Stella laughed coldly, her gaze flicking to Blitzo with open disdain. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. I’m sure your friend would love to hear all about how your little rendezvous could ruin everything our families have built. Or perhaps you’ve already shared that little detail?”

Blitzo’s jaw tightened at Stella’s words, a familiar sting rising in his chest. He’d heard it before—variations of “you’re nothing” dressed up in different accents. It didn’t bother him. Not anymore, he told himself, though his tail flicked sharply behind him.

“I won’t do this here,” Stolas said, his voice low but steady. “You can berate me all you like later, Stella, but not tonight.”

“Not tonight?” Stella’s laugh was sharp and bitter, slicing through the tension like a blade. “You think you get to decide when and where I hold you accountable? You’ve embarrassed yourself—and me—for the last time, Stolas.” Her eyes shifted to Blitzo, her lip curling in disdain. “And as for you—”

“Stella, enough!” Stolas’s sharp and commanding voice cut through her venomous tirade. He stepped forward with deliberate force, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. His usual composed demeanor fractured, replaced by a rare and deliberate display of authority. His glowing eyes burned brighter, locking onto Stella with an intensity that made her pause, even if only briefly. “Leave him out of this.”

Stella’s gaze snapped back to Stolas, her expression twisting into a mix of fury and cold calculation. Her tone dropped, low and biting, as she hissed, “You may think you’ve found something real with him, but this world won’t allow it. And when it tears him apart, remember—it was your hand that led him there.”

“Stella,” Stolas said, his voice tight but unwavering, “I understand your concerns.” His glowing eyes softened, just slightly, as his gaze flicked toward Blitzo for the briefest of moments. “But what I do—what I choose—is my decision, not yours.” He straightened, his tone regaining its steel. “And I’ll ask you again—leave. Now.”

Her lips curled into a thin, brittle smile, fury tempered but no less cutting. Straightening, she brushed imaginary dust from her gown, her voice dropping to a low, venomous purr. “Keep testing me, Stolas, and perhaps your imp’s little circus won’t see next year’s festival. It would be a shame if his family paid for your rebellion.”

Blitzo froze for a moment, his tail snapping sharply behind him before coiling tightly around his leg. His crimson eyes narrowed, and he took a deliberate step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. “Oh, I get it now,” he said, his voice low and cold, with a biting edge. “You’re not just a royal pain; you’re a full-blown psycho. What, you gonna send your little goons to torch some tents and step on my family’s dreams? Real classy move for a lady of your station.”

His voice rose, dripping with defiant sarcasm. “Don’t hold back, Princess. Let’s hear the whole villain monologue while you’re at it. Or are you too chicken to say what you really mean?”

“Blitzo, don’t,” Stolas interjected, his voice taut but calm, though a flicker of desperation glimmered in his glowing eyes. He moved deliberately, stepping fully in front of Blitzo and placing a hand on his shoulder to still him. His broad frame cast a protective shadow over the imp, his presence firm yet grounding. “She’s said enough.”

Blitzo’s jaw tightened, his gaze darting to Stolas briefly before locking back on Stella. “Yeah? Well, maybe she hasn’t heard enough from me,” he muttered, though he didn’t step forward again. His fists trembled at his sides before he reluctantly unclenched them, his tail twitching in barely restrained fury. “I’d love to see her try,” he added under his breath, the venom in his tone failing to mask the flicker of unease Stella’s words had stirred.

Stella’s smirk returned, sharp and satisfied, her gaze shifting between the two. “Oh, I’m far from done,” she said smoothly, her words dripping with menace. Then, with a cold, calculated glance, she turned and strode away, her steps echoing ominously into the night.

Blitzo stood in silence for a moment, his fingers flexing at his sides as if trying to release tension. His gaze flicked to Stolas, who remained standing, his shoulders tense and his glowing eyes fixed on the horizon.

What am I even doing here? The thought crept in, uninvited, wrapping around his chest like a vice. He could still feel the weight of Stella’s venomous words, her disdain lingering like smoke. Blitzo had always known he didn’t belong in places like this—he didn’t belong with people like Stolas. He was a sideshow act at best, a temporary distraction, just like she’d said.

And yet...

His tail flicked sharply behind him, betraying the war raging in his mind. A part of him—stupid, reckless, and way too loud—wanted to stay, to fight, to prove Stella and everyone else wrong. But the other part, the part that had always known better, screamed at him to go. It's better to leave now before the cracks spread too far to fix.

He forced a smirk onto his face, though it felt brittle, hollow. “It’s fine,” he said abruptly, his voice tight. “I get it. Nobles and imps don’t mix, right? No harm, no foul.” The words tasted bitter, but they were safe. It's safer than admitting how much this moment hurt.

“Blitzo, that’s not—” Stolas began, but Blitzo waved him off, his movements sharp and dismissive.

Blitzo smirked, the cracks in it barely hidden. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. You’ve got... y’know, all that legacy crap to deal with. And I, uh...” He hesitated, his crimson eyes darting to the festival lights below. “I should go check on Fizz anyway. He’s probably gotten trampled by his adoring crowd by now.” His laugh was weak, forced, and his tail flicked nervously behind him.

Stolas reached out instinctively, his hand lingering uselessly in the air as Blitzo turned away. The imp’s steps were quick, his head held high, but there was a stiffness to his stride—a deflection so practiced it was almost convincing. Almost.

Don’t look back. Don’t even think about it. The thought echoed in Blitzo’s mind as he descended the hill, his tail curling tightly around his leg. The memory of Stolas’s hand, so close yet so far, burned in his mind, warm and disarming in a way that felt dangerously close to breaking him. You let your guard down—again.

By the time he reached the festival’s edge, he’d plastered on his usual smirk, the cracks hidden well enough to fool anyone who wasn’t looking too closely. The noise and lights below swallowed him whole, his crimson eyes vanishing into the throng like a fleeting ember—brief, unnoticed, and lost to the chaos.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

Stolas’s hand lingered in the air, suspended between reaching forward and letting go. He wanted to call out, to stop him, but the words caught in his throat. What could he say? That he was sorry? That it wasn’t what it looked like? That he wished things were different? None of it would change the truth Stella had thrown in his face: You may think you’ve found something real with him, but this world won’t allow it. And when it tears him apart, remember—it was your hand that led him there.

Her words hung over him, dragging him back to the gilded halls of his family estate—a prison he feared would now trap them both. His father’s cold voice echoed in his mind: 'You are a Goetia. Your life isn’t your own.' He resented how his family reduced people to pawns, yet here he stood, his choices threatening to hurt the one person who made him feel like more.

Am I any better? The thought struck him like a dagger, churning his stomach.

And then, there was Blitzo.

Even now, the cracks were beginning to show. How long before the weight of his world crushed Blitzo as well? The thought lingered, sharp and unrelenting. Letting him go could spare him the fallout. It would be the right thing to do. But you won’t, will you?

For a long moment, Stolas stood motionless, staring at the path where Blitzo had vanished. His limp and useless hand dropped to his side as reality reasserted itself. The faint laughter and distant music of the festival felt like an insult now, mocking the ache rooted deep in his chest. He exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible over the faint chirping of hell crickets and the distant echoes of the festival.

He took a few steps forward as if following Blitzo might change something, but his feet stopped short at the edge of the hill. Below, the festival glimmered, its lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. The bursts of fireworks had ended, leaving the world painted in muted tones of red and shadow. The silence felt oppressive now, a stark contrast to the warmth they’d shared just moments ago.

The last burst of fireworks replayed in his mind—not the brilliant colors, but the way their fleeting light had illuminated Blitzo’s face. For a rare moment, the imp’s walls had been down, exposing something raw and unguarded. And then, just as quickly, those walls had rebuilt themselves, higher and thicker than before.

Stolas lowered himself to the ground, his long legs folding beneath him as he sat on the cool grass. He leaned back slightly, letting his gaze drift upward. The distant and indifferent stars shimmered faintly against the vast darkness. They were beautiful, but their beauty felt hollow, unreachable. The hill, once alive with possibility, now felt unbearably empty.

Blitzo’s sharp and irreverent laugh softened in their quiet moments, fading now like the echoes of the festival.

Stolas’s title and status felt hollow against Stella’s venom, but it was the sight of Blitzo walking away that left him rooted in place. He’d wanted to call out, to stop him—but what could he even say? Could he genuinely claim this connection was worth more than his legacy?

The festival’s distant laughter drifted upward, mocking Stolas’s grip on the grass as if the earth could ground him in this moment. He’d reached for something real, something fleeting, and now he was left holding nothing but the empty echo of what could have been.

Blitzo’s defiance, his raw honesty, had shaken something loose in Stolas. But freedom came at a cost, and the chains of duty clinked louder than ever. The stars above offered no answers, only a reflection of the distance between who he was and who he wished to be.

[lets-try-some-writing]

🔥 Orion Pax

I doubt this is that unpopular, but I know I am about to offend quite a few people with a fondness for this trope.

Orion Pax was in no way the UWU mess that a good half of the fandom likes to portray him as. Was he naive to a degree? Yes. But was he UWU and all feminine? I HIGHLY doubt that. He served under Alpha Trion and worked with all sorts of grim knoweldge.

There was no way he was a ray of sunshine as the fandom likes to say. He was so out of sorts during the Orion Pax arc because he literally woke up millennia in the future he hoped to never see. Anyone would be more confused and nervous in such a situation. It makes sense that he would be more uncertain and a little more naive knowledge wise because who the hell was he supposed to believe? All he had was what Megatron told him and little else. His whole reality was on its head, he likely felt instinctually driven to follow the only static being that he knew of.

The fact that his mental distress turned into some of the fandom seeing him as UWU irritates the writer in me on a spiritual level. A weak and cutesy mess does not turn into the hardened warrior and wise leader that Optimus was. Unless the Matrix literally rebuilt him from the ground up, I just don't see these two identities meshing or leading to one another.

In conclusion, I have a personal vendetta against UWU Pax and I will fight anyone who tries to claim he is canon. Do what you want in fanfic, but please don't screw around with what Optimus is. Thank you for coming to my slightly rage infused rant.

[thesaintofpatience]

🔥!!

🔥- Name a crackship, now convince me why it would work!

In all honesty the problem (?) with TLT and this question is that it's so easy to find justifications for nearly all ships. As Archimedes never said, 'give me a situation big enough and I'll make those blorbos kiss'

I mean, whatever it is, it can't be one of the Lyctors - God's duplicitous sluts will get it on with anyone, in any permutation, given enough time and 10,000 years of emotional fuckery to draw from. There's some absolutely killer fics out there pairing various lyctors with Palamedes, and they all slap.

So, leaving out the Lyctors (much as I adore them) gives us this rather darling random selector as below, non-exhaustive but I think I hit the main beats:

Putting in a break here because this gets long:

Spin 1 gave me Ianthe and Alecto which would seem to be ill-fated given that (1) Alecto's out to kill God, which Ianthe doesn't want (yet) and (2) Their first meeting was a literal slap in the face to Ianthe, which may not be a deal-breaker but certainly wouldn't help

But if we wind canon back a tad and give ourselves a world in which John didn't imprison Alecto on the Ninth, the Mithraeum set-up looks a little different. Here's Ianthe confronted with the same power dynamics we see in HtN, albeit with the addiiton of one extra who:

Is God's undisputed favourite

Scares the shit out of the other Lyctors (what a power play!)

Exists as a very literal manifestation of Resurrection magic, Ianthe's chosen topic of interest.

Ianthe can't lie to Alecto - nobody can - and she's not going to win her over with kindness and good graces, but she's not above using vulnerability to her own ends and Alecto (six foot, blonde, quite possibly bears more than a passing resemblance to Coronabeth) might find herself confronted with somebody who very honestly and earnestly wants to spend time with her and get to know more about her, even if she isn't necessarily being honest about why that is. Meanwhile, Alecto - who has spent the last 10,000 years on a spaceship with only John and the other Lyctors for company - is lonely. And here's somebody new, and bizarre, and potentially interesting. At the very least they might chat. Alecto 'this is how meat loves meat' the First might find herself quite comforted by someone who's all too willing to lean into brutality and take everything at face value if that's what's required of her.

(Where's Harrow in this AU? Good question - not only does Gideon not exist in an AU where Dios Apate never occurred, it's quite possible that neither does the Ninth House; we know it was never supposed to, and whatever it is, it doesn't have the theological weight of the Tomb behind it, which diminishes its already-shaky claim to status. Either Harrow doesn't exist at all, or she does, but she wasn't invited as a scion to Canaan House with the rest)

I'm just saying, I could see it.

Anyway, just to labour the point further:

Spin 2 gave me Palamedes and Wake which I grant you is significantly more tricky but let me give it the old college try:

Okay, so first we have to concoct a situation in which Palamedes and Wake would ever get to meet, which is somewhat hampered by the fact that she died when he was two years old. But we don't let a little thing like death stop us in the necromancy books, do we? There are options with regard to revenants (e.g Palamedes Ascends to Lyctorhood and meets Wake-in-Cytherea - what a confusing interaction that would be for the poor fellow) but I'll constrain myself to actual living Wake for the thought exercise.

Option 1: Taking the above AU for sheer convenience, if the Tomb is never sealed and Dios Apate never occurs, Wake doesn't die on the Ninth. She's alive (wahey!) and therefore free to meet the Master Warden at a later date.

Option 2: Wake does crash on the Ninth but survives and makes good her escape, living to fight another day

Option 3: Wake does crash on the Ninth, survives and is taken prisoner, kept on Ninth for a brief period before being presumably picked up and taken away by the Cohort (from where she can escape, be murdered by them, hostage exchange, indoctrination, all manner of options)

In either options 1 or 2 we have the option of introducing Wake at Canaan House as one of the BOE operatives working with Cytherea intending to pick over the rubble of the various dead Lyctors, only slightly inconvenienced by the fact that (1) Wake wants Palamedes dead and (2) even if she didn't, he rather unhelpfully kills himself

So instead, let's do a necro-cav roleswap because frankly I love them and examine cavalier Palamedes Sextus. Still immensely smart, still writing letters to Dulcinea, still inseparable from Camilla Hect. Could Camilla Hect be the Master Warden? Arguably. Could Palamedes Sextus be a cavalier primary? Alas, I doubt it - I can imagine a world in which he doesn't have necromantic aptitude, but not one in which he has physical coordination. In this AU he probably ends up on Sixth forever (in data) except that he's still writing to Dulcinea, concertedly studying non-medical necromancy and writing increasingly impassioned papers about how 'necromancy for everything makes one lazy' and shouldn't we all be thinking a little less about animaphilia and a little more about basic curative practices (and can we please stop stabbing ourselves with implements that haven't been appropriately sterilised, how we haven't all died of sepsis by now is God's own mystery) -

And he starts to make a name for himself, and draw a reputation, because if Palamedes Sextus is anything it's chronically unable to shut up. Which is to say, you've been headhunted and it's off to the Cohort with you, chum. Non-necromantic medics are a rarity, but very useful for thanergetically-depleted environments where it's inconvenient to start killing off the population just to heal your cav's broken ribs. Now we have a Cohort Palamedes (under significant duress), separated from Camilla (heartbreaking, sorry) and Dulcinea (likewise) operating in the field primarily in environments which are inhospitable to necromancers - thalergenic planets, the outskirts of Empire - and therefore able to potentially run into BOE. Now we're talking!

From here, options. Hostage situation? Palamedes gets captured by BOE and talked around to the evils of empire as we see in As Yet Unsent. More likely, operating as a Cohort medic out on the fringes and in the thick of the action, I think we might start to see Palamedes doing this of his own volition - and in a situation in which he finds himself with a room full of people who need healing, he's not going to give much of a fuck who is Cohort and who is BOE, he's far more concerned with who is dead and who is instead merely dying and therefore somebody he can help.

Anyway, one engineers a meeting between Palamedes (cocky, jaded, I think significantly spikier from a) not being a necromancer b) separated from his loved ones c) generally fucked off by the crushing reality of imperialism and war) and Wake (landmine person, takes no shit). Necromancer Palamedes and Wake are a non-starter, but as a cavalier - and a medic, no less - he's a useful tool for her. They'd fight like cats in a bag but I think he'd be impressed by her, and she might be amused by him. He bickers and argues and generally makes himself a nuisance. She's a firebrand leader with an absolute singleminded focus. I can definitely see charged moments over wounds and bandages, that's all I'm saying.

Look, am I saying that I'm going to start shipping Ianthe/Alecto or Wake/Palamedes anytime soon - probably not. But !! Every time I see a 'crackship' or something totally new where someone's figured out a way to get different bozos into the same get-along t-shirt, an angel gets its wings. Absolutely no offence to all the people out there writing modern (frequently college) AU griddlehark but nothing thrills me more than seeing a ship tag and having to do a double take because ??? who put them in the same room?

I don't know if that answered your question at all actually but thank you for asking it ilu aust <3

[halimaidmf]

🔥 disco elysium

I think coalition warship archer has a sexy voice.

In all seriousness I don't think there's anything I can say that hasn't already been said better. Ok actually I will say that:

I've never been able to really get into any RPGs where you can create your own character and that are supposed to have open worlds where you can 'build your own story' or whatever like Fallout, Baldurs Gate, etc. I think more RPGs should be built as CRPGs like Disco Elysium where you follow a preset protagonist through the world and you have some slight branching paths but its all int the service of a single narrative that crucially has all the development time put into supporting.

This is of course just little old me ^-^ and maybe part of the problem is that the 'open world cyoa' rpgs tend to just have bad writing. Idk.

[mayzingly]

all the s2 ep3 parts ruined with yapping

!!SPOILERS, IF YOU HAVENT WATCHED ANY OF THEM GO WATCH THEM!!

I haven’t seen an episode be split up in parts since s1 ep10, so either Brittany decided to do it in parts instead of all at once because she knew we would complain about it literally being three months since the last one, or THEYRE COOKING

^^^^^^^^

so the episode starts with them walking on a path, which means im allowed to assume that Pyrare and Ajacenus went in the forest and then got ajavex from somewhere.

first thing I notice right off the bat is how enthusiastic they are about beating their sister up😭😭 like y’all are forgetting that whatever injuries ajaceare gets, ajacent has to deal with. they just don’t fade once she becomes uncorrupted, do they

that’s all I had to say about the first part, since it was surprisingly more boring than I remember

^^^^^^^^

this is my favorite out of the prevs.

the episode starts with ajaceare running like she just got 500$ from her mom and was told she could spend it on anything. dub then asks her how collecting pieces has been going. she pulls out a BIG ASS BAG. if im correct there are 20 artists featured in jsab minus the ones that already gave their pieces and some of them are one timers (avenza, pegboard nerds (iirc), plesco, silva hound, nanobii, TECHNICALLY omnitica, etc etc) so like where did she get all them pieces???

there are multiple theories about who those people could be, but I choose to believe theyre 2/5 out of Shirobon because

THATS A TAIL. AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAS A TAIL? A FOX. AND YOU KNOW WHATS A SONG BY SHIROBON IN JSAB? FOX!!! TOTES DIDNT RUN ON ONE HOUR OF SLEEP LAST NIGHT😃😃😃😃

also, I hope this is just a transition because OTHERWISE HOW DID SHE NOT NOTICE THEM.

one sentence to describe this episode: tri-py.

anyways, onto the next one. you better get your popcorn ready cause im about to RANT.

*cracks knuckles*

and OF COURSE SHES ON A TREE.

why is literally every monster either corrupted or a pacifist in tpc. like YALL GOT FIGHTING SKILLS, USE EM “don’t you know we monsters never attack shapes??” That’s only for YOU, your SAILOR MOON HAVING ASS HAIR LOOKING ELDER SISTER, and “SAILOR MOON”’S BITCHASS BARRACUDA HAVING FRIEND.

girl. im sorry but if I was a monster id be throwing these hands left and right.

“How could you have gotten corrupted like this?” gee idk, maybe a corrupted person touched her!??? Shocking wow “You’re supposed to stay in the mountains like the rest of us!!” bro shes 1000, im pretty sure shes able to not be huddled under u all the time.

“Now give me your pieces!!”

again, this makes

NO.

FUCKING.

SENSE!!!

IF SHE WAS TALKING ABOUT PYRARE, SHE WOULDVE SAID “Give me HIS pieces!” But instead shes saying “Your”.

I don’t know WHY the hell Ajacenus and ajavex would even have pieces, because it’s clear that they don’t have the triangle symbol like every other group member, but even if they did, IT WOULD BE INCOMPLETE BECAUSE AJACENUS IS SUPPOSED TO BE WICKED - AVENZA AND AJAVEX IS DEADLOCKED - F-777!!! SEE HOW ITS TWO DIFFERENT ARTISTS???

AND PLUS, EVEN IF SHE DID JUST MEAN PYRARE, HE WOULDNT HAVE A SINGLE PIECE BECAUSE THEY HAVENT GONE TO THE LAND OF TRIANGLES YET!!!

CAUSE I KNOW DAMN WELL SHE DIDNT FORGET TO ANIMATE THE HAIR DETAILS. I DONT GET WHY THEYRE LEFT OUT OF THIS, THEY COULDVE USED THE SHIELD FROM HER DRESS INSTEAD!!

PYRARE, MOVE!!! QUIT BEING LAZY!!! MOVE YOUR FACE!! DUMBAS-

AND THEN YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO CLAP. BRO.

BROOOO🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

one sentence to describe this episode: BRITTANY COOKED BUT NOBODYS HUNGRY🔥🔥

last and definitely least, is the 4th part. now, the whole video was a bossfight so I don’t have much to say except SHE GOT PUFF PONYTAILS YAAAAAAAAA

I hope she isn’t batshit ugly or I might just remove s2 ep3 part 5 from my consciousness once it comes out

…yeah I had to remove it from my consciousness because WTH is this

“What happened to me?” Girl do you have the big D? (dementia)

HAHAHHH THE STUPID FACE HE MADE IN THE HALLOWEEN SHORT IS BACK, only thing I’m happy about. However…

“It isnt right for a male to hit a female” dude sybau. you throw hands all you want if you feel provoked. pussy.

anyways, onto dub. his section was the only entertaining part. Seeing him tweak like that genuinely made me go “😧” IRL

“Which caretaker is it!? I swear if it’s the anxious one…” made me BUST OUT laughing. Though I do wonder what he would’ve done if the flower lied to him and said it was “the anxious one” who I’m assuming is cube.

“So you decided to come out of retirement?” im curious about this, because… how does he even go into retirement in the first place?

though, I’m gonna talk about three things here.

1. I think (Altered) finally gives us an answer to what Circusic meant in episode 2. “The same way you are!” So we all saw him get revived by the reaper and turn into circubit, so when he says that I can only guess that Iris got revived that same way. You get revived, but with some perks, aka ALTERATIONS.

2. Every flower is infected? That means George is probably back.

3. Circusic is infected??? Either he doesn’t know that hes uncorrupted; or HES BAAAACK!!!!