#wonder how much longer this hyperfixation will go for?

[wanderingmind867]

Turns out I despise X-Men #58 so much that I'm ending my X-Men reading journey here. So I'm probably going back to focusing on the Avengers. At least there aren't any stories there that I think will annoy me this much. But I will at least read the 5 page X-Men Origins sidestories. Those were all done by Werner Roth, and he's a great artist. Better than Neal Adams, in my book.

[cherryredstars]

Hi cherry! First of all thank you for your work, your writing has permanently altered my brain chemistry 😳😳 I was wondering if u could write something where Miguel and his ex reunite after a bad breakup, perhaps a few months after (maybe they bump into each other during a party or smth) and as they finally talk both admit that they never managed to move on (like reader went on a few unsuccessful dates, since shes still obsessed with Miguel it has been pointless) they are still in love and they want to make it work this time!!! And since they are back together reader is rlly needy and touchstarved 🥴🥴 she missed him so so much and all,,,,

thx again for feeding my miguel’s hyperfixation!! you are one of my fave authors here ❤️❤️ you deserve the world!!

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fingering, Squirting

A/N: Hello and thank you, love 🫶🏼! Enjoy!!

Unedited

Well, this was another disaster.

You’re practically moping at your reflection in the bar’s bathroom. You’ve been hiding in there for more than ten minutes, but you would be surprised if your date- even if he’s not worthy of the small title- has even noticed your absence.

The whole night had been a disaster, right from the very start. Not only had your date been twenty minutes late, but he also failed to so much as greet you for more than 5 seconds before ordering himself a beer and turning his eyes to the small bar TV to watch the old sports rerun from the night before. You would cringe when he loudly reacted to the events on the screen as if it were happening in real time, making the people around you turn to him with perplexed and judgmental looks that made you want to crawl under the bar and out the door. Your attempts to distract him from the game with small talk only turned to him giving half-assed information about himself and him asking if you’re covering the tab for his beers.

What a stellar experience!

You stall in the bathroom a bit longer by being extra delicate in your lip reapplication, all the while whining to yourself in your head about how you could have saved your outfit for a better occasion. With another sigh and a planned excuse to end the night early, you hype yourself up to leave the bathroom and return to your date.

When you open the door, you almost stumble into someone’s chest. You blink in surprise, an apology forming on your lips as you slowly lift your head up. The words instantly shrivel up and die when you meet familiar red tinted eyes, the air in your lungs suspending.

Miguel, sporting his usual grumpy look, instantly softens as he meets your eyes. He seems to take you in, like your the first sign of water since taking a cruel journey through the desert. The look alone is enough for your heart to go into overdrive

Despite the sudden dryness in your throat, you manage a small smile, “Hi.”

The one word is soft, almost tentative. It makes something in Miguel crave more. He’s been wanting more the moment the two of you broke up, the reason stupid after a few months apart.

He returns the smile, hands going to his pockets to fight off the temptation to grab you and never let you go, “Hi, I like the dress.”

Your eyes instantly fall down to take in your outfit, cheeks blazing from the compliment. Your fingers play with the hem of the skirt, a bashful thank you bubbling from your lips. It makes Miguel’s smile just slightly larger as your eyes hesitantly meet his again.

A silence fills the space, both of you caught up on things you could- should- say to each other. The silence begins to grow awkward, and Miguel finds it to be the perfect opportunity to slowly reach his hand out.

He means to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but the pounding in his chest makes him miscalculate slightly and instead skims the apple of your cheek. The touch shoots rapid jolts of electricity down your spine, awakening your nerves from a long hibernation. Your hand desperately grabs at his wrist, trying to keep his hand in place. Then suddenly, everything is fast forwarded.

Your lips crash together in a hungry, desperate urge to be closer. Your bodies pushing against each other until your smaller body is pushed back through the bathroom door, the lock faintly clicking behind the two of you as you’re lifted up and placed onto the counter. Your hands exploring inches of skin that you still know like it’s your own. Refamilarising yourself with every bulge of muscle and every dip.

Despite the vicious need to have you naked against him, for your skin to press against his and swap a cycle of warmth, Miguel grits his teeth and restrains for ripping clothes off of your body. This place is filthy, and he doesn’t want to tarnish your skin. Instead, his hand slips under the hem of your dress, pressing into the soaked spot growing in the fabric of your panties.

Your body bristles from the contact, your sex burning hot and throbbing. You squirm, your body already begging for more. Miguel reads you instantly, slipping his fingers under the fabric until he grazes your twitchy clit and reaches your leaking hole. He circles his fingers around the wet entrance, lubricating his fingers with your arousal before slowly pushing them in.

A low whine escapes you, your walls clamping down hard around his fingers. Miguel hisses at the vice grip you have on him, his thumb attempting to relax you by circling your clit. It makes you whine more, practically squirming on his hand.

Miguel buries his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at the column of skin, “Fuck baby, you’re so sensitive.”

You can only sniffle in response, your mind zeroing in on the slow curling of Miguel’s fingers. Your eyes are half lidded and hazy, small moans leaving your lips as the tips of his fingers press into the gummy spot inside of you. The pleasure grows quickly, pent up sexual frustration from dates you wouldn’t even let into your home and late nights at work to distract yourself from the ache in your heart unleashing and flowing down Miguel’s wrist.

With a combination of thrusting and curling, your body spasms with a choked moan as you collapse against him. He can feel the gush of your release spray against his hand, creating wet squelches as he continues to work you through it. Clear drops landing on the counter eventually begin to form a small puddle under you as your panties become completely soaked through.

You’re fighting for breath once you come down from your high, mind foggy and stuck in a state of bliss. Miguel slowly pulls his fingers out, his entire palm soaked with clear arousal. A stray drop runs down his arm, and he’s quick to catch it with his tongue. He almost comes in his pants as the sweet taste explodes in his mouth, making him hungry for more. He fights the urge for now, promising himself it’ll come with time before grabbing napkins from the dispenser and cleaning the inside of your thighs and the puddle under you.

He slowly pulls your soaked underwear down, recognizing the flash of discomfort that comes over your face as you come back to earth, stuffing the fabric in his pocket before helping you down onto your shaky feet. You hold onto his arm tightly feeling as if you’re trying to balance on jello, and Miguel wraps an arm around your waist to stabilize you. Your breath is still slightly irregular, and you take the moment to close your eyes and lean your head against his chest. You can hear the pace of his heart, not a bit surprised that it mimics yours.

“Come home with me.”

You smile into his chest, humming.

Like he even had to ask.

[scorpioriesling]

Dream Come True

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Lucien x reader

Warnings: light swearing

Summary: When Elain rejects the mating bond, the High Lord of Autumn spares no sympathy for his youngest son (well… you know. Anyways.) Hosting a ball with all the most eligible maidens in the court, you are of course eligible and happy to attend, wishing from afar for so many years — but, you decide to take a different approach to hopefully win his heart.

SR’s Note: *sigh* this is my current favorite art for my favorite fox boy… did I stare at it for way too long? Maybe. Anyways, here’s the fic. Enjoy! xoxo

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Honestly, you couldn't understand what the fuck was wrong with the Archeron girl.

First of all, she was blessed enough to look the way she did -- not that you wanted to look just like her, you would thank the Mother every day and night for blessing you with such lovely parents of your own who'd only pass on their best genes to you. But, she didn't have to try so damn hard to catch the eye of every male in Prythian, just with the swoosh of her skirt or the toss of her hair over her shoulder.

It sure caught the eye of the youngest Vanserra.

Her mate.

Don't even begin with her newfound Cauldron-blessed gift, either. It seemed like everywhere she went, all that was talked about was, "Ooh! Elain, the seer" or "have you been seeing anything new?" blah blah blah, I mean really -- how much longer will we hyperfixate on this? On her? Long gone was talk of her younger sister, the one who literally saved the land from Hybern's hand. You wondered if she ever grew as tired of her sister's attention as you did, not that you knew the Cursebreaker personally.

However, none of it mattered the 28th night of September. You'd been working that evening in the Autumn Palace, completing the tasks assigned as the Lady of Autumn's first assistant when you heard probably the best rumors to ever grace your ears. Beron had been passing you in the hall with his oldest son Eris, and you spared both of them a nod as they passed. Eris returned the small smile, having known you for years, but you didn't expect much from his father, knowing how cruel he was even with his own wife. You also didn't expect to hear the conversation they were having, but you slowed your pace as they continued in the opposite direction down the corridor from you.

"The girl said she wanted the bond broken," Beron muttered in a menacing tone. Eris sighed, and your breath hitched.

"What do you think Lucien-" Eris started.

"I'm not asking Lucien what he thinks. We won't deal with some ignorant wench who doesn't know what she wants. I'm not surprised she doesn't want to deal with him, but I won't deal with the scandal of him going unmated..." Beron's cruel tone fades as the pair rounds the corner of the corridor, and you brace yourself on one of the credenzas along the wall for a moment. Elain wants to break the bond? There's no way. You look up, eyes catching on your reflection in the dimly lit mirror hung on the wall. Was she really so unhappy that she would ask to break something so sacred, with someone as special as Lucien?

You took a steadying breath, forcing your feet to keep carrying you and your completed task sheet to the Lady of Autumn's office. You could barely focus; what was Lucien going to do? How was he feeling? You remembered all of the times you'd stolen glances at him, all the memories of hearing his warm but rare laugher through these very halls with his brothers over the years. He wasn't around as much anymore, but that didn't stop the desire that still warmed your heart at the thought of him.

"Thank you for your assistance, Y/N," the Lady of Autumn's voice was a warm caress as you laid down the task sheet upon her desk. "You're free to go for the evening."

With a nod you made for the door, but instead of heading for the front of the palace, you made way for the back stairwell, one that led to the private bedrooms. You knew your way around this place as you'd worked here for years, becoming rather close with the family and the boys that lived here. You counted the doors: one, two, three on the right side, and gave the third door a soft knock. Within moments, it was unlatched and a familiar pair of mahogany eyes met yours.

"Oh... hello, Y/N," Eris steps back, allowing you into his room before his father caught on somehow that you were still here. You silently slipped inside, as you'd done so many times before and taken a seat on the edge of his mattress. He perched near the top by his pillows, and offerred a quizzical look. "What brings you-"

"I need to know. I need to know about Lucien." You cut in. Eris' face immediately softened in realization. You'd been in this position many a time, coming to Eris with your concerns about his brother and him confiding his own feelings in you. This is what drew the two of you so close and provided a friendship so precious you knew you had to keep secret, as Beron was unpredictable and could use it as a weapon in a time of his own need.

"Elain... she asked Helion today to break their bond. He told my father right after she'd requested it." His hand found yours, and you loosed a breath. Your heart constricted, only imagining what Lucien must be going through right now.

"And... and Lucien? Was he-" Eris only shakes his head. Your sadness turns to anger, and you yank your hand back. You rise from the bed, beginning to pace back and forth in his room as traitorous thoughts cloud your mind.

"So, he wasn't even there? He doesn't even know?" You say, voice rising in octave. Eris leans forward, pressing a forefinger to his lips and shushing you.

"Shhhh, he likely knows by now," he says soothingly. But it doesn't matter. You feel as though your rage is bubbling over like the milky substance of the Caldron.

"Yeah. You're right, he probably knows -- I'm sure it probably hurts pretty fuckin' bad when a cord inside of you just... just..." You're throwing your hands in the air, fists clenched and shaking. "...breaks right in half out of nowhere-" Eris is instantly on his feet, taking both of your wrists in his, eyes searching yours in all seriousness.

"Y/N." He says solemnly. "You have to calm down. Someone is going to hear you, okay?" He says calmly. Your breath is heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly as his hands still grip your wrists mid-air. He lets go, moving one hand to brush the stray hairs sticking to your face behind your ear, clinging to your forehead with the sweat you've worked up. "Just, take a deep breath, okay? I'm not too keen on it either, but this isn't my situation to have an opinion on, alright? We have to try and remember that."

You take his words into consideration, wiping your perspirating hands on your smock and breathing deeply. He takes a step back from you, allowing you your space and returning to sit on the bed. You follow, rubbing your hands over your face in defeat.

"My father doesn't want this to be a big thing," he continues, and you move your hands to look at him. He peers at the patch of bedsheets between the two of you, appearing to zone out as he continues. "He thinks if he finds someone else for Lucien quickly, the whole bond "thing" won't cause too much talk and Lu will be able to get over it faster or something." You roll your eyes, scoffing.

"That's the most rediculous thing I've ever heard." You say.

"I know." He replies. You shake your head, biting your bottom lip.

"What's he planning to do? Line someone up for Lucien to wed instead?" You ask. You really don't want to know the answer -- hearing he had a mate was already heart-wrenching enough, now hearing he would be betrothed to another would be even worse.

"He's planning to have a courting ceremony in two days, in the palace," he says. You perk up.

"Oh?"

"Mhm," he continues, eyes sliding to yours with a mischevious grin. "Now, don't get your hopes up, but he's only inviting the most eligible maidens and High Fae to attend, but anyone in attendance would technically have the right to Lucien's hand, if he accepts it. I've known a sly fox like you long enough that-"

"You know I'll find a way in." You finish. He chuckles.

"You also have to get him to say yes." You heart sinks a little. With Eris, its always been so easy -- the conversations, the getting along, the understanding. But, you started working here not too long before Lucien was on his way out the door. You could only pray you would be able to talk to him the same as his brother.

"Don't worry about it, Y/N. I'm sure when Lu sees how charming you can be, he'd be stupid not to take your hand." Eris flashes an award-winning smile, and you can't help but feel hopeful by his tone.

You only hope you can pull this off without a hitch.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

The deep violet dress you wore clung to every curve, the soft fabric scrunching in all the right places as it brushed the against your legs and drug along the leaf-littered ground behind you. You'd allowed your hair out of your usual braid for tonight, the long wavy tendrils sweeping down your exposed back, locks illuminated by the moonlight. You had to admit, you did appreciate the way you looked when you put in some effort -- you'd do it everyday, only for him.

"Y/N," Eris' soft whisper-shout echoes from the illuminated doorway as you round the corner of the palace, just where you'd arranged to meet. Turns out, sneaking into the ball was a lot easier than you'd thought; Beron was too busy in the throne room to pay any mind to where his oldest son was, which of course, was helping you enter through one of the unguarded back entrances.

"Wow," he breathes, pulling the heavy door closed and ushering you inside. "You're a vision." You blush, swatting his arm.

"Well, while I appreciate the compliment," you state. "Let's hope your brother reciprocates the sentiment."

Eris chuckles. "He would be a damned fool not to." You followed closely behind him as he led you down corridor after corridor, some unfamiliar at first as he peered around the corners before leading you down the halls. The sound of people talking rang out, and you heard the approaching throne room, recognising more of your surroundings. You placed a hand on Eris' arm, the fabric of his ornate jacket rough under your touch.

"You go in first," you say.

"Are you sure?" He asks, a tender look in your friend's eye.

You give him a knowing look. "Yes, your father would be suspicious if we walk in together." He nods, opening the doors a slit and slipping inside. You take a deep breath, wringing your hands and grounding yourself once more. You were finally going to have a chance, a chance to see him again tonight - and try your very best to not mess this all up.

Opening the door, you inch inside, hoping to not catch the eye of Beron or the Lady of Autumn -- youwere, after all, not "technically" invited to this thing after all. Luckily, you'd waited long enough that their attention had drifted back to the dancefloor and Eris had made it to their side by now, and only he was looking to you as you slid along the wall noiselessly blending in with the crowd.

Your gaze searched the scene, looking for a certain redhead. Of course, Eris stood out among the crowd of beautiful maidens, all adorning lovely full gowns and makeup much more extravagant than your own. Guess you didn't get the memo. Nonetheless, you see a few of Lucien's brothers making their rounds as well, girls shamelessly flirting with them too. However, the Vanserra you were seeking was nowhere to be found.

That is, until a few moments later when Beron rose and cleared his throat.

"Good evening to everyone," he began and the room quieted. You slunk deeper into the shadows, trying to remain hidden as he peered out into the crowd.

"Thank you all for attending this rather, special, evening," he chuckles. Eris rolls his eyes at his father's indecency. You can't help but do the same as a few girls near you giggle in excitement.

"I would like to present my son of the evening, the most eligible and willing bachelor, Lucien Vanserra," he says. Lucien stalks out from the entrance beyond the thrones, and many of the ladies in the room gasp and giggle. You can't help but widen your eyes at his presence. You had to admit, his beauty was incomparable.

"Allow the ball to commence!" Beron ends his stupid announcement with that, and Lucien's stoic expression has your gaze dropping, remembering how hard this must be from him. Women all around are fluttering about, some gossiping, some flanking his side immediately -- Gods, that must be so suffocating. Your gaze meets Eris', and he tosses you a wink, motioning with his hands in a way that indictates give him some time. You then watch him glance at the incessant ladies pouncing on Lucien, and see him grimace and shake his head. You giggle, and head for the table of treats along the wall. If you have to wait your time, that's fine -- you'd been playing the long game for this long anyways, what was a few more hours?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

Yes, you'd been crushing from afar for so long -- but now that you shared air, it was a lot harder to stay on a long leash.

Watching him share dance after dance with beautiful fae after beautiful fae was... well, hurtful. You knew what you wanted, well... what you damn near needed, but you also knew that you needed to wait for the right moment.

What did you have that these ladies didn't?

All night, you looked around, comparing -- they were gorgeous, all High Fae, all much more glamorous than you. But, did they know him? No. Did they have much of a personality, or were they just here in hopes of being married off to the High Lord's newly-available son?

You needed to take the different approach.

And, hiding out by the food tables would not get you noticed.

You knew by the look on Lucien's face that he was getting tired of dancing the same dance, over and over and over. Having the same conversations, over. And over. And over. Sooner or later, he'd need an escape, and you knew this place like the back of your hand.

So where would he go?

You slipped outside, to the vast expanse of the private balcony off the throne room and rested your arms on the marble railing. Eris didn't miss your exit, suggesting to his brother a breath of fresh air, which he was happy to oblige in. You would have to remember to thank him later.

"Uhh, miss? This is a private balcony-"

You turn, hair brushing over your shoulder with the movement. Your eyes meet his, and heat floods your cheeks at the realization that the moment has finally come. The moonlight illuminates every russet freckle on his skin, the color matching his iris as his eyes widen in his own realization.

"Y/N?" He whispers, taking a tentative step toward you. You crack a half smile. You shrug your shoulders.

"In the flesh."

He walks quickly over to you, gasping and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulls you in so tight, and your arms wrap around his neck. He laughs against your neck, the sound as light and magnificent as the stars above. You inhale deep, his scent of amber and sunshine warming you to the core.

"I can't believe this, I... I haven't seen you in forever, I mean... how... wait, how are you here?" He chuckles again, releasing you. You wish he would hold you forever, but you pull back to look at him. He's still smiling down at you, a mere foot from you now, his hands still resting on the small of your waist.

"Well... you know I would never be invited to this sort of thing but... I've never exactly played by the rules." You wink at him, and he rolls his eyes, laughing heartly once more. He inhales fully and lets it go, gazing once more at you.

"Ohhhh, Y/N, it sure is good to see you again. And no, you never have played by any kind of rules," he shakes his head, and you register your hands still softly bracing his biceps. You grin up at him, and he seems to realize the intimacy at the same time you do. He releases you in that moment, moving to the balcony and loosing a breath, looking out at the Autumn Court beyond. You move to stand next to him, feeling his body heat even from a few feet away.

"Can you believe my dad would do such a rediculous thing like this?" He asks after a few beats of silence. You chew your lip, sneaking a glance at him. His jaw is tight as he continues to look straight ahead.

"Honestly... yeah. He is... he is somethin'." You say. Lucien turns, facing you once more.

"Has he gotten worse since I left?" He asks. You think for a moment, and his eyes search yours.

"I mean... I don't know. I talk more with your mom. He's still, well, cruel, not with me in particular, but with just everyone, I guess." He swears under his breath.

"I should have never left." He says. You place a hand over his and he glances down at it, then back out at the court, swallowing thickly. "None of this would have ever happened. I would have never met Elain. It never would have gotten worse here. I would have never-"

"Hey hey hey, don't say that," you say. He gazes at you again. You smile kindly at him. "We're all okay here -- the only thing that got worse was how much we all missed you." You trace a vein atop his hand and he breathes in deep, eyes fluttering down, then back up to yours, growing darker. "Well... how much I missed you, anyways."

He smiles softly. "Is that so?" He says quietly, and you nod.

"And... Elain is... so... so blind for not seeing the amazing man she's missing out on..." you lift your gaze to meet his eyes, and he slides his empty hand to your hip, pulling you close. He pulls you so close that you're sharing a breath as he practically whispers the next words into your mouth.

"Honestly... I might be glad she broke the bond. She is nothing compared to what I've been missing out on."

His lips press to yours, and you can only feel a rush of golden fireworks inside as his fingers brush through your hair, moving to cup your jaw and stroke your cheek. His lips move, kissing you sesually as your hands hold onto his shoulders, finally reveling in the moment you'd only dreamed would come true.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

[genshin-scenarios]

I NEED spiderverse Lyney to be continued

I was wondering if you would make a part two or ask for your permission to use the idea for a fanfic. Villain x hero is my favourite trope, and I just can't get it out of my head. It's become a hyperfixation, and I feel like I'm going to combust

Hello!! I do plan on doing a part 2 for all the spiderverse headcanons later on, but below is just some additional content for Lyney! 🎩🌹 In terms of using my idea: unfortunately I'm not comfortable with people using my specific writing/AUs to create their own fics! Thank you so much for asking beforehand though - and I will say that while I don't allow the reusing of my specific works/AUs, you're more than welcome to create your own version of a spiderverse AU with Lyney! 🥹 or if this specific AU has a grip on you, feel free to drop in my inbox again and I will do my best to give more brainworms 🙏

callout - spiderverse! lyney x reader

The Phantom Twins are up to something, and it seems that the only clue you have to what it is, is a photo of yourself.

Not your hero-self, but a polaroid of your civilian form walking on the streets, still in your highschool uniform and tapping away at your phone.

Obviously, panic hits first - did they somehow figure out your secret identity? Or was there something about your civilian self that warranted targeting from the Fatui?

You spend the better half of your school day lost in thought, bouncing the ball of your feet incessantly against the ground, until a shadow looms over you.

The Twins?

Ah, just Lyney.

"Good afternoon, sleepy-head~" He greets, placing your test results against your desk. Your glance up, noticing that he's helping your teachers hand them out. "Perfect marks again! Are you sure you're too busy to tutor me? I'll pay you with the highest-quality dinners." He offers.

"That sounds a bit too much like a date... I wouldn't want people to misunderstand." You smile, not noticing the way Lyney's gaze lingers on your expression a bit longer than it has to. He could move at any time. The pile of papers are tall.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take." He shrugs, leans closer, and fixes your hair so the loose strands are tucked behind your ear. "But of course, there's no pressure. I understand if you're busy after school."

-

Lyney too, is busy after school. But he doesn't need you to know that he's panicking for a different reason while you're lecturing him about mathematical equations and diagrams, looking the most beautiful you have in a while.

It's a sappy thing to say, but Lyney likes you best when you're talking about the things you like. And if said thing is your favourite subject at school, then he'll learn to bear with it. Anything to spend some time with you.

...Almost, anything. On his way back from a mission last week, Lyney realized with jaw-dropping horror that the one picture he took of you during patrol as a Phantom Twin, had printed itself without him realizing and flew into the abyssal darkness of the cityscape. No one knows about it, even if Lynette could tell he wanted to throw himself off the skyscraper they were standing on during their debrief - but god, what rotten luck! He was just testing out a night-vision scanner when the love of his life walked into sight, and without thinking, he'd...

...Taken a photo. And lost said photo in his next breath. To make matters worse, the photo had a watermark from the Fatui's tech company! He can only pray that it was truly lost and is never found by any soul, dead or alive - but then Lyney remembers that you're right in front of him and leaning so close as you check his worksheet answers, and suddenly his heart is racing for a completely different reason.

God, he needs to get a grip.

How the rest of this plays out: Lyney is still adorably charming during your studying session, and treats you to a meal! You learn that he is capable of fumbling and being awkward as much as you are, and for some reason this part of Lyney charms you more than any suave production could

On the other hand, Spiderman (you) soon finds the Phantom Twins again and catches Lyney off-guard by asking them what they're planning with the civilian photo you found. Lyney panics for a split second, allowing him to be temporarily captured by you to be interrogated

He's tied up, hastily, but since you've seen how good the Twins are at escaping things, you decide to just corner him against the wall while holding his wrists in your hands, pinning him in an alleyway

The photo, he eventually says, was just from testing a new weapon. (Not untrue. He isn't about to expose his real identity. But something about the way your voice twisted in confusion and later relief makes him curious. Just what were you so concerned about within the contents of that photo? Could it be...?)

Lyney stalls, waiting for Lynette to free him from this temporary confine and slipping into the shadows like they always do. However, Spiderman's reaction to the photo he accidentally let slip keeps replaying in his mind, and he can't help but wonder if the hero could somehow be associated with you.

Things develop, as they do - Lyney investigates, now looking at you with a different lens and realising that you're just as sharp as him, at certain times. You move like something could attack at any second, and your eyes don't have the same shine as when he first met you a year ago.

You're either related to the hero, or the hero himself. By the time Lyney's seen enough to decide on one possibility, his approach to you was somehow... more genuine, compared to his previous rose-colored lines.

He feels like he sees you now. And somehow, he can't bring himself to feel particularly betrayed.

It's on him for always finding impossible things to love.

[mochinomnoms]

Does all of Coral Sea know of Floyd and Jades future mates? Cause I was wondering if they made a public “announcement ” of them to where maybe others know now not to get too close or else potentially suffer under their wrath. Or is it a more only family friends/family know like in Tony, Azul and Aspens case?

-🧀anon

Hmm, I'm assuming this is referencing PTM right? No, they don't announce it. Really, they don't mean for the people closest to them to be aware of their feelings. But it's quite noticible when one of the twins gets a crush.

Floyd will talk a lot about something once it's caught his interest. My people with the tism will understand, it's like when you get a hyperfixation and can't stop thinking or talking about it? Floyd's like that. When the others hear him gush about Riddle, about how funny he is, how small and cute he is, how Riddle kicked his ass their first meeting, everyone just assumed he would lose interest within a few weeks. Maybe months even. But Floyd's interest in Riddle has persisted…much longer than anything else he's ever been interested in. And his comments become less teasing and more soft, talking about how cool Riddle looked riding his horse, how he changed his tie into a bow, how he's been eating more sweets like tarts as of late. Then it turns into, "didja know that Goldfishie really likes strawberries? He just eats them up!" or "Goldfishie's real smart, I bet I could get away with asking him to tutor me to hang out. Nah I don't need it, I just want to mess with him." or even "I saw Goldfishie in the infirmary the other day, he was sleeping. He looks really pretty, peaceful like that." But the real thing that made everyone realize that there was something more is when he started referring to Riddle by name in his comments. Actual names are reserved for people he actually cares about, people that he would want to make an effort for to know them and their names. Just like how Azul is Azul, not Lil Octy, Riddle is Riddle, not just Goldfishie in his eyes.

Jade is surprisingly less subtle. It might be because be doesn't normally rant to people about his fixations, only going off in tangents once in a while. So when he starts talking about Yuu, it's immediately noticeable. More so when he doesn't shut up about them. The difference between Floyd and Jade is that Jade is aware that the others know, Floyd thinks he's being slick with it. It's why Jade can take teasing from the others relatively well, he knows they know and is mostly fine with it. At least until one of them attempts to get involved for his sake. Floyd and Azul have offered to fabricate scenarios, make comments, and help push Yuu to him. Usually in exchange for him doing something, or to stop growing his mushrooms in certain areas of the dorm. Aspen and Tony are the opposite, Aspen especially willing to get Yuu into scenarios that would make them unattractive or unavailable in Jade's eyes. Most recently, this we see this in the last chapter when Aspen is pushing Wynfred to go out with Yuu. Jade's not happy about it, Yuu is embarrassed, and Aspen is just trying his best to get Jade for himself. Tony eventually gets dragged into any trouble that Aspen gets himself into, willingly or not. Though, he is prone to gossip with Floyd and listen to his rambles about Riddle. He's surprisingly insightful, though that would require Floyd to listen to his advice.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (IV)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — Your relationship with Adar develops and you already see he is going to be a completely different kind of a partner than Sauron was. You're trying to gain your new husband's trust and you accompany him and his army during the attack on Tirharad where you get to witness the Orcs' battlefield havoc for the first time with your own eyes.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I am hyperfixating on this fic so much and it feels amazing to be so devoted to writing again. In general, the brainrot is real when it comes to The Rings of Power and I have not expected it but it is the most welcome. I already loved Season One but nothing could have prepared me for Season Two! 💕 Because of that, this fic will most likely have more parts than I have planned, so be warned already. I also might have an idea for a fic with Annatar but I would rather make it a long one-shot instead of starting yet another multichapter... But we will see... 🤔 I start my job soon and I honestly have no idea how I will be able to focus there to learn all my tasks if all I can think of is Adar and Sauron lol

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship, every trigger from S01E06 (death, battle, violence) + Reader is not very fond of the humans and considers them a lower form of life (she is Sauron's lover, okay? I do not share her beliefs because I am a human, too)

WORD COUNT — 5,570

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (IV)

Tirharad was close but the Orcs could not travel freely in daylight. Even hidden by the thick forest, when the sun rose high up enough, they had to hide. So, you were standing by your horse and watching them setting up a small camp in the middle of the woods. Adar was standing nearby and you could overhear his conversation with Glûg.

“Are we attacking tonight, Lord Father?” The Orc asked.

“Tomorrow,” Adar answered and squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Tonight I shall send the scouts to observe the village,” he explained and Glûg nodded at him before going away to tell the news to his friends.

Adar approached you and you slightly flinched, which was an unplanned and uncontrolled reaction. He spotted it and froze for a short while, refusing to get any further. You were surprised to see that he seemed to respect your personal space and he was ready to back off any moment after realising you were not comfortable with him being around you now. On the other hand, considering the tortures he had been through, it made sense that he was sensitive about the concept of violating someone’s space.

When you first had seen him, he had terrified you. And the idea of marrying him had been the most dreadful. But now you were slowly realising that as cruel as he was to his enemies – he would not be a husband as brutish.

“What am I doing here?” You asked him, quietly. Then, you looked up to meet his gaze. “If it was your plan to destroy Ostirith and its habitants all along… Why save me? Why take me with you?” You asked, genuinely wondering.

“We share certain… qualities,” Adar explained softly. “Loneliness, attraction to darkness. You were trying to tempt me so I would agree to your father’s offer and marry you. And you have tempted me indeed because I’ve been lonely for a few centuries too long now,” he admitted. “And it was the most endearing when I realised you were doing it all for your mother.”

You looked down, not being able to hold his gaze any longer when he mentioned your mother. Yes, it was true that you had been sacrificing yourself for her as well. But what truly had been in the back of your mind was Sauron and the fact that getting close to Adar and his army of Orcs could help your lover in his future schemes.

And perhaps Adar indeed was sick with loneliness if he couldn’t see how truly rotten you were.

“Lord Father, your tent is ready,” one of the Orcs approached you and pointed at the largest tent for Adar to rest in.

“Thank you. Prepare one for my wife, too,” Adar nodded at him.

“There is no need. That one is big enough for us two,” you pointed out and walked inside without looking back.

You looked around and sat on the wooden chair by the small table. The Orcs had no home, so they were travelling with some furniture in case they would spend their days in camps like this one. It was a very poor setting but you were not one of the Elves who had grown up in the rich and beautiful realms like Eregion or Mithlond, so you were not complaining.

Adar walked inside, carrying a heavy wooden chest with some of his belongings. You watched him place it on the ground nearby the bed.

“These are too important to lose or leave unsupervised,” he informed you and straightened his back before looking down at your face. “If you do not wish to be in my presence for now, I understand. I thought you would hate me. Perhaps you do but you do not show it as fiercely as I suspected you would.”

“I feel bad for the Elves you slaughtered inside Ostirith just because they were unfortunate enough to work under my father,” you admitted. “But watching this fortress tumbling to the ground was an oddly satisfying experience to me,” you added and Adar furrowed his brows. “It had been like a prison too many times,” you explained.

In fact, you mourned Ostirith a little but no amount of admitting it would change what had happened and you did not want him to see your weaknesses. You wanted to earn his trust as much as you could. His and his children’s.

“What do you keep there?” You changed the subject lazily and pointed at the wooden chest with your chin. You truly were curious but you wanted to ask in a careless manner, so he would not get too suspicious.

Adar hesitated for a moment before crouching down next to the chest and opening it. You had to fight every muscle in your body from trying to get a better look inside and to keep appearing unbothered.

But when he lifted up the Iron Crown, you gasped. A thrill went down your spine; a malicious shiver as your heart clenched inside your chest. You could smell Sauron’s blood on it and you immediately realised how your beloved had died. It was a twisted way to get rid of him and quite poetic, too – you had to admit it.

“You recognise the item,” Adar pointed out.

“Has my father not mentioned my education and intuition?” You cracked a nervous smile. “How did you get Morgoth’s crown?”

Adar only smiled at that and hid the item again, locking the chest with a key that he kept with himself.

“It is strong enough to kill Sauron – it has defeated him once. Not fully, so it seems. But with the help of even stronger magic, it could work again and this time it could finish the job,” he explained. “Now you know how important this chest is. I have shown it to you in case something happens to me.”

Now it was your time to smile mysteriously but you only nodded at him to show him you understood completely.

“Do you wish to rest now, my Lady?” Adar asked as he straightened his back and stood up. “I shall go to my children and answer their questions about the attack,” he said.

“I have nothing else to do, it seems, my Lord,” you sighed and leaned back on the chair as you watched him approaching the way out of the tent. “Unless…” You stopped him and he turned his head around. “Unless you would not mind my company. I am curious about the attack myself,” you added. “I am your wife,” you reminded him. “Your equal. I wish to stand by you always instead of hiding away in tents, camps and woods; left in the darkness of not knowing what is happening around me. I have never wished to be this kind of woman,” you stood up as if you were challenging him.

“You take matters into your own hands,” Adar commented. “I have seen that already back in Ostirith. You may join me, wife,” he emphasised the last word and it sounded a bit like mockery but you also spotted a hint of affection.

He extended his hand carefully towards you, still remembering how you had flinched before but this time you were in full control of your body, so you approached him, although instead of taking his hand, you put yours on his arm like a viper snake tightening its hold around the victim.

But your victim was powerful and treacherous, therefore you had to be the most cautious.

Adar deciding to attack in the evening of the next day only prolonged the anxious anticipation. You had never taken a part in any battle of this sort before.

When you had told your husband that you had never wanted to be this kind of woman – hiding away and waiting – that had been a lie. You had been like this with Sauron whenever he had been scheming and plotting somewhere. All you had been doing was warming up the bed for him. And whenever he had been back… He had been the most hungry and thirsty for you. That was all you had been caring about with Sauron. That, and to become his Queen.

But the cruel fate had taken your lover away from you and now it was time to prove your love and devotion to him. To help him – as simple as it was. You would bring the army of the Orcs to him and you would destroy your own realm for him on the way if you had to.

Sauron had always been quite… chatty. He had not only been drowning you with the countless affections and sweet words but he had also been sharing lots of his plans with you while playing with your hair or caressing the curves of your body. And perhaps he had been thinking that you had not been listening to any of it but it was not true. You had been a devoted listener.

And you knew his plan for the Southlands was to take over these lands and to make them his own terrifying realm. You knew his plans for your home were the most horrific and yet you liked the idea of ruling Middle-earth from the ruins of your homeland. It would be a symbol for you – a purge of the Southlands and Ostirith – your personal prison being turned into ashes and you becoming the Queen of them.

However horrific it would be, you knew it would not matter. You would rule alongside your lover and that was all you needed. You could be his Queen in the most precious gemstones and you could be his Queen in rags. You could rule over the beautiful Elves and you could rule over the filthy Orcs and it made no difference to you. What mattered was being by his side and getting intoxicated with his love and his worship.

Thinking of Sauron fondly, you wondered if you should try to wear your tempting nightgown again for this night as the sounds of the partying Orcs were reaching you from the outside of the tent. But then you thought that perhaps the nightgown had the opposite effect on Adar who simply did not like seeing you trying to seduce him. So, you just stripped yourself down to an underdress and rested on the bed, looking bored as you played with the necklace around your neck.

When Adar entered the tent, he tilted his head at the sight of you and then he sighed, sitting by the table and opening the notes from the scouts that had been waiting for him.

You kept observing him from the corner of your eye but he seemed to be uninterested in you, so you rolled your eyes and looked away. For a man claiming to be so lonely, he was also very cold. And you knew that in the eyes of the Valars, you were still unwed because the marriage was not consummated. However, you did not want to push him into anything because it could cause his mistrust and anger.

“I am scared of my uncertain position here,” you finally admitted and he froze before turning around to look at you, confused, still holding the piece of paper in his hand.

“What do you mean, my Lady? You are my wife,” he shook his head.

“No, I am not… yet,” you swallowed thickly and squeezed the pendant of your necklace in your hand.

You had no idea how to seduce sexually or convince him to join you in bed because Sauron had never taught you any of this – he had always been an eager lover.

Adar sighed and left the table to sit on the edge of the bed as he looked down at you. He extended his hand to brush your cheeks with his fingertips and then he allowed his hand to go lower to your chest, which was rising up and down in the pace that was going quicker now. In that moment, you could see clearly in his eyes that he desired you, so you could not understand why he was stopping himself from going further.

“Is it because of something Morgoth had done to you?” You asked, trying to sound gentle and hoping it would not anger him.

“No,” Adar shook his head with a very gentle hint of a smile. “It is because you do not want it willingly,” he admitted and retreated his hand. “When I agreed to marry you, I knew you were being forced by your father. You could have been assuring me that you wanted it but I knew you were only doing it for your mother and now, when she is safe, you are doing it to ensure your own position,” he kept explaining and you couldn’t help being surprised.

He was one of the most dangerous people you had ever met and surely one of the most brutal and yet he refused to harm his own wife in any way even if it was not love that had bonded you two but loneliness and the shared rot of the soul.

“Do you know that arranged marriage is against the Elven customs?” Adar asked with a sad smile.

“We are going against all Elven customs, haven’t you noticed, my Lord?” You swallowed thickly and lifted yourself up on your elbows.

“You are wearing my ring and I am wearing yours. We are wed for eternity no matter what,” Adar stood up to leave the edge of your bed. “And eternity is a long time for you to eventually warm yourself up to the idea of sharing your bed with me. And if not, I shall survive,” he shrugged his arms. “There is more to life than the pleasure of the flesh.”

You opened your mouth to say something – anything – and to deny his words, to keep tempting him somehow. But Adar interrupted you and saved you from any further embarrassment.

“Speaking of survival, I have something for you. Gifts,” Adar pointed at the chest that had been put inside the tent not so long ago by one of the Orcs but you had been ignoring it until now.

“I did not expect you to be a husband who would spoil his wife with gifts,” you tried to tease as you sat up fully now and watched him open the chest.

“These are not traditional gifts by any means,” Adar warned you and he approached the bed again to hand you a slim and beautifully ornamented dagger, made of black metal.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. In fact, it nearly made you sick and you tried very hard not to show how much this item had affected your senses.

It was Sauron’s dagger; the one he had been carrying with him most of the time. Adar had to take it away from him alongside the crown when he had murdered your beloved. You knew that dagger – you had been watching Sauron with it countless of times. And Sauron himself had been using it on you many times before to increase the pleasure of your intimate moments. That dagger meant the world to you and to hold it in your hand was like holding the hand of your lover again after all those centuries of separation and yearning.

“I-it is beautiful,” you stuttered out and took it, trying to compose yourself.

“You seem to be uneasy,” Adar furrowed his brow and you quickly came up with an excuse as you looked up at him with a trembling lower lip.

“It is of great beauty but I can sense a tremendous darkness within it,” you explained.

“It belonged to Sauron,” Adar admitted. “If it is too corrupted for you, I can take it from you and have a custom one made,” he assured you. 

“I can handle it,” you shook your head and squeezed your hand around the blade’s hilt. “It was just a slight disturbance when I first touched it,” you answered. “Thank you, that gift is very thoughtful, my husband,” you forced a smile and Adar sighed with relief. He extended his hand to gently grab your chin and caress your cheek before he walked away to the chest once again.

And when he turned around one more time, you gasped once again at the sight of a black breastplate. It was Elven – you recognised the ornaments in the shapes of leaves immediately.

“It belonged to one of the Elves we killed on the way. We collect their armour to later transform the pieces into the items we find useful but this breastplate I ordered to paint black since it might suit your size,” Adar admitted. “You march with the army and you need to be protected from the blades and arrows of our enemies,” Adar placed the breastplate on the chair next to the bed but you already stood up, all ready to wear it and see for yourself.

He assisted you in putting it on and you had no mirror to see how you looked, so you had to rely on his opinion on it.

“And?” You asked, excitedly.

“I think it fits you well, my Lady,” Adar nodded and you smiled widely at him. “And I see the gifts do please you.”

“Of course they do. So far, the books have been my weapons, but this feels quite empowering,” you admitted and tried to get a glimpse of your appearance in the reflection of your dagger’s blade.

Sauron had only been gifting you jewellery, dresses and nightgowns that later would end up torn or cut up with this very dagger. Sometimes, he had given you a book when he had wanted you to study it for him to help him expand his knowledge. And as much as you loved being spoiled and worshipped by him in this way, you also found it very dignifying to receive gifts of this sort from your husband.

“I want my wife to be respected not only because of being my spouse but because of who she is on her own. I want the whole Middle-earth to see the Dark Lady that you are,” Adar confessed in the Quenya language while he stood behind you and you felt his hands on your hips as he leaned in to whisper into your ear. You watched his distorted reflection in the blade of your dagger and in that moment, you swore, you truly wanted him and it scared you because it could mean that it was not Sauron whom you loved but the promise of power he had been presenting you with.

You felt the small amount of pain from squeezing the blade too tightly and it brought you back to reality. You shook these thoughts off and took a deep breath in. Of course you loved Sauron – you loved everything about him. Every inch of you craved and missed him to the point that you ended up caressing the hilt of the dagger for the whole night long, trying to feel the remains of his fingertips.

You have observed the fire of the burning villages from the Ostirith’s watchtower but now you were experiencing the Orcs’ havoc for the first time personally, walking into burning Tirharad alongside your husband. Dead human bodies scattered under your feet while the rooftops of the houses burnt as the Orcs kept destroying everything on their way as if they were in a frenzy, chanting the word nampat. 

You were wearing your new breastplate over your black dress and you had the dagger attached to it on your hip in case you needed it but there were no humans around anymore even though they had to fight bravely since the ground was also full of the dead bodies of the Orcs.

You were careful with your steps and it felt as if you watched the scene in slow motion – in a way, you were alone in the middle of this small hell. You let Adar walk past you as your own pace slowed down. Those were the lands your father had been the guardian of. Now they were burning and you only watched.

No, you didn’t just watch. You participated in it. You had brought death to the village of Tirharad.

“Is that what you wish to be?” You joined your husband’s side again. “The King of ashes?” You asked.

“I do not wish to be a King,” he remarked, “and my children do prefer the ashes.”

You joined the Orcs that were trying to get inside the tavern where the remaining villagers seemed to be hiding and they had barricaded themselves. However, it was only a matter of time when the Orcs would finally be able to open the wooden doors.

You felt a thrill of anticipation and excitement when they succeeded. You were not quite sure what was the item your husband was seeking – as much as he trusted you with some things and had even shown you the crown of Morgoth, he also kept some information hidden from you.

You took a step ahead but Adar’s hand stopped you from walking further by taking you by your wrist as the Orcs ran inside, attacking the villagers.

“Do not rush, my Lady,” he scolded you gently. “Let my children take them over first. You would make an easy target,” he pointed out and even though his words hurt your pride a little, you knew he was right and he had only done it to protect you.

You nodded your head at him and you waited a moment before Adar let go of your hand and walked inside the tavern. You could hear how quiet it got and you understood why since he had that effect on people. You took a deep breath in and straightened your back before following him, ready to face all those humans and make your appearance as Adar’s Dark Lady for the first time in public.

But when you walked inside, there was only one person that you could keep your eyes on as you gasped quietly at the sight of him. He was being held by two Orcs and his eyes widened at the sight of you, too.

“Arondir…” You whispered his name. “I thought you were dead,” you admitted.

He had not returned from one of his scouting missions and that had been one of many such cases lately when the Orcs had overtaken these lands. You all had mourned him already in Ostirith and you personally had been very sad about him in particular because you considered him to be one of your closest friends inside the fortress.

“My Lady…” Arondir was clearly confused to see you like this. “I thought the same of you when we watched Ostirith fall,” he admitted. “I have mourned you.”

“And I have mourned you, old friend,” you nodded at him and you stood next to Adar. You finally looked at the other faces and they kept staring at you with terror.

They knew you. You did not know them but they knew about you. Your father had been no King but he had been the protector and the guardian of these lands and you were his only daughter – a beautiful Elven maiden walking around the forests or riding her horse through this realm, sometimes talking to its habitants on the way. You were a part of their stories and myths, their songs and their legends and in their eyes you were a Princess. 

Now, they could not comprehend why you were standing next to the man who was the very reason of their doom.

However, no one dared to ask any question. Not even Arondir and you just knew he had to be dying of curiosity to know what had happened. Just like you were pretty curious to find out why he had never made it back to Ostirith, which seemed to had been his own choice.

In the meantime, after observing your interaction with Arondir, Adar approached him slowly, staring at your friend with the most intensity.

“What I seek. Give it to me,��� Adar said in the Quenya language. 

“Let them go. I will consider it,” Arondir answered in the same speech and no trace of fear was spotted upon his face. You knew that your husband would not get whatever he wanted easily because you knew Arondir and you were aware of his stubborn and courageous nature. You were afraid it would lead him to his death now and that was the loss you would grieve surely, especially after witnessing it with your own eyes.

Suddenly, you started to think that, perhaps, being this kind of woman – who would stay behind and wait… Perhaps it would be better. Perhaps Sauron had been protecting your innocence and your fragility when he had not been taking you with him anywhere. Perhaps he had not wanted anything else except for him to corrupt you.

Adar nodded his head at the Orcs and the ones who had human villagers at the ends of their blades began to use their weapons and kill these poor people.You tried your best to remain unbothered by it but your heart pounded inside of your chest. You could see some of the people who were exclaiming in fear were also looking up to you to help them but you could not. You could not risk this fragile thread of trust that connected you with your husband.

And, unfortunately to them, no human life was worthy enough for you to risk ruining your plans to help Sauron in the end of all of this. They had to die, so the greater thing could emerge from it later. The Dark Lord who would heal all Middle-earth. Their sacrifice would be the most appreciated then.

“Why sacrifice their life for such a little thing?” Adar asked and in that moment once again you were confused by how cruel this man could be – the very same man who refused to touch you just to make sure everything between you two was consensual.

That made you feel special.

More people kept dying and Arondir screamed in anger into Adar’s face, then he looked at you, awaiting any reaction but there was none even though your eyes had to betray you a little bit and show some pain.

“Arondir, please,” you stepped in. “Just cooperate,” you tried to reason with him. “For the sake of our friendship.”

“I am no friend of yours!” Arondir spat out and even though his reaction was the most understandable, it stung your heart and angered you. 

You had never been able to handle rejection very well. The pain and compassion in your eyes turned into rage in a very brief moment. Sauron had always found your mood switches of this sort very endearing.

Adar turned around and spotted a wounded woman laying down with the blade pressed to her neck. She was oddly calm in the middle of this bloody chaos.

“The woman next,” Adar ordered and these three words seemed to have a very strong effect on Arondir. He screamed and grunted, trying to get out as the Orcs holding him struggled to keep him steady.

“No!” Some young boy shouted, most likely that woman’s son.

But you focused on Arondir as you smirked. So, it was love that had kept him away from Ostirith. It was love that had caused him to not come back. And it was love for a human to make it even more romantic in the cheapest way.

You had always heard stories of the Elves falling for the humans but you had never understood any of them. Why would any Elf fall for a creature so weak…? You were quite the opposite – you loved a Maia; nearly a God – and you often wondered what he had seen in you… a common Elf.

“Wait!” The young boy shouted at the Orc who raised his hand to strike the final blow upon the woman’s neck.

“No!” Arondir screamed at the boy and you raised an eyebrow.

“It’s under here,” the boy confessed, desperate to save his mother and Arondir looked at him with terror in his eyes. “It’s under here.”

“No…” Arondir whispered at this betrayal.

“Elves do love differently than humans,” you explained to the boy. “He might love your mother but he will still sacrifice her – and this whole village – for this one magic item,” you pointed out with mockery. “He does not understand why none of this matters to you. You just want to save your mother, am I right, boy?” You asked him and approached him as Arondir shot you a deadly glance.

But, in a way, you did not have to fake much of that compassion towards the boy. You knew what it was like to love your mother and to try to save her no matter the cost.

The boy nodded at you and you nodded at the Orc standing behind him to let him go. So he did and the boy grabbed the tool that would help him to get to the item.

“Theo!” Arondir called his name.

“I’m sorry,” the boy named Theo whispered and pried one of the stones that the floor of the tavern was made of.

Arondir kept grunting and trying to get out of the Orcs’ hold but they were stronger than him. Adar crouched down to get the small thing covered in dirty rags out of the hole under the stone as you stood above him and looked down with curiosity. When he opened it, a sword’s hilt was revealed and it had been forged in the same fashion as Sauron’s dagger or Morgoth’s crown. You could feel its dark magic as an ominous feeling sent a shiver down your spine.

Then, the loud rumbling reached your ears and you all furrowed your brows at the sound. You realised it was coming from the many horses going your way from afar. Someone was coming with an army to help the people of Tirharad.

You were scared at first. Scared of such a quick defeat. If it was an army of the Elves, your whole scheme would be over before it had even started. On the other hand, considering the fact you had been married to Adar for a few days, you could still save yourself by putting on a show of sobbing and explaining to the High King how much your awful father had been forcing you to become a part of this union. Perhaps he would believe you but you were scared of Gil-galad the most because he was so pure and made of such strong light that he would surely see through you immediately.

In such a case, it was very beneficial that your marriage at least had not been consummated.

Adar grabbed you by the sleeve of your dress and walked you out of the tavern. You could sense he was nervous as well and you two nearly bumped into Glûg standing in front of the building, anxiously waiting for his Lord Father to tell him the worrying news.

“The army is coming, Lord Father. We do not know yet who–” he started.

“I have a task for you,” Adar ignored him as he turned around to face you and Glûg shut his mouth as he looked down.

“What is it?” You asked, trembling slightly. The rumbling sound coming from the distance was growing louder as your anxiety was rising.

“You will go back to Ostirith and use your blood to extend the sword. There is a crevice – you know which one; Ostirith was your home. You have to insert the sword inside and twist it,” Adar handed you the hilt, still covered in the dirty rags.

You took it from him but you were out of words as you kept staring at him. He had to be desperate to give you out of all people such a task.

“That will open the dam,” you shook your head. “I do not understand.”

“Do it,” Adar insisted and clenched his jaw, staring at you intensely. “This way, you get to finish what I started and you get to be safe, away from the battlefield. You have no time to lose. Glûg will go with you,” he looked at at the Orc. “Look after my wife, Glûg.”

The Orc nodded at you, visibly proud of the job he was given.

You were still unsure of the whole thing, clenching the sword hilt covered in rags in your hands but you saw an opportunity of getting out of danger that was coming. However, when you looked at Adar, you realised it could be the last time you were seeing him alive and for some reason it made you sad a little bit. He was a mysterious man and you hoped to get to know some of his secrets before you would get back with Sauron.

“Are you sure you trust me with such a task?” You asked. He looked like it was a very important job to do and he cared deeply about it being done properly.

“I do not have many I can trust,” he only said.

“Clearly,” you answered and took a deep breath in before looking at Glûg. You nodded at him and you both ran away as fast as possible towards the woods.

MASTERLIST

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hello there! I just came across your page and was wondering if I could get headcanons for Darth Maul and female that includes NSFW? I am trying to find as much Darth Maul content as I can cause I am currently crushing on the guy(and his actor, Ray Park)

(YES my first Maul ask! currently hyperfixating on him so you're in luck! since you didn't specify much I let the inspo flow and ended up doing a sorta first kiss scenario + some general NSFW, if you'd like me to expand on any of this or do anything different then feel free to send me another ask! enjoy :D)

(Darth Maul x fem (AFAB) reader - Maul being a little angsty but mostly fluff in the first half, NSFW labelled)

In the early stages of your relationship, before you become romantically involved, Maul spends a lot of time observing you. Just moving across a room brings the sensation of blazing eyes following your steps, and he makes little effort to hide it either.

It isn't clear whether he watches out of suspicion or curiosity. But you know he sees the shiver go through you every time you lock eyes with his intense stare.

He also doesn't speak much, which doesn't make it easier.

(Not that he'd ever admit it, to you or himself, but he prefers listening to you talk. He finds himself lost in the stories you tell and the emotion in your voice.)

He may resist your efforts to get close to him, even staying resistant to you once your relationship has been established, but he does want and need to experience genuine care. He's just not sure how to accept it.

The first time you gather your nerves and reach out to touch him, before any romantic advances had been made, he pulls away like he's been burned.

Almost all of the touch he's received before has been violent and painful. This is foreign, and he doesn't know what to do.

His expression is unreadable, and he storms away soon after, leaving you wondering if you'd overstepped and if this would finally be what tips his patience.

You don't have to wonder long though.

He enters the room that you're stood in silently enough that you only notice him when you turn around.

Maul stares down at you, his body far closer to you than you expected, and you fumble with your words when he doesn't say anything.

"HI! Uh... I'm really sorry if I overstepped earlier. It wasn't appropriate of me and I promise I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable I just-"

You trail off when the Zabrak slowly takes your hand.

He's... unusually careful, for someone so frequently fuelled by anger. He's gentle, and unsure, like he thinks you'll bolt at any moment.

His eyes stay locked with yours as he slowly lifts your hand up and, seeing no sign of fear or reluctance, places your palm against his face.

The contact is barely there, Maul clearly not certain what move to make from here. It's sweet, you think, that such an imposing figure would be so timid in receiving affection.

You smile softly, pleasantly surprised as your apprehension dissolves, and gently brush your thumb over his cheekbone. His eyes close, just for a moment, and he leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"Forgive me for earlier," he murmurs. "This is... new."

"That's ok, I can be patient."

He stares at you for a moment longer, trying to see if there is any motive beyond your sweet smile, but finds nothing but fondness.

"You have entranced me, starlight."

His eyes flicker down to your lips with longing in his eyes and, not one to miss an opportunity, you lean forward and kiss him softly.

Maul is stiff at first but, just as you're about to pull away, he melts into it. His hands slide up to your waist as your arms move up around his neck, and he hums approvingly at the feeling.

He only pulls back once he feels you smile against him.

Clearly feeling defensive and a little vulnerable, he looks at you questioningly.

"Sorry, it's nothing! I just-" You look at him and gather your thoughts. "I'm just glad you don't actually hate me."

"You thought I hated you?"

"I wasn't sure... you don't exactly make it easy to tell you know!"

He chuckles when you playfully swat at his arm.

"I could never hate you, starlight."

~ NSFW below <3 ~

Maul is not used to being vulnerable, in any scenario, so in the beginning he reverts to what he is used to: control.

He is exclusively dominant the first few times you have sex because that's what he thinks he's supposed to be.

He can focus on the way your lips part, the sounds you make, the feeling of your nails digging into his shoulders as you cling onto him.

It's your vulnerability, not his. It will take him time to feel comfortable enough for you to take the reins.

Soon into your relationship, you mumble a quiet plea and urge him to sit against the headboard. You straddle his lap and kiss him softly, but with so much passion that he stops breathing, and slowly sink down onto his cock.

This time it's him clinging onto you, and he swears nothing has ever felt better.

Maul is certainly a switch.

He has days where he feels such a primal need to possess you, to claim you.

It's days like this you find yourself on your knees, face pressed into the mattress while he fucks you from behind. His claws dig into your hips, making sure to leave marks, and his teeth are sunk into the soft skin of your neck.

(Invest in some high collars.)

However, when Maul feels the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, he needs you to make the decisions.

He's resistant at first, not believing he deserves it, but he needs you to praise him. He has no preference for whether you're rough or gentle, but he needs to know he's being good for you.

He's also surprisingly obedient. To him, giving himself over is a show of trust, and maker knows you've already fought hard enough to gain his.

The fastest way for Maul to enter subspace, he has found, is with his head between your legs.

Just say the word and his tongue is pressed to your clit, so eager to draw pretty moans from you.

He can get lost in his task so easily, entranced by the sound and taste of you, not even realising that he's overstimulating you until your hands tug at his horns.

Gazing up at you with dilated pupils, already floating in his headspace and seeming almost distressed that you'd pull him away, it's too easy to indulge him and let him keep going.

At the end of a session with him, you always insist on aftercare. Once again, it's something he struggles to acknowledge his need for, but the first time you clean him up with so much care, murmuring how well he did, and guide him to curl up beside you, he couldn't imagine ever turning it down.

He's also getting more used to giving you aftercare when he's been domming. It was a struggle to know what you needed from him at first, but he's better at being careful when he cleans up any scratches you might have, at praising you, and at accepting the way you wrap your arms around his waist as soon as he lays down beside you.

Like many things with Maul, it takes patience before you can see the true him, but it's worth the effort.

And when he lays in bed with you tucked into his side, smiling contentedly, he's never felt so lucky.

[sharkiethrts]

Hiya everyone! new inquiry time: i wonder why not much people delve into Lady Cash? She is implied to be Robin's teacher when she was young and was even referenced in 'Concert For Two''s lightcone:

'"But the teacher thinks I'm not cut out for this…"'

She seems to be framed as an antagonistic character for now, with her seeming rather jaded and fastidious to the 'flaws' of today's singers. She even outright referred to Robin's letter to her as: 'a bucket of brainwashing balderdash', going on to say that it is 'what she's best at ' and that 'She's been like this since young'

I'm now wondering:

(a) Is Robin's character supposed to be framed as well-natured first hand but later on opening to reveal much more selfish and human traits that make her seem like a hypocrite?

(b) Or could this just be a show for how horrible the situation is in Penacony- where jealous stars try to tear each other down, despite one being a mentor and another being a student.

Adding onto that, could this be a hint for Sunday's less positive feelings towards Robin? (What if during the White Night trailer, it wasn't Sparkle that was acting as Robin and Sunday was actually rather lackluster around his own sister? Haha, maybe its not likely)

(c) Perhaps Sunday is jealous of her. Hence why in the 'concert for two' lightcone (once again), Robin questions whether that dream is still shared by the both of them- (LEAKS SKIP BOLDED) or perhaps that is due to Sunday being suggested to have been possessed by Ena (or Dominicus), hence becoming distant from her).

(headcanon, with no evidence whatsoever:) Could Sunday's love for sweet treats only be found in their childhood, where he no longers share the same love as he has been possessed while Robin remains unaware and tries to rekindle a bond with a brother she once knew?

Oh my, this could also work out with why Sunday looks rather bored around her (compared to their cutest lightcone and the Myriad trailer- where he seems to love her affectionately).

(d) maybe its just to show that Robin was surrounded by negative figures in her childhood that constantly tried to get in her dream's way. where her acts of kindness (her sending a thoughtful letter to check up on her teacher) is depicted as manipulation tactics,,,,

haha just rambling, PLEASE ADD ON! i'm suffering from a severe hyperfixation.

: I hope you don't mind me tagging you guys here, it's just that whenever I try to find Sunday content, I tend to gravitate to you guys! (please tell me if you do, I wouldn't mind at all- text me privately if you have to!)

@eternity-death @moonsaver @mewnbuns

Please tag anyone else that would be interested in this, I'm also rather interested in collecting sunday blogs :3

[hauntedraggedyanne]

Extra character quirks

Just to add a little extra something

1️⃣: Fears

This could be a big part of their development or even for the story, but it doesn’t have to be. Think of the normal things that lots of people are afraid of—spiders, needles, the dark, blood—and give one or more of them to your character. This little extra touch can work wonders when you’re trying to make them feel a little bit more human. You can take the fears as seriously as you see fit by getting the character some kind of support from the other characters or simply using it as a reoccurring gag. The choice is yours.

2️⃣: Wardrobe styles they wear 24/7

Think of them as like cartoon characters that you don’t want to reanimate every time there’s a new scene with them, so you give them a style or a ____core aesthetic. Not only does it add their own bit of personality into everything, but it also can help your readers picture the characters a bit easier if they don’t have to constantly re-imagine every single outfit change. Plus you get to have that scene in every teen movie where they get to walk down the stairs in a fancy suit/dress and their love interest falls even more in love with them. Or you can use the style to make a point about how ‘not all people who dress like this behave like that’ because let’s face it, society does need a reminder that the clothes don’t wear the people, the people wear the clothes.

3️⃣: Hyperfixations/hyperfocuses

This fixation can be of an in-universe piece of media or one in the real world, so go about this with whichever choice in mind. Again, this adds a bit of extra depth to the characters that isn’t (or maybe it is) essential to the plot, but it gives the character a bit of extra detail that can make a difference between nothing and a little something. That can go far, trust me. How does the character go about trying to talk about their fixations? Do they tell everyone and scream about from the rooftops, or are they shy about it and only start rambling about it when pushed by their friends/family/love interest? How long do they have these fixations, and how do they feel after they’ve moved on to something new and no longer view the previous one with as much love? Additionally, the media itself can tell a LOT about the character themselves, by showcasing their traits as blatantly or as subtly as you want.

Feel free to use any/all to give your characters a little extra something to work with!

[lazyfandombean]

Psst, you!

Hey, hey you! Yeah, you! I've got a question for ya. Do you feel normal about SCC (Sweet Cap'n Cakes)?

-> Yes -> No

[❤️Yes] [Ohhhh, I see. You're in denial, aren't you? ;)]

[❤️No] [Aha! Just as I projected- I mean suspected! Suspected. Yeah.]

Well, I've got some GREAT news for you! Have you ever felt saddened by the lack of SCC-centric fanfiction? Specifically the kind that depicts them as brothers instead of bandmates or partners (no shade to those depictions btw)?

No? Shut up yes you have /j

Yes? Fantastic! Well, no, sorry that you're sad :/ BUT! Be sad no longer! For I've come to save the day!

In the form of my newfound SCC hyperfixation!!!

That's right!! I've been going crazy about The Guys™️ for the past week or so, but to my absolute SHOCK, there are hardly ANY fanfics for them!!! And almost all them revolve around them as a SHIP! And no offense, but I just don't like reading about ships all that much, sorry!!! :(

SO!!! How am I going to fix this dilemma, I wondered? But THEN! I remembered something!! Something very, VERY important:

'Oh yeah I'm a fanfic author.'

Is this me implying that I'm now writing a bunch of SCC fanfiction in a very roundabout way? YES YES IT IS! :D

In fact, I've already posted one on Ao3 and have turned it into a 'series'! By that I just mean that the 'series' is really just a place for me to dump all of my SCC-centric fics. I'll link the series here, BUT I'll also be cross-posting most, if not all, of those fics from Ao3 to here on Tumblr!

Oh also link btw:

But why am I talking about it like this on Tumblr, you ask? Introducing it in such a way when I could have just started posting SCC content? For two reasons!

One: Idk I just felt like it

Two: Because!! It has come to my attention that hardly anybody on Ao3 even reads SCC fanfiction.

And no, this isn't me begging for like... kudos or subscriptions (or followers, I guess it is on Tumblr? Idk I don't use it much) or anything like that. What I AM asking for is for people to read it. Not because I want to get popular, but because...

I am very self-conscious about the way I write SCC.

Well, to be honest I'm just self-conscious about the way I write any fictional character. It's actually the thing I worry about the most when it comes to fanfiction; whether or not I'm getting the personalities right. And I'm aware that it's more about how you perceive the characters, and that headcanons are a thing (I have plenty of them myself), but in my opinion, there's a line between having a headcanon and writing something ooc. Headcanons are fine, yes, and I use them a lot (especially when it comes to Undertale and Deltarune characters), but I feel like it can get to the point where it's so ooc that it doesn't even feel like the same character. And that's something I definitely don't want to happen when I write about my three favorite guys EVER. So basically, I'm asking people to read my fics specifically so I can get feedback on how to write the characters.

Why didn't I ask my friends? Bold of you to assume I have any /hj

But no fr, none of my friends play Deltarune, and I'm not even sure if any of them have heard of it. My sister has played before, but she never really got into it, and it's been so long that I doubt she would even remember who SCC are if I asked.

So, I've taken it to random strangers on Tumblr!

There's only one work in the series right now, but I'm currently working on another and have many more ideas sitting in a doc, waiting to be written! I'll also take requests if anyone has any (which I doubt will happen but anything's possible I guess), but before I post any more, I'd really like to get some feedback from... someone, I guess. I dunno I just really want to do them justice 😭

Anyways, that's all! Sorry that this was so long and probably annoying to read, I just thought it'd be funny but now I don't even know aldkdsfljk- but I'm leaving it like this because why not I guess

[darkcloudsatnight]

It's funny, isn't it?

To think about the future.

Knowing not all things last forever, but how we should cherish what we have now.

You think the times aren't going to come very soon.

You think you still have time.

But time runs out fairly quickly.

That day will come.

And when it does.

I don't think any of us will be ready for it.

Today is that day.

Ladies and gentlemen, non-binary persons and everyone else as well, we are gathered here, in August of 2024, to say goodbye to a dear friend. @another-delta-lover. Delta has been here for awhile. Much longer than I have. He has had many phases and hyperfixations just as we all have. He was a drawer, a ranter, a lovely person, a kind person, a considerate person, a friend. And now, is the day we come to pay respects to our wonderful friend. Anons, moots, anyone else, please join me as we remember such a great, great person, and wish him luck in the struggles of life. We love you, Delta.

I have been here for awhile. Since the beginning of summer, when school was over. I had Tumblr before then, and was just using it to look at drawings. A few days after school ended, or somewhere around then, I found Delta's blog. I commented on one of his posts, and he replied, to which I kind of freaked out because he seemed like sort of a celebrity to me because of his drawing skills. We spoke a bit, and became friends. We spoke ever since then, and I've comforted him though some harsh times. He's listened and comforted me though some of mine. I love delta /p and I have had my fair share of mistakes when it comes to talking about and with him. I've learned from those experiences, and I hope Delta has learned from us.

If you would like, please, tell us your story when it comes to becoming moots with Delta. Maybe when it was and what he was into at the time. Something you know you will remember him by.

And now, a moment of silence for our friend.

Thank you for your time, everyone. And thank you, Delta, for being here. For drawing. For ranting. For all of that.

Thank you, and good luck. We love you.

[randomalistic]

first off. i can't believe that i already followed you- your spam blog -and didn't know.

second. i literally just had a dream shere i was rambling to someone about turbo using stuff from your essay. apparently it rewired my brain so hard it, and you, manifested in my dreams lol (i even made a bad joke that "you can say he's Turbo-tastic!" hah)

and congratulations on making such great work of art that is the essay, you can feel and hear the love(and hyperfixation) poured into it.

i do wonder tho, what was the hardest part when making it?

I’m so glad you enjoyed it yay :)❤️ and also recognized me from my sneo blog LOL

I feel that so horrendously much. I legit had a dream a few nights ago about someone APPROACHING ME cuz they recognized my voice from the essay (girl get an ego check) but they then said “dude it’s so obvious you’re into him” or something. And I was like. 🧍‍♀️Well you don’t have to say it out loud

Anyways you’re not the only one cuz the video haunts me too. even after its birth.

The hardest part?? Oh Man. Can I say Everything.

There were a few stretches that were REALLY TOUGH. short answer: Entire first half of the video. Also the longer parts like the Manipulation section, Turbo reveal section, and the Cybug King Candy section. I had a lot to say for these and it was tricky to condense it into something Comprehensible

Long answer:

I completely overhauled the entire first half of the video (EVERYTHING before the kart breaking scene) because I wasn’t satisfied with the writing/delivery etc. (Which was a good choice because my arguments were pretty half baked before) but oh my god that was like a week and a half of 7 hour recording and rewriting sessions it was brutal. Especially annoying because those arguments were super old and I was getting sick of thinking about them. So instead I used them as a backbone to structure better arguments and revamp the script so that kept me from going insane. However it was also really fun because I got to see my old ass arguments finally be explained to their fullest capacity. And also I got to write shit like ☝️🤓Excuse me sir your turbo is showing..

The biggest issue with this being my first ever video essay and it taking so goddamn long: you could SEE my writing/editing/voicing skills improve over the span of the video itself. Which is really cool improvement wise but REALLY . REALLY BAD CONSISTENCY WISE. Like the first half of the video is the part people are gonna see first. It SETS EXPECTATIONS. IT HAS TO BE PEAK

I think I re-edited the synopsis upwards of 5-6 times. Which makes sense as that was like the first thing I started the project with but ouhvhhhgghghr. Making a section from scratch is WAY easier than going back and having to redo something

Early on I cut out an entire fully edited/scripted/recorded 3 minute section of me talking about Megamind and its sequel because I realized. This is pointless and everyone has TALKED ABOUT MEGAMIND BEFORE AND THIS HAS NOTHIBG TO DO WITH WRECK IT RALPH. There were a lot of scrapped ideas

Audio was also really challenging, just entirely. Making sure the levels were consistent (I had absolutely zero voice volume normalization I did it all manually 😭 I’m gonna have to figure out how to do that) Also just the concept of recording my voice and having to speak out loud in a space was Real Bad for my anxiety but You Do it Scared. Had to wait until I was home alone or like 99% sure I was alone before I could say anything without worrying. Also training my voice to sound engaging and consistent was so hard and it took maybe 6 months for me to get it down. Also I had no fucking idea where to record, like at first I was recording in a CLOSET (and later under a piano??) and then I was wondering why my lines sounded so weird. Then I realized I could just Record in a room and it would sound JUST FINE. So basically uhhh every single part was the hardest part. But it was worth it and very fun I think 🫶

[redisaid]

Strangers - Part 2 of ???

The Spider in Her Web

Oops, new hyperfixation unlocked lads. Post-Shadowlands Sylvaina slowburn, here we go.

5326 Words

Read it on Ao3!

The first thing Jaina notices upon her return visit to the Maw is that Sylvanas’ camp is unoccupied. The second thing she notices is that another stool has appeared, chipped out of the same twisting black rock that surrounds this place, this cloistered safe haven that almost feels as though it belongs under a canopy of trees and a sky of blue, rather than shades of black and grey.

The first thing Jaina does is test out the second stool, and finding it comfortable, she sits and waits. She sets down the heavy rucksack Vereesa eagerly supplied her with. She listens. She watches. She wonders where Sylvanas might have gone, but realizes that most of her time within the Maw is likely spent on the move, working at her redemption, little by little.

She gives it a few minutes. A quarter of an hour. Surely, Sylvanas will somehow know she’s here. She will sense the disturbance Jaina causes in her routine, the rippling of the calm waters of a lonely pond.

And while Jaina is patient, and the odd silence of this place gives her time to think she’s not normally afforded in her busy life in Boralus.

She thinks about leaving the rucksack and its corresponding letter. She has no obligation to do anything else. In fact, all that she’s done here thus far might be too much to explain to the likes of many of her Alliance comrades. She thinks that if Dori’thur truly could report what she sees to Tyrande, then the looming visage of the High Priestess would have already darkened Jaina’s doorstep, asking her what she was thinking, offering small comforts to her prisoner.

But then, she remembers how Sylvanas reached for her. How she stammered out excuses to keep her there, just a little longer. She does not know her. Sylvanas similarly knows little of her. But Jaina is all she’s seen, all the contact she has had with her world in some time.

So Jaina waits, but thinks to use her magic to shoot a bright flare into the swirling grey of the sky above the Maw, so that Sylvanas might be alerted to her presence.

Only another quarter of an hour passes until Jaina hears the beat of wings. More than that, and she might have given up her small mercy. It's likely only been a few minutes on Azeroth she's wasted, but still, she has other duties today, far less optional than this. She vows to attempt to keep time as well as she can, knowing that she left Azeroth mid-morning. If the rate of dissonance between the two timelines is steady, then she can calculate the difference. She can decide whether she cares to wait.

Dori’thur proceeds her charge by a few moments, perhaps being asked to scout ahead, perhaps just doing as she pleases. Jaina wonders if the owl offers any aid in Sylvanas’ work, but has no time to ask. Once again, she meets Sylvanas Windrunner with a drawn bow and an arrow between them, though it is lowered much faster this time, upon those burning blue eyes recognizing her.

“Sorry if the flare spooked you, I didn’t know how else to get your attention,” Jaina tells her, and this time it’s her hands that fly up in surrender.

If things were to turn, if Vereesa’s good intentions and well-packed supplies are for naught, then she doesn’t need to worry about where her hands are. She can defend herself. Jaina thinks that she should have when she was taken by the Mawsworn, but there were three of them, and they knew to chain her and gag her in such a way she could not have cast anything against them. She still feels shame in being caught, a year and some time later. She shouldn’t have had her guard down enough to be taken.

And yet here she is, bringing camp supplies, or whatever all of this is, to the woman who saw her captured.

Sylvanas says nothing at first. She lowers her bow, stashes the arrow back in her quiver. She wears her armor today, worn but more intact than the leathers beneath it, and the hood of her long cloak covers her hair, neatly tucked and likely tied up beneath it. Jaina wonders at why she bothers with the bow and the armor and all of it, if there are no more enemies here to fight, but realizes that this is probably what Sylvanas is used to. It is good practice, after all, for a Ranger to be prepared for anything.

She does not seem to be prepared to find Jaina here again. “Back so soon?” she finally asks, though there is a dry sarcasm in the words.

For Jaina, it has been two days. She delivered the letter to Vereesa the morning after she came back, and she arrived the following morning with the rucksack. Jaina had breakfast with her mother, then had decided to take the day to deliver it, making the excuse she had an errand to run elsewhere in the world. Funny, how no one questioned a mage who could transport herself anywhere she liked on where exactly she might be going. Perhaps they guessed each time? Maybe her honor guard had a betting pool over it.

No one would have guessed this destination, or won any money on it.

Truth be told, though it has only been two days, the image of Sylvanas in her tattered leathers, eyes wide and wild, reaching out for someone, anyone, even if they wear the face of her former enemy, captor and captive all in the same, has not left Jaina’s mind. She did not tell Vereesa about that, when she relayed her version of the visit to her. No, that moment was hers alone to ponder, though why she fixated on it so much, she still struggled to understand.

Maybe there was a cruelty in this she had not considered, they had not considered, or perhaps Tyrande had deliberately considered. After all, Sylvanas Windrunner had been sentenced to what might be eons of solitary confinement.

“How long has it been for you?” Jaina asks, still curious, still wondering if perhaps this grim sentence is hurting the effort for peace and justice more than it is helping it.

“As I told you before, it is difficult to tell. Perhaps something near to ten days,” Sylvanas answers, a bit more straightforward this time.

Five times as long. Well, that was easy math at least, though Jaina would be more exact about it upon her next visit. If she were to keep up with this chore, then at least she could endeavor to learn more about the Maw and the Shadowlands from it.

If such time dilation is constant, then that means Sylvanas has been here alone for five years, not even knowing the name of the owl who watches her. And still, Jaina thinks this difference might be somewhat variable in nature.

This feels correct and true to her own experiences, when the Mawwalkers found her in the last of her many escape attempts, and later freed her from Torghast to abscond to the safety of Oribos. There, she’d been informed she’d only been missing from Azeroth for just two weeks. It had felt like months to her, but she had blamed it on the menacing nature of this place, on being held captive and kept busy navigating the twisting tower of Torghast, and on the lack of night and day by which to tell the time.

A part of her feels justified in the confirmation, but another part feels remorse at the loss of that time, stretched and strange and terrifying as it was.

Perhaps then, for subjecting her and Anduin and Thrall and Baine and who knows how many others to this, Sylvanas deserves to linger in the same. But the length of it is still worrying. How can anyone expect a person to come out better, changed, and repentant, after so long alone?

“Vereesa was very eager to get this back to you,” Jaina rouses herself from her thoughts to explain, and lifts up the rucksack a little.

It is heavy, and something within it rattles. Jaina thinks she should have maybe been nosy enough to inspect its contents before agreeing to transport it, but again, she trusts Vereesa. She still does not trust Sylvanas, or know her, really.

The letter she carried back for her in return was much shorter than the younger Windrunner sister’s, written on some blank parchment Vereesa had included with her own correspondence. She’d only left one page, but Sylvanas had only needed three-quarters of it. Her handwriting was neat, and militant, the Thalassian runes each shaped perfectly and correctly to a tee, crammed together and narrow.

Jaina had provided a conjured quill for her, as well as some ink. Vereesa hadn’t thought that part through, it seemed. For her extended services, Jaina felt slightly entitled to read what she carried back to Azeroth, but had only glanced at the first few sentences. They seemed civil. Beyond that, it had felt as though her eyes had better things to see.

Now, today—two days later for her, ten for Sylvanas—those eyes stare across a chasm of their own making at another pair of blue ones.

Sylvanas approaches, finally. Dori’thur circles the sky above them, coming to rest on the top of the lean-to, near where Jaina sits, a reminder that both of their actions here are subject to judgment. Only Jaina has never enjoyed being judged.

A gauntleted hand reaches out to her, reminding Jaina of how it had been, bare and unarmored, desperate in so many ways, reaching for her before. Sylvanas has no such tension in her now. She is a woman seeking what she is owed and has asked for, and Jaina hands her the rucksack dutifully. There is nothing more in this today. An exchange of part and parcel, but nevermind the extra stool upon which Jaina sits.

She is a stark contrast to Sylvanas in her armor, not having bothered to make a show of herself this morning, or whatever passes for such in the Maw. She wears only the white blouse, navy trousers, and sensible boots she went to breakfast in. She considered bringing a jacket, at least, but what for? The Maw is neither hot nor cold, at least not here in the shelter of Sylvanas’ grove of rock. As a mage, her armor is as unnecessary for her as any of the rest of her battle regalia. It is all for show, and something about how she caught Sylvanas last time didn’t sit right with her.

If she were dressed down, so Jaina should be, but now they have swapped places again, and Jaina isn’t sure which is right, only that it feels wrong.

“Thank you,” forms on Sylvanas’ lips, stiffly and formally.

She takes two steps back, sets her bow on her bedroll, and the rucksack on the ground before she kneels to dig within it, leaving no space for further ceremony or to add to her graciousness.

“There is another letter within,” Jaina explains instead. “Should you want to reply.”

Again, she had not checked and does not know where it is, only taking this information with a grain of salt, as it were, from a delighted Vereesa. If nothing else, she reminds herself that she endures the unnatural stretching of her hours, the dismal neutrality of this place, and the awkwardness of serving as a messenger girl to her once-enemy, because it seems to be bringing a great deal of happiness to her friend.

There are few people on Azeroth who have stuck by her as Vereesa has. Through all of her decisions, questionable and rage-tinted as they might have been for a while. Through nights where they held one another, crying over losses they could not otherwise express. Through days of war and strife new to neither of them, but quickly growing old. Jaina would watch the twins and tell them of their father, sometimes, because she knew they were curious and she knew it was too painful for Vereesa to speak of Rhonin much anymore. Vereesa would all but force her to come out with her and do normal things, lunches, shopping, festivals, and would sometimes point out a thing that Pained or Kinndy might have enjoyed, to remind Jaina that living was a thing she could do to honor them too, just as much as anything else.

So for that, Jaina could endure an awkward pause or two here in the Maw.

Sylvanas, knelt beside the rucksack, takes inventory of its contents in a militant way, saying nothing. One of the first items she does lay out is another sealed envelope, so there’s that. Next to it she lines up an odd assortment of things she must have requested. A length of rope concerns Jaina slightly, but as for how, she’s not sure. Sylvanas certainly can’t climb out of the Maw on thirty feet of rope, but it’s still odd to see. After that is a large bundle of dark material that Jaina can only assume are new leathers, and she breathes a private sigh of relief at that.

Again, it is an odd thing to focus on—clothes of all things. Still, if it were her, down here, alone, left only with her regrets and the glowing judgment of Dori’thur’s eyes, she would not want to be wearing tattered clothes.

A smaller odd assortment follows, laid out in an organized fashion. Jaina catches glimpses of new flint and tinder, bow strings, a small knife, a crisp white hand towel, an odd brass instrument that’s something like a sextant or viewfinder—distinctly elven in nature but close enough to both that Jaina guesses it is meant for finding the value of distances, quills and ink and a stack of parchment, a large piece of thick, fine velum lined with a grid, perhaps meant to be made into a map.

So little of it is sentimental. Sylvanas could have asked for anything, but what lies before her is a military requisition. It seems she is a General through and through, and has put all of her concern into the practicality of her mission. She is here to seek souls and guide them, and if a map and rope and measuring of things will help in that, then Jaina supposes there is no harm in such tools.

Still, none of it is what she expects to come out of that pack, save the leathers.

Only when Sylvanas makes a face of sorts, long eyebrows twitching, does she pull out something unexpected, and the expression that comes to rest on her sharp features tells Jaina it is not something she asked for, and perhaps not something she wants.

She presses the button on a small circular case in her palm to reveal it is a compact, not a compass or some other practical instrument. The face she makes is at the mirror within it, and Sylvanas swiftly closes the lid, setting the offending object aside, away from the rest.

The last thing she retrieves comes out with a rattle. A copper kettle, out of place in the wash of monotone greys and whites and blacks, chimes as two matching mugs attached to its handle slam against it. While it is well-made and elven in nature, it is simple enough that it too seems to serve a military purpose.

“I told Vereesa, about the tea,” Jaina confesses before the curiosity alighting in Sylvanas’ eyes can seek satisfaction.

It’s only then that she looks up from her hoard at her, one long eyebrow slightly lifted. Sylvanas, once again, says nothing.

“She thought it was a good idea,” Jaina goes on. “And that I could use a break while I wait for you to write your replies, as it were.”

Sylvanas says nothing still, pulling aside the lid of the kettle to find that what rattles inside is a strainer and small tin of tea. She sets these aside separately, lining them up with the rest of her expanded inventory.

She looks over the items, not back at Jaina, as she finally nods, just slightly, and says, “Running a nation is a daunting task.”

Jaina knows. She’s run three of them, should one count Dalaran as a nation, which she certainly does. Sylvanas has run one and the military of another, and led an entire faction of united nations and races, for a time. On this, they can both agree.

Jaina watches, fascinated, as Sylvanas packs some things back into the rucksack in a very focused and practiced way. She leaves aside the leathers and the kettle and its accessories and the mirror compact. Everything else is stored away with purpose and precision.

Her fixation is interrupted when Sylvanas stands, walking over to her to hand her the kettle.

“I have no water,” is her explanation.

There is water in the Maw, or at least in Korthia, still chained to it even now. Jaina had looked there first, assuming that Sylvanas would be among the trees of a more familiar landscape, closer in Azeroth to its nature. But no, she had camped here, nearer to Torghast, in what Jaina now thinks is probably a more practical home base.

Dare she even think it, but Sylvanas Windrunner seems to be very boringly pragmatic, when left alone to her own devices.

Jaina takes the kettle, recognizing her usefulness in this situation. Perhaps that’s why the arcane arts were always appealing to her. She thrives on being useful.

Conjuring water and fire for her own tea, at least, will give her something to do besides joining Dori’thur in her silent watching of Sylvanas.

The odd domesticity of the scene isn’t lost on Jaina as she kneels by the firepit, measuring out tea leaves from the tin in pinches. Sylvanas is seated on the stool she had not occupied, reading her letter in silence.

A tension fills the stale air of the Maw, but it’s different than any they’ve simmered in before. Jaina is used to being in the same room with Sylvanas Windrunner only in states of distress—during Garrosh’s trial, or when she stopped Varian from attacking her by teleporting his entire army away. Jaina’s life is made up of moments she rethinks years after, and that is one of them. Had she not interfered, would Teldrassil have burned?

Then again, would Varian have died sooner? Would Sylvanas not have been justified in killing him then, had Jaina let that fight play out? She had asked for help to win back her city, and had far more claim to the ashes of Lordaeron than anyone in the Alliance—even Jaina, who, if not for many other lost moments, might have been its queen. Would they then have come to their own blows, ending it all in the bowels of the Undercity, a clash of ice and shadow?

This is why Jaina can’t think on these things. She’ll get lost. Time slips away like sands in an hourglass, and she wonders how the bronze dragons can manage to know the outcomes of such scenarios and not go mad. No, it is better to be present where and when she is now, tending to the kettle over Sylvanas’ fire pit, waiting, as strange a scenario as that might be.

Stranger still is the question that breaks the silence, “It seems you know my nephews. How do they fare these days?”

Do you know them is the question Jaina wants to ask back, but she knows the answer. No, well, maybe not. Maybe she knew Arator, as a baby. He’s a man grown now, and last Jaina saw him, he was excited to hear all about her interactions with Uther in the Shadowlands, and wanted to know all about her stories of the legendary paladin of old.

Of old…that was not all that long ago. Fifteen years back, she stood with him at Stratholme, in another moment in which her mind frequently stalls, questioning everything, able to change nothing.

“They’re well,” is Jaina’s answer. “Arator is busy with the Silver Hand. Giramar and Galadin continue to grow like weeds.”

Again, the conversation strikes an odd chord of domesticity. Jaina has really never considered that Sylvanas is the aunt of those boys, but she is. Having seen it up close on her now, Giramar has the same lopsided smirk when thinks he’s said something particularly funny. Galadin has the same look of burning seriousness and focus. Jaina wonders if Sylvanas once laughed, lifetimes ago, as easily as Arator does?

It’s a question she can never ask.

Sylvanas huffs a response, “I’ve never seen Vereesa’s children.”

Jaina thinks this is some egregious sin for a moment, but then realizes, of course she hasn’t. The boys were born when she was already dead. They know their aunt only as the fearsome Banshee Queen. Jaina wonders if they know that, until quite recently, their own mother was still so desperate for her sister, but so afraid of her.

The Windrunners are and remain a complex web of a family to weave in and out of, and while Jaina never intended to be as such, she feels she’s become the spider that maintains it. Yes, she knows Sylvanas’ nephews likely better than she ever will. She helped the twins study for a test last week. She knows Arator’s favorite snack is caramel popcorn, and she buys a big tin for him every Winterveil. She tries to diffuse conversations between Alleria and Vereesa, where the elder sister’s brash and self-assured nature rubs wrong against the youngest’s sensitive one.

And now she makes tea for herself, waiting for the middle sister to write what amounts to a prison letter back to them. Or, well, the only one who has made an effort to contact her.

“I can ask her for a photograph?” Jaina offers, looking over her shoulder for a response, unsure if that was a problem for her to solve or just a statement.

Either way, she likes solving problems. She likes being useful. While she did not intend to be the spider, spinning this web, she still spins it.

Sylvanas says nothing, yet again, but Jaina sees her ears twitch upward. She’s been around enough elves for enough years to understand the language their ridiculously long ears speak. This, while Sylvanas doesn’t give voice to it, tells Jaina she’s interested.

She takes that for her answering, demanding nothing else, and pretends to be distracted by the hiss of the kettle. The earthy smell of Kul Tiran black tea tells her it’s ready as much as the hiss. The Maw smells of nothing, but now, it smells like tea and a fire, and to some, that’s home.

“Do you want any?” Jaina asks over her shoulder again.

When she looks back at Sylvanas for a reply, she just waves her disinterest, offering no explanation for it. The undead do not need to eat or drink, but Jaina knows Derek still likes his tea. It is the polite thing to do, the useful thing. Jaina, spider that she is, is an industrious creature. She cannot stop weaving.

She knows she’s right when she catches another lift of Sylvanas’ ears at the question, and the barest hint of her sharp cheek poking out from behind the paper that covers the rest of her face, a hint of the smirk she shares with her nephew, whom she’s never seen nor met.

---

Such a problem is what brings Jaina now to Vereesa’s doorstep, that same evening.

The smell of a sweet elven curry fills Jaina’s nose as the door is cracked open. She can just barely see the red heads and stubby, pointed ears of Giramar and Galadin, bent over plates at the kitchen table.

Vereesa stands, dressed as causally in peacetime as Jaina is, smelling of spice and vegetables, smiling.

“Jaina! I just put dinner on the table!” she announces. “There’s extra, if you’d like to join us. Say hello to Jaina, boys.”

“Hi Aunty Jaina,” comes in a twin chorus of deepening voices she’s still getting used to. The boys are entering their gangling teenage phase now, as half-elves tend to grow as quickly as their human parent. Apparently, they are eating Vereesa out of house and home, and prove this statement correct as they don’t bother to get up from their dinner to greet her. A hello is the best she can hope for.

They call her aunty, though she isn’t their aunt, because Anduin does it too. Because Arator did it once, to make fun of him.

“I’m good on dinner, thank you though,” Jaina tells their mother.

She does not feel the need to impose or intrude, and is not hungry, but the position suits her. She is not a Windrunner. She is the spider spinning her web on the top corner of their door frame.

“I didn’t expect to see you again today,” Vereesa confesses, leaning her weight on the doorknob she still holds.

She is smaller than Sylvanas, quick both to smile and to cry, though she has had more reason to do the latter. She is not prone to smirking, and does so only when she thinks no one is watching.

Jaina produces a letter as her answer. This time, Sylvanas wrote two pages. That should hopefully mean something to her.

Vereesa’s blue eyes go wide. They’re softer in color, a tone closer to purple, while Alleria’s are a muted aqua. They are normal and natural for a high elf, or as natural as an arcane-infused near immortal being can be. Sylvanas’ bright, burning blue, is as unnatural as the sinister red it replaced. Before, Vereesa had once told her, Sylvanas had grey eyes like their mother, a trait considered highly rare and desirable among the quel’dorei. Vereesa had been jealous of them.

Now Sylvanas dwells in eternal grey, and Vereesa’s home is smothered with Alliance blue.

She snatches the parchment with delight. A little noise escapes her lips, whether she wants it to or not is anyone’s guess.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” she tells Jaina, eyes already pouring over the words. “And for not making a stink about it or refusing on Tyrande’s behalf.”

Jaina had thought about that, certainly. The morality of her acceptance had weighed heavy on her before her first meeting with Sylvanas. Surely, Tyrande would not want this. Surely, there was a breach of hard-won justice. Surely, she should feel strongly against it herself, having been a recent victim of Sylvanas’ actions, fully in her control or not. Jaina had once questioned that deeply, wondering if some of this was posturing and blame, and if Sylvanas had very much willed her and her friends dead and tortured and forgotten as the souls she was now tasked with ushering to better places.

But in reality, free now of any influence besides Dori’thur’s watchful eyes and a sentence one could debate if she’d earned, Sylvanas had been polite to her. Curt, but courteous.

Eager, even, to have what little she was allowed, though not eager to show that. Words and gifts from her sister. The presence of another person from Jaina.

“As I told you before, I suspect that if Tyrande wanted to know and had a problem with it, she would have already come to me,” Jaina says to this, and she still believes it.

Something about the way Dori’thur watches even sets her ill at ease. She feels Tyrande’s eyes on her, feels her judgment, a tinge of betrayal, but not enough to stir her to action. If she has truly watched Sylvanas all this time, then she must understand that she’s suffering enough. Letters and map-making supplies aren’t going to change that.

Her expression must have changed at the thought, because now Vereesa is staring at her, confused, the letter and its contents forgotten. “You’re angry about the knife?”

“I don’t care if you gave her a knife,” Jaina quickly says, raising her hands defensively. “It was small. I assumed it was for cutting quills or fletching. She certainly didn’t turn it on me, so why should I be concerned?”

“Quills,” Vereesa answers, settling back into a grin. “An important part of a proper Quel’thalan pen set, but I debated about that knife for a good hour, packing that bag.”

Jaina knows that, as dull as the contents of the bag seemed, Vereesa carefully selected all of them and made a day of it. She is the type to agonize over gifts, and to ensure she always gives something unique, thoughtful, and unexpected.

For her last birthday, Jaina did not do much in the way of celebrating. She was busy, of course, making herself busy, and settled for a nice dinner with her mother and brothers. They’d given her no gifts and she expected nothing from them. In Kul Tiras, birthday gifts are a thing reserved for children, not for thirty-eight-year-old women.

But to her surprise, that evening she found a little box wrapped in simple blue paper upon her desk, waiting for her. Within it was a bottle of silver polish, a note that explained Vereesa had noticed that her anchor pendant was getting a little tarnished from these years of constant wear, and a fine bottle of port, aged exactly thirty-eight years, with a remark on the note that said waiting such time to be drunk had only made it all the sweeter.

“She asked about the boys,” Jaina reports, attempting to change the subject before she too becomes sentimental over silly little things.

“Oh?”

The odd combination of raised eyebrows and drooped ears tells Jaina she feels odd about this, maybe guilty. Glowing eyes wander her face, searching for more details.

“She’s never met yours, I suppose I hadn’t thought about that,” Jaina goes on.

“I hadn’t either.”

Behind her, said boys shovel curry and rice into their mouths like their stomachs have no bottom. They’re nearly taller than Vereesa now, and have grown up so fast, sheltered by her expertly from this world of war and terror. Both reach for the earthenware pitcher of water between them at the same time to refill their glasses, and laugh as their hands smack into one another.

Vereesa turns her head to them, smiling and shaking it.

“Do you have a photograph of them? Arator too, maybe you and Alleria?” Jaina asks.

Vereesa doesn’t turn back to her, but her ears droop enough to tell Jaina she’s frowning about it. The answer is no, there’s no photo of them all together. The remaining Windrunners in Azeroth are busy people, hard to pin down and gather in one place.

Vereesa turns to her, a rare public smirk on her face. It makes her look as much like Sylvanas as Jaina has ever seen, no doubting they are sisters there.

“No, but I believe a trip to Stormwind is in order to correct that. And I’ll have an extra copy made—for you, if anyone’s asking,” Vereesa tells her.

“Of course, for me,” Jaina tells her, echoing the mischief on her face, glad to see it sparkling through the soft blue of her eyes.

Glad, really, to see anything in them but tears.

[pjsk-headcanons]

omg i have so many hcs for the characters and video games. warning this is probably the longest ask ill ever write

ichika - big classic sonic fan, also likes rhythm games (like rhythm heaven n stuff)

saki - played a lot of pokemon in the hospital bcs tsukasa would bring her his gameboy and pokemon ruby (or smtg) bcs once he showed her a surskit and she begged him to let her play bcs it was cute. she is now a die hard pokemon fan

honami - doesnt really play video games but she has lets go eevee and a bunch of eeveelution and pikaclone plushies

shiho - plays like everything, but she especially likes fighting games and ace attorney. also plays every mario game when it comes out but only bcs "of how popular he is"

minori - LOVES needy streamer overload and cute rhythm games like melatonin. she also deff plays like harvest moon & stardew valley & stuff

haruka - before she became an idol she would play like silly mobile games but she never really got into games

airi - she is obsessed with the legend of zelda and completes every game on release (unless she has a show) (thats the only exception) shes tried other games simular to tloz but none have really stuck

shizuku - she knows like the basic controls of super smash bros brawl but she sucks like hell

kohane - still cries over abandoning her nintendogs sometimes. she plays a lot of raising animal games and tycoons on roblox sometimes

an - name one rhythm game she hasnt played i dare you. any game that can slightly require musical tallent or a sense of rhythm has been played by her (not in full but like). also she likes warioware

akito - sonic nerd. tails is his fav character with shadow in close second bcs of a middle school phase he went through but shadow stuck as a fav. ena has also played a lot of sonic bcs of this man

toya - wasnt allowed to play video games but vbs and the tenmas are slowly introducing him to those like combining games like tetris and suika game. hes surprisingly good

tsukasa - hyperfixates on pokemon like every other month. he makes a persona for every character he plays and gets emotionally attached and stuff (totally not projecting)

emu - kirby lover!!! also plays splatoon at least every splatfest and cooking games. she deff plays a lot of vr and has liked that job sim vr game with the tv robots

nene - we all know she likes shooting games (but idk that many so bare w me). she deff is the one who introduced emu to splatoon & they always chiose the same splatfest team. she also plays just any arcade shooting games and used to play fortnite but shes more into cos & apex now

rui - rui makes his own video games (rom hacks the shit outa every game he plays) (also has homebrewed his wii and wii u)

kanade - likes low stress games like melatonin and animal crossing. she also plays like stupid sims like bee simulator and placid plastic duck sim (one of her favs). she doesnt like multiplayer games that much though

mafuyu - she had a gameboy advanced that her dad got her when she was younger and she played like any game on clearance bcs her mom would get pissed if a game cost too much. that gamebot is now smashed and sold for parts, so are all the games

ena - HATES sonic with a passion. i wonder whos fault that is. she would always play those dress up games but woukd mess with photoshop and stuff more

mizuki - she wasnt allowed to play like rhythm games or fasion games when she was younger. she was told to play mario, or the legend of zelda, or starfox. she managed to convince her parents to let her play kirby and shes been obsessed ever since

🍼 anon (SO SORRY THAT THIS IS LONGER THEN MY FUCKING BODY)

.

[the-solar-system52]

Earthspark S3 synopsis spoilers!!

Rotten Tomatoes leaked the titles and synopsizes for episodes 2-7 of Season 3 and I have opinions.

First of all, I JINXED IT??? Yesterday I was literally writing a post complaining about how little info we got about S3 compared to the other seasons before their release. I was nearly done it but got lazy and I saved it as a draft to finish later, cue 1 AM at night when I decide to check again Rotten Tomatoes for any updates, AND THERE WERE NEW EPISODES?? I just manifested them into existence with the power of hyperfixation I guess. So, you're welcome guys. (Although it is pretty cool that I discovered it myself because that usually doesn't happen to me since I don't use Reddit or Discord, it also signifies that the mainstream Transformers fandom doesn't really seem to care about Earthspark that much anymore considering the fact they aren't interested on reporting on new leaks. And that sucks, but I can't exactly blame them.)

But also you're not welcome because wtf are these synopsizes. I'm trying my best to be positive and stuff, and I know we should probably wait for the episodes to come out before we judge too hard, but these descriptions are definitely raising some red flags. There only seems to be 7 episodes which is very disappointing and doesn't seem like enough time to wrap up all the plot points from S2, plus the new S3 plot points they are introducing. Not to mention that there seems to be one or two filler episodes, which doesn't seem like a lot for most shows but it matters when you have such limited time. Filler can be good when it is well-written, helps develop the characters, and doesn't take time away from the rest of the plot. S1 filler was enjoyable because it had these qualities, but S2 filler however....... I don't think so. Not only is the writing just plain bad, but the writers almost seem adverse to developing their characters because they don't want to break their 'good guys good/bad guys bad' formula and need everything to reset to the status quo by the end of the episode, rendering the filler basically pointless. (See, the end of Togetherness) So not only is the filler getting in the way of the plot, but I'm not entirely sure it'll even be enjoyable.

I don't know if we are going to be getting more episodes after this. Some say we are going to get more batches, some say we are going to get longer specials instead, and some say Earthspark is cancelled and won't be getting any continuation. I think we probably will get some sort of finale, but either way, now is not the time for the writers to start messing around. There are plenty plot points from S2 that need to be wrapped up (The Decepticons, Terrantronus, The Chaos Terrans, The Quintessions) and yet they are already adding some more plot points for S3. The descriptions don't really mention any of the S2 plot points, and obviously we should wait till the episodes actually release to see if they do, but I'm still a bit skeptical. But these S3 plot points do seem interesting so lets talk about them.

IZZY'S EVIL?? Or a shapeshifter Quintession thing?? I'm gonna be real I did not see that coming and I don't really know how to feel. It's more interesting than her just being a designated crush character but I'm still just not really invested enough in her and Robby's relationship to care. I wonder if she's actually a shapeshifting Quintession or just a human working for the Quintession's? (I'm sorta hoping for the first thing tbh since we don't need more human screentime) I also wonder if she'll just be pure evil or if she'll be redeemed by the power of straight people or something. Imagine if some random girl gets redeemed but not any of the Decepticons, that'd be really funny.

There's this new plot point called 'The Hate Plague' which seems to be some sort of disease that drives bots into a rage. It pops up after EP4, right after The Autobot Ship (probably containing Prowl) crash lands. My guess is that the disease stems from Prowl's ship, and also probably has something to do with the Quintession's big plan. That either means the ship had a Quintession stowaway or some other substance that the Quintession's planted there that somehow caused the disease. There is also the possibility that it has something to do with The Chaos Energy from the Chaos Terrans since they are associated with rage?? But we'll have to see. I think the plot will follow The Autobots slowly being taken over by the disease, making them dangerous to the Maltos, leaving them all by themself to find someway to reverse it's affects and bring them back while also fighting the enemy that wants to take Robby and Mo's power for their own- wait a sec HAVEN'T WE DONE THIS BEFORE?? Isn't just the GHOST mind control all over again??? Sure, the Hate Plague makes them more enraged whilst the Mind Control made them emotionless, but it will still lead to them fighting against the Maltos right? It just feels way too similar. And the lines "she (Twitch) realizes she may be the only one who can help" and "Prowl recruits Thrash and Robby to investigate the source of the mysterious Hate Plague" sort of implies The Terran's can't be infected? Which seems worse since it means the Terrans won't benefit by whatever potential character development the Hate Plague could bring. But I don't want to jump to conclusions. I think it would be more interesting if the 'Hate Plague' didn't just make the bots mindless enraged savages, but instead actually make them more hateful. The plague clouds their view and makes them see the negative in everything, but they still retain their cognitive abilities, specifically the ability to talk. This could lead to interesting character dynamics being challenged since everyone would be arguing with each other and their previously-hidden opinions would come to light. This would still install conflict in the Autobot base but it wouldn't make them just mindless enemies and could actually lead to really interesting dialogue and situations. Think of The Spell of Shattered Sight from Once Upon a Time. It would put the Autobots out of commission and they wouldn't be able to help the Terrans but it wouldn't lead to them mindlessly attacking them without a reason, so it wouldn't be too similar to the GHOST mind control. But I'm not sure if they'll go for this angle since the S2 writers don't seem to be a fan of 'complicated characters' and exposing some of the flaws of the Autobots via The Hate Plague would destroy their 'good guys good/bad guys bad' narrative. It's easier to just turn The Autobots into mindless monsters to fight the Terrans for awhile. It'll also probably lead to some "i know your still in there 🥺" fights, which may be good character development if they are written well but they will probably end up being really corny. Like I said, we've done this all before.

No mention of The Chaos Terrans guys. I'm not doing well. We don't have the synposis for EP1 which would be the one they are most likely to be mentioned in, but the fact that they are not even alluded to in the other descriptions has me worried. I don't care if they stay pure evil, I also don't care if they speedrun a poorly written redemption arc, I JUST WANT THEM TO BE ALIVE 😭😭 (istfg if they try to redeem Starscream after what he did......)

The episode I'm most excited for is probably EP4. The plot of going into the Decepticon base and "friendships being tested" might mean we'll be getting some character development between The Autobots and/or The Decepticons? I have a soft spot for snow day episodes, so I'll probably enjoy EP 5 as well. The description of EP6 sort of made it seem like they would go on a full on investigation, so I think it would be funny if it was styled like a Noir Dectective film lmao (idk Prowl's character that well, is that something he would do?)

Either way, I will stay cautiously optimistic and be on the lookout for anymore leaks!

[lgbtlunaverse]

I think i need to explain why this line makes me go so feral

I think the "fine! I'll kill myself after I kill you" line from nie mingjue in chapter 49 permanently altered my brain chemistry and it has something to do with precisely how i got into the mdzs fandom space in the first place.

I've mentioned it a few times but i started watching the untamed in late 2019 right as it was blowing up everywhere and, likely due to a combination of undiagnosed adhd wrecking my ability to be interested in anything for longer than 4 seconds and me very much not being used to the specific style of acting, especially during fightscenes, i never finished it. The only concrete memory i have of it is seeing wen qing's face and meng ziyi completely short circuiting my little gay brain. I remember more of staring endlessly at pictures of her than I remember of the plot. Press F to pay respects.

Flash forward a few years and a friend recommends me a fic writer for an fma fic (the fic riter in question is metisket) and i like their stlye so much i decide to read other stuf they've written. Here we get to our prime suspect: "the one body problem" a genuinely hilarious fic where jingyi gets posessed by wei wuxian like a year before the plot happens and they become awkward brain buddies. 10/10 i loved it (and still do) even though i remember huasiang showing up in my first reading and I, having fully forgotten his name, had no fucking clue what was going on. (Little did i know...)

Anyway flash forward ANOTHER year and I decide to reread that fic, and then the other untamed fic metisket wrote, a wen qing time travel fix it that's also real fun. And then i'm like. huh. that's fun. wonder if there's anything in their bookmarks.

And then, within 20 days, I had read approximately 350 fics. Many of them 100k+ words. I cannot stress enough how much this CONSUMED my brain's ability to do or think about anything else. I now think back to the early days of getting my adhd diagnosis and insisted that while i had pretty much all other symptoms, I did not get hyperfixations. Lol. Lmao, even.

I am mainly focused on wangxian and the junior quartet becuase they are my baby ducklings and i love them. I do come across some 3zun fics and I think huh... this is interesting. But the 3zun brainrot is LIGHT at this point.

The thing about reading more than 350 fanfics is that at some point you kind of piece the plot of the source material back together backwards. Especially because my favorite genre was time travel fix its, where characters relive the whole plot and like to make allusions to all the ways everything went wrong last time.

Because I'm still squarely in my wangxian + juniors (plus a heavy dosis of yunmeng sibling reconciliation) corner here... the feelings on jin guangyao in my fandom corner are. different from where I'd end up soon after. He is my special little guy though, so I do kind of immediatley develop a fondness for him, and I approach my 3zun and early nieyao thoughts specifcially from the assumption that the widespread opinion is that nie mingjue is a fine good guy and jgy is the evil one (I have not seen the bad nmj takes yet. well... I am seeing DIFFERENT bad nmj takes but they're nice to him. In, like, the wrong way. With no solid undertanding of the inherent tragedy at the heart of him that makes him so blorbo to me. But still.) major reactions to the stairs scene as I see them on twitter are "girlboss! He should've kicked him harder 💅"

And the baby jgy apologist in me goes :/ me no likey. And at this point I am also actively seeking out metas and analysis posts so i'm seeing some better opinions than that and getting a halfway solid graps on the themes. wwx and jgy being foils becomes very obvious to me very quickly. So, with my curent understanding of the plot, I go... you know all you people who are like "god i wish nmj would have killed jgy sooner" it uhh... kinda sounds like he'd have died if he did that. If he'd killed him before meng yao had gone off to spy there is a very big chance they'd have lost the sunshot campaign and most of the main cast would be dead. If he'd killed him at the stairs that's... well that's killing your sworn brother, which by the canon's own admission is a universally reviled crime, and jin guangshan could easily take advantage of this by demanding nmj's head in retribution, since he already wanted to get rid of him anyway. He doesn't give a fuck about a-yao of course but he could pretend well enough that he does. And what leg would nmj have to stand on? The jin clan is canonically both willing and able to slaughter entire clans for the murder or attempted murder of the leader or his family, and nie mingjue is the kinda guy who'd immediately offer himself up if it meant the rest of his clan would be spared.

This combined with jin guangyao specifcally dying for his murder of nie mingjue, with huaisang basically not caring much about everything else he does and wanting to get revenge only for his brother, it gives nieyao a sort of mutual doomed soulmates feel. For either of them, killing the other would spell death for themselves. They either both die or they both live, one cannot live on without the order. That's crunchy. I like it.

The fire palace though? well, on meng yao's part there is a real argument that if he'd let nmj get killed immediatly instead of dragging it out he wouldn't have been able to get wrh alone and distracted enough to assasinate him, so that's one half of the mutual doom coin, and if nmj had killed him during their fight there he's also done for. But after? Right before Xichen intervenes? I had no answer for that yet.

(You know what's coming. I did not)

It is at this point that i realize that if this is gonna keep being A Thing then i need to read the source material before I catch fatal fanon poisoning. Yes, I can piece together the plot and themes from seeing what stays consistent across fics and what are the author's own opinons. But I know just as well that sometimes fanon just agrees on shit that didn't happen and treats it like canon, and I have no way of knowing which is which. So I start reading the novel.

And of course, eventually I get to the empathy sequence. And remember, my "nieyao both live or both die" theory is heavy on my mind at this point, and the only stickler is that nmj could sort of have killed meng yao after the confrontation with wrh, still believing meng yao was actually working for him, and not a spy, and get off... not scott-free, Xichen won't be happy, but it's not gonna cost him his life.

And then I read THIS.

Please Imagine dropping a whole block of pure elemental sodium into water. Except the sodium is this quote and the water is my poor little delicate brain. Not only is my theory right, it is ten times more unhinged than i thought it was.

And considering that Nie Mingjue does not seem like the kind of guy who'd consider something like a life debt to have an expiration date, and because after this he will link himself legally and socially to jin guangyao as family and declare that one among their brotherhood turning against the others is to be met with a painful death, I can no longer read the scene at the stairscase in jinlintai without the impression that he is still planning to die afterwards. Which, if you wanted to make that scene even more painful, this is a very efficient way of losing all your remaining hinges.

I think I'd have gone crazy about this line no matter what context I heard it in, but this one specifically? where I'm already obsessed with idea of nieyao's deaths being connected by the narrative and missing just this one piece and having it confirmed? out loud? from one of the characters himself? It's like giving cocaine to a baby.