#wow its roach

[spooncrow8501]

Wow who is this guy

i like This guy in particular

[terrorizings]

oh great tumblr user hal terrorizings, how does it feel to have successfully pulled off one of if not THE most accurate bro strider ever

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Escape a Kingdom || Silver Vanrouge

You get isekai’d as the heroine in a bad novel. The prince is awful. The villainess is worse. The only thing keeping you going is your gorgeous, tired fiancé, Silver Vanrouge.

Series Masterlist

You prided yourself on being a good friend. A great friend, even. The kind of friend who remembered birthdays, hyped up questionable outfit choices, and provided alibis without asking too many questions. But as you stared at the abomination that was your best friend’s first novel, you began to reconsider your life choices.

The book sat in your lap like a lead weight, its aggressively pastel cover mocking you with every passing second. You had read it. You had survived it. But at what cost?

It had started as a simple enough premise: Silver, Duke of the North, was engaged to the heroine. A heroine so naively pure that if someone told her oxygen was a scam, she’d hold her breath until she passed out. The main villains were the neglected fifth prince and his fiancée, the villainess.

The villainess wanted Silver, but Silver wanted nothing to do with her. The fifth prince wanted the heroine, but the heroine, lacking two functional brain cells to rub together, had no idea what was going on.

And then things went completely off the rails.

Somehow, in a sequence of events that you were still trying to understand, Silver got shipped off to an unwinnable war and promptly died. The villainess mysteriously vanished (???), and then—without explanation—the heroine and the prince got married. The end.

You closed the book with the slow, deliberate movements of someone trying not to hurl it through a window. You inhaled deeply. You exhaled through your nose like a dragon trying not to incinerate a village.

You placed the book on the table.

Then you pressed your forehead against the table and contemplated your existence.

Tomorrow, you had to meet your best friend. You had to look them in the eye and tell them what you thought. You had to lie. Or worse—tell the truth.

You did not want to do this.

You needed divine intervention. A bolt of lightning, a sudden coma, a wormhole opening up beneath your feet.

As you walked to their house the next day, still praying for salvation, the universe finally answered.

Unfortunately, it did so in the form of a feral, airborne raccoon.

You were minding your own business, walking past a trashcan, when—BAM. A raccoon launched itself at you with the force of a caffeinated cryptid. There was no warning. No time to react. Just a blur of fur and the sheer weight of your sins crashing into your face.

Startled, you screamed, stumbled, and in a tragic display of physics and poor life choices, tumbled backwards—directly into the trashcan.

The lid snapped shut.

You flailed. You kicked. You thought, Wow, this is really happening, huh?

Then, to add insult to injury, the trashcan began to roll.

With you inside it.

You careened down the street, a human burrito of garbage and regret, before hitting a curb at just the right angle to be yeeted violently into the air.

There was a moment—just a moment—where time slowed, and you thought, Well. At least I don’t have to tell them anymore.

You woke up with that distinct, gnawing feeling that something was off.

It wasn’t the usual I forgot to send an email kind of off. No, this was the I am in the wrong dimension kind of off.

First of all, the bed was too big. Not just luxurious hotel big, but dear God, am I a Victorian orphan who got adopted by a morally gray billionaire? big.

Second, the air smelled clean. Not the comforting, familiar scent of your slightly questionable apartment, where the air carried the faint traces of instant ramen and the existential despair of adulthood.

Third—why was there noise?

You lived alone. The only other living creature that occasionally graced your presence was that one cockroach you had an unspoken truce with. So unless Mr. Roach had recently acquired sentience and thrown himself a rager, someone else was here.

Panic kicked in. You bolted upright, turned your head—this was absolutely not your home.

The walls were pristine. The curtains looked expensive. There was a vanity table. The entire place screamed old money, like the kind of place where people casually owned oil paintings of their ancestors who may or may not have committed tax fraud.

You shot out of bed so fast you nearly concussed yourself on the nearest piece of furniture. Your feet hit the floor. You sprinted to the mirror, skidded to a stop, and—

Oh.

Oh no.

Staring back at you was a person. A person you knew. A person whose entire personality consisted of:

Being impossibly, devastatingly naïve.

Trusting people so fast she’d probably accept a drink labeled 'Not Poison' because "surely no one would lie about that."

Having the observational skills of a decorative cactus.

You were the heroine.

A low, horrified whimper escaped your throat. You sank to the floor, trembling hands pressing into your face.

This was a nightmare. A cruel joke. A divine punishment for every time you had talked smack about the heroine’s IQ in your past life.

The girl who had the critical thinking skills of a potato. The girl whose brain you had long suspected was running exclusively on the Baby Shark song on loop.

And now you were her.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your forehead against the cool floor.

You had survived death. You had defied the natural order.

And for what?

To be reincarnated as a human goldfish with no object permanence?

You were going to die.

Again.

Before you could shake your fist at the heavens and demand an explanation for your untimely demise (courtesy of an overly aggressive raccoon and an unfortunately placed trash can), you needed to do what all great strategists did when thrown into an unwinnable situation: panic internally while pretending you had a plan.

You knew this story. You knew its plot holes were deeper than a budget dungeon crawl, and its character motivations made less sense than a pigeon with a degree in economics. But you had an advantage—foreknowledge. And by the gods, you were going to use it.

The first step? Establishing yourself as Not an Idiot™.

The second step? Ensuring you did not, under any circumstances, end up falling for the fifth prince’s brand of bootleg romantic villainy.

The third step? Avoiding an untimely death like the last protagonist (RIP Silver, Duke of the North, gone but never forgotten).

With this sacred checklist in mind, you marched outside, determined to assert control over your fate—

—only to be immediately ambushed by a squadron of highly trained maids who descended upon you like a swarm of fabric-wielding locusts.

You barely had time to register their presence before you were stripped, perfumed, corseted, and shoved into an outfit so elaborate that it probably required its own construction permit. There were lace trimmings, unnecessary bows, and a pair of shoes so polished you could see your rapidly growing sense of existential dread reflected in them.

You were officially trapped in Victorian Dress-Up Hell.

And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, you were dragged straight to breakfast with your fiancé.

Now, normally, this would be the part where you started screaming. But then you remembered who your fiancé was.

Silver. Duke of the North. The only well-written character in the entire dumpster fire of a novel. A man of honor, competence, and stunning good looks.

Stunning good looks?

That was putting it lightly.

The moment you walked into the dining room, you had to physically stop yourself from gasping like some sort of Victorian maiden experiencing her first bout of hysteria.

Because dear gods above and below—how was he even prettier than his book illustration?!

This was unfair. Illegal. You wanted to file a formal complaint to whatever divine entity was responsible for sculpting this man.

His eyes were closed, silver lashes resting against his cheeks, and you thought—if Sleeping Beauty ever existed, this would be him. A prince of ethereal beauty, untouched by the sins of the world.

And then his eyes fluttered open, revealing a shade that can only be described as 'auroral', and you had to actively bite the inside of your cheek to avoid making a noise so embarrassing that you would have to immediately fake your own death to escape the consequences.

Silver, unaware of your minor cardiac event, blinked at you in mild surprise before rising to pull out your chair. Like a gentleman. Like a man raised with actual etiquette.

Oh. Oh, you were in danger.

Swallowing down the entirely inappropriate reaction threatening to burst forth, you sat down and focused on eating. Silver, as always, was polite and composed, and just when you thought you could make it through breakfast without incident—

He mentioned the prince and the villainess were visiting today.

You must have made a face because he immediately looked concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You usually enjoy their visits.”

Ah. Right. The original heroine was an idiot who thought being terrorized by a manipulative prince with daddy issues and a deranged villainess was fun.

You plastered on your best "I am absolutely thrilled" smile and forced out a chipper, “I can’t wait.”

Silver, bless his soul, nodded.

Internally, you were already constructing an elaborate plan to ensure that the prince got the message loud and clear: you were NOT interested.

And if that involved metaphorically throwing him off a metaphorical cliff?

Well. You had no objections.

The moment the Fifth Prince and the Villainess walked into the room, you instinctively tightened your grip on Silver’s sleeve like a soldier preparing for war. Because that’s exactly what this was—a battle. A battle of wits, patience, and trying very hard not to start swinging the nearest porcelain teapot.

The prince, in all his bootleg Casanova glory, approached first, his slick hair practically radiating the arrogance of a man who had never been told “no” in his entire life. His regal posture was flawless, his smirk expertly practiced in front of a mirror for at least five hours a day, and his eyes held the glint of a man who truly believed women were won like prizes at a rigged carnival game.

He reached for your hand, expecting you to giggle like a brainless debutante and let him hold it for an amount of time that was definitely pushing social norms.

Instead, you gripped his hand like a corporate executive about to close a high-stakes business deal. One firm shake. Then, for good measure, you slapped him on the back with the solid force of a man congratulating his buddy on a promotion.

“Good to see you, pal,” you said, voice brimming with friendly aggression.

The prince, visibly malfunctioning, blinked. “I—”

But you were already moving, looping your arm through Silver’s and pressing close to his side like you were the world’s most affectionate barnacle.

Silver, bless his chivalrous heart, barely hesitated before holding your hand firmly in return, his grip warm and steady. You had to physically restrain yourself from letting out a deranged, victorious giggle at the look on the prince’s face. He was staring at your interlocked hands like someone had just stolen his dessert plate right in front of him.

Oh, what a shame. What a tragedy. You almost felt bad.

Almost.

Then came the villainess.

She strutted forward, all sharp smiles and predatory grace, her heavily perfumed presence announcing itself like a nuclear bomb made of floral overkill. Without hesitation, she reached for Silver’s arm, her movements slow, deliberate—

Silver, in response, immediately took a step back like she had just pulled out a vial labeled “Highly Contagious Disease—Do Not Touch.”

You had never respected a man more in your life.

With the efficiency of someone handling a customer complaint, you smoothly stepped between them and took her hand instead. One quick shake—firm, professional, just detached enough to say I acknowledge you exist but not in any way that brings me joy.

She stared at you, visibly seething, like a cat that had just been denied access to the good couch.

Behind you, Silver sighed in such obvious relief that you were pretty sure you just secured a place in his will.

Tea time was, predictably, a disaster.

The prince kept attempting to flirt with you, hitting you with lines so cringeworthy that they could legally be classified as psychological warfare. Every time he tried, you shot him down with the efficiency of a seasoned HR manager rejecting an office romance scandal.

Meanwhile, the villainess was shamelessly trying to touch Silver, leaning in with the dramatic flair of a woman in a period drama who had just found out she had two months to live. Silver, for his part, looked two seconds away from either falling asleep or astral projecting out of sheer discomfort.

By the time they finally left, you had experienced the emotional equivalent of running a full marathon while being chased by geese.

Silver, apparently just as exhausted, slumped onto you like a marionette whose strings had just been brutally severed.

You sat there, unmoving, staring at the top of his head like you had just been gifted an extremely delicate and beautiful artifact. His silver hair was soft, his breathing slow and steady, and—

Oh. You were in danger again.

Future plans. Right. Focus.

You sat there, contemplating your next move like a war general preparing for battle. Clearly, Operation I Am Not Interested, Your Highness was off to a strong start. But you needed a long-term strategy. A game plan. A—

Silver stirred.

You glanced down, just in time to see his eyes flutter open, confusion evident in the soft furrow of his brow. Then he blinked. Looked around. Realized he was half-sprawled across your lap.

A deep red blush spread across his face like ink soaking into parchment. “I—I’m so sorry—”

You, feeling absolutely no shame about using this opportunity to appreciate just how stunning this man was, smiled. “It’s okay.”

Silver looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and never return.

And as you gazed at him—this rare creature of beauty and genuine kindness, blushing like he was the maiden in distress—you thought, It has to be illegal to be this pretty AND nice.

And then, in true romantic fashion, you immediately started plotting ways to keep him as far away from the main plot as possible

You had, to put it simply, absolutely nothing to do.

After successfully fending off the Fifth Prince’s attempts at romance and blocking the Villainess like a medieval goalie, your schedule was depressingly empty. No political meetings. No noble drama. Just you, a very comfortable chair, and the creeping existential dread of living inside a book with a plot so brain-cell-depleting that it should come with a warning label.

So, naturally, you decided to go watch Silver train.

And damn.

You thought you were prepared. You really did. But watching Silver train was a completely different beast from reading about it in the novel.

The way his sword cut through the air? Poetry.

The way his muscles flexed as he parried and countered? Divine artistry.

The way he casually knocked his opponents to the ground while offering them helpful advice like, “You left your right side open. Try shifting your stance” as if he hadn’t just folded them like cheap laundry? Criminal.

You found yourself wishing for one of those tiny opera glasses so you could watch this in HD. Maybe even a chaise lounge so you could dramatically swoon at the appropriate moments.

But you settled for the next best thing—sitting with a cold bottle of water, pretending you weren’t staring at him like an awestruck peasant witnessing a deity descend from the heavens.

Silver eventually noticed your presence and, being the kind soul that he was, immediately came over. Probably to check if you were in distress because, let’s be honest, the original heroine never did anything without needing someone’s help five minutes later.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, eyes filled with genuine concern.

You blinked. “Nope. Just brought you this.”

You handed him the water, and— oh. Oh, wow. Was he blushing?

“I—thank you,” Silver said, taking the bottle with a kind of stunned hesitation, as if no one had ever done something nice for him before. Which, honestly, in this novel? Entirely possible.

“Well, since you’re bored,” he continued, after taking a drink, “would you like to take a walk around town?”

You nodded. Because, really, what else were you going to do? Stare at a wall? Accidentally trigger a romance flag with the prince by breathing in his general direction? No, thank you.

The town was bustling. People were selling overpriced trinkets, children were running around with the manic energy of creatures that had never paid taxes, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air.

You were browsing a suspiciously glittery hat stall when you saw it—a tiny fortune-telling booth, tucked between a bakery and a store selling the kind of weapons that definitely weren’t legally registered.

“Want to check that out?” you asked Silver, jerking your head toward the booth.

Silver, because he was down for anything as long as it didn’t involve unnecessary drama, nodded.

The fortune teller was exactly what you expected. Mysterious robes? Check. Hood obscuring half their face? Check. A table full of random, ominous objects? Check. A single, gnarled hand that slowly reached out the moment you sat down? Horrifying, but also check.

“Your fate is… twisting.” The fortune teller’s voice was dramatic, like they got paid per cryptic sentence. “You must learn to change your destiny. And… most importantly… you must learn how to say no.”

You and Silver exchanged looks.

“…Huh?”

The fortune teller did not elaborate. They simply leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

Well. That was unhelpful.

You both stood up, ready to leave when—

“Oh,” the fortune teller added, just as you were stepping out. “Good luck with your romance.”

You and Silver froze.

The air became so thick with tension that you could probably cut it with one of the overpriced swords from earlier.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you made eye contact.

Silver, visibly flustered, stared very hard at a distant fruit stand.

You, on the other hand, suddenly found a deep, profound interest in the cobblestone street, as if it held the answers to life’s mysteries.

The entire walk home was excruciating. Not because of anything bad—no, because your brains were both melting from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

Every time your hands almost brushed, one of you would jolt like you’d been electrocuted.

At one point, Silver cleared his throat awkwardly.

At another, you tripped on absolutely nothing and had to pretend it didn’t happen.

By the time you got back, you were convinced that the fortune teller wasn’t actually magical, just a professional-level troll who lived for drama.

And you, unfortunately, had walked straight into it.

It was a perfectly peaceful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and for once, you weren’t being subjected to the medieval drama equivalent of a telenovela.

So, naturally, fate decided to drop-kick that peace into the sun.

One moment, you were lounging in the garden, enjoying the fleeting calm, and the next—

A shadow descended upon you. Something small, fast, and full of chaotic energy launched itself from the goddamn sky.

You barely had time to react before you were two inches away from seeing God again.

By some miracle (or the sheer will of your survival instincts), you managed to not die as a tiny, incredibly energetic man landed in front of you, grinning like he hadn’t just almost assassinated you with his entrance.

“Oops!” he chirped, not looking apologetic at all. “Did I scare you?”

Scare you? Sir, you had aged ten years and seen your life flash before your eyes like a badly edited PowerPoint presentation.

“Who—” you gasped, still processing your near-death experience, “—who are you?”

The menace placed a hand on his chest, dramatic as hell. “Nice to meet you, future daughter-in-law!”

Oh. Oh.

So this was Silver’s dad.

You had to take a moment. Because one—this man did not look like anyone’s dad. He looked like someone’s mischievous younger brother who steals your socks and sets them on fire for fun. And two—Silver was so calm and gentle and responsible.

How?

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??

Genetics had to be playing 4D chess.

But you quickly discovered that while Lilia was absolutely, certifiably insane, he was also hilarious.

So, like any normal people, you both immediately started talking mad shit about the Fifth Prince and the Villainess.

“Can you believe,” you huffed, sipping your tea like an 18th-century noble gossiping at a ball, “that the Prince keeps trying to flirt with me in front of Silver? In public? With witnesses?”

Lilia cackled. “That boy has no shame. And his fiancée—gods above, she has the personality of a spoon.”

You nearly choked on your tea. “RIGHT?? And she keeps trying to touch Silver like he’s a limited-edition collectible.”

Lilia grinned. “Well, he is handsome.”

“Yeah, but he’s not touchable handsome. He’s look from afar and cry a little handsome.”

“Ah, so you cry when you look at him?”

“…I— I feel like I’m being entrapped by my own words.”

“What are you two talking about?”

You both turned to see Silver standing there, looking… confused.

You, ever the graceful conversationalist, froze like you had been caught committing treason.

Lilia, on the other hand, looked positively delighted.

“Oh, just talking about our beloved Crown Prince,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm so thick you could butter toast with it.

Silver blinked. His eyes slowly drifted to you.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Your dad and I were just bonding over our deep, mutual hatred.”

There was a pause. And then—

Silver smiled.

Not just any smile. A pleased smile. The kind of smile you’d expect from a man who just found out his worst enemy stepped on a rake.

Which. Well.

Considering the Crown Prince was his worst enemy, that checked out.

Unfortunately, the moment of camaraderie didn’t last.

Because Lilia, with the delight of someone about to ruin your entire month, dropped a bombshell.

“Oh, by the way,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to wreck your day, “war is brewing. The Prince wants Silver to go to the front lines.”

You stopped breathing.

Your blood turned to ice.

The original heroine had been all for it—saying some nonsense about how it was the right thing to do and how Silver should go save lives.

You?

You were NOT that kind of saint.

You were going to beg.

You were going to grovel.

You were going to throw yourself onto the ground like a soccer player faking an injury if you had to.

Silver was NOT going to war.

Lilia was watching you now, a knowing smile on his face.

You were too busy plotting your fiancé’s survival to care.

You had barely finished your morning tea when trouble arrived at your doorstep, wrapped in a cloak of audacity and bad financial decisions.

See, apparently, the previous owner of your body had the charitable sense of a malfunctioning Roomba. She’d give money to anything that sounded remotely good. Orphanage? Sure! Rehabilitation center? Fantastic! An organization claiming to rescue drowning fish? Take all of it.

And now, since you had not been throwing bags of gold at questionable "charities" like a medieval Jeff Bezos with a conscience, someone had come personally to shake you down.

The man standing in front of you was the exact type of person who looked like he belonged in a back alley deal gone wrong. He had the thin mustache of a man who thought twirling it made him look menacing and the beady eyes of someone who’d absolutely try to sell you "magic beans" at a 500% markup.

"You!" he sneered, pointing a bony finger at you like he was about to curse your entire bloodline. "Why have you ceased your donations to the Sacred Order of the Benevolent Fish Saviors? Do you not care for the plight of the aquatic brethren?"

You stared at him, unblinking.

“…Are you seriously trying to convince me that fish can drown?”

"The oceans are a dangerous place!" he snapped, voice thick with righteous fury. "Only the kindhearted can understand the delicate balance of aquatic life—”

"Alright, shut up." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "No more money. Get a real job. Touch some grass. Read a book that isn’t written by con artists."

You thought that would be the end of it. Oh, how wrong you were.

Because instead of groveling like any normal scam artist when their grift gets cut off, this man decided to take the most insane course of action possible—he lunged at you.

Now, let’s get one thing straight. You were ready to commit a crime. Your 4-inch heels were locked, loaded, and prepared to introduce themselves to his ribcage. But you didn’t even get the chance.

Because before you could react, something blurred at the edge of your vision—

CRACK.

The next thing you knew, the man was frozen in place, his wrist locked in an iron grip, and standing beside you was Silver.

Silver, who you hadn’t even noticed entering the room.

Silver, whose grip looked firm enough to end generations.

Silver, who just made a grown man sound like a dying accordion.

The scammer wheezed, his face rapidly losing color as he tried and failed to wrench himself free.

Silver’s expression? Calm. Unbothered. Serene, even. Like he hadn’t just manhandled this guy into an early retirement.

“…I’d appreciate it if you didn’t attack my fiancée,” Silver said, voice so polite that it somehow made everything ten times more terrifying.

You blinked. You could physically hear the bones in the scammer’s arm considering a career change.

Silver finally let go—shoving him toward the door like he was disposing of a particularly annoying mosquito. The man stumbled out, barely managing to stay upright, and within seconds, he was sprinting off the property like the devil himself was on his heels.

When Silver turned back to you, he looked almost sheepish. "…Sorry you had to see that," he murmured. "I don’t usually act like that in front of others."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Because what were you supposed to say to that?

“Oh no, Silver, that was awful. Truly terrible. In fact, I definitely did not find it insanely attractive when you nearly broke a man’s wrist for me.”

Yeah, no way in hell were you admitting that.

Instead, you just smiled, folding your hands neatly in front of you. "No, no, it’s fine. No need to apologize."

Silver still looked vaguely guilty. You, meanwhile, were trying very hard to resist the urge to start giggling like a schoolgirl.

Because holy shit.

Was it legal to be this attractive AND chivalrous?

If Silver kept this up, you were going to have a serious problem.

The ball was grand, elegant, and, most importantly, the single biggest waste of your time since you once spent two hours watching a documentary about the history of forks.

You had already resigned yourself to being bored out of your mind when Lilia swooped in like the guardian angel you never asked for and dragged you to a shadowy corner of the ballroom. This was, according to him, the best place to engage in the most sacred of all noble pastimes—people-watching and ruthless judgment.

And what a show it was.

"Oh, oh, look at that one!" Lilia cackled, nearly doubling over as he pointed at a woman who had, in a bold and truly ill-advised move, decided to wear a dress that looked like a monochrome cake. "She looks like she repurposed a funeral veil!"

You took a sip of your drink and nearly spit it out. "Lilia, that dress has committed war crimes against fashion."

"The ruffles! The sleeves! It’s like someone asked themselves, ‘How do I make this look as unflattering as possible?’ and then succeeded beyond their wildest dreams," he added.

You continued this noble pursuit for a solid fifteen minutes, giggling over outfits that defied both reason and taste. The two of you had just started critiquing a man who looked like he had raided a circus wardrobe when your night took a dramatic turn for the worse. The prince—His Royal Unwantedness—had spotted you.

You watched in horror as he began striding over, each step dripping with the unearned confidence of a man who had never been told "absolutely not" in his entire life except by his father. This was a man who probably thought women fainted at the mere sight of him when, in reality, they were most likely collapsing from secondhand embarrassment.

Lilia’s expression shifted instantly. The usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and sharp. He looked ready to commit several crimes, and you were tempted to let him.

But no. You were mature. You were reasonable. You were absolutely about to handle this like a professional.

So you winked at Lilia and whispered, "Relax. I got this."

The prince didn’t bother with pleasantries when he arrived, because of course he didn’t. "Dance with me," he said, because why waste time on politeness when you can just issue demands like a badly written romance villain?

You took his hand with a practiced, polite smile. "Of course, Your Highness," you said sweetly, the verbal equivalent of setting a trap and waiting for him to fall right in.

The dance started off normally enough. The prince led you across the ballroom, his movements controlled and graceful. Unfortunately, any illusion of elegance was immediately ruined by the fact that he would not stop staring at you. Not in the way Silver did, all soft and careful, but like he was trying to figure out if you were edible.

"You seem different tonight," he said, voice oozing with forced charm. "More… confident."

You forced out a laugh that you hoped conveyed the exact right amount of fake amusement. "And you seem exactly the same, Your Highness."

If he noticed the insult, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he pulled you just a little closer. That was his first mistake.

His second mistake came when his hand decided to wander lower than what was remotely appropriate.

Your reaction was immediate. You didn’t even think—your knee just shot up with the force of divine judgment.

And oh, what a glorious moment it was.

The prince let out a strangled sound somewhere between a dying peacock and a man realizing all his hopes and dreams had just been shattered. He crumpled like a marionette with cut strings, collapsing into himself as the entire ballroom fell into stunned silence.

For one perfect, breathtaking moment, nobody spoke.

Then you gasped dramatically, placing a delicate hand over your mouth like the very picture of innocent devastation. "Oh my goodness!" you exclaimed, voice laced with the perfect amount of fake concern. "I was simply startled when you touched me there! I had no idea you were so close!"

The Empress, who had been watching this whole scene unfold with the same expression one might wear when realizing their soup had a cockroach in it, took a single look at her son, let out a long, exhausted sigh, and then turned on her heel and left the ballroom. She didn’t even glance back.

Somewhere behind you, Lilia was laughing so hard he had to physically clutch a pillar for support.

Before you could bask in your triumph, a warm, familiar presence appeared at your side.

Silver.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice quiet but firm.

You nodded, still recovering from the sheer joy of watching the prince—His Royal Lowness— collapse like a sandcastle at high tide. "I’m fine," you assured him.

Silver, ever thorough, scanned you with a careful gaze, double-checking for any signs of distress. Apparently satisfied, he slowly turned his attention to the prince, who was still on the floor making noises that sounded vaguely like whimpering.

Silver’s face remained neutral, but the sheer force of his glare was something otherworldly. You were surprised the prince hadn’t just spontaneously combusted on the spot.

Lilia sauntered up beside you and, with the most casual nonchalance in the world, lifted his hand and gave you a perfectly subtle high-five.

Falling in love with Silver was not something you had planned for. It wasn’t even something you had remotely considered, because falling for a fictional character—even one brought to life by the absurdity of your existence—was stupid.

And yet, here you were. Doomed.

It had started subtly, like a slow-acting poison. You’d watch him train and catch yourself admiring the way he moved, graceful and disciplined, like a warrior from some epic tale.

Then it got worse. A white bunny hopping through the garden? That looks like Silver. A particularly stunning sunset, lilac and soft? Those are Silver’s eyes. A suspiciously sharp knife on the dinner table? Silver has a sharp sword.

There was no escape. The entire world had transformed into a living scrapbook of Silver-Themed Hallucinations, and it was ruining you.

You couldn’t sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, there he was—standing under the moonlight, holding your hand, looking at you like you were something precious. It was unbearable.

Which brought you to now.

You were sitting at a tea party, drowning in a state of sleep deprivation so severe that you were genuinely considering just face-planting into your teacup and accepting whatever fate awaited you. The sunlight was too bright, the air was too floral, and the pastries tasted like nothing. Everything sucked.

And then, because the universe hated you, the villainess approached.

She had the smug, self-satisfied look of someone who had never had a single original thought in her life. "Oh dear," she said, voice dripping with saccharine mockery, "you look absolutely dreadful today. Has your precious Duke been keeping you up all night?"

Usually, you would have handled this with grace. A snide remark, a well-placed jab, maybe even an eyeroll so dramatic it would have sent you into another timeline.

But not today.

Today, you were tired.

Today, you were grappling with a full-scale emotional crisis.

Today, you had reached your limit.

So, instead of responding like a rational, civilized person, you calmly reached for the nearest cup of juice, lifted it with all the dignity of a noblewoman, and threw it directly at her face.

The liquid splashed over her dress, staining the expensive fabric a deep, unforgiving red.

Silence. Absolute silence.

Her mouth opened, presumably to shriek, but you were not done.

Before she could get a word out, you grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward so she could fully comprehend the depths of your unholy exhaustion.

"The next time you run your mouth," you said, voice dangerously low, "you might just end up meeting God."

Her eyes widened in pure, unfiltered terror.

Oh, but you weren’t finished. You gave her collar a final, dramatic tug. "And keep your hands off my fiancé."

Then, with the grandeur of a war general who had just claimed victory, you released her, turned on your heel, and stormed out.

Silver, who had witnessed everything, stared at you as though you had just set the entire kingdom on fire.

You grabbed his wrist, ignoring the way he flinched in bewilderment, and dragged him out with you.

You didn’t stop until you were safely inside the carriage, away from prying eyes, and only then did you collapse onto the seat, pressing your hands against your face.

Silver sat beside you, still looking utterly shell-shocked. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, clearly struggling to form a single coherent thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slowly reached for your hand. His touch was warm, steady—like an anchor. "What’s wrong?" he asked softly.

And that was it. The last thread of your restraint snapped.

Before you could even think about stopping yourself, you turned to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

It was immediate. There was no hesitation, no moment of confusion. Silver kissed you back like he had been waiting for this his whole life. His hands moved to cradle your face, gentle but firm, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You didn’t know how long it lasted—time had ceased to exist—but when you finally pulled away, your heart was a mess.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment crush you. "I love you," you admitted, voice raw. "And I have been suffering."

Silver’s eyes widened, but only for a moment. Then, with a sudden, almost breathless laugh, he leaned in again. "I love you too," he murmured against your lips, "so much."

And then he kissed you again.

Take that, villainess.

There were many things you did not want to deal with first thing in the morning.

A war? Absolutely not.

A war involving Silver? Somebody was going to die.

You groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed at the noise downstairs, feeling like a corpse being forced to participate in capitalism. You stomped downstairs, barely managing to keep yourself upright, and immediately regretted existing.

Silver was already in the living room, arms crossed, looking about two seconds away from snapping someone’s spine in half like a stale breadstick. Lilia, usually a walking cryptid with an unshakable grin, looked like he was holding back every unholy thought in his mind just for the sake of his son’s sanity.

And then. Them.

The Prince. The Villainess. The living embodiments of tax fraud and emotional instability.

Oh, hell no.

You grabbed the nearest maid, who was visibly vibrating with fear, and whispered, "What’s happening?"

She gulped. "T-The Prince is trying to send His Grace to lead the war."

Your soul ascended.

Your patience evaporated.

You had not suffered through an isekai, navigated 18th-century nonsense, and fallen head over heels for your incredibly hot and kind fiancé just for him to be thrown into a battlefield meat grinder because some discount royal didn’t want to risk his own cowardly neck.

You stormed across the room like a woman possessed, and the moment the Prince saw you, his whole face lit up—because he thought you were still the naive airhead he could manipulate into convincing Silver to go die for him.

The Villainess, however? She shrank back immediately.

Maybe it was the murderous glare you were directing at them. Maybe it was because she had witnessed your unhinged wrath firsthand. Maybe it was because deep down, she understood that she was in the presence of a feral raccoon of a person who had already died once and had nothing left to lose.

The Prince reached out to touch your shoulder as if he could physically weasel you onto his side.

Big mistake.

You swatted his hand away so hard you nearly dislocated his wrist.

"No," you said, voice dripping with finality.

The Prince blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Silver’s not going to war." You looked him dead in the eyes. "Try someone else."

Silence.

The Prince’s face twisted into a diplomatic smile. "But, my dear—"

"Do I look like your dear?" You took a step forward, forcing him back. "Silver already said no. The Emperor didn't send a decree, which means you’re just trying to shove him in front of your responsibilities, aren’t you?"

His jaw clenched. "That’s not—"

"Oh, but it is," you cut in, grinning like a predator who just found dinner. "If you need a sacrifice so badly, why not lead the war yourself? Oh, wait—you’re scared." You tilted your head. "Why should Silver go fight and die in your place? What do you contribute to this kingdom besides being the reason the Empress probably drinks herself to sleep?"

Lilia let out a choked laugh. Silver covered his mouth to hide his amusement. The Villainess looked like she wanted to phase out of existence.

"How dare you!" The Prince seethed, looking like a child whose toy had been taken away.

"How dare you?" you mimicked back, voice laced with venomous mockery. "Seriously, just die already. It’s called natural selection. Worms like you don’t deserve to keep reproducing and terrorizing the female population."

The Prince, red with humiliation and rage, looked like he wanted to lunge at you, but before he could humiliate himself further, he turned on his heel and stormed out.

The Villainess trailed after him, but not before giving you a look that was equal parts impressed and terrified.

As soon as they were gone, you turned to Silver and clapped your hands together.

"So," you said, still brimming with unholy energy. "Let’s get married."

Silver, who was still processing the apocalyptic verbal execution you had just delivered, blinked at you. "What?"

You nodded sagely. "Yeah. Immediately. Preferably before they try something else. Then we can go on a honeymoon somewhere far away from all this war nonsense."

Silver stared at you, beautifully confused. "...Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," you replied. "Pack your bags, babe, we’re getting hitched."

Silver, against all odds, smiled. And then, he agreed.

Lilia threw a celebratory punch in the air.

Congratulations. You’re planning a wedding now, baby!

Planning a wedding was supposed to be a stressful but joyous occasion.

Your reality? It was mostly just stress.

Between dodging passive-aggressive nobles, fending off suspiciously enthusiastic tailors, and ensuring that the wedding menu didn’t include anything remotely related to the Prince’s favorite foods out of sheer spite, you were running on fumes.

And that’s when Silver came to you, looking strangely hesitant.

Immediately, your brain went to worst-case scenarios.

Was he having doubts? Did he get conscripted behind your back? Was he about to pull a tragic self-sacrifice move that you’d have to thwart with unhinged levels of devotion and threats of arson?

"Can we talk?" he asked, his voice unsure.

You, in full fight-or-flight mode, clutched your chest. "Silver, if you’re about to say something stupid, I’m legally obligated to stop you."

His expression twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated or endeared. "It’s not stupid," he assured you. Then, after a pause, "I wanted to ask… do you like this country?"

You stared at him. Stared.

"Silver." You grabbed both his hands. "Are you joking?"

His gaze softened, but he stayed serious. "If you had the choice, would you leave?"

You blinked. "Why?"

Silver exhaled, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly. "Lilia and I… We lived somewhere else before we came here. I was thinking—if we left, we could live peacefully. Away from all this. We wouldn’t be nobility, but we wouldn’t have to deal with—" He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass the entire kingdom’s collective insanity.

And that’s when it hit you.

You could leave. You could actually escape.

You didn’t have to waste your life playing politics in a country where half the nobility was allergic to common sense. You didn’t have to pretend to care about court scandals that made your brain rot. You didn’t have to deal with war-hungry royals who had the intelligence of a damp sock.

You could take your hot, kind, sword-wielding fiancé and dip.

You could live a peaceful, quiet, cottagecore dream where your biggest concerns would be whether the goats ate your laundry or if Silver accidentally adopted another wild animal.

You gripped Silver’s hands so hard you nearly cut off circulation.

"Silver." Your voice shook with emotion. "I love you so much right now."

He blinked, startled by your intensity.

"I’m taking as much wealth as I can from this godforsaken kingdom," you declared, fully committed. "And then we’re running. We’ll live a cozy life, I’ll grow a garden, you can train without political idiots breathing down your neck, and we’ll be so disgustingly in love that Lilia will probably want to leave out of secondhand embarrassment."

Silver stared at you for a beat, lips parting slightly—before he suddenly let out a breathy laugh.

God, he was so beautiful when he smiled.

He cupped your cheek, gaze warm, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. It was soft, reverent, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You melted, gripping his sleeve to keep yourself from combusting.

When he pulled away, he whispered, "Then that’s it. We’ll get married, and we’ll be free."

And that was that.

You were getting married and escaping these lunatics before they had the chance to retaliate.

Honestly? Best wedding gift ever.

Mornings in your new life were warm, lazy, and sweet— the kind of peace you never thought you’d get after surviving the absolute circus that was your past life.

You stretched with a yawn, shuffled into the kitchen, and started making breakfast. The house smelled of fresh bread, eggs, and domestic bliss.

And then, like clockwork, Silver appeared.

You weren’t sure if he was half-awake or just naturally this clingy, but the second he found you, he wrapped himself around you from behind. His arms encircled your waist, and he rested his chin on your shoulder, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to your neck.

“Good morning,” he murmured against your skin, voice still husky with sleep.

Weak. You were weak.

“Silver,” you tried to scold, but it came out softer than intended.

He hummed, not moving, not even pretending to be helpful. His weight was solid, grounding, a warm anchor against your back.

"You are actively making this difficult," you sighed, flipping a pancake.

“Difficult to cook?” he asked, his lips brushing over your jaw.

“Difficult to live, Silver. How am I supposed to focus when you’re like this?”

He chuckled, pulling you impossibly closer. “I don’t see the problem.”

And this was your life now.

In the afternoons, Silver trained with Sebek, and you watched, entertained by their very specific brand of friendship.

Sebek was loud, passionate, and dedicated. Silver was calm, level-headed, and tired. Together, they created the strangest dynamic known to man.

“Silver, your form is slipping!” Sebek barked, nearly vibrating with intensity.

Silver deflected Sebek’s attack without even looking. “It’s fine.”

“It is NOT fine!” Sebek yelled, throwing himself forward with the fury of a man who took personal offense to subpar swordsmanship.

You sipped your drink, watching this unfold like it was a very dramatic stage play.

Eventually, Silver knocked Sebek’s sword from his hands with an effortless twist, and Sebek fell to his knees, gasping.

You clapped. “Wow. What a performance. I’d rate it a solid 8/10.”

Sebek looked offended. “8?! What was missing?!”

“More drama,” you said. “Maybe fake your death next time. Really sell the loss.”

Sebek narrowed his eyes, as if actually considering it. Oh no. What have you done?

Lilia showed up almost every day, either to offer unsolicited advice or to cause chaos. Sometimes, he brought Malleus.

You still hadn’t fully recovered from realizing that Malleus was the fae prince.

Today was no different. He arrived grinning, eyes full of mischief, which was already a sign of danger.

“So,” he started, dramatically leaning in. “Have you two considered… adopting a dragon?”

Silver blinked. You stared.

Malleus, sipping his tea beside him, nodded sagely. “It would be an honorable task.”

You set your cup down very, very slowly.

“I—what?” you asked, convinced you misheard.

“A dragon,” Lilia said, as if that explained everything. “You’re living in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nature, why not raise a baby dragon? Imagine the bond! The companionship! The chaos!”

Malleus actually looked excited. “I could grant you one from my own lineage.”

Silver looked at you, waiting for you to react.

You looked at Silver.

Then back at Malleus, a literal fae prince, who had just casually offered to gift you a baby dragon.

Sebek, in the corner, looked like he was about to faint.

“...You’re joking,” you said, voice dangerously neutral.

Lilia and Malleus just smiled.

You dragged your hands down your face. “I barely survived dealing with a corrupt kingdom, now you want me to raise a fire-breathing menace?”

“It wouldn’t breathe fire immediately,” Malleus assured.

“That is not the part I am concerned about.”

Silver, who had been quiet this whole time, actually seemed to be considering it.

You kicked his shin under the table.

He cleared his throat. “I think we should wait.”

Malleus sighed. Lilia just patted your back. “You’ll change your mind.”

Not likely.

But at night? It was just you and Silver.

After a long day of chaos and laughter, you’d collapse onto your shared bed, immediately melting into Silver’s embrace.

He kissed your forehead, soft, lingering. “Tired?”

You sighed happily, nuzzling into his warmth. “Mm. Just happy.”

His arms tightened around you, like he never wanted to let go.

And this was your life now.

Your old country was probably in flames, but who cared? You had love, friendship, and peace.

Silver smiled at you, soft and content. And you thought, Yup. This is it.

Thank my best friend for writing this ridiculous, insane novel.

Who do you wanna see next?

Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists

[insert-game]

when will the roaches in my apartment actually start paying rent

[lilcritterdoingmabest]

i have more t add to this

whenever Ghost is being more bratty then usual his team (and Captain, though he denys it) will purposefully put the thing he wants or needs on the top shelf. yes this does lead to Ghost attempting to murder someone.

it doesnt help that Meat and Roach like to hold eye contact with Ghost while puttin the thing he wants out of his reach instead of handing it to him.

Ghost is banned from climbing to reach anything ever since Captain Mactavish caught him hanging out on top of the shelves in the kitchen at 3 am. yes Ghost does think its unfair that Roacv can do it but he cant. however the Captain has threatened to scruff him like a cat if he catches Ghost anywhere thats not on the floor and Ghost is stil debating whether the Scot was serious about the threat. hes like sixty percent sure the Capn wasnt bluffin.

Roach and Ghost get along scarily well. enablers the both of them. had a mental image of them gettin into a fight and at the end of it roachs goggles are crooked so Ghost reaches up to fix em and aaaaaaAaAAAAAAA*kickin my freakin feet*

i think since Ghost is so secretive about his face and protective of his mask his team (and Capn obviously) are very protective of his privacy as well and have physically fought people trying to demask their Ghost.

aight thats all i gots fo now

aight i know you guys love tall Ghost BUT . . .

average height ghost has m brain ina chokehold

specifiaclly, 5'8 09Ghost

nonononowait dont scrol away! jus here me out!

i just think 09ghost serrounded by and havin to work with really frzakin tal people to be funny

like imagine the 141 gets some new requits and Capn Mactavish is doing intros like thid is Roach(decently tol) Gaz(tol) Meat(deczntly tol), so on so on, gets to Ghost and the reqruets ar smirkin like "whos the lil guy?" only for Ghost to not only wipe the floor with them wen they spar but also put the fear of god and jesus into them

09ghost is a grumpy wet cat most days and i like to imagine the 141 thoroughly enjoy poking an teasin theor shortest member since they know he probably wont put them in hospital. yah he'll chuck a knife at their head or chase them around base threatenin to strangle them but hey the 141s full of mentally unstable thrill seekers anyway. their LT tryin to murder them on a weekly basis is a bondin acyivity at this point (theur capn does not agree)

the sneepys

ghost is very slep deprived. needs a nap.wat better place to crash then on an unsuspecting Capn or Raoch (one timd fell sleep on Worm. man was sweatin bullets, wouldnt dare move)

his subconscious has learnew that teammates are warm. good for snuggles. 10/10 ghosts subconsious would recomend

das all i gots for now

[bogleech]

Anyway I have nothing at all against that one dino blogger but was just very taken aback by a large and influential science blogger dragging me like that in front of who knows how many followers the blog must have, especially in that my original post wasn't actually about what that circle of users presumed it was about. I guess internet trolls have trained them to think everyone is being stubborn about stuff like dinosaurs being birds? But they are birds. In fact I didn't know that was really still as controversial as it apparently is within the paleo community. Outside of that community every time I've told people dinosaurs are birds their response is more like "wow cool, birds are more amazing than I thought" or at worst "huh? Weird." The less invested someone is in a topic, the MORE open they're going to be to new information about it because its status quo was never a deep emotional investment to them. Like when someone tells you their opinions on a tv show you never watched. You are definitely just gonna think "wow cool" or "huh weird." I thought I was fairly up to speed on public attitudes about animals but there's allegedly a whole broad anti-bird world I didn't know about? Birds have always looked like one of the universally beloved "cute and pretty" animals from over here in the rats and roaches fandom.

[androidicks]

Royal Sword Academy Au

Welcome to the good guys team! Pt. 1-2

“Why is it so stuffy in here?”

It’s dark, and kinda cramped, but oddly…soft at the same time? You can’t see a thing…why can’t you see anything? You hear shuffling around you, then an unknown voice speaks from the darkness.

“Dang it!…people are coming…gotta get into uniform before they see me!”

You hear a small creaking noise from within the comfortably cramped darkness. “Aghhhh! The lid is too heavy!…maybe if I…” Sparkling flames erupt around you, making the cramped space a lot more warmer. “Out! Too hot!” You yell before shoving open some sort of lid, finding yourself on the cool floor of a nice, dimly lit area with fancy crystal lamps illuminating its pristine white walls. Crystals you would normally find adorned on a chandelier hang on the ceiling, almost as if they were imitating fairy lights. Boxes that look like white, steel coffins floating off the ground.

“Gahhh! Why are you awake!?l” A small, weird looking creature stands…well..floats before you, bewildered by your conscious form; like it was expecting you to be dead or asleep.

 “What the hell? A talking roach!?” You say,  pointing at the creature in front of you. “Wow, Rude! I’m not a roach, thank you!” it puts its hands on its hips, puffing out its cheeks. “I’m a fairy!”

You continue to point at the flying roach in front of you, while slowly backing away from it. “Why is it still talking?” The bee-like creature huffs in annoyance and crosses its arms. “Whatever!” The mosquito points at you. 

“Changing subject, I’m going to need you to hand those clothes you’re wearing over to me, please.” Squinting at your outfit 

“Although they are a bit big…oh well! That’s what magic is for.” You continue to gawk at the creature. 

“What?! No!” defensively attempting to cover yourself up, much to no avail.

“I’m not giving a yassified flying roach my clothes!” The roach’s face goes as red as a tomato. 

“OI! For the last time I am not a roach!” The flying roach starts flying at you. Letting out a small yelp of fear you turn and attempt to run away from the flying thing before running into something, or more maybe, someone. 

“Oh! What is going on here? You’re yelling and it’s disrupting the entrance ceremony, not to mention causing the students to worry.” You haven’t heard this voice before, this one is new. Backing away from the person you bumped into, you see it’s an elderly man with short white hair that’s covered by a pointy hat, a beard, with small circular monocle glasses framing his face, slightly covering his gray eyes. His clothes are well…something. He wears blue robes with a long white scarf tied in a knot with some sort of emblem on his shoulder, with light blue socks and blue shoes to match.

You point at the flying creature behind you. “That Thing is trying to attack me!” Said ‘thing’ points back at you “I am not!”. Looking back at the ‘thing’ you retort, “Yes you are!”. It argues, so you argue back. You two get so wrapped up in your back and forth banter that you forget about the third party in the room.

“You can understand them?” Abruptly stopping your debate with the roach you turn and face the third person with confusion written all over your face. “Yes? Can you not?”. The elderly man  shakes his head, “Apologies, I don’t have my fairy communicator on me at the moment.” 

You’re very confused right now, what’s a fairy communicator? The man looks as if he just recalled something important “Right! Silly me,” you snap your attention back to him. “You’re a new student, and the entrance ceremony is underway.” Entrance Ceremony?

He smiles brightly “Let's get you to the mirror room, yes?” Quickly ushering you into the other room, motioning for the flying ‘fairy’ to follow behind. Yeaaaa…you’re still confused. Looking up at the elderly man leading you somewhere “Hey! Who are you? And where am I?” He smiles again before responding “Well, I am Ambrose the 63rd. Headmaster of Royal Sword Academy, which is where you are now!”

This response causes you to raise a brow in confusion “Royal Sword Academy?” Ambrose nods in response. “One of the most prestigious magic schools in all of Twisted Wonderland! Talented young magicians chosen by the looking glass are welcome to attend this school.”

Okay…more stuff you don’t know. Which means more questions that need to be answered. “Uh…huh…” you reply as Ambrose continues his rant. “Those from around the world who have been chosen to attend RSA use a gate to make their way here. A pearlescent pumpkin carriage carrying the gate should have gone to greet you.” 

A memory of a pumpkin shaped carriage riding off comes to mind. How odd, the carriage reminds you of something you’ve seen in a Fairytale. What was it called again? 

“I think I remember that fairytale carriage…” you mumble out unconsciously. Causing the elderly man to chuckle at your response, “The pearlescent pumpkin carriage goes around greeting every new student chosen by the looking glass, they are special carriages used to carry the doors to the academy.”  Nodding in response, he continues. “The market decided long, long ago that carriages should be used to welcome people on special days, which I think is quite lovely!” 

The market decided on this? What kind of market??

“Heyyy! Are we there yet?!” Oh yea. You had a ‘Fairy’ Flying behind you. Ambrose momentarily looks at the fairy before looking back at you. “What?” You say, tilting your head slightly.“What did they say?” He asked in response. “I wanna know if we’re there yet!” The fairy yells directly in your ear, causing you to flinch in response. 

Momentarily glaring at the fairy for your ear strain. You look back at Ambrose to answer him, “He wants to know if we’re there yet.” That being wherever there is.

The old man chuckles “You’re absolutely right! We have no time to waste. The entrance ceremony is waiting for us!” This makes him start speed walking ahead of you so as to not waste any more time. For a man quite older than you, he’s surprisingly very fast.

“Wonder what this entrance ceremony is all about…” you mumble to yourself before speeding up behind Ambrose.

In a room full of people, everyone is whispering amongst themselves. About what? You might ask, no one may ever know. The room has the same interior as the place you woke up in, the only difference being a smaller number of steel coffins and a giant glass mirror standing in the middle of the room. The people in the room are wearing white and yellow cloaks; the hoods obscuring their identities.

A blonde haired boy speaks up from the crowd. “Soooo…is that everyone?,” he looks around the room “Are we done now?” clapping his hands together before standing in front of the crowd. “Alright new Wondreation students! We have rules here but we are not above nor below them, just have fun and all will be well!” He gives a warm yet playful smile to the crowd giving off a lighthearted vibe to himself.

A short man with animal ears stretches his arms out. “Thank the Great Seven this is finally over!” popping his back, “I was starting to get stiff.”  He looks at the crowd. “Ima head back and get some rest now,” He waves a hand in the air, getting the attention of the crowd. “All Sunlione dorm members are with me!,” he motions towards the exit “Let's go!”

A curious looking boy in the crowd says his share of words, flashing a smile to everyone. “Hello-Hello! And congratulations to all of the new students of the academy!,” happily clapping to himself “You all are going to love it here! As the dorm leader of Atlarine I’m happy to help you in any way I can!”

A cute boy looks around the room, a worried expression on his face. “Did anyone see where the headmaster went? It’s not like him to walk out on such an important event…” A tall, buff-looking dude looks around as well, “Hey, you’re right! Where’d he go?!” A boy with bright purple eyes pops up behind the tall man, leaning against him despite their height difference . “Hmmm…maybe he had to use the bathroom?”

A loud bang of a door opening can be heard in the room, the source of the sound being Ambrose. “Oh there he is.” The blonde haired boy comments, subtly pointing at the old man. Ambrose rushes into the room with you and the fairy not far behind him. “Sorry for walking out everyone! It seems we were missing one student, so I went to go find them.” 

The elderly man turns to you. “You still have time to be assigned to a dorm,” he motions to the flying cockroach, “Your fairy companion will be watching from the sidelines while you step in front of the glass mirror.” 

 The cockroach huffs in annoyance before standing, floating? By Ambrose. You step up to the mirror. An androgynous voice speaks from within the mirror “State thy name.”

“(Y/N).” you respond. 

The whole room  falls silent as you wait for the mirror’s response. “The shape of thy soul is…'' the mirror pauses, “I sadly cannot tell…'' the crowd gasps in disbelief. Ambrose confusedly looks at the mirror “Pardon?”. The glass mirror responds, “I sense no magic within this one.” The crowd begins to whisper, you’re sure it’s about you. the topic being most likely about you. 

The mirror speaks once more, “The soul’s color, shape, essence, it’s all nothing.” The whispers are getting louder. “Hence they aren’t suited for any specific dormitory.” the stares on your person become more intense as the whispers continue to grow louder. Ambrose shakes his head in disbelief “The pearlescent pumpkin carriage would never make the mistake of bringing someone who can’t use magic.” 

“In all my years,” (Lol) “There has never been a mistake in the student selection.” He puts a hand on his chin “Then again, mistakes can happen…” The fairy flies in front of you, standing in between you and Ambrose, shoving something in the elderly man’s hands. “Me! Me! I can take their place!” 

“Unlike them!” Proudly thumbing towards themselves “I can use magic! Let me take their place, I promise you won’t regret it!” The little fairy looks like it’s about to burst from excitement, “Here I can even prove it to you right now!” 

The short man with animal ears yells from the crowd  “Hit the deck!” As the fairy pulls something out of his pocket and throws it on the floor, causing a fire within the room. Screams of fear and panic are heard throughout the room, as people try to flee the scene. The tall, buff looking man is flailing his arms around and running all over the place, “AHHHHHH! My butt is on fire!! Hot! Hot! Hotttt!” You snicker to yourself at how dumb he looks, flailing his arms around like an idiot. 

Ambrose looks like he’s on the verge of panicking. Pointing to the flying creature, “Someone catch that fairy! Before the whole school gets burnt to a crisp!”   

The blonde haired boy sighs, putting his hands on his hips. “Mannn…and here I was hoping to have another easy day.” The curious boy looks at the blonde in confusion “But I thought you always wanted to meet a fairy? Wouldn’t you like to catch and befriend him?” The blonde takes a minute to consider it, ultimately deciding not to. “Naw, I’m good.”  

The boy with Bright Purple eyes raises his hand from the panicking crowd “Headmaster Ambrose! I can get him!” He proudly places his hands on his hips, “I’ve dealt with fairies before so I know how to handle this!” The cute boy giggles, “That’s Raheel for you. Always stepping up to help those in need.”

The buff man with his butt still on fire speaks up again “Um! Hello?! Can someone please help me put out my butt fire…please!?” He attempts to stop, drop, and roll to extinguish the fire but surprisingly it doesn’t work, which causes him to panic even more. 

Ambrose is slowly panicking while trying to keep everyone else calm “Everyone! Remain calm!” The blondie places his arms behind his head, “It’s just a small flying roach. How hard can it be to catch it?” The roach turns towards the blonde, “I am not a roach!” angrily flailing its limbs around like a child throwing a tantrum. “I am a fairy! And I have a name!”

The boy with Purple eyes also known as ‘Raheel’ crosses his arms. “Uh-huh, and what might your name be then?” He says in a mocking tone. 

The man with animal ears stands beside Raheel placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Well that isn’t very nice, Now was it?” Purple eyed boy shrugs before pulling out something that looks like a broach, aiming it at the fairy. “Probably not, but hey! It never hurts to tease.”

The man with animal ears shakes his head in disapproval; grabbing a similar looking broach, aiming it at the fairy as well. “Let's just get this over with.”

part 3-4

[smilepilled]

by the way. im only interacting with @editblr-confessions because there's ANOTHER pointless list of people interacting with the blog being made in some server i dont think im even in. and since im pretty chill about most things, + the list is supposedly a block-em list/callout list, i want people to experience shellshock when they realize "woah! aunctle roach is interacting! but they r so chill... maybe this shit isnt as serious as it seems"

you guys really need to stop making up new problems. new discourse. new drama, new petty fights. because some of this stuff is just not that deep. some of the shit you guys throw up into the many fans of editblr is not that big of a deal. you can just block and move on, some of you are getting at twitter levels of reactionary-- and its BAD bad over in twitter, it goes full circle.

some people have bigger problems they need to tend to in their personal lives. health, family, education, jobs, et cetera-- you can just say "wow this person is an ass" and block them instead of making another pointless google doc explaining why they're the antichrist (to you). just please, be mindful of people who cant give a fuck because they've more important things to tend to. most of us are disabled and mentally ill in this community, so instead of villifying people at their first slip up, lets try to be Humane (^tm)

open those damn eyes. stop being the dog pulers. stop being reckless. start being kind. start prioritizing peace. start having conversation and understanding!

[fourfoldtrap]

open for better quality!

hit the keep reading if you wanna read me rambling about 2012 Raph's traumas within the show, I'm not the best at writing so take that as you will.

I think out of all the 2012 ninja turtles Raph has the most 'wow this is fucked' centric episodes. (note i'm writing from the memory of watching the show as it released so its been a while.) But while Leo has the most fatal injuries, Donnie's injuries are more centered around his mind/head, and Mikey is just a jack of trades for getting hurt. I think the majority of Raph's 'injuries' are related too his overall too his phobias, ability too protect, and insecurities (tho that honestly falls under all four of the turtles ngl).

Its amazing how many times everything that makes Raph- Raph is used against him, from mutant roaches, his anger towards his brothers managing too overtake his love for them directly causing his best friend too attack his family, had a squirrel crawl into his stomach a experience mitosis, his mutagen drained and becoming a plant-dog thing, the brainworm, almost loosing his family a 100 different ways, that whole melt down in the trashcan where he hallucinates bugs, the bug planet. And that's all I can remember off the top of my head!

honestly typing just too type but Raph just like all of his bros have been through it and I think it should be acknowledged more.

I'm honestly rlly proud of this bc its the first thing I've created on clip studio paint and was kinda just my test run for the program. Messed around with a lot of brushes, I love the verity Procreate nor Paper have this much stuff to utilize. Also love that i can rotate and resize stuff without immediately loosing the initial quality (procreate).

first artist too ever draw fly baxter stockman hated the whole thing, never again.

[pupwashing]

ohh oh omg idk if you saw that fanart w the mw crew and then someone reblogged it and erased jimmy from the pic and were like “got rid of the ugly roach for you 💜” but like I saw it and my jaw dropped like that’s crazy

WHAT I DIDNT SEE THAT OMG.. thats so insanely nasty and entitled hello??? its okay to disrespect artists because they drew a character you dont like??? like wow okay. I hate yall fr omg thats sickening.. like im sick

[queermentaldisaster]

“The Hunt Is My Muse”

Finally chapter eight! I'm so sorry this took so long to come out, life and ADHD is honestly what happened. I hope you enjoy!

No cws for this chapter. Chapter under the cut.

“Small Revelations and Friends Coming”

Everything had gone to shit. They'd gotten Alejandro and Los Vaqueros out, and they'd almost made it out…but now they were surrounded. Ghost held his gun, standing back to back with Soap, which sent shivers down Soap's spine. ‘We’re this close…this close…and surely about to die.’ Soap thought. Ghost let out a growl, and Soap felt the rumbles from that growl go through both their bodies. He shuddered, and Ghost’s hand found its way to his waist. He let out a shaky breath, and was ready to accept death as it came when suddenly the nearby wall shattered.

Soap’s head snapped up and he spotted a wild water buffalo standing in the wreckage of the wall. He cackled, spotting a leopard next to the buffalo. “Ghost!” He exclaimed, turning the man around. Ghost saw them and chuckled. Alejandro looked confused. “Who are those two?” He asked, causing Soap to grin. “Gaz and Roach, which means the Cap’n ain’t far behind.” He looked at Ghost and nodded, with that same cocky ass grin he always had. Ghost shifted, willingly, pouncing on one of the distracted Shadows. Soap cackled, shifting as well.

Alejandro just chuckled and yelled something in Spanish as the shifted duo began ravaging the Shadows. Soap’s ears twitched as he heard two separate roars, one of which was Ghost, a rage filled sound, and one of which was Roach, a call to his friends. Soap let out a loud ‘wow wow wow’ sound, even as the carnage continued, letting Roach know he was okay.

It took maybe twenty minutes to dispose of all of the Shadows between the four of them. After Soap shifted back, he was immediately tackled by Gaz and Roach. He laughed, hugging them back. “Woah, ye tryin’ ta kill me?” He joked, and Gaz huffed. “Yeah, I’m gonna fuckin’ trample you, fox boy. What the fuck were you thinking!?” He shook Soap, and Roach carefully pried Gaz off of Soap, who fell back, landing in Ghost’s arms. Ghost chuckled, lifting Soap to his feet and wrapping his arms around Soap’s waist.

Soap felt the heat rise to his cheeks, and he just knew Ghost was smirking underneath his mask. Roach stared at Soap and let out a breath. “I feel like I missed something.” He signed. Ghost’s grip tightened on Soap’s waist. “Oh, not much.” Ghost said, tilting his head to the side.

Soap let out a breath, only to look up when he heard Price's voice ring out from amidst the wreckage. “Boys!?” Price called out, and Ghost let out a roar just as Soap let out another ‘wow wow wow’ sound. Soap pulled out of Ghost's arms and ran towards the silhouette of Price in the distance. Soap ran into Price’s arms, earning a sharp exhale from the older shifter. Price held Soap close, his grip around the younger shifter tight. “So glad you're safe.” He murmured, and Soap smirked. “So ye did miss me?” He let out a yelp as Price lightly slapped him upside the back of his head.

Ghost's head snapped around and Soap heard the growl. Soap looked back at Ghost and shook his head. Ghost immediately calmed down, his shoulders relaxing. Price arched an eyebrow. “I feel like I missed a few chapters.” He remarked. Soap chuckled. “Just a few, cap’n.” Ghost came forward and nodded to Price. “Good to see you, Captain.”

Price smiled. “Good to see you too, Ghost. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Price turned around and led them to a set of vehicles. Alejandro, Rodolfo, and the rest of the Vaqueros got in one of them, and the 141 got in the other. Roach turned to Ghost as they sat down, Gaz sitting in the driver’s seat. Roach began signing. “You’re a shifter? Why did you never tell us?” He questioned, and Ghost shrugged. “It wasn’t important.”

Roach’s eyes widened. “Not important?! Ghost, how long have you been suppressing your shifts? Do you know the consequences that can come from that?!” He signed hastily and Ghost snarled. “Roach, it can’t be that bad, so shut your mouth and-” Ghost cut himself off, quickly standing up and moving over to the seat where Soap was. They didn’t get a chance to question it before Ghost shifted, leaving this massive black panther curled up in Soap’s lap.

Roach sighed. “This is what I’m talking about. Now you and your panther are trying to reconnect, meaning you’re going to just randomly shift and be stuck like that for a while,” Roach signed, rolling his eyes. “Fucking idiot.” That made Ghost snarl, but Soap lightly tugged on his ear. Ghost chuffed, dropping his head on the seat. Soap chuckled. “Big ass kitten.” He murmured, and Ghost let out a rumbling growl, rubbing the side of his face against Soap’s face. Soap groaned, because apparently his subscription to breathing has temporarily expired. Price laughed, grinning at this.

Soap teasingly flipped him off, grinning back, even though the grin wasn't seen through the Lieutenant currently suffocating him. Ghost lowered his head again, stretching out with a content purr. Soap smiled, rubbing behind his Lt’s ears.

The ride back to the safehouse was quiet, and Soap reveled in the peace, for unbeknownst to him, it was soon to be ruined.

[cryptozulogy]

STARES AT YOU AUTISTICALLY. YOU LIKE LULUYAM?

ITS ACTUALLY YOUR FAULT /gen /vpos

Well, mostly. It was mainly because of the Fritz and Nikoli drawing and I thought "Wow, that other character looks cool, I should check out where she's from" and I ended up getting hooked lol.

I listened to ROACHES before that tho

[kamil-a]

dazzled and amazed at how working on not being afraid of something Actually Works in the body if you do it long enough like i noticed it first with bees but i just took a medium sized beetle looking bug (too small for roach i think?) outside in a cup and was calling it my cute princess and so on and singing to it the whole time and its like Wow there was just no anxiety response in my body there. the usual EEK A BUG stomach or body alert just not there! because i actively look at pictures of these things daily for years and go wow what an interesting animal you are etc etc

[plutos-w0rkshop]

A Gunslinger & A Conman

Chapter 1: Arrival

TW: Memories of suicide, descriptions of gore/morbidity

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: if you (don’t/do) want to be tagged please tell me 😭 i restarted the story but i’m tired so i’m just using the old taglist

@echobeez @eg0m4n14c @roach-master @give-liife @zh4rkbyt3

Did Heaven and Hell really exist? Or was it simply something people made up to cause mass hysteria amongst society, thinking “oh no, if I do bad I’ll be tortured for the rest of my existence!” or “ok so I’ll do good and it’ll all be perfect! Rainbows and sunshine everywhere!!” Yeah. Bullshit like that. That’s really what it came across as to people who didn’t believe. Take Austin for example; he thought it was just some make believe thing that parents make up to scare their children, nothing more. Not like he would know what that felt like. He was scared of his parent in the first place! As ironic how that was, however.

Though he wasn’t sure if he really believed that right now, considering the location he just landed in. And yes, literally landed. Last thing he remembered was staring down at his trembling hands, his dark, cold to the touch gun laying on the snow next to where he was sitting, blood staining his pure white glove that he hadn’t even bothered to take off before he continued, which was barely distinguishable from the winter’s effect due to his blurred vision, the ground beneath him frozen solid. Nobody saw him of course, he was in the middle of a lonely forest, hardly any wildlife to accompany his site of self homicide. There was frostbite on the peak of his nose, his breath coming out as mild clouds of fog as the gunshot wound he formed in his chest spilling out dark, warm blood onto the pale ground beneath him as he slowly lost his vision.

But that was gone now. He felt perfectly fine. Well, aside from the pounding in his head. Unable to barely collect his own thoughts he clutched at his head, letting out a weak noise of pain as he forced himself to stand, using the armrest of a nearby bench to help him up. His eyes fluttered open, but he was quickly greeted by a completely new place. It wasn’t cold, it wasn’t the middle of nowhere… Where was it? It looked like an abandoned city people always talked about in newspapers. Honestly he would’ve thought that if it weren’t for the fact people were actively walking about the torn streets. Speaking of, wow there were a lot of cracks on the ground, not even including the buildings. It was like there was a mass earthquake and nobody bothered to fix it after. It was a comparable replica of Brooklyn, in which… well, it’s 10 times worse.

A red shaded sky overhung the sky, which Austin assumed to be from some sort of air quality disfigurement, but no, nothing seemed off while breathing at all. There was also some sort of black ball that looked like it would be the “sun,” and yet it had some sort of red pentagram type shape over it. Next to that, it was that but white and smaller, surrounded by wings and a shape that appeared to be a type of halo. In short, it looked much more divine. Gaze lingering on the floating object and all of its pinioned glory for a moment longer, he eventually looked back away, mind filled with confusion. What is this place?

The town was full of noise; the sounds of people engaging in conversation, cars (that people were driving quite recklessly, as if they didn’t care,) and… screaming, all mixing into one big overwhelming noise, making Austin’s ears ring on top of the headache, which made him let out a weak whine of pain as he continued on, walking away from where he originally was. While entangling his fingers throughout his hair though, he noticed he was missing something. His hat. At the discovery, the man frowned, but didn’t want to think too hard on what happened to it. It was probably long gone by now.

When he was staring he suddenly noticed a large, neon sign that flickered randomly, signaling that it really wasn’t being taken care of, which caught his attention. WELCOME TO HELL. Oh, well that explains it. The views of the landscape, the fact everyone looks like absolute freaks… He was in Hell. Despite the fact he didn’t even believe in it, he was surprised he was even there. Why was he in this place!? He’s hot, he’s famous, and he’s nice! What did he possibly do that was so bad and landed him here? I mean yeah, he killed a few thousand people… and basically committed mass manipulation.. and— that’s not the point!!

He could definitely see how some other people got here, though. Fuck, they were murdering people right on the streets! Not to mention the cannibalism after… Who could loose so much dignity they do that in public! If anything do it where nobody’s gonna see you. He grimaced at people, though in all honesty he didn’t really give a shit. He’s seen it all before; their blood better not get on him, though. As if he jinxed it, while he was walking, he passed by a murder, the cause getting a tad bit of blood on Austin’s suit. He scowled, staring at them. "What the fuck? Do you not have any dignity!?" he yelled out, making the murderer then around and glance at him, a bloodied knife in hand, which also had small bits of gut on it. "How ‘bout you have some respect?" they scowled, until they saw what Austin actually looked like. Their attitude quickly changed and they got a stupid grin on their face, eyes narrowing. "Er.. Sorry ma’am. I swear I can make that up to you, if you know what I mean, doll," they commented on, voice dropping an octave as they got up in Austin’s personal space, who was glaring at them clearly pissed off. A few seconds into their silence, the singer glanced down, before looking back up. Yup, definitely a man. Surely he wouldn’t mind this, right?

With that, he forced a flattered smile, putting on a flustered little façade. "W-Who, me? Oh, I’d be delighted!" he spoke back. "Although, I sure hope you don’t mind if I do this first…" he muttered, before his face dropped and he brought his knee up, hitting him directly in the groin which made the stranger let out a yelp of pain, stumbling back. "What the- OW!!" he screamed out, his tone a mix of agony and frustration. The stranger fell onto the ground, curling up as he sucked air in between his teeth, arms clutched around his lower stomach as he writhes in pain. Austin reaches down and grabs onto the knife he had dropped down by his feet when he assaulted. "I’ll be using this," he said casually, before continuing on. "Oh, and it’s sir." He sunk the weapon into the side of their leg when he said that as to punctuate, causing a loud squelching noise as it sunk into their now exposed and bleeding flesh, mixing in with the stranger’s yelp of further pain, further penetrating the wound by sinking it in deeper using his foot, before giving one last remark as he steps back. "Bye, have a good day, baby! Love you," he smiled as if he hadn’t just done that, standing back up straight and going back on with his day.

Though, as he went on about his business, his smile fell. He still had no clue why he was where he was. Hell? Really??? This is shit. He didn’t deserve this. Ok, well if he seriously had to live here, he had to find a house, obviously. So where was there to start? Was he supposed to get an apartment? Yeah, hah. As if there was an actually decent place down here. If only people actually recognized him right now, everyone seemed to fall head over heels for him somehow, and now here he was, lost, covered in blood, and terribly sexy. Oh, the agony!

K. Actually, now. Think, Austin, think! Would he just suck it up and get an apartment? Would he wait until he wakes up from whatever fucked up dream this was? He didn’t know! Hopefully the latter though, this place was terrible. At least he felt okay. Physically. He stared back up at the red sky, the freedom of being able to stare up and not get blinded from the piercing sun being a surprising new sensation. He let out a sigh, running his gloved fingers through his soft hair, before going completely frozen as he felt something sensitive. The singer’s eyes narrowed in confusion, before poking where the feeling was, feeling an immediate shock go through his whole body, catching him off guard as he lets out a surprised squeak. What the hell??? Ow! Oh god, don’t tell me I’m one of these freaks walking around like it’s nobody’s business too. If I am, I better be hot.. he thought, going further on.

Austin still had no clue what to do, and he had been walking around for what felt like centuries by now, but it was only a small bit over 10 minutes. His legs were tired, and he wanted somewhere to rest. The upset expression on his face never went away, and in fact only got worse from when he started. Not even an hour into this, and he wanted out. There’s an entire list starting on what’s wrong right now. He’s hungry, he’s alone, he’s tired, he’s… Well, you get the idea. You know what I was going to say.

While moping around the town, he finally spotted something; an actually okay looking apartment building. Or so it looked. He walked over to it, grabbing onto the door knob on the see-through glass door and turning it gently, walking in. He was quickly greeted by the noise of people talking in the lobby; they must live here. "Hello, ma’am." Lost in his thoughts, he was startled as the person at the front desk spoke up, making Austin look over in confusion. "Yes, you. Are you here to get an apartment?"

"Uhm.." he mumbled, before spinning around to walk right back out. "No thanks. I’m good, I don’t need you or your shitty place." The person grimaced in confusion, before shrugging, watching him walk out. What an idiot, probably a crackhead.

Welp, he’ll just walk around. Hopefully he’ll find something… All this walking is getting annoying.

[davekat-sucks]

Wow amazing art but this is strike one. Yiffy was the inevitable failure of postcanon, even with the new union and art team, her very existence ruins Rosemary, ruins Jade, ruins the setting and pisses off the fanbase no matter what you do.

Remove Yiffany and you retcon a major plot point of postcanon and the 4th kid for the new kids for the Candy timeline, keep her in and Jade is still a futanari who imposed herself on Rose to ruin the fanbase’s favorite lesbian couple and raise the kid with a fascist because… people on Earth C are too nosy.

Yiffany destroyed all hype for the original Homestuck^2 when she was revealed, even for as mediocre as the comic started out as, there were fans and speculation, which turned to spite for being so poorly handled. Even now with the new team, r/homestuck at least seems to enjoy the new content (excluding a few voices and r/englishpumpkinparty) but clearly any content with yiffany is gonna piss someone off.

Literally if Hussie just stopped at the epilogues the fandom would like postcanon more. It would have its detractor but it’s easier to defend the epilogues than Beyond Canon.

I can actually understand and connect why Jade and Jane became the way they are in the epilogues. Jane’s encounters with trolls were awful and the mothergrub does lay thousands of eggs to deal with such a low rate of successful brooding grubs. Jade was alone on her island and in a ship for 3 years (post retcon) and needs human connection desperately. My issue was the epilogues do a very one-dimensional and extreme version of these characters and justifies this by saying “no one checked in on them or helped” over the course of a 7 year timeskip and even after the characters did a whole webcomic where the point was friendship and connection is healthy for a human to develop emotionally to maturity, are we seriously doing this theme again?!

But Jane in Beyond Canon is a villain with barely any screen time or dialogue to ramble about why she’s “doing the right thing” and Jade is stripped of any nuance to this invasive and careless brat who tries to gain sympathy by whining about how much her life sucked/still sucks

I swear, this comic will go on hiatus again by the end of 2024 (if everything goes right) or on 4/13 (if it all goes wrong)

At least Jade was justified because 1. She didn't know how Grandpa English died and only came to the shocking realization she accidentally killed him (Tavros had also intervened too during this). 2. She had to grow up alone on an ISLAND and has no social cues how to properly act. Sure she would have Internet, movies, games, and books to read. But they aren't the true basis of human connection. 3. Neither Hussie, James, or anyone in WhatPumpkin/HICU had given a reason why Bec couldn't just teleport her to meet with the others since he still had Space Powers. Some could say because it would ruin the plot and Sburb wouldn't happen that it only took the meddling of MSPA READER in Pesterquest to do it. Her situation is just as shit like Jake English. And look how the series, writers, and nu-fandom shit on Jake despite his conditions is just the same, if not WORSE because of the lusus animals trying to attack him that he had always be training to survive for his life. At this point, drop any faith you have in James Roach and Beyond Canon. Apologize. And hope that this will fail hard that James and Hussie will just let the fandom make up their own ending. Even say DO NOT GIVE James Roach any money if they do go through with the Homestuck merch and vinyl. You are better off supporting the fandom itself. Pay for commissions, buy fan merch on places like Etsy, etc. Do not give shitty people like James or Hussie any cash. Go give Toby Fox some love too. Because he is one of the few sane people left and is successful outside of Homestuck.

[obsidiaspell]

Chapter 2: Life’s little problems

Zorian: wow I really did uderestimate Benisek

Benisek: talks

Zorian: nevermind

Benisek: some astrological BS

Zorian: Planetary alignment

Benisek: thats what i said!

(I am sure we wont hear about this again)

everytime the Kazinski family is mentioned my sould dies a little bit upon the remembrance there was no proper confrontation and resolution, author said this book was supposed to be workbuilding practice at first and i can tell, i just think its a shame there are so many opportunities for some realy charged dialogue and interpersonal drama, i mean it means nothing while they are still in the time loop, but i still thought it was a shame there were not more pages dedicated to interpersonal relationships

ooh mister Barenova mention, that is some LONG term foreshadowing

and we are meeting Taiven! first impression not that great, but she really is one of the more realized characters in the future, although having a breakdown on camera so to speak will do that

sewer run! this book is chuck full of rpg references, this is just the tip of the iceberg

nothing dangerous ever happens down there, pffft yeah right, why do you call him roach anyway. Three hours to get rid of her? They are both so fucking stubborn

Oh god his class is full of main characters, but at least it has an in universe explanation lol

I love how the first thing we hear from Zach is "Hot isn't she"

If there is one thing I can truly find no fault with its magic system worldbuilding, just *chef's kiss*

Xvim appears and is his annoying self, the narator gavem some sort of accent (something eastern i would say russian but softer) and honestly, that fits. I personally would not survive this without blowing up. Now this is spoiler teritorry but i think it is very funny that the one thing that (maybe) managed to impress him, was that Zorian lasted that long with him without doing something drastic.

Zorian: this is gonna be an exercise in frustration

oh if you only knew