Choices-Addict

My name is Libby I'm 20. Not really sure what else to put here so I'm just gonna trail off now...

[sporticus1234]

You say Galinda is complicit in the Wizard's plan, but still don't believe she's as wicked as them or the villain of the series?

Correct.

Something people need to realize, especially when it comes to Glinda's character, is that you can't put her in one extreme or the other. I've seen people who vehemently paint her as being as wicked as Madame Morrible or the Wizard, but I also see people who are painting her as the victim as going "She's representative of the girl who loves and helps everyone and still ends up alone". Both of these takes are extreme, but it also downplays a lot of who Glinda is and who she becomes. She doesn't do anything evil like Madame Morrible or the Wizard, but you cannot sit here and paint her as the victim and a girl who loved everyone, because as the first film/Act has shown us, Glinda is anything BUT a girl who loves everyone and helps them out of the goodness of her heart.

The fact is, Glinda is a grey, nuanced character. But when you look through the lens of who Glinda represents, you will understand it better. I could go into a whole dissertation about Glinda and her character, but if you take out the whimsical, fantasy of Oz and really focus on the personalities of the characters, you would see Glinda is a representative of real-life people.

People who are apathetic and indifferent to other groups of people because they are not being affected by the problem or circumstance other groups of people are being affected by. People whose privilege blinds them to the reality of others because they have not experienced what others have experienced and never will. People who want their cake and want to eat it too. People who refuse to compromise their beliefs or their own comfort and instead, tell the other side they are the ones who have to compromise and make concessions. People, who at the end of the day, would rather stay silent and turn a blind eye to problems if it meant they kept their safety and comfort. People who only care about issues and problems when it directly affects them and their own comfort, but otherwise stay silent when it affects others.

The reality is, a lot of people in real-life are a Glinda. And if everyone is a Glinda, does that mean everyone in this world is evil and wicked? No. People cannot be classified and divided into black and white, but rather, the majority of us are all shades of grey in the middle. And that's why Glinda cannot be painted into one extreme or the other, because she's just like any other person we know or are, and not everyone we know is a horrible, awful person, right?

Now, that's not to say there have been people who are pure evil and wicked like the Wizard or Madame Morrible, because history has shown those people have existed. But it's much harder to paint someone as the good and pure hero like Elphaba, because even Elphaba, despite her fight against the oppression of others and being propped up to be the "good" hero in the story by being painted in a more sympathetic light, does commit awful, horrible things (i.e, kidnapping an innocent girl and holding her hostage just to name 1 thing she does.)

[luna-azzurra]

Tips for Writing Injuries

✧ Broken ribs suck. You don’t just “walk it off.” Breathing hurts. Laughing hurts. Existing hurts. Characters with rib injuries won’t be doing heroic sprints.

✧ Concussions aren’t instant naps. Dazed vision, nausea, dizziness, maybe even personality changes, but they’re not going to collapse neatly like in the movies.

✧ Blood loss is sneaky. It’s not just about dramatic pools of blood. It’s dizziness, confusion, and the body getting cold as circulation tanks.

✧ Adrenaline lies. Someone can take a serious injury and not feel it until the fight’s over. That “I didn’t realize I was bleeding until later” trope? Very real.

✧ Twisted ankles are brutal. One bad step and suddenly running is off the table. Even walking hurts like hell. Perfect way to ground a chase scene.

✧ Burns linger. Even small burns hurt more than most people expect. Blisters, infection risk, constant pain, it’s not just a cool scar later.

✧ Dislocated shoulders = useless arm. Characters can’t keep swinging a sword or firing a gun. They’re basically fighting one-armed until it’s fixed.

✧ Shock is a thing. Pale skin, trembling, rapid heartbeat, and eventually disorientation. A character might not even realize how bad their wound is.

✧ Stitches aren’t magic. Getting sewn up is painful and recovery takes time. They’re not instantly battle-ready after a needle and thread.

✧ Scars tell stories. Some fade, some don’t. Some stay sensitive forever. Don’t forget the aftermath when the wound becomes part of the character.

[fangirlmenace]

Don't forget the aftermath when the wound becomes part of the character

@mer-acle

[pianjeong]

so many songs to listen to. so many books to read. so many things to watch. so much stuff to write. i think i will sit here and decompose

[choices-addict]

Ethan: "I didn't get the shopping."

OH MC: "What? Why not?"

Ethan: "Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip and pin machine!"

[choices-addict]

COP MC: "Punch you?"

Trystan: "Yes, punch me in the face! Didn't you hear me?"

COP MC: "I always hear 'Punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."

[choices-addict]

OH MC: "I grew on you, though."

Ethan: "Eventually, like moss or a skin disease."

[choices-addict]

COP MC: "You know if this cult doesn't kill you, I will."'

Trystan: "Threatening a prince is treason, MC."

COP MC: "What about threatening an ass?"

[choices-addict]

Trystan: "At my age, do you know how I'm statistically most likely to die?"

COP MC: "At the hands of your partner?"

Trystan: "An accident."

COP MC: "That's how I'm going to make it look."

[choices-addict]

Sienna: "Guess who won a hundred dollars playing craps?"

OH MC: "That's a dollar."

Sienna: "Guess who wildly over tipped a cocktail waitress?"

[undermounts]

and other forgotten things

Summary: One year into his imprisonment, Aerin receives his first visitor.

Or alternatively, my version of the ch. 2 prison scene because I wanted more angst and anger <3

Read it here on AO3

-

Aerin is no stranger to envy.

He has spent his life wanting. Knowledge, affection, attention, power. Things he coveted but could never have from a family that did not want him, a kingdom that would not have him. Such was his lot in life, from the very beginning. He is Aerin Valleros, second son of the Gentle King, brother to the Crown Prince.

Or at least he was.

Now, Aerin is… well, he no longer knows what he is. A nobody, perhaps. Or worse than that, he is forgotten. He is a dark stain on a long and questionable legacy, the corrupt end to a line of corrupt rulers. He is an afterthought, a bad memory, an unwanted trinket that had long since lost its novelty, just another object to be tossed away with all of the other lost and broken things.

Aerin Valleros, brother to no one, heir to nothing.

And still, he wants. 

The thirst for knowledge—a most noble pursuit, his tutors had always said—has never waned. But affection, attention, power!—his ambition, his hunger, has been dampened. He has lived without each before, and he shall live without each again. He will do so gladly if it means he can have the one thing he now desires above all else: freedom.

A small window, set in cold, grey stone—his only connection to the outside world. The mingled chatter of people crossing the streets far below drifts up through the bars, too distant to be distinguishable. People, his people, living. 

In the hallway outside his cell, Aerin hears the scuffle of boots against ancient stone, the clink of armor, the whisper of fabric; his guards moving in another rotation. So soon? Aerin cannot help but wonder, questioning his own perception of time. How reliant he has become on the routines of his keepers, the punctual rotation of their shifts serving as his only means of marking the passage of time since he was left–discarded–in this cell a year ago.

Softly, distantly, he mourns, A year…

His name day–twenty one years now, he has lasted–came and went, alone in his cell. His father never even sent word, no acknowledgment that his second son–his only son, now–still existed. 

A metallic, shimmery noise, a dozen keys rattling together and then–click!

Aerin blinks as the door to his cell swings open. Too early for mealtime, his mind races, a tasteless bowl of sludge. 

All thoughts trickle out of his head as a figure enters his cell, clad in black leather armor, the scent of ash heavy in the air. For a moment, Aerin recalls volcanic fields and the constant presence of fear and agony all around him, but then his impossible reality reforms around him and he stares, slack-jawed .

“Iliana.”

Aerin does not mean to say her name, had vowed to never speak of her, never think of her again. But she is here, miraculously, cursedly, before him, in his blasted cell, a sight he never thought he would see beyond his dreams, his nightmares.

But it is in his nature to be wary, and life in court has taught him that deception is a means for survival. He stands, establishing equal ground, and lets his mask fall over him like a shroud.

“I wondered if you’d ever come and visit me,” he says evenly, each word pleasant but caustic. “It certainly took you long enough.”

How often, in the early days of his imprisonment, had he thought of this moment? At first, he dreamed that she would come to him, beg for forgiveness–how she had wronged him!– to proclaim her dedication to right this wrong, to free him, to undo the damage she had done. Then, as the days dragged on into months, and despair, desperation, and regret–the hurt!–set in, his visions of her shifted. She was vengeance: her blades, her bow, her fists–the arbiters of a swift and terrible justice, acting on behalf of herself, her brother, her friends, and Morella. Some nights, he even begged–let it be quick. 

It is hatred, it must be, he thinks, that threatens the stability of his bones now. And fear of her, the woman who had been his undoing. Everything that has come for him after is well-deserved; this he cannot deny, no matter how much it stings. His betrayal and hers, they are wounds he will never heal from.

And yet, Aerin is not prepared for the way Iliana winces. She had deceived him so thoroughly in the Dreadlord’s throne room, he sometimes forgets that she was not trained as he was to hide her emotions. They flit across her face now, pain and grief. Then, anger.

“Apologies, prince,” she snaps, her black leather gloves groaning in protest as she clenches her hands into tight fists. “I’ve been a little busy this past year.”

Aerin scoffs. “I’m sure you were. Celebrations and banquets in your honor must be exhausting.” He rolls his eyes, flinging the words at her like knives. “That’s the price you must pay for leading the life of a hero, I suppose. A heavy burden, you poor thing.”

“That’s not what I–” Iliana cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. She tilts her head and, oh, Aerin does not like that one bit, the way she studies him, as if she is looking right through him. Then, shockingly, pity clouds her face. “No one told you.”

Unease, slick and oily rolls through him. If the words come out a little harsher than he intended—well. Word from the outside world has not breached these walls in months. He is tired of being kept in the dark. “Told me what?”

Iliana takes a deep breath and turns away, her attention straying to the small window of his cell as she folds her arms across her chest. The silence drags on long enough and Aerin feels tempted to shatter it, to demand that whatever information she withholds be released. But then her eyes slide to him and she breathes heavily again, fingers curling against her arms. It occurs to Aerin that her posture looks less guarded and meek almost, like she is embracing herself, comforting herself.

And, damn him, his voice goes soft and careful. “Tell me what? What happened?”

To you. What happened to you? 

Iliana drops her arms to her side, then lifts one hand to her hip, searching. But whatever she is looking for, she does not find it, and her hand hangs limply in the air. “I was gone. In the Shadow Realm.”

Fear, shock, intrigue–it is a heady blend that races through him. Aerin takes a shuffling step forward, then halts. He does not know what he intends to do. Go to her? Comfort her? She certainly does not want that, not from him, and he does not know if he can bear it either.

“Why?” he demands instead, drawing a line down the center of his cell, a boundary he will not cross while she remains. “How?”

“Valax,” she answers, and the name clangs around Aerin’s skull with no small amount of dread. He knows it and knows to be wary of it. “She captured me. Experimented on me.”

“To what end?” he breathes out, blinking rapidly as spots cloud the edge of his vision. The Empire of Ash, playing their hand already. “Why you?”

Iliana’s gaze sharpens. “You know her.”

“Know of her,” Aerin corrects, shaking his head. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Iliana says shortly and turns away again. She drifts to the window, keeping her back to him as she says, “Before you ask again—I do not know why. I don’t remember much.”

Her falsehood rings clear in the air, Aerin can see it in her rigid posture, defensive and bracing. How? How had she ever deceived him, this orphaned elf from Riverbend, when she cannot even look him in the eye to lie?

He knows the answer: because he wanted to believe her.

Remember that night together in the forest glade? Our kiss? That was real, Aerin. And it’s still real.

He banishes the thought, grinds it under his boot, but something in him still aches, still yearns. She looks so unsettled that he decides to let her lie hold, something he will circle back to later. 

“Are you…” It is difficult, still, to force the words out. To ask this, it feels too much like an admission, an exposure of weakness. He swallows. “Are you well?”

Iliana whirls, and her eyes, glittering ores of emerald, cut through him. Whittling him down to the bone. “What do you care?”

Indignation flares up in him and he glares. “Do you think me incapable of compassion?”

She laughs, a cold and jagged thing, and slashes her hand through the air. She paces back to the entrance of his cell, her steps harsh. “Incapable? Perhaps. But I know better by now than to believe anything you do or say after you lied to us all.”

“Do not forget that you lied to me as well,” Aerin snaps, distantly aware of the guards shifting just beyond his cell. They are listening, he realizes. To report back to the king? To intervene and rescue Iliana if they deem him too dangerous, too volatile? They are listening, and political training be damned, he does not care. “That you would still have me. That we—it was real. You lied.”

He expects Iliana to shout at him, wants her to—her anger, he can bear—but she only sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth, her face at once stricken and furious. When she speaks, it is to the ground, the dusty slab of stone that spans the space between them. “It wasn’t a lie, Aerin.”

He barks out a laugh, full of anger and bitterness, because that is all he has, all he is, all that he can give. Anger, bitterness.

And regret. So much regret, he could drown in it.

“You don’t believe me, I don’t believe you,” he says coolly, forcing his voice to even out, despite how wildly his heart races. “Let us leave it at that.”

Iliana opens her mouth, then clamps it shut, looking for all the world like she might protest. But in the end, she only shakes her head, resigned, and leans back against the metal door of his cell. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoes and they lapse into an uneasy silence. It is the closest thing, perhaps, they will ever have to an accord.

Aerin takes their momentary cease-fire to truly study Iliana as she stands before him, glaring at her feet and refusing to meet his gaze. He still cannot believe that she is here, after all this time. Her black leather armor, he notes with grim consideration, is standard issue for Ashen warriors. Her blue skin is pale, but otherwise unmarred, save for the scars she already bore. No signs of physical abuse, or just the work of a really good healer.

An entire year in captivity. Gods… Despite it all, he is grateful that she does not remember much. There is no way to tell how she might have changed, how her spirit might have dimmed. No matter what he feels about her—hate, anger, sorrow—Aerin finds that he does not wish to see her harmed.

“When did you return?” he asks, breaking the silence between them with an easy question, a tentative olive branch.

Iliana eyes him warily. “This morning.”

“This morning?” Aerin starts at that, forgetting himself. For a stupid, pathetic moment, something flutters eagerly against his ribcage, although he squashes the feeling down. “I must be one of your first appointments, then,” he remarks dryly, tilting his head. “What brings you here?”

Iliana’s gaze hardens and her expression shifts into something like grim triumph. Aerin does not know where he misstepped but he gets the impression that they have entered a game and she already has the winning move.

“Tell me everything you know about the Ash Empire,” she demands, hands framing her hips. “And don’t pretend you don’t know anything. You already admitted to knowing about Valax.”

“Why should I?” Aerin waves a hand through the air, dismissive. “What would you offer me in return? You are clever enough, I’m sure you could find answers on your own.”

“Or I could get answers from you and stop wasting time,” Iliana bites out, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezes her eyes closed in frustration. Then, she drops her hand and fixes him with a look that speaks only to her exhaustion—with him, with the Shadow Realm, with everything. “You owe me. You owe me this much.”

He… supposes he does.

Aerin sighs heavily. Sharing knowledge is a task Aerin has always taken a shine to. Few things are more important than learning more, and helping others to learn. This attitude, he thinks, may be the best thing his tutors ever taught him. But the Ash Empire… The dark kingdom is a topic he does not relish remembering. 

Still, Aerin shares what he knows, some of it, at least. Foundational knowledge. The Ashen Empress is the true ruler of the Realm and the Shadow Court had been but a fledgling resistance to her reign, one whose hopes of success had been bashed repeatedly by failed attempts to take over the Realm of Light. He speaks briefly of his own role in the Dreadlord’s bid for power against the Empire, doing his best to tamper down any rancid feelings he still nurses about the entire ordeal.

Anything more, he must keep for himself. Future bargaining chips. Perhaps, if he can remain useful, well… Maybe not all is lost for him.

“With the Dreadlord dead, I imagine the Ash Empire is already hunting down any remaining members of the Shadow Court,” Aerin hedges as he wanders over to the window, drumming his fingers against the ledge.

He feels Iliana at his back, her attention heavy on him. “Sounds like the Empire will be coming for you next.”

She is right, he knows. It is a reality he has long since come to terms with, but still, the reminder sends a bolt of fear into his spine. His fingers go still against the stone.

“If the Ash Empire makes it to the Light Realm, they’ll probably take special care in how they eliminate you.”

What do you care? he wants to snap, spitting Iliana’s words back at her. Instead, he only shrugs, keeping his gaze trained on the city outside the window. Something like yearning tugs in his chest.

“So,” Iliana continues, her irritation with his disinterest bleeding into her voice. “It would be in your best interests to tell me everything.”

Aerin arches his brow, glancing over his shoulder. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Knowing you for more than five seconds.”

A dry laugh slips out of him and he turns around, leaning against the wall with his hands laced before him. “Planning to protect me, are you?”

“I’m planning to protect everyone,” Iliana corrects, rolling her eyes. “If I am to stand a chance protecting the Light Realm against the Empire, then I need to know everything.”

She is so… She is everything he read about, everything he dreamed of being as a child. A hero. 

He pities her. For her naïveté, for believing that she can fix every problem that comes her way. Almost as much as he envies it. She has never known true failure, not yet. When she does—and it is inevitable—then, she will understand. What she has now, her determination, her purpose—it cannot last.

Aerin looks away, running his hand through his hair. One more bit of information, he supposes, he can grant her. In his best interest, as she said. 

“There’s only one other thing, and to be honest, I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself,” he admits slowly, gauging her reaction. “The Empress has a terrible creature under her power. I caught a glimpse of it in the distance when I was bringing Nia to the Dreadlord.”

At the very mention of Nia’s name, Iliana’s expression looks almost murderous, like she might strike him down just for mentioning the priestess, but miraculously, she refrains. “What was it?”

Despite himself, Aerin shudders, recalling the undead creature, crafted of the seven hells itself. “Massive. Skeletal. A beast from nightmares.”

“How vague,” Iliana remarks, but Aerin knows the information has taken hold. She looks unsettled, certainly. Maybe even afraid. 

His answering smile is wry and almost apologetic. “I know. But it is unlike anything I have ever seen before.”

Iliana nods, seemingly satisfied with this information. “Thank you for telling me what you know.”

The look in her eyes makes it abundantly clear that they both know it is not everything, although for now it is enough. Maybe—Aerin curses himself for even entertaining the thought—she will come back for more. The idea lights something within him, although he does not want to think about what it means, what it says about his feelings toward her, everchanging and impossible to curb. It isn’t freedom, but it is something. How nice it would be, to have just a piece of the outside world come to him.

Desperation claws its way into Aerin’s chest and he hates himself for the way he caves, for how small his voice sounds as he throws out a lifeline, begging her to take it. “I don’t suppose… you might visit me again?”

Iliana’s expression is guarded, her response measured. “Maybe. I doubt I will even have a moment to breathe since the world needs saving. Again.”

That is… something.

Aerin tilts his head. Always playing the hero. “And must it always be you who saves it?”

He is not prepared for the way her shoulders slacken and she glances away. Gone are any traces of the bravery and determination she had brandished at him moments ago. What faces him now is only solemn acceptance, weary resignation to service. “Apparently.”

Aerin wants to tell her to stop, that it isn’t her problem to fix. But he would be a hypocrite. After all, didn’t he behave the same once, long ago? Believing that the realm’s problems were his to fix, if only he had the power.

And look where that thinking got him. Trapped in an old cell.

“Look, I can’t make any promises,” Iliana begins, her eyes flicking around the room as if she can’t quite look at him, but cannot settle her attention anywhere else. “Things between us are… I don’t know what they are. But I’ll try to visit again. I may need more information. So.” Her tone hardens, all business once more. “If you conveniently remember anything else?” She gestures to the guards outside. “Send word. Maybe I’ll come.” 

Aerin suppresses a smile, amused. “Sure. I hope you do.”

Iliana shoots him a look he can’t quite decipher, then turns away. As if expecting her, the guards unlock the door, revealing the torchlit corridor beyond. Aerin takes a steadying breath and is about to retreat to his cot when Iliana pauses in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at him. Aerin watches her hesitate, mouth opening and closing, and then—

“Do you regret what you have done?” she asks softly. “Wish that you hadn’t…”

Wish that you hadn’t betrayed me? Betrayed all of us?

Betrayed your brother?

Aerin’s breath is hard in his chest, something solid he cannot get out. Yes, he wants to scream. Yes to all of it.

“Would you even believe me?” Aerin asks earnestly, but he knows it is a fruitless endeavor.  “Whatever my answer.”

Iliana is quiet for a moment, thoughtful. But then she answers, “No. I suppose not.”

Aerin nods, closing his eyes as she slips out of the cell and the metal door slams shut behind her. He knew better than to hope for anything else. They did not trust each other. He did not think they ever would again.

The lock slides into place with a finality that quakes through his bones, sealing him back into this forgotten place, made for forgotten things.

[cashweasel]

“Come back to me...”

[storyofmychoices]

Mal Blades 2 Headcanon / Fic Summary?

Just imagining Mal fighting so hard to get Daenarya back. His morale is high...at first. he's almost in denial that she's gone. He can save her of course he can. They just defeated the shadow court. They were heros of the realm, they had to save her.

His hope dwindles through every failed attempt. He gets angry and lashes out at everyone around him, his friends, the realm, anyone that would listen.

Mal has never been religious, but he is praying to the old gods, the new gods, and any gods he hears whispers about to save her. He bargains with them. Anything to save her. No matter the cost. His soul be damned. But nothing.

He retreats into the shadows, back where he began. The dark, lost, forgotten streets of White Tower, where no one is remembered and no one worth finding resides. He is broken. He is lost. He is hopeless.

One small act at a time, he begins fixing up the place he had been taken shelter in, a forgotten building, just like him. It wasn't a house, but if he was going to stay he would make it livable. So day by day, even small moments at a time, he fixes it, he fixes it for her. He wants to still hope, but he is finding it hard, so he does it in her memory. She made him a better man, she helped him realize his dream and he would fulfill it for her.

And that run down forgotten, abandoned, building in the slums of White Tower is their first orphanage.

He builds it for her and he will tell every child her story.

I want to write this as a full fic but I don't know if I can do it, angst is not my thing, but here is what I want to write but incase I don't I still hope you enjoy this headcanon.

Okay, I did the thing:

Shadows of Hope

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Masterlist] [Mal’s Orphanage] Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!MC) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow II, Chapter 1

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Masterlist] [Mal’s Orphanage]

[inlocusmads-deactivated20240606]

A couple of blades theories:

According to the loading screen the Deadwood used to be called Whimsywood which is a massive clue because it helps us piece the timeline together. Could the Shadow Realm be the past before the Light Realm came? And that realmwalkers are just time travellers and they're battling a war from the past?

MC was gone for a year in the Shadow Realm but it wasn't the case when the Party all defeated the Dreadlord and the Shadow Court in Book 1. They came back to Whitetower and received a commendation. It seemed as though they stepped in for a fight and came back. That's because Aerin opened the portal after being consumed by the shards.

Which got me thinking about the relativistic perspective. To an outsider, Aerin and everyone else arrived at the same time. But if focused on Aerin, he might as well be gone for a whole year or however long it takes.

Time in the Shadow Realm is a bit of a doozy because we didn't experience the time bending in Book 1. In Book 2 however, because MC opened the portal and escaped, they could've travelled through different timelines to reach there.

I doubt the dream was even a dream and the visions are just the result of extreme power. I believe because MC is a realmwalker, they are able to see different timelines, i.e in one where they kill people, one where everyone dies, etc etc. And that's why I believe Valax kidnapped them. She could open the portal if she wanted to, her objectives were never about that. They wanted to extract MC's blood to win a grander war and perhaps if they draw the magic from it, Valax can also earn the skill of precognition.

It is giving Endless Summer because time and space are just thicc as frick concepts for a fantasy book and we still have the job of figuring ourselves out and our place in the Light Realm. This is going to be one mindfuck of a story and I can't wait.

[artist-rat]

this is unlike the stuff i usually post, but wanted to share. it's from a project i started a few days ago. (i've felt like testing sth like this for a longer while—just some loose lines, little critters i love, and warm words.) 🧡

unrelated and not, our beloved cat passed away yesterday morning. i'd just happened to draw this the day before we said goodbye. so i feel like it's for her. ❤️

[farizrz]

CHOICES ASSET FILES (GR+VIP)

🔥WARNING SPOILER ASSETS 🔥

Look like the results mostly pick yes. So here go the link choices asset files (general release and VIP) + some extra edit (click on title). I begin collect them since QB2 until now (sorry for find oldest file i not collect it except for Blades, TNA3 and LoA2 😅).

[h1bbers]

“my child is perfectly fine!”

ma’am, your child scrolls through tumblr trying to relive the excitement they had everytime they see their otp interact

[absentia-if]

You’ve sort of done it to yourself at this point. Just let us, and our MCs, do what we’d like and I don’t think you’d have as much problems anymore. It makes no sense that our MCs can’t do what we’d like them to do. At a certain point it’s just bad storytelling.

I’m answering this with the full understanding that this was probably sent to get a rise out of me, but it’s been resting in my inbox for a moment and I’d like to finally address it. I apologize if I come off as rude during my reply, as I don’t mean to be at all, but I may get short with you at some points. I think this will be one of the last asks that I answer about the K/Gabby situation because there are some answers on the FAQ that you can direct your attention to; unless you’re honestly confused then please don’t be afraid to send one in.

The first point I’d like to make is simply the fact that I won’t bend to peer pressure. Just because the loud voices in my inbox wish for me to allow them to be rude or, too be quite frank, deranged towards K or Gabby doesn’t mean I’m going to listen. Absentia is my story, my plot and my characters are super important to me, and I don’t want to do anything to hinder that. Of course, I’ll continuously add various things as I go— some being suggestions from all of you— but I won’t add things that will pretty much implode the plot.

The second point I’d like to make is the simple fact that the MC is Absentia’s MCs; meaning that it is my MC too. Yes, the MC is customizable and I’m going to try and make them feel as real as I can for all of you but they’re still a character. They’re still one of my characters that I need to get from Point A to Point B. This is an interactive novel, one that you can influence, but that doesn’t mean it’s a self insert. Just because you wouldn’t react in such a way doesn’t mean that the MC wouldn’t either. Yes, you influence them but within the parameters I have for the story. I’m going to try to add as many variables as I can to make it fun and expansive for you all but I still have to keep it in a box at some points. The MC isn’t a blank slate.

It’s sort of like The King’s Hound MC liking children— even if you, as the reader, don’t— or The Wayhaven Chronicles MC being a Detective even if you’d never want to work in law enforcement; there are just certain things that I can’t bend on because it could make sense in one area but completely destroy another.

Again I’m going to try and make the MCs as varying as I’m able to but I won’t be able to include everything— or every reaction at that specific juncture— but I’ll always try my best to make Absentia fun (while still maintaining it as the story I envisioned).

Again I’m sorry if I came off as rude with this reply, as I don’t wish for it be seen that way, but I truly wanted to elaborate on some things that I’ve wanted to speak about for some time. I didn’t make this to start an argument or anything else. I’d just like to explain some things for the people who may be a little more confused.

I hope that’s okay and I hope that everything goes well for you.

[sinnersandsaints-linwrites]

daily reminder: MCs otherwise known as Main Characters are not reader inserts, and IFs are not scenarios/fanfics on wattpad or quotev or AO3; IFs are interactive novels and text based games.