#Chet: what's it called?

[moonamite]

It’s done YIPPEE

Close ups under the cut

[chris-mclean-has-me-by-the-neck]

Nice move there, Lorenzo 😏😏😏 (chet: “tch, I’ve could’ve done better!” Sadie: “Sure you would babe!!”)

[ivegennedmylastloss]

so. i was thinking. in generation loss, why was charlie given the moniker “The Villain”?

because ranboo and sneeg’s titles make sense: Ranboo “The Hero” was showfall’s hero, no problems there, and Sneeg “The Taken” was taken prisoner in the first episode, taken captive when he tried to escape the carousel in the episode two, and was taken for granted had his life taken permanently (maybe) in the finale.

however, Slimecicle “The Villain” feels like it only really applies to the first episode, with him playing the antagonist to the hero in the form of the slime demon. in the second and third episode, he didn’t really play a villain, just mega chet and then himself.

unless, of course, charlie slimecicle was labeled the villain because he was the one that got the hero killed in the end.

be it intentionally or not, at the start of the trail of dominoes that leads to ranboo being crucified, sits charlie. in a mockery of his streaming set up, oblivious to his surroundings, unaware of the horrors around him until our dear hero saved him. an act of kindness that gave the employees the time they needed to lock the doors and seal the exits. had ranboo not stopped for charlie, they would’ve made it out and been free, they would’ve lived.

instead, our hero wanted to save their friend and in turn they were strung up and slaughtered for their good deed.

and what kind of good person would lead their friend to getting killed? who would let such a cruel fate befall his own brother? no, that’s something only a villain would do

[probablygayattorneys]

I was sitting in my brother's room on my phone while my brother was playing video games and he said “Fuck Matthew Mercer.” While playing a game he voices a character in and I said “Are you mad at Cowboy Ryan or do you mean Matthew Mercer?” And he laughed and was like “Yeah, I just wake up and say “Fuck Matthew Mercer” and then I play some Overwatch and say “Fuck Matthew Mercer” then I play some Zelda and I say “Fuck Matthew Mercer” and then I sneak into your room and take Miracle Mask and I say “Fuck Matthew Mercer” and then I play the Ace Attorney game with the girly prosecutor and I say “Fuck Matthew Mercer.””

[lynxalon]

HOLY SHITTTTTTTTTTTTT THAT CRITROLE EP WAS AMAZING!!!!!!!!!! im SO glad we had the set up of the last one so we could have the big thrills of this!!!!!!!!! this had everything!! it had ira's bad (and good!) decisions! it had sam's out of pocket wacky can shenanigans!! it had deception and sneaking! it had badass plays and some.. eye-catching talents 👀 it had gross shit that's kinda actually sad if u think about it! it had walking (running) away from explosions (NOT a sunglasses moment this was a loserfail) it had .. terrifying parents. it had imodna momence !! :D it even had some unprecedented wins for our typically fighty/flighty adventurers!!! i will ABSOLUTELY be watching that again come monday!!!!!!!!!!

[spectralbugs]

IM GOING TO THE PTV CONCERT TONIGHT IM SO NERVOUS AND EXCITED IM GONNA THROW UP OH MY GOD

[letteremi]

Just like Chet

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru and you have been friends since high school, and boy, it's been tough being his friend. can't he just see that you've been here all along?

cw: suggestive themes (16+), alcohol, and swearing

genre/tropes/etc: friends to lovers (are they lovers? no, worse), university au, unrequited love (idiots), mutual pining, golden boy! satoru, sukuna as plot device (soz), angst, angst no comfort, alcohol!, will they-won't they, miscommunication (sorryyyyyyy), in denial, suguru and shoko and gojo and friend group yippee

wc: 5.8 k

an: not proofread xx running on 2 hrs of sleep and redbull my head IS going to explode but that's okay! I kinda wanted to make it longer actually.

Hope you enjoyy!!

Credit goes to @bronzewasp for the divider!

You weren’t that girl — the kind who pouted, sulked, or let her stomach twist just because a boy didn’t look her way. Not in a million years, or so you told yourself. You didn’t get jealous. Especially not because of Gojo Satoru.

Not even when fangirls swarm him the second he passes the gates of your university. Not when they easily pried you away from him — a manicured hand yanking you back, saccharinely sweet perfume like poison in your throat. 

“I’ll see you after lectures,” you’d say, but you’d always avert his gaze, and he’d flash a grin your way, and then you would part ways. You would keep your head straight, and your eyes forward, refusing to look back at him.  

You’d meet up with him later, by the basketball courts. You always got there first, and you’d always set your backpack down at the uppermost left corner. 

He’d swagger in ten minutes late, backpack slung on his left shoulder like clockwork, Suguru drifting behind with his hands in his pockets.

He’d hop up to where you were, chat your ear off for 20 minutes, with Suguru’s interjections — ‘and then Yaga actually threw his bag at me’ — ‘well, can you blame him?’ 

The hollering whoops and ‘hey man’ of the rest of the basketball team would echo into the gym, signalling the end of your conversation. Without a second look, Gojo would jump up from his squeaky seat, shoes creaking underneath him as he launched onto the wax-coated floors. 

“You always come early, huh?” Suguru would murmur. Not teasing. Just observing. Then he would turn, waving a casual goodbye, with a knowing gleam in his eyes. You never responded. Didn’t trust your voice to come out steady. If you had looked a little closer into his eyes, maybe you’d see the pity in them too. 

When they both left you, you’d turn to your laptop. You’d type furiously — not an essay, not anything — just noise to drown out Suguru’s voice replaying in your mind. He had said what was so obvious, but what Satoru had always failed to notice. Or maybe he had — and just didn’t care. Didn’t want to trespass into the unspoken. 

You envied him — Satoru. The heights in which he soared, the freedom he had to act so natural, to just float between people. Jealousy always creeps in like a cat amongst the shadows. A bitter little voice reminding you that he could turn to anyone, while you only ever turned to him. He belonged to the world, while you stayed in the outskirts. It was fine, really. You didn’t need the spotlight, you were happy without the attention. The twinge of envy calls you a liar. 

He was someone who called the shots, took control of his own future. And you were always just someone waiting in the stands. 

Sometimes you’d turn your gaze towards the court — watching the motions of the players, awed by their fluidity and speed. And sometimes, when you found them, Satoru’s gaze would already be fixed upon you — blue eyes pinned you in place, shameless, electric, like he wanted to be caught staring. 

Your fingers would still, a light pink dusted your cheeks. He’d wink as he scored another point, stuck his tongue out for good measure. 

He’d jog up the stands, his hair damp with sweat, curling at his temples, and snatch your water bottle. After he drank all your water — ‘there are perfectly working water taps just outside the gym, idiot’, exasperated and teasing, Satoru would laugh and recount the game, animatedly gesturing, while you listened attentively. 

And without fail, you had to always bite your tongue. Always had to physically stop yourself from saying the words that came to you as easy as breathing. It was easy to love Satoru Gojo. 

Too easy. 

- 

The carpeted floor of the library is shaking, thundering even. The scratching of pen on paper ceases, the staccato of keyboards stops. People are looking up from their work — some startled, some annoyed. Stomach dropping to your toes, you grimace. There could only be one person coming your way. These days, you don't really want to see him. Too consumed with the thought of studying (and him), or whatnot. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t like thinking about Satoru. Just, that he sprung into your mind uninvited. Going to study today? I should probably invite Satoru… Walking past a store, and seeing a mug with a digimon on it? Satoru would love that for his birthday…Passing couples on the street? Your heart clenches, saying the thoughts that you didn’t want to think.

Shaking your head, you pull your laptop closer like it’s a shield from the Satoru-shaped distraction. Crossing your legs, you sip some matcha before diving straight back into trying to get through slope stability analysis. Why, oh why did you choose to study civil engineering?

A large palm slams onto the table, scattering your pens and sending your papers flying. Craning your neck, you find yourself face to face with the one and only Satoru. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, a playful pout on his lips. Lips pursed, your gut twists. Guilty. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, the picture of innocence. “You’re imagining things.” 

“Ah! She’s manipulative, too!” He gasps dramatically, the back of his hand flying to his forehead. Just as quickly, he drops his palm and surges forward like an overeager dog. 

You could catch the flecks of midnight blue in his eyes. Could see the light freckles scattered across his face. Shoes digging into the carpet, you try to scooch backwards. Unfortunately, your chair doesn’t glide gently across the floor as you had hoped, sticking to the carpet like glue. Instead, it just tilts on its back legs. Awkward.  

Okay, new plan. Arms stretched overhead, you yawn, back curving like a cat’s. A smooth move (not) to put some distance between your faces. The side-eye he gave you let you know he saw right through you, the playful pout of his lips said something else.  

A dramatic sigh fills the air. “Well… I’ll forgive you for being the worst friend ever if you go out with me tonight,” he says. 

With him? 

You stare back at him, confused.  

“Suguru and Shoko said that they wouldn’t come if you didn’t either,” Satoru hums, “Besides, I miss you—”

What? 

“ —no one else can keep up with me on the dance floor,” exasperation and defeat in his voice, though the teasing lilt never leaves.  

“I don’t really have a choice then, do I?” You breathe out, not even realising you had stopped. 

His eyebrows knit together as he leans in again — ever invasive, eyes sparkling. “I’m glad you see things my way,” laughing, “Stay at least this far—” Satoru gestures with both hands, “ — away from me though, so you don’t scare away any cute girls.”

“Ew I’d be standing way further back than that,” you retort. Lie. 

With a roll of his eyes, he’s off like a gust of wind. As soon as he had come, Satoru was gone. The only indication that he had been there was the lingering scent of his citrus cologne. And you, with your ears hot and pink. 

-

Your vanity is a warzone, your foundation brush teeters precariously on its edge, mascara wand missing its tube and drying out by the second, and three half-used highlighters glittering like cute little bombs. Where is that lip gloss? Did you leave it in the last purse, or was it hiding in one of those drawers….

Grumbling, you settle for a lip tint that makes your eyes pop. Your room matches your table, clothes littered on the floor and on the bed — messes made, casualties of indecision, torn between loose, flowy, or short, and form-fitting. 

Your reflection stares back at you as you step back from your mirror — makeup done. Fingers raking against the smooth material clinging to your skin, you gnaw at your lip. Maybe it’s not too late to change into something more casual…

You take one last glance in the mirror. Lip tint, lashes, dress that may or may not be a mistake. It’ll do. It has to. Time is running out, starting over would be pointless.

He picks you up at eight fifteen. Well, technically, Suguru picks you up at eight fifteen. Satoru is the one hollering your name and heralding your arrival, his head jutting out the backseat window with glee. 

The setting sun paints his face in a wash of warm oranges and pinks, and his dark sunglasses sit perfectly upon his nose — completing his party outfit, if you could call it that. As you make your way to the car, you clock his shirt — unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscles like he’s modelling for Vogue. What a whore, you think affectionately, giggling to yourself. 

As you draw closer, Shoko pops up behind Satoru’s massive head, from the far right of the backseat. “Who’s this babe, and can she give me her number?” she wolf whistles, clapping like you’re walking a runway. 

You do a little spin in your tight dress that hugs you in all the right places, heels clacking against the cement. Eyes rolling affectionately, you blow a kiss to the brunette. She catches it, shooting you a lascivious wink in return. 

“You can have my number, and anything else you want,” you flirt back, pulling the door open with a grin. 

“Isn’t Sugu so mean? He wouldn’t let me be passenger princess,” Satoru whines as you settle into the front seat. “Said I’d make him crash! Unbelievable…”

“That’s because you keep messing up his console, idiot,” Shoko sighs, “How can anyone drive when you’re being annoying?”

“Are we ready to go?” Suguru finally speaks up from the driver’s seat, while adjusting the radio. 

You grin, “I’m six strawberry shots in,” Satoru laughs at your admission, “Let’s do this — before I start regretting this dress. And everything else.”

-

Giggling like madmen, like co-conspirators, you and Satoru had long abandoned your friends for a corner of the bar. The blunt edge of the bar counter dug into your back, but your three? five? eight? Shots dulled the pain. Loud and exhilarating, the heavy beat of the song echoed with your rhythmic heartbeat. Though, with the way Satoru was caging you with his body, toned arms pressing onto either side of yours, you couldn’t be sure which was louder. 

“Toru, you don’t have to do that, you know,” you whisper-shout in his ear. It was the only way he’d be able to hear you over the party-goers. 

“What? And have the crowd sweep you away? Who else is going to laugh at my jokes, huh?” he shoots back. A thrill raced through your body, electrifying. He means he wants you with him then, right?

“Fine. Better you feeling all those sweaty bodies than me,” you tease. Your lips were beginning to ache from how much you’d been smiling. His body heat radiates onto you, soaking you with his warmth, your face so, so red. Here, you could pretend that he was yours. You could blame your feather light touches on the alcohol. You figure that someone like him, so endlessly touchy, wouldn’t mind. It was all in good fun.

You sweep your eyes around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of Shoko’s shiny bracelets, or Suguru’s silver piercings. A pair of red eyes — sharp, hungry —- catches yours several times, your heartbeat stutters each time. Shaking your head, you turn back to Satoru, teasing him. 

Mid-laugh, Satoru lazily turns around, glancing over his shoulder, breaking eye contact. He stills — you feel it, painfully close to you — his laugh dies down, his mouth hangs open. 

“Hey.” A pretty girl with glossy eyes, glossier cherry lips, and long, silky hair had her pointer finger still raised trepidatiously above his broad, angular shoulder. She looks exactly like one of the models he’s always gushing about. 

With a jolt, his back straightens up, like someone had electrocuted him into having good posture. It’s like he’s tingling with a nervous excitement. You watch as his calloused fingers rake through his snowy hair, breathing life into his messy looks. Like he’s trying to impress her. His warmth dissipates from your side. 

He is beautiful. So beautiful. Fuck. 

You should leave. Just because he was a friend you maybe didn’t think of like a friend, didn’t mean you had to also rob him of this opportunity. 

“You’re handsome,” she drags a manicured finger down his chest, leaving rippled fabric in its wake. “Buy me a drink?”

Ahem. You awkwardly clear your throat. Surprise flits across her features, as if she just realised that you were there. I mean, fair, you were standing next to the Gojo Satoru.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry, are you together?” Her hands flew to her face, mouth open in a perfect ‘o’, distress present in her pretty eyes. 

“No, no,” your laugh comes out strained. “We’re just friends. He’s all yours.”

As you glance up at him, you swear you see a flash of hurt in his eyes, the slightest twitch of his lips. Just as quickly, he beams back at you, all smiles. Were you imagining things? No, probably just wishful thinking.  

“Yeah,” Satoru affirms, “I’m all yours.” He locks eyes with her, cocking his head flirtatiously. You swear you hear your heart break. 

You need to go. And you need another drink. 

You excuse yourself, mumbling something about going to the bathroom. A pair of eyes, hot and heavy, follow you through the sea of bodies as you push through. Your heart sank with every step, twisting into something so, so ugly. You didn’t have any right to him. You didn’t have any right to feel this way. So why did you?. 

You were right, it was sticky and sweaty. But it was sure as hell better than watching your best friend put the moves on another girl. 

You whip your head back to look at them, hair flying, earrings stinging. The warm, overheard lights cast a reverent glow on them. The angular lines of his face were soft, and his ears were pink. Intense concentration etched in his beautiful eyes, something that you’ve only ever seen when you glance at him during physics lectures. But it was directed to her. It was clear. He was captivated. 

“Owch,” A voice rips you out of your thoughts. You turn back, tearing your eyes away from them. Oh. The crimson gaze from before. 

“Hey, gorgeous. Your hair, uh,” he points to the right side of his face, rubs his jaw a little with a small pout.  

Guilt courses through your veins. Frantic, you grab his left shoulder (it was a lot firmer than you expected), “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear...” Your gaze drifts down to his arm, following the dark ink spiralling along down to his wrist. 

The corners of his lips tug into a shit-eating smirk, exposing fanged canines that bit against the plush of his lips. 

“You’re not forgiven, doll. Unless…” He leans in, voice husky and low, “You let me buy you a drink.” 

Well. You are at a club. And, he is hot. And you did not want to think about Satoru right now. 

“Make that seven, and we have a deal,” you purr. Screw Satoru, screw feelings. You squeeze his firm shoulder, your other hand reaching to brush the side of his thigh. 

His smirk grows wider, and his hand finds its way to the small of your back. 

“Sukuna’s got you,” he whispers, with a nip of your ear.

-

You don’t know how many drinks you’ve had. 

At some point, the alcohol stopped feeling like devastation, and more so like liquid melatonin. Satoru hadn’t looked at you all night. Still enraptured with his nice, new girl — all cherry lips and no history. You, on the other hand, are a loser. Fifty seven times. Fifty seven times that you stole a glance at him, and fifty seven times he didn’t look back. It was like you didn’t exist in his world, invisible to the one person you thought saw you most. You felt like a sulky bobblehead, and the lights spun with each movement you made. You shifted slightly, turning your heavy head towards the bartender. One more drink couldn’t hurt. 

“It’ll definitely hurt, missy.” Sukuna laughed, the sound dying as his drink reached his lips. Had you said that aloud? 

A low grumble left your lips, and you turned to pout at the man. He’d had as many drinks as you had, but with the easy way he made conversation with the bartender, and the effortless way in which he’d just said anemone (how does that come up in conversation anyway?), you’d never have guessed. 

Sukuna’s easy grin never faltered. He carried himself like a man who knew the world would bend to his every command. His comfort was all shadows — dark, fleeting, yet, it shielded you from the worst of your ache. 

“You sure you want to keep going?” Low, dangerous. 

Your stomach tightened, too willing to just let go. 

Though your head was heavy, your feet felt as light as air. Floating your way to the lounge, you collapsed on the couch.  

You feel so dizzy, your eyelids fluttering shut. You just want to go to sleep. At home. Crawl into bed. Disappear for a while. 

A large hand wraps around your shoulders, pulling your head onto his chest with little resistance while supporting your back. Sukuna strokes your hair, and you feel the faint pressure of his rings against your scalp. Even the booming techno music isn’t enough to wake you up, you’re just so done. You snuggle into Sukuna’s chest; in your defence, it’s the best pillow you have right now. The tacky leather of the couch sticks to the back of your thighs, your dress riding dangerously high. Your eyes flutter shut, and Sukuna’s coarse fingers trail to your mid-thigh, drawing comforting circles — grounding you. You shiver. Sukuna watches you carefully, stilling his fingers and pulling back. You should let him, but you wrap a hand around his, tugging him back to your thigh. 

Self-hatred devours you. You hate yourself for being so easy to comfort. For reaching for the nearest warmth when the one you really want doesn’t even care if you’re by his side. For all your pride, you’re really nothing without his attention. 

The smell of Satoru’s cologne lingers on you. But the smell is fading, replaced by the smell of nicotine and sin. 

Maybe you just need someone to want you right now. 

Maybe you just want Satoru to look this way, just once.  

Guilt coils in your gut, but you’re too tired to fight it. 

All you know right now is that your head is throbbing. That his hands are warm. And that in this moment, you can pretend it’s him. Pretend you’re wanted. 

The comforting motion begins once again, and you let out a pretty sigh. Sukuna smirks. 

-

Across the bar, Satoru Gojo is seething. If he were a cartoon, steam would be shooting from his ears. His narrowed eyes are locked onto your form, cuddled into some guy’s side. Did you like him? Was that your type? Should he get tattoos? Would that make you finally see him? You nuzzle closer, and his heart twists. Wait, is that his hand on your thigh? His jaw locks so tightly he wonders if he’ll still have teeth by the end of the night. 

Did you even know this guy? Were you safe? It didn’t seem like he was trying to pull anything — not yet, anyway. Satoru closes his eyes. Reminds himself to drop his shoulders. Reminds himself to unclench his jaw. Tells himself to shrug it off. Relax, she knows how to take care of herself. It’s not the first time you had gone out drinking, and it’s not the first time he’s seen you shamelessly batting your eyelashes at a hottie to get a free drink. He thinks it's resourceful, actually, and it’s so funny to watch you swindle them when he’s the one pulling you into the taxi at the end of the night. 

This time is different though. He’s never seen you cling onto someone like this before, with your cheeks flushed, your delicate hands sprawled across both your laps. It hits him like a well aimed punch of betrayal, but he knows that’s not fair. 

He was the one who abandoned you first, choosing to talk to that girl, and not you. He knew it was wrong, it felt like it was against his very being. Satoru just wanted to see how you’d react. He hoped you’d pull him closer, claiming your spot next to him. Needed to hear jealousy oozing from your words. Was desperate for an indication, any sign, that your heart raced as traitorously as his did when he was next to you. 

He thought he could keep you at arm’s length. Indulge in the brightness of your laughter, your sass as you teased him relentlessly, admire your thoughtfulness. Flirt with you, because you both knew it was a joke (it wasn’t for him. It was never a joke for him). Pull you close, like proximity could make up for his refusal to admit to his feelings. And now some knock-off delinquent with discount tattoos and an unoriginal smirk was putting the moves on the girl he wants so badly.

Your jewelry catches the emerald hued light of the dance floor, glinting at him from across the room. You’ve opened your eyes, and you’re scanning the room like you’re mentally parting the sea of people to find him. Satoru adjusts his posture, rolling his shoulders back, tilting his chin slightly upwards — can’t blame a man for knowing his angles; can’t blame a man for needing to look irresistible. Just before your eyes land on his, the man you’re with lifts your chin, saying something low against your ear. Your eyes widen. That’s it, he’s coming over. 

His heart is already halfway across the room; his body just follows. 

-

Sukuna’s telling you that someone is staring daggers at him right now. That they kind of look like they want to obliterate him on the spot for being with you. 

Bitterness in your throat, it’s like the tiredness in your eyes has been replaced with venom. There is no one in this room that feels that way about you. 

You wished otherwise. But that was the truth, a bitter pill you had been trying to swallow all night. It’s cruel, you think. How he keeps giving you hope. Taking it away the next second. Or maybe you’re just angry that you believe him every single time. 

You’re trying to glare down at him through your lower lashes — which proves difficult when you’re practically slumped onto his body. With a huff, you rise to your (wobbly) feet. 

Much better — now you can scold him for playing with your sad, tired heart. 

Crossing your arms across your chest, you lean down to really give him a piece of your mind. 

Heels and alcohol don’t mix though. Your balance tips all at once. Head lurches past your feet. Fuck.

Your hands fly out in front of you. Muscles tense in anticipation, you’re waiting for the thud, to feel Sukuna’s body under yours (but not in the way he expected tonight to go..). It never comes. 

A warm arm wraps itself around your waist. Strong, familiar. 

“Hey Princess, don’t you go falling for someone that’s not me.” Oh. You knew that teasing tone. Could pick it out of a room of overlapping conversations easily. Your body begs to melt into the sharp outline of his, but you’re still feeling petty, so you stay stiff, resisting the pull that is him.

“Hey,” Satoru calls your name again, low and coaxing, “It’s hometime.” 

You tilt your head sideways, quizzical, looking up through your eyelashes at the white haired man. “Oh. Gojo.” 

The name is foreign, tastes wrong on your tongue. Too distant. 

“Gojo?” 

Satoru’s voice comes out strangled. He hasn’t been Gojo to you since before high school. Short, and sharp, his breaths are haggard against your ear. The thud of his racing heartbeat against your back. The ever tightening grip of his soft hands, hard on your skin. His forearm gently pulls your body closer. It's still not close enough. 

“It’s Satoru to you,”  he murmurs. 

Scrunching your nose, “Okay fine,” you sigh, clearly not budging, “I want to stay with Kuna though. Kuna’s comfy…you’re exhausting.” You’re aiming to kill. 

Sukuna raises a brow, dimples showing, and the corner of his mouth twitching as if to say try me. But he lounges back on the leather like it's his throne, challenging Satoru to challenge your drunken rambling. 

Words cannot describe the sheer disbelief on Satoru’s face. His beautiful features are contorted dramatically — eyebrows shooting into his messy fringe, mouth partially open like he wants to say ew, and he’s no longer breathing.

“Um no you don’t and no he isn’t,” He’s gentle, but there’s no mistaking the sharpness of his tone. His hands are trembling, like he’s one second away from breaking. “Come on, you’re wasted. We’re going home. Now.” He wraps a hand around your forearm and puppets it into a limp wave. “Bye, Kuna. Thanks for your…help.” Satoru’s clipped tone isn’t fooling anyone. 

It’s automatic, it’s out of your control, the way you immediately slump against his frame. And Satoru can’t help the way he feels when you finally surrender to him. 

-

Satoru has to drag you into the taxi. Click goes the seatbelt, as Satoru nimbly belts you up — his silky hair brushing against your face like a feather duster. The muscle of his arm contracts, moves against your waist, your stomach, as he shoves you inside— you can’t help it, it tickles, and giggles bubble up your throat, filling the silence of the cab. 

Wait. 

You’re supposed to be wallowing in your self pity right now. And ignoring him. 

You cross your legs towards the window (decidedly away from Satoru), and you whip your face in the same direction. 

Huff. 

Petulant? Yes. Did you care? No. You wanted so desperately to make him feel like he was losing you, just this once. 

Just like you’ve always felt. 

His stare bores into the back of your head, the whole ride back to your apartment. 

You stomp ahead of him, heels clacking loudly as you ascend the stairs, pushing open the front door with force — leaving it unlocked for him, you know he’s following anyway. You hope he’s following. 

Satoru trails behind you, arms crossed, tense, footsteps silent. Ears pick up on his fumbling with his keyring, finding the vibrant, hot pink spare you gave him, and locking the door with a click. A chord of shame, guilt, satisfaction, rips through you. You’re ashamed that you want him here, after the show you put on in the club. Sheepish, that you acted in that way. You didn’t even want Sukuna that bad anyway. Satisfied, that in spite of that, he’s here. He’s here. 

You’ve moved into the bathroom, sighing into your reflection, as you lean onto the sink. You pump oil cleanser onto your palm, rubbing furiously into your skin, like it’d scrub tonight’s events from your memory. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

Foundation-tinted water spirals down the sink. Still, you reach for the makeup remover—like it could erase the night.

“Hey, can I come in?”

Satoru. 

A sigh. “Sure.”

His figure moves into your peripheral vision, a hand holding scrunched up silky pajamas, the other tucked into his pants pocket. He’s half-hidden by the wooden door frame, like he doesn’t want to be seen by your anger-clouded stare. He’s looking downwards, to the side, eyelids lowered. 

He walks over, sets the pajamas by the sink. His eyes follow the way you rub at your eyelids, makeup remover soaked cotton pad in one hand. The mascara just won’t lift.

Satoru grabs the cotton, pries the makeup remover from your hands. “Just let me help,” voice low, and soft, “Promise it won’t hurt.” 

He’s already taken the remover. You sigh, stilling. “Fine.” The hum of the bathroom fans permeates the silence. You close your eyes, letting him press the liquid soaked material against your eyelashes. 

You let your eyes flutter open when he finally pulls back, the cotton pad now darkened with the last of your stubborn mascara. He holds it up like a trophy, grinning at first — until he sees your face, properly sees it, like the act of cleaning away the makeup stripped away your armour too.

You're bare now. In more ways than one. And he knows it.

“I’ll go warm up your bed,” he mumbles, like it’s something casual. Like the weight in his gaze didn’t make your knees want to give out.

You nod, wordless.

When you step into your room, it’s dimly lit — just the soft golden hue of your bedside lamp casting shadows along the walls. The sheets are pulled back on your side. And Satoru’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, his back to you, elbows resting on his thighs like the weight of the day has finally gotten to him too.

The door creaks behind you as you step inside, slowly. Your legs feel heavy. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the ache of everything you’ve left unsaid.

You get in bed without a word. Pull the blankets up to your chest. Big hands tug at the corners of your blankets, tucking them under the mattress. The silence thickens.

It’s like he’s wrapping a towel around a feisty cat, with how hard he's tucked you into your sheets. Featherlight, his palm cups your jaw as his thumb brushes at the corner of your lower lashes. It lingers for a touch too long, like he’s savouring being so close, so intimate. You both feel it, the line he’s toeing. Your pulse stutters, leaning into his touch before he removes his hand, brandishing a smudge of black on his fingertip. 

“Leftover eyeliner.” Satoru says, voice casual, and distant. But you catch how his hand flexes, twitches. He stands back up, eyes darting to the corner of your room, averting eye contact. Oh, right. You’re reading too much into his actions. He didn’t like you. Any decent person would do this for you, for anyone. You weren’t special. 

Warm tears pool in your eyes, and silent rivers run down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, pretty girl, why are you crying?” He says, voice laced with panic, movements frantic above you. Thud. He drops to his knees, cupping your alcohol-flushed face with both frigid palms. His silver eyebrows draw together, skin creasing in the middle. 

You bring your own hand to his face, pressing firmly between his eyebrows, smoothing out the furrow. “It’s nothing. ‘s not like you care.”

“I care about you,” Satoru mumbles, looking deep into your eyes, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”  

“Do…you like me?”

“You’re really doing this?” He questions, fingers carding through his hair — like he was annoyed, frustrated, at you even, for disrupting the illusion of friendship you had. The expression melts off his face, when he notices the trembling of your lips, the springing of fresh tears. 

His hands reach for you, but you’re flinching away like he’s just struck you. 

“Right. Of course.” You flick your eyes from his stunned face — mouth still agape, like he’s still processing — to the alarm clock by your bedside.  

Satoru got you the alarm clock on your bedside table, after your phone alarm failed one too many times. He had complained that he looked like a loser in Calculus III; sitting all by his lonesome, looking like an abandoned puppy with how he turned to look at each person who entered the lecture room. 

Don’t ever leave me alone again, he’d pouted, smacking the air out of your lungs. 

The memories run rampantly through your mind as you silently grieved the loss of your relationship, fists clenched, fingernails digging into your palm — desperately trying to replace the ache in your heart with the physical sting. They clung to you like a second-skin, every detail vivid, bright, in the quiet darkness of your room. 

You blinked, head roughly tossing from side to side, like you could physically catapult the memories, the experiences, Satoru, from your mind — desperate to halt the flood of emotions threatening to drown you. 

You were done. You had to be done. 

The boy next to you is a statue, head hung low, like he wants to say something, anything, but can’t. 

You turn toward him, your heart pounding as you break the silence. Hands trembling, shaking. “We can’t be friends anymore,” breath hitching, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, faltering at the edges with hurt, as your voice wavered. 

Your lungs felt like they were being crushed, your mind reeling, but it was too late to take it back. You had drawn the line, and you weren’t going to cross it ever again. For your sake. 

“Wait what–” Satoru starts, but you press a finger against his lips, “Just…can you kiss me? Then you can go.” 

He’s kissed plenty, only to ghost them the next day. The least he could do was offer you the same kindness, no?

His brain is short-circuiting, his mouth agape. Something wild flares in his widened eyes. His gaze flickers to yours, like he was trying to piece it out, but the puzzle didn’t make sense no matter how he arranged the parts. 

You’re rolling over, hands reaching out to his face. Tender, and soft, you thumb at the sharpness of his jaw. He shudders at the feeling, muscles relaxing, leaning into your touch. His breath hitches as you draw impossibly closer. 

“You’re drunk, we can’t–,” his breath ghosts over your own, puffy lips. Hesitation heavy in his voice. 

You don’t give him the chance to finish, edging closer, lips hovering just shy of his. Breaths mingling, noses tilting, heartbeat thundering. Every part of you aching for something that you couldn’t have, would never have. 

You pull back, just a fraction. Meeting his eyes — radiantly sapphire, an abyss you’d gladly fall into over and over again — filled with so many unsaid words.

“Right.” You draw in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” voice barely a whisper. The weight of his rejection hanging in the air between you, the hurt searing your soul.

You slump back to your pillow, and you turn away from him. You let him go. 

You hear the creaking of the floorboards, the rustle of his clothes, as he rises from beside you. Each movement is so slow, so painfully slow. Leave already, you want to scream. 

The door doesn’t close right away. You can hear him standing in the hallway — a breath held, a presence refusing to vanish. And then, finally, the soft click. Silence.

Cause that’s what he’s always done. Leave. 

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms 

[moonamite]

Monsters at work? More like FAGGOTS at work! Am I right fellas??

[curtis-brothers-hug]

When Darry and Paul are seniors, there’s this crop of annoying freshmen Socs on the JV football team who follow Paul around like rich, spoiled ducklings. Apparently Paul’s parents are friends with a lot of their parents or whatever, connections from the same rich, snotty west side neighborhood. They’re always hanging around Paul, bugging him for rides and booze. (At seventeen, Paul’s fake ID is more convincing than these preppy kindergartners.)

One day they play a prank on the kids - Paul generously lets all the Soc boys pile into his mustang with Darry driving. Darry has perfected his technique of driving like a bat outta hell to entertain his little brothers. He speeds, takes razor sharp turns, spins the car in circles, skids a little too close to ditches. It has the desired effect. The passengers are all terrified, nauseous, or both. Trip screams like a girl. (What kinda name is Trip anyway?) Brill (ditto on the dumb name) has a death grip on the door handle so hard his knuckles are white, eyes wide with terror. When they get out of the car, Chet throws up. And Bobby (“Paul, quit calling me that, it’s Bob now!”) looks like he ain’t even breathing.

Darry and Paul laugh their asses off.

Darry gets a sudden sense of Deja vu in Pershing park. Through the coating of rain, mud, and blood, he sees swatches of torn madras shirts floating in puddles, wobbling upright, and stumbling away toward cars that somebody had stupidly given them a license to operate.

Darry and Paul are glaring at each other like they’ve never laughed together a day in their lives. Trip takes a nasty looking punch from Two-Bit, and screams like a girl. Brill stands frozen for a moment until his friends grab him, fists clenched so hard they’re vibrating, eyes wide with terror. Chet drops to his knees on his way out of the park, and throws up. And Bobby - Bob -

Bob isn’t breathing.

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

The misunderstanding of carpe diem + physical harm in dps makes me absolutely crazy

Knox stalks a girl, doesn’t take no for an answer and gets hurt because of it (gets punched by Chet). He deals with physical harm. He ends up getting the girl, but he had a price to pay, a punishment to endure. Chet threatened him, he could have been in danger. Knox didn’t think he did anything wrong. He apologized to Chris, but with the stalking and such, it never went through his head “hey this might be kinda fucked up” while he was doing it.

That’s not what Keating said. He didn’t told them to be careless and act on their impulses even if that might get them in danger.

Charlie pulls his “phone call from god” prank and many things happen. One, when he first published the article he revealed the club (although not its members or activities) without anyone else’s permission. Two, he could have gotten expelled. Three, he got hit by Nolan, a physical punishment. Just like knox, he dealt with physical harm and risked expulsion. Charlie didn’t think he did anything wrong.

Keating himself told him that he flew too close to the sun, than he didn’t mean that in his lessons. Carpe diem is not choking on the bone.

Neil seemed to understand Carpe Diem, he was just desperate. It’s not than he was impulsive, or careless, he was just incredibly desperate, and that’s somehow worse. Neil goes behind his father’s back and joins a play. He writes a letter pretending to be him, sneaks off to rehearsal. When his father finds out, he has a price to pay (his father enrolling him on military school and forcing him to stop acting) and ends up dying by shooting himself (physical harm). Neil definitely knew, and thought about what would happen if his father discovered, but he was so desperate to live, to do something he wanted for once, he didn’t care, he began hoping he would manage to keep it hidden. Neil thought he was in the right (which, honestly, he was). He didn’t see anything wrong in what he did, simply wanted to fulfill his passion, passion than didn’t hurt anyone, passion than didn’t involve anyone else other than himself. The contrast with Charlie/Knox and yet, still having the same consequences… Peter Weir I’m hunting you down.

This is not what Keating encouraged. Remember how Keating asked him to talk to his father? Remember how he asked him if he talked to him (and Neil lied and said yes) and he was very happy and supported his decision about the play? Remember how, before knowing his father “agreed” Keating didn’t tell Neil “oh you’re already in the play, go through with it, carpe diem, who cares what your father says?” but instead told him “talk to your father. If he says yes then you can continue with the play with no worries, and if he says no then wait until you’re out of school and he won’t be able to control you as much anymore. You have options, this is not the end of the world. Either talk to him and come to an agreement or wait.” Remember that? Keating didn’t want Neil to go behind his father’s back, because he knew the consequences this would have.

(Interesting how, out of all the physical harm than the misunderstanding of carpe diem caused, Neil’s is the only one inflicted by himself to his own body. I’m definitely very normal about this.)

Charlie, again. He punched Cameron. Acted on impulse, didn’t think of the consequences punching another student on school grounds, on school hours, actually meant. He got expelled. He suffered a punishment. But now he didn’t receive any physical harm, but rather caused it. To Cameron. He didn’t think he did anything wrong, he thought Cameron deserved it.

Cameron. He’s the hardest to understand. He wants to seize the day, in his own way. After all, he joins the club despite not really having to, but he simply seems too scared to actually carpe that diem. He ends up seeing this as dangerous. After what happened to Neil (dead), and after seeing what happened to Charlie (almost expelled) and Knox (ended up with a bloody face) he gets scared. Damn, this might actually be dangerous. It’s a good reasoning. 3/7 members got hurt. Not half of them, but almost. He misunderstood carpe diem based on the consequences seizing the day had in the others (the others who misunderstood what it actually meant) and so he snitched to nolan. And this is what causes him physical harm, what causes him to be punched by Charlie. He loses something (his friendship with the other poets) and gets physically hurt. So, so, sooo interesting how despite this being considered the complete opposite to seizing the day, it’s framed in the exact same way as all the other instances where carpe diem takes part. He suffers the same consequences as everyone else. He believed himself to be doing the right thing, to be saving the others’ academic lives and doing now what he couldn’t have done for Neil before (protecting others from keating’s influence).

Keating never meant for carpe diem to be dangerous, or hurtful, or scary.

But then Todd.

Todd’s carpe diem is just becoming more confident. Reading his poems aloud, becoming more sociable and comfortable around his friends, accepting than he’s allowed to receive love, to rely on others, to believe in himself, to stand up for himself and his beliefs (refusing to sign the paper and saying no to his parents and nolan).

His final stand, his seize the day moment, is at the end of the film. He’s the first one to stand on the desk. This is the perfect rebellion. Meaningful, happens for a reason (Keating getting unfairly fired), doesn’t harm anyone else and doesn’t harm himself (doesn’t cause him nor anyone else physical pain). No danger (he might get in trouble, but I doubt he could face expulsion for standing on a desk). Charlie’s act on Neil/Keating’s memory was one of anger, impulsive, one that drew blood and ended in expulsion. Todd’s was one of defiance, impulsive, but that hurt no one and ended well. It’s more, it caused happiness (Keating felt better, saw his contributions).

The one who felt more scared to go through with it at first is the only one who truly understood it.

Then with Meeks/Pitts idk honestly. They don’t really have a big moment. I guess at the end, standing on the desks, but they’re not the ones who start it or are particularly important in that scene. The radio scene, perhaps, but I don’t really see what was stopping them from building a radio before. If the radio scene was their carpe diem, though, then another example of someone understanding what it truly meant. The scene ended well, didn’t hurt anyone or involved anyone who was unwilling, they didn’t get any punishment after, etc.

[kingofbrooklynn]

Things I noticed in The Outsiders Musical

Includes multiple viewings!

- “heyyy muscles” -twobit

- ace defending darry

- DALLY LAUGHING AT RITF

- devin brill hateful barton brill regretful

- johnny making fun of ponyboy wanting to be cool for the socs

- johnny stops acting cool when chet glares at him

- darry looking DISGUSTED

- steve and darry lowkey flirting the entire time???

- melvin saying ”boyfriends” to trip after pony said parry were friends

- cherchet canon

- two ruffled darrys hair

- marcia saying “that is so inappropriate!” when steve humped the ground

- “heyy muscles!” “hello 😐”

- DARYL TOFA GIVING ME A FIST BUMP?

- ponyboy starting to actually imagine a life without ol��� darry around

- “c’mere handsome” -trip to twobit

- TRIP CHECKING ON MELVIN BEFORE THE RUMBLE THE BROTHERS

- darry winking at twobit.

- “shut up”- darry when soda started singing during ggah

- darry flipping soda off

- twobit threatening paul??? over darry???

- brill going “that’s not funny” when twobit called bob robert

- soda looking confused when darry said he wants to settle down with a lady

- paul breaking down and SOBBING

- marcia slapping trip

- darry stops crying immediately when cherry looks at him

- SODA AND DARRY PLAYFIGHTING

- brill helping trip ❤️

- brill and bob the only socs to drown pony

- CHETTRIP HUG

- ace trying to read ponyboy’s wet notebook

- darry going for johnny during ritfr but soda protecting him

- marbit flirtingggg

- bev leaving and brill immediately drinking

- chet and twobit fighting (over trip…? jk.)

- TWOBIT HAS BROWNIES!!! (made by mama mathews? made by darry? weed brownies? we’ll never know.)

- paul was checking some greaser out idk which one

- brill flipping off someone (probably ace or two)

- bob smelling cherry’s sweater???

- paul doing a weird thing where he pretends he doesn’t have a hand then attacks johnny with his hand?? what???

- sodapop clapping when pony said he was talking to cherry

- steve telling darry he works too hard

- ACE AND SODA KISSING???

- twobit rizzing marcia…? okay…?

- chet about to protect cherry from dally but paul telling him to wait (he knew cherry would tell him off)

- paul running to stop johnny from stabbing bob but not getting there in time.

- “they had us in the first half not gonna lie”-darry after rumble

- brill asking paul if he’s ok :(

- twobit grabbing darry’s face

- brill crying

- chet and brill grieving together don’t make me cry

- dally going to attack steve but darry protecting him

- irish brill

- twobit yelling “get the fuck up!” at trip

- trip thought he could get away with the ring on his finger during rumble. darry got EYES (my huzz)

- twobit fake moaning when he humped sodas leg or whatever

- ghost bob smiling approvingly at cherchet

- johnny stimming

- steve waving at socs

- brill looking FLABBERGASTED when bob hit pony’s head against the car

- johnny and pony need to stop holding hands so much

- darry hyperventilating after slapping pony

- ace flirting with EVERYONE

- soda hitting darry with the towel

- darry sobbing and being like all of us during stay gold

- darry and his nervous stims

- dallas getting scared of the flashlight because police flashbacks

- J.C. + P.C. written on the wood

- paul stop staring at darry

- darry smiling at two during ggah

- i don’t think brill thinks they were having fun…

- sassy darry

- beverly going “you need a light?” to twobit after burning him

[danwhobrowses]

So ever since it was confirmed that the upcoming Daggerheart live show in Exandria would be involving Bell's Hells I've been looking through the current content to see how BH will be reskinned into the Daggerheart setting. Bearing in mind that Daggerheart, being still very new to the block and not having all the expansions and exceptions that Critical Role has utilised and tweaked in 5e, has its own set of strict-ish rules regarding character creation.

While I know I'm not the first to do this I did fall into a small theory, if you're willing to take the scenic route XD

So for starters we should look at what we have already. Like many others my curiosity of converting Bell's Hells from 5e to Daggerheart stemmed from BH having a litany of passive abilities that don't appear to gel with Daggerheart cleanly. So we start by covering what can be covered.

Firstly, we have to consider the levels. Since Daggerheart levels go up to 10 rather than 20 (if you want to read how I expected BH could shape up in a 5e Lv20 state you can read this), the safe bet is that the live show will put BH at Daggerheart's Level 8, the early Tier 4 for single classes, which would sit around Level 16 for 5e. This will probably be the zone which the live show will take place since Bell's Hells ended the campaign at Level 15 (gaining 2 temporary levels from the Matron for the Predathos fight), and it provides room for the max level variations of BH to be presented in a future one-shot. With that in mind this is how I would predict each character would set up with the information we know from Daggerheart already;

Orym: Orderborne Halfling, Level 8 (Tier 4) Call of the Brave Warrior

Dorian: Highborne Skykin, Level 8 (Tier 4) Troubadour Bard

Imogen: Hearthborne Human, Level 8 (Tier 4) Elemental Origin Sorcerer

Laudna: Freeborne Human, Level 6 (Tier 3) Hedge Witch & Level 2 (Tier 2) Pact of the Endless Warlock

Braius: Orderborne reskinned Firbolg, Level 5 (Tier 3) Divine Wielder Seraph & Level 3 (Tier 2) Wordsmith Bard

Fearne: Wildborne Faun, Level 6 (Tier 3) Warden of the Elements Druid & Level 2 (Tier 2) Nightwalker Rogue

Ashton: Slyborne Earthkin, Level 8 (Tier 4) Stalwart Guardian

Chetney: Warborne Gnome, Level 6 (Tier 3) Wayfinder Ranger & Level 2 (Tier 2) Executioner's Guild Assassin

At the time of initially writing this, we didn't have the new bundle of content added to the Void on June 24th, which did cut out a lot of my explaining and arguments for what would replace a Genasi and Gnome - I also didn't want to delve into stats and Domain cards because, well, you guys don't have all day.

In terms of Multiclassing, I've put all multiclassers into Tier 2 for their secondary class simply because it gives them more domain cards to use, even it's just a Level 1 or 2 card, but I can see Chet, Laudna, and Braius doing a singular dip into multiclass instead, given that the class doesn't offer as much as the 5e multiclass does and you're only limited to one Multiclass - which could make characters like FRIDA difficult to cross over.

The addition of newer communities led to me changing my choices for Laudna, Imogen, and Chetney (of whom I chose Underborne for Laudna and Chet and Loreborne for Imogen), while the new Witch class - following the still in beta Warlock class - seems to benefit Laudna more than the Sorcerer does, with her more focused around the spooky and communing parts of her 5e Shadow Sorcery subclass. I also swapped Chet's Syndicate Rogue for the other new class: Assassin. Although like Laudna it appears to be a departure from their 5e classes, Assassin seems to focus more on the offensive elements of 5e's Rogue rather than the evasive and persuasive that DH's Rogue leans more towards - which also suits Fearne more than Assassin does. While I am aware that there is a Faerie ancestry, I also felt that Fearne could easily stick as a Faun and just use her Fey upbringing as an Experience, that way her fey traits can be utilized when required such as charming or causing trickery or pickpocketing Ashton or whoever has one of those eggs she covets. Chet's build could work as a Warrior too but I felt Ranger was probably the more diverse option for him - plus Orym has it covered - to aid with his Lycanthrope abilities and tracking skills, but this too can be subject to change. Imogen I kept as Elemental Origin for the Lightning usage, while she could dip into a Moon Witch class it would depend on whether Imogen would want to commune with the only entity she's connected to - Predathos - in such a way.

It is curious that Daggerheart does not yet have a Blood Hunter equivalent, however, given how they invented the class for 5e - along with 5e-compliant Gunslinger, Oath of the Open Sea, Way of the Cobalt Soul, Sympathy Domain, and Path of Fundamental Chaos subclasses. But while the Void has added new content to the core Daggerheart ruleset to better fit the builds of the characters of Exandria, there are a few glaring gaps to take into account. While some things can probably worked around such as familiars for Fearne and Laudna (we are not going to have Bell's Hells without Mister or Pate after all) and Chet's werewolf/hybrid forms, it isn't as easy to neatly copy over all the abilities, boons, and core skillsets synonymous with Bell's Hells and their style of play. The key character for this is Ashton; Guardians don't have a Rage equivalent and Unstoppable is only for a limited time once per Long Rest, so it is not so easy to bake in Ashton's Chaos bursts and Dunamancy abilities into Daggerheart as it is, and work would need to be done to rewrite the rules of theirs and Fearne's Primordial Titan forms with the boons and cost reflecting similarly to how they did in the campaign - or scaled to how they would've scaled under 5e's rules. Significant additions could also need to be applied for Imogen's always-active telepathy and lingering Exaltant powers, not to mention Laudna's entrapping of her patron - which would affect the Favor mechanic of the Warlock class.

While Bell's Hells as characters will act the same way in a Daggerheart setting, the changes and transition from 5e to Daggerheart can affect the way they approach problems or adversaries and that risks making the characters feel off from how they usually are - for instance, since the loadout is only 5 cards, the casters are very limited in their spellcasting, and the likes of Imogen and Laudna will end up needing to have a magic weapon equipped that they didn't have before. So I wondered to myself, why choose Bell's Hells for this Daggerheart in Exandria one-shot? When you think about it, Vox Machina does seem better equipped to transition into the new ruleset - especially now that Gnomes are covered - alternatively, the Menagerie could easily exist in Exandria too, or they could've just done fresh characters from Exandria and fans would still show up and love it. So why Bell's Hells? And I think it's because there's still more yet to be released.

My theory is that either before or during this Daggerheart live show, Daggerheart's first expansion will be unveiled: an Exandria Expansion.

Whether it's announced for the Void or a physical copy all ready to go, I can see this expansion filling the gaps for most of what Bell's Hells are unable to cleanly cover right now; transformative states or curses external from class and/or ancestry, friends and familiar sheets to add as a companion or summon, Campaign Frames for different eras and regions of Exandria or adventures like they did in 5e with Call of the Netherdeep, special equipment such as the Vestiges or unique equipment to PCs like Percy's guns and other inventions, Beau's Bo (bow optional), Yasha's Greatswords, Veth's crossbows, Gambolcleft, Turmoil, and Ashton's Hammer (bow also optional). CR-based magic and technology such as Dunamancy (which could be worked into a domain available for all classes if done right or simply its own additional loadout), Residuum, and Brumestone could also be included, and maybe even adding more new classes - if I were to make a guess; Blood Hunter and Artificer equivalents, or a Gunslinger equivalent for Percy and the Colossus of the Drylands campaign frame. We may even get more ancestries introduced through CR like Uniya, Reilora, and Bormodo, perhaps even subdivisions of ancestries such as Half-Elves, Half-Orcs, and altered Humans, or more beastfolk equivalents for Minotaurs, Centaurs, Kobolds, Kenku, and Eisfuura/Aarakocra. We could even get CR-based artwork on existing cards just for additional flavour, and themed dice.

If this ends up being a reality, this will probably allow an easier understanding of how Bell's Hells will shape up and transition into Daggerheart. While some things may still need reskinning, reshuffling, or just pure homebrewing, I doubt Critical Role would choose Bell's Hells for this task if they didn't feel that they could blend into this new ruleset smoothly. A fluid transition to Daggerheart from 5e will also prove its flexibility for veteran or hesitant 5e players and help bring Critical Role fully into Daggerheart's style of play for potentially Campaign 4.

Maybe more information or elaboration will come later down the line, and maybe the group will even do a Session 0 to show the process of their characters' Daggerheart build and justify their changes and alterations, or to make all our predictions right or wrong, but for now it just remains a hypothetical albeit interesting idea.

[specific-dreamer]

mmmm thinking about the socs not being able to move on from bob’s death because that’s the first time their actions have had consequences and bob subsequently not being able to move on in death so he’s tethered to tulsa still. bob not knowing what else to do with his afterlife so he follows his friends.

he watches bev and brill who somehow are still tough skinned and thriving. he follows brill to his grave sometimes and listens as brill talks to him and pours one out for him. on the rare occasion bev goes to visit his grave he listens to her call him a stupid idiot through sobs and he longs to comfort her

he watches marcia and his heart aches for her when she starts pulling away from trip because he knows how much they liked each other. he use to think they were a (better) version of him and cherry

he watches chet who goes looking for more fights a lot more often. he watches chet a lot if only because he sees himself a lot in him and he’s scared chet is going to join him real soon.

he watches melvin and sergei a lot too. he hardly knew them but they were the same age as ponyboy curtis and kinda just wants to make sure no one goes after them like he did the curtis kid

most of all, he watches cherry. they broke up and that was probably the scariest moment in his life, including when he got stabbed. not doing right by cherry is probably his biggest regret. he regrets bringing the liquor to the drive in that night, he regrets even going to the nightly double drive in period.

but he watches cherry go through the motions after he died. he watches their friends blame cherry for his death wishing he could say something because it was never cherrys fault. he was blindsided by rage and liquor that night but there wasn’t a single part of bob that blamed cherry. because the thing is he knew he was being irrational, he knew it was absurd to get angry at cherry for talking to a little kid but bobs always been jealous when it came to cherry and he’s always been quick to fly off the handle even when he’s sober. so no, his getting angry and going after those kids and getting himself killed was never cherrys fault and it pissed him off when everyone accused cherry.

(i got besides myself cough cough)

bob watches cherry and how she goes through the motions. he watches her through herself back into her school and volunteer work. he watches her when she goes in her backyard to watch the sun rise every morning. he watches her take away their beach boys albums and put them in a shelf in her closet.

most importantly he watches cherry when she finally learns to let go of him. he watches in real time as cherry stops blaming herself and allows herself to start dating other people again. and he’s not real fond of the guy, dr pepper or something he doesn’t really care, but if the guy makes cherry happy (and he does, he hasn’t seen cherry smile so bright and for so long since way before he died) then he’s alright with a cherry dating a greaser of all things- sorry, of all people.

[aforeffective]

au that i came up with with the help of my bestie @cherrycolacowboy

okay so paul and darry are dating when the curtis parents die and darry has to break up with paul because he can’t deal with the grief and the custody battles AND a relationship. paul is devastated but he understands and try’s to support darry from afar without making things worse for either of them.

then the state tells darry that he was denied full custody of pony and soda by the state, due to the financial status of the family. they grant him temporary custody while they attempt to find a foster family for the boys, as they don’t have any boys homes in the area that have room.

paul finds out about this, whether through tulsa gossip trains or from darry himself, and becomes a foster parent (unrealistic but we’ll just say his dad has connections in the state that he used and threw some money towards them to get himself accepted as pony and soda’s new guardian)

it’s definitely a bit awkward at first. they aren’t allowed to continue living with darry so they have to move into paul’s house on the west side (paul has his own house in this au btw). and technically it makes paul their legal guardian and foster dad, but they all refuse to acknowledge that cause it’s awkward and paul is just more of a brother (/brother-in-law) figure to them.

paul gave darry a spare key to his house (and obviously pony and soda also got keys) so that he’s able to come and see them anytime since they can’t still live with him. paul also tells them they’re allowed to have the gang over if they want but it takes a while for the gang to actually want to go over there.

when darry first had to tell the rest of the gang like “yeah, i lost custody but my old buddy paul is helping me out and took them in for me” dally is immediately on edge. a soc? taking in greaser kids? just out of kindness? yeah no, he immediately goes to paul’s house and is banging on the door, yelling at paul for ‘kidnapping his brothers’ (there might also be a punch thrown) (but then he notices the fact that paul was willing to take the punch for soda and pony and how the two boys looked concerned for paul when dally barged in and punched him so he begrudgingly agrees to calm down)

also because its us, chetsoda is canon and also chet and paul brotherism is real so chet is so upset cause he's like uhhhh what do you mean my pseudo brother adopted my crush????

UPDATE: we decided we're calling it a helping hand au

[simpingforbots]

Can I request for you to make a one shot of Sentinel and his pet (human) please. I also love your work!

Sure thing! sorry if it took so long to reply.

Little Birdie

Little chirps filled the room, making Sentinel Prime stop what was he doing and lifting his helm up, opticks sliding to small thing by his side.

Being Prime was not to bad – he had every thing he chased while 134 Primes were still active – fame, recognition and respect and fear. He can do what ever he wants, through the best of parties, have as many Iacon races he wants, entertained by pain and suffering racers, all for a moment of glory and a pinch of fame, quickly to be shadowed by him. The parties where the best, where he can snack on all the energon he wanted, walking around smaller bots, his wings faltering with pride when ever rich snob tries to get on his good side with all the gifts and presents. But even in such glorious life there was still work – he still had to take care of Iacon and his people, even if he did not wanted to, seating through meetings, signing document and do other boring task. The worst thing that he hated – boredom. He can never escape it, no matter how much he tried, no matter how bright the light shined upon him, it is always there, dragging behind him like a shadow. Letting a heavy sigh, he lulled his head on his arm, leaning on the table and watching the golden caged floating just to the side, housing a small thing that made all the noise.

A smallest being ever, no bigger then a servo, cybertronian alike – face, five digits, hands, torso, peds, but made out of strange squishy material, that was easily scratched and hurt, a long fur patch hanging down from the helm - a jewel of appearance on the small thing. It was given to him as a gift from Swindle – a well known bot for able to get the stuff, with moto “You want it – I have it”. Apparently this small thing was called something like a hooman, a native to Earth planet in far away galaxy – a planet that is strangely made mostly out of liquid then ground. They civilisation is still relatively primitive to theirs, their weapons unable to hurt them. When those small things are in big groups they pose threat, but all by them self they are defenceless. And this one was his pet.

 They rocked on the small set of swings inside they golden cage, chirping loudly about something in melodic tunes, trying to cure them self from the boredom as well from being cooped inside the cage for so long without any attention. They wore a blue garb with gold plating on their chets and torso, with golden collar around their small and easy to break neck, with gems mended in to it. Their long hair were let loose, but not messy, taken care of and brushed to make it look silky smooth. They just kept swinging back and forth, keeping them self buizy with useless task like this, making big blue bot sigh with jealousy, reaching over to tap on the cage, getting small creature attention.

It’s small helm turned, swing slowly coming to a stop as they stared at him with those small wide little opticks, waititng for something, letting a few chirps in their own language, jumping of the swing when it came to a stop, walking over to the wall of bars closest to him. Letting a small chuckle, false Prime put down the tablet, reaching for the containment and opening the small door, letting it hop on his hand. Lifting his servo up, he scratched the small helmet with another servo, lenaing back in his “royal” chair.

“Gonna sing me a song, little Birdy?” he let a sigh, able to feel boredom slowly leave him alone “sing” he made a movement with his hand, a simple command that demanded a song from a small thing. They listened, room filing with new chirps, more softer and sweeter, a pleasant tone to his audios. Lifting them up, he settled them on his shoulder pad, returning to work with a bit of entertainment. Time to time he wondered what it is you sung about – could you be singing about your home world, missing it in solitude of tune, letting notes of the song carry your longing through vast vacuum of space. Or were you singing about him, praising his beauty, his power and his kindness of taking care of you. He really did not care, as long as you behaved and loved him.

[ampreh]

[LIF S1] The Twins, Brett & Chet

During the final chapter of Season 1 of Let It Flow! players had to face strange creatures that had risen straight from the abyss of Vileville.

"Nightmare dogs, we call them. Straight out of the Cashtea-ler's dreams, it seems, after the latter has fallen asleep. Claws of steel, skin of oil and entrails reeking of acid. Beware of them: what you think are words are only the echoes of a child crying out for help…"

Sacrifices had to be made, and not everyone could be there to celebrate our heroes' victory. Victory? Only one of the t̵̗͖̙̻̥̘͓̘͕̓̂̿̄͆̒̎͛͊͐͝h̴̡̡͈͉̜̲͚̳̓͑̅̐̐̃͜͝r̸̨̫̘͇͉̱̯̟͓̳̍e̷̙͖̠͎͈͊̈́͒́̎̈́̐̋̎̿́͒̚͘͠e̸̥̮͎̪̰̪͇̹̽͋̉͋̉̽̌̓͆̈́̃̕̕͘͘brothers is still ̶̣͓͔̥̞͓̟̭͕͇̟͗̀̊̾̑͋͗̍̕ą̶̢̲̥̳̟͔̠͕͙͇͖̅̌̾͌͂͒̈̋̇̃͂̚̚͝l̸̨̪͖͎̘͍͚̙̯̠̗̯͚̇̃̂̏͂̏̔̓̒̒͘̚͜͜i̶̙͇͕͊̈́̆͊̄͘͝v̸̻̩̪͖̣̭̪̈́̑̐͗̽͂͊̏́̏̒̋͜e̷̲̥̬̯͉̦̳͌͆̌ͅ, locked away in the most secret place in the Cashtea-ler's cursed Thneedville. Unless…

Meanwhile, the orphanage has suffered a strange attack from a giant mechanical cat, probably still roaming the dark, icy streets.

Season 2 has just begun, and who knows what our survivors will have to face. • Brett black & white and The amusement park attack illus are made by @nalak-bel \o/