#Gale force 5

[bisexual-rikku]

In the US right now, folks are putting in their votes for the next president, but I feel like you guys are ignoring the best possible candidate:

[heylittleriotact]

So two very dear friends and myself had an online multiplayer BG3 campaign called Gale Force 5 where the three of us each played a gnome of a different martial class and dragged Gale everywhere with us while being completely fucking unhinged (and naked).

I had to delete all my saves when Patch 7 broke my game, so we’re starting over tonight and I’m really trying to convince the team that three half-orc wild magic sorcerers would be a fabulous idea.

[strawberrychocotoast]

Cake Check Podcast Finale spoilers!

[shinynewmemories]

All the final lines of each part of every Hunger Games book

THG: 

Part I:

“Because . . . because . . . she came here with me.”

Part II:

Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta’s name.

Part III:

I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

CF:

Part I:

It’s my mockingjay.

Part II:

This is no place for a girl on fire.

Part III:

“Katniss, there is no District Twelve.”

MJ:

Part I:

And his blood as it splatters the tiles.

Part II:

That I’m of more use to her dead than alive.

Part III:

I tell him, “Real.”

[just-an-enby-lemon]

"The kid seems scared.

Tip had always been a little nervous. Or at least that was the reality when the two had met.

It was fairly obvious for everyone that met them that the child had not been treated well by their formar guardian and in a way that Elphaba sadly recognized still seemed to afraid of facing the same pain and rejection again.

Still lately the kid seemed more relaxed and open, treating her with the same easiness and earnest they did Jack. More determined to learn than eager to please. Following her around with questions and vibrating with excitement as she turned wooden sticks into dolls and toy swords alike. It made her think of Nessa in a very bittersweet way.

She failed her sister and she would not allow herself to fail another young person she became responsable for.

That's to say Tip's strange turn to the same scared kid she met soon after leaving her behind and being declared and enemy of Oz scared her.

"Miss Elphaba, I have something very serius to tell you."

Maybe they want to leave. They are not in fact different in the same way Elphaba is. Tip is a normal if deeply magical child who just ended up in the care of a horrible woman. Being her aprenticce is actually the only thing turning them into a dangerous and hated figure.

"I understand."

The kid takes a deep breath. Elphaba tries to think on the best words to explain that of course they can leave if they want to and that they can take as many provisions as they need. Tip will never again be a prisioner.

"I don't think I am a boy? Wait no. I know I'm not a boy. Like the idea of it is still a bit scary because it seems like it will be a big deal but I'm fairly sure I'm a girl actually. I just never though about it before but Jack called me she accidentaly and it just makes sense. I am still the same Tip and please let me keep being your aprentice." She says in a single breath.

"What?"

The girl looked scared. "I'm a girl." She says. Than in a smaller voice. "I can try to be a boy if you want?" It does not appear to be something she wants and the fact she still sugests it breaks Elphaba's heart a little.

"Oh! Oh. No, no, that's fine. Do you want to be called something else?"

Her eyes go huge and she stops deep in thought before answring.

"Uh. I guess so, but I'm still thinking on it. I don't mind Tip for now."

"Okay, tell me when it changes?"

"Will do."

"Anything else?"

Tip looks a bit shy for half a second before a excited smile covers her face. "Could you let me borrow a dress?"

Elphaba laughts.

"You are too tiny for my dresses, kid. But I can help you magic one for yourself. "

Her eyes shine. "Cool!"

[...]

"Morrible says you'll marry some prince soon." Dorothy says making a face.

"I don't see why you are soo distraught, my dear, I'm pretty sure she'll find me a great prince." Glinda says with false cheer.

"I doubt it. Princes are all very dull."

"Met many princes did you?" She jokes lightly, trying to find a way to change the subject. She loves the kid dearly and for all it's bleak consequences will always be glad the tornado ended up bringing the girl into her life but she would preffer not to discuss those subjects. Specially not in her own bedroom in a rare moment of relaxation.

"Well no." The girl pouts. "But most boys are dull and I can't imagine liking to marry even the ones that aren't. I guess I just thought you were the same? I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. And I sure hope marriage is unimaginable for you, you are way to young for it."

The girl smiles a tiny bit before frowning.

"I can imagine myself marrying a girl one day."

"Oh!" Is all Glinda says.

"I told Aunt Em once she told me to never say it again, she told me I was too young. But I'm ten now and I feel the same. " Dorothy rarely talks about home, sometimes Glinda tricks herself into beliving it is because her the kid just loves Oz better, that she forgot all about it, but she knows deep down that Dorothy will always miss Kansas, always miss her uncle and aunt and Toto, she just accepted home as a place she'll never return to. In the good days Glinda knows Dorothy would also miss Oz, would miss her munchkin friends and mostly would miss being Glinda's apprentice. In the better days she thinks about bringing Dorothy's family here. After all Kansas always seems sad and hungry. "Girls don't marry each other in Kansas." She continues. "But I though maybe they did here. "

"I think they do everywhere, Dorothy, is just some people pretend they don't because the different scares them."

"Like the Wizard and the animals?"

Glinda had only recently convinced Dorothy to only speak her very dangerous beliefs on the Wizard in private and even there she sometimes corrected the kid. But right now it felt too much like liying to Elphaba she couldn't do it, not when she knew Dorothy to be right.

"Yeah. Just like that."

And after a second she adds.

"Between us, I would also like to marry a woman".

Dorothy smiles, just a little bit.

[...]

She knows she should not be here.

But it's fun, she likes the dancing and the food and the small chance of going back home with something that can actually help Elphie. Maybe a magical item or even just some usefull information.

Besides the girl she is talking to is very pretty and fun and smart and she is not open about it but she's definitivaly not the biggest fan of the Wizard either. Oh and a great dancer.

"I'm sorry" the girl says "but I think I did not catch your name?"

Now it's the moment to say something clever like 'i never gave it to you' or maybe just invent some fake name. She can't say her name. It's too easy of a conection to make. But she doesn't need to lie. After all it was never really her name. And she has a name now. Has had it for days and just keept it a secret in some weird form of fear. But it felt like time. She would tell it to Elphie and Jack when she went back.

"Ozma. I'm Ozma. What's yours?"

[...]

Dorothy had never had so much fun at a party before. Her new friend was the most beutifull girl she ever met and the funniest and cleverest and it had never felt so easy to talk to someone before. In fact the only thing Ozma didn't appear to be was a good dancer but Glinda had teached Dorothy well and she found herself leading the other girl steps into the best dance she ever had.

She noticed Ozma did not gave any surname but it was not her place to pry. She just hoped to mert the girl again.

"Dorothy." She says and takes the hand. For a second she considers continuing in the way she was instructed to (Dorothy Upland at your pleasure and a kiss to the hand) but while she loves Glinda that's not really her. And she somehow trusts Ozma enough to be honest. "Dorothy Gale." She shakes the hand just like Uncle Henry used to.

[sgdlr]

so that was a lie!

[sheisoverhere]

Peeta Mellark is an integral member of the four D12 victors. He is literally the sunset on the reaping! How is this not clear? I’ve never wanted to report people for bad literary analysis more and I’m only half joking. It has forced me to commit a cardinal sin: analyze in anger!

1. Him being chosen by absolute accident is the point. Not only does he represent every single other tribute who simply gets chosen because they live in a messed up country but he represents how even with some odds being in your favor (older siblings, merchant family, being white, being popular, etc.) you are still very likely to be victimized by the oppressive structure of Panem.

2. When Haymitch says, “But she was smarter than me, or luckier” - the luck is all the people around Katniss who created the circumstances for her to lead a successful revolution (her father teaching her to hunt, the arena having woods, Rue healing her with leaves, Thresh not killing her, Haymitch consistently giving her support, her mother teaching her aspects of medicine, on and on and on) and Peeta is the number one, most important part of her luck in the first book. She has someone in the games actively putting her life before his… are you kidding? There is legitimately no better luck than that.

3. Even if we take Katniss out of it, Peeta is so impactful as a victor because most of his scenes would not be cut/doctored. What’s there to edit out? Instead, the viewers get a full view of him loving a girl so selflessly, using trickery and strategy instead of violence, keeping himself alive through art, joking on literal death’s door, and sharing so much of himself with the audience it becomes harder for them not to see him as a real human boy. How rare do you think that is for the games? Haymitch and LGB are caricatures of themselves in the games, playing roles that flatten them down. Even Katniss becomes one dimensional on screen without Peeta (and Rue, of course). It is also heavily implied that he does not kill anyone during the games (in a straightforward way) and even if you count Cato or the girl from 8 or even foxface, it’s never him hunting them or seeking out a kill - again how rare do you think that is to see on screen for Games viewers?

4. I didn’t think this needed to be said but: Katniss dies without Peeta in the first games. a) she goes for the bow and dies in the bloodbath; b) she is hunted and killed by Careers; c) she is killed by game makers because there’s no love story angle to keep them from just burning her entirely; d) she dies from tracker jacker stings or Cato because Peeta doesn’t defend her or tell her to run… I could go on…

5. But even if she does win and wins alone - the victory means as much (I would argue less than) any other rebellious victor winning, certainly less than Haymitch’s win. The biggest rebellion for their games is that two of them win! This is legit the only thing that distinguishes them from any other sympathetic, kind child who would have won the games. Like if Haymitch or Finnick or Wiress winning isn’t jarring enough for the Games to end… why do you think Katniss killing Peeta and winning solo would be? It would not.

6. And finally, I cannot stress this enough: There is no peaceful end to the rebellion or the trilogy without Peeta. “Peeta’s a whiz with fires” (HG) for a reason! Collins, over and over, shows us how fire can get out of control and destroy even those who are innocent and who you love (Gale, Beete, Peeta’s family, Haymitch’s family). If everyone really burns, there’s no one to clean the ashes. The reason not everyone burns is because of people like Peeta who can coax the flames in a way that is nurturing and consistent. I mean…. “Peeta fashioned some kind of incubator” is such an obvious detail. Those goslings don’t hatch without Peeta, life does not go on in peace and joy without Peeta.

It is no coincidence that when Maysilee says Lenore Dove got the “jump on us all” (in being a rebel), she is referring to LD using orange paint to make protest art!

We must stop pushing Peeta Mellark out of the narrative! He is literally the sunset on the reaping!

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Regret |12|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You were living in New York with your girlfriend, trying to forget about last year and just enjoy life, but that was easier said than done. (Sequel to A Legacies Secret)

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 2.2k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | A Legacies Secret Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Tara paced back and forth in the waiting room. She couldn’t believe they wouldn’t let her back there with you, she was your girlfriend after all. She was by your side the entire time, she kept you company until the medics could get to you, she held your hand as they loaded you onto the backboard, she ever rode in the ambulance with you. As soon as they reached the hospital though you were rushed away to be looked at, and Tara was forced to go sit in the waiting room.

Sam, Chad, Mindy, and Ethan had arrived in record time, she didn’t even get to sit down before they were walking through the doors. She was pretty sure Mindy mentioned something about going to check on Anika, Tara wasn’t fully sure though, all she cared about was knowing if you were okay. It seemed like Gale had gotten the worse of the attack but when Tara saw you lying on the floor her heart stopped. Your shirt was covered in blood, whether it was your own or someone else’s Tara still didn’t know, you were incredibly disoriented probably hit your head at some point.

Her imagination was running wild with what possibly had happened in that apartment. Tara tried to warn you, but she barely got the chance before the call disconnected. Her and Sam got there as fast as they could, the lights and siren going, she weaved between cars as if she were in one of those Fast & Furious movies and yet, it still wasn’t enough to save you. When they finally got there Ghostface had already attacked, you and Gale had managed to hold him off, but the apartment was trashed, a shattered window and coffee table, you and Gale laying there, bleeding out. It was a sight Tara never wanted to see.

Tara wondered if that was what it was like for you a year ago. You got to her house as if everything were normal only for your entire world to be turned upside down. You were at Tara’s side when she woke up, the exhaustion clear on your face, truly not knowing if she would survive. This time Tara knew what was going on, she knew what Ghostface was capable of but that didn’t stop the same sinking feeling when she rode the elevator up to Gale’s floor, when the doors opened and she didn’t see you anywhere, just Ghostface standing over Gale, ready to end her.

When Tara got to your side, she was just trying to focus on the fact that you were alive. She had no idea what kind of injuries you suffered, if you needed surgery, if you were in surgery right now fighting for your life. She didn’t know anything because she wasn’t technically family. Tara was forced to stay in the waiting room for just the tiniest bit of information, just like you had a year ago, though she knew you had sheriff Hicks there to help nudge the doctors along and get them to give you a bit of information.

“Please, sit down,” Sam pleaded for probably the hundredth time.

Tara spun around, rapidly tapping her foot. Sam only wanted her to sit down because she hoped it would get Tara to relax, but that wouldn’t be the case. Tara let out a frustrated sigh and dropped down into the chair beside Sam. She crossed her arms, then her legs, then she uncrossed her legs and continued tapping her foot. She gripped the armrests and was about to stand up again when a hand came down atop of hers, keeping her in place. She glared at the hand and followed the arm it was attached to up to Sam’s face. Before Tara could snap at Sam, she saw you walking up to them.

Tara shot out of her seat, easily breaking Sam’s grip and was at your side in half a second. “Are you okay?” Tara asked, already searching you for injuries. Her eye caught the start of some stitches sticking out from the collar of your shirt.

Tara reached up, gently pulling back your collar to see the nasty cut on your shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat, the knife had barely missed your neck, not even an inch over and you would have been dead. Tara snapped back to realty when your hand took hers in your own and brought it back down to your side.

She looked back into your eyes. She caressed your cheek with the hand that wasn’t currently intertwined with yours. You tried for a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. It was like all the light was gone from your eyes. Tara had never seen you like that before, even after everything your eyes always held a certain brightness, like there was still hope, but not this time. After everything you had endured it seemed like this attack just pushed you closer to the edge, like you were on the brink of breaking and Tara didn’t know what to do.

“What did they say?” Tara asked softly.

You shrugged. “I got a concussion,” you whispered, your voice complete devoid of any emotion. “They stitched me up. I’m fine now,” you gave a little shrug as if it were no big deal.

Tara frowned; you weren’t yourself. She knew you shouldn’t be yourself; you went through something traumatic, again, and they still had yet to learn anything about Gale’s status. Tara was at a loss at what to do, you always seemed to know how to comfort her, even when she was pushing you away, and now when you needed her the most, she didn’t know what to do.

Tara did the only thing she could think of, what she generally needed from you when she was in a similar position, she threw her arms around you and pulled you into a hug. Tara squeezed you tighter when you didn’t immediately reciprocate her hug but before she could over think it you hesitantly wrapped one arm around her then the other one.

She slid her hand down but ended up pulling away from you completely when you winced. “What happened?” she asked, looking down at the spot she had touched.

“It’s nothing,” you said but before you could dismiss it further Tara lifted up your shirt, revealing the giant white bandage at your side.

Tara reached out as if she were going to brush her fingers over the bandaged but thought better of it and pulled back. Instead, she brought a hand to her mouth, you had been covered in so much blood, she hadn’t even known about the injury on your side. She didn’t think you were stabbed since it was just a bandage and not stitches but there were already red spots starting to seep through, so she knew it wasn’t nothing.

“They just had to remove some glass,” you explained lightly, as if that would make Tara not worried.

Tara’s eyes flicked back up to yours. There was so much broken glass in the apartment, the window, the coffee table, she didn’t know how any of it happened but now she knew you were injured during one of those instances. If shards of glass had gotten stuck in you that meant you had to have crashed through the glass, or been thrown through it, or fell on it after the fact while fighting or trying to dodge Ghostface. Tara knew that all things considered this was truly a minor injury, but it was your complete dismissal and refusal to acknowledge anything was wrong that was bothering her.

“I just want to sit down,” you said, cutting through Tara’s thoughts. “Just need a bit of rest.” You tried to give her a smile but once again it was clear your heart wasn’t in it.

You stepped past Tara and walked all the way to the end of the room and plopped down in the chair in the corner. Tara frowned; she looked from where she had been sitting next to her sister over to all the empty chairs around you. She had a chair saved for when you were discharged but you didn’t even glance at the others as you passed them.

Tara began chewing on her nail as she hesitantly walked back over to Sam and slowly lowered herself back down onto the chair. You didn’t want to talk about what happened, you didn’t want to talk about your injuries, and you clearly didn’t even want to sit by any of them, even Tara. She couldn’t help the way her eyes glanced over to you every few seconds, but she tried to respect the fact that you clearly wanted space. Whenever she wanted space and you tried to be there for her, she lashed out at you, even when she wanted your comfort she lashed out, she didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and cause you anymore stress. Logically she knew it wasn’t personal, people dealt with things differently, in the past though you had always sought her for comfort.

Time ticked by and you remained where you were. You were hunched over, your head down and your hands clasped tightly together in a fist. You hadn’t moved one bit, even when Chad got up to get a coffee and asked if anyone else needed anything you didn’t react. Tara had practically forgotten about Ghostface, she knew he was the reason they were even there to begin with, but he was nowhere near her priority anymore.

The next thing she knew, someone in a white coat was walking towards them. Tara shot up from her seat the same time as Sam did. Chad and Mindy slowly stood up as well, and even Ethan cautiously stood up from his seat, but you never moved.

Sam cleared her throat, seeming to realize she would be the one doing all the talking. “How is she?” Sam asked, her voice cracking.

Despite all their issues with Gale, especially Sam, they didn’t hate her. None of them ever wanted anything to happen to her. Tara didn’t know what they would do if Gale didn’t make it, she had survived all the previous Ghostface attacks, it was hard to even imagine her not making it through another one. Then there was you, Tara wasn’t sure how you could ever get over this. Even though you and Gale had your problems, she didn’t want you to lose Gale, not after everything you’ve suffered, not after losing Dewey.

Tara glanced back at you, the only indication that you knew what was going on was the slight tilt of your head. You hadn’t gotten up; you hadn’t even bothered to look at the doctor, but you were listening. Tara held her breath and looked back to the doctor, trying to prepare herself for whatever outcome he might bring because the most important thing was her being able to be there for you.

“She’s out of surgery,” the doctor said. Tara swore she could hear everyone let out a relieved breath. “We’re not out of the woods yet though.” Tara sucked in a breath and hesitantly glanced back at you, even though you hadn’t moved she could see how tense you were, your entire body was completely rigid. “We’re hopeful, but she’s in recovery and we’ll closely monitor her and let you know.”

“Can we see her?” Sam asked.

Tara looked up at the doctor hopeful. She wasn’t sure if it would do more harm or good but maybe if you could see Gale, it would offer you some sort of comfort. “Not at the moment.” Tara frowned, maybe it was for the best, maybe seeing Gale like she was now would only cause you more stress. “We can reevaluate tomorrow and see how she’s doing.”

“Thanks,” Sam gave him a grateful smile.

After the doctor left, they all stood around in a circle, their heads hung low. “What now?” Chad asked.

That was the question, as much as they might want to wait around the hospital, they knew they couldn’t. Tara knew all too well that Ghostface wasn’t above attacking a hospital, they couldn’t risk him coming after them with so many innocence around. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to focus on any of that though when you were hurting.

The others conversation slowly faded away as she looked back at you. Tara felt her heart break even more, you had finally moved but this time your head was buried in your hands, like you were doing everything you could to hold yourself together. Tara didn’t think twice before walking over to you, if you really wanted space, you’d send her away.

Tara stood in front of you and rested a hand on the back of your head, trying to coax you to look at her. When you started to lift your head, her hand slid down the back of your neck and began rubbing comforting circles with her thumb. You buried your face into her front and flung your arms around her as you began to sob. Tara wrapped her arms around you as best as she could, pulling you closer and offering all the comfort she could. She didn’t know what the others were planning but one thing she did know was she was going to make Ghostface pay for this.

Taglist: @mamas-evil-hag @thatshyboy1998 @btay3115 @idontliketoread2137 @nwestra

@honorarysimp @canyonyodeler @chxrryxcx @aceofspades190 @worstendingever

@riyaexee @gayandfairycore

[justafewberries]

Themes of Implicit Submission in The Hunger Games (Book One)

I’ve just finished re-reading The Hunger Games (book one) and there are a few themes that I expect SOTR will develop based on Hume’s implicit submission theory. Specifically, these are the main six tactics I believe the Capitol uses to thwart another rebellion present in the first book alone: 

Societal Pressure:

District 12 has a “keep your head down” culture. Any talks of rebellion are frowned upon. Any anti-government statements will cause social repercussions. It’s not just Katniss rolling her eyes at Gale in the woods, it’s how she has been groomed by the culture to keep quiet about the issues pervading life in the district:

“When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, the things I would blurt about District 12, about the people who rule our country, Panem, from the far-off city called the Capitol. Eventually, I understood this would only lead us to more trouble. So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts. Do my work quietly in school. Make only polite small talk in the public market. Discuss little more than trades in the Hob.… Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?” (p.6)

All of this proceeds the statement:

“Even here, in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.” (p. 5)

Under this point, it is also telling that during the reaping ceremony, Katniss says the “boldest form of dissent [the audience] can manage,” is silence. Not outrage, not yelling, not like district 11, but silence (p. 24).

2. Division between Classes 

The Capitol has created conflict within the districts to draw hatred to a local target. In the case of the first book, Gale remarks tesserae is a tactic to keep them divided. 

“Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I’ve listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. “It’s to the Capitol’s advantage to have us divided among ourselves,” he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine.” (p. 14)

Interestingly, tesserae is already known as the “courtesy of the capitol” as stamped on Haymitch’s shorts in SOTR. The Capitol markets tesserae as something it does out of goodness. It attempts to make itself seem well-intentioned via the distribution of necessary goods. It’s their courtesy, after all. 

This point also includes the division between the districts. In the games, Katniss remarks how allying with the careers is essentially traitorous. 

“No one from District 12 would think of doing such a thing! Career tributes are overly vicious, arrogant, better fed, but only because they’re the Capitol’s lapdogs.” (p. 162)

By treating certain districts better, the Capitol promotes distrust between the districts, dampening potential unionization with planted hatred. By choosing favorite children, the parent that is the Capitol forces the districts to fight. 

3. Weaponized Language

The name of the Treaty of Treason, the treaty that makes the Hunger Games necessary per the law, is definitive of how the districts are forced to see themselves. They are the ones who committed treason by rebelling, and therefore they are guilty. They must repent by sending the children to the games. The permanent treaty, read during every reaping ceremony, enforces the guilt the districts are supposed to feel. In turn, the fact it is a “treaty” means the districts must have agreed to and signed it. Regardless of the circumstances around the signing of the treaty, the capitol then has the ability to wave it over their heads henceforth. 

The name itself points a finger and keeps the districts forever at fault. 

Furthermore, the fact Katniss is referred to by her district number until and even after she is given something to remember her by (the fire) further dehumanizes the tributes. During the parade, she says the citizens of the capitol have liked her and Peeta enough to "read the program" and learn their names (p. 70).

There are many more examples of villainizing and dehumanizing language in the book, but I have chosen those examples for the sake of brevity.

4. Propagandizing Education

A major theme in many dystopian novels is how the system treats education. In District 12, Katniss tells the reader:

“Besides basic reading and math, most of our instruction is coal-related. Except for the weekly lecture on the history of Panem. It’s mostly a lot of blather about what we owe the Capitol.” (p. 42)

A weekly lecture in a school is quite a lot of time to devote to any one subject. Seeing as how the rest of their curriculum revolves around district-specific content, the weekly lecture must be mandated across all districts, likely leaving the rest up to the discretion of the district itself. The Capitol once again emphasizes how the districts were wrong. It is repeated week after week, and eventually, it becomes ingrained in the social psychology of the district. 

5. Hunger and Deprivation of Needs

Continuing from the section about Katniss knows the weekly lecture must be propaganda, saying,

“I know there must be more than they’re telling us, an actual account of what happened during the rebellion. But I don’t spend much time thinking about it. Whatever the truth is, I don’t see how it will help me get food on the table.” (p. 42)

This point coincides with my second point about the division of classes. By keeping the people hungry, they are too busy thinking about the lowest rung on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. They see those who have food, and they are the opposition in front of them, rather than examining the source of the problem. By keeping the people hungry, they are less likely to have the time or ability to even think about a collective uprising. 

6. Limiting Flow of Information

The Capitol limits the flow of information between districts. In doing so, the districts are forced to make bridging assumptions about one another. This is revealed through Katniss and Rue’s discussion in the games: 

“It’s interesting, hearing about her life. We have so little communication with anyone outside our district. In fact, I wonder if the Gamemakers are blocking out our conversation, because even though the information seems harmless, they don’t want people in different districts to know about one another.” (p. 203)

By keeping them separate, they can turn any district against another. They rely solely on the Capitol for information about other districts, and therefore the Capitol has all of the power. 

Interestingly, another division between classes is shown through Peeta’s knowledge about other districts. He knows the different types of bread from the districts, implying the merchant class may have more access to information than those of the seam, leading to further division between classes. 

All in all, these are the themes I expect to be addressed in SOTR based on the pretense of implicit submission.

[dekariosclan]

The new BG3 Evil Endings are out, and Larian does an incredible job hammering home this character is evil now and the world is dark, but I would have loved a single lighthearted option. A ‘goofy evil’ option, for those of us who would love to see our favorite characters get some sweet revenge, but don’t want them to become homicidal maniacs.

There’s 5 variations you can choose for origin characters after they take control of the brain—what if just 1 of them resulted in a little less heartache and a lot more humor? You pick this option and suddenly it’s not death & mind control & terror. Instead:

Astarion becomes a sleazy Saul Goodman-esque lawyer, sues the entire Szarr estate using very questionable means, and rides around Faerun in the carriage equivalent of a gaudy Cadillac

Karlach takes over Avernus, makes it into a combo Build-A-Bear / Disney Themepark and forces Zariel and all the denizens of the hells to work there

Gale overthrows the Gods, turns them into mortals and tells them they’ll have to do 1000 years of community service on Toril before he’ll consider reinstating their powers. Mystra tries to refuse, and Gale replies, “I do think you’ll reconsider…” then steps aside to reveal Tara wielding a crossbow

You get the idea

[heylittleriotact]

This went about as sideways as I expected, as quickly as I expected.

Not me and my rl DnD crew (aaaand dearest pals 🥰) starting a multiplayer campaign in bg3 in which the three of us are all martial class gnomes. Oh god. This is going to go in… directions. I can tell.

What poor origin character is going to be dragged along with us? 🤔

[dinrelsanddragons]

so for this post from ovegakart i'm imagining spell rules going along these lines...

Nayru's Shield: Level 3 Abjuration Casting Time: 1 Action Range: Self Components: V, S, M (A blessing from a Great Fairy worth 1000 rupees) Duration: Concentration, up to 1 minute The love and protection of the goddess Nayru shields you. You gain resistance to all damage for the duration. Additionally, this spell also summons a magic shield into your hand, granting the benefits of wielding a shield even if you are not proficient with shields. If you do not have a free hand, the shield does not appear, and this benefit is not granted. Finally, this spell also generates an emanation of protection around you, granting a +1 bonus to AC for any ally inside it, you excepted.

Nayru's Mirror: Level 3 Abjuration Casting Time: 1 Action Range: Self Components: V, S, M (A blessing from a Great Fairy worth 1000 rupees) Duration: Concentration, up to 1 minute The love and protection of the goddess Nayru reflects damage directed at you. You gain resistance to all damage for the duration. Additionally, creatures of your choice within 5 feet of you must make a Dexterity saving throw, taking 2d6 force damage on a failed save or half as much damage on a successful save, as shards of Nayru's protection strike them. Finally, ranged weapon attacks and ranged spell attacks that hit you are reflected off of you after dealing their damage, striking the original attacker for half their damage.

Notes: I split Nayru's Love into two spells, for Link and for Zelda. For Link: I figure this should be a hefty spell given the immense benefits it offers, but still accessible to an Eldritch Knight like Link. So I made it level 3. I'm also not sure about the concentration on it, since you can get smacked but it doesn't drop, I just wanted to make it slightly less busted by making it eat the caster's Concentration. For Zelda: More offensive, I originally thought like Armor of Agathys but re-read the handwriting and realized lol nope. So I made it so enemies who attack and hit you take the half damage that the shield stops you from eating.

Farore's Wind: Level 3 Conjuration Casting Time: 1 Action Range: Self Components: V, S, M (A blessing from a Great Fairy worth 100 rupees) Duration: Instantaneous Briefly surrounded by the divine gales of the goddess Farore, you teleport to a location within sight. Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: You can teleport to any location you know within 1000 feet (4th level spell slot), any location you know within 5 miles (5th level spell slot), any location you know within 100 miles (6th level spell slot), or to any location you know on this plane of existence (7th level spell slot). If you cast this spell at 5th level or higher, there is a cumulative 15% chance for each level above 4th it is cast at (up to 45% with a 7th level spell slot) for a mishap to occur, sending you to a false destination. Holding or carrying an object linked to the intended destination removes this chance.

Notes: I figure the inspiration spells for this should be Misty Step (but range increased to 'anywhere within sight'), Dimension Door (range increased), and Teleport. It's a sort of catch-all spell. The only issue is that, in order to make it NOT BUSTED AS FUCK (which is already is tbh), I had to level-scale it, which seriously kneecaps Link as an Eldritch Knight. I also had to add in that a mishap can occur because even Teleport isn't perfect.

Din's Fire Level 3 Evocation Casting Time: 1 Action Range: Self Components: V, S, M (A blessing from a Great Fairy worth 300 rupees) Duration: Instantaneous An explosion of Din's holy flames blasts from you in a 20-foot emanation. Each creature in this emanation makes a Dexterity saving throw, taking 8d6 fire damage on a failed save or half as much damage on a successful one. Flammable objects in the area that aren't being worn or carried start burning. Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: The damage increases by 1d6 for each slot level above 3.

Notes: It's Fireball as an emanation, why not.

Zelda's Light Level 3 Transmutation Casting Time: 1 Bonus Action Range: Touch Components: V, S Duration: 1 hour You touch a nonmagical weapon. Until the spell ends, that weapon becomes a magic weapon with a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls. Additionally, when a creature hits another creature with that weapon, a bright flash of light accompanies the strike. The target must make a Constitution saving throw (using the caster's spell save DC) or be blinded until the end of its next turn. This spell ends early if you cast it again. Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot. The bonus increases to +2, and the weapon deals an additional 3d6 radiant damage with a 4-6 level spell slot. The bonus increases to +3, and the weapon deals an additional 6d6 (instead of 3d6) radiant damage with a 7+ level spell slot.

Notes: It's magic weapon but added blinding and radiant.

Lens of Truth Wondrous Item, Very Rare (requires attunement) While wearing this lens over your eyes, you have Truesight with a range of 120 feet.

Notes: Should this be legendary? True Seeing is a 6th level divination spell, so maybe! I made it attunement so you can't just pass it between people for a free action or whatever and you need to know it well to use it.

BONUS POINTS (or rather, an edit)

Ocarina of Time Wondrous Item, Artifact This ocarina has been protected by the royal family of Hyrule for ages, and is said to have a powerful connection to the unnamed goddess of time. You can take a Magic action to play a song on the Ocarina of Time, with each song producing a different effect or casting a spell. You must know a song in order to play it.

Zelda's Lullaby – When you play this song, this Ocarina opens a magical lock, or has other magical effects based on other locations which specify this song. This song has no effect on nonmagical locks. Epona's Song – When you play this song, you can cast the spell Find Steed at its base level of 2. Saria's Song – When you play this song, you can cast the spell Sending. The only possible recipient of the spell when cast in this way is the Fey known as Saria. Sun's Song – When you play this song, you can cause day to become night or night to become day, depending on what time it is when you play it. The passage of this time is instantaneous to the Ocarina's player, and does not confer the benefits of a long or short rest, nor does it impose the penalties of forgoing a long rest. Song of Time – When you play this song, you can open the Door of Time or cause obstacles bearing the symbol of the goddess of time to permanently disappear. If this song is played in the realm of Termina, it has an entirely different effect: You can go back in time to a maximum of three days, although in doing so you must forfeit all ammunition (nonmagical and magical) and rupees to go back. Upon returning to the past, all magic item charges are restored, and you gain the benefits of a Long Rest. You cannot use the Song of Time again for another three days. Song of Storms – When you play this song, you can cause the weather around you to suddenly and inexplicably become intensely stormy and rainy, complete with thunder and lightning. This storm lasts for ten minutes, after which time it vanishes. Effects of the storm remain. Warp Songs – When you play any of these songs, you can cast the spell Teleportation Circle, with each song being linked to a specific circle and sending those who stand in the circle's area there: the Minuet of the Forest will send to Kokiri Forest; the Bolero of Fire will send to Death Mountain's crater; the Serenade of Water will send to Lake Hylia; the Nocturne of Shadow will send to the graveyard of Kakariko Village; the Requiem of Spirit will send to the Desert Colossus in the Gerudo Desert; and the Prelude of Light will send to the Temple of Time in Hyrule Castle Town. Scarecrow's Song – When you play this song, you magically summon a wooden scarecrow to a location you can see within 60 feet of you. The Scarecrow is a Construct with 10 HP, AC 10, a movement speed of 0 ft., and immunity to psychic and poison damage. It vanishes when you play this song again. Inverted Song of Time – When you play this song, you can cast the spell Haste on yourself. Song of Double Time – When you play this song, you can magically cause twelve hours of time to pass by. The passage of this time is instantaneous to the Ocarina's player, and does not confer the benefits of a long or short rest, nor does it impose the penalties of forgoing a long rest. Song of Healing – When you play this song, you can cast the spell Calm Emotions, with the added ability to affect any creature capable of having emotions as opposed to solely humanoids. Song of Soaring – When you play this song, you can cast the spell Dimension Door. Elegy of Emptiness – When you play this song, you can create a lifeless statue of yourself. This statue is an eerie reflection of you and weighs the same as you do. It is a Construct that has an amount of Hit Points equal to half your maximum Hit Points, your Armor Class, and it has immunity to psychic and poison damage. It is also incapable of moving on its own.

Notes: No Sonata of Awakening, Goron Lullaby, New Wave Bossa Nova, or Oath to Order because they have extremely specific purposes.

[shinynewmemories]

Broke: "Katniss was only with Peeta because of their shared trauma from the Games and the events that followed. After what they went through together, there was no one who truly understood her like Peeta. But if Prim and Peeta had never been reaped, Katniss would have ended up with Gale/stayed single."

Woke: "The Games and the events that followed brought Katniss and Peeta together, but there was something special between them since the day with the bread. Katniss had a subconscious interest in him since they were 11, and after the reaping she couldn't help but fall for him due to their close proximity. The Games weren't her reason for choosing Peeta, but they were a catalyst for their relationship."

Bespoke: "The Games did more to hinder Katniss and Peeta's relationship than to help it. In fact, without the Games to complicate things, Katniss would have fallen for Peeta fast and hard. The Games and the events that followed were responsible for countless barriers to their love including (but not limited to):

1. Instilling in Katniss a distrust of Peeta that did not come naturally to her

2. Forcing her to act in love, regardless of the authenticity of her feelings, in order to survive

3. Broadcasting every moment they shared, no matter how intimate/private, onto every screen in every house in the country

4. Driving them apart due to the pain and confusion that followed the inevitable end of her "star-crossed lovers" act

5. Making their relationship a political tool of manipulation and oppression

6. Leading Snow to hold Katniss personally responsible for defusing the civil unrest within the Districts by means of their love story

7. Forcing them under threat of death to act in love for the rest of their lives, thereby taking away their agency and ability to choose each other out of real love or desire

8. Robbing them of a future together, even if they wanted it, by returning Katniss to the Games and ensuring the death of at least one of them

9. Traumatizing them in ways they'll have to deal with for the remainder of their lives

10. So many other things

The Hunger Games is NOT the story of how Katniss fell in love with Peeta due to or even during the Games. It's the story of how Katniss fell in love with Peeta IN SPITE OF THEM."

[dailyrothko]

News!

From the Rothko Chapel

We are pleased to announce that the Rothko Chapel, which has been closed since hurricane Beryl hit Houston last July, will reopen to the public on December 17. The Chapel will be open during the following holiday hours: 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Tuesday through Sunday, December 17-22, and from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. December 24-January 5 (except on December 25 and January 1, when hours will be 12 p.m. to 5 p.m.).

Hurricane Beryl brought exceptionally heavy rain and gale-force winds that resulted in leakage through the Chapel's roof. Part of the ceiling and several walls sustained water damage, and four of Mark Rothko's panels were also affected to varying degrees.

Immediately after the storm, the Chapel engaged Whitten & Proctor Fine Art Conservation, one of the country's premier art-conservation firms, to lead the conservation analysis and assessment. The affected panels are now undergoing careful restoration at an off-site facility and will be returned to the Chapel once the work is complete, with additional information on them forthcoming. The water-streaked walls and ceiling have also been repaired and repainted.

"Since the storm, our focus has been on the complete repair of the building, the restoration of the damaged panels, and on the reopening of the building so the public once again has access to this beloved space for contemplation and meditation; said Executive Director David Leslie. "Getting to this point has been a true community effort involving an amazing team of art conservators, scientists, art handlers, volunteers, community partners, and Chapel staff, and we are very excited to reopen in time for the holidays.

The Chapel resumed its program season this fall at off-site locations and will host its first program in the Chapel - its annual MLK Observance, "Sick of War: Discussing Health Impacts of US Militarism" - on January 15, 2025. The Suzanne Deal Booth Welcome House, located at 1410 Sul Ross Street, remains open from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday to provide information and hospitality to those who visit.

[meanbossart]

Because I love the idea of DU drow as a companion... how would you recruit him? Where do you find him, and what's his intro cutscene?

Hi, I've been thinking about this since I got this message :V

There's this nautiloid pod somewhere nearby the Owlbear cave right? So those things were just crashing all over the place, not just near the beach where the actual ship fell. I believe his pod could have had a similar fate and fallen somewhere off the beaten path.

Mind you that, In this scenario, waking up from the pod and onto the forest map would have been DU Drow's first-ever conscious minutes ever since having his mind wiped, so he truly has no fucking idea of what just happened - he just knows his head is in shambles and that he needs to survive for long enough for his memories to return, assuming they ever will. So, his immediate instinct would be to retreat away from where the people are.

I think underneath the bridge, where there's running water and some fauna/flora would be a good spot to find him. Players might take a day or two until they stumble across this weirdo companion and so they are more in the loop than he would be. You'd find a little blood-trail leading you down there, and eventually spot a fist's corpse with no shoes near the river - DU drow would be crouched down by the water washing blood off himself:

While the rest of the party may have been picked off random places as they went about their days, this guy was busy being dissected and put back together over and over again - and there's no way Kressa bothered to dress him back up fully before he was taken away from her (me allowing the man to have pants on at all is a mercy onto you all) so he begins with no armor, but to make up for that fact he's the only companion who begins with a great-sword, which he would have stolen from the fist.

When you approach he is perfectly calm, In fact, he doesn't seem all that there. He stands up and appears half-ready for a fight, but lets you speak first. You can either ask what he's doing here, or about the corpse. You get more or less the same answer to both:

If you successfully persuade him, he tells you with no particular tone of shame or remorse that you got him, he did kill him, however he claims he was attacked first. Whether you pry into his mind with the worm, or have a scroll of read-thoughts, you get the same narration:

"Behind the aloof facade, you find the drow's mind to be in a concerning state of disarray: dozens of thoughts racing, jumbled, all at once, each trailing into the next before you can catch a hint of substance. You don't find the answers you were looking for, just red goo."

You CAN however use speak to the dead on the corpse. If you do that, it's revealed that he is actually telling the truth; The fist found him and assumed him to be with the drow who raided Wakeen's rest. Otherwise, you have to either take his word for it, attack him, or leave him.

He will refuse your offers to join you/go to your camp until you reveal to him that you have been tadpoled - either through using the Illithid-worm option, or telling him upfront through normal dialogue. If you didn't peer into his head earlier, you will now, confirming to yourself and him that he's also been infected. Then, you can tell him you're looking for a cure, and he will agree to travel along. This gets you approval from Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion, and disapproval from Lae'zel, Wyll, and Gale.

If you attack, he's as easy a fight as any companion would be at that point. If you choose to leave him be/not tell him about your worm so he refuses to join, he will appear at your camp after two long rests, basically forcing himself to into your party unless you kill him. You find him hanging out around Withers and he tells you he's decided to travel with you from now on, and that he will make himself comfortable.

If you ask for his name, he tells you to just call him whatever you want to (cue like 5 joke dialogue answers - he responds to all of them with a snort and you get approval if you pick any flattering ones). Whatever you ask about him gets you a very blunt, vague response. If you have Shadowheart in your party/are playing as her, she implies he may be suffering from memory loss, finally prompting him to admit to it. Otherwise he only reveals this after a couple more long-rests.