#a good chunk of game specific ones also do

[beardedhandstoadshark]

I think general Legend of Zelda fans should start tagging their stuff with Linked Universe to catch some of that clout.

If literally every single Legend of Zelda tag is just full of only lu stuff anyways, to the point some of them have more lu in them than Zelda, might as well get something out of it in return.

Not like any lu fans should mind crosstagging, after all.

[irkedisaac]

ive been curious so ill throw a question into the void: what are your go-to classes/builds for everyone? why did you go for that?

[arolesbianism]

Bndori furries are fun to design and all but it is Killing me that I can't give most of them long sharp claws. Local bndori fan shocked at the presence of instrument players in the band game with bands in it

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter five)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder) , MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, roughhousing, eventual piv, one chapter specific dubcon scene (pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 5/6

words: um. 9.5k (sorry? but also you're welcome??)

chapter warnings: this chapter contains a scene that falls solidly into dubcon territory, so please proceed with caution, stay safe out there.

moodboards

series masterlist

a/n: WELL. here we are, almost at the end of our little rollercoaster ride. i've lost brain cells over this chapter, almost cut it up into smaller chunks, but ended up leaving it as long as i originally planned (longer, in fact. whoops). as always, feedback is very welcome + encouraged (i love hearing/reading your thoughts as things progress) buckle up, please do take note of the dubcon warning, prepare for the angst, and most importantly, enjoy!

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

He was back to ignoring you again.

But this time, the feeling was mutual. You’d never felt as thoroughly rejected as you did the night he had you walk back to your room, legs weak, wrapped in nothing but his shirt.

Once upon a time, this scenario would have been one you dreamed of, but reality often falls flat on its face. You wouldn’t have dreamt of walking away from him like this if you’d known it would feel this empty.

Humiliation ran rampant through your body, starting with the tears you blinked away as you left his room, closing the door behind you, and then flooding over as you stepped into your own room, slumping on the bed, curling up into yourself and weeping, pressing your still aching legs together but too upset to finish yourself off.

You kicked yourself for getting carried away, for getting too loud, too possessive with his face between your thighs and your hand in his hair. For getting so caught up in the moment, briefly forgetting your games, and for believing even for a second that you would be on the same page.

This push and pull had begun to wear you thin, and you were tired. So, you slept. Until nearly midday the next morning, when Lucille knocked on your door to remind you it was time for your monthly PR debrief.

The good news, though arguable at this point, was that your arrangement hadn’t been affected by recent events. At least, not on paper. Cordelia ran you through each gala, public appearance, and dinner, barely noticing your preoccupation, rambling on about speeches, coordinating outfits, dates and times of events, what to say and how to say it.

For you - and you could only imagine, Coriolanus too - everything had changed over the span of a month. 

Your shame made you abnormally quiet, head hung low, gaze averted, nodding along as Cordelia prompted either a response or approval from you. Snow just stared, glancing at her only when completely necessary, but otherwise, he didn’t take his eyes off you.

He was enjoying this. The sick fuck. You were glad when the meeting ended and you could scamper into the library, eager to lose yourself in a story of any kind other than the one you were living.

This went on. By day, you barely looked at him; by night, you tried over and over to prove that your own fingers were enough to keep you satisfied. To convince yourself that you just wanted him, you didn’t need him.

Because if you needed him, then he called the shots. He would win. And victorious as he may seem, the game wasn’t over yet. You’d slipped up in a moment of vulnerability, he’d tricked you into a corner just to prove his point.

You wanted him, you didn’t need him. But if you did… well.

He was going to have to need you more.

You held back this time. Keeping your cards safe, close to your chest. In a strange way, you found a kind of solace in your arrangement. Recent events had caused it to feel unstable, breakable even, but the meeting had ensured that it was all still on the right track. It allowed you to take a small piece of what you wanted from him without guilt or repercussions. After all, it was planned out to benefit you both. Then, when you were ready, and with a gentle hand, you began to weaponise it, loading it up in the barrel of a gun aimed directly at Snow.

You didn't have much left, but you had this. You knew where your promiscuity had led you. This time, you wanted to pull on his heart strings. Make him feel remorse, or whatever similar emotion he was capable of. Make him soften to you. Torture him with almosts that were never enough.

So when you took, you took cautiously, tentatively. You deepened your usually light kisses to what was just past socially acceptable, only to pull back when Snow began to lean in, turning away and smiling at the people surrounding you, or full-on entering into conversation with somebody else. You'd brush your thumb against his when you held hands, waiting for him to look at you, drawing your hand away when he did. You'd offer smiles to everyone but him, talk and laugh a little louder when you could feel him watching.

You pretended he didn’t exist. You could feel him begin to simmer. It wasn't as brazen as your usual game, but it was working.

Until it wasn’t.

“Something’s wrong, what is it?”

Lucille’s face dropped, her shaking hands lowering from the zip she was struggling with. You were getting ready for a luncheon, and you’d picked out an emerald green dress, one of your favorites for daytime events.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice, ma’am. I apologise. It’s my brother, he… it’s getting worse again.”

“Sit down for a second. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You listened to Lucille open up uncomfortably, visibly nervous that you would offer your financial support as you’d done before. But you didn’t, sparing her from having to turn you down.

Lucille was stubborn - she would never accept your charity. She was more than happy to work for her wages, and frequently worked longer hours. As months went by, you’d brought her pay up as high as you could without her noticing. But now things were getting more critical, and you knew there was only one thing you could do.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go and see your brother.”

“But you’re not dressed-”

“I’ll take care of it. Go home, Lucille. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She smiled softly.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

You’d tried with the zip, you really had. You didn’t want to have to knock on Snow’s office door with two favors to ask instead of one, but the dress was tight and the zip kept getting jammed. So, there you stood, dress half undone at the back, heart in your throat. You counted your blessings; at least it wasn’t his bedroom. You didn’t think you could face him at all in there. You heard typing from inside.

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open, feeling like an intruder.

“Sorry, I just… Could you help me with this?” Your hand tightened behind your back, holding the dress together.

He narrowed his eyes. He was already in his suit, typewriter on the desk in front of him.

“Lucille forget how to do her job?”

“I don’t need snide right now. Please, Coriolanus? I’ll explain when I’m not half naked. It’s drafty in here.”

You tried to make it clear in your tone that this wasn’t some ploy. You weren’t sure you had many of those left to offer.

“Fine.” He sighed, and stood, making no motion towards you, so you crossed the room, gripping onto the fabric, turning your back to him.

His hand came to rest on your waist as the other took the zipper, and you tried not to flinch at his touch. You pressed your lips together as he carefully zipped you up, cold metal sending a chill down your spine. Or maybe that was just him. You felt your eyes slide shut and your lips part as his hand lingered on your waist. You couldn’t hear anything but your heartbeat and the tick of his grandfather clock.

“Is that okay? Not too tight?” His breath on your neck gave you goosebumps, you hoped desperately that he wouldn’t notice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

The second his hand fell from your waist, you missed it. You carefully met his eye; he was looking at you like you had something he wanted.

So why hadn’t he wanted you? You’d been right there, and he’d turned you down.

He cleared his throat.

“I should finish this letter before we leave. Was there anything else?”

You paused.

“Actually, there is. Could I ask you a favor?” You glanced off to the side, suddenly very interested in the knots of wood on his desk. What helped was that you'd never seen inside this room before, and you hid behind your curiosity like it was a lifeline.

“What is it?”

“It’s…” you lowered your voice, “it’s about Lucille. Her brother, actually. He’s in the hospital again. The family can’t afford the medical bills to keep him in for as long as he needs. I’d like to foot the bill, but I can’t do it anonymously. I thought… well, I was wondering if you could pull a few strings.”

You were overexplaining, something you weren’t at all used to doing, but these days, just being in the same room as him made you nervous. You stared at his desk, at the lack of photographs on it, the single pen laying to the side, the smoothness of the glaze.

It was quiet for a moment.

“Consider it done.”

You looked up.

“Really?”

“Did you think I’d say no?” He asked.

“I- no, but…”

“It’s something that matters to you.”

You blinked, dumbfounded at how simply he put it.

“Yes. It is. Thank you, Coriolanus.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll make sure it’s anonymous.”

“Thank you. Or, I mean…”

He looked at you, and you wanted to melt. Wanted to throw strategy out the window, god, but -

You couldn’t. It hadn’t worked last time. You’d hoped to avoid a stalemate, but here you were, sat right in the middle of one.

“The car’s coming in a half hour. Are you almost ready?” He asked.

“Yes. Almost.”

The luncheon was going well, at first. You were at the head of a large table, sat beside Snow, straightening your salad fork as he stood up to make a speech. You’d been glancing at him throughout the afternoon; it wasn’t so hard to anymore. It felt like his willingness to help Lucille without question, just because it was what you wanted, had more of an effect on you in five minutes than the entire week of your teasing had on him. One conversation, and the tides had changed.

As he began talking, you started to realise that your gentler approach may have been affecting you more than it had him. The party was transfixed; people loved to hear him talk, and you were proud. He had a certain way with words; you knew better than anyone. You’d fallen victim to them.

You weren’t sure why his words affected you – you’d been there, you’d agreed when Cordelia had suggested he say something nice about you in this particular speech, really make the crowd swoon, lay it on thick - but when he started to talk about you, about how proud he was to have you by his side, how strong you were-

You knew he was just reciting a script written for him, but you couldn’t help it. The tears began to quietly fall. You thanked whatever higher being was listening for not letting anyone notice.

Or so you thought.

It was just typical that out of all the people that could’ve noticed, the one person who knew better was the only one who did.

The rest of them would’ve brushed it off as you simply being moved by emotion, honored by his kind words. You blinked away your tears, taking small, polite sips of your wine. It was painful because you knew it wasn’t true. None of it was, you knew he could never say those words and mean them.

And he knew that too.

It was dark when you got home, and you trailed behind him awkwardly on your way upstairs.

“Can I have a word?” his voice was gentle, and it set you on edge.

“Sure.”

You stood awkwardly in the hallway, then he led you into the office. He leaned against his desk, and you shifted your feet where you stood, eyes on the floor, on the art on the walls, on anything other than him.

“You were upset today.” He started.

You swallowed.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” you kept your voice steady. He paused.

“If that was my fault, I apologise. If I took it too far, if I upset you-”

You weren’t sure which part he was talking about, but you finally looked at him in a sort of distant defiance.

“Do you even care if I’m upset?”

“Of course I do. Especially when it’s something that affects you… publicly.”

You huffed, forcing yourself to stare him down.

“Because that’s all that matters, right? What the public sees?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it is. It’s okay, Snow. I’m a big girl. And I can take a hint, too. So don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine. Business as usual, right?”

He just stared, puzzled. You took a breath.

“Look, it’s been a long day. Can I go, or are you going to keep me here all night?”

The silence was like smoke, clouding between you. His brow furrowed, calculating. Then he sighed, long and heavy, and you tried not to let it phase you.

“Fine. Go.”

You nodded.

“Goodnight.”

You’d never been more relieved to get away from him. Your broken walls were starting to build back up. You wouldn’t let him break you, you couldn’t. You were stronger than this.

That night, for the first time, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly what you wanted.

“Darling, you look ravishing.” Lilian drawled. “It’s a pity Snow is so far across the room, and can’t appreciate you. If I dressed half as nicely as you did, perhaps my dear husband wouldn’t be screwing the maid.”

A scandalised chorus of giggles erupted from the group. It was a pretty dress, one of your best. Long and smooth black fabric, ruched at the waist, with a deep cut up the leg that was just acceptable for an evening gala. You stood tall, champagne glass in hand, gossiping with your friends.

Well.

Friends was being generous. You kept few true friends, and they would hardly be gossiping in a circle like this.

Acquaintances was a better fit. Pawns if you were being brutally honest. Politicians’ wives, senators’ mistresses, a chancellor’s daughter or two. Pieces of chess, really, in this bigger game. Anyone who could help you climb higher, whisper carefully spun words into open ears at your whim.

“I just know George would rip that dress off me the moment I got home. He might not even be able to wait, and just pull me into a closet here instead.”

Another eruption of giggles.

“Well, I’m flattered, my darlings.” You smiled. “This is one of my favorites. Coriolanus treats me well.”

“I’m sure he does,” a suggestive glance from Lilian, “in all the ways one would expect, I assume?”

You gasped in mock modesty.

“Lilian,” you drawled, “I certainly hope you’re not suggesting I disclose our-”

“Oh, just tell us dear, please. We’re all dying to know. You’re always so coy about it. What’s he like?”

You pulled your lips into a knowing smile, your perfectly painted face helping you slide into this facade. You scanned your eyes across the ballroom, across to Snow. He stood talking to a group of men, colleagues of his. You recognised their faces.

It had been four days since the luncheon. Four days since your outburst. Four days of hiding away. You’d been dreading tonight’s gala, but it gave you an excuse to dress nicely, and as soon as you’d arrived, you and Coriolanus has gone your separate ways.

“Well,” you hummed, masking your uncertainty as anticipation, “he can be a slight tease.”

A few dramatic gasps sounded through the group, and you turned back to face them, their eyes wide and expectant.

“Salacious. Do tell.” Another voice piped up with a giggle.

“He can be fun to toy with. I do enjoy pushing back, but sometimes he takes it… a little far.” You said carefully.

“My, who would have known? But you get what you want, my dear, surely.” Lilian asked.

You smiled, glancing back at him, suit pristine with a white rose in his breast pocket. You hated how good he looked. He was smiling politely at the group of men around him, but you could tell from the tick in his jaw that something was bothering him.

“Sometimes, I do. Others, I wait for my chance to push his buttons right back.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? I don’t suppose,” she pressed, “that you’re in one of those… entanglements at the moment?”

“Lilian, darling, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Another giggle sounded from the group.

“Oh, my.” Lilian repeated, glancing between the two of you. “I do hope you’ve been making him suffer.”

“Well, I’m playing a longer game this time, so I’m afraid there hasn’t been as much fun lately.”

Lilian sucked in a breath, like the perfect idea had just dawned on her.

“Well, I see no moment like the present. You’re here, you’re dressed marvellously, I propose you walk right over there and show him just what he’s missing.”

A chorus of yes and do it and we’ll cheer you ons rang out. Loosened by the champagne, you looked across the room at him again. You could do it. He wouldn’t be able to react, it would be the most perfect torture. You suddenly decided that you were done making small moves, done playing it safe like this was some schoolgirl crush. It was time to step up to the mark again. Take your power back.

Your group could sense the newfound determination in you. You smiled, slow and cunning.

Show him what he’s missing.

Simple. It’s what you did best.

“Watch and learn, ladies.”

A hush fell over the group as they watched you run a hand through your hair, handed your glass to one of them, and pressed your lips together. Before you’d left the house you’d added a swipe of red lipstick, dark red, almost bloodlike. It always made you feel more confident and tonight, you needed the pick me up.  

The middle of the ballroom was practically empty; the dancing was over, and everyone had long since gathered in groups to the sides. So you turned heads when you stepped out, the only one on the floor, black satin hugging your frame like a second skin. You didn’t look at them, you made a steady beeline to Snow. You felt more and more eyes on you as you crossed the room, heels clicking on the floor. They all watched, waiting for… something. Coriolanus didn’t look up until you were a mere few steps away, now deep in some conversation he was going to forget very shortly.

Blue eyes flashed to yours with a confused apprehension, but you didn’t give yourself time to think about the twitch of his brow, or the looks on the faces of his colleagues. You didn’t think about the way he opened his mouth as if to say something, only for it to be swallowed away.

You didn’t think about any of that.

Because your lips were on his.

Hot and hungry, teeth clashing, your hand grabbing the back of his neck as he leaned in, surprised at first, then warm, wanting. Lips tugging at yours like he was starving.

It was sinful.

You’d never been kissed like this before. Your fuzzy brain wondered how you’d gone through life not knowing what this felt like, the press of his lips devouring yours, heated and messy.

He kissed you like breathing, like you were his oxygen supply. His hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, and you heard the echoes of chuckling coming from around you, morphing into a few light claps.

Then, just as you felt him fully melt into you, your hand slipped higher to the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of perfect platinum curls, and tugged.

It was nothing but an affectionate display to the people surrounding you, but a brazen reminder between the two of you. It was your way of showing you hadn’t forgotten, that you wouldn’t be made to feel ashamed, to cower in a corner while he got the better of you.

Not in this lifetime.

The second it happened, his breath hitched, and his hand tensed on your waist. You were the only one who caught it, getting high off the satisfaction, finally pulling away.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a prettier sight; his blown-out eyes, his face stained with scarlet.  

How’s that for tasting your own medicine.

Watching him attempt to collect himself was sweeter still. Watching him reset his face into one of distant amusement. He let out a small laugh, glanced at the rest of the party.

“Everything alright, doll? Had a little much champagne, perhaps?”

His colleagues chuckled, but you didn’t look their way. You stood your ground. Offered a sweet smile, but he could see your slyness.

“Oh, I’m swell. And I think I’ve had just enough, actually. I’m gonna go freshen up.”

You turned on your heel and made your way through winding halls to the bathroom, riding an adrenaline high. You picked up a glass from a server’s tray along the way – the champagne had dried out, all they were serving now was posca, which while disgusting, worked a treat to take the edge off. It wasn’t long before the door swung open and you saw Coriolanus appear behind you in the mirror.

“This is the ladies’ room, handsome.” You looked away, continuing to reapply your lipstick.

He stepped closer.

“What was that kiss about, sweetheart?” Straight to the point.

“Nothing.” You shrugged.

“Didn’t feel like nothing.”

“That’s called acting, Snow.”  You rolled your eyes, vaguely aware that your words sounded a little jumbled. You put the tube of lipstick away. “We had an audience. A rather expectant one at that.”

He folded his arms.

“I don’t like it when you catch me off guard like that. Not with people around.”

“Seemed to like it plenty to me.” You mumbled.

He didn’t answer, pacing past you to the other sink, grabbing a towel and wiping it against his face, where the red had stained his skin. It only served to spread it around further, and if you weren’t already smugly entertained by the marks you’d left on him, now it was just plain funny.

He glared at you when you laughed.

“Don’t give me that look. Here,” you offered, stepping across to him, taking the towel and wetting it, “let me.”

You wiped at a patch, but he snatched the towel back and took over.

“No, you’re rubbing it too hard. It’s-” he glowered at you – “fine. Do it your way.”

You went back to lean against your sink and took another sip of posca, admiring the ornate decorations in the room. A little excessive, a little new money for your tastes.

There was a rap on the door.

“President Snow?”

“Just a minute.” He said coolly.

“You’re in a mood tonight.” You remarked, and he huffed.

“Running a country can get exhausting. Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Right.” You said flatly. “Because I’m just a brainless pawn like everybody else.”

He looked over at you, at the drink in your hand.

“How many of those have you had?”

You shrugged again, and he tossed the towel into the sink, walking over to you.

“Answer me.” His voice was stern, and for a second, you soaked it in, drenched in the danger as he approached, closing in. Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips, and your eyes followed his as he moved to stand in front of you.

“Shame you don’t have someone to let all that frustration out on, isn’t it? Sounds like that could be helpful.”

His eyes pierced yours.

“Doll-”

“I’m just saying, it’s a pity you don’t.” You moved to bring the glass to your lips, anticipating the burn in your throat, but he gently stopped your hand.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

“Posca? It’s my first glass.” You smiled, eyes batting.

“You know what I mean. I think you should stop.”

You looked at the glass, then back at him, and pried your hand away, slowly and pointedly taking another sip.

“Sweetheart.” He warned.

“What, are you punish me? Gonna make me beg for you then kick me out again? Already did that once.”

He gave an incredulous half-laugh.

“That’s what this is about? You’re not really going to be mad about that forever, are you?”

“That depends. How long is forever?”

The door knocked again, and he worked the glass out of your hand.

“Drink some water. Sober up. We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

You sighed, heading for the door, but glanced back at him, his face still a stained mess. You brushed a finger against your own cheek to mirror his.

“You missed a spot.”

You sat in silence in his office, feeling a little like a schoolchild caught misbehaving. His typing was the only sound in the room. The seat was low; almost as if it was there to point out his authority over anyone who sat in it. Knowing him, it probably was.

He’d managed to clean off the rest of your lipstick, but his face looked rubbed raw, uncomfortable. A tall glass of water sat on the desk in front of you.

“Thought you said we’d talk.”

“Not until you finish that glass. I’m not talking to you inebriated.”

“Seriously?”

He shot you a look from behind his typewriter.

“Fine. Whatever.” You reached for it and took a few sips. He looked back down again. A few folders cluttered the desk, and in your boredom, your eyes scanned them. They looked complicated; legal.

“What are you writing there anyway? Or am I too dumb to understand?”

He offered another unimpressed glance.  

“It’s a new bill I’m trying to pass. Except apparently, I’m the only one around here with their head screwed on enough to work on it.”

You waited as Snow pushed the typewriter’s lever, carriage sliding the page as he began writing the next line. You sipped your water.

He sighed. “One day I won’t have to mingle with these idiots anymore. They’ll just listen to me, and obey.”

You took that in.

“Do you feel that way about me?”

He studied you for a second, and stopped typing.  

“No. Not really.”

“But you wish I’d be more… compliant.” You stared at the floor.

“Not necessarily.”

“You sure? Didn’t seem to like it the other night.”

His eyes narrowed. Knowing this conversation was a game of chess like any other. But lately the stakes were higher than ever.

“Never said I didn’t like it. Just that you were out of line.”

“And where is that fucking line?” You snapped. “I’m serious, Snow, because we’ve never talked about it.”

“You want to talk, all of a sudden? Okay, sweetheart. Fire away.”

You put the glass down on the table, heavier than intended.

“I just don’t understand you, Coriolanus. I mean, first you don’t want me, then you do want me, then you don’t again. And now what? I don’t know what I’m supposed to think when you don’t give me anything to go off.”

He watched you carefully, and you wanted to shake him, to scream, anything that would give you answers. You stood, unable to sit still, and started pacing.

“You know what’s worse? I don’t even know if you want me here anymore. I don’t know how to act around you because I never know what you’re thinking. At first I thought all this, the whole push and pull, was just some control thing. But-” you laughed, airy and insane, “you know what I realised? You’ve had me fooled, Snow. All this time I thought we were equals, but now I think I finally realise.”

He frowned, waiting for you to continue.

“You pay for my company, if you think about it. We trade services, don’t we? You get something from me, I get something back. I live in your house, eat your food, wear nice clothes. At the end of the day, that’s just it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

You shrugged, tears filling your eyes as bitterness took over, so strong you could almost taste it.  

“I’m no better than a whore myself.”

You’d never heard a louder silence. If that hadn’t just taken everything out of you, you’d have begged him to say something. Instead, you just stared, eyes blurry with tears, as he seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, and you gave up trying to read his mind, because his expression was indecipherable.  

After what felt like hours, he took a long breath.

“Sit down.”

You glanced at the floor, then took a step towards your chair. He stopped you.

“Not there. Here.” He nodded at the desk in front of him, and you swallowed thickly, stepping around the desk, getting awfully close to him, and pulling yourself onto the desk, legs pressed together. He stood, looking down at you. 

“That’s really what you think of yourself?” He asked, voice steady and controlled.

You kept your eyes averted.

“Am I wrong?”

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips against your jaw, tipping your head up to look at him. And when you looked at his eyes, you knew exactly what he was feeling. He wasn’t hurt, or upset.

He was mad.

“Tell me something. What do you think I’d do if I heard someone talking about you that way?

“I don’t-”

“I’d have them executed. And you expect me to stand by and let you talk about yourself like that?”

You felt a tear spill down your cheek.

“I don’t know, Coriolanus, you tell me. Am I disposable to you?”

“Of course not."

“But you’d replace me if I left.”

“What makes you think I’d let you leave in the first place?”

A chill caressed your spine.

“That’s right. I’m keeping you here, doll. If I made you doubt that, I apologise. But you’re no whore. Though sometimes, I…” He trailed off.

“What?”

His eyes were on your lips again, hungry. You wondered how someone could switch from distant to depraved and wanting this quickly.

“Sometimes I wish you were. Because it’d make it a lot easier for me to take what I want. If you were, then I’d have no hesitation in ripping your clothes off right here. Fucking you on my desk, or up against the wall, not caring if you cum. Not caring if you enjoy it. If you were a whore, I’d have fucked you in every room in this house, twice over. I wouldn’t let you sleep.”

His hand was on your thigh, the now-creased fabric of your dress crumpling as it slid up. You weren’t sure when your eyes had fallen shut, your hot breath mixing with his as his thumb rubbed against your skin.

Your voice was pathetically quiet.

“Then why don’t you?”

He sighed, tone shifting into something tense, something you could cut through with a knife.

“Because you’re fucking impossible, you know that? I can barely think when you’re around. I don’t know where the games begin or end. I don’t… I don’t understand this power you have over me. I thought you knew, you must know that you’re under my skin. I don’t know if you’ll ever stop playing with me. It drives me fucking insane.”

You opened your eyes, hand gripping his wrist and pulling it from your thigh. You slid off the desk and took a step away from him.

“You think I’m playing with you? The only time you pay an ounce of attention to me is when you’re trying to fuck with my head, Snow. I said my piece, you heard me and you still didn’t care. So please, for both our sakes, stop torturing me. Just… come find me when you decide you want me again, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”

You made for the door, which you slammed with such an impressive force that it even took you aback.

You replayed his words in your head that night until you fell into a deep sleep, and when you woke, you felt like your dreams made more sense than he did.

“Tigris!” you exclaimed, catapulting into the blonde’s arms. The people who stood scattered around you in the manor’s large ballroom spun their heads around at your display. A few even dodged to the side as the momentum that you’d built running down the stairs nearly knocked her over.

A few days of silent glances and fewer exchanged words had passed. And now, you were just happy to be hosting in the comfort of your own home, and to finally see Tigris again. You wondered if she noticed how you hugged her, if she wondered - like you did - if you’d ever let go.

“I’m so happy you’re here. How’s your Grandma’am?”

“She’s quite well, she’s sorry she couldn’t make it. You look beautiful as ever. It’s been too long!”

“I know! I don’t think I’ve seen you since your birthday, which makes me the worst friend ever.” You groaned, scrunching up your face in shame.

“It’s okay! I know busy Coriolanus keeps you with all these functions. You must be going out of your mind by now. How are you holding up?”

The two of you walked to the edge of the room, where prying eyes had settled down after your greeting.

You looked at Snow, stood across the ballroom, dressed in a pristine suit with a champagne glass in hand, talking to yet another group of men who worked for him – ministers and such, a little higher ranking than the group from the other night – and spared you the occasional glance. As if he was keeping tabs on you. It wasn’t long before Tigris caught on and politely inquired.

“I don’t understand him, Tigris. I think he hates me.” You sighed.

“What? No, he could never. He has a soft spot for you, really, and I have it on good authority.”

“I’m not so sure anymore. I think I’ve pushed it a little far this time. I think… maybe we both did. I’m in uncharted waters, here.”

“Look, I know I don’t know all the ins and outs of how this thing between you works, but I don’t think he could ever hate you for doing anything. Coryo – I mean, Coriolanus, he does care, contrary to popular belief. It’s just that his way of showing it can get a little…”

“Fucked?” You offered, and she laughed.

“Yes, exactly. Now, I’m not going to lie to you and say that he’s an angel on earth, he’s had to do things to get to where he is now. Things that even I don’t know the extent of, and they’ve… changed him.”

You rarely got the chance to speak with Tigris alone these days, with Snow usually playing chaperone, or keeping one or the both of you busy, but it had always been easy to slide right back into conversation with her like you’d never been apart.

You’d first met Tigris at a Plinth gala years ago, on the same day you’d met Snow. The two of you had talked and laughed and she had an easiness around her, she wasn’t shallow and judgemental like a lot of the girls you’d grown up with, though you never knew why until many months later. Snow had placed a large wall between his life before the Plinth endorsement, and after. Few people knew the conditions he’d grown up in, but after countless hours with Tigris, you’d begun to assemble small pieces. Despite your closeness with her, you knew from her warnings that Snow had a sort of temper when it came to this topic, so you approached it with caution.

“Changed him how?” You inquired, finally.

“Well… It wasn’t always fancy balls and lunches with him. It never was, with any of us, as you know, but especially for him. He’s… had a different experience. Grandma’am and I, we’ve known hard times, but we haven’t seen what he’s seen. Not even close.”

“What kind of things?”

She glanced over her shoulder, making sure nobody was hovering.

“He’d kill me for telling you.”

“You know I won’t say a word. But you don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much to ask.”

 She took in a breath, and sipped her drink, voice dropping to a whisper.

“This stays between us, okay? Coriolanus has… been out there. In the districts, I mean. Before all this. And I can’t go into detail, he’d have my head if I…”

You swallowed.

“The districts? But… why? I don’t-”

“Tigris, lovely to see you, it’s been so long.” A male voice interrupted, and you quickly excused yourself, slipping away to let the two of them talk.

After mulling it over in your head and making small talk with a few more guests, you snuck out of a side door and into the hallways, winding upstairs until you were finally met with Snow’s bedroom door. The sound of voices and music a mere echo below you, you pushed tentatively, and stepped inside. It was strange, being in there alone, for the first time since he’d turned you away. But you paced the floor, looking for something, anything, that would answer the questions you had. Why the districts? Why couldn’t Tigris tell you what had happened there?

Glancing back at the door, you began thumbing through his closet, peeking inside drawers. You’d already given his room a once over, but you worked more meticulously this time, every corner you unsuccessfully turned over only fuelling your curiosity. You walked around the room again, getting frustrated.

You headed back to the door, scanning the place, and retraced your steps a third time. Knocking a little on cupboards and anything that appeared the slightest bit odd or out of place. It was a perpetually tidy room, neat as ever, save for the desk which contained folders you were sure weren’t for your eyes, but that didn’t stop you. You kept on, trying your best not to leave any stone unturned, and most importantly, trying not to move anything out of place.

Eventually, you moved to the smaller desk drawers again, rifling through them haphazardly, annoyed by the lack of evidence you were finding. One of the two drawers had very little inside it, just a pencil and a pocket dictionary, and as you pushed your hand further inside to feel for anything else, you noticed it felt smaller than the first. Shallower. When you knocked, it was hollow.

It had a false bottom.

Your father used to keep his cigars beneath one of these when you were growing up, so you knew what to look for. You felt around the edge until you touched a small, metal handle, then emptied the drawer, hooked your fingers into the handle and pulled. You frowned at first, there was less in the hidden compartment than there was above it. But you peered inside, and there lay two items: an old photograph, and a silver dog tag.

Suddenly, it all made sense. His efficiency, his drive, his orderliness.

Military. The districts. The dog tag.

You unfolded the photograph, caked in a layer of dust, and it hit you like a ton of rocks.  

Coriolanus was a peacekeeper.

But why? When? And why keep it a secret?

In the photograph, his hair was buzzed, and he was in a uniform you recognised immediately; if only because of the annual reaping ceremony shown in every building in the Capitol. He was standing next to a boy with dark hair, also buzzed. You recognised him as Sejanus Plinth, you’d never met the kid but you’d been to his funeral with your family, and had seen enough pictures to know.

You knew that the Plinth family had backed Coriolanus’ education, that he became their new heir, a protégé of sorts, but not that he’d been friends with their son. Not that they’d been this close, at least. They weren’t smiling in the photo, stood pin straight and alert in what looked like barracks.  

You folded the photograph and placed it back where you found it. Your hands lingered on the dog tag, though, despite the logical side of your brain screaming at you to put it back, leave the room and pretend you didn’t see this. But the louder part egged you on as you pulled it out of the drawer, examining the engraved words, running your hands over the name SNOW and, further down, DISTRICT 12.

You’d heard bedtime stories from your mother while growing up, about the war, the Hunger Games and why they existed, and why it was never safe to set foot in the districts, not even the richer ones.

They’re beneath us, she’d said. They’re dangerous. Barbaric. And 12 was notoriously the poorest, most dangerous of them all.

Coriolanus had now become more of an enigma to you than ever before, and a thousand new questions flooded your head.

You closed the drawer halfway, holding the chain, pulling out a chair in front of the mirror to sit down. You turned the tag over in your hands, as if it would start giving you the answers, if only you looked hard enough.

Why was he sent to 12? Why couldn’t he talk about it?

Despite the conditions Snow grew up in, there was respect behind his family name. It didn’t make sense why someone of his social standing and education would leave to be a peacekeeper, of all things, and in 12, of all places. A strange sort of pity filled you, wondering what he could’ve seen out there. What he could’ve done. It all drew you in as you got lost in a world of what ifs.

Despite yourself, you pushed your hair from your neck, and as if in a trance, wrapped the chain around it. It fell heavy and cold against your skin, sending a chill through your bones. You were so busy staring down at it, so lost in thought that you barely noticed the sound of the door pushing open. Or the floorboards lightly creaking. Or his reflection in the mirror. You didn’t notice any of that, until the door swung shut with a bang.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Coriolanus had had a long day, most of which he’d spent simmering over work and you. He’d kept his eye on you that evening; on the way you’d thrown yourself into Tigris’ arms, and talked, transfixed, and he hated not knowing what was being said. A strange feeling set in as he saw the two of you get deeper into conversation from the other side of the large room, a deep-seated uneasiness stirring him up as he drowned out the tales of his associates’ incompetence. It felt like a breath of relief when he sent someone your way to interrupt whatever talk you were having, pretending that Tigris had been looking for him earlier. He focused on your brief tour of the room when the distraction worked, eyes flitting around like you were preoccupied.

When he saw you dart away from the ballroom and up one of the stairwells, he followed you as soon as he got the chance.

He’d wondered if you might act up today, but this wasn’t what he was expecting. When he saw you, the all too familiar glint of silver around your pretty neck, something shifted in him. Something he’d done a very, very good job of keeping at bay during his first few years of presidency.

Rage.

Your eyes met his in the mirror.

“Coriolanus, I-”

His hands were on you before you could finish your sentence, hauling you out of the chair, fingers wrapped in a death grip around your arms, squeezing as he pushed you to the wall with a satisfying thud.

“What, you can explain? I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” You gasped as he squeezed tighter, gripping your wrists.

“Do you even know what this means?” He seethed, dog tag pressed between his fingers, chain pulling at your neck.

The forest. The birds. The gunshots that deafened him for weeks.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry. I never knew you were a peacekeeper, Coryo, I-” He flinched, saw the way you winced the second it passed your lips.

Snow may have been cold, but his eyes were fire. And you were only stoking it.

“So I’m Coryo now? Who the fuck told you call me that? Was it Tigris? I saw you talking to her, don’t lie to me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “She didn’t tell me anything, I promise. Please. It was just me.”

He moved in closer, eclipsing you altogether, grip on the chain so tight he was certain you’d be able to feel it pinching the back of your neck, digging a mark into your flesh. He let the sadistic part of his brain take delight in it, in the way your eyes widened, face pleading.

Whatever this game was between you, you’d gone too far this time.

“How did you find this?” He snapped.

You were crowded against the wall, unable to move. Tears started to brim, and you didn’t answer, he wasn’t sure you could. You just shook your head over and over, repeating I’m sorry like a broken record.

“Take this off. Now. Take it off.” He ordered, dropping it back to your chest, stepping away a little so you could lift your shaking arms over your head, removing the chain. He snatched it from you, gripping it in his palm, looking down at it, and you breathed out in relief.

“I didn’t mean to… I was just looking. I had so many questions. I didn’t know what I’d find.”

“And? Are you fucking satisfied now?” His voice chilled you to the bone as he looked up at you again.

You shook your head. Apologised again. Wished you could apologise in any way that would matter, but it was too late. You’d never been more afraid in your life, anticipating what might happen, remembering echoes of rumors you’d heard, of Snow poisoning his enemies, of sending them to hang. Some you knew to be true, but others you boiled down to rebel gossip.

Now, you weren’t so sure. These were the eyes of a man who’d dropped his mask, and it was like staring into a dark void. You could get lost in it, and never find your way back.

“Please. Don’t… I won’t tell anyone, I promise. You can trust me.”

He scoffed.

Stupid girl. Hadn’t you learned by now, that trust meant nothing?

“Like I trusted you in here? I don’t think so. Can’t believe you had me feeling sorry for you. Probably just made it up so you could lower my guard then turn around and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I didn’t, Coriolanus, I swear.” You pleaded. You were crying, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’ve been very patient with you, little girl. But this is where I draw the line. You have no idea how far you’ve pushed me. And you don’t even realise it, you’re so caught up in your little crush. Do you know how easy I’ve been going on you? The things I’ve let you get away with… I’ve killed people for much less.”

“You’ve…” You trailed off, barely hearing your own words, barely processing a thing. He laughed, low and dark.

“Does that scare you, sweetheart? Does it make you afraid?”

Eyes frozen open, you just stared. You felt your jaw go slack.

“Good.”  

Coriolanus toed an invisible line, one that had never been crossed before. You wanted him to show you he wanted you? Fine.

He looked down at the chain wrapped around his fist, but he didn’t pocket it, or place it to the side. He unwound it, and slowly pulled it over his own neck.

Your eyes dropped to where it sat in stark contrast, heavy and shining, garish against his fancy dress shirt. You felt your blood run cold.

“Get on your knees.” You heard him say. Your eyes darted back up.

“What?”

When he spoke, it sounded like someone else was talking. Someone you didn’t know at all.

“You heard me. Get on your fucking knees. Right now.”

What could you do? This was what you’d wanted. Just… not like this. Not when your hands were shaking in fear, and you had no idea what this Coriolanus was capable of.

Your head said yes; your heart wept. But you were far past listening to your sorry heart.

So, you obeyed. Legs all but giving in as you lowered yourself to the ground, knees meeting cold hardwood as the chill cut through your dress.

His fingers slipped under one of the straps.

“Take this off, baby.” He murmured, distant, like he wasn’t all there. Your head hung in shame, eyes on his feet as you pushed the straps from your shoulder, top half of the dress falling down. You heard his zipper slide down, and you shivered. No longer sure if it was in fear or anticipation.

“Head up. Look at me. Good,” he said, when you obliged, “now let’s see what this pretty mouth’s really good for, shall we?”

More tears welled up as his hand brushed your jaw, hooking a thumb to your bottom lip, pushing your mouth open. You couldn’t help the way your tongue grazed over it, tasting salt, whining when you realised it was the taste of your own tears. When your eyes fell open again, you finally caught a look at him, hard and tip weeping, and your brain filled with nothing but want, eclipsing your fear for a mere second, enough to bring Coriolanus to the ground again. He may have done terrible, unspeakable things, but he was still a man. A man who wanted you.

And why did that make your heart beat out of your chest? It thrummed like a hummingbird as you took in the sight of him, unbuttoning his shirt as he waited for you to move.

You’d seen how big he was from a distance. You’d felt him between layers of fabric, and you’d imagined this a million times over. But now, as he stood waiting in front of you, you hesitated, because it all finally felt real. Your mouth watered despite yourself, seeing the mess he’d already made, any more and he’d start dripping -

“Go on, sweetheart. It’s not gonna suck itself.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you let him past your lips. The heady taste of precum filled your mouth as you ran your tongue along the shaft slowly, trying to start steady. He wasn’t having it. His hand twisted through your hair, pulling you in closer, making you gag a little. You instinctively lifted a hand up to his thigh to brace yourself, and he laughed.

“Giving up so soon? Thought you’d try harder than that.”

He pushed further, and the indignant sound you made as you adjusted only served to spur him on.

You tried to focus on breathing through it, but he slipped in and out your mouth unevenly, and faster than you could think, catching you off guard. He looked down at the way your mouth struggled to take his length as if you were a piece of art, like he was mesmerised by it, and that feeling was encouragement was enough to keep you going. His hand twisted harder in your hair, making a fist, and he swore when you hummed in discomfort.

“Look at you.” He said, strung-out and shaky. “You strut right in here from your silver spoon life, and think you can call the shots? You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea what the world is really like. What people are like. What they have to do to survive.”

He moved faster, and you let your jaw go slack. You were barely moving now, he was starting to fuck your throat like he owned it. You’d started to cry again, and when you looked up at him, it was a blur. The furthest you could see was his chest, shirt unbuttoned and falling to the sides, and the dog tag, silver catching in the low light, swinging against his chest as he moved. You closed your eyes again, trying to go somewhere else in your head. Trying to breathe through your nose, to focus on being used, on how good you were making him feel, on finally being his. It was all you had left to hold on to.

But he was unwinding you with his words, knowing just where to press to make it sting, to make the tears fall harder.

“You don’t have any fucking shame about it either. Touching yourself on my bed and wearing my clothes, like you’re – fuck, that’s it - like we’re married or something. Like you’re worth more than everyone else. But look at you. Maybe you were right after all. Maybe you are my whore.” he gritted out.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried desperately to catch your breath between sobs.  

“I mean, you sure look like it now, on your knees for me, making a mess of your pretty face. So fucking good. You’re sucking me off better than she did, and you’re barely even trying.”

You hated it. Hated the way his thumb brushed painfully gently against your cheek, dusting away a tear as his cock bruised the back of your throat and you tried not to gag around him. Hated the way his words twisted around in your head, and how fucked up it was that your broken brain took it as praise instead of punishment.

Most of all, you hated the throb between your shaking legs, panties soaked through and probably ruined. Humiliation seeped through you as you imagined it dripping down your legs and onto the floor. Your salty tears spilled down your face, mixing with your spit and his precum. Hating every second, until your head went blank, and you didn’t feel much of anything anymore.

You weren’t sure exactly how it happened.

One second, he was pulling your hair, twitching in your mouth and spilling down your throat, and the next, in what felt like a flash, you were on the floor, loud, wrecked sobs spilling out of you as you held your knees to your chest, face hidden. He was on the floor too - when did he get down? - and his voice was soft, oh so soft and gentle, saying something you couldn’t quite make out, dull and repetitive past your ringing ears.

“- so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I know I - I didn’t… I took it too far. Can you hear me, sweetheart? Look at me. Please, look at me. I’m right here.”

You pulled your head from your hands, and through blurred eyes, you looked at him.

This wasn’t a face you’d seen on him before. His brows knitted, lips apart as he stared at you, like you were some wounded animal he wanted to save.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Please.”

“I can’t…” You trailed off.

“You can tell me.”

Another wave of choked back sobs took over you. He held your jaw up like you were something breakable. Like maybe you’d broken already, and he was holding you together.

“I can’t do this.” You whispered. “Not like-”

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Okay. It’s okay, baby. Tell me what I can do for you. Just say the word.”

You caught your breath, and he flinched a little as you collapsed into his arms. The cool metal of the dog tag pressed into your cheek.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You cried.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t realise how far I’d pushed you until… I know I can’t make it up to you, but I’ll try. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. If you want to leave, I understand. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“What? No, that’s not…”

He cut you off, looking into your eyes.

“Decide tomorrow, okay doll? You don’t have to think about that now.”

“I didn’t know about… about the districts.” You hiccupped. “About you. You didn’t want me to know. I ruined everything, I-”

“Listen to me. It doesn’t matter anymore, I promise you. It’s okay, baby.”

You nodded into his chest.

“Here.” He leaned away from you, and you looked up in a question. He took the chain from his neck and placed it in your palm.

“You can have it. So long as nobody sees. You can throw it away, wear it around the house, whatever you want. It’s yours.”

You pressed it between your fingers. It cooled your hot skin like a salve.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Your head sank back onto his chest, and when you spoke again, it was barely audible.

“Coryo?”

He tensed for a second, but relaxed again just as quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

His hand brushed gently against your hair, and you relaxed into it.

“Of course you can.”

a/n: baby's first dubcon scene!! (screams cries and throws up bc navigating that was scary as fuck) p.s one more chapter left!! do we think they'll get their shit together?? who knows!! (i know)

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904 @pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @snowlandstop @badbleep88

(more tags in the reblogs/comments)

if you’d like to be tagged, pls comment on the series masterlist (helps me keep track of everyone!!) 💌

[prokopetz]

Hey why DO all those old tabletop RPGS and adventure games have such weird obtuse "act in this one scene or softlock forever" moments? Like, these weren't designed like arcade games that munch quarters... Why was this sort of thing so commonplace?

(With reference to this post here.)

Funnily enough, for tabletop RPGs there's actually a good answer.

If you're familiar with the popular history of tabletop roleplaying games, you've probably heard the idea that they developed out of fantasy wargaming. That's not actually terribly accurate; tabletop RPGs and fantasy wargames are more like two parallel branches that split off from the recreating-historical-battles kind of wargaming at about the same time, and for the first couple of decades there wasn't a bright line drawn between them like there is today. Many are genuinely hard to classify by contemporary standards – there are a lot of early fantasy wargames that look more like modern tabletop RPGs, and vice versa.

One of the consequences of that lack of sharp distinctions between tabletop RPGs and fantasy wargames is that early tabletop RPGs were often played in a sort of "competitive co-op" format at wargaming tournaments. Multiple groups would run their parties through the same adventure in parallel, and be ranked on their performance; sometimes this would involve scoring points for completing specific objectives, or speedrunning the adventure and aiming for the fastest time, but the most popular tournament format was the survival module: adventures which were deliberately designed to be unreasonably difficult, with whichever group's last surviving character's corpse hit the ground furthest from the dungeon entrance being judged the winner.

The upshot of that popularity is that many published adventures early on – and certainly the greater part of the more infamous ones! – were originally written as survival modules, created to be run competitively at a particular tournament, and later repackaged and sold as commercial products. Of course, practically none of them actually explained that; like nearly all tabletop RPG material of their day, they were written under the assumption that all tabletop roleplayers had come up through organised play at university gaming clubs, and thus already had all the context I've just outlined. This ended up causing no end of confusion when the hobby's mainstream visibility exploded in the early 1980s, and suddenly there were folks who'd picked up the rulebooks at their local bookstores trying to teach themselves how to play from first principles with no prior contact with gaming club culture.

As for why adventure games were also like that... well, this is going to sound bizarre by contemporary standards, and I don't blame you if you don't believe me, but once upon a time, point-and-click adventure games were considered the gold standard for Serious Gaming. Unforgiving routing, bizarre moon-logic puzzles, and a bewildering variety of unique ways to get yourself killed off were held up as the mark of the serious gamer in much the same way that janky soulslike combat systems are today, and a large chunk of the genre was made to cater to that ethos. Gamer culture is a hell of a drug!

(If you're about to ask the obvious follow-up question, "what changed?", the point-and-click adventure game's fall from grace and subsequent dismissal as casual fluff tracks more or less directly with a large demographic shift in the late 1990s that saw the genre's player base skewing predominantly female – and, well, you can probably connect the dots from there.)

[plounce]

new mogtomes event rewards!

dropping next wednesday, 2/26: easier ways to get cool stuff! (link to the official site)

i've compiled the in-game sources for all the rewards under the cut (or in this bsky thread)!

PAISSA EARRING - this is new! never-before-seen paissa earring! here's the paissa brat minion, and here's a full-grown paissa

INFERNO JACKET - previously a reward for the mogtomes event leading up to 5.5.

SHADOW GWIBER - lv 80 trial hades extreme

FALCON IGNITION KEY - this was a was a reward for being subscribed during a specific 90 day time period iin 2017 (ty to a bsky commenter for this correction)! it has land, air, and underwater forms!!

MAGICKED BED - shb treasure map dungeons provide enchanted elm lumber, 3 of which can be used to craft this (your eyes are actually open when you use it. which bugs me, so i had tomte close her eyes for this pic)

QUEEN'S GUARD BARDING - a possible drop from delubrum reginae, the bozja duty between the two exploration areas! (bozja is unlocked post-5.0; you have to have also completed the stb alliance raids)

ANCIENT ONE - a minion from the optional/bonus shb dungeon anamnesis anyder

PRIMAL ANGEL ORCH ROLL - from the eden's verse: furor, aka e6, aka the garuda/ifrit fight.

MODERN AESTHETICS: FORM & FUNCTION - silver/gold bunny treasure chests in eureka pyros.

PLEASANT DOT PARASOL - lockboxes from the bozjan southern front, or purchase with 25 clusters there.

BALLROOM ETIQUETTE: THE WINSOME WALLFLOWER - /lean emote. 1800 skybuilder's scrips (firmament/diadem, so crafting/gathering)

ELBST HORN & BOMB PALANQUIN HORN - ARR allied society quests, sahagin and kobolds respectively

LEGENDARY KAMUY & HALLOWED KAMUY - stormblood extremes, shinryu ex and seiryu ex respectively

woodland chair, apothecary's workbench, candlelit sundries, fat cat rug, and fluffy pancakes are all easily craftable furniture. you can buy them on the market board OR i will make these for you (i ♥ crafting). don't waste your mogtomes.

WIND-UP SYLPH - minion from the ARR allied society quests for the sylphs.

the skallic clothes are all drops from the post-stormblood msq dungeon "the drowned city of skalla", which can be run with duty support. it has the essential BLU spell "hydro push" as well. (the striking/aiming/healing pants are a cute glam option for fem characters! these are dyed soot black)

SPECIAL TIMEWORN MAPS: lv 70, 80, 90 guaranteed portal treasure maps. POTENTIALY special are lv 90 khumbhiraskin maps (maze); CONCEIVABLY special are lv 90 ophiotauroskin maps (roulette). lv 70s can help you get the 'luckiest of lord/ladies' title. all good choices if you have spare mogtomes.

not covering riding maps because they are not useful and are a waste of currency (imo). riding maps do NOT affect your FLYING speed! only your ground speed!

TRIPLE TRIAD CARDS:

POROGGO: npc, seika, idyllshire

HONOROIT: npc, house fortemps manservant, ishgard

SEEKER OF SOLITUDE: lv 80 msq dungeon, grand cosmos

SHB WOL: lv 80 msq trial, seat of sacrifice (normal & ex)

EDEN'S PROMISE: lv 80 eden raid, eden's promise: eternity (e12n + savage)

BITTY DUCKBILL - minion, shb+ hunt currency (800 nuts), crystarium hunt desk.

BACON BITS - minion, lv 80 botanist retainer venture.

THE GARDEN'S GATES ORCH ROLL - shb allied society quests for pixies (which are shb's combat society quests).

CURIEL ROOT - can be used to feed your chocobo to increase exp gains for it. you can only use this if you have a stable available, either through your apartment, house, or FC house. can just be bought through the marketboard.

MAGICKED PRISMS (JOB MASTERY) - fun stars effects for a few seconds. a mogtome staple. if you truly want some sparkles for a few seconds, holidays usually have some and there are doubtless people selling their variant dungeon prisms on the market board for pocket change.

MGP PLATINUM CARD - 50k mgp, which is a nice chunk of change. if you have spare mogtomes after getting everything else you want, my recommendation is spending them either on these or special timeworn maps (which can be stacked, keeping your inventory tidy!)

to get every registrable item (as in items that you pop and then can use in perpetuity in some fashion) (and again excluding riding maps) would take 767 mogtomes.

that's everything! happy mogtomes! i'm very excited to see what the ultimog challenge will be...

[what-eats-owls]

It matters how you do it

I finished Dragon Age: The Veilguard and had some big feelings about it. Spoilers for basically everything under the cut, and frankly, it won't make sense unless you've finished the game anyway.

First of all: I had a blast with this game. I didn't find Act 1 slow, I did find Act 2 a bit of a whack-a-mole, and then Act 3 kicks you in the kidney (complementary) while insisting it's for your own good.

I've seen some recurring complaints: that it lacks depth/edge/darkness, that it abandons previous lore, that the previous choices don't matter. I don't entirely disagree. To me, it felt like a massive Dragon Age 4 game that pivoted to a different, tighter game after complaints about bloat in Inquisition. The key is that when editing down, there's such a thing as trying to trim the fat and taking a chunk of the roast with it.

I enjoy the concept of Lucanis's character, and the voice actor sold the hell out of him, but the storyline felt like being taken to a museum and allowed to see one (1) beautiful unfinished sculpture. Why did Spite, specifically, work? We know the spirit of Justice became Vengeance by abomination, we knew Solas was Wisdom before he became Pride, so what was Spite before, and why wasn't that tied to Lucanis's own personal arc? (Doubly so if you romance him!)

Similarly, Harding was a delight, and her greenhouse was such a lovely little haven. I would have loved to see more explanation of the connection between plants and the titans, and how Harding's own personal struggles with rage connected to that of the titans. She has every reason to be angry and scared, and the game tells us she pushed that away—but we don't actually see her toxic positivity manifest to that degree, until she abruptly has an angry clone.

On the flip side, I loved the other five character quests, and I felt they had solid, poignant arcs that delivered. I also adored their interactions with the codex—if anything, I wanted to see more of that type of interaction on the screen. You have to fill in a lot of the character work for Rook yourself; Rook has all these interesting potential backgrounds, but I think starting the game playing through those, a la Origins, would have gone miles towards establishing more personal stakes up front and made for a stronger start.

So that's all my nitpicking. But let's talk about the bigger theme: It matters how you do it.

In the first Fade conversation with Solas, he gets so mad when Rook refuses to let him DARVO them about the consequences of his botched ritual. This makes way more sense when you understand he's literally imprisoned by his own regrets, and he needs Rook to have that same kind of regret in order to take his place. His entire arc is about rationalizing binary choices and shitty actions that hurt others in the name of a hypothetical greater good that he wants.

Solas can't engineer every binary choice Rook's forced into, but he uses Varric to maximize Rook's regret. He is trying to quite literally mold Rook into him, and the game is great at presenting this both as a coldblooded manipulation and a broken plea for validation—if you let it. You don't have to give Solas a moment of consideration; you don't have to take time to view his memories, or kill his demons, or listen to those scraps of Mythal still holding onto the good in him. You don't have to do any of it.

But you can. And in the end, it matters.

It matters because for every companion, you can encourage them to either be more nurturing/compassionate or destructive/closed off versions of themselves, and that is frequently tied to continuing or breaking from a cycle. (The exception is either Neve or, presumably, Lucanis, who are forced into the Hardened version depending on which city you save.) These aren't presented as morally opposing choices, just who you want them to be. You can see how the Grey Wardens fucked up bad with griffons and decide they have a better place. You can help Emmrich face his fear by finding deeper meaning in life instead of indefinitely postponing death. You can help them do things differently.

So when you get to the final choice in the game, you may have two options: physically force Solas into saving the Veil, or trick him into it. The kind of binary choice Solas has molded you into making by pelting you with cruelty and manipulation.

Or, if you've taken the time, you can get him to understand he's wrong. You bring out the people who saw the best in him and speak to what he's had to endure, even as you're showing him there's another way. You reach him not as Pride, but as Wisdom. And he goes willingly.

Ultimately, I think DA2 and Inquisition grappled with big questions of oppression and violence, faith and authority. It makes sense for those games to delve into harder, uglier subject matter, and ask you to make binary calls.

But my read of Veilguard is that, at its core, it's about how those decisions are meant to trap you in regret at best, and numb you to rationalizing cruelty at worst. It's why the companion who loses their home city becomes colder, more isolated, in response—more like Solas.

That's why it offers you a third way at the very end, but only if you've worked for it. A better way is possible, yet it has to be more than words. You have to understand where the pain comes from, what maintains and is being maintained by the current cycle. Then, and only then, can you break it.

I can't wait to play it again.

P.S. Utterly obsessed with the Trevisan fish merchant.

[mushroomates]

aragorn headcanons:

sketches in his free time. likes to draw plants he’s come across, writes down descriptions for later. makes maps and draws animals.

cannot draw people, for the life of him.

except for arwen. draws her all the time.

used to very bland food, cooking on the road. prefers unseasoned meat, likes to taste the “natural flavor.”

dislikes nutmeg. cinnamon feind

favorite cookie is oatmeal raisin

has very grimy hands all the time. it’s never ending. even after he washes them, it’s like immediate dirt and grease

current theories are: his sword is just really dirty, his clothes are dirty so when he touches them it makes them dirty, or legolas’s favorite- humans naturally produce grime so the dirt is a natural protective layer above the skin.

in actuality it’s because he knows it grosses (some) elves out and likes to be a menace. specifically targets erestor. legolas will also go great lengths to make sure aragorns hands star far, far away from his hair

knows some card tricks. has great slight of hand specially because of these card tricks. didn’t really do anything with this until pippin discovered this fact and aragorn was forced (politely asked) to preform for the hobbits.

this is, in spite of the fact, that they all know a literal WIZARD (gandalf was salty at abt this “false magic”) and also a ring that turns ppl invisible??

sews. really well, actually. enjoys it but rarely showcases this talent- mostly patches and mends garments weathered by his lifestyle. would one day love to sew a dress for arwen but doesn’t know where to start

masterful at subtly deflecting compliments.

very generous with compliments of his own, but are again, subtle.

years of living with elves has made him quite reserved. yet, he is doing his best to unlearn this behavior. such examples include:

telling arwen he loves her. telling elrond he loves him. telling frodo he loves him. really just telling everyone he loves them. he’s even worse when he’s drunk- he rarely gets even tipsy, but under the influence of a fine wine (or mead, he prefers mead or ciders) he will get very emotional.

hugs!! aragorn loves to give hugs. he really tries his best but they’re a bit awkward at times. he’s getting better.

breaking away from the elven raw-diet and dine seasonings with grilled meat and more lately grilled everything.

he will try his best to cook for himself at any opportunity. it was a jarring shift going from being served gourmet eleven dinners to raw venison

love language is acts of service. he likes to cook for his friends, though he’s not as good as it as sam, who cooked a majority of fellowship meals, so he mainly hunts. then legolas offered his hand and gimli felt challenged by that and at this point boromir just felt excluded-

he just wants to do nice things for the people he cares abt.

arwen has not, for a good chunk of her life, tied her own shoes, peeled her own oranges, made her own tea, or woken up without breakfast being made or ready for her.

just. guys. he really really loves arwen. he will do anything for her and it’s almost obnoxious.

it IS obnoxious if you ask legolas. but this is why aragorn does not go to legolas for romantic advice. (legolas once told aragorn that the next time he ties her shoes he should tie them together so that when she falls he will catch her. this is why arwen stoped flats with ties and opted for anything she could slip on instead.)

will never cheat at any sort of game. he will get extremely upset if you accuse him of such.

he does not believe that counting cards qualifies as cheating. boromir strongly disagrees. he mainly sticks to chess, now

is not allowed to play chess with erestor, (sore loser and prone to trash talk) elrond (matches take to long due to overthinking on both ends and this annoys arwen to no end) and either of the twins (they cheat by working as a team)

would 100% believe in bigfoot.

[greenymeeny]

About Curly (Mouthwashing)

This could be controversial, but I want a more nuanced conversation about Curly. I’ve seen what people have to say on TikTok and it makes me froth at the mouth. It’s either “He’s just a baby,” or “He’s a monster who never cared about his crew,” OR, which actually aggravates me the most, “He’s morally gray,” with NO further elaboration.

So here: A deepdive into Curly’s character, intentions, and actions.

Before I begin, I want to talk about what I see as a misconception in the Mouthwashing community.

This game is masterful at subtlety. There’s a lot of specifics that we as the audience don’t know. What infuriates me is that we pretend we do.

Something I hear often is, “Curly didn’t do anything when Anya told him she was assaulted.” There’s merit to this claim, but the situation is more intricate than that and it’s contingent on one very important factor: We don’t know what Anya told Curly. All we know is that she told him something, and it had to be something that would implicitly imply Jimmy as the father, but would still shock Curly at the idea of Anya being pregnant. While this could be interpreted as Anya outright having told Curly, I don’t buy that. His response isn’t just irresponsible, it’s initially palpably ignorant.

This implies to me that Anya said something mildly vague, but still extremely concerning. Something like:

“I’m scared of Jimmy.”

This as a statement, said by your crewmate to you, as captain, cannot be ignored.

As we know, he ignored it.

More than that, he rationalized it. He ignored the signs of something more sinister in favor of feeding his idea of Jimmy just being a gloomy, down on his luck guy- more than anything, his friend. He should have listened to Anya when she said she didn’t want him in the medbay, when she said she didn’t want him near her. But he’s “known him for a long time.” He wanted to believe his instincts about Jimmy over Anya’s.

To Curly, the signs could have meant a lot of things. Anya simply being afraid of Jimmy could have meant that she just felt off about him; She just didn’t like him. A mere character clash. Of course, it was more than that. But Curly’s blindness was a mixture of ignorance and faith. He didn’t believe Jimmy was a bad person, he didn’t think he was scary. He trusted him.

In regard to the events of the game, a lot of people place a good chunk of the blame on Curly, which I do think is somewhat deserved. But I think it’s better to recognize his responsibility and how he failed.

The claims and reprimands of what Curly should or should not have done can only come from the omniscient presence we as the audience have. There’s inconsistencies in modern moral standards. The verdict of how good a person you are in a situation in where you must choose to trust or distrust a good friend is dependent on whether or not that friend is actually a good person or not. The idea that Curly knew Jimmy was dangerous is entirely baseless. Curly put all his cards on Jimmy, dismissing Anya’s discomfort as being a mere clash of character to his detriment. There were signs of his degeneracy, but Curly above anything wanted to believe in Jimmy with the standards of being “a good friend.” It was personal feelings clashing with his responsibility to pay attention as captain. To find the dead pixel.

Again, these assumptions are contingent purely on my theory of what Anya told Curly. The game not showing us what was said in specifics is intentional because they want us to know this and only this: Curly did something wrong. He has to have for the themes of the game to work. He works as Jimmy’s foil. He has to do shit wrong, not taking Anya’s fear seriously and not stopping Jimmy immediately from crashing the ship (which is also an effect of his trust- with a mixture of his own feelings of doom and failure,) to take responsibility where Jimmy cannot.

What substantiates that to me is Anya’s line, “I have to believe our worst moments don’t make us monsters.” It’s a line in relation to Curly. We’re meant to believe that this is her thinking he crashed the ship, but she’s actually talking about how he failed her. That was Curly’s worst moment. And Anya, in that statement, forgives him for it, or at the very least, doesn’t see him as a monster. Jimmy takes both “Our worst moments don’t make us monsters” and “I’m taking responsibility” and tries to reflect them on himself, but really they are statements bound to Curly. Curly is everything Jimmy wishes he was and because of that, Curly’s character shines a light on everything Jimmy isn’t. Curly ran into the cockpit in an attempt to salvage the ship, even when he knew it would crash, while Jimmy sat in a fetal position outside the door, weeping. Contrast.

That’s really all I have to say. I needed to get this off my chest, because Curly is probably the most interesting character to me in Mouthwashing, but gets a lot of one dimensional character analyses. I think a lot of it stems from the subject of SA being touchy, which I understand. People want to see it in black and white because it’s comfortable to them, but it gets complex with other people involved like Curly, who has good intentions and still ends up enabling Jimmy.

I would love to see what other people have to say about this because there’s probably a lot of things I missed. Thanks for reading all this if you did.

[disregardcanon]

this probably seems like a weird question from your end,but why do fanfic writers care so much about comments? aos already tracks hits and likes, sorry ""kudos"", so why are comments such a big deal to the point that people will stop writing?

okay, so i'm going to take this question very seriously and i promise it's not to make you feel bad. this is a comprehensive explanation of reasons that comments are important for me, both as a writer and as a reader

engagement vs numbers game

seeing trends

buy-in

community building

engagement vs numbers game

let's look quickly at two different fics of mine. this is the kudos count for a fic called Of First Kisses and Burnt Lips

it's old. it's been up on ao3 for almost 11 years now. 258 people liked it enough to leave a kudos, 12 people liked it enough for a bookmark, and it's been clicked on 3,859 times.

i have no clue what almost any of these people on ao3 THINK about it. beyond "huh. sure. i'll kudos that". compare this to its crosspost on ffn, where i got 5 reviews

3/5 mention it being cute. 3/5 give appreciation to me for taking the time to write it. 2/5 praise the writing itself from the attention to detail with grammar to the craft. 1/5 is an "um..." which is hard to decipher but appreciate and 1/5 is a silly reaction, but it's a reaction! look, someone felt a felling reading my thing! that made me giggle!

looking at the stats here from a purely numbers perspective, my fic DID better on ao3. it got a lot more kudos than it ever got faves or reviews on ffn. but those ffn comments are still what i think about when i remember this fic.

sure, a shear number like hits or kudos can be comforting and motivating. i'm definitely not telling you to NOT leave kudos! but the fics that i've come back to, recently, are the ones where i don't have a lot of kudos but i do have a few people who are invested in the stories and leaving comments to tell me

2. seeing trends

lets look at a few of the comments on my fic The Maid of Honor Made Them Do It

so just in these two comments, we see both commenters hone in on the same detail: my choice to include a special christian music playlist that this characters' friends made for her. a few other people in this thread mentioned that same detail, so i know this bit really worked well! it's great feedback that lets me know that a good chunk of readers agree with my characterization here.

these readers zoom in on specific details that they really liked! things that made them laugh, the absurdity of the concept, enjoying reading it, and that they could see it staged, which is a HUGE compliment for a work in a fandom for theater.

i've always had trouble with imaging where characters are in a space, how they're occupying it and moving, and how to use that for characterization purposes. however, i got more than one comment on this fic about how people could see it staged! that means that i'm improving in an area that i've always struggled with. that's huge. it makes me want to keep working on this thing! it makes me feel like what i'm doing here matters, because lots of people are picking up on similar things! they're invested enough to give me a comment! and it makes me want to keep writing for the hatchetfield fandom because some people are invested in my work here. that is BIG! seeing trends in the way that readers experience your story helps a lot with writer buy-in for a project and also for writers self-analysis.

as a commenter: this helps me JUST as much. when i really dig into what i enjoyed about a fic to tell the writer about it, that helps me analyze and articulate the strengths and things i might want to take away from the storytelling, and that makes my writing better too!

3. buy-in

this is a comment on a series that has less than 100 kudos across three fics, but has thoughtful, appreciative comments on each work. it's called Melting Pot

the commenter deleted their ao3 account. they may be one of the people who commented on the next fic, which i posted recently. they might NOT have been! honestly, it doesn't matter that much to me. this person gave me a gentle and nudge about a fic that matters to me and mattered to them at the time, and they were part of the push i needed to get back to it.

from a commenter perspective, i know that hearing a kind word can help someone keep up their motivation to write, even when i can't write in depth comments the way that i like to!

just recently i only had the time to comment "nice update" on a favorite fic of mine called Teeth That Turn. but they know that i come and i read and they know and talk to me by (user)name. because they know i care about this thing they care about! and it's way more fun to do something like this when i know i can chat with the author about theories and thoughts and ideas. and this isn't a "wow aren't i so cool other writers like me! tehehe" bragging thing, it's just evidence for the case of why comments matter?

if i didn't want this to be a two way buy-in, i'd ONLY read published fiction, you know? we're all playing in the sandbox on the playground and i like what they made. they like that i like what they made :) we're scheduling a play date to fight with sticks after school my mom said it's okay!

4. community building

now i know that i just mentioned above here why i like being a commenter and how it helps authors, as well as why i like HAVING commenters as an author. i'm still arguing those things as a lead up to this section, where i have two other points to make about community building here too.

1. you can comment on OTHER comments! if you go through and read to see what other people are saying, you can agree with them. you can add some commentary! sometimes you can make a joke! and i've only ever had fun responses from something like that. authors tend to love that their fics are getting such a response that people are talking to each other about it! like look!!!!!! my thing got you to talk to someone else about it holy shit?!??!

2. commenting on fics in your fandom builds you a good reputation and makes other authors you comment on more likely to read YOUR fic. i'm not going to post any screenshots on this one because it would be embarrassing for everyone involved, but there have been authors that i really admired who gave my stuff a try after i commented on theirs. and they've told me that's why they tried it! like obviously it's not just networking or whatever, but it's really nice to have someone give your stuff a try because you've been enthusiastic and thoughtful about theirs.

and you make friends this way! fandom friends! who want to talk about your blorbos! you get to go on little play dates in cyberspace with cool people who like what you like. you don't ever HAVE to be a writer, of course. if you don't want to throw your hat into the ring or make art or edits or gif sets or anything, that's cool. no one ever has to participate in fandom outside of their comfort zone! but if you want to, you know that you'll feel more welcomed if you have some people in your corner for it, and making friends in a space, screaming about how much you love the characters you love, and remembering that fic authors especially are just fans too will help you feel like you "deserve" to exist in the space. maybe you don't write, but you go here too. you've got a space in the fandom and your comments don't have to be, like, perfect literary essays for authors to appreciate them and get a motivation boost from them still existing and us being able to go back to them and go!!! look!!! i don't suck!!! this person liked what i did so i'm okay! :)

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 MEDICINE POCKET - General Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons and analysis on Medicine Pocket as a character and other related things.

started going thru my askbox, saw there's an insane amount of medpoc prompts, and then realized I haven't thought that deeply about this feral dog so here we are!

I missed doing analysis like this oooo the feeling of neurons making connections as I go thru the character's entire page oooo. since I still don't have them, screenshots and examples will be taken directly from the fandom wikia as usual!

On the subject of intersex identities, Medicine Pocket's mother and their gender identity.

It's worth noting that as of the time writing this (with GL currently in 2.2 and CN having just released 2.5) the game still has only two characters who have been confirmed to live outside of the gender binary, both released during launch; The Fool, who uses male pronouns but states that he has no gender, and Medicine Pocket, who couldn't care less about pronouns and explicitly mentions being intersex in one of their voicelines.

The game is consistent with this, as Medicine Pocket is often referred to with "they/them" pronouns, and occasionally "he/him," such as a daily tidbit from November 18th 2024.

As far as I know, they've yet to refer to Medicine Pocket with female pronouns.

While Medicine Pocket seems to approach the subject of gender identity as an afterthought at best and a nuisance at worst, never stating which labels they identify with, it's important to note that they're still openly queer. Upon a first reading, I didn't think much of them, but now I realize that a big chunk of their character does focus on their queerness in ways that are just as unconventional as they are.

Their 01 Story allows us to learn about Medicine Pocket's background, namely their mother, as it focuses on her for the most part. This is also the second instance of Medicine Pocket's status as an intersex person being brought up.

While I'm not intersex myself, I'm a nonbinary queer person who is fully aware of the many, many convoluted and cruel ways society has enforced in order to "correct" and assimilate us into the norm, such as conversion therapy and intersex surgeries, all done with the pretense of "helping us adapt." Medicine Pocket seems to be an example of this.

One may interpret this as a misguided but well-meaning attempt from a concerned mother, but I interpret it as a heartless moment of dehumanization.

In this Story, there is a very clear parallel being drawn between the dogs at the kennel she owns and her own child, between money as her only source of happiness and the necessity to pay for her child's operation.

Her entire world and business revolves around the kennel, it's stated to be a family business with good reputation, and the dogs are described as a positive thing--"man's best friend," and friends who can keep you company--but her reaction to both is of indifference and, at worst, contempt.

The priority here isn't the thriving family business, nor the dogs she's selling to the University of Utah, nor what will come out of the experiments they will go through; the priority is the money.

And what is this money for? Her own child's operation, with the specific intent of helping them become "an ordinary person." Not for their health, not because they asked for this--because she wants them to be normal, thus highlighting the themes of assimilation within society.

As seen before, Medicine Pocket confirms they lack any reproductive organs. I don't know enough to speculate or research what sort of medical condition they have, but the fact that they say "I just don't have any reproductive organs" could imply they did not receive that operation in the end. After all, becoming "ordinary" would imply living within the binary of female or male genitals exclusively.

With the lack of information about their childhood, I personally like to headcanon that this is when the parallels between Medicine Pocket and dogs continues from their mother's perspective; maybe the cons outdo the pros, maybe the procedure was too expensive, maybe she didn't feel like nurturing this specific puppy anymore, regardless of the reasoning, Medicine Pocket's mother simply chose to give them away to someone else who had a use for them. Exactly like the previous batch of puppies.

As agile as usual, her child got into the white van without looking back. That van had taken away countless almost-weaned puppies from their mothers, and on this day, it was doing the same thing to her.

Another personal headcanon I have following that one is that Medicine Pocket was given away for experimentation purposes given their uniqueness--an intersex arcanist child. It certainly lines up with other darker themes within the game, such as the treatment orphaned arcanist children receive within SPDM, the ableism and bigoted mindsets towards arcanists that parallel real issues in real life, and the appropriation of arcanist culture into human society, etc etc.

Of course, in retrospect, there is also something bittersweet in the way that the only thing Medicine Pocket seems to have inherited from their mother is the aspect of money, as a big part of their character is based around finding ways to receive funding for their experiments. Money is the focus of their Insight voiceline, their First Encounter voiceline also involves finding new investors, and there is a distinct focus on how much Medicine Pocket's actions COST Laplace overall, even in the Main Story. Their Story 02 is literally named "The Wrecker of Laplace" and involves their expenses report. This is a very small detail and connection, but I found it quite interesting!

The last thing I want to bring up for this specific bullet point is how Medicine Pocket grew up to be exactly everything their mother did not care about.

The opposite of an ordinary person; they are considered an unconventional albeit irritating genius within Laplace, as seen in their Storyboard.

They are a noisy dog who went out and pioneered an abundance of inventions and research, such as the development of Picrasma Candy shown above, their study of arcanist bloodlines and an arcanist's arcanum that later helps Enigma during Chapter 7 "Vereinsamt," and more. They are a team leader and a renowned, published biological researcher, as seen in the LSCC trailer and another voiceline of theirs.

It is a testament to Medicine Pocket's determination, stubbornness and self-centered personality, the way they were able to thrive in life and in every aspect that their mother did not care about nor support. And this aspect relates heavily to their Beast Afflatus and animalistic themes!

On the subject of Medicine Pocket's self-experimentation, animals and Laplace

We already discussed the way Medicine Pocket has been compared to the kennel dogs sold for experimentation, but we only explored this from their mother's perspective. On a general level, we can understand that Medicine Pocket's animalistic and dog-like behaviour exists because they were raised alongside these very same dogs, and their affinity for Beagles is a direct reference to the "Beagle Club" radiation experiments--it's a very clear motif within their character, but I would still like to expand on it a little!

First of all, we need to talk about Laplace, its ethics and practices. So bear with me!

Over the course of the recent patches, we have seen certain members of Laplace being shown together for most promotional material; this is later on confirmed within 37's Anecdote as a "friend group" consisting of 37, Mesmer Jr, X, Medicine Pocket and Ezra. For this discussion, we are going to set aside 37, an outsider to Laplace, and Ezra, a human character.

Both X and Medicine Pocket both have animals commonly used for experimentation as their Udimos; X has a Laboratory mouse, and Medicine Pocket has a Beagle puppy. On the other hand, we have Mesmer Jr. whose Udimo is not an animal, but a representation of the Artificial Somnambulism Therapy machine. With this, we can trace a pattern within the arcanists of Laplace, which paints them as not only expendable resources, but as something a little more tragic considering their respective themes--X, who harbors a deep-seated hatred for authorities that abuse their power (as seen in his own Anecdote), Medicine Pocket, who is based on the "Beagle Club" radiation experiments, and Mesmer Jr., who carries internalized bigotry for her own kind and is treated as nothing but an extension of her family's legacy.

While I won't be discussing the broad history of animal rights and ethics in experiments from real life, there are lines to be connected between these specific themes and the dehumanization of these characters--which also extends to the rest of members of Laplace like Lucy and Ulrich, by virtue of being Awakened and not being able to comply within the expected "norm" of humans, nor arcanists (the main theme of "Vereinsamt"). As players, we understand Enigma's reaction to Lucy being demoted, and there is a nuanced conversation to be had about the consequences of Lucy's orders even if they led to a great outcome; it is both tragic and inspiring.

But we must also understand this: Lucy's actions are still objectively within the scope of the Foundation's own history and ethics as I've mentioned them before, she is merely being used as a scapegoat due to the visibility of these casualties, which causes the Foundation to lose face.

And how does this relate exactly to Medicine Pocket?

Because their work ethic of self-experimentation follows this very same pattern. In the trail "Experiment Record" from Chapter 6 "E Lucevan le Stelle" Stage 19, which details the process of making Picrasma Candy safe for consumption, the extra addendums indicate that the one consuming all this candy during the experiments is none other than Medicine Pocket.

Their self-experimentation is only considered an issue and a nuisance because they are loud, reckless and take up space and resources. Because this is a coworker who canonically runs on all fours when excited, bites furniture and chases after frisbees, exactly like a dog.

Out of the three characters discussed before, only two are able to subvert the expectations of their respective Udimos: X and Medicine Pocket. The former by putting on an innocent and obedient act while doing whatever he wants behind the scenes, and the latter by being so shamelessly disobedient and self-serving that it is near impossible to stop them.

After a quick and surface look into why beagles were used for the experiments, some articles mention their docile and compliant nature, the total opposite of Medicine Pocket's personality. The subversion is clear there. Rather than being someone else's guinea pig, Medicine Pocket happily uses their own body as their main playground to test their experiments and research; look at their third item, "Beagle 0-1 Fluid Analysis Apparatus," which quite literally turns their own blood as a weapon, aside from monitoring their vitals. They have voicelines urging Vertin to give them a full dose despite the potential dangers, or noting the effects of another self-inflicted experiment--both their "Sleeves and Hands" and "Clothing and Torso" voicelines respectively.

Rather than assimilating within "proper" lab etiquette and polite society, Medicine Pocket is shamelessly themself above all, doing the things they want to do whenever they want to. There are many ways to read their character; perhaps, because their mother took away their bodily agency, they can now reclaim power over their identity by being as chaotic as a feral puppy or by using their body for self-experimentation. Perhaps they have a special connection with dogs because of the way they were raised and thus actively chose to act like one, since they felt more like family than their own mother, etc etc.

This aspect of reclaiming power over their own body and identity, alongside the way others openly disapprove of them for various different reasons, can be seen within the Beast Afflatus--which focuses on the focus of the individual, one's survival and struggle against traditions or systems that aim to contain them, the power and freedom to choose and carve a way for oneself. It's the struggle of one person against the majority. All of these things can be seen in Medicine Pocket!

Round of extra headcanons I didn't have the energy to fit anywhere else

I like to think Medicine Pocket's hair is white (simply because their eyebrows also seem to be white in art) so the brown parts are dyed specifically to look more like a beagle.

Alongside being intersex and nonbinary, they also couldn't care less about conventional romantic relationships--while uninterested in sexual relationships overall, I can see them having meaningless one-night stands for research specifically. They're shameless and very open about it. The only type of serious commitment I can see them having are QRPs, but their partners get bullied even harder by them so no one is sure if this is a good thing or not.

Medicine Pocket has one voiceline which states that they do even more fucked up experiments in the suitcase; I like to think they're the equivalent of the ThoughtEmporium over on Youtube, doing things like getting rid of their own lactose intolerance, creating meat grapes and such.

They just happen to be allergic to most things that dogs are allergic to. In the same vein, they bark but it sounds nowhere close like a proper dog's bark and everyone thinks its sort of cringe, but saying this out loud within their vicinity will only earn you One Huge Fucking Chomp from them.

Unlike Pavia, who does not quite keep track of the names of the wolfpack, Medicine Pocket can tell apart every single dog they meet, no matter how identical or how long it's been since they last saw them. They have a lot of knowledge on how to care for animals from their childhood, and often bring back all sorts of dogs; from rescues to literally stealing someone else's dog just be cause they thought its owner was being a shithead. It's usually a problem, because they often just sneak them into their office without telling anyone and suddenly it's Barbie's Great Puppy Chase Adventure in Laplace.

I also like to think that the dogs they're not allowed to truly keep are given away to people Medicine Pocket personally checks and makes sure will be a good fit for the dog.

[crossdressingdeath]

I'm thinking about Karlach and in particular her relationship with Gortash, and the more I think about it the more I really wish that she'd known he was a Banite from the start, or at least for a good chunk of her time working for him. I mean, the canon story of "I didn't know what he was, he lied to me and I didn't realize the truth until he stabbed me in the back" doesn't not work? It just feels like a very... safe option. Now, I love Karlach, I really do, she's a joy to be around. But I don't know, the whole "I didn't know what they were doing" method of letting a wonderful person work for the bad guys has been done. It's been done a lot. And it also makes Karlach feel less morally complex than the other origin companions to me! I mean, it's entirely possible she didn't even know Gortash was a criminal; his public persona would require bodyguards too. So if we assume that she didn't even know he was a criminal then her moral complexity is limited to having some friends who are devils and wanting Gortash dead, which... even just by general fantasy standards and especially when compared to characters like Astarion, Shadowheart and Lae'zel (as the most obvious examples, but personally I also find Wyll's pact with Mizora and Gale getting the orb at least as complex if not more and they didn't work for the villain, so that feels like a bit of a problem) is very straightforward. She's good. Maybe she used to be a bit naive and then learned not to be so blindly trusting through betrayal. Sure. Fine. Personally I do not find that particularly compelling, if I just saw her backstory written out without the super hard work of her writer and VA in the rest of the game my reaction to her would basically just be "Eh". And if we assume she did know he was a criminal then it feels kind of weak that the only time that even vaguely comes up is Gortash potentially making one comment about how Karlach knew what he was and shouldn't really have been surprised.

Also, an additional point, the fact that supposedly Gortash was putting enough work into keeping her ignorant that there was a noticeable drop in his ethics after he sold her is... kind of weird, because the only reason we're given for it is "He liked her"? To be clear the fact that he liked her isn't the problem, we know Gortash is perfectly capable of liking people. But... he went out of his way to deceive this one employee? To the point that people noticed a change when he was gone? Or alternately selling her specifically actively made him significantly worse, which... would also be kind of weird. There isn't even any particular reason for him to see himself in her, other than the Lower City upbringing they had very little in common before Gortash sold her (unless baby Enver was way better of a person than his current self would suggest). I feel like if Larian was going to justify Karlach apparently not realizing she was working for an arms dealer and slave trader as his personal bodyguard (so someone who'd logically be around for a lot of shady shit or frankly what is the point of her being on the payroll) with "he lied to her" more needed to be done with it.

But if she knew he was a Banite and knew what he was doing for a good chunk of the time she spent working with him that adds a tasty "I didn't think the leopards would eat my face!" energy to the whole situation! I love the idea of Karlach liking and trusting Gortash despite knowing what he was because he treated her with respect and that was all that mattered! Obviously this is subjective, I will freely admit I like my characters with a bit more moral greyness than Karlach shows, but to me at least her reassessing and improving her morals from a standpoint of "Him liking me and respecting me wasn't enough to save me because other people's lives do not matter to him" would be much more interesting than her being a perfectly lovely person from the start and not knowing what her boss was doing and getting betrayed and then continuing to be a perfectly lovely person. (I'm not going to claim that a person's morals improving when the thing they did to others is done to them is particularly ground-breaking, but I would argue it's no less ground-breaking than "they didn't know and were good all along and their boss was lying to them" and to me at least it's significantly more engaging.) And it would also neatly remove the question of why Gortash cared enough to lie about what he was doing to this one specific employee from day one (so before he could bond with her at all), which. y'know, would be nice.

[zahri-melitor]

So I've read the opening story of Tim Drake: Robin.

The opening issue is solid, highlighting a lot of Meghan Fitzmartin's skills as a writer. She picked up threads neatly from her earlier stories, showed her hand to the audience, and did do a fair amount of subtle character work. If I'd picked it up with no background knowledge of the fandom conversation about the title, I'd have been very excited for where it was going.

I liked the links back to how part of what prompted Tim to move out was Bruce being fussy over Tim having been shot in the throat in Batman #125. That felt realistic and a nice little link between titles.

As far as a story goes: I didn't mind it. Parts of it were very obvious, especially when you clued into the themes - if I'd actually been reading it as it came out and had a month between issues for things to soak in, I probably would have been tapping my toes over the reveal of who Moriarty was disguised as.

I would like to specifically dunk on both Meghan Fitzmartin and Moriarty for the detective novel writer selections, because...hmm. Kinda misogynistic there. Fitzmartin uses 6 writers for this, and 6 specific stories/franchises:-

Edgar Allen Poe – Murders in the Rue Morgue

Mark Twain – The Stolen White Elephant

Arthur Conan Doyle – Sherlock Holmes

Raymond Chandler - Goldfish

James Gelsey – Scooby Doo

Wilkie Collins – The Moonstone

What do you notice about this list, that I immediately noticed? They're all men. Who is an immediate name that comes to mind, who even had public domain stories as of 2022, who probably should be on a list like that and who also has incredible influence over the direction of the genre? Oh, I don't know, maybe Agatha Christie? (Also Dorothy L. Sayers is also right there and available, but skipping Christie?)

And once she'd built up this "it's all the detective stories" premise, Fitzmartin then went for a book code (cool!) from non-existent books (not cool). If you've just spent all this time glorying in how this is all related to Specific Classic Detective Stories, why not...use a real book code and refer to their actual stories? You've already done it for the plots! Commit to the bit!

Also I spent a good chunk of issue #4 staring at the page going "Carol Donovan? You mean Deb Donovan's judge daughter who recently appeared in Mariko Tamaki's 'Tec run? Tim, how are you missing something this straightforward? Also she's dead?" and then it never came to anything. Maybe do a quick check if anyone else has been using the name you just invented for the story.

"I even tried making a new costume for myself. It doesn't fit." - I did find it interesting that Fitzmartin was once again playing with the "is it time to move on" themes for Tim that were popping up around here in various conversations. Especially given she had Tim and Dick relitigate their conversation from Urban Legends #10 and similar themes in DC:YJ. It does suggest to me that she was working her way around to getting Tim into a new identity, but cancellation has once again left that in the 'not happening' basket.

In terms of the art: Riley Rossmo was the wrong pick for the title, but I do see the thought process that led into him getting the nod for the opening story, given the whole claymation villain set. It was very 2D animation style. I don't mind Rossmo (and interestingly he's developing a whole line up of detective stories he's done art for, given he's also had a Martian Manhunter book and got Wesley Dodds, he did one of the Batman/The Shadow crossovers...) but his highly malleable art style loses a lot of background detail or makes what is there harder to parse.

I did very much appreciate the way Rossmo drew Tim's detective work, though. I liked the technique for highlighting details and clues, and it actually very much reminded me of how some computer games present clues (including how it's done in Gotham Knights, in fact).

I know everyone has said this, but Bernard needs to develop a personality AND to commit to whether or not he knows Tim is Robin. Because sort of hinting that he knows, while Tim worries about hiding things from him, but not actually confirming either way is only really acceptable if you actually do build up to a big reveal moment where the whole drama has been paid off.

I did appreciate that MegFitz had clearly taken feedback and returned one of Bernard's two pre-existing personality traits (conspiracy theorist who thinks the Bats are urban legend cryptids), because one of the weaknesses of using Bernard, a side character with 6 preboot appearances, is that at lot of his existing personality was sketched in. He was a conspiracy theorist, and he desperately wanted to be popular but wasn't, so he presented himself as having a Cool Guy's Personality (see: 'your step-mom is hot'). Now, Meghan Fitzmartin wants us to read into that second trait as a facade that Bernard was putting up to deal with the fact he was gay and hiding it, probably even from himself, at the time. Which, fine, it's a perfectly reasonable reading of Bernard (and to her credit, MegFitz has Bernard spell it out a little on page in TD:R), but the problem is...you've just lost one of the two identifiable traits of 'Bernard' and it hasn't been replaced with anything else. And while 2004 in comics was still trying to hold onto the Urban Legends reading for the Bats to an extent (though it was failing), 2022 comics has so long since abandoned it that Bernard having kooky theories about Batman's connection to Mothman or whatever is very...why?

And because both of these pre-existing personality traits are under strain from the context, it really is sort of necessary to give Bernard something else about him for people to latch onto for his personality. And it doesn't really seem to be there yet (as of #6). It's the same complaint that people have about Jon/Jay and a whole host of other partners for recently out superheros: they're generically pleasant, supportive and bland, with about the depth of a mirror. Give me some of the toxic drama the 30 year old lesbians are allowed. Where is my breakup over custody fights with an ex and one of the two getting seduced by a vampire.

[thesnazzysharky]

Trying to learn more about the protagonist and what their past could potentially be (THEORY)

So, our mute history enthusiast that is the protagonist of Spooky's Jumpscare Mansion.

This is going to be a theory that I've been interested in making for awhile. I think there's more to the protagonist than some think and they're quite the tragic fellow under this theory. Some have already made some theories and speculation on them, such as their traumatic past and generally mentally unhealthy state being hinted at with Specimen 5 and 7, but I want to dive a bit deeper than that.

First, I'll talk about what little we already know about them. After that, I'll be analyzing Specimen 7, since they play a big role in learning more about our player character. Finally, I'll start to explain how I think the protagonists connections with those specimens, specifically 5 and 7, go a bit deeper and can give us insight into what their past and trauma could potentially be. In any case, let's relax, maybe grab a snack, and get right to it. Probably going to be awhile.

What do we know about them?

Looking at the image shown in the bad ending, which is basically the only time where we can get a decent look at them, they appear to be either a young adult in their 20's or a late teenager. They also sport some short hair that can make them come across as either male or female as their gender is supposed to be ambiguous.

Aside from that, it's also implied that they have red irises. There's the bad ending of course, but there's also Specimen 2's death screen where we can see some red eyes that could potentially belong to the player character as they become one with Specimen 2.

And there's Specimen 6's death screen where we can see their eye being forced open.

Of course, we also know that the motivation behind our character going to the mansion is that they're a history enthusiast wanting to discover the mystery behind it. The fact they're stated to be a history enthusiast rather than a historian could imply that they're an amateur who wants to become a historian. This is another thing that possibly hints at their young age.

Gameplay wise? Our protagonist (who from now I'll just be referring to as MC) shows some impressive feats. They're able to outrun a good handful of the creatures that we see throughout the base game and DLC's. They also must be pretty strong if they can carry a whole entire axe while walking or sprinting through a big chunk of the game. In terms of dealing with all these creatures and the horrors around them, they're pretty determined to push through it all and keep moving forward, this is probably how they were able to make it all the way to 1,000 rooms in the first place.

Not much else is known about our character besides that. So let's dive a bit deeper.

How can we learn more about them?

Throughout the base game you mostly run through the whole entire thing. Maybe you'll look at some notes or look behind you to see what Specimen is chasing you, but simply running and keeping a consistent and constant pace is what most players do at a certain point. That is until you reach room 406 and the game suddenly slows you down with this...

You suddenly hear the loud ticking and tocking of an old clock and you see something written on the checkerboard floor in front of you that states "threshold of consciousness". By stepping over the threshold, the wall in front of you crumbles and you're met with not only a giant clock in the distance, but also this cat that is simply known as the White Cat according to the credits (although they're more of a pinkish color).

She states that this strange place can help us, but also warns us that trying to receive help from this place will come at the cost at making us greatly disturbed or confused, and oh boy does it show once we go through a couple more rooms and are met with this.

We enter into a room that is split between two colors, pink and yellow, while in the center is a compass with an eye on it. Red worms wiggle around on the flood, repeatedly going back and forth between the opposite ends of the room. The cat is also here once again and she states "Two sides of the same coin. Knowing your projections can help you achieve freedom." A statement that sounds cryptic and vague for the sake of being cryptic and vague, but there is meaning to it along with the other cryptic statements that this cat will state later on.

The White Cat is basically MC's therapist. To be more specific, the method of therapy that the cat is trying to use here is Jungian therapy.

Jungian therapy is a form of psychodynamic/psychoanalysis therapy. The aim of Jungian therapy being to explore unpleasant or painful thoughts and experiences so the true problem can be pinned down and be resolved. This is done by bringing together the conscious and unconscious parts of the mind and thus making the person receiving the therapy feel balanced and whole. By stepping over the threshold of consciousness, we have entered our personal unconscious. Diving into subliminal, repressed, and forgotten memories.

With that info, we can decipher what's going on here. As stated before, the room is split into two halves. Pink and yellow. Both pink and yellow have positive and negative symbolism to them. Pink can symbolize compassion, comfort, warmth, calmness, and kindness. But it can also symbolize timidness, immaturity, impulsiveness, unconfidence, and being overly emotional. Yellow can symbolize happiness, energy, optimism, enlightenment, and hope. But it can also symbolize cowardice, envy, deception, mental illness, and betrayal. There's a handful of other meanings for both colors, but that's just to name a few.

As for the worms on the ground, worms can symbolize death and decay along with renewal and regeneration. Meanwhile the compass in the middle of the room can symbolize a few things. It could symbolize MC's independence and being willing to push themselves out of their comfort zone. It could symbolize them always finding a way to their home or destination. It could symbolize their motivation and inspiration, the values in their life, or the need to find balance. Or it could symbolize a literal moral compass and that the MC is free to choose whatever path they want.

So what does this room mean and what is the cat trying to say? The "Two sides of the same coin" line refers to how pink and yellow both have positive and negative aspects to them. By recognizing and becoming self aware of our positives and negatives ("Knowing your projections"), we open the path that can lead us to being free from our trauma. The worms represent that the protagonist has the potential of renewal and regeneration while the compass is supposed to represent that despite all of this, we have the choice to choose whatever path we want, even if one path is greatly worse than the other.

The next room we go in is an office building with some windows, some desks, and a single computer. The cat is also here of course.

This time she states "The mask you wear serves its purpose well, but be careful not to lose yourself in it." This is another part of Jungian therapy. The mask, which is also known as the persona, is basically what it sounds like. The persona is how you present yourself to others. Often times, this persona that we put on for others isn't who we actually are. It's our way of conforming to society as a whole and this can lead to not being able to show others who you truly are or manipulating others to your will and needs. Going to the computer in the room, it states quotes such as "Be part of something", "Put on your mask", "Follow the group", "You are not you", and "Become more than yourself". Basically the cat is warning MC to not become detached from who they truly are and that their violent and aggressive persona can have consequences. In other words, she's warning us about the bad ending.

An office of all things being the setting is interesting. Working at an office job can lead to pretty terrible consequences for your mental or even physical health. Consequences such as anxiety, stress, pain in the neck, shoulders, and back, eyestrain, metabolic syndrome, feeling overwhelmed, and of course, depression. Perhaps MC wants to be a historian, but is stuck at a terrible office job. Assuming that they already had mental issues before getting the job, working at an office most likely made their condition all the more worse, especially with having to put on a "mask" for others.

The next room has us alone with the cat in this outer space-like area. The ambience that we can hear in the background is calm and soothing, yet there's still a bit of eeriness to it. The cat here states "Balance is the key to keeping your mind free and sane." Basically stating what the whole point of Jungian therapy is and that if we want our mind to be mentally sane and feel free, we must seek balance within our mind, piecing together the conscious and unconscious. This is yet another warning to the protagonist about how indulging in their twisted and violent desires can lead to the bad ending.

As for the space-like area, outer space can symbolize many things. Perhaps the desire for freedom, expansion, and exploration while also wanting personal growth, self discovery, and being free of limitations. Perhaps thirst for knowledge and curiosity about our world and universe. Perhaps one's emptiness, loneliness, and detachment from others, reflecting a need for emotional connection and intimacy. It could also represent one's untapped potential, hidden desires, and unexplored aspects of themselves. Seems like we're learning more and more about MC the further we go.

After leaving the outer space room, instead of entering the area with the giant clock in the middle and making your way towards the wooden door like always, you enter into a short hallway. At the end of the hallway is a metal door and blood splattered on the floor and walls. Going through the door you enter into... nothing. There's nothing here except for you, the cat, and the wooden door illuminated in front of you. There's not even any ambience except for the ticking of the clock, creating an unnerving atmosphere.

Talking to the cat one final time, she states "Knowing your shadow can greatly help you, but be ready to see what you'd rather not be." Jungian therapy strikes again. The shadow reflects deeper, darker elements of our psyche. Our repressed ideas, instincts, weaknesses, shortcomings and desires. Our primal side that we often like to keep locked up and hidden. She's saying that being aware of these things can help us, but what we'll soon see that represents that dark mirror of ourselves, aka the Wall of Flesh, won't be pleasant.

With that, we go through the wooden door. We enter some odd and fleshy looking hallway. When we reach the end of it, we come across, not a door, but what looks to be some kind of portal. Going through it, the chase can finally begin.

The rooms are filled with a red mist and it's a bit difficult to navigate and see where you're going. The chase involves having to run through this little maze, while the walls flash these strange and bizarre images. Assuming these images are connected to MC like everything else has been, let's decipher them.

This freaky, fleshy, red eyed, and evil face could represent MC's dark and violent thoughts. A little piece representing our shadow.

There are two runes shown in the game. One red and one black. They don't bear resemblance to any real world runes that we know of and can decipher, at least from what I searched, but they can still hold meaning. Since the word rune literally means "secret" or "mysterium", the runes could represent MC's unknown thoughts and desires.

Hidden away at the back of their mind and kept secret, as shown in the form of runes. Using color symbolism once again, the black runes could represent MC's fear, depression, hopelessness, and overall mystery. Meanwhile the red runes could represent MC's rage, impulsiveness, aggression, and overall violence.

The legs we see on the wall could represent the phrase "have legs" as in if an idea, plan, or activity has legs, it is likely to continue to succeed or show the potential to succeed. Either that or it could represent the slang version of the word legs, as in longevity or staying power, enduring and being successful. The protagonist has the potential to succeed, to leave this strange and trippy place and the mansion as a whole, but they will need to have endurance and determination if they want to reach that success.

Aside from that, it seems like we're just running through empty halls with no threats in sight. What's chasing us? Well, if you look behind you for a couple seconds...

There it is. The Wall of Flesh. The wall of screaming corpses and skeletons. The wall of the protagonist's trauma, pain, agony, suffering, depression, rage, violent urges, loneliness, hopelessness, and mystery all molded into one being. This is your shadow. This is Specimen 7.

Now, despite the atmosphere and the overall unnerving appearance of Specimen 7, this chase isn't one without a sense of hope. Taking a quick listen to the soundtrack that plays while you're being chased, you'll notice that it sounds... oddly cheery. That unnerving feeling and sense of danger while listening to the track is certainly there, but it feels lessened compared to other tracks. I think the way some people have described this track is pretty spot on.

The calm, soothing, music box melody is supposed to represent the White Cat and everything she has taught you so far. The tense and more dangerous bitcrushed sounding percussion represents the wall itself. If you have headphones, you can even hear this bitcrushed groaning, almost hissing sound, that is presumably coming from the wall itself, at the beginning of the track. The whole entire soundtrack sounds like it's at conflict with itself, with one side trying to overtake the other.

Despite everything the protagonist is currently going through at this moment, there's a strong sense of hope when it comes to this chase them. It helps the player be able to calm themselves down and stay focused despite being chased and it makes sense. The wall isn't very fast. In fact, it's very slow. The only way you would be able to die from it is if you're slow at escaping or you give up and just stand there. Thematically speaking, I think it's perfect.

After all, that's what trauma kinda is. It's not this big monster that tries to rush you down within an instant. Rather, it's this mass of many factors and things that slowly and steadily creeps up on you. Affecting your mental state for the worst more and more as time passes. And when you're at your lowest? When you're too late? When you stand there and give in to the pain? That is when it finally catches you and you become another brick in the wall as a result.

That is what this is all about. Overcoming trauma and pain. Specimen 7 is a whole entire therapy session for MC. Why is a grandfather clock the first thing that they hear when stepping into room 406? Because there's only so much time they have. Whether that be with life in general or when they can seek the help they need before becoming a broken shell of themself. In the end, MC completes their therapy session and overcomes their trauma. Specimen 7 never chases you again. You only encounter it once, even in endless mode. They have done it.

So that's that right? Well... it still feels like we're missing something. We got the answers to what Specimen 7's deal is, but we also got more questions when it comes to our protagonist. We know that they clearly have mental issues and trauma. That's evident by CAT-DOS stating that Specimen 5 is extremely effective against victims with mental issues or weak wills and Specimen 7 specifically being stated to be only effective against victims with past trauma or psychological issues.

So they're mentally ill and are traumatized by something. Got it. But there also seems to be an emphasis on them being violent and dangerous?

There's Specimen 8 being stated to be extremely effective against violent victims, but there's also the whole deal with the bad ending where you don't heed the White Cat's advice and give in to your violent desires after obtaining the axe. Looking at this achievement here...

It's called "It Was Never A Mask". Meaning that the protagonist isn't putting on this violent and bloodthirsty persona or "mask". That's just who they are. Why are they so violent? What traumatized them? Why is their therapist a cat of all things? Why did they even go to the mansion in the first place? Was it really to "shed some light on this crumbling fortress of darkness"? Or was it something else?

This is where we can finally stop gushing about Specimen 7 and dive deeper.

What can we speculate?

Let's shift our attention towards Specimen 5. Aka Bab. Probably the most cryptic and confusing specimen in the base game, exceeding even Specimen 7.

What about her? Well, we know that there's some connection between her and the protagonist, considering she's effective against those with mental issues or weak wills, both of which are what our protagonist clearly suffers from. We already knew that, but here's something interesting.

One thing that I always found intriguing about Spooky's was this consistent theme and emphasis on parental figures or children. You have Specimen 4 with her whole child eating thing and her locale being a school. You have Specimen 6 and him referring to his puppets as his children. You have Specimen 8 referring to his violent deer as his children. And you have Specimen 11, who's meat is heavily implied to be made out of children, taking account of the "we will find you" on the fun rules poster, the skull in the shoes rack, and the room with the bloody chain that can be found in the play area. What's even more interesting is that all of these specimens are the ones you face when trying to close the Hellgate in the Dollhouse DLC, with Specimen 11 replacing Specimen 4 in HDR. So there's some consistency there.

Then there's Bab. Who probably emphasizes this theme the most. Firstly, she's referred to as "mother" by her cult members.

Secondly there's these... things... that you can see hiding and twitching under some of the grates in Bab's locale that kinda resemble small children.

And lastly, there's the whole entire room that takes place in a womb with what looks like a fetus in the middle, as we hear the crying and wailing of a baby in the background... you know...

That one...

My question is why though? What's the deal with these parental themes? What's the deal with these themes with Bab? What are we supposed to take away from this? Well, symbolism was a fantastic friend of ours while we were talking about Specimen 7. Why not use it again here? We know that MC was traumatized by something in the past and it has been dwelling on them since. We also know that MC is a violent person or at the very least has violent desires. Typically violence isn't something that comes out of nowhere. There can be a handful of factors behind the cause of it, but It's often a learned behavior, such as through abuse and neglect from childhood.

With all these parental themes with some of the specimens, along with Specimen 5 having an emphasis on being a motherly figure and also being connected to MC via the CAT-DOS entry, I think these themes and Specimen 5 specifically can be used as a clue to figuring out what MC could have went through that made them the way they are. Here's my theory.

Specimen 5 is supposed to be symbolic of the child abuse that our protagonist faced during childhood. From what we can gather from the notes, Bab seems to be very quick to anger. Having killed all of her cult members because they made 1 single mistake. Sacrificing someone who wasn't a virgin. What if MC's mother or whoever they were was similar? Getting angry and violent over minor things or mistakes, causing them to lash out and inflict pain on them? If we assume this, this could explain where MC's violent and dangerous acts and urges came from. They got them from the toxic and abusive family they were in.

Hell, we could take it a step further and say that the church that Bab originated from could also be a hint into how MC's family was. Maybe they were the religious type since, not always but sometimes, families of that type can be very toxic and awful in terms of the environment the children have to live in. As for other things like the weird womb room and the weird creatures hiding under the grates, they could have potential meaning too.

The fetus in the womb room and the baby crying in the background could represent how MC feels like they have been in a constant state of misery and pain since birth. While the little creatures under the grates could represent how they felt trapped in their home environment. Being unable to leave and escape their situation for years until they were able to grow up into an adult.

With this theory, Bab is basically MC's past coming back to haunt them. Which makes it all the more unnerving to see this faceless mannequin slowly stroll towards you. Similar to Specimen 7, dying to this thing is pretty hard considering its speed, which fits thematically. As I said before, trauma doesn't chase, it creeps. If the protagonist wants to survive Bab? They just have to make a run for it and not turn back. However, unlike running away from Specimen 7 where it was you trying to not let your trauma consume you, running away from Bab could be seen as running away from your past and problems, which can have its consequences. It makes sense and is fitting considering who our player character is.

Now I want to go back to talking about the White Cat for a second. Because I believe they also might play a role into MC's past trauma.

Another thing that I find interesting about Spooky's is that cats get brought up a handful of times. You have the two adorable cat posters, the "hang in there!" poster and the cat in a box poster, that you can sometimes see in the elevator. You have the machine that gives us info about the specimens that is named CAT-DOS. You have the White Cat of course. And finally you have the cat that was killed by Nurse Tanaka.

Which makes me curious. What exactly is the White Cat? You first see her in room 406 and after room room 421 she completely disappears. She's never mentioned or seen anywhere else in the game. Well, remember the threshold of consciousness? She doesn't appear until you step over that threshold. This is made more obvious in the original version of Spooky's where you can literally see her appear out of thin air the moment you step over the line. In other words, she isn't actually real.

By stepping over the threshold of consciousness, you enter your personal unconscious. Which is made up of forgotten and repressed memories as mentioned before. Which brings some questions. Why a cat as your therapist? Why was that the first thing that came to MC's personal unconscious? Are they a forgotten memory? What's the deal with cats in this game? Well, take account of what color the White Cat is... white.

The color white can symbolize perfection, cleanliness, purity, innocence, hope, clarity, openness, wisdom, and peacefulness. These fit the White Cat pretty well. The protagonist thought of a being that could bring them wisdom, peace, and most importantly, comfort while in their mind. This being took the form of a white cat the moment they stepped over the threshold. This could be because of what cats symbolize. Grace, independence, fortune, protection, patience, intuition, and mystery.

That could be it, but focusing on the forgotten memories thing, I think it's something more personal. Taking account of Tanaka's note about hitting a cat with their car and killing it as a result, I think that the White Cat is representing a dead pet that the protagonist once had. A repressed, forgotten, and painful memory taking form of something that can help them while they're stuck in their own mind. Not saying that the White Cat has to be the same cat Tanaka killed. Just that it could be a possible hint to the White Cat's origins. A friend of the protagonist that they would later loose.

Now that we got everything wrapped up, we can make a little timeline/story out of this.

Who is the protagonist?

In an unknown year, the protagonist would be born and thus enter into this world, but instead of entering into a world with love and care, it was instead a world filled with toxicity and abuse. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad at first, but overtime they would face physical, mental, and verbal abuse by their mother. Their father was either absent or they would inflict the same abuse on them. Overall, their life was a very bleak and depressing one. They did have some company though. Their cat. Despite the abuse they faced and how mentally drained and damaged they were from it, their cat always made them happy and feel love and warmth. The cat wasn't just a pet to them. It was their friend. Perhaps their only friend.

One day however, they would lose their friend, as the cat would be killed by being run over by a car. Now their warmth and comfort was gone. The one single thing that kept them going and made them feel somewhat sane was taken away from them. They felt alone and trapped in their abusive home. Nobody could bring them comfort now and they would suffer more because of it.

Not much is known about what happened after the cats death besides that, but eventually MC would leave their home behind once they grew into an adult. What came out the house was something twisted and broken however. Despite finally escaping their environment, they would continue to suffer from their very poor mental health. They were prone to becoming quickly angered or violent, which could have affected their relationships, work environment, or social status.

They were depressed and lonely. Talentless and limited. One thing that brought them some comfort was history. Getting to know more about the world they lived in intrigued them. So much so that maybe they would want to become an actual historian one day. But as of now, they were stuck in a boring and lifeless office job. Many thoughts and feelings would manifest as days, weeks, months, and eventually years passed. They wanted to do and become so much more, but they just couldn't. It felt impossible for them. That was until they saw an opportunity.

That old mansion. The many legends that they had heard about it. How anyone who enters into it will never return. They could go into that mansion and try to do something that nobody has ever done before. Learn about the history and origins behind the mansion and share it across the world. It was a risky and downright suicidal mission, but it's possible that due to the depression that they likely have, they wouldn't really care all that much. Either they could achieve their goal and finally be recognized for something or they would fail and die as a result. Either option was fine with them. So, they ventured into the mansion. Not knowing what strange horrors would await before them.

Conclusion

I think the protagonist of Spooky's Jumpscare Mansion is very interesting. I'm a fan of silent protagonists in general due to how open ended they usually are, leading to many fun theories and speculation about them. Our red eyed, axe crazy, history geek is no different. However, I was a bit disappointed in how they didn't seem to get talked about a lot in the Spooky's fandom after searching around for awhile. There's your theories about Specimen 7 and how they're connected to the protagonist obviously, but I hadn't seen anyone try to dive into what could've been their past trauma and why they're so violent in the first place.

I wanted this theory to focus on trying to figure out some potential backstory to our player character to the best of my ability, and although the theory may seem a bit out there in some areas, I think I did a decent job. This took awhile to make and going to all these websites to learn about Jungian therapy or color symbolism or what have you was pretty fun.

At the end of the day, it's evident that just by analyzing Specimen 7 alone, our protagonist is a sad, depressed, traumatized, and mentally ill one. No matter what you believe their backstory is, I think we can all agree on one thing.

This dude/gal/nonbinary pal desperately needs a hug. A tight one. A big ol bear hug.

Thank you for reading and have a good day.

[xeno828]

IS VI THE SHERIFF?!?

I would normally say I'm late to the party but I've been researching for far too long and realized barely ANYONE has noticed this!!

So looking at the season 2 trailer for Arcane, everyone seemed to focus on the fact Vi has become an enforcer. But look at this badge that the camera focuses on...

Call me mad, but that isn't just an enforcer badge, that's the SHERIFF'S BADGE!!!!

If you compare the regular enforcer uniform (which ngl is annoying to do cus there seem to be SO many different versions!) they do all have 1 thing in common, the lack of this badge. Some do have a symbol on their belts but it's different from this one, a lot simpler and seems to be a belt decoration/buckle more than an official badge.

But guess which uniforms we DO see with this badge, Grayson and Marcus, both only wearing it while holding the title of Sheriff!

Seriously, compare Grayson and Marcus's badge to the other enforcers!

I'll concede, you could argue that since this is the symbol for Piltover as a whole that it is just to represent the Enforcers in general. But then my question is, why are Grayson and Marcus the only ones wearing this symbol if that is the case?

The only other time we see an enforcer with this specific badge design is when Caitlyn is crossing the bridge back into Piltover and gets stopped by the barricade. But notice this badge is silver, whereas Grayson, Marcus, and Vi, all have gold badges. Looks an indication of status. Regular enforcers carry silver badges while the higher ups have gold ones on display 24/7.

Honestly, the way these badges are presented on each character can also line up with the individual person. If this is true it's a really cool snippet of storytelling through character design.

Looking at Grayson, her badge is big, front and center, she's showing it off. Grayson is proud of what she does and of her status, she earned her title through her own hard work and desire to protect the city.

Marcus's badge is slightly smaller and a bit more off to the side. He is the Sheriff and wants that to be known so, he will use that to his advantage so he doesn't hide his badge. But he is ashamed of how he got the title and is ashamed of himself. He's got what he wanted but has dug a hole for himself so deep that he can't crawl out of it, the only thing he has to show for his efforts is a badge won through blood shed and lies.

Vi's is WAY smaller than both and nearly unnoticeable on her belt to the left side. She has hated the Enforcers and topside her whole life, and now shes found herself becoming one. Oh the misery!! (Sorry!) She doesn't want to be here but feels she has too due to everything that is going on; Jinx, Zaun, Caitlyn, etc. She ended up with this position out of necessity rather than ambition or desire. Her hiding the badge away, the evidence of her 'betrayal' to the Under City, shows how reluctant she is to be doing this. She is only wearing that badge out of needing to comply with the rules that come with being Sheriff. And probably as soon as the job is done she'll toss the thing aside (which also works with the cannon cus that'll probs be how Caitlyn ends up being Sheriff like she is in game).

This entire concept is just SO fascinating to me, all the signs are there but the trailer made us so focused on Vi becoming an enforcer AT ALL that we all missed the other clues. It's a perfect example of misdirection and hiding the truth right under your nose. In the trailer we hear Caitlyn planning a strike team, sounding very in charge. When she is standing by Vi and their team she holds herself high, looking very much like a leader compared to Vi's resigned look and slightly deflated stance. Easily making us think she is the new Sheriff already - notice as well in this picture that neither Cair nor the rest of this team have any badges at all on display with their uniforms (would include a pic but I've reached the limit for this post!!!).

A good chunk of people already know that in game Vi is an enforcer and partner to Sheriff Caitlyn, the show makers know this is the assumption people will be making for season 2 and so went to imply this in the trailer without specifically stating it. Only leaving a few breadcrumbs suggesting we're all looking the wrong way.

I could be stretching here and be completely wrong, but if so PLEASE explain to me why only these 3 people are seen with this damn badge!!!!!

If this is true it's a pretty damn cool way to misdirect and subverse expectations to start off season 2.

[mileymint]

Trying to get Looey is so ass because you have to get mastery in Poppy.

Getting mastery in Poppy or Boxten are both ass because a lot of people won't let you join their runs if you're playing as a starter, because starter mains are usually beginners still learning how to play the game.

Wanna master Poppy and not be solo? Watch someone yell "NO STARTERS" at you for daring to have the audacity to stand in that line.

This is annoying, and frustrating. Not only is it rude, but it's also exclusive?? How are beginners supposed to learn how to play the game on their own without the safety net of a team? A HUGE chunk of this game is focused on teamwork.

I will always welcome ANY player with open arms, because I'm happy that they're playing with me at all. That beginner is going to grow and improve into a good player if they enjoy their time playing. I wouldn't want to play if my first impression was getting yelled at for playing.

I'd understand if you're doing a run with only mains or one specific toon. But if I see one more fucking Teagan scream "NO STARTERS!!1!!!1!!!!!" while Toodles and goodamn Shrimpo are in line I'm going to crash out.