#all the others were just not cooperating so i was like

[physicallyimprobable]

I saw that this was completely luck-based and apparently had nothing better to do so I whipped up some Python code to play this game one hundred thousand times. (Well, maybe "whipped up" is an exaggeration; the whole thing took upwards of 40 minutes for me to program. It'd been a while since I'd done Python.) Here are some of my observations:

Quickest and easiest question to answer: How hard is this game? Pretty hard. 7% chance of victory, 93% chance of defeat. Someone's probably gonna get smashed with a rock.

Most games last between seven and twelve rounds. 3% of games lasted the minimum length of five rounds, meaning at least one Guy just never kept their cool and bashed the other Guy's head in at the earliest opportunity. Exactly 5 games of the hundred-thousand lasted the maximum length of nineteen rounds. (Predictably, all five of these games were losses.)

In the likely event of a loss, it was common that one of the Guys was actually quite chill. 25% of losses occurred with one player at a full 6 Cool. Still, though, 5.6% of losses (5.2% of games overall) ended with Full Rage, by which I mean that both Guys bashed each others' skulls in at the exact same time.

A similar trend can be seen with wins; generally both people are chill. There's a bit of a feedback loop, as you might expect, so victory with low Cool values was uncommon. Still, a full 10 games ended with victory for two Guys with 2/6 Cool, just about to snap and kill each other.

In line with the previous paragraph, winning games typically ended early. Over 26% of winning games just involved no betrayal at all, and another 27% had exactly one round during which a Guy did not cooperate.

My apologies to @moon-of-curses if this was not her intended method of interacting with the game. If it's any consolation, I have had a lot of fun.

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[meanbossart]

So, I was thinking after the newest Bhaalist DU Drow art (and his hand dangerously close to Astarions throat): what would happen if Astarion runs away? Did he ever try?

And, what's also pretty sad, how does affection look like for them in this AU? Does Astarion just push through and dissociate? Can he ever say no? Or does he hope the love of his life (or unlife) changes at some point?

Thankies 💕

CW: Non-explicit description of a coercive sexual relationship.

You know, I'm not sure he would try to run away. I haven't thought about this AU in quite as much depth as I have their canonical story, but I do know that DU drow has turned Baldur's Gate and the area around it into quite the scary place. The "immediate and absolute control over the brain" outcome that we get in the game is a bit too easy for me, but he DOES retain the stones and therefore ownership over it, not to mention a huge bargaining chip in political control of the vicinity.

The church of Bhaal is reinstated, and while it will never be in the interest of Bhaalists to be blatant about their activities, it would become common knowledge that they have eyes everywhere. Killing is still ritualistic rather than mindless massacre, and indoctrination is prioritized - they can't expand and fulfill Bhaal's will if all potential followers are dead. People who don't yet follow the gospel have reason to cooperate with them since that lessens their chances of being killed.

So, if the darling of the cult's head were to suddenly disappear, everyone infected would be immediately zapped with the knowledge of exactly what he looks like and where he was last seen, and what the repercussions are for anyone who fails to report his whereabouts. Astarion knows this, DU drow would make sure that he does.

Also, it would probably be far too easy for Astarion to justify his own compliance and try to make peace with the situation. This IS the man he fell in love with, he DID encourage his pursuit for power at every step, he may not be the grand vampire ascendant, but he is the Murder Prince's beloved. He doesn't beat him, he doesn't torture him, he spoils Astarion with riches, comfort, and all the fresh blood he could dream of; all he asks for in return is his eternal devotion, constant affection, adoration, control over where he is, wears, does, and total surveillance.

When the alternative is braving the cold, ruthless world as a meager little vampire spawn while being hunted down by your ex's minions (hm, sounds familiar) being the equivalent to your partner's boutique pet starts to look pretty desirable. Astarion falling to old habits and resigning to his circumstance seems pretty likely to me. If he did run away successfully, life would be a whole lot harder for him. If he runs away unsuccessfully, he loses the trust of his murderous, power-hungry partner and the few liberties he is afforded at all.

Speaking of liberties, saying no to intimacy is one he still has, however the consequences for being frigid and nonreciprocating would come in other forms, over time, and Astarion would probably rather spare himself the trouble and just play along as the highly affectionate and fiery lover that this DU Drow wants him to be. The happier he is, the easier things are.

Not to mention that, occasionally, he can pretend that everything is back to how it used to be when they are being intimate.

I think there are vulnerable moments where he hopes he will snap out of it, but most of the time Astarion is convincing himself that he hit the jackpot, that he has DU drow wrapped around his finger and he will be able to turn this more in his favor eventually.

[kkayyerr]

Hii can I request a rafe c little!reader when he is talking to some girl but reader gets jealous. You don’t have to write it if you don’t want to 💕

The only one.

Summary: Rafe is talking to the Kiara and little!reader getting very jealous and hurt.

Warnings: Age regression, angst, jealousy, fluff in the end.

Author’s note: Rafe is more soft in this one because it isn’t the early seasons Rafe that I’m usually writing about.

Since the very start of your relationship, you knew that Rafe hated all the Pogues. His only exception was you; he excepted you and was still dealing with excepting your lifestyle. So of course you were more than shocked when you saw him talking to another Pogue, and you were even more surprised when you found out that it was Kiara. As you knew, they never liked each other, so why was he standing there, smiling at her? You didn’t even want to know. The only thing that you knew is that you were unhappy about this, and when you were regressed and unhappy, it meant that Rafe might ended up running to the store to buy you something that will be accepted as an apology and would make that pouty look go away from your pretty face. 

However, today you didn’t want anything. You didn’t need new plushies or some sweets; you just wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t trade you for another girl, because even thoughts of it were making you anxious. You start sucking on your thumb, trying to calm yourself down, but thoughts were only getting louder.

You left the beach and went home without letting Rafe know, ignoring his calls as he was probably going crazy thinking that something bad might’ve happened to you. And it did, but this time Rafe was the one who hurt you instead of being your protector. As you got home, you went straight to your room, covering yourself with your favorite blanket. You were overwhelmed by all the thoughts and memories that had popped up in your head.

Rafe sweared that he won’t leave you no matter what, but that’s what they all had said, right? 

Maybe you just became too much and he decided to finally break free from you and your regression; maybe you finally became a burden to him. Tears streamed down your face, and you were trying to quiet your sniffles by hiding your face in the pillow when suddenly you heard someone entering the room, loudly shutting the door. 

 

„What have I told you about always telling me where you are, hm?”

 

Rafe was angry, probably even furious with your behavior. He probably thought that you were just being stupid and irresponsible, ignoring his words as always. He ripped off the blanket from you when he saw something that he wasn’t expected to see at all. You were lying there, your face all puffy, strings of tears on your red cheeks. 

 

„Baby, what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

 

Rafe asked quickly, trying to make you look at him by softly touching your arm, but you slapped his hand right away, pointing your little finger at him. 

 

„You.”

 

You mumbled, making Rafe’s face expression turn from worried to confused. He didn’t do anything to hurt you today; he was trying to not hurt you at all. What could he've possibly done to make you this upset? His heart ached just from the thought of being the one who makes you cry like that. He actually had no ideas, and the only way to find out was talking about it with you. Gently.

 

„How exactly did I make you feel so bad, little one?”

 

His voice was not only softer but also quieter. He didn’t want to make you even more overwhelmed, loudly interrogating you with his questions. You finally stood up from where you were laying, still looking upset but more cooperative.

 

„Do you like Kiara?”

 

You asked, ignoring his question but basically answering it anyway. Rafe’s face finally brightened up, and he gave you a small, soft smile, also getting up from the bed. Rafe was relieved when you finally told him why you were so upset. The situation wasn’t so bad after all, and he had a chance to explain himself. He wanted to hold you in his arms, or at least put you on his lap and keep you close to him, until all those stupid thoughts won’t go away. He wanted you to know just how much he needed you. Though he knew that he needed to explain himself to you first. 

 

„No, baby. I don’t like her at all. She was afraid of me a little bit, and you were always telling me not to terrorize people, so I wanted to make sure that she wasn’t taking your Daddy for a bad guy anymore.”

 

After he had said that, you finally let him touch your arm. His fingers were caressing your skin in a soothing manner, while you gave him a soft smile back. All those thoughts about you being a useless burden finally disappeared when you saw his loving glare. Well, he definitely wasn’t looking at Kiara that way. 

 

„You’re the only one for me, and everything I do is for us, baby.”

 

Rafe said, pulling you in his arms and sighing with relief when cuddled up to him instead of breaking free from his embrace, even though he deserved that for not letting you know about his plans with the Pogues. He kissed your head gently, making sure that you are feeling loved and important, even though it was extremely hard for him to say that to you out loud.

 

„Don’t talk to that bitch anymore.”

 

His eyes widened at your words. He wasn’t used to you swearing, especially in the littlespace, because he was teaching you manners and not to repeat bad words after him or anyone else. He opened his mouth to call you out on it, but you quickly covered it with your hand, giving him a sly smile.

 

„Shh, Daddy. No whining.”

 

Well, it looks like his talking privilege was just taking away. 

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @rafecameronsloverrrrr @aew-regression-cove

[ahintofchaos]

Solace with You

Summary:

After a frustrating day at work, you come home to Agatha's endless love for you. Domestic fluff and some silliness. And an appearance from Senor Scratchy, because he's of course in my post-canon personal canon.

I'm pretty sure this is just 2700 words of weapons-grade fluff.

“Aggie?”

“Upstairs, darling!” 

She must be in your bedroom. You don’t even bother to hang up your coat, just tossing it over the back of the couch on your way to the stairs. You hustle up the stairs, your shoes clomping on the wooden treads. You forgot to take them off at the door. Usually it’s Agatha who’s always bringing her shoes upstairs. Then of course getting mad when she can’t find them again. You kick off your shoes as you walk down the hall, leaving them strewn around. You’ll collect them later. Right now, you couldn’t care less. You stopped in the doorway of your shared bedroom, bracing a hand on the doorframe.

Agatha was laying on top of the freshly made bed, book in hand. She looked up when she heard you arrive. “Hi, hon. How was work?” 

You heaved a dramatic sigh in response. 

“Aw, bad day?”

You shrugged. “Long. Frustrating.” 

Agatha tsked. “I’m sorry baby, that’s the worst. C’mere.” She patted your side of the bed, and you needed no further invitation, hopping onto the plush mattress and leaning back against the pillows. Agatha looped one arm around you, the other still holding her now forgotten book. You leaned your head on her shoulder, breathing in the familiar comforting scent of her. Lavender and a tiny bit of smoke. 

“You did some magic today,” you said. It was more of a statement than a question. Her magic always left her smelling slightly fiery. 

Agatha hummed an affirmative. “Practiced some spells. Figured out how to enchant the stove to always ignite.”

“Ooh, thank you.” You nuzzled your face against the side of her neck, feeling her smile at the brush of your nose against her sensitive spots. Even with the comfort Agatha always provided you, you couldn’t shake the feelings of unfulfillment and dissatisfaction that had followed you all day. You breathed in deep, trying to collect all the tension in your body and let it out in one big sigh. It helped, but not completely. 

Agatha turned to kiss the side of your head. “What’s got you frustrated, baby?” 

“I don’t know,” you huffed. “Everything? I feel so restless and blocked. Like I’m trying to do something but I can’t figure out what it is or how to do it. The ideas won’t come, even though I want them to. I feel very ineffective. I want to write and do things, but I can’t right now and I don’t know why!” You were almost at a whine, thoroughly overwhelmed by your brain’s refusal to cooperate today. 

Agatha smoothed her hand over your hair. “My poor baby. Tell you what. You go ahead and turn your pretty little brain off for the rest of today, and I will take care of everything.” 

“Mm, that sounds good.” 

“You’re working too hard, hon. You’ve got to give your mind a rest sometimes."

You swallowed. “I feel stupid right now, Aggie.” 

“Hush. Don’t talk like that. You’re brilliant. You’re an incredibly talented, wildly capable, absolutely brilliant person. You are a treasure. My treasure.”

You pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. “Thank you.”

“Come here, my love.” Agatha put her finger under your chin, lifting your head so you could meet her eyes. She leaned her forehead to yours for a moment before meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. 

Kissing Agatha was almost always the cure for what ailed you. You could kiss her every minute of the day and still want more. Luckily for you, she felt the same. 

Her lips on yours helped lift a weight off your shoulders that you hadn’t realized you were carrying. After a long moment, you separated with a soft smile on your face. 

“There, that’s what I like to see,” Agatha said softly. She slid off the bed, keeping her arms out to tell you to stay. You pouted. 

“I wanna stay with you.” 

Agatha smiled at this, and reached across the bed to scoop you closer to her. “Well then, come on, my love. We’re making some tea and dinner.” 

You clasped Agatha’s hand as she led you downstairs to the kitchen. Senor Scratchy was lounging in the window seat, and perked his ears up when he saw you come in. You separated from Agatha long enough to kiss him on his fuzzy head, then rejoined her in the kitchen. She waved her hand at the stove, lighting it instantly with bright purple flames. No sooner had she filled the kettle and set it on the burner did it start to whistle. “Showoff,” you murmured. Agatha smirked. She poured some loose tea into a strainer, then placed it in your favorite mug. 

You received your tea with grateful hands. The warmth of the cup pressed against your palms helped to smooth some of your agitation. Slowly but surely Agatha was working her magic on you. Not real magic, no incantations or spells, but her incredible knack for calming you no matter what. You could weather anything by her side, you were sure of it. For all of her fire and passion, she was hopelessly devoted to you, and her presence was a steadiness you could always rely on. 

Agatha prepared dinner for each of you, then shuttled you over to the couch. You flopped onto it as dramatically as you could without spilling your tea, and Agatha set the food down on the coffee table before draping a midnight blue blanket over the two of you, making sure to tuck it around your legs securely. She wrapped her arm around you, coaxing you to lean into her, which you did without much effort on her part. 

She kissed the top of your head. “There we go, darling. All cozy?” 

You nodded, your eyes closed in contentment. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.” 

You hummed in contentment, then stopped. “Your book,” you said, “it’s still upstairs.” 

Agatha turned to look at you. “So?” 

“I interrupted your reading. Do you want me to go get it?” 

“Absolutely not, honey. You’re relaxing. We’re both relaxing. No pesky spellbooks right now.” She waved her hand, bringing your plates closer to you with magic. You giggled at her. Agatha took her fork and raised it to your lips, allowing you to taste. You liked cooking, but you adored everything Agatha made. You always told her that her food was better because it was made with love. She called you a sap. You absolutely were, there was no denying it. Agatha Harkness was your moon and stars. 

Eventually, the warm tea and dinner lulled you into a sleepy post-meal state, and you curled up further against Agatha, who welcomed the press of your body against hers. You closed your eyes, feeling her soft sweater against your cheek and the thrum of her heart underneath. “I love you,” you said, barely above a whisper. Agatha brought her hand up to hold your face against her chest, leaning down to give you a kiss. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much.” 

Finally, all the stress of your day began to pour out, and tears began to fall. They slid down your face and soaked into Agatha’s sweater. You shook with tiny, tired sobs, and Agatha smoothed her thumb over your cheek, catching your tears as they fell. 

“Aw, my love. It’s alright. I’ve got you.” Agatha Harkness, the most powerful witch of recent history, was holding you as you cried out your frustrations about a stupid day at work. You, a regular-by-comparison eclectic witch with a regular job, had captured the heart of a veritable force of nature. You were so endlessly lucky to have her. You told her so. 

“No, my love. I’m the lucky one. I’ve got the most gentle, talented, compassionate witch by my side. I would do anything for you. You’re my whole heart.” 

You pressed your face harder against her chest, moving so your legs were across her lap. Agatha welcomed the feeling, looping her other arm over your legs and tracing circles and what you faintly recognized as protective runes on the fabric of your pants. 

Eventually, your tears subsided. Agatha never let up on her hold, the gentle pressure of her body against yours and her arms around you keeping you safe and sound. She put a finger under your chin to tilt your head up. “Better?”

You nodded. You felt lighter than you had all day. “Can we go upstairs now? I’m tired.” As if to prove your point, you yawned heartily. 

“Of course, my love,” Agatha said. As you moved to slide off her lap, she instead tightened her hold on your body. You barely had time to open your mouth to ask her why when she scooped you up, one hand around your back and the other under your legs. You shrieked, wrapping your arms around her neck and laughing at her antics. Agatha squeezed you close, bending her face down to yours, before carrying you back upstairs to your bedroom. 

She tossed you onto the bed with enough force that you bounced, causing you to laugh again. The sound delighted her. 

Agatha was completely in love with you. This wasn’t the early impulsive love of teenagers or new lovers; no, this was a bone-deep understanding that she was entirely yours, and you were entirely hers. She had never been one for vulnerability or emotions, and she still wasn’t when it came to other people, but you she kept nestled close to her heart, on the inside of all the walls she kept around herself. She lived for you, lived for holding you and loving you and tending to your every need. Soaking up your love just the same. Agatha had done a lot of things in her life, both good and very bad, and this, getting to be with you, being forever committed to you and having you forever committed to her in turn, was the greatest cosmic reward she could fathom. 

Lost in thought, Agatha stared at you, flopped back on the bed, still in your work clothes. You propped yourself up on your elbows, giving her an inquisitive look. “Earth to Agatha,” you singsonged. 

Agatha promptly pounced on you on the bed. “I’m admiring my love. Admiring every single thing about you. Listing them takes a while, honey. There are lots of things to love.” 

You swatted her arm. “Please.” 

Agatha kissed your nose, then clambered back off the bed, turning to your wardrobe and picking out two pairs of pajamas, tossing them at your head. You were surprised by the first pair, which hit you squarely in the face, but managed to catch the second pair. Who would’ve thought that the big, bad Agatha Harkness would pick out matching pajamas? 

Before you could return the favor and pelt her with the clothing, Agatha seized your wrists and pulled you off the bed and into your bathroom, where she snapped her fingers and a luxurious bubble bath was waiting for you. You almost moaned at the sight, and Agatha smirked at you. 

“Pervert,” you said. She grinned and winked. Before you knew it, you were both naked, your clothes nicely folded on the edge of the bathroom counter. You stopped to look at Agatha, to just drink her in. You couldn’t imagine a more beautiful thing if you tried for the rest of your life. Agatha caught you staring. 

“Now who’s a pervert?” 

“Still you,” you said, brushing past her to get into the tub. She rewarded you with a smack to your bare ass, causing you to jump. You whirled around to admonish her and were met with her perfectly mischievous cackle. “You’re naughty,” you said, eyes fixed on her as you lowered yourself into the water. 

“Mm, you know me,” Agatha teased, “insatiable.” 

The mood was gone as quickly as it had come, the both of you succumbing to the deep relaxation of the warm water of the bath and the press of each other’s bodies, Agatha’s behind yours. 

“I miss you when you’re at work,” she told you, resting her chin on your shoulder. You could’ve melted. 

“I know my love, but it gives me something to do. I like it. Plus, you have time for your activities too.”

“Well, I’m glad my sweetheart has hobbies. That’s very important. I don’t like when they stress you out, though.” 

You heaved a sigh. “Everything has its challenges.” 

“That’s true. And I’m always here to make them better.” 

“And you’re so good at it,” you tell her, leaning backward to kiss her sweet soft lips. She allows it for a moment before returning to her task. She takes the soap you love so much and lathers it in her hands, spreading it across your back and using it to massage your tired muscles. She works her way from your neck and shoulders down, then down both arms. Your head lolls back on her shoulder as she brings your hand above the water, fingers softly kneading your palms, working over every tendon. 

“You’re so good to me,” you tell her, barely at a whisper. 

Agatha doesn’t say anything, and you know she’s taken the compliment to heart. You’ve made it your mission to make her absolutely convinced of her own worth. It’s an uphill battle; before you, no one in her life had loved her for her, only for what she could do. But you’ll gladly spend every single day telling her. Over and over again.

Agatha hums, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder above the water. “Come on, my love. We’re going to be prunes.” She stands up behind you and helps you to your feet, wrapping you in a soft towel. You turn to kiss her, and she obliges happily. 

You shuffle out to your bedroom and change into your pajamas, a purple set that matches Agatha’s. She’s not far behind you, and once you’re both dressed she motions for you to sit in front of her. 

“Braid?” 

“Sure,” you say, settling on the bed with your legs crossed. Agatha’s centuries of life have made her uncommonly good at doing hair; she’s often had to make do with plain clothes, but her hair has always been a thing she can use to express herself. Now, it translates into her caring for both of your hair, and taking great pride in doing this for you as often as she can. Her nimble fingers dance through your hair, gently smoothing any tangles she comes across, and before you know it she’s tying it off at the end. She pulls you back into her, pressing her mouth to the top of your head like she’s going to kiss you. Instead she just stays, inhaling the smell of your hair. Her arms loosen eventually, and she lets you move over so you’re not laying directly on top of her anymore. 

You slide over so you’re laying on your side of the bed, keeping your legs tangled with hers. Agatha stays sitting up against the headboard, looking down at you with unrestrained fondness. You can’t believe your luck, being loved by the most powerful being in history. Having just as much of a claim to her as she has to you. You’re sure you have stars in your eyes right now, and you can see that she does too. 

As if she can read your thoughts, Agatha says, “I love you so much.” 

“Even when I’m being a baby about stupid work things?” 

“It’s not stupid,” she says. “If it’s upsetting you, it’s not stupid.”

“You’re my favorite,” you tell her, draping an arm over her hips and tracing the soft skin between her shirt and her shorts. 

Agatha smiles. “Good, because you’re my favorite too. My little precious baby, to love forever.” She gets under the covers with you, laying her head on her pillow so she’s on your level. She pulls you in so that your head is resting on her chest, feeling the gentle thump of her heart and the movement of her breathing. 

“My Aggie.” Agatha hums at that. It’s one of her favorite things to hear. 

“My heart,” she murmurs. You feel the rumble of her voice as she speaks. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” 

You try to reply, but you’re too far into sleep to form the words. Curled up against the love of your life, you sleep safe and sound.

____________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you have any requests.

Taglist: @polaris-likethestar

*if you'd like to be added to the taglist for Agatha x Reader, reply to this fic!

[nordickies]

SuNor Royalty AU prompt Relationship: Sweden/Norway Characters: Norway (Sigurd), Sweden (Björn), Denmark (Magnus) I had a small oneshot exchange/exercise with @pvffinsdaisies and @ifindus and I feel brave enough to share my oneshot writings for the first time. We were feeling nostalgic and decided to roll some nostalgic AU prompts with a wheel. Mine landed on "Fake Dating" and "Royalty". I just had to go with Norway and Sweden, of course! We also randomized some dialogue prompts, as well and I got: #23 - “You’re doing the right thing.” ; “Then why does it feel so wrong to me?”

Something different this time, enjoy!

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“You’re doing the right thing.”

The giant man sitting by the desk didn’t react to Magnus’ comment. He kept his eyes firmly on the glass his freckled friend had poured him just moments earlier. Watching the earthy-toned beverage sit still in the crystal snifter as if it could answer all the questions running through his mind. Something about the liquid’s stillness helped him focus — a small reminder that the world wasn’t boiling over, even if it felt like it.

Without raising his glance from the glass, the ashy-haired man pondered out loud, “Then why does it feel so wrong to me?”

Magnus, sitting right next to him on the velvet couch, looked up to the ornamented ceiling, breathing out with a heavy sigh. He was trying to find words to describe the predicament they found themselves in. Uncharacteristically for him, he didn’t feel like mocking his younger friend or dismissing his feelings. Things were less than ideal, and Magnus himself had a lot to lose here. But still, he tried to maintain his professionalism. As much as he could sympathize with his friend’s turmoil, he had to be the steady one.

“I think it’s a sign that you care about Sigurd,” he said calmly and leaned his back deeper into the couch. “Which is admirable, I guess. Considering everything we’ve been through.”

It was hard to comprehend how the three of them would ever refer to each other as friends. Their friendship, if it could even be called that, wasn’t quite built on mutual affection, but on proximity and shared survival. They had grown up tied together by the unrelenting demands of their families. There had been more than enough conflict to go around—bitter rivalries, fractured trust, and old wounds that never truly healed. Yet, in some inexplicable way, they had remained inseparable. Perhaps it was their proximity in age, or constant family cooperation pushing them to spend time together.  Or perhaps it was a bond from heritage, diplomacy, and an unspoken understanding that only those who had known such tension could appreciate.

And it all led to this moment. This outrageous marriage proposal. Björn had never imagined that his future would unfold in this way—not so abruptly, and certainly not under such strained circumstances. The bond he shared with Sigurd, once as natural and easy as breathing, now felt tainted, ruined by the very proposal that should have brought them closer.

It wasn’t that Björn didn’t want marriage. No, that’s what he had dreamed of all his life, of building a future with someone who could share his heart. But he did not expect to marry so soon, and to a person so dear and close to him at that. Björn felt conflicted. This marriage wasn’t driven by romantic love, nor was it born of true necessity. It was a strategy, all at the expense of Sigurd— and Björn knew Sigurd did not want this. He knew that his friend, his brother-in-arms, had no desire to be tied down by a union born out of obligation. And yet here he was, about to be thrust into a situation where his freedom would be stolen from him by the very man who called him his dear friend.

“He doesn’t want marriage” Björn sighed, breaking the brief silence with words so heavy you could barely hear him. He finally raised his eyes from the glass, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He met Magnus’ gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if the younger eyes were pleading—do something!

“What’s done is done.” Magnus' answer was brief, but not at all intended as dismissive. His hands were tied, even his witt and games couldn’t get them out of this situation now. “But consider that Sigurd will be safer with you than with anyone else.”

Perhaps Magnus was right. Björn had doubts Sigurd could maintain his freedom for long regardless if he stepped in or not. These decisions weren’t theirs to make. They weren’t even Sigurd’s to make. The ties that bound them weren’t just between him and his family; they were tied up in expectations, traditions, and even obligations that went far beyond their small circle. 

Sigurd was in a vulnerable position here, his family’s heyday long gone. His family, once known for their power and prestige, had long been reduced to shadows of their former selves. The house they once owned, grand and full of life, now stood silent, its halls crumbling and burying a history of glory that felt like a distant dream now. The marriage proposal had come as a last-ditch effort to pull them from the gutter.

The decision was not easy, nor something they thought would come so soon. But in the last attempt to upkeep their relevance and have some sort of hope for their heritage, they offered their heir to a longstanding ally. Perhaps accepting the proposal was Björn’s family’s attempt to uplift their image, which had been shattered after the last conflict, turning them unpopular in people’s eyes. His family was convinced Sigurd’s integrity was supposed to conceal the tarnish in Björn’s name. 

The troubled prince understood the stakes. This union, fraught with problems, was not just about their personal wishes. It was about preserving something far greater. It was a lifeline for them. But recognizing that still didn’t make the mental anguish any less painful.

Björn snapped out of his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the present as he noticed Magnus slowly pulling himself up to sit straight. The Dane cleared his throat, “A piece of advice, if I may?”

“...For this one time, I’ll allow it.”

“Marriage is just a piece of paper,” he said with a mentor-like warmth to his voice. “No one is going to control how you and Sigurd go about things. As long as you two handle your responsibilities, it’s enough.”

Björn raised his brow, but Magnus continued, “You’re marrying your best friend after all. Sounds better than marrying a stranger, no?”

Magnus didn’t get an answer to his comment—just an empty gaze from his friend. The silence hung thick between them. Though Björn’s face remained stoic, his eyes betrayed him. Conveying a clear unease, which he let out as a grouch. 

"He will hate me."

[sarcasticallyexplicit11]

The Curtis parents were buried on a cold, rainy day in January; the weather outside perfectly matching the emotions of the East side. The house was quiet, far quieter than it had been in 13 years. 

The kitchen table where Darry was covered in paperwork: bills, custody papers, deeds, more bills. Steve and Soda were curled up on the recliner, Soda’s head laying on Steve’s shoulder while he whispers to Soda about something no one else could hear. Ponyboy, Dally, and Johnny sit together on the couch, silent tears rolling down Pony’s face and Johnny running his fingers through his hair. Dally sat with his arm around Johnny’s shoulder, the unoccupied hand twirling his switchblade. 

They had all been like this since the funeral, no one saying much of anything to anyone. “He hasn’t cried,” Ponyboy whispered. Johnny and Dally looked at him in confusion, confused by the suddenness of the statement. They knew exactly who he was talking about without having to ask. Darry had been a rock at the funeral. He handled the arrangements, held his brothers while they cried, gave the eulogy, and spoke with the distant relatives who decided to show up. And he did all of it without shedding a single tear. “He ain’t said nothing but I know he’s hurtin’, he’s gotta be,” Pony says before burying his face in Johnny’s chest and beginning to sob. 

Soda hadn’t said a word since they got back from the cemetery. Hell, he’d barely said anything while they were there. He only talked to Steve and his brothers, no one else. Steve looked at him and pinched his brows together in worry. A quiet Sodapop was never good. Steve could almost see the gears in his head turning, like there were words trapped in his mind that just wouldn’t come out. Soda buried his head farther into Steve’s shoulder, sighing deeply. “What’s on your mind,” Steve asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer. The question just came tumbling out of his mouth. Steve felt hot tears on his neck, Soda’s body shaking from crying. “Shhhhh bud, I gotcha.” 

Darry wanted to get up and comfort his brothers. He wanted to wrap them up in his arms and tell them it would be okay. No matter how much he craved holding them tight, it was like he couldn’t get his legs to work. His brain knew what he needed, his body just would not cooperate. All he could do was stare at the papers in front of him, none finished. Looking at the clock, Darry took a deep breath and stood up for the first time since they’d gotten back to the house. “I-I’m gonna start on dinner,” he murmured to himself. No one in the living room acknowledged him, but both Soda and Pony heard the waver in his voice, the uncertainty that filled his mind.

Before he could open the fridge, the front door creaked open and Two-Bit’s whistle came through it. The boys in the living room look up and Soda smiles a bit, for the first time since their parents died. “Heya Two,” said Soda without moving his head off Steve’s shoulder. 

Two-Bit walked behind the couch and ruffled Pony’s hair, who ducked his head to get out of the way. “Hey y’all,” Two replied, “my mom made lasagna for us so that you don’t gotta cook Dar.” 

Darry froze in his spot in the kitchen. He sucked in a deep breath and promptly collapsed onto the floor in tears. Everyone stared at him in shock, unsure of what they were supposed to do. The shock took a second to wear off. When it did, both Soda and Pony lept out of their seats and were at their big brother’s side before anyone could blink. “I’m sorry, God I’m so sorry,” Darry stammers, tears streaming down his face. No one says anything, everyone afraid of making a move in case they disturb the rare vulnerability of the gang's eldest. 

Two-Bit sets the food on the kitchen table and drops down on one knee in front of Darry. “I didn’t know a bit of Italian would make ya cry Muscles,” he states from his spot on the floor. Darry chuckles a little bit, then leans further into Soda’s shoulder. Darry continued to murmur a mixture of I’m sorry’s and other apologies while Soda and Ponyboy held onto him. 

The only sounds heard throughout the house were Darry’s sniffles and the quiet shuffling of the boys in the living room, unsure of what they should do. Neither Pony nor Soda dared to move to make sure Darry takes the time he needs to get all of his emotions out. Dally, Steve, and Johnny begin to make their way into the kitchen, all of them settling somewhere on the floor near Darry. 

After what feels like hours, Darry’s tears finally stop. He swipes at his eyes and says, “Glory y’all I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve broke down like that.” 

Two-Bit shakes his head, putting a hand on Darry’s knee. Soda wraps his arm around Darry’s shoulder and squeezes it. “You don’t gotta apologize, you don’t gotta be strong all the time,” Soda replies as he tugs Darry closer to his body. Darry fought the urge to disagree with him. He had to be strong, he had to be. Someone had to pay the bills and take care of the gang. Someone has to keep the lights on and food on the table. Darry had no choice but to be strong for everyone. 

They stayed on the floor together until Dally stood up to stretch his legs. “Alright, some of y’all,” Dally says pointedly at the Curtis brothers, Darry in particular, “haven’t eaten all day. And I happen to know Pony here gets cranky so let’s eat.” Pony gets up and shoves Dally with his shoulder, who just wraps an arm around him and laughs. The gang get up, Darry grabbing plates and silverware while Two opens up the dish. 

Everyone gathers at the kitchen table, with Steve hopped up on the counter eating his plate. Darry takes a seat at the head of the table, smiling now that he knew everyone was in the house, fed and safe. 

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade (part 8)

Wherein player [x+1] joins the battle.

“Don’t drown him, Gekkō-san.” 

Midoriya seemed less alarmed by Kei’s choices and more just resigned. She’d already demonstrated to his satisfaction that nobody died in her watery doom constructs unless she wanted them to. Else the USJ would’ve had a lot fewer arrested villains and a lot more body bags than just the big one.

At least it gave them data on how the Nōmu guys worked. Still, Kei nodded. “I won’t. Oh, and Iida-kun?” 

Iida couldn’t turn his face away to hide from her, thanks to whatever Stain’s Quirk was, but he did close his eyes. It was all he could do. 

Maybe it would help to hear this. Maybe it wouldn’t. But Kei could at least be honest this once. “You already know I’d kill him.” And that got Iida to look up. Just with his eyes. “If this man targeted my little brother, he’d be dead.” 

And her hold on Stain’s throat never changed, despite that. 

Iida’s expression was a terrible whirl of turmoil. Like he couldn’t believe Kei’s blatant hypocrisy any more than Stain’s fragmented philosophy. Whatever he’d been forced to listen to before Midoriya and Kei showed up, at least. “But—”

“I don’t pretend that’s a good thing. Just a human one.” And not something they should be discussing here. 

Even if Kei had no actual intention of letting Stain go free, she had to at least pretend to care about procedures. If Obito recovered from his Kamui overuse and returned to the greater Tokyo metropolitan area tonight, Kei figured shoving the problem off on him was a decent backup plan. After, say, the police or heroes. Obito would remember not to kill the guy, right?

And then there was someone running their way. It wasn’t until the blue shape in the dark got closer that Kei heard a familiar voice shout, “Midoriya!” 

While most of their group either couldn’t move on their own (Iida, Native) or had more immediate problems (Kei, Stain), Midoriya did jump to his feet and wave. “Todoroki-kun! You got my message?”

“For reference,” Todoroki continued as he arrived and took in the scene of moderate carnage and a lot of awkward standing around, “try to give more information than just a location next time.” 

Though there was fire trailing up his left side and frost coating his right sleeve, he didn’t look like he’d been hurt. Just like he’d had to run all the way here, fully anticipating a fight when he arrived. Instead, he got to see a bit of a clown show instead. 

Kei shrugged when Todoroki aimed a silent question her way. She still had the armed—yes, his knife and sword were still drawn—Hero Killer in a Water Prison, it was polite of Todoroki to notice.

At least, Todoroki asked, “Did all of this happen in just five minutes?”

“Oh, y-yeah. Sorry about only using a pin, but that was all the time we had.” Midoriya didn’t bow, but it looked like a close call. “Thanks for heading here so fast, though!” 

“Not fast enough,” said Todoroki, clearly taking note of the blood still present on the ground. Sure, Kei had gotten Native away from his original bloodstain, but Midoriya didn’t have enough bandages for him and for Iida, and one of Iida’s injuries was dangerously close to an artery. 

“I think showing up before the villain kills everyone is good enough,” Kei said, and rotated the Water Prison so Stain could breathe again. When Todoroki took a step closer, possibly to freeze the villain in place, Kei held up her free hand. “I’ve got him, Todoroki-kun. Help the others, please.” 

Todoroki sighed, and the result was an icy fog. “All right.”

While getting Iida bandaged was a trial without him being able to cooperate, Stain’s Quirk wore off while Todoroki and Midoriya were trying to figure out where the catches in his shoulder pauldron were. In short order, the three boys managed to get upright and talked mostly to each other in low, sharp tones. From what Kei overheard, Midoriya filled Todoroki in on everything he’d missed. Iida, meanwhile, got two lectures right over Native’s head once all the information laid bare between them. 

Iida may have been crying. Kei focused on Stain to give him plausible deniability if needed. 

Honestly, Kei would’ve left them to it. She didn’t have anything helpful to say that they couldn’t handle without her. No canned phrases or quaint sayings. All she had was a careful balance of truth shrouded by lies and omissions, neither of which relied solely on her. Staying standoffish for most of the school year so far—barring the 1-A girls’ friendship blitz—was a good stealth strategy on paper, but it retained some key flaws. Like her total inability to comfort any of these kids after a traumatic encounter. 

What I wouldn’t give for a shock blanket—

Do you hear that? Isobu interrupted, kicking Kei back into full alertness. Like the menagerie he was, half-a-dozen animal instincts all clamored for Kei’s attention at once. 

Iida shouted, “Gekkō—!” just as lightning descended from the sky. 

[fisheito]

NoooOOOOOOO MORVAY NOT AGAIN!!! Two haloween s?? When will you be freee!! 💦💦💦

MR FATHER PLE AXSSE

[mistykaru]

i got stuff from the csp asset store and i wanted to play with it so this is a mess but i did have fun and i kinda dig the vibes

[trans-leek-cookie]

listen I'm not gonna be a Curly apologist he did Fucked Up as captain but I genuinely recommend ppl watch a playthru that goes thru the game in chronological order. It kinda helps clear up the events and gaps between them, bc even tho u See the times, you still experience it out of order.

The stuff Anya says definitely sets off alarm bells but it doesn't seem like he Fully Understands what she means, and I'm going to be 100% honest I think she was trying to repress it herself. This isn't to say that she is AT ALL "at fault" for what happened after and she should've gotten help even if she wasn't ready to fully discuss the issue but I genuinely think she herself was still coming to terms with things, so she didn't necessarily process the full impact before talking to Curly, and a lot of what happens occurs after they're laid off- like this delves into personal interpretation but I genuinely think Anya only registered Jimmy as a serious danger after his outburst towards Curly. Ofc my interpretation is limited bc of the limited pov in game and not having gone through what she has, but it personally reads more akin to coercion over time than a singular Obviously Violent incident (like. Not to say that Sexual Assault isnt violent in nature, just that coercion often specifically works to obfuscate the fact it is a form of violence.) The layoff is a Massive catalyst for her bc of Jimmy, in that she now has a very clear understanding of his capacity for aggression.

To extrapolate a little from the "Dead Pixel" conversation, she starts by saying she Likes The Screen (even though it's fake). While Curly has his quotes about the pixel "not ruining the illusion" which. Y'know is Symbolic Of His Flaws. She doesn't say the pixel ruins it, just that she can't get it out of her mind.

If we take the pixel to represent her Or jimmy, either way the way she talks about it kind of downplays things, like it's a Minor Thing that's Slightly Upsetting, but she's still okay with the big picture. Idk I could be 100% wrong but that is my take

Besides that, Anya tells curly she's pregnant 2 days before the crash, and it isn't until she outright states it that he starts Putting The Pieces Together. I want to note, he says "I'd do anything" and "this doesn't have to go on our performance evals" 1. Before he knows shes pregnant 2. Under the assumption she might attempt suicide, and I doubt he even thought about her using the gun on anyone else before she brings that up. He says literally before the line where she tells him she's pregnant that "being laid off isnt a reason to hurt [herself]". Like I've seen ppl talk about the performance evaluation thing like it's about her and jimmy, but I think he's referring to (his belief) that she might attempt suicide or similar which might genuinely be a consistent thing he's seen her struggle with, given she's able to go through with it. Also just to note: assuming their society is like ours (hellish) reassuring her he won't blab Abt her mental health is like. Genuine reassurance- lots of mentally ill ppl will Not Open Up bc it could have long term consequences (like. For example. On employment) ANYWAYS I hope it doesn't come off like "Curly never failed Anya" but rather "Curly approached this specific situation without the context of why Anya is panicking and (possibly validly) assuming she's dealing with a very different issue"

Also let me say again the time frame is 2 days. We don't Really see what happens, but we know Anya tells Jimmy without Curly knowing. I genuinely believe he maybe didn't do a Great Job in those two days (the fact he says Anya should've talked to Him before telling Jimmy is uhhh. Mm. 1. Your job to create an environment where she comes to you my man 2. Weird to tell her what she should do with HER OWN PERSONAL INFORMATION) but like.

I get a lot of ppl want immediate consequences but consider that they can't really get rid of Jimmy (co pilot. Which is. Y'know it's Own Problems) but also like. Curly knows Jimmy, and we know that Jimmy tends to lash out. Curly should probably Not Confront Jimmy Unless He Knows Exactly How To Keep Him From Hurting Anya. Like I'm not an expert but this is something genuinely important- when confronting an abuser you NEED to take into account the impact it can have on their victim, and sometimes for the victims safety you need to wait until you have a Solid Plan. It sucks but it's important.

And theres discussion to be had about Curly kinda going along with Jimmy saying "well what if we all died" and like. I do believe he Didn't Realize What Jimmy Said. Like he was just processing/trying to keep the situation under control (and failing because he underestimated how willing Jimmy was to hurt everyone including himself).

Like he's definitely an enabler but I would say his problems are mostly before he understands the gravity of the situation, in that he's friends with Jimmy and assumes the best of a man with abusive tendencies, and fails to create an environment that can keep Anya and the others safe. Like, he definitely doesn't handle in game events perfectly (psych evaluation for one- he does do it instead of Anya which is actually helpful, but he still treats it like. Weirdly.)

Idk I have a lot of thoughts about this game and I don't necessarily want to defend Curly but more like. Anya's situation is very delicate (and light on details) so sometimes the way ppl talk Abt it feels like they aren't actually focused on what she wants and what it means to prioritize her safety y'know?

Edit bc I just now figured out kinda how I want to word it: curly is an enabler and making things worse bc he doesn't put a stop to Jimmy's BS, but in the specific scenario we see in game I think he's trying to use his Skillset of like, people pleasing not for Jimmy's sake but for the crews (like "if I nod my head and say I sympathize he won't lash out and hurt them") which like. There are situations which that is unfortunately the safest option (on an individual level yes, but sometimes it's also necessary to prevent abusers lashing out in response toward ppl who are more vulnerable) but it was the Wrong Choice.

It's like. I think Curly was trying and had good intentions, and understood that he needed to protect the crew, but he didn't have the toolset/experience to realize he can't Just go along with things and that he needs to be able to set hard limits, even for ppl he likes and trusts. Like he failed but the failure was "for want of a nail", where it began way before what we see (for want of an understanding of power dynamics I guess.) Again, don't think this makes curly more forgivable or whatever, I just think he's a good example of trying to make the right choices when you never realized you'd have to make these kinds of decisions and therefore are unprepared and/or unaware

Second edit: personally I don't think you can really incapacitate jimmy without there being serious risk (again he's the copilot) but curly should've given Anya the gun when she told him Abt the pregnancy

[ridl]

I love ganqing sm. Keqing the capable, confident and highly ambitious leader of liyue, and her capable, war veteran, gentle general secretary, yet a bit weird qilin wife. And it's so important to me to underline that ganyu is just a bit weird and strange.

>appears for the first time on the roof >weird mullet hairstyle >eats raw wild flowers (her favorite is very bitter) >falls asleep in a haystack (can fall asleep anywhere really) >sensitive horns

Like yeah yeah, she's beautiful, strong and awesome, but do you care about her weirdgirl swag. I think it makes her very charming. Keqing is beautiful, strong and awesome too, but she's also just some guy. It's so fun to think about them because of it hhhh

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

I always smh at people who dub Jason as “whiny” “and therefore ooc” in tt 29. If you died and all everyone did was taint your legacy, and not a single person remembered you fondly or deemed you worthy of commemoration after your death, wouldn’t you be a bit upset too?

[coquelicoq]

you can read an andy weir novel that features your area of expertise. but watch out

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

i also find it very funny how people think laura actually cared about james at all when his name is only mentioned 4 times in the secret diary and they all occur in the same paragraph in which she's mentioning lying to dr. jacoby *scratches head* ... meanwhile here's just a few of the times she mentions bobby

like idk you tell me who she was actually in love with

[akkivee]

bonds are necessary for the true hypnosis mic to be used according to rei!!!! so bonds not only negate the effects on the target, but also on the user as well!!!!!

[gynaiko]

ㅤㅤㅤSTELLA   IS   NOT   A   GOOD   MOTHER,   AT   ALL;   QUITE   NEGLECTFUL,   ACTUALLY.   THE   KIND   TO   SAY   ‘THAT’S   NICE,   DEAR’   WHILE   NOT   EVEN   LOOKING   AT   VIA.   HOWEVER,   I   DON’T   SUBSCRIBE   TO   FANON’S   GENERAL   INTERPRETATION   WHERE   SHE’S   APPARENTLY   WILLING   TO   KILL   HER   JUST   TO   SPITE   STOLAS.   WE   STILL   HAVEN’T   SEEN   HER   INTERACT   WITH   OCTAVIA   BUT   IF   SHE   TRULY   HATED   HER,   SHE   WOULD   HAVE   THROWN   A   FIT   WHEN   ANDRE   POINTED   OUT   VIA   WOULD   GET   EVERYTHING,

ㅤㅤㅤ&   WHEN   SHE   WAS   SCREECHING   AT   STOLAS,   ASKING   IF   HE   WAS   ‘TURNING   HER   ( VIA )   AGAINST   HER   ( STELLA )’   —   CLEARLY,   SHE   CARES   FOR   VIA.   AGAIN,   SHE’S   NOT   A   GOOD   MOTHER,   PERHAPS   NOT   CODDLING   OR   ‘MOTHERLY’   BUT   ENOUGH   THAT   VIA   HAS   GOOD   MEMORIES   OF   HER   ( PER   THE   LOO   LOO   LAND   EPISODE ),

ㅤㅤㅤREAD   THE   TAGS   FOR   MY   TINFOIL   HAT   RAMBLINGS ,