#and maybe its because i do have the answers

[loveandlegacy]

i love this analysis! if i can add onto it a little bit to answer your question about what the purpose of the parallels is, i would say there's a lot of room for interpretation but my particular reading of it is that viktor and mel ultimately converge not with jayce as the center that cannot hold between them but with ambessa as their centerpoint.

throughout the whole show viktor and mel dance around the question of what is ethically the best way to help people maybe more than any other characters. there are other characters who also believe in helping or who are chasing ideals about how to improve the conditions for zaun specifically, but they are more certain in their undertakings. ekko doesn't waver on whether or not the firelights are doing the right thing, silco is a fervent revolutionary nationalist, sevika selects who to ally with based on her core principles about who would be the best to liberate zaun. ekko and silco particularly are at ideological odds about how cast off piltover's hold over zaun, but the show doesn't present them as counterbalancing points or even as two people who are imbricated with one another because of their beliefs. they represent two mostly unmoving worldviews.

by comparison, mel and viktor are constantly made to face the limits of their ideological positions.

in s1 act i viktor says that scientists seek to improve lives and to make the world a better place. this is kind of true in that it is one way scientists can operate but we also know that there are plenty of scientists who don't operate that way (singed) and we also know that science itself is a political undertaking regardless of how idealistic one may or may not be about it. s1 viktor wanted to make the world a better place, but his work for a long time largely fuels the class interests of the piltovan council and materially further destroys zaun. this isn't his fault for being an idealist. he is disempowered in piltover, he's disabled, he's dying, and even his dying/his attempt to avoid dying highlights a kind of politics about medical science and who gets access to it and who gets to choose what happens to their body and how it is tended to and cared for. were piltover not the extractive force that it is and had it not devastated zaun with chemical waste for years (two things only made possible by deploying technology and science!) and had it not essentially set up an obvious system of ethnic segregation, maybe viktor's condition might not have deteriorated to the point of terminal desperation. maybe sky would still be alive

this is like....at its most obvious when viktor's in his hex cocoon coma (which like in real world terms would be an actual violation of a DNR request – so again. the scientific power to arbitrate life and death is a political one) while his life's work gets co-opted to create weapons.

science is a political undertaking no matter which way you look at it

mel on the other hand believes and behaves as if the world is a political chess game that she can win if she maneuvers herself well enough and that politics can always function as the high road and higher power to all other inter/national machinations. her flashback makes this pretty clear when she repeats what kino told her, that war is a failure of (and therefore a lesser form of) statecraft. ambessa scoffs at this and at the idea of 'talking [your] way out of anything' and then later mel has to confront (again and again) that political games cannot account for everything and that she is not omniscient and even her savvy and skill can be upended by unexpected acts of guerrilla warfare. jinx bombs the council, ambessa engineers conflict, the black rose abducts elora and mel herself.

everything in the world is politics yes, but not everyone is playing the same political game and mel is limited in her ability to account for this not because she's stupid or incapable but because of her position in the world. she understands violence only as a tool used by imperialists to oppress their subjects. she has never been on the side of the power divide where she can't bargain with or outmaneuver or manipulate her opponents because the power they hold over her is immeasurable – until of course she is in that exact position. the black rose abducts and tortures her and kills elora and against her will awakens a power in her that only exists because of forces acting on her life long before she was even born.

it's actually kind of wild. in the span of like 1.5 episodes mel goes from being one of the most powerful people in piltover to a woman in a position very similar to viktor's – at the mercy of forces that shaped her life and set it in motion without her ever getting the chance to decide what she wanted for herself. however flawed her methods may or may not be, mel has worked her whole adult life to create a world where war doesn't happen and in one single revelation she learns that not only were her efforts small in the grand scheme of things but also that she herself is the very antithesis of what she wants to see in the world: a weapon.

and that's where ambessa matters! more than any other character in the story, ambessa is the embodiment of military power. national militaries are obviously an arm of power used towards political ends, and military might is often advanced by science – and in arcane's case, also magic, which is presented as a kind of science in the forms of hextech and shimmer. ambessa repeatedly evinces that she's distrustful of mages, but we also learn that she seeks to control magic to her own (presumably violent) ends. mel is her first attempt; she's born with the gift of the arcane, but ambessa correctly identifies she's not super into warfare and eventually sends her away

several years later ambessa arrives in piltover in search of magic again in the form of hextech, but what she eventually ends up getting is another mage.

in short, mel is the weapon ambessa wanted, but viktor is the weapon she got

and in this way, viktor and mel's trajectories finally intersect. mel is forced to reframe her understanding of political power and its uses and limits (and i presume this will carry through to her time in noxus), and she now has to live with the knowledge that she is (as her own voice lines put it) 'tainted by the arcane' in ways she never wanted and forced to use it to kill her own mother. viktor, meanwhile, has to come to grips at the end of the show with the fact that he gave up his ideals about science not being used violently and became the scientific weapon he said he never wanted to create in order to make the world (his idea) of a better place

A lot of people point out the visual parallels between Mel and Viktor but not enough people talk about the thematic parallels between them (also excuse the shitty screenshots).

they both grew up with mentors who ended up doing something they couldn't understand (Viktor believing death is better than sacrificing humanity, Mel believing war is bad)

and they remain haunted by that memory as an adult

they later left that mentor, Viktor on his own decision, Mel got cast out. Then they reconnected with that mentor when they are struggling with the same dilemma but their position has shifted. Again Viktor does this on his own accord and Ambessa comes to Mel

After this encounter though they realise their error and shift back to their original position

They stick to the same morals after Jinx's bomb hits but the decision was taken from them, Jayce already sacrificed Viktor's humanity, the council already decided on war

Then for the rest of season two we see them attempt to keep up their original stance but their hand is forced. (It is also interesting that Viktor is already taking away their humanity he just doesn't realize it yet, probably because he is so far from his own humanity he has forgotten what that even means)

They also both have parallels to the one they once defended as a kid

But I'm still having trouble finding what the purpose of all these parallels are. Viktor and Mel aren't very close in the narrative and they're both close to Jayce but I don't feel we see these parallels used in their relationship to him. I think the end point is that it's not Viktor's fault he became a villian in the end. Both him and Mel fought for what they thought was right and they both lost, it was only because of how others used Viktor that he was the reason so many people almost died.

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

You Had Me at...

He didn't know why he was even still awake.

No, that was a lie.

He knew exactly why, but he also knew it was stupid and silly and completely outside the realm of possibility. He just hadn't been able to help himself.

He'd stayed up and watched the clock, waited as the minutes ticked by until it was officially Valentine's Day, and held his breath...

And then nothing.

He'd huffed out a laugh, telling himself he was more embarrassed than disappointed because honestly, what had he expected?

Evan to show up at the door to declare his love? To want to get back together?

To want him?

That wasn't Tommy's life. That was fantasy. The stuff of romcoms, not the real world.

Reality was getting into his ratty pajama pants and an ancient, worn-soft LAFD t-shirt (that still had a B and a U and a half-peeled Y on the back) and accepting the fact that he was once again alone for this stupid, fake holiday...that he absolutely loved.

Sighing, he made his way out to the kitchen and dug around in his freezer until he found the pint of cookie dough ice cream that Evan had left there and Tommy had been avoiding for the past three months. What was the point of leaving it? Evan was never coming back. It wasn't like he'd be there to get mad at Tommy for eating it and why let it go to waste?

He stood there, staring at the ice cream.

His therapist would have plenty to say about him struggling to let himself have things, but that was a problem for Tuesday Tommy.

...screw it.

He was eating the ice cream.

Tommy snatched the container out of the freezer and set it down on the counter, ignoring its accusing stare as he grabbed a spoon out of the drawer.

"This is for the best," he muttered. "I'm putting us both out of our misery, okay? We can't wait forever. He's never coming back."

He tapped the spoon against the lid, frowning when a faint knock sounded back.

"What the fu-"

The knock again, louder this time and clearly coming from the front door.

Tommy set the spoon down beside the ice cream, grabbed his phone, and crept down the hallway toward the door. He was still debating calling 911 when he caught sight of a familiar silhouette through the window and his heart stopped.

He'd know those curls anywhere.

Evan startled, hand still raised when Tommy whipped open the door.

"Shit," he said, eyes going wide. "I mean, not sh-not that, I just...I wasn't expecting you to answer so quickly and I'm still kind of working on what I'm going to say..."

"...did you want me to close the door and give you a minute?" Tommy asked after another weighted beat passed between them. He'd stand back in the hallway for as long as it took. As long as Evan needed.

"No!" Evan jolted forward, hand flexing like he was ready to catch it - as if Tommy would willingly close a door between them ever again. "I..."

Tommy waited, drinking in the sight of Evan as he fidgeted on the front porch. He itched to tug the lip free that he was chewing on, but he was equally afraid to touch him.

He didn't think he could bear it if this turned out to be a dream.

"I watched them all," Evan blurted out suddenly. He rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks going red. "All of the movies I could remember from your shelves. T-the romance ones? And then Maddie recommended some more."

Tommy didn't know what to make of that. "Why-"

"Because everyone said I wasn't allowed to bake anymore," Evan said, as though that was a sentence that would clear things up. "But I had to do something, right? To stop myself from calling you every second that I was awake."

Wait, what?

"And I figured, if I couldn't stop thinking about you, then at least, I could maybe get inside your head and try to understand where we went wrong - where I went wrong," Evan barreled on like he wasn't completely upending Tommy's brain. "I watched them all and in every single one, ever single one, the couple has a fight and b-breaks up because, well, for all kinds of reasons, but it was because they were always missing what was right in front of them."

Evan took a deep, steadying breath, bracing himself on the doorframe. "I said a lot of stuff that night, but I missed saying the most important thing of all. I felt it, felt it so much it felt too big to say, but that was a mistake." He looked up, meeting Tommy's gaze with bright eyes.

"I love you, Tommy. I love you. I'm sorry I did everything backwards and managed to leap ahead all at the same time." Evan shook his head, blinking back tears as Tommy fought to hold back his own.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt that what I feel for you is real," he said "The most real and right thing I think I've ever felt in my life and I don't want to lose you. The last few months have been...I felt like I was missing a part of myself. Like my heart has been out there in the world without me and I've hated every minute of it."

"Please," Evan said, searching Tommy's face, hope threaded through every letter. "I know we have a lot we need to talk about, but can we - can we try again?"

Tommy took a shaky breath, still half-convinced he was about to wake up and have all of this ripped away from him.

"Please say something," Evan whispered, his shaky plea finally snapping Tommy into action.

He reached out to cup Evan's cheek, stroking a thumb against his skin as he leaned in. "You had me at 'shit'," Tommy said, a helpless smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Evan's mouth dropped open as Tommy's words sank in. Relief warred against an extreme pout as he poked at Tommy's chest. "Did you seriously just Jerry Maguire me? I can't even-"

The rest of his protest was cut off when Tommy yanked him inside the house for a searing kiss, kicking the door shut behind them.

"I love you too," Tommy murmured against Evan's lips as he pressed him into the wall. He tried to get the apology he'd been agonizing over for the last three months out between kisses. "I'm sorry I ran. I got scared and stupid and I want this. Want you. Want everything."

Evan groaned, grabbing at him as he gave back as good as he got, kissing every part of Tommy he could reach without letting him move an inch out of his arms.

"Stay," Tommy gasped when they finally broke apart for air. "Please stay and just sleep beside me and we can talk properly in the morning?" He wasn't prepared to let Evan out of his sight any time soon.

"Try and get rid of me," Evan said with a little laugh as he rested his forehead against Tommy's. They kissed once more, softly, knowing they had time now. Letting out a happy sigh, Evan dropped a tiny peck on the end of Tommy's nose before releasing him and moving toward the kitchen.

Tommy went to lock the door, freezing when Evan let out a garbled noise of outrage.

"Is this my ice cream?"

Biting back a grin, Tommy headed toward Evan and his continuing grumbles...

And let his grin actually spread when he rounded the corner to find Evan standing there, holding out a second spoon.

[forcaleb]

bouquets, bracelets, and big plans — caleb

warnings — fluff, valentines day fic, caleb is so in love with you btw

notes — the yandere fic had to be postponed because its valentines day and i had to write a fluff fic teehee :) tags: @aomiiine @sydneybee @tojicide

today is the first valentine's day you celebrate with caleb. since reuniting with him, you’ve been planning a bunch of surprises for when he finally comes home to linkon for the occasion. you’ve already booked two seats at the movie theater for a film you and caleb have been dying to watch and made a reservation at a five-star restaurant.

however, a text from caleb shatters your plans.

caleb: sorry, pipsqueak :( turns out i’ve got a ton of paperwork to handle, so i might not be able to come home tonight T^T

caleb: forgive me? i’ll make it up to you tomorrow. promise.

you: that’s okay! i understand :) just don’t forget to get enough sleep tonight, or else.

caleb: okay, okay :)

caleb, being your soft spot, makes you forgive him easily, but disappointment still creeps into your heart. It’s always like this. caleb is rarely home, and when he is, it’s only for a short while.

sighing for the tenth time today, tara pats your back. “plans ruined?”

you nod, groaning as you cover your face with your hands. “yeah… he said he has too much to do tonight, so he might not make it home.”

“oh, y/n,” tara says, giving you a comforting hug. “maybe he’ll make it up to you tomorrow? he only said he might not make it tonight, right? so cheer up! he’ll definitely make time for you tomorrow.”

tara’s enthusiasm brings a small smile to your face. “yeah, you’re right. i shouldn’t be too disappointed. i know he’s busy. thanks, tara.” she flashes you a grin and returns to her desk.

just as you refocus on your work, your phone buzzes. the caller id surprises you—it’s caleb.

you answer quickly. “caleb? what’s wrong?”

“hey, pips,” caleb greets, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “are you done with work yet?”

“i’ve got a few more things to wrap up, but they can wait until tomorrow. why? what’s up?”

“mind heading home early?” his tone carries a hint of mischief. “i’m downstairs.”

“wait, what?!” you exclaim, standing abruptly. everyone turns to look at you as tara giggles in the background. “you’re downstairs? right now? why? i thought you said you’d be working tonight!”

“calm down, princess. just come downstairs, and I’ll explain,” caleb says before hanging up.

you stare at your phone in disbelief. “did he really just hang up on me?” you mutter, though a smile creeps across your face. “tara, where’s jenna? can i-”

“you can go, y/n,” tara says with a grin. “i’ll let her know where you went. it’s almost clock-out time anyway. have fun!”

you thank tara silently with a nod, grab your things, and rush to the elevator, jabbing at the button impatiently.

when you reach the lobby, you spot caleb’s car parked out front. he’s leaning against it, and when he sees you, his eyes light up. “hey, princess.”

“caleb!” you hurry to him. “what-? i thought you said you couldn’t come home until tomorrow! did you lie to me?” you cross your arms, pretending to be angry.

caleb doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he opens the passenger door to reveal a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bracelet from your favorite jewelry store.

“caleb…”

“sorry i lied,” caleb begins, handing you the bouquet. “but will you forgive me now?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “this took all evening to put together since it was a bit last-minute. and the bracelet… i had to-”

“you don’t need to explain,” you say, giggling. “i love the gifts, and i love you. even if you’d come without them, i’d still be happy just to spend the night with you.”

“since when did you get so cheesy?” caleb teases, and you pout, smacking his arm lightly.

“okay, okay!” he laughs. “i take it back. i love it when you’re cheesy.” then he grins. “i heard you made reservations, huh?”

you blink in surprise. “yeah… how’d you-” then it hits you. “tara told you, didn’t she?”

“mm-hmm,” caleb admits. “since we still have time before the reservation expires, want to head over now? i bet you’re hungry.”

“i’m starving,” you whine. “i was about to cancel, but then you called.”

caleb picks up the jewelry box from the seat and opens it, revealing a silver bracelet with an apple charm.

“how’d i know you’d pick the apple one?” he says, carefully helping you put it on. it fits perfectly.

“i knew it’d look beautiful on you,” he murmurs with a proud smile. he sturing for you to get into the passenger seat, he adds, “i promised i’d make it up to you, didn’t i?”

as he settles into the driver’s seat, caleb glances at you. “after dinner and the movie, i have something else planned.”

“what is it?” you ask, curious.

caleb’s eyes gleam with mischief. “you’ll see. let’s just say… it involves working out, if you know what i mean.”

your eyes widen. “caleb!”

[the-littlest-goblin]

As I’ve alluded to, I think a lot of the failures of c3 can be traced to the fundamental gap that, in a plot where so much revolved around “”the gods”” CR never answers the question:

What the fuck is a god?

Others have made excellent points in how we talk about epic fantasy and the difficulties in fully receiving a world where gods definitively exist. What's interesting to me is that, if you really want to get deep into the philosophical weeds (and I always do), then what does it actually mean when we say "gods exist" in Critical Role?

Disclaimer: this isn't exactly as comprehensive as I would like but what I hoped to articulate in one meta post is more like 2-5 thesis proposals in a trench coat, and I still want the catharsis of yeeting my thoughts into the void so I can finally take a nap. I tried to limit the academia of it all but there's still plenty of jargon, and also a bibliography because I like to show my work.  

Short version: Godhood/divinity is a semantic lacuna in the CR's worldbuilding. That's not a bad thing, in fact it's kind of necessary. The problem arises when the plot makes gods and godhood a central problem without resolving or even acknowledging the barriers to understanding those concepts, thus leading to hours of dialogue, plot beats, and a supposedly climactic resolution which all amount to nonsense if you look too closely.

As anyone who’s so much as dipped a toe into philosophy will tell you, you gotta define your usage of terms or the discussion is DOA. On all levels of CR text, words like "god"/"the gods"/"divine"/"deity"/etc. are used interchangeably in so many contexts, and the meaning of those terms is only accessible via contextual implication, and the deducible meanings in so many of those contexts directly contradict each other. C3 especially reveals a dissonance between how the mytho-cultural text approaches divinity compared to the contours drawn by the mechanico-ontological text.1

The former in Exandria refers to "the gods" in terms of the Pantheon, a definite collection of individual entities. These otherworldly beings of Tengar, a realm of pure possibility. But "god" is also a rank within D&D's cosmic taxonomy—a rank to which, in Exandria, other entities can rise via the Rites of Ascension. The Matron is a god same as the others; Tharizdun is part of the pantheon but separate, not of Tengar. Maybe a "god," maybe not?

In the mytho-cultural role "the gods" play in Exandria, their being-qua-being is positioned as necessarily plurally defined and unknowable, but nevertheless possessed of immense "cosmic power" befitting their role in the Creation myth and ongoing worship. It makes perfect sense that the in-world mythology is (intentionally) plural and contradictory. However, as others have pointed out,* Exandria's socio-political and cultural worldbuilding vis a vis religion are (less intentionally, I would imagine) rather underbaked, leaving significant gaps in our understanding of what the gods (and religion) mean for the cultural part of mytho-cultural. 

Now let’s get into the latter. Because CR isn't just a narrative—it's a ludonarrative, and the game mechanics have huge ontological implications.1 

In the mechanico-ontological sphere, the gods are positioned as sort of exceptions to the rule, by which I mean, like, we don't get stat blocks for deities. Which again, on its own, makes perfect sense! D&D focalizes the PCs, and so on the purely mechanical level, gods/the divine are subordinate, acting only through proxies. This is necessary for the game-narrative D&D supports. Giving god-level power explicit stats would be a catch-22:

first, it would severely demystify "cosmic power"—to define is to limit, after all. Not doing so can imply an ontology where gods are not confined by mechanics—their powers go beyond, their powers are not only unwritten but unwriteable.

secondly, if the rulebooks were to even attempt codifying mechanical abilities on par with the semantic associations of “god-level” power, then it would be very difficult to maintain either the PCs focal role as agents of the narrative or a fairly balanced game, much less both. We saw this play out in Downfall—the point of the mechanics in the final battle outlined the huge disparity between mortals and gods.

Speaking of Downfall—as well as their mechanic and mythic existences, the gods also exist on the narrative level as characters. As such, we must necessarily consider questions of agency and consciousness in qualifying their existence, but fuck if that isn’t a messy question on the one layer, let alone putting it in the contexts of these shifting, intersecting layers.2 Keeping it brief though, the gods’ narrative agency is subject to similar issues as their mechanical powers.**

Being an exception to the rules of mechanico-ontological existence only holds together so long as divinity remains separate from everything governed by mechanics when mobilized in a narrative. I'm not trying to nitpick—Matt's "NPCs are not governed by the same rules as PCs" MO isn't automatically world-logic breaking, and there's a degree of pedantry on that front that is simply unsportsmanlike. But the problem in c3 specifically is that the plot focalizes the gods and divinity as a construct in such a way that invites—demands even—closer inspection. And the coherence between the structural layers of the narrative breaks down quite quickly under this scrutiny.

It's not like c3 brought this theme out of nowhere. Disproving that there is any essential divide between gods and mortals defines the zeitgeist of the Age of Arcanum. The Matron’s ascension proves that, however the difference is defined, the state of being one or the other is traversable. Exu: Calamity brought this up plenty: Laerryn contends that the distinction is access to the Celestial plane, and seeks to dissolve the difference by achieving large-scale interplanar travel for all of Avalir; Zerxus embodies that so called "divine magic" is not strictly tied to a worshipful relationship with a deity.

In c2, god-or-not is a huge element of Jester's arc with the Traveler. Her build shows that, despite the very different class abilities/powers of warlocks and clerics, there is no mechanico-ontological constraining the distinction between a warlock patron and a god. These are roles defined through a relational existence, not in keeping with any essential taxonomy of substances.1 The Traveller’s position in the cosmic taxonomy as an Archfey has less bearing on the type of magic he can grant than the belief and conviction on the side of the grantee. Similarly, there’s the Luxon in all its mystery—a god but not a pantheon deity? Divine but not a god? The semantics seem less and less significant. 

Now’s probably a good time to remember that CR is a story, and stories are representative constructions wherein any logic other than narrative logic is secondary. D&D as a story engine allows fictional representation to evoke a unique facsimile of materialism because the diegetic laws of physics are established in such detail via mechanics. But still, in a fictional world, metaphysics kind of are physics, and also kind of are semiotics, and both answer to the symbolic. It's fun (for me) to dig into the worldbuilding using philosophy as a framework, but at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if the philosophy finds gaps so long as the rest of the narrative elements cohere around those gaps.

In c3, they do not. 

Next to c3, c1 gets the closest to leaning too hard against the logical house-of-cards making up cosmic ontology in Exandria due to the importance of the Divine Gate in defeating proto-god Vecna. The Divine Gate is, imo, the material nexus point where all the semantic and ontological contradictions coalesce: it was created so as to specifically block gods from traversing out of the Celestial plane, but is permeable to mortals. Presumably there is some quality or essential substance that decides who can move through it and who can’t—but what is that? What is the substance of divinity, not in the ontological sense but in the materialism of arcana? It’s not something exclusive to denizens of Tengar, because the Matron is also trapped; perhaps “divine” is a misnomer, and it only traps the specific entities designated at the time of its creation, regardless of any shared essential quality? Except no, because Vecna was able to be trapped behind it as well. 

On the flip side, the great thing about the Divine Gate is that it encompasses and narratively justifies that catch-22 of divine mechanics by adding the element of time. The gods used to be un-writably powerful Pre-Divergence, hence their cosmic standing, but the Divine Gate limits their powers of acting in the present, allowing for their mechanical impotence. The Divergence and the Divine Gate incorporate the gods’ disparate ontological states into the history of Exandria, a physical and temporal division that allows for these contradictions to coexist in separate corners of the narrative.*** 

This coheres throughout campaigns 1 and 2—even when c1 started approaching concepts of “divinity” more closely, the plot maintains a separation between mortal stakes and divine stakes. Vecna was Vox Machina’s problem because he posed a threat to mortals; he posed a threat to mortals because he was seeking to achieve god-level power on the mortal plane. We don’t need to know what the “power�� exactly means to know it would be a huge imbalance. The threat is nullified by trapping Vecna behind the Divine Gate. We still don’t know what he is vis a vis godhood, but we do know his powers of acting and affecting on the Material Plane are curtailed and as such he’s not mortal’s problem anymore. Compare this to the Bell’s Hells attitudes towards their joint BBEGs of Ludinus and Predathos. Ludinus is the threat on the Material Plane; for much of the campaign, BH cap off cyclical debates on the gods by agreeing that stopping Ludinus is their actionable concern. In the end, however, Ludinus’ rhetoric succeeds in focalizing cosmic concerns: the narrative concludes with the resolution to the questions of ‘what to do about the gods and Predathos,’ reifying Ludinus’ view that the cosmic structure was a problem to be solved (despite the complete lack of supporting evidence to that point). Meanwhile the resolution to the—previously central—question of ‘what to do about Ludinus’ is ‘leave him to his cottage-core Thanos epilogue,’ as though he is not nor has he ever been a primary source of conflict.

I think Predathos is where the irreconcilability of material substance and ontological substance really start to chip away at the foundations of narrative coherence. The “God-eater” must be subject to the same questions re: “so what do you mean by god?” The takeaway is that the Predathos lore is frankly a hot mess of ludonarrative dissonance—perfect illustration for the other side of that catch-22 I was talking about!

 In theory, Matt could have introduced Predathos into Exandrian cosmology without it becoming a narrative problem, had it remained at a sufficient distance from the immediate plot to sit comfortably obscured in the same miasma of metaphysical unknowns as the Luxon or Tharizdun. It’s Ludinus and all the discussion surrounding these cosmic entities that shines a glaring spotlight on the contradictions by way of placing the gods into an ethical framework and using that judgement as a basis for praxis. Moral philosophy is not my area, but as far as it intersects with ontology: it is, to put it mildly, very fucking hard to put a subject under ethical judgement when said subject has no defined being as such that it’s very subjecthood is in question. 

What I’m trying to say is that you hold a guy in a very different ethical standing than the sun. The Dawnfather is both and can be reduced to neither. He is a character in a narrative with agency and personality and relationships at the same time he is a mechanical construction that has no independent existence and extremely limited powers of acting, and all the while he is semantically presumed all-powerful.

*I can’t find the post now to link it but I’m 99% sure it was by @utilitycaster

**For an illustration of (non-game) narratives where a pantheon of gods explicitly exist, are in possession of a certain cosmic power, and are direct narrative agents, see: Homer. I ran out of steam before getting to the full comparison I wanted to make, maybe I’ll get to that in another post, but trust me when I say it has massive implications—like, ‘requires a totally different method of engagement with the work, one which heavily departs from, and at times directly contradicts, literary and pedagogical tradition since at least the early modern period’-level implications.

***In terms of Pre-Divergence depictions, frankly I need to finish rewatching both Calamity and Downfall (possibly multiple times) to properly incorporate Brennan’s contributions to the text into this consideration. Drive-by assessment though, as it pertains to the main campaigns: we see glimpses of what the gods powers of acting can be without the Divine Gate, both with Asmodeus at the end of Calamity and the final battle in Downfall, to use as a comparison. These are useful for when c3 brings up the possibility for an alternate state of affairs while providing no examples for what those alternatives would entail. 

1. Bryant, Levi R. “Substantial Powers, Active Affects: The Intentionality of Objects.” Deleuze Studies 6, no. 4 (2012): 529–43. http://www.jstor.org/stable/45332014.

2. The structuralism I’m employing follows a number of works and theorists, namely Roland Barthes for lit theory and Richard Schechner for performance theory; the most relevant direct citation is Daniel McKay’s book The Fantasy Role-Playing Game: A New Performing Art (2001), which references both of the above and many others.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Say it back | The Salesman x Wife!Reader |

Summary: Playing jokes with your husband its never a good idea.

Warnings: Obsession - Possessive!Salesman - Suggestive - Unhealthy relationship - Suggestive -

"I love you my Love, have a good day" The Salesman says kissing your lips, checking himself on the mirror one last time before going to the door.

And he stops.

Because the Salesman its a creature of habit. Morning routines have centrain aspects that cant be changed.

And one of them is getting a kiss from you and a "I love you back" before he opens the door to leave and meet the future unfortunated ones for the games.

But he hears nothing, just the soft music from your phone as you eat your breakfast.

The Salesman waits, one, two, up to three minutes.

He goes back to check if he did forgot something. Was this a special date ? No. Did you two have anything planned ? No. Did he do something drastic to you this morning? No.

He leans in front of you, turning the music off.

"My Love" He starts tone calm, way too calm. "I said I loved you"

"Yes, I did hear" Its your response "Can I get my phone back?" You ask him and when he puts it away and leaves his briefcase you know you have done it.

You fucked up.

"Dear wait-" You stand up trying to rasonate with him but he is not listening as he walks towards you like a predator. "I was just-"

You are cut off as he pushes you against on the wall hard. The air leaving your lungs for a moment. Your head does not hit the wall because his hand was in between.

"You were wait my Love?" He asks right into your ear his grip on your arm strong and possessive as his other one goes down caressing your side stopping at your hip. "Please enlight me on what you were doing" He says biting your neck softly

Maybe your brain did not register the threat tone his voice carries or maybe you wanted to see how much you could push him.

"I was having breakfast till you decided to get back and interrump me"

By the cold look he gives you and the shiver that runs down your spine thats both from exciment and fear you know you have made him mad.

"Oh, so you were doing that?" He asks, there is a warning there. He knows what you are doing and he is not liking it.

He takes your neck in one hand giving it a firm grip, its not enough to let yourself without air but enough for it to feel like a real warning and a danger. To let you know just as much as he can love you he can hurt you.

"I will give you a second chance" He says one hand cupping your core making you gasp "And if you answer like a good wife, the good one I know you are I will think on not being too...rough with you"

Maybe. Thats the last word his mind thinks.

"I- I was going to say that I loved you back but I forgot" You lie feeling one finger go inside your pants and past your undewear teasting you. "P-Please I just-"

But he does not believe you. He knows how to read people and hell, he knows how to read you. Part of you was made by him.

"You forgot?" He says adding pressure on your neck and his finger starting to go faster inside you "You forgot how much you love ? Tell me does this happen often ? Or did you wake up and decide to hurt my feelings today ?

He sees your cheeks go red and your breathing faster. He knows he has you were he wants you, but a part of him screams that you need to be punish.

"Should I cut the air your brain is getting and see if a little re start brings your intelligent self back?" He whispers over your lips as his grips turns harder and his finger faster.

Your foggy brain does register the danger and you are quick to say no, he urges you to continue talking.

"I was joking. I wanted to see your reaction if I did not say it back. Im sorry if I hurt your feelings" Tears forms, not from the pain but from the pleasure his finger is giving you, hitting that sweet spot inside you.

The Salesmab smirks at that. He kisses away your tears and gives you a sweet kiss as he lets go of your neck. At the same time he removes his finger form you sucking it clean keeping a intense eye contact as he does.

"Good girl, thats my lovely and intelligent wife" He says giving you another kiss, letting you prove yourself on his lips. But just as you were going to ask for permission he puts himself away from you.

"Keep the same clothes. Dont leave the house today and, you better wait for me on that needy state of you. If you touch yourself, I will know and Love you wont like what I will do, I promise you that"

He turns taking his briefcase back and looking at you over his shoulder.

"I love you my Love" He says once again starting to leave

"I love you too Dear, have a good day at work" You manage to say without suttering.

"Thanks Love, there is cream in the bathroom for your neck" He says before finally leaving the aparment.

Would he have choke you till you passed out ? Defenetly. Its a good thing you are a fast learner.

[sylusonychinus]

Does that mean it didn't mean nothing at all? Pt.3 Finale!

a/n: ITS HERE THE FINALE IS HERE

Part 1 Part 2

When you woke, it was to the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of someone moving in your kitchen. Your body still felt like lead, but the fever haze had lessened, the headache now a dull throb instead of a pounding agony.

You blinked against the dim light, your blankets tucked securely around you. The last thing you remembered was—

Sylus.

The scent of sandalwood and whiskey was unmistakable. It lingered in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of tea. You turned your head and found him seated by the small dining table, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other tapping idly against the surface. He looked tired, his usual sharpness dulled by something softer.

At the sound of your shifting, his gaze snapped to yours. Relief flickered across his face, followed by something else—something unreadable.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice hushed.

You swallowed, throat still dry. “Yeah.”

A beat passed, and then he was standing, crossing the room before you could even think to move. He crouched beside the couch, studying you like he was memorizing every detail.

“You scared me,” he admitted.

That… threw you. Sylus wasn’t the type to admit things like that. Not so openly. Not to you.

You let out a weak chuckle. “Didn’t mean to. Just—bad luck, I guess.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You disappeared.”

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

You looked away. “You didn’t need me anymore.”

A scoff. “Didn’t need you?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Do you have any idea what it was like? Coming back to find you gone? No warning, no message—just gone.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

Sylus let out a slow breath, composing himself. Then, with deliberate gentleness, he reached for your hand. His fingers were warm, rough with callouses, grounding.

“It mattered,” he said firmly. “You matter.”

The weight of his words pressed against something deep inside you, something you had buried for too long.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say.

Sylus, ever patient despite his usual brashness, simply held your hand. He didn’t push, didn’t demand explanations. He just… stayed.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with something else—something warm, something steady.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d even want me here,” he admitted after a moment. “But I had to see you.”

Your heart ached, your carefully built walls threatening to crumble. “Why?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it—just quiet honesty. “Because I couldn’t stop looking for you.”

Your breath hitched.

Sylus had always been a force of nature, relentless when he wanted something. And right now, it seemed, what he wanted was you.

Your fingers curled slightly around his, a silent answer. A silent acceptance.

A hint of a smile ghosted across his face. “Get better first,” he murmured, squeezing your hand lightly. “Then we’ll talk.”

You exhaled, something in your chest finally loosening. Maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to run anymore.

Maybe this time, you had something worth staying for.

His hand didn’t leave yours. Neither of you moved for a long while, as if afraid that breaking the moment would mean losing it forever. His thumb traced slow circles against your skin, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was memorizing the shape of your hand, as if afraid you’d slip away again.

“I used to think,” he murmured, voice barely audible, “that I could handle losing anything—anyone. That it wouldn’t matter.” His fingers curled slightly, as if testing your grip, as if grounding himself in the simple fact that you were still there. “But I was wrong. I couldn’t stand losing you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to say something, wanted to tell him you felt the same way—that you had been just as lost without him. But the words tangled in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of what this meant.

Instead, you squeezed his hand tighter, letting the silence speak for you.

Sylus let out a breath, something like relief washing over his face. “Then don’t disappear again,” he said, and there was a quiet plea beneath the command.

You nodded, slow but certain.

Maybe this time, you’d stay.

3 years later~

Years passed, and the ghosts of the past slowly faded, leaving behind something new, something stronger.

The sun was setting over the quiet countryside, the golden light filtering through the windows of the small home you and Sylus had built together. It was a stark contrast to the lives you once led, to the chaos and uncertainty that had defined your past.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the delicate lace of your wedding dress, fingers trembling slightly. The realization that this was real, that you had allowed yourself this happiness, settled over you like a warm embrace.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

“Come in,” you called.

Sylus stepped inside, his usual sharp edges softened by the tenderness in his eyes. He was dressed in a white suit, a rare sight, but somehow, he still managed to make it look effortless. He took a slow step forward, then another, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony,” you teased, voice light despite the emotions swirling inside you.

He smirked. “Since when do we follow the rules?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your lips.

For a moment, he simply stood there, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. Then, without a word, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Your heart swelled, the weight of everything you had endured leading to this very moment.

“I’m glad I stayed,” you whispered.

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining like they always had—as if they were always meant to fit together.

“I am too,” he said, kissing your forehead softly. “Always.”

Taglist: @babygirl-panda19 @subliminalwish @miffysoo @gazelover666 @cayrelyra @i-messed-up-big-time @crazy-ink-artist @sillyfreakfanparty @melody-of-qinju

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Some sort of hive mind thing

Written for the Kissing Booth bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Body Swap

Rated: T

Words: 975

Tags: POV Dustin Henderson; Body swap; Secret relationship; Coming out; Implied sexual content (very brief, very vague); Crack and humor

“Okay, the others are on their way.” 

Dustin puts the walkie back on his bedside table. The alarm clock tells him it's a little after four in the morning. When he tries to tug on his hat to ground himself, he realizes he isn't wearing one because he's still in his pajamas. Biting back a yawn, he snatches his Thinking Cap from its hook on the wall and puts it on. He feels like he's going to need it. 

“While we wait, walk me through this again,” he says, turning back to the two miserable figures sitting side by side on his bed. “Steve?” 

“Yeah?” says Eddie. 

Dustin blinks. He can practically feel his brain whirring in his skull as it recalibrates. Sweet mother of all that's logical, this must be the fourth-most bizarre thing that ever happened to him. 

“Oh, wait,” says Steve. “If you say Steve shouldn’t I answer? Wouldn't want half the town to find out about this. I've barely even shaken the satanist allegations. Better not add body snatching to the list.” 

“The fuck?” Eddie hisses. “First you steal my body and now you're taking my name, too?” 

Steve grins, wide and toothy, fluttering his lashes exaggeratedly. “Let's table the discussion about who's taking whose name for later, big boy. We've more important stuff to figure out right now.” 

Okay, make that the third-most bizarre thing. 

“You both went to bed as usual,” Dustin says over the ensuing string of bickering, wondering not for the first time who's babysitting who here. “Then, a few hours later, you woke up to discover that you're stuck in each other's bodies.” 

Eddie-who-looks-like-Steve snorts a laugh and Steve-who-looks-like-Eddie elbows him.

“Quit it! Be serious about this!” 

“I’m trying to, but he said stuck in-” 

“Did anything happen last night?” Dustin asks. 

They both flinch. Eddie attempts to pull a lock of hair in front of his face but grasps at thin air. 

“Did anything- … I have no idea what you- … Nothing happened! Nothing at all!”

Dustin raises an eyebrow at him. Eddie starts chewing on Steve’s knuckles.

“Really? You sure? Nothing strange or out of the ordinary? I need you to think real hard about this, it could be important.” 

Steve shrugs, raking a hand through Eddie’s hair and frowning when his fingers get stuck in the frizzy mess. “Dunno, man. Our life's pretty much an endless string of freak incidents, so it's kind of hard to say what qualifies as- Gross, dude, stop chewing on my nails.” 

“It helps with my anxiety, and you have mine,” Eddie grumbles, but he still stops chewing. 

“Which is why it's crucial,” Dustin shoulders on, “to look for patterns. There must've been something that caused this, and there must be a reason why it happened to the two of you. Oh, you think it has to do with the bats? You're the only ones who got bitten, so maybe that's the connection. Maybe it's some sort of hive mind thing.” 

He has started pacing up and down in front of the bed, but at the corner of his vision, he can see how Steve squints Eddie’s dark brown eyes at him. 

“But that was months ago,” he says. He’s still wearing Eddie’s rings, Dustin notices. Eddie has pulled their hands into his lap and started fiddling with them, muttering something about how they won't fit Steve’s stupid, giant saucer hands. “Why would it happen now?” 

Dustin snaps his fingers. “Something must've triggered it. There must've been some kind of dormant connection the entire time, and one or both of you must've done something to activate it.” 

He stops pacing and turns to them, only to find they’re not looking at him anymore. Instead, they’ve ducked their heads together and started muttering among themselves in hushed voices. Dustin catches the words oughta tell him, and wrinkles his brow. 

“Tell me what?”

“Okay!” Steve screws Eddie’s eyes shut and pinches Eddie’s nose. “You know how you asked me to drive you to the arcade last night?”

“And you told me no because you had this big, important date?” Dustin rolls his eyes. “Sure. What about it?”

“And how you called me after?” Eddie says. He has started pulling on the ends of Steve’s hair now, and it seems to be getting frizzier by the second. It looks a bit like regular Steve put his fingers in a socket. “And I said I’d love to chauffeur you, but I couldn’t because I had already made plans?”

“Yes,” Dustin deadpans. “You were both completely and utterly unhelpful and I had to cycle all the way there in the dark and the wind, thank you for reminding me. Now what does this have to do with any-”

“Dustin,” says Steve. He looks at Eddie, then down at their entwined hands. Pointedly. Dustin feels his jaw drop. 

“Oh,” he says. “You mean you were- … You both couldn’t make it because you were each other’s- … Oh! Oh my God, please don’t tell me- … Were you two making out?” 

Silence drops. Somewhere outside, bicycle tires crunch on gravel, heralding the arrival of the Party. 

“Sure,” says Eddie. “Let’s call it making out.”

Dustin groans, turning to open his window. 

“Let’s try to keep this between the three of us,” he hisses. “The others don’t need to know this.”

“What?” Steve grumbles. He’s always blushed easily, but now, with his newly acquired pale complexion, he looks like an Eddie-shaped lava lamp. “These kids have dealt with interdimensional monsters and telepathic wizards, you’d think they’d be able to stomach two guys kissing.”

“That’s not it,” Dustin says, and now it’s his turn to break into a smug grin. “But Max bet me twenty bucks you wouldn’t last until Christmas, and I'm broke, so I'd appreciate it if she wouldn't find out just yet.” 

More Steddie bingo

[rookamell]

There are people who are going to disagree with me on this for thematic Rook/Solas reasons and that's ok, but I've been stewing on this for a few weeks now and I truly believe the Regret Prison was the biggest missed oppertunity to have a Fort Drakon Part 2: Electric Boogaloo.

So Rook falls in behind the statue of Varric, and the screen fades to black, and it switches to the companions in the Lighthouse library. I can't decide but I'm leaning toward the scene indicating that a substantial amount of time has passed (three weeks in game? That's a good time?) and the companions are arguing, because of course they are, because Rook isn't there to 'lead'.

Idk how, but somehow Emmrich locates Rook in the Fade, but there's some sort of barrier, obviously, because Rook can't find their way out of their own in this scenario: so We (the team) have to go in an find them.

BUT! Oh no! Emmrich can only hold the Fade open (or however you say it) long enough for two people to get through. So your love interest obviously immediately jumps at the chance, and then whichever companion you have the highest bond/ most approval with goes with them. (Could be a good way to incorporate the bond/approval thing they have going on in the game, because I don't think they utilised it enough AT ALL) if you didn't romance anyone, it's just the two with the highest approval.

So you play as these two, and you have to work together to face Rook's Regrets. (You could even have a callback here to the Gauntlet in Origins when you have to get Andraste's Ashes when you fight whichever companions you brought, but instead maybe its whichever companions you fucked over so Neve/Bellara, Lace/Davrin, Neve/Lucanis <- sucks a little that Neve is there twice but this is a work in progress, ok?) and obviously you face a bunch of other stuff (maybe have to answer some questions about what Rook did for the team like in Inner Demons? Idk) and the 'final boss' is Varric, who is already standing with Rook.

The kicker here is that the 'boss fight' is not a fight, your success or lack thereof depends on 1.) how much your companions approve of you and 2.) if they are all heroes of the Veilguard (aka if you actually did as Varric asked and 'looked after the team for [him], kid')

And then Rook and whoever is there share a moment before they all move on and get back to the others yadda yadda.

I get why they didn't do this because 1.) I think it would take A Lot to implement in the game actually and idk if they had the time/budget for that, and 2.) there is a theme there with Solas being stuck in his regret and Rook being able to make their way out.

But as for 2.) I think you could still say there's a Rook/Solas thing there because Solas pushed everyone away while Rook embraced their team/friends and so they got out because they had people willing to help them get out. Like I said, I know people aren't going to agree with that but it's just my take.

It would have been a cool way to show how much the companions do care about Rook and also gain some insight into Rook that's not their perspective. Also it would actually add to the whole 'found family' thing the game tries to tell you is what's happening in a very tell not show way. This could be the 'show'.

Just some thoughts anyway

[elegantauthor]

Die With a Smile

Pairing:  Nick Fowler x Reader

Summary:  Nick was ruthless. He would do anything, sacrifice anyone, to get what he wanted. Except maybe you.

Warnings:  friends to lovers, soft smut, threats of death

“…your civilian girlfriend.”

“What about her?” you heard Nick ask, after having only caught a snippet of the previous statement.

“I would like to interrogate her, find out what she knows.”

“Why?” The inflection in Nick’s tone was almost imperceptible. You could practically see his eyes squint, his posture belying his true emotions.

“This isn’t a game.”

“Never said it was,” Nick replied coolly. “You sent me on this op, but you never said I couldn’t recruit help.”

“Either she’s an asset or a problem that needs to be dealt with, swiftly.”

“She has nothing to do with this. She doesn’t know anything. She’s here because I want her to be.”

“Cute.” The man’s English lilt sent a shiver racing up and down your spine. “This girl… she must be important to you. I don’t think I’ve seen you so protective over someone.”

The conversation between Nick and his boss took a nosedive. You didn’t like the implication. Suddenly, you were reminded of the night Nick arrived on your doorstep, his face bloodied and bruised. “I took a beating from my boss.” It was the first time you were privy to the fact that he was more than a CIA officer.

Just as you were about to make yourself scarce, a pair of beefy hands grabbed your upper arms and shoved you into the room.

“Ah, there she is.” Elijah Clarke uncrossed his legs and stood. “I can see why you’re so beguiled, Nick. Tell me, my darling, since Nick refuses, why did he ask you to accompany him?”

You met Nick’s gaze. He looked at you, and the subtle vulnerability in his blue eyes was unlike anything you’d seen from him. “I have a degree in art history. He thought I would be able to authenticate the painting.”

At your answer, the tension in Nick’s shoulders ebbed. “I told you, she doesn’t—”

He was cut off when Elijah raised a finger. “You had your chance to speak.” He turned his attention back to you. “Do you know why I sent him after the painting?”

You shook your head.

“Do you know where it is?”

The question hung thickly in the air, your heart hammering in your chest. You were never a good liar. Part of you knew that Elijah would see through any untruths. Except, it was vital that he didn’t get his hands on the painting. Once you and Nick discovered its origins, the two of you decided the best place for it was locked up in a secure vault, preferably The Vatican. Its secrets could unravel the Creation myth, and you’d deduced the reason Elijah wanted it: to topple world religions and spread anarchy.

Unfortunately, your silence told Elijah everything he needed to know. His features darkened. Pulling his gun from his pocket, he pressed it under your chin. “Tell me where the painting is, Nick.”

When Nick didn’t answer right away, Elijah stepped closer to you. He tilted your chin up with the barrel of the gun, eyes flitting between Nick’s and yours. “I don’t think your boyfriend cares for you all that much.”

You glanced sidelong at Nick, whose expression remained unreadable. Despite his previous candor in defending you, he appeared nonchalant. Your hearing tunneled, picking up on a single faint noise that seemed to fill the entire room—the click of the pistol being cocked.

“All right,” said Nick, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. “I’ll tell you where it is. Let her go…”

~ * ~

Stepping out of the shower, steam coalesced around you. Nick had a towel already prepared. He swathed it around your frame, before lifting you in his arms and carrying you to his bed.

He held you to his chest, threading his fingers gently through your damp locks. The quiet that befell you was punctuated only by the vehicles passing outside his apartment. The low light in the room a comfort, compared to feeling exposed by too harsh fluorescents.

After a moment, he whispered into your hair, “I’m sorry.”

You knew without asking what he was apologizing for—his hesitance. For the first time, you questioned everything about your friendship with Nick Fowler. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

“Let me make it up to you… show you what you mean to me,” he husked softly in your ear.

The icy sting of betrayal gave way to warmth, as he wordlessly shifted his body on top of yours. It wasn’t the first time you and Nick blurred the lines of friendship, but this felt different somehow. Cupping your face between his palms, he leaned in to kiss your forehead, your temple, finally capturing your lips.

He rocked his hips against you, now bared completely as the towel fell away. You felt his hardness through his pants and reflexively arched your body, craving the friction. He growled into your mouth, pooling heat in your stomach.

As you swallowed the sound, Nick unzipped his pants and freed himself, rubbing the tip against your slick folds. He pulled back slightly with a devilish smirk. “Already wet for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you demured. You wanted him to know exactly what he did to you, which you hoped he’d remember if there was a next time. Your heart ached a little at the thought.

Nick, perceptive as ever at reading people, interlaced his fingers with yours and pinned your wrists against the mattress. “Look at me, prinţesă.” He didn’t need to say it, instead, you felt his love with every languid thrust. He never broke eye contact. This was as vulnerable as he would get, but you’d take it. Him, his love, and his apology.

[peachdues]

phantasmagoria what are you doing here girl!!

“You’re Sanemi’s.” Shinobu says over the lip of her glass, so offhanded like it’s supposed to be obvious. “At least, that’s what Kyojuro said. You’ve always belonged to Sanemi.”

Irritation rears its nasty head in your stomach, churning with both alcohol and Wisteria. “I don’t belong to him.” You spit, angrily swirling your straw through the melting ice. If you don’t drink it now, the alcohol will get all watery and it won’t numb the persistent ache that seeps through the cracks in your chest every time you hear his name.

Beneath the kaleidoscope of strobe lights, you are feeling. Desperate to stop, you bring your glass to your lips.

“No?” Shinobu gives a ceremonial tap of her shot glass on the bar counter before she tosses it back. Wiping her lips on the back of her hand, she turns to you. “Then find someone else here and hook up with them.”

You nearly choke on your own drink, just managing to cover your mouth with a crumpled napkin to avoid spraying your liquor all over the bar top.

Shinobu flags the bartender for another round of shots without looking away from you.

There are a thousand excuses you could give: you and Sanemi rely only on your birth control and your poor health decisions to keep any accidents from happening. That, until only weeks ago, you were very much a virgin and don’t have the sexual confidence to pursue another, not when you’re still learning with him. That you could accidentally pick an axe murderer or worse, and that would be just your luck.

Yet, for all the reasons you have to give to avoid answering Shinobu’s challenge, you can’t force a single one past your lips. Maybe it’s because you don’t owe her an explanation. Maybe it’s because you know she would instantly clock your bullshit.

But, as you snake through the throng of people bumping and grinding to the thundering base of music, you know there’s a far simpler explanation. Because, no matter how much you bat your glitter-covered eyes at whatever sad sap manages to catch your eye here on the dance floor, or force out a laugh at one of their lame jokes, nothing about your situation will change.

You wouldn’t leave with them the way you do with him; the way you will, when he comes looking for you in a few hours’ time.

You’re Sanemi’s. You’ve always belonged to Sanemi.

Yeah, you have. You are. And that’s exactly the fucking problem.

[chirpingchorus]

I’ve been thinking about similarities between Shiki and Joshua. During the events of TWEWY, both of them are deceiving others with their appearances and personalities, and they both know it. Joshua has more control over this than Shiki, but regardless…

Neither of them want to be themselves. I’d say they both loathe themselves, really. Shiki envies everything Eri is and does, and is glad at first to be someone else. Joshua’s disillusionment and dissatisfaction with the city is closely tied to his understanding of himself; he is its Composer, as well as someone quite similar to Neku, the proxy he’s chosen to represent the city.

After their time with Neku, they value themselves more as individuals. To Neku, it doesn’t matter what Shiki looks like or what Joshua’s done. (Well, that last one matters a little, but not as much as it probably should.) He cares for them and trusts them all the same.

And it’s all so beautifully connected, because it’s Joshua’s fault that Neku’s in the game and met Shiki, and Shiki’s why Neku learned to open up, rendering him able to connect with Joshua. Neku passed from one pretender to another, and they never interacted, but they did, in a way.

What really gets me about this comparison, though, is how they differ in the ending. Shiki’s at Hachiko with Neku and everyone else. Neku invites Joshua, but he doesn’t come. From Shiki’s perspective, Neku hasn’t seen the worst of her until he’s seen the real her. Joshua? I can’t imagine there’s anything worse Neku could learn about Joshua… But he doesn’t show. Maybe he’s not able to, and maybe he doesn’t want to. If the wiki is to be believed, Mr. H’s “Some people can’t take no for an answer” in the secret ending was originally about Joshua needing to be honest with how he feels. I like to think about what that localization could have meant, though; try and connect the two ideas.

Some people can’t believe it when someone says, “No, I don’t want you dead, not even after everything you’ve done. No, I couldn’t kill you to save the city, even if you killed me and you’d do it again. No, I can’t forgive you for what you put me through, but I do trust you. And despite it all, I’d like to see you again.” Whether he looks “down” (ENG) or “lonely” (JP), something about the Hachiko reunion’s made Joshua sad. But he won’t do anything about it. He can’t be honest with himself and do what (I imagine) he wants to do. Shiki’s able to move past her self-hatred if it means doing what she wants to and reaching out to Neku. Joshua isn’t. He’s much better now in terms of self-worth than he was three weeks before, but there are some things you have to settle on your own. Some people can’t take no for an answer, even when that’s the answer they want to hear more than anything else.

IN CONCLUSION: I think Shiki and Joshua should be bestest friends and go to the mall and make fun of Neku’s clothing forever and ever and give each other advice of varying quality. PLEASE.

[bitchinbarzal]

Offside | M Boldy & B Faber

summary: both matt and brock are fighting for your attention. and fighting eachother.

-

Being friends with professional hockey players had its perks— free tickets, post-game dinners, and inside jokes you didn’t always understand but laughed at anyway. But it also had its complications, especially when two of them, two of your closest friends started seeing you as more than just a friend.

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right (or wrong) moment to boil over.

Now it felt impossible to ignore.

Both of them were great in their own ways. Matt was electric — always making you laugh, always the first to text you something dumb just to brighten your day. He had this effortless confidence, the kind that made you feel special whenever he turned that charm on you.

Brock, on the other hand, was steady. He wasn’t flashy, didn’t demand attention the way Matt did, but he made you feel safe. His presence was grounding, his patience endless. He had this quiet way of making you feel like you mattered, even when he wasn’t saying much at all.

And somehow, without you realizing it, they had both started competing for your attention.

It started with Matt, really.

He was always the one dragging you into things—random road trips, last-minute coffee runs, late-night FaceTime calls just because he was bored.

“C’mon, it’s not even that far” he said one evening, nudging your knee under the table at dinner.

You arched a brow “Matt, it’s two hours away”

“Yeah, but they have the best donuts in the state. And we need a road trip playlist. And maybe a stop at that little bookstore you like”

Your lips twitched “You don’t even read”

“I could” he defended, leaning back in his chair “For you, I might become a whole book guy”

Brock, sitting across from you, scoffed lightly “You don’t even read the lineup dude”

Matt shot him a look.

You laughed, shaking your head. It was always easy with Matt, always light. And maybe that was why you leaned into it — because it felt good, effortless.

But then Brock would do something small, something that made you pause.

Brock was more subtle.

He never fought for your attention the way Matt did, never tried to steal the spotlight. But he was there. Always.

Like when you mentioned your car had been making a weird noise, and the next morning, Brock was outside your apartment, sleeves rolled up, inspecting the engine.

“Brock” You blinked at him, stepping outside in your slippers “Did I—did I ask you to come look at it?”

He didn’t even look up, just shrugged “No. But I figured I’d check it out before you end up stranded somewhere”

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

It was that kind of thing, over and over. Little gestures, quiet moments.

Matt made your heart race. Brock made it feel safe.

And maybe that was why you didn’t see the storm brewing between them.

It started subtly.

Matt cracking jokes at Brock’s expense, chirping him more than usual. Brock getting under Matt’s skin in practice, chirping back, which he rarely did.

Then, one day after a game, it escalated.

“Need a ride home?” Matt asked as you walked out of the arena, tucking your hands into your coat pockets.

Before you could answer, Brock was suddenly beside you “I got her”

Matt scoffed, stepping closer “Seriously?”

You blinked between them “Guys—”

“You always do this” Matt muttered, jaw tightening.

Brock’s brows furrowed “Do what?”

“Act like you’re just her friend, but then you pull this shit every time I try to—” Matt cut himself off, exhaling sharply.

Brock’s expression darkened “Maybe because I actually am her friend”

You inhaled sharply “Stop”

Both of them turned to you, frustration evident.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m not a prize to be fought over” Your voice shook slightly “I care about both of you, and I hate this”

Neither of them spoke, and after a long, heavy silence, you turned and walked away to find Jake and Nat to give you a ride.

It bled onto the ice.

Missed passes, tension on the bench, plays that should’ve worked but didn’t because they weren’t on the same page.

It was Rossi who finally said something.

“What the hell is up with you two?” he asked after a particularly bad practice.

Matt muttered something under his breath, and Brock shot him a glare.

Then Spurge stepped in “Figure it out” His voice was quiet but firm “Or I will”

But they didn’t figure it out.

Not until it came to blows.

You weren’t there, but you heard about it—how an argument in the locker room turned into a shoving match, how Jake had to step in before it got worse.

You got a text from Kirill later.

Kirill: your boys are dumb.

You sighed, tossing your phone onto the couch.

It was time to make a choice.

Brock showed up first.

He stood in your doorway, looking almost nervous.

“I don’t want this to be a competition” he admitted.

You swallowed “Then what do you want?”

He exhaled, his gaze steady “I want you” A pause “Not because I need to win. Not because of Matt. Just because I care about you”

Your breath hitched.

He stepped closer, voice softer “I know Matt makes you happy. I know I probably didn’t make this easy for you. But if you choose me—” He swallowed “It’s real. It’s not about proving something”

Tears pricked at your eyes.

Because Brock had always been steady, always been someone you could count on.

And when you took a step closer, closing the space between you, he let out a slow, relieved breath—like maybe he had been holding it in this whole time.

You kissed him, and it felt like home.

And for the first time in a long time, everything made sense.

[maritoke]

Stargazing

Have a fanfic for @cuppajj 's Beast Ancients AU. This fic is basically this meme, except somewhere in the middle Salted Caramel starts to trauma dump (he warned Silverbell twice), and Silverbell silently has a crisis (unrelated to trauma dump, lmao).

Just a warning: there is talking about major wounds being inflicted, but it isn't anything graphic (but just to be sure). Also this thing was written mostly at ungodly hours when I should be sleeping, so yeah, might have some mistakes--

---------

This could be definitely counted as treason, oh dear witches…

Letting the soldier of the Silence Legion just go was one thing. The archer decided to show him mercy. Congrats. One dead man less.

But Silverbell was actively talking to him. Enjoying his company even. Specifically now.

Being not so far away from borders. Maybe ten meters at most from the silver forest.��

He didn't abandon his post as a knight. That would be stupid and wouldn't sit right with Silverbell. He had finished his shift. He should be back at the Kingdom and sleeping. That would be the most logical thing to do.

But it was his free time now. And he could do whatever he wanted, he didn’t have to be back at Silver Kingdom. Not yet, at least. It wasn’t suspicious yet. He knew when to go back. He could just tell them he preferred to be in the forest as of late.

“If it's making you so stressed you can go back. I'm not holding you hostage.”

The soldier's words snapped him out of his thoughts. He twitched his wings out of reflex.

Salted Caramel didn't even look at him as he spoke. He kept his eyes on the night sky. A rare sight with the forest growing so thick. The leaves blocked out all of the sky. Keeping everyone hidden for safety.

It was strange in a way. That a soldier of an enemy's army would enjoy something so simple. But it could be because of how much he was taught to fear the Silent Army. For all the correct reasons. Salted Caramel had told him on several occasions how unfortunate it is that they happened to be on opposite sides (thank you, Salted…).

Silverbell just looked back at the stars. There were just so many of them. Shining bright, making the darkness around them lighter. There were plenty of colors too. Not just white dots on black sky. A mix of light blue with navy, a few droplets of pink here and there. Some stars were even golden. And then there was a moon. A full moon in all its glory. Not outshined by the stars but looking even more beautiful with them around. 

“... I'm good, I can stay a bit.”

Silverbell finally answered as he lied down on the soft grass. He was a bit mesmerized by the night sky. It was a pity. That such a beautiful piece of nature was constantly hidden from him.

At this Salted Caramel let out a small chuckle. It was a rare sound. Silverbell didn't hear him laugh yet, although fae wasn't sure if he would ever witness such a thing. They both knew that the soldier was around the forest by his own choice. To honor those who had died long, long ago in a battle.

The knight would be leaving soon. And it seemed that he stayed around longer just to keep Silverbell company. He didn't know how to feel about it exactly… on one hand it was quite nice, to have someone to talk to. To someone who too was serving a beast loyally while feeling a disconnect towards the values and concepts they once held dear. To someone who too feels a stranger in their own home.

On the other hand, he knew that he was going to be a possible cause of Salted Caramel's punishment. The knight himself was unsure whether he would face any consequences for… stalling and if he did, then of what caliber it would be. The Silent Army had apparently a history of being… quite unpredictable even towards their own soldiers. Everyone would either be passive and there would be no punishment, or they would make an example out of a ‘renegade’.

… Well. At least they both would be renegades in that case.

“Glad to hear you a bit more relaxed than back in the forest.” Salted Caramel said.

“In the forest I was afraid of the Queen. And other faeries could've found us.”

“And they can't now?” This time Salted turned his head to face Silverbell. His unnatural yellow eye almost glowing in the darkness. 

Silverbell didn't answer the question. Just glanced at the knight next to him and looked back at the night sky. The archer didn't know how to answer, for he himself wasn't sure.

Faeries wouldn't go search for him, that he was certain. But Queen Lily? She never elaborated how her powers worked exactly. Keeping it a secret. The less faeries knew the less they had to fear apparently. He had experienced it only once when she had used her powers to take control over faeries.

It had felt awful. He hadn't felt like he belonged in his own skin.

She had used it only once. To check the extent of her abilities. She had been apologizing for it for a few days. Feeling awful for doing something sudden, without knowing how it would end…

She probably would do it again, if there was a need. Silverbell was simply happy that just one knight from Silent Legion wasn't enough of a threat. That is if she could sense Salted Caramel. Would she know that a knight of her direct enemy is around? Or did she not sense him because he was already dead?

He'd rather not think about it. Too many questions. Little to no answers. Just his imagination running wild, creating countless scenarios, each more grim than the previous. 

He moved again as his body shivered because of too many unpleasant thoughts. Grass underneath him ruffled softly as he shifted around. From the corner of his eye he could see Salted Caramel glancing at him.

“You can go back if you–”

“No,” Silverbell cut him off. 

He knew the knight meant well. That he wanted to reassure him he could go back to Faerie Kingdom. That he was free to go. That if he feared for their safety, then he maybe shouldn't take more risks.

But he wanted to stay there just a bit longer. Just a few more minutes. It was hard to return to places that no longer felt like home. Yet you were attached to them nonetheless. Or at least to the memories of them.

“I… I still have time. Don't have to go back yet…” He said with a small smile. His voice had a false confidence. For he himself wasn't entirely sure anymore how much time he had left. But he didn’t know when or if he would see Salted Caramel again. 

He didn't want for another person in his life to become only a memory. Not so soon, not so early. He wanted for this moment to last just a tad longer. If Silverbell would return so late it would be suspicious, Midnight Lily would give him the benefit of a doubt. She liked him enough to let it slide as just a one time occurrence. 

A part of him felt guilty. That he was lying to her and abusing her trust. That everytime if she asked he would just tell her there was just a mere traveler passing by. Hiding a member of Silent Legion, the servant of a very beast who was an original holder of Queen's soul jam.

And Silverbell slowly came to an awful realization. This couldn't be just counted as a treason. As if someone was trying to look on the bad side of things. No.

This was a treason.

Not just a simple misunderstanding. Not a complicated situation. No. Silverbell had had one job. Shoot any outsiders who are an active threat. And the moment an actual enemy had shown up – he had let him go.

Alright, he had shot him once. But when it hadn't worked? He should have kept shooting. He should have gone back to the Kingdom and sounded the alarm. Not had stood there, paralyzed in horror, watching how an arrow to the neck hadn’t killed his target. And definitely not had kept talking to him afterwards, when the soldier had awkwardly offered to give the arrow back.

Silverbell should feel shame. That a memory of their first encounter was now funny to him in retrospect. That it was something that would make him smile. And he did feel shame, but for an entirely different reason. Because he knew that if he happened to see Salted Caramel again in future (hopefully outside of the battlefield), he would still not report him. He would continue this masquerade of guilt and shame. 

So much for being a loyal silver knight, huh?

Meanwhile Salted Caramel kept observing his friend in worry. His brows furrowed when he heard Silverbell's tone. The distant and sad look on the faerie's face wasn't helping his case either. 

He glanced back at the forest, then at the archer again. He considered arguing for a moment. That he clearly felt nervous, and they shouldn't risk it. There was no shame in it.

But instead he kept silent. Simply nodded again. Letting go of whatever words he just wanted to use. It was better to just not speak up sometimes. Keep it as it is – a bit bad, or start a useless fight – make it even worse. Choice was easy.

And so he laid back at the ground. Gazing again at the glowing sky. Although not as calm as before. His expression was more… bitter? No, too strong of a word. Lackadaisical? Detached? That sounded more correct. 

Silverbell looked up at the sky too. Still finding it as beautiful as before. He smiled at it.

“Why did you want to go stargazing?” The Fae finally asked. 

It took the swordsman a few longer moments to answer. He didn't look away from the stars at all.

“I don't think you want to hear a blurry war story.”

Normally he would argue that of course he wanted to hear. He always liked to hear the songs of battles of the past. To hear older knights speak of how they served the kingdom, and how they protected it.

But he knew better than to say such things around Salted Caramel. It wasn't as if the man didn't want to tell him anything, for he had told him various stories of many battles and wars. But he was around for too long, and many of his memories were getting either blurry or mixed up. And there were of course the memories Salted Caramel avoided for obvious reasons. Memories many knights avoided. Memories that were just too painful to recall. 

Silverbell opened and closed his mouth. Trying to formulate a sentence, but failing. He wanted to bite a bullet and just ask. But there was fear of wording it wrong, of offending his friend on accident.

Salted Caramel shot a quick glance at him.

“I wasn't looking at the stars when I died, if that's what you think.”

The archer couldn't help but relax a bit. His tense frame loosening at his words. It was stupid of him to assume such morbid things. 

“Though I was close to dying.”

… Nevermind. 

Silverbell took a deep breath in and out. To steady himself for a question. To actually speak up. Don't leave it quiet. 

“... can you say more? I like hearing your stories.”

He wasn’t fully sure why it was so hard to say. He had prompted Salted Caramel to speak many times before. 

Actually no, scratch that. He knew why it was harder to say it. Because he wasn't asking about a story from a battle. He was asking about one of the moments his friend was the most vulnerable. He simply didn't know why he considered not asking at all. Given how important star watching was for Salted Caramel. 

The knight didn't answer him for what felt like a few minutes. Silverbell almost came to the conclusion that he simply wouldn’t be given a reply. A bit disappointing, but understandable. Not everyone would want to speak of moments when they almost died. Such moments were often recurring nightmares for many. And yet Salted Caramel spoke up.

“I think it was… at the beginning of Grand Cross’ corruption? Or in the middle of it… I can't say… I just know they were different… but not that different.”

It often took Silverbell a few short seconds to figure out when Salted Caramel was speaking about the original beast cookies. As he often tended to use their former titles. Be it from respect or out of habit. Although, one could argue that Silent Salt could still be called ‘Grand Cross’. As it was not a title given because of their previous virtue, but because of how hierarchy in chivalry worked. And Silent Salt was of course at the very top of it.

“We were sent out to fight off the Giant Gravel Jelly Worms… They were a threat to one of the cities I think… and normally it would not be a problem, even if they were fully grown but uh… two or three are… let's say manageable.” He paused for a moment. “Six of them are a rather big issue.”

“How did those worms look?”

Silverbell could see a grimace on Salted Caramel's face. His body wincing for a moment.

“... maybe as big redwood trees? Maybe a tad smaller?”

Silverbell just stared at him blankly. Trying to convey without words how little it narrowed it down. These trees grew fast and tall. They could grow up to over one hundred meters with enough time. He doubted that Giant Gravel Jelly Worms could get that big. Although, maybe they could. Maybe they could and Silverbell was underestimating it. 

“Listen, they were just enormous, okay? Bigger than I had thought possible back then,” knight said in his own defense. A tiny note of frustration in his voice.

“Regardless…” he continued. “They had a body covered with strong scales, and a bunch of sharp spikes on each segment of their bodies. They could spin them. I think it normally helped them move around while digging in the ground? But at the surface it was as lethal as a newly sharpened sword. A sword made out of a very strong mix of metals.”

A pause again. A longer one. This one lasted maybe two minutes. Maybe a bit longer. Salted Caramel put a hand on his stomach. Soon however he tensed up again. Making a fist, trying to grasp something. As if he could dig into his own body and just rip his insides out.

Silverbell was about to tell him that he didn't have to continue. Because it clearly made him relive some absolutely nasty memories. The story wasn't worth it if it was putting him through such things. But before he could even say anything, Salted Caramel continued:

“With six of such monsters the battle lasted long until it was well into the night.” Silverbell could hear Salted Caramel rush a bit. Trying to get to the main point faster. “I got cut by one of the spikes. It dug deep. From my stomach almost up to my chest. A miracle it didn’t slice me in half.”

Silverbell couldn't help but hiss at description. He felt a knot in his stomach. He couldn’t imagine how much pain it must have been. Such a big injury. If one had looked down they would have seen their own organs… a very gruesome image, even more that it had happened. 

And yet Salted Caramel seemed to relax a tad bit. Faerie assumed that the worst part of the story was behind them now. The moment of when the wound had been inflicted. 

“After that I fell to the ground because I couldn't stand anymore, of course. I was bleeding out so much, I was terrified I would die.” The knight let out a dry chuckle. Finding the past a bit ironic given his current situation. “After… a rather big blood loss I didn't have energy to panic anymore. And then I realized that I was looking at the stars.”

Salted Caramel finally relaxed the fingers in his hand. Lying it again flat against his abdomen.

“And then I thought to myself… that it wasn’t the worst way to die. Despite the chaos happening around, despite it hurting so much… it would be a good death. To die in a battle with honor, able to look at the stars last time…”

There was new calmness to his voice now. A strange sense of melancholy mixed with hopefulness. It fitted him. It fitted him a lot.

“That's the main reason why stargazing is important to me.” Salted Caramel admitted. “It gives me solace. Especially now…”

“... why so?”

“... because I'm stuck here. We are stuck here. In probably the worst Era possible. But we did the best we could. We're trying our best still… and we still might just end up bloodied anyway… just one more corpse of another tired soldier…”

A pause. A deep breath in and out. To calm down. To gather thoughts. 

“But… There are things that are beautiful nonetheless. Things that were here before everything and will continue to be after… and we can enjoy them… even as we are dying there are things we can enjoy. Things that cannot be destroyed because it's just… impossible. I mean…”

Salted Caramel sat up. The metal plates of his armor quietly creaked due to sudden movement. He was now sitting on the grass with his legs crossed. 

“There are some things that just… can't be gone, right? I mean… Witches, I… give me a moment, I've lost my own point…”

Silverbell sat up too. Out of the corner of his eye he watched how Salted Caramel looked at the ground. Trying to get his thoughts back together. 

The archer hugged his legs and rested his head on his knees. He no longer observed the stars but his friend. 

He couldn’t see his face at the moment. He was partially covering it with his left hand. He used his right hand to play with his own long hair. Trying to regain focus and put his thoughts back together. Frustration he felt at himself was almost radiating. 

Silverbell only let out a soft sigh, his wings flexing a bit. It seemed that Salted Caramel hit his limit for tonight or even for this week.

The faerie loved talking with the knight. But Silent Legion had its name for a reason. Of course, the main reason was the fact it was one of if not the deadliest army recorded. Often winning battles before even a scream of their victims could arise. Ever the quiet death armored and armed, never leaving a sound. 

Another reason could be also because the very members themselves were apparently a quiet bunch. Salted Caramel included. He could easily remember how first their talks had been very one sided. Where it was mostly Silverbell talking at Salted Caramel than to him. Only the more time they'd spend the knight decided to start talking too. Still, he mostly spoke short sentences.

Therefore whenever Salted Caramel would tell a story, Silverbell would consider it a treat. Because even if it would take a while, it was nice to hear him talk. To hear him recall various battles or even just mundane situations that he remembered. Oftentimes speaking fondly of memories that could be sometimes very painful ones.

Because even now, when Salted Caramel had tensed up and grimaced various times while recalling the fight against the Giant Gravel Jelly Worms, he still finished it on a somewhat happy note. Despite the memory being mostly about a brutal battle and almost dying, it ended with him finding solace in that moment – regardless of what an outcome could have been. Peace even when the world around was dying, disappearing. 

“I think I know what you mean,” Silverbell said as he leaned onto Salted Caramel. 

The knight tensed up for just a moment. A short second of uncertainty before relaxing again. He shifted just a bit, to allow Silverbell for a more comfortable position. Despite being cold, Salted Caramel’s presence was a calming one.

And so they both continued to watch the stars. The eternal painting never to be erased or destroyed. Shining endlessly throughout all the years that had passed, and would continue to shine when the world was falling apart at the seams.

And regardless of the outcome. Regardless if there would be peace or wars, regardless if there would be thousands of cookies or if they all turned into nothingness or simple flour… stars would remain. For they were here before it all started, and would still be after everything ended.

It was strangely comforting. That even if everything was destroyed, there would be something that remained.

---------

So just to answer some things:

Why didn't Salted Caramel die if he was shot in the neck?

Salted Caramel is undead. He isn't revived. Think a spirit possessing its own corpse. He can be killed, but that would require either decapetion, or purification if you want to get rid off his soul (doesn't need to be Saint purification, Wind Archer would also do the job). That's also a reason why he is described as cold! He's cold because his body doesn't really need to maintain a body heat anymore! Ain't that convinient.

Why didn't they start fighting when Silverbell had first shot Salted Caramel?

If I shot someone in the neck, and they just stared at me confused, I would personally die right where I stood out of pure horror. Silverbell is braver and was just paralyzed by fear. Salted Caramel? He'd rather avoid fighting when he can, after all he was just going through the forest to go honor the fallen soldiers. So when he got shot he thought he must have tresspassed accidentaly, and felt awkward.

Are they meant to be platonic or romantic in this? (My own friend asked me this)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Honestly interpret them however you want, both interpretations are cool

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 14th of February, 2025

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 14th of February, 2025

Question: Did Camilla want to marry Prince Charles (as he was then)?

This is a one card reading

Card drawn: The Moon

This is a No answer. As the Sun is always a Yes answer to a question, the Moon, its opposite, is always a No answer (for me anyway).

Looking further into this, the Moon is a card of deception, lies, things not being as they appear, illusion, uncertainty, and secrets. This tells me that while Camilla did not want to marry Prince Charles, she could not tell him that for some reason, and so when he proposed she reluctantly accepted the proposal, and at the same time she hid her reluctance from him and pretended to be happier than she was with the situation.

The Moon is the card for the planet the Moon (for me at least), and The Moon rules Cancer, Camilla's sun sign, so this is definitely about her and not about anyone else. The Moon as a planet represents the mother, so there is something about being a mother and grandmother that could be involved in this decision - maybe her reputation was hurting her children, or maybe she thought she could do more for them if she was married to Prince Charles - something like that.

The main energy of this card is a No energy with respect to marriage that changes to a reluctant yes, as if someone has no other choice but to say yes, and then there is the energy of illusion and deceit - of hiding how you really feel about the marriage and pretending you feel another way about it.

Underlying Energy: The Tower

Underneath that reluctant Yes from above is a huge, life shattering event. Something happened that was so big and so traumatic that Camilla felt that there was no way she could recover from that situation without agreeing to marry Prince Charles. I think we all know what the situation was - her behaviour with respect to Prince Charles and Princess Diana and the public fury when they found out about it.

Note again that these are both major arcana cards, showing that this was both a very public event and one that had a profound effect on Camilla's life.

There is another question that I asked where the answer is relevant to the above reading. This was also a one card reading, and I asked

Why did Camilla marry Prince Charles?

Card Drawn: The Magician in Reverse

The Magician is a card about manifesting something, and in the reverse it fails to manifest. The energy from this card is slightly different - it says that Camilla could not stop the event from manifesting, i.e. she could not prevent Prince Charles from proposing to her, not matter what she did or how hard she tried. He opened his mouth and popped the question and she was stuck, because what she did not want to happen had just happened.

Again, this is a major arcana card, so something that has a big impact on Camilla's life.

I asked the question again, as follows:

Why did Camilla marry Prince Charles (i.e. why did she say yes to him)?

Card Drawn: The Four of Swords

The Four of Swords is a card about retiring from battle, especially to mend a ruined reputation. It is a card of rest and self protection.

This tells me that one of the main reasons that Camilla married Prince Charles was to continue restoring her reputation. She could see where things would go if she didn't marry him after he proposed, i.e. if she said No to him, and she did not like that at all. She needed the protection that his company gave her, either as mistress/'girlfriend' or as wife, and she needed the palace PR repairing her reputation, and if she refused his proposal she would have neither. So she said yes and accepted the proposal. I don't think it was the whole reason, but the damage to her reputation if she refused him was definitely one of the reasons for her saying Yes.

I have a three card reading on this topic that I will write up tomorrow that should give some additional insight into the situation.

[fyxestroll]

Vereinsamt

pairing: fulgrim x reader (fem.)

description: a question, a corundum and the warmth of blood in his hands

warnings: descriptions of blood.

<<prev

notes: i cut this sequel in half teehee @yagodnyizefir. (chat, should i make a taglist?)

How far would you go for love?

It’s a question commonly asked in Vinabonan literature. Be it a tragedy or a romance against all odds countless literature encourage its readers to ponder the extremes they would go to.

When you’d ask Fulgrim the same question he simply answered…

“I’m not sure.”

Because what is love? 

Is it the trust built over a lifetime? Two strangers finding companionship through the years? The pleasures of the flesh? An innate bond between a parent and child? The camaraderie between brothers? He’s experienced all of those, felt all the warmth and bitterness that they entailed. 

Love is too simple of a word to carry its vast meaning.

You had asked that question in jest seeking no answer but the befuddled look on his face but it had left him wondering.

What would I do?

Well, the answer came to him three days ago when the Emperor’s Pride exited the warp just outside of the star system. The vox messages from the system that had come flooding in were promptly received, read and sorted; articles in the noosphere were similarly handled as routine.

But one stood out in particular.

Expect the Unexpected! Lady Ditterstorf Pregnant!

Did he feel shock? Horror? Betrayal? A mix of all three? Yes.

But did it matter? Not at the moment, not when Vinabonan high society would eat you alive.

Despite the planet’s focus on sophistication and progress its ruling class are no different from a flock of starving vultures. He’s witnessed it himself, the endless cycle of rumors and scandals, how it led to metaphorical and physical deaths.

You, unmarried and carrying a child with an unknown father would become another victim.

That cannot happen, not if he could do anything about it.

Fulgrim’s plan was simple, he would claim to be the child’s father. If the child didn’t inherit your looks—because it would damn well not look like him, then he’d simply blame it on genetics. Have they looked at his brothers? Their faces are as varied as the cultures in the Imperium!

It would be his—a son of the Emperor’s word against theirs. There would be no refute.

Then after all is said and done, he could convince you to leave Vinabona, though, you’d likely refuse.

Either way, he expects a confrontation, hurtful words thrown and bridges burnt. Your relationship would never be the same after this no matter the result. You’d join the countless faces he’s come to forget, their warmth lingering but never remaining.

You aren’t his, he reminds himself as your homeworld’s spherical form got closer and closer. 

You aren’t his.

That kiss wasn’t was a mistake.

You’ll never be his and maybe, that’s for the better.

Does he mean all of this? Yes. 

No.

Once his transport reaches the planet’s surface your friendship, your bond will die. He expects your hatred, your hurt, for every moment spent together to be burnt into nothing but bitterness.

But then, your head housekeeper came to him mere moments after his feet touched the ground and every plan, every idea, every run-through of a conversation with you crumbled into dust.

“Lord Fulgrim! I beg for your assistance! My lady has entered a duel to defend her honor!”

The elderly servant’s words ring in his ears as he walks through the circle of whispering onlookers. The crowd gives him a wide berth, some falling to their knees in shock at his presence. He neither acknowledges nor shows concern, his eyes trained on the two bodies lying on the ground ten paces away from each other. 

Blood oozes from both.

He had imagined your hurt, your tears, the fury he had yet seen but not this…No, never this.

In a blink, he’s gathered you in his arms, frantically trying to find the source of the wound. Too many layers and too much silk are in his way so he can do nothing but put pressure roughly where the wound is located.

Blood oozes out from the wound like water.

He screams for help, for anyone to help.

The crowd remains in place, murmuring, some daring to take a pict.

Ten paces across your opponent shrieks, blood pulling from the wound in between his legs. His second runs to him, lifting him as he screamed in pain, cursing your name. On the man’s chest is the crest of the planetary governor’s house. 

How far would you go for love?

You’re gasping for air, weakly trying to push against his hold with empty dilated eyes. 

You looked like a corpse.

He cries out your name, shaking you as he does. He knows some of his Phoenix Guard will follow suit with a doctor. He has enough faith in his sons to know they will do so.

But for the moment he could do nothing but pathetically beg the onlookers for help.

Not a single person makes a move to assist, instead all of them look on as if this scene is pure entertainment.

He spots the pistol near your side, it too is also stained with blood.

“How far would you go for love?” Your voice as sweet as honey echoes in his ears. 

As he holds your dying body in his arms and faces a crowd of animals he answers that lingering inquiry with a question of his own.

How far should I go?

[savage-sinister]

have yall ever checked the comment someone leaves on a bookmark of your work? Not a comment on your fic, but a bookmark where theyve left a note. i think its worth looking, ive seen people say really sweet (and humorous) things in the bookmarks without ever leaving a comment.

Hey pal. <3 First of all, thank you. I can tell you're trying to cheer me up because you think I might be upset about the response/lack of response to my fanfics, and I appreciate it. You're a swell, warm-hearted person and I appreciate you.

Before I answer your question, I'm going to clarify something.

I know it probably looks from all the posting I've been doing that I'm maybe upset that my fanfictions don't get enough kudos. That's not actually the case.

First of all, I only post fic on AO3 at all becasue it's a convenient way to archive the writing my partner and I do. We have about 2 million words of Danganronpa and other fandom fanfiction that pre-date us posting on AO3. We started posting because Skype ate an entire longfic on us.

Second of all, given that I post fic mostly for wildly unpopular pairings in niche fandoms, my fic actually gets a lot of kudos and comments! My audience is great, and I'm so grateful for all of them. I have some repeat commenters that I love to chat with, and I love seeing the same names in the kudos list for fanfics in the same series! (I have about 15k kudos on about 1.5 million words of fic).

This isn't about my kudos, or my satisfaction.

This is about how I started a positivity post to make people feel better about "kudos ratios" and in the process I accidentally found out that a lot of people don't actually even bother to kudos fic they like. They just read it, enjoy it, and move on without ever telling the author about it. And that sucks!

And I've gotten more and more passionate about it as more and more people tell me to "shut up because authors are not entitled to praise." Uh, no, obviously, but if something gave you joy you can take one literal second to click a button and let the author know that happened.

So I'm not upset on my own behalf, and you don't have to worry about cheering me up.

That said, anon. I'm really sorry to tell you this.

My AO3 fics have a total of 2,588 bookmarks as for right now.

Exactly six of those bookmarks have comments of any kind. One of them is really mean 😂😂😂😂

That said it was nice reading the nice comments that were there.

Thank you again anon and have a great day <3