#going to try and nap

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

Me doing my stupid research so I can fill out the stupid ballot and do my stupid civic duty.

[ktkat99]

Jason comes back from the dead and, as he's still a bit out of it, heads to the manor.

Crawling straight up through six feet of compacted earth is hard, especially after waking up suddenly in a coffin, so after he makes it inside, he sits down to rest on the couch.

And immediately falls asleep.

Hours later, Bruce returns home to find Jason's body, covered in dirt, dug up from the grave and left on his couch.

[almondpiglet]

ITS SERIZAWAS BDAY TODAY!! IM SO GRATEFUL FOR THIS MAN YALL!!

sns and the kids after celebrating all day long... having sweet lil dreams

[rontra]

its called FUN-Y because she's a funny silly girl

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 194

Bart is frozen. He’s terrified- his heart is beating faster in his chest than it’s ever done before yet he couldn’t even start to force himself to run, his body practically vibrating in place as he shook. 

There was a familiar feeling in the air, one he’d never thought he’d ever feel again once he’d slipped back in time. He couldn’t breathe, everything felt like it was falling away except for that horrifying fiery aura- 

“Kid, are you okay?” There was a hand on his shoulder, light as a feather (he’d learned that from gramps!) yet grounding. 

He finally managed to suck in a breath, however wheezy, and looked up to answer, the words dying in his throat before they even began. 

“Kid? Holy shit-” Bart didn’t hear anything else as his poor brain fizzled and he fainted. 

Danny blinks down at the barely-teenager who seemed to just have some sort of attack before fainting practically in his arms. He’d say diabetes or something, but he has no way to be sure and is maybe panicking himself. 

“Wow Mum, wha’ you do?” a toddler Dan- he knew what he did but honestly his baby lisp was adorable- snarked from next to him, chewing on his kid leash. Which he wasn’t getting out of until he could both stop floating whenever he saw the stars (yes he knew he used to do the same thing, shush) and walk out into traffic. 

[mellohiizz]

Apology with tears. Right now, how DARE you draw PMC like that /silly nsrs

dropping this off, and going soundly to sleep. ^_^

anyway, here's also my apology:

i hope you guys can be nice and forgive me. i made a mistake and i promise i will be a better person in the future.

[incorrect-league-of-villains]

Tomura: Fuck off, old man.

All for One: I'm not that old. How old do you think I am?

Tomura: The last number.

[introspectivememories]

okay so i know that dash baxter barely gets any character development in the show but like the idea that danny hates dash? boo, lame, overdone!!!! danny who can beat dash up and dash knows this and everyone knows this but by god danny needs something normal to cling on to so dash shoves him in a locker everyday?? yeah that's the good shit

[royalarchivist]

Pac: Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok? See you on the other side, big boy.

Fit: [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can't just say "big boy" and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. [Fit tries to lasso Pac] You're coming with me.

Pac: No, I need to leave!

Fit: You're coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!

Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?

Fit: There's homosexual activity going on Mouse, don't worry about us, ok?

Ironmouse: You guys, we don't have time to be gay right now.

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

-

Pac: I'm just here to say goodbye to you, Fit.

Fit: Goodbye? We're not– we're gonna be fine, we're going to get out of here, don't worry.

Aypierre: Yeah, don't worry!

Pac: I know, but like– I will sleep until the end, you know? I will pass through this moment sleeping, man. I won't be able to be awake for the moment.

Fit: [Laughs] You know, it's– I mean, if that's how you wanna go, but– I mean, that- I mean, isn't that bed kind of like.... I don't know, it's–

Pac: No no, I will be staying on the sofa, you know, I will be staying on the sofa.

Fit: Oh the sofa. Ok, that's a nice sofa! Yeah, that is a pretty nice sofa.

Pac: Yeah, it's a nice sofa right? No, yeah– I'm going to stay on the sofa, you know? So, since I will be going Fit... [Pac starts tossing Fit all his items]

Aypierre: [Not paying attention to their conversation] Is that bigger cell? I don't think it's a bigger- biggest one.

Fit: Oh... Thank you Pac, thank you.

Pac: Everything you need to survive, ok?

Fit: Wow.

Aypierre: Wow.

Pac: And if you need this one also, maybe, who knows? [Throws him more items]

Fit: Ohhh, well hey– just take this to remember me by, ok? [Tosses him a photo of himself – the same one Aypierre was carrying all day yesterday]

Pac: [Laughs] Ok, I will sleep holding the picture you know, like this. You know, I will dream about you, Fit. And I hope this is gonna be good dreams. I see you in the other side. Good luck, my friend.

Fit: The other side... Yeah, you know, yeah, we– we– you know? It's been an honor, Pac. It's been an honor, you know?

Pac: Yeah, for me too, you know? Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok?

Fit: Ok.

Pac: See you on the other side, big boy.

Fit: I will sing your praise– Oh yeah, hey– [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can't just say "big boy" and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. You're coming with me.

Pac: No, I need to leave!

Fit: You're coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!

Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Fit: Sorry, there's–

Pac: I'm sorry!

Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?

Fit: There's homosexual activity going on Mouse, don't worry about us, ok?

Ironmouse: You guys, you guys– we don't have time to be gay right now, come on. There's no time.

Pac: No, there's no time! Oh, goodbye Fit...

Fit: Ok, c'mon, no no no, come on, we got this we got this!

Pac: Goodbye Fit, I'm sorry!

Fit: [Laughs] Oh no...

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[capinejghafa]

You know, I kind of find it interesting when the narrative of fanfics is always like Kaz is in a bad mood because Inej isn't there... rather than Kaz is bored because Inej isn't there. I guess two things can be true at the same time... but also, in the following years, Kaz built the following: an underground tunnel in Ketterdam, the Silver Six, expanded the Crow Club, expanded the Dregs territory (presumably). That's two years... of pure restless energy.

We are also told that he really only talks to Jesper and Wylan when there's a job he needs help with presumably because he's so busy. Kaz also finds time to correspond with a king of a whole other nation... and has been known to roleplay as a beggar (yes, I will keep bringing this up bc it's funny). Imagine, if you will, an 18-19 year old Kaz coming into all this wealth and so much time to just build because he can. Maybe because he's a little lonely, or bored, or both.

I don't think Kaz is angry, I think Kaz is restless.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

so i've had a lil fic idea floating in my head for a bit. it's fun to think about!

[beresaad]

HADES II ↳ Hecate — Ἑκατη, "The Far-reaching One"

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 174

Despite what people complain and snark about, Bruce does in fact have contingency plans for pretty much everything. And while he doesn’t have an exact contingency for Jason apparently accidentally kidnapping the apparently prince of the Realms- some infinite space where the dead resided according to Zatanna and Constantine, he’ll have an existential crisis about it later thanks- he did have one for his kids accidentally kidnapping someone. 

He just doesn’t think that exact plan will work in this case, seeing as that plan had to do with civilians and not very large kings that could obliterate the entire world with a hand wave, nevermind the fact that they have so many armies. Not to mention what is apparently both the king’s second-in-command and brother. 

Well, if none of his usual contingencies won’t work and Constantine’s attempts at making a deal isn’t working, nor is the other’s attempts to talk the two down, then it’s plan Z time. Seduction it is. 

[utilitycaster]

Do you think part of the D20 journalistic bias comes from D20 being edited? It gives the appearance of much more effortless play and lets them control the pacing in a way unedited play like CR simply can't do. They get to (potentially) hide a lot of stuff people would jump on as flaws while CR has no choice but to let it all play out. I greatly prefer CR's approach, despite it biting them in the ass a bit through no fault of their own.

Answering these both together to group cause and my opinions, and I do want to note this is specifically about journalism/press coverage, not their respective fandoms even though there's obviously some overlap.

I think there's a couple things, but I do want to note this was actually prompted by Daggerheart, not Critical Role. The response from several prominent voices in the Actual Play journalism community, whom I will not name here but whom I do not respect intellectually, really was, within hours of the open beta (which as far as I know they didn't have early access to - more on that later) "um it could be better, I don't like xyz and also it's sooooooo important to have criticism" and again, it is important to have criticism, but also you act like D20 has never had a mediocre moment and that Kollok is brilliant, so.

This...got away from me a bit. I'd say I'm sorry but actually I adore writing thousands of words about actual play and it will happen again but I'm putting the detailed answer below a cut. The short answer is I think a lot of Actual Play journalists actually sort of fell into their jobs through being vaguely involved in nerd spaces and aren't actually equipped to talk intelligently about TTRPGs and actual play as a medium that should, at its best, be a perfect fusion of narrative and mechanics. So instead they're distracted by flashy edits and bright lights and cool noises and some abstract concept of "novelty" and write only about that. Also Critical Role is the 700 lb gorilla in the AP space (though not, actually, the TTRPG space) and doesn't give them early access and that's meaaaaaan. Indeed, for all I think a lot of their coverage of D20 and Worlds Beyond Number is obsessively fawning, I also think it's extremely surface level, frequently factually wrong, and fails to get at what's truly excellent about those shows either.

I think, honestly, the biggest one is that I don't actually think a lot of Actual Play journalists watch series in full. I was looking for Polygon coverage of Fantasy High Junior Year and they have one glowing article but it's more about Fantasy High as setting and institution and D20 "changing the game" (also more on this later) to the point of outright contradicting the pull quotes they used from interviewing Brennan Lee Mulligan (also more on this later). So I started looking through their coverage and actually, quite a number of their write-ups are based on only one episode, or half a season. Clearly, they haven't read the full open beta (nor have I, but I think their complaints about the character build process belie a profound misunderstanding of what TTRPGs are, also more on this later). So editing is certainly part of it because it's really easy to see cool special effects and sound design within one episode and shit out a hacky article about it, whereas actually getting to the substance - character relationships, cohesive narrative, storytelling - requires work that I do not think they're doing. And on the one hand I do kind of get it, because yeah, if journalism is your livelihood then you perhaps do not have the time to watch 4 hours of D&D a week for 2-3 years if you're only going to get one article every six months out of it. But I don't think the answer is "focus intently on Microsoft Powerpoint-esque scene transition tricks while ignoring that nothing occurring at the table is actually fun to watch." For more on this, see this post.

The second, which is very relevant to Daggerheart but also is actually a big gap in D20 and WBN coverage in my opinion, and which I put in the tags, is that I actually don't think a lot of journalists have a solid understanding of TTRPGs nor of most genres. And I think Critical Role has a particularly good understanding of both these things, actually, if one skewed towards collaborative storytelling that is not rules-light. I think one really big example is that one person within the space is mad at the Daggerheart questions for the character archetypes because what if your character doesn't fit these. I think this is dumb as shit. I actually think that a common criticism of D&D - that you can't play ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING - is not valid, or rather, it's a valid opinion to hold but if you want to play a character who doesn't fit into the available archetypes perhaps you need to find another game. We all inherently understand that Blades in the Dark characters will be members of a criminal organization in a relatively low-magic setting, correct? That you can't show up to BitD and play a lawful good wizard prince because that's not the story being told? Or like, how in Honey Heist, you are a bear and you are trying to get honey, and you cannot play a human child investigating the old abandoned house at the edge of town, but there's a cool game called Kids on Bikes that will let you do that? Great! Why is this suddenly so hard to understand in the realm of heroic fantasy, that you will fit into specific archetypes? Why do people's brains, if they have them to begin with, vanish suddenly? I know I just did a big old rant that included this within it but genuinely I think a lot of people are deeply ignorant of heroic fantasy, or don't like it, and either is fine, but then they get mad at the heroic fantasy game for having heroic fantasy archetypes when the answer is "maybe this will never make you happy because it's not for you." (Frankly, I think this is also why they love D20, because it doesn't really do straight-up heroic fantasy, and that's fine, but they do keep acting like doing a Game of Thrones pastiche is equivalent to the invention of the wheel.) Like...I remember in the Midst Q&A that Xen said they tend to not like playing typical D&D classes, but their solution was to, you know, create Midst instead of sitting around going "actually, because D&D doesn't support cyberpunk narrative and the character archetypes within very well it is an utter failure." (I could go on forever about how actually TTRPGs are not a showcase for your already extant OCs to prance around but that's a totally separate post).

Mechanics and story are inherently intertwined, is what I'm trying to get at (sorry I'm really tired and have a lot to do but I'm passionate about this answer, it will be rambly, she says like 3 pages in) and I really don't think most actual play journalists get this. At all. And I do think that CR, and Daggerheart, and the people working for it, and especially Spenser Starke, Rowan Hall, Matt Mercer, and Travis Willingham, get this more than almost anyone else in the field. I also think Brennan Lee Mulligan and Aabria Iyengar get this, and the thing is, for all the praise showered upon them, much of which I think is deserved and most of what I think is undeserved is not because they are lacking but because the person writing about them is an idiot crediting them for things they (Brennan and Aabria) would never claim to have invented, their mechanical prowess is rarely if ever written about well. Fantasy High Junior Year's downtime mechanics actually fill in a famous gap in D&D, namely, downtime, and provide an excellent marriage of story and mechanics in my opinion, and I haven't really seen any discussion, because that would require watching the part of the TTRPG show where they play the TTRPG, and knowing the vague word on the street about D&D criticism that isn't just "*nods sagely* capitalism is the BBEG."

And finally: related a bit to the edit but Critical Role used to not be able to provide any early access to press, because it was literally a live show, and I suspect they never broke the habit, and I think that is for the best. As discussed a lot of D20 coverage actually feels like they watched the press screener and then never returned to the show. And I do not know the politics about them, but given that several of these publications (notably Polygon, but some others) have been shitting on Critical Role for several years, and just generally given the way CR's leadership vs. how D20's leadership respond to fandom pressure, I suspect Critical Role does not give these journalists a ton of early or increased, if any. Honestly, why should you, if you're getting interviewed in Variety? And I think the journalists are mad, because they think they're special and should get treated as such.

I do want to wrap something up, and I want to thank @captainofthetidesbreath for talking a little about this in game design/ttrpgs and giving me the idea, but in story, you should be challenging your audience, expanding their horizons, and being new and interesting. In the actual playing of TTRPGs, especially a new one, it is vital to be inclusive and easy to understand and patient and provide points of reference. I really feel like many Actual Play journalists and some TTRPG ones as well have this equation flipped and are looking for challenging concepts that most people will never be able to get a group to be willing to play, and bells and whistles in production, but leave story as an afterthought. Critical Role designs games to actually be played and to be used specifically to tell good stories, and puts story before production, and I think that undercuts those journalists' whole deal.