#i think gale's dancing ability was maybe the problem

[sophsun1]

Featured in the music video for Kristine W - Some Lovin'

[itsclydebitches]

Seconding everything above. Some things from my own personal wish list:

An extensive ball/gala/masquerade quest where you can dress up and make use of your potentially non-existent dancing skills. Lots of opportunities to gather intel that will forward/open up new quests, maybe gain a new camp visitor, and of course steal shit.

Fixing/expanding whatever is going on with Yenna and Grub. Option to find her mom, the ability to give her specific supplies to make meals with (that maybe give buffs?), or just clarifying if she was working with Orin.

Clarification on when leaving an area will make it inaccessible and/or fail certain quest-lines. I didn't go into the mountains for forever because I thought I'd get locked out, but meanwhile other times I'm pretty sure I missed stuff because I was suddenly on a non-wavering trajectory. Similarly, there are some moments where the mechanics seem unfair within the narrative. For example, I just finished the Iron Throne and we left the second my party was on board, even though prisoners were right behind us, still had a turn coming, and would have made it up the ladder. It's annoying that they died because of the randomness of 'This party member is having their last turn and then the scenario ends.'

Better inventories. Specifically the ability to sell from bags and label them.

This is so stupidly specific but I want a magical library in camp. Like, Gale summons up a portable library where you can store all the books you've found. (Is that DnD compliant? Probably not. I don't care.) I like collecting books but they weigh a lot and he's a magical nerd do you see what I'm putting down?

Fishing! We've already got the rods.

Sorta going off the Tav tent idea, but a customizable space to hang out in. I stole cool paintings, clocks, etc. thinking I'd get to decorate at some point.

The ability to talk to the Emperor at will like you do other companions. It could work like the Monk in the amulet where you just get a spell to connect with your tadpole/the prism.

The ability to hatch the githyanki egg. Yeah, Gale (correctly) points out that they're in no position to raise a kid, but we're already inviting kids to camp and if you choose to keep the egg safe, hatching is a possibility...

More freedom of choice in certain situations. I wish I could remember when it was (some 50+ hours back...) but I recall coming up with what I thought was a brilliant solution to a problem and then being bummed that it didn't work. Basically trying to add in more opportunities when appropriate to suit the 'complete RPG freedom' promoted in the trailer.

I know I've got a million more but I should stop lol

I went through the tags and replies on my post about wanting Larian to focus on finishing the game and adding content before making DLC

(paraphrasing) and here are the Top Requests from those who engaged with it:

What fans want:

Tara in camp outside of just Gales Origin playthrough

More Wyll content (he has the least out of all companions)

More Karlach content/more satisfying ending (perhaps being more companions with you to Avernus, or find a way to fix the engine so it works in Faerun, there is unfinished hints that this is possible in game?? Unconfirmed)

Re-vamp (haha) Astarions' Spawn Ending- let the player chase after him/help him

Conclude things (certain stuff consistent through act 1 and 2 that ends nowhere, be it quests? or hints from letters found, NPC interactions that seemed to be leading somewhere,etc)

Fix bugs especially act 3

Option to hug companions, hug romanced companion

Other suggestions that are popular on tumblr/tiktok and COULD be DLC

Companion camp outfits that change when the Act changes (have also heard of simple hair changes, their tents gaining times from the adventure so far

A tent for Tav (perhaps being able to pick from a few styles)

Opening up the upper city or adding in a new area to explore that is not main plot related (there are various ideas around this, but I'm keeping it generic for the list)

Please add more in the replies and I will re-make this list when it's more expanded!

[sour-heart-treats]

Hi, anon here who asked you about the topic question. Thanks for letting me know. With that being said, could I get a Fire Spirit X Wind archer angst with fluff in the end? Maybe Fire Spirit is helping WInd Archer recover from trauma when he turned to Night Raven?

"Steady... Steady..." Wind Archer murmured to himself, trying to keep himself calm. It had been so long since he had picked up his bow, not since he had been purified of the crimson poison that once coursed through his veins. It wasn't entirely gone, as he could still feel it pulse through him now and then, intruding his thoughts in ways to terrify the archer of himself. Closing an eye to check his aim, Archer let a pure arrow fly, only to see it fizzle out before it struck the tree he'd been aiming for. 'Useless,' the poison hissed at him, 'Your repentance has only weakened you. What a shame, being stripped of your ability to protect.'

Shaking his head, Wind Archer turned to another tree, deciding to attempt a quick shot. This shot landed, though he swore he could have seen a violet tinge within the arrow's glow before he willingly dissipated it. 'You could have saved someone with that. Corrupted them to be free from that Tree.' There was a huff, and Archer lowered his bow. "From one enslavement to another, isn't it? At least I'm happy where I stand now." There was a nagging doubt that certainly coincided with that rot within him 'Are you truly happy? Or is it simply a ruse?'

"I am." Wind states with as strong of a tone as he could muster. "I am happy. I am loved. You are not going to take this away from me no matter how many times you try to drill yourself into my head." The essence of the breeze could have sworn he heard a laugh that was not his own within his mind. It was familiar, yet it was not him. 'You are angry. The poison hasn't left, and here you are tapping into it to use it against itself? Clearly, you haven't reformed at all.'

The archer blinked, taking a step back from a foe that wasn't physically there to begin with. He could feel his leaves tinge to an ugly, drooping brown as the wind around him kicked up to a steady breeze. "No, I... I'm not-" 'Not reformed. You are still as diabolical as you once were, Raven.' A shaken breath fell from Wind's mouth, his body tensing from this poisoned blood attempting to go at him again and again. He hated this- especially when he was alone.

'Oh, hate you say?' Shit. 'Someone so hateful could be seen as evil, yes? Just like the scarlet drink that you-'

"Silence! Silence!" A gust of wind blew through the forest, Archer's gem shining bright against his dimming leaves. "Stop using my words against me! I am no longer Night Raven, so do not even attempt to address me as such! I am... I-I'm no longer that tainted fiend..." He swore his legs were turning to liquid the more he resisted this headache that continued to dig at him. 'You stand on your grey ground, believing that you are apart of one side solely.' The wind that blew only grew into what was practically a gale, the voice growing louder. The wind’s vessel lifted his bow once more, growling at this voice in his mind- or was it himself-?

"Hey, Archie, I heard the wind picking up so I- OH SHIT-" Fire Spirit narrowly dodged an arrow, to which it fizzled out before landing, the wind suddenly cutting short as the wielder of the bow realized what he had nearly done. "F-Firey..." Archer's voice was low and worried. "My apologies, I... I was losing myself for a moment there." As guilty as Wind felt, and as dangerous as that arrow was, there was nothing more than a laugh from the spirit of flames. "Ah, it's no problem, Archie! I may be a spirit, but I'm pretty sure even your arrows can't purify my everlasting flame!" The archer would like to disregard that his arrows very well could purify and let the spirit pass on just like any other... Which thankfully he could due since Fire Spirit had floated over to him, grinning despite his very recent near post-death experience. "What's goin' on with you?" The question was so casual and unlike the situation just before that it nearly made even the embodiment of wind forget that he was just having a mental struggle with himself.

"Just training..." Wind would mumble, deciding to let his bow dissipate to prevent any further danger who's closeness was... Certainly getting to his cheeks in the smallest of forms. There was a playful scoff from the other, Fire Spirit landing himself on the ground before Windy and taking the forest guardian's hand. The grass may singe beneath him, and he may be uncomfortably warm to the legendary, but it was nothing to mind. "You really think I'm gonna believe that when you made winds strong enough to break some sturdy branches?"

"You underestimate how weak the forest is thanks to when I was gone-"

"Maybe I do! But c'mon, Archie, you're not gonna convince anyone with that."

There was hesitation from Wind Archer, though past that his gaze quietly lowered to the autumn leaves that surrounded him and the one who cared more than that so-called Millennial Tree. "Well... I suppose I could say... But promise me not to take it out of proportion like that instance where I had lost my scarf, understood?"

"It wasn't even the scarf I was worried about- it was the fact you had the Tree's face carved into your skin!"

"Same difference."

"No!! It's really not!!"

That was enough to get Archer to laugh, something soft and gentle that caused the gentle swaying and falling of leaves. One of which burnt from Spirit's hair, but it wasn't seen as anything significant for the time being. "It, ah... The scarlet poison was at it again, simply." There was a huff of a swear from the hothead, though it wasn't seen as an interruption. "It continues to nag at me, that going back to purity was a mistake, and that I still... That I am still that Night Raven figure I thought I had abandoned." For once, Fire Spirit's expression turned serious. It as odd, almost intimidating to see such. "You're not that dumb corvid cosplayer, I can tell you that. Don't let it get to you." Though... Words seemed to fail in consoling. Leave it to Fire Spirit to be inept in comfort, considering he's never really had the chance to learn it himself. "Look, how about we go to that cliff you always like to go to? The one where your breeze makes 'all the flowers dance in beauty' or whatever you say they do?"

"...I would like that... I would like that very much, actually."

[dainesanddaffodils]

Let’s Dance - Widomauk 

read on Ao3

Concept: Caleb teaches Molly a Zemnian dance What you might expect: sexual tension up to 11 What you’re going to get: a polka

When the Mighty Nein return, successful in fulfilling their end of their arrangement, the Gentleman says “Stay for a drink! Celebrate your victory!”

It is not a request.

But as far as a forced party in the city’s criminal underbelly goes, it is not the worst time. The drinks cost them nothing and the atmosphere has as little tension as can be found in a place such as this.

Caleb Widogast participates in this as much as he does in anything. He has a few drinks, and listens to Beauregard, Fjord and Nott as they talk to Yasha. It’s not the interrogation they had subjected her and Mollymauk to the night before, but it is a near thing. She handles it with an enigmatic grace that only adds to everyone’s fascination with her. Caleb has a feeling she knows it, at least a little bit.

He also has a feeling the Gentleman wants them all drunk enough to forget much of the night and of him, and Caleb is all right with that. It’s an easy game to play along with; The Gentleman need not know that drink has never tampered with his ability to remember things in perfect detail. He orders another drink.

He’s long since tuned out the conversation with Yasha and has no interest in tuning back in. His eyes glance over the men with rifles posted at regular intervals, but he gives them no more than that glance, not unless he wants to spend the rest of the night thinking of them.

His eyes fall on Mollymauk and Jester across the room, dancing.

There’s a band of all things (a band of thieves, Caleb thinks, and nearly smiles), and while none of the instruments are exactly tuned, the tunes are jaunty and light. The two tieflings are stumbling through a dance, and it is A Dance - not the improvisational kind of movement he would have expected from Jester. Focusing, Caleb can see Molly is leading her with a level of surety that doesn’t look like bullshit for once.

Caleb doesn’t know much about the type of circus that had been Molly’s first and only home before the Nein, but he does remember carnivals that passed through his hometown. Larger, more organized, likely state-funded events, they were colorful affairs celebrating their culture with food and music and dance. Molly’s circus was little like that, seeming to be a smorgasbord of different cultures and different peoples. For how little he might know of himself, Caleb can believe Molly might know more of the world than many do in two years.

Watching Molly dance with Jester, Caleb thinks perhaps he is using her as a way to get out of conversation, and a way to distract himself from the stress being in this place might be making him feel. The black Tabaxi is nowhere to be seen, but with the way that interaction shook him, the possibility of running into her may still weigh on his mind.

“One! Two! Three! Four!”

Molly’s voice cuts over the music and chatter, counting out the number of times he and Jester clap. They take two steps away from each other, and clap the same four beats. Two steps back in and Molly takes her hands. Caleb watches his lips move - quieter now - leading Jester through the motions: A step and a hop, a step and a hop. He twirls her under one arm, and then attempts to go under hers; the jewelry on one horn gets caught in her sleeve and they stumble, trying to untangle it. By the time he is free they are both beside themselves in gales of laughter, Molly leaning on her for support. Getting himself together, he presses his lips to Jester’s head.

Or maybe, Caleb thinks, Molly is just enjoying himself.

He looks away.

Caleb is not jealous. He certainly has no reason to be. He has been on the receiving end of that kiss, of that cheerful grin and playful flirtation on more than one occasion. If he were to get up right now, he knows Molly would gladly dance with him.

But perhaps that is the problem: Mollymauk is not greedy with his affection or his trust, in a way that only someone not truly versed in betrayal and heartbreak can be. He hoards neither his soft kisses nor his flirtatious remarks for one or even a handful of people. He treats Jester with the same fondness in the two weeks they’ve known each other that he treats Yasha, the woman he has known all two years of his life. He takes the party to task in the same gentle reprimanding tone that he uses on bandits that could have killed them all in their sleep.

There’s no denying that there is naivete in the way the tiefling sees and reacts to the world. But there’s an earnestness to it as well, an odd sincerity to contrast his constant bullshit attitude. It makes Caleb want to believe that Molly’s trust in the world, in the party, in him is not misplaced.

But that is something Caleb cannot do.

And that makes Mollymauk a problem.

Looking for the rest of the Nein, he’s both pleased and disappointed to see none of them have noticed the object of his attention. He doesn’t want to call Nott away from her conversation, doesn’t even know what he would say to her if he did. He wants her to have friends, truly, and it is lovely to see her begin to open up. He won’t take that away from her, just because he wishes to be distracted.

Caleb sighs, his thoughts getting him nowhere. He taps his fingers on the table to the beat of the music and realizes his foot has also been keeping time for a while now. Frowning, he closes his eyes and listens more intently to the music. When it hits him, his eyes blink open and he sits back in surprise.

This is a Zemnian folk song.

The instruments in this shady bar are out of tune and aren’t in the right key (and aren’t even the right sorts of instruments to be playing this song), but for the second time that night, Caleb’s mind transports him back to the festivals he knew from, oh, ages ago. A lifetime ago, really. In his mind’s eye he can see colorful streamers and stalls of food vendors and can picture perfectly the dancers in traditional Zemnian dress as they performed to this very song. Confidant that no one is watching him, he allows himself a smile before Mollymauk’s voice catches his attention again.

Caleb focuses on the tieflings again, as Molly gives Jester counts again for this dance. One, two, three - two, two, three - three, two, three - four, two, three. She stands in front of him, and he has both her hands - left held higher than right. With three counts she crosses in front of him to his right, swapping which hands are held aloft as well. They hold three counts and she passes back.

The music speeds up, keeping the three-count time. The pair takes a step and a hop to the right, and again, before Jester switches sides again and they repeat the step to the left. Caleb recognizes that. It is, so far, the only part of the dance that he has recognized.

Caleb can feel himself frowning as he scrutinizes the dance far more than he knows is warranted. The dance looks familiar to the ones he would watch performed, but it is not exact. The counts are correct, as is parts of the way it began, but Molly is not holding Jester correctly and there is a whole third movement entirely omitted.

It should not bother him. There are likely many versions of this dance in the world and he cannot begrudge Molly what version the circus must have taught him. But the dissonance between what he is watching and what plays in his mind won’t let him rest. He spares a glance at Nott, who is in the process of showing Yasha something shiny (he doesn’t know what, and is not sure he wants to), and has a rare thought: fuck it.

He pushes himself up from the table, and goes over to the pair of tieflings.

Molly and Jester notice him coming long before he reaches them and while the music has continued, they have ceased the not-quite-Zemnian dance by the time he is near enough to converse. Molly has his characteristic smirk as he looks Caleb over, and he remembers his earlier thought- that Molly would not hesitate to dance with him if he offered. He nearly shakes his head to dispel the thought.

“Hello Caleb!” Jester says brightly. “Is it time to go?”

He debates saying yes; it would be easier, and really they should be leaving soon. “Ah- no. I was-”

“Did you want to dance?” She asks.

“No. No- I was only wondering where you had learned it - that dance, I mean.”

Molly shrugs. “Where I learned everything. The circus taught it to groups when we were in one place for a while. Can’t tell you where they learned it, can’t tell you that they even knew. These things sort of just get passed on word of mouth, you know?”

“Ah- that- that does make sense,” Caleb says, unsure where he had planned to take this conversation next.

Molly seems to catch his lost expression. “What’s got you so curious about this one that it couldn’t wait?”

“Well I know it is a Zemnian dance, or should be.”

“’Should be’?” Molly echoes, beginning to smile.

Caleb thinks this may have been a very bad idea. “Ah, only parts of it are the same as what I- what I know. That is what confused me, and why I-”

Molly is grinning now. “Why you came over to correct us. I see. You’re going to show us the difference now, of course.”

This had been a very very bad idea. “No- no. No, I do not know-”

“Then how did you know it was wrong?”

“I did not say it was wrong,” he says quickly. “I was only-”

“No no no no no,” Molly says, still with his most wicked smile. “I would hate to butcher something from your culture.”

Caleb is ready to protest again when Jester adds, “You can teach it to me if it will make you less nervous.”

Not about to touch on why Jester thinks he is nervous around Mollymauk, certainly not with Molly right there, he takes a composing breath. “There is nothing wrong with what you are doing, I only meant to compare.”

“But you’ve given me nothing to compare.” Molly points out. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb - you can’t keep all your discoveries to yourself.”

“It has been working for me so far,” Caleb returns, but his automatic response lacks the bite. Molly’s words are reminiscent of arguments the party has had with him in the past but his tone is not judgmental, it’s inviting.

At his dry response, Molly simply raises his eyebrow.

Mollymauk Tealeaf is a frustratingly inviting individual.

Jester claps her hands, alerting the two of them to her presence again. “Well okay you two - have fun! I’m going to see if they have water!” She takes a few steps away before turning back with a dramatic point in his direction. “We’re not leaving until you dance, Caleb!”

Caleb and Molly watch her as she skips back to the group. The group that is absolutely watching them now. Caleb can feel his face growing warm.

“Well,” Molly says, noticing the same thing he has. “Always been my motto that if you’re gonna have an audience might as well give them a show.”

“I have noticed.” The hospital is still fresh in his mind. “And you might have noticed my motto is very much the opposite.”

Molly laughs, but again it is a warm thing; delighted rather than mocking. “A shame: I’ve found you’re quite good at making a scene.” He holds out both hands. “Show me what else you’re good at.”

Well that’s needlessly suggestive. Caleb knows he is blushing as he stiffly replies, “If you’re implying that that is dancing you are going to be disappointed.”

“Impossible,” Molly returns sweetly.

As if on cue, the musicians have reached a part in the song where it loops back to the start (Caleb wonders if they’re watching them, too).

And then Caleb thinks fuck it, again. Just fuck it. 

“Alright. Fine. Come here.” He beckons Molly closer. “You- ah, we- it starts similar to what you did, but not exact. Stand on my right.”

Mollymauk drops his hands and moves as commanded, but not before saying, “Am I not leading then?”

“Later, perhaps,” Caleb says thoughtlessly. Hoping to circumvent whatever suggestive reply the tiefling no doubt is thinking to make, Caleb puts his arm around him so it rests just on his back.

Molly stiffens, ever so slightly, but says nothing. He looks at him, all at once his mischief gone and in its place something Caleb can only call curiosity. It does not make him any more comfortable.

Caleb closes his eyes a moment, taking a breath. “Right, so you take the three counts to pass in front. It- usually it is a three step turn-” Molly again does as instructed, and Caleb adjusts so now his left arm rests at the tiefling’s back. Molly steadies his hand on Caleb’s forearm. “On the hold you step out with your left foot-” he does so. “And I step with my right. Now you come back-”

He switches hands, letting Molly spin to his other side, and has to lean back to keep the adornments on his horns from smacking him in the face. He doesn’t need to be told to step out with his right foot this time, which doesn’t surprise Caleb: the fact that Molly has remembered so many dances from the circus is a testament to his own ease at picking up new things and retaining that knowledge. An ironic skill, given his circumstances.

When the music picks up, Caleb continues, “This is the same as what you showed Jester - the skip… thing.” He’s only somewhat aware of what he’s saying. He was never formally taught any of this; he is only putting words to dances he hasn’t seen in over a decade. “Only moving forward rather than- am I right assuming the circus also taught this as many people around a circle.”

Molly nods. He is taking this weirdly seriously; it makes Caleb both more and less comfortable with the entire thing. On one hand it makes it easier to focus on quietly speaking the counts, on giving instructions to a dance he has only ever watched. On the other hand, it makes it very easy to forget how ridiculous this really is: Caleb Widogast teaching Mollymauk Tealeaf Zemnian folk dances in a bar that belongs to a shadowy criminal organization, and maybe enjoying it more than he would admit to anyone. 

Caught up in their momentum, Caleb shifts, still keeping an arm around Molly’s waist but moving to take his other hand, bringing them face to face (as close as they were when Molly had pinned him to a wall – not that he is thinking of that). Molly’s eyes are a little wide and Caleb realizes he didn’t speak this step aloud. They miss their count and for a second simply hold each other.

“This is - ah - where it is very different.”

“I… noticed as much.” They’re silent for a second longer before Molly clears his throat. “So we…?”

“Right. Right. Yes. Like this.” Caleb steps, leading, and Molly follows through what functions as a fast-paced waltz. Spinning to one-two-three, one-two-three. And, for two people who had never actually danced this before, they stay in time with the music and each other. In what part of his brain is not focused on staying in time, or on being so very close to Molly, Caleb wonders if people who fight well together dance well together or vise versa, and what it means that he and Molly are this... compatible. 

Thankfully, the music slows at that moment, cutting the thought short. Caleb steps away and Molly allows himself to be released. His expression is unreadable and he’s - well it’s harder to if someone who is purple is blushing, but Caleb is certain his cheeks are a shade of lavender darker than normal. “So that’s- that’s it then?”

“Ah- yes. It’s usually repeated a few times, of course, but-”

“I think I have the idea,” Molly’s voice is doing a too-casual thing that Caleb recognizes as what he does when he is nervous. “You know, you’re really a natural at this.”

“What, at dancing?”

“At teaching,” Molly says, and it’s almost funny: he’s only just held the tiefling in his arms and yet it’s here that Caleb’s breath catches in his throat.

So Caleb does what he does when nervous: he deflects. “I am nothing special, I was only working from memory. You- you are very good. I have noticed you learn things quickly.” Molly, if anything, flushes darker and Caleb rubs the back of his neck, thinking of how to clear the odd tension. “It is a good thing, if you are going to teach this to Jester.”

It is the right thing to say. Molly is surprised for a second and then breaks into a very delighted grin. More delighted than Caleb thinks is quite warranted until he says, “And she can teach it to Fjord.”

Caleb takes a moment to picture that, before he quickly looks away and covers his laugh with a small cough. From the corner of his eye he sees Molly’s smile grow. 

“Heeey-o! Lovebirds!” Jester’s voice cuts across the room with ease, making them both start. “We are leaving now!” 

Mollymauk gives a dramatic sigh. “Well, another time I suppose.” It takes Caleb a second before he puts together that Molly must be talking about teaching the dance to Jester.

“It does seem likely that we will be back here somewhat regularly,” he agrees. “There will be plenty of dancing later.”

Molly glances at him sidelong. “Is that a promise?” Before he can possibly answer, Molly winks at him - his mischief turned back on like someone had flipped a switch - and all but skips back towards the Nein.

Caleb shakes his head, absently straightens his coat, and follows.

This is becoming a very big problem. 

[sorcererniles]

Mage Emblem: My Concept

Okay So i actually got a few people asking why I made an mage only team and the reasons i used the units i used for it. So I’m making a post to show them off, how they are, and what their role is. Do note they aren’t finished, I’m a F2Per so some of the things they have are place holders until I get the fodder i need

Arvis the Mixed Bag IVs: Arvis being a free unit, has neutral IVs. He fills many roles in the team. His tome makes him a great debuffer, so he’s able to hit harder as well and insure his team mates hit hard too. He’s also the team healer, and someone Robin enjoys having around very much (you’ll see why soon) So with his Recovery Ring and ardent sacrifice combo, he can heal then heal himself without worry.  He also has Iceberg to take advantage of his good RES so he can do extra damage when he hits, not that doing damage is a problem for him anyways. ATK +3 is just a place older until i can get fury 3, but for now, i wanted up his attack stat. C skill is empty for now and i’m still undecided on what to do, but i haven’t given him DEF Ploy because...its a mage team...why do i need to debuff def lol. His S slot is usually swapped around with either Fortify RES or DEF. So he helps buff a certain stat i may need to tank depending on what i give him. when he doesnt have one, Inigo has the other, so they share this role, He helps kill green mages, and if he cant, he stays in the back debuffing enemies, buffing his teammates defences and healing when needed, hence why he is a mixed bag for this team.

Inigo the Do or Die Dancer IVs: Neutral Inigo plays his typical dancer role. giving extra turns to people when needed. He also acts as the main buffer since he has Hone ATK and either fortify RES or DEF, buffing two stats at once. Should i need him to dance for someone, he also has gale dance to add speed into the mix. However, he is by no means just there for support. Gronnblade+ Is for when i need him to actually attack any blue unit that maybe threatening, especially since i have 2 red mages. (I’m Mainly looking at you Reinhardt, ya dingus) Triangle Adept helps him take less and do more damage. While he can also counter colorless, i mainly have him go after blue units his teammates might have trouble for. He’s fully built for the most part, just need T.A3 and a skill, was thinking moonbow but luna could work as well. I’ll see when the fodder roles in (if i can actually save orbs lol)

Robin the Lyn Slayer IVs: Neutral Robin is the tank of the group, and because of this, i have him go after the colorless units since he would be able to take the hits better than Inigo. He has the typical T.A/Raventome/Quick riposte combo and with it, he is my main defense against Lyn. He also has an edge on red units as well, but i usually leave those to either Arvis or Lilina unless i need him to attack them as well. threaten res is there just in case Arvis isn’t in the right position to debuff. His S Slot has distant def. Hey, if he’s gonna tank, he might as well go all out right? Bonfire helps him do more damage and even kill. Reposition is for him to move his teammates to safety, even if it puts him in a state of being attacked, he can handle it. This is why he loves Arvis as he can heal any chip damage he might have taken and can keep himself in quick riposte percentage to double attack on enemy phase. This is a classic robin that i think everyone uses at this point, but its effective, especially on mage emblem

Lilina the Noble Nuke IVs: -DEF +RES And here we have, one, someone who actually has IVs and two, is the killer. Blade tomes already have high might and with everyone having each buff, she can get fully buffed to extreme levels of attacking power. She has both atk+3 for her A slot and atk S slot skill to really push her atk up. When i get the chance, i will replace atk +3 with death blow and keep her with the seal to insure maximum nuking power on top of the buffs. She might be slow but everyone is pretty much dead if she attacks so she doesn’t need to double and her high res on top of being +RES means she is a great counter to other mages. Most red units are sword units and she has sword breaker to deal with them, hence why i usually use her to kill them instead of Robin. new moon is there for now until i can get moonbow, and i need to get her draw back fodder for her to be fully done. fortify def may seem redundant since either Arvis or Inigo will have the seal for it but since she is S supported with Robin, i like to keep her near him and this helps him keep his tanking abilities should there be a physical unit nearby.

And that’s Mage Emblem, hope you enjoyed. If you wanna see them in action, click here to see a video of me using them in a fight. Do note that i have T.A off robin because i was testing something against the Takumi and Hinoka BHB but forgot to put it back on lol.

[litlifelover]

Misadventure

Drabble-time! :D

This is - distantly - part of my "Tuscany"-universe. A short outtake somewhen before the "epilogue" of the story. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks to beta extraordinary @honeylime08 for always putting up with my english. You're wonderful! 

Have fun! :)

Read on AO3

The call comes at half-past two in the morning.

She's groggy when she picks up, but wide awake when she hears the reason for the call. "He did what?!"

Forty minutes later Katniss steps into the bar. The lights are dim; the air is heavy with the smell of stale beer and sweat. The jukebox plays some 70's rock song. A couple of heads slowly turn in her direction when she enters, but that's all the attention she gets. The crowd is focused on four guys in front of a dartboard.

At least until Finnick Odair spots her.

"Kitty!" he calls and stretches out his arms in a wide gesture. "Look, Peet! Kitty's here. Told you she'd come." His speech is slightly slurred, his eyes a little glassy, and his grin so wide, it nearly splits his face in two.

He's drunker than he sounded on the phone.

"Of course, she's here! She loves me. You doubt my girlfriend?" Peeta chips in now. He clumsily pushes people aside to make it over to her.

When he reaches her, he ignores (or simply doesn't appreciate) her crossed arms and the raised eyebrow, as he throws his own arms around her. He presses his lips under her ear, and she smells the beer on his breath when he exhales contently.

He's way drunker than Finnick made it sound over the phone.

"You've got to be kidding me!" another, unfamiliar, voice snorts. "No chance Missy here can do this!"

Peeta turns around sharply, nearly knocking her over in the process. Finnick gasps dramatically. Eyebrows knitted, they glare at the man. "Watch it, man!"

Katniss steps forward, in between the stranger and her boyfriend, palms raised to ease the situation. "Ok, boys. Let's calm down and settle this, ok?"

She can't believe she's here. In a shabby bar. On a Thursday night, when she's got a shoot for Cosmopolitan in the morning. With her drunken boyfriend and his slightly less drunken best friend. To settle a bet.

Sometimes she wants to strangle Finnick. Katniss loves him to bits and pieces, but his ability to get Peeta and himself in trouble at the most inconvenient times is extraordinary.

Like when the guys celebrated Ava Odair's birth and got stopped by the police because Finnick and Peeta danced half-naked in the bed of Gale's truck, the former loudly singing "I've got a beautiful baby-girl". Thank god they got away with a warning.

Or when they went to Six Flags and got thrown out of Johnny Rockets after Finnick announced a Hamburger eating contest and one of the other guys started a brawl, accusing him of cheating. Peeta was the one who ended up with a black eye when he defended his best friend.

And now this.

"He got the ESPN Deal. We're heading out for a celebratory drink tonight, and we’ll party with you girls on the weekend. He's planning a big barbeque," Peeta announced that evening before at dinner, after Finnick had called him. Katniss knew that his best friend had hoped to land this job. As a former athlete, and with his charm and good looks, Finnick was made to be a sports commentator. She was excited for him, really.

What she didn't expect was the celebratory drink to turn into one of his misadventures. Although, now that she thinks about it, she could have guessed that it would end like this.

"You know the deal, sweetheart?" the stranger interrupts her thoughts, bringing her back to the situation at hand. His friend beside him snickers at his address.

She doesn't like the condescending look that asshole gives her, nor his sarcastic tone. It rubs her the wrong way and makes the competitive part of her rise like a phoenix from the ashes.

Katniss once again crosses her arms in front of her, and eyes him from head to toe.

"Bulls Eye Shootout. Taking turns. The first one to miss it three times loses. Winner gets the pot," she nods to a pile of stuff on the nearby pool table. Among other things Peeta's precious vintage Omega watch is part of the pile, and also the reason why Katniss agreed to come in the first place. "Loser also has to pay the open tab," she raises an eyebrow provocatively, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's not rocket science, sweetheart."

The crowd is amused at her spunk, some even laughing openly. Peeta snorts in approval, and Finnick starts to chant her name.

"Ladies first," the guy growls, irritation and anger now radiating off of him. Katniss just smirks and accepts the darts from a girl to her right.

Ten minutes later she slips the watch in her purse and grabs the rest of the things on the table.

"You whipped his ass!" Finnick hollers, but shuts up quickly when he sees Katniss' angry scowl. The night was long enough, she doesn't need to have it ending with a bar brawl.

"Let's go," is all she says, her tone leaving no room for argument, before she turns around and marches outside. Peeta and Finnick dutifully follow.

After bringing their friend safely back to his family (Annie simply shook her head and rolled her eyes before she guided the now totally exhausted man into their house), Peeta and Katniss finally arrive at their apartment. When Katniss sees the time a loud sigh escapes her. Twenty minutes past four. The alarm will go off in less than two hours.

Arms wrap around her from behind, lips press to her neck.

"You beating that guy was so hot," Peeta whispers, his speech still a little slurred. "It made me all worked up."

Katniss steps out of his arms, having no problem escaping him in his tipsy condition. Half a smirk is on her face and she wiggles her finger. "Then get comfortable with that feeling, my friend, because it’s not going away for the next couple of days."

She's met with utter confusion. "Sweetie?"

He's adorable, and his confusion makes her laugh out loud once. Nevertheless she shakes her head. "Uh-uh, Sweetie won't help you out of this one, Darling. I hope you enjoy sleeping on the couch."

Confusion turns to desperation. Peeta knows he's in trouble, but tries everything to soften the punishment. "Katniss? Baby?"

"Maybe next time you’ll think twice before putting your grandfather’s watch on the line. I'm off to bed. Good night, babe."

Even though she's still angry with him, it doesn't mean she’ll abstain from her good night kiss. Therefore she presses her lips quickly to his cheek before turning around and marching to their bedroom, leaving him standing in the middle of the living room.

When the surprise finally wears off, a long sigh escapes him.

Man, he thinks. I've got a lot of groveling to do.

He flops onto the couch and settles in for the night.

[bibhabmishra]

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off The Impact of Social Class

The eighties, goes the general thinking, was the decade of venality. No one in America—heck, in the WORLD—had been interested in making money before the 1980s came along and corrupted us all. It was, apparently, the era in which everyone walked around in gold lamé and regarded Ivana Trump as the last word in understated chic. Seriously, you couldn’t take the dog for a walk in the eighties without tripping over a giant Versace gold logo. And a pair of giant shoulder pads. And a massive pile of cocaine. And cocaine plays absolute HAVOC with one’s Armani stilettos. Maybe it was—far be it from me to cast aspersions on lazy descriptions of an era—but a little-remarked-upon truth is that this is not, in fact, the mentality depicted in many mainstream eighties movies. Many Hollywood movies ar- gued for, if not actual class warfare, then certainly a suspicion of wealth. Re- peatedly, wealthy people are depicted as disgusting, shallow, and even mur- derous, while working-class people are noble and good-intentioned, such as in not exactly niche films like Wall Street,I Beverly Hills Cop, Ruthless People, Rais- ing Arizona, and Overboard.

Contrast this with today’s films like Iron Man, in which the billionaire is the superhero (and is inspired by actual billionaire Elon Musk), and the deeply, deeply weird The Dark Knight Rises, in which the villain advocates the redistribution of wealth—HE MUST BE DESTROYED. But the eighties films that were the most interested in issues of class were, of all things, the teen films. The motivating force of almost every single classic eighties teen film was not, in fact, selling soundtracks, watching an eighteen-year-old Tom Cruise try to get laid, or seeing what ridiculous hairdo Nicolas Cage would sport this time round. It was social class. There’s The Karate Kid, in which the son of a single mother unsuccessfully tries to hide his poverty from the cool kids at school who make fun of his mother’s car; Dirty Dancing, in which a middle- class girl dates a working-class boy, much to her liberal father’s horror; Can’t Buy Me Love, in which a school nerd gains popularity by paying for it; Valley Girl, in which an upper-middle-class girl dates a working-class boy; Say Anything, in which a privileged girl dates a lower-middle-class army brat and her father turns out to be a financial criminal; The Flamingo Kid, in which a working-class kid is dazzled by a wealthy country club and starts to break away from his blue-collar father; and all John Hughes’s teen films. Of course, issues of class can be found in the undercurrents of pretty much any American movie, from The Philadelphia Story to The Godfather. The differ- ence with eighties teen films is that they were completely overt in their treat- ment of it: class is the major motivator of plot, even if it’s easy to miss next to the pop songs and Eric Stoltz’s smile. All these films stress emphatically that the money your family has determines everything, from who your friends are, to who you date, your social standing in school, your parents’ happiness and aspirations, and your future. They, to varying degrees, rage against the failure of the American Dream. They stress that true class mobility is pretty much impossible, and certainly interclass friendships and romances are unlikely, for the simple reason that rich people are assholes and lower-middle-class and working-class people are good. Which was unfortunate because according to the vast majority of eighties teen movies, the only way a teenager could truly move up out of their socioeconomic group was if they dated someone wealth- ier than them, Cinderella-style. The one exception to this rule is Back to the Future, which definitely does

not rage against the American system; instead, it concludes that, yes, money does buy happiness and that’s just great. When Marty returns from 1955 to 1985, he realizes that he has inadvertently changed history so that now his par- ents, formerly poor and therefore miserable and barely on speaking terms, are now rich and therefore happy and cheerfully smack each other’s backsides: “I remember how upset Crispin [Glover, who played George McFly] and Eric [Stoltz, who was originally cast as Marty] were about the ending of Back to the Future: now that they have money they’re happy,” recalls Lea Thompson, who played Lorraine Baines McFly. “They thought it was really outrageous. It went right over my head, of course. Maybe because I was poor and when I got wealthy I was happy!” This is indeed a subject that still riles Glover enor- mously. For decades he has spoken out against what he describes as “corpo- rate movies”��that is, studio movies—that peddle “propaganda” and he is cur- rently writing a book on the subject addressing, he says, “the Back to the Future issue in great detail.” “The main idea was that the family was in love and I felt that if there was any indication that money equals happiness, that was a bad message to put out,” he says, the exasperation still palpable in his voice thirty years on. “I was not given the screenplay before we shot the film because Universal and Spielberg were at the time making it apparent that they needed to keep their movie under wraps. Which I understand but as an actor you have to investigate the psy- chology of the character, and you can’t do that until you’ve read it. Now I would be very insistent [about reading a script before committing to a film], but I was twenty years old at the time and it was a Universal movie; of course I was glad to be in it. So I wasn’t given the opportunity to read it before I was hired and so it was fair for me to be asking these questions but they did not think it was fair. When you raise questions people say ‘You’re crazy, you’re weird,’ because you’re questioning the authority that people have been brought up to think is the only correct way to think, when there are many correct ways to think.” Ultimately, Glover says, he was so disgusted with the message of Back to the Future he refused to be in the sequel.II, III “The point [of making the McFly family wealthy] was that self-confidence and the ability to stand up for yourself are qualities that lead to success,” says Bob Gale, cowriter of Back to the Future. “So we showed George and Lorraine had an improved standard of living, we showed them loving toward each other, and we showed that George was a successful author. It was the way to show the audience that George had indeed become a better man. And, of course, in the beginning, we depicted George as a loser, Lorraine as a drunk, with a ter- rible car and a house full of mismatched and worn-out furnishings.” Back to the Future is such a charming film that it’s easy to be swept along by it and not notice this equation of lower-middle-class status with being a “loser.” But it does echo precisely the same message that other eighties teen films sent: the class you are born into dictates every aspect of your life. “Class has always been the central story in America, not race—class,” says Eleanor Bergstein, the writer and producer of Dirty Dancing. “And when you’re a teenager you really start to notice this.” And there was no teen filmmaker who felt this as deeply as Hughes. David Thomson complains in his majestic Biographical Dictionary of Film that in Hughes’s teen films “the fidelity of observation, the wit and the tender- ness for kids never quite transcend the general air of problem solving and putting on a piously cheerful face. No one has yet dared in America to portray the boredom or hopelessness of many teenage lives—think of Mike Leigh’s pictures to see what could be done.” The first thing to say is that to complain that John Hughes isn’t enough like Mike Leigh is like getting annoyed that a chocolate cookie is not trying hard enough if it’s not a roast chicken. But it isn’t fair to dismiss Hughes’s movies as devoid of “hopelessness” since his repeated depiction of class issues in his films definitely shows the “hopelessness” in these American teenagers’ lives. Pretty in Pink (lower- middle-class girl falls for wealthy boy) and Some Kind of Wonderful (lower- middle-class boy falls for lower-middle-class girl who has gained acceptance among the rich kids through her looks) are the most obvious examples of Hughes’s teen films that were obsessed with class injustice and how difficult it is for kids from different classes to connect (Hughes, despite his inherently romantic nature, apparently thought they couldn’t, really). But it’s there in all his teen films, including Sixteen Candles (Jake’s house is notably bigger and flashier than Samantha’s) and The Breakfast Club (Bender’s somewhat implau- sible-sound-ing home lifeIV is compared to pampered Claire’s world, in which she can give out diamond earrings on a whim). But the film that really empha- sizes how unfair he thought the system is is Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. There are many reasons to love Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and I’ve gone through all of them. As I said in the introduction, this was the first what I called REAL MOVIE (that is, neither animated nor a musical) I was allowed to see and it instantly became my first love and Ferris my first crush. It represented every- thing to me, everything I wasn’t and didn’t have and wanted: teenagehood, freedom, coolness, sexiness. Every day after school, for a whole year, I would come home, go straight to the TV room, carefully close the door to keep out my dorky parents and Jeanie-ish younger sister, and watch Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Every. Single. Day. I carefully transcribed the script into my diary, which I still have, and at some point I decided my sister was sufficiently acceptable to allow her to reenact scenes from the movie with me, using my transcribed script. That summer, I taught my sister about making out, using the scene in which Ferris makes out with Sloane in the museum as a guide, and the two of us would duly writhe around on the living room, making out with our imag- inary boyfriends (Ferris for me, Marty McFly for her), while our parents, watch- ing from the doorway, wondered what new game their innocent little nine- and seven-year-old daughters had invented. This is perhaps the only time in my sister’s and my lives that our parents underestimated us. As a kid, I loved the film and Ferris because I thought Ferris was so cool— he was cute, he was funny, and, most thrillingly of all, he could drive a car. I fantasized about him driving me to school, holding my hand all the way. (Yes, that was my sexual fantasy. Like I said, I had a pretty sheltered childhood.) When I finally, and contrary to all my expectations, became a teenager and realized driving a car wasn’t quite as rare a skill as I’d believed as a nine- year-old, I decided that the real reason to love this film was that it was so weird. Like all of Hughes’s teen films, it has a simple premise (boy skips school and brings his best friend, Cameron, and girlfriend, Sloane, along for the ride) and takes place over a tiny period of time (like The Breakfast Club, Fer- ris Bueller’s Day Off doesn’t even cover twenty-four hours). But it is a much stranger beast than anything else Hughes ever wrote. While all Hughes’s other teen films deal with the emotional minutiae of being a teenager, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off doesn’t make even the slightest pretense to realism. The characters are all surreal exaggerations of recognizable characters—the teenager, Ferris, is just that little bit too cocky, the principal, Ed Rooney (Jeffrey Jones), is defi- nitely too demented—and the situations it depicts are, quite clearly, impos- sible.

[lelibug]

It feels like it has been a long time since I knew what it meant to be “me”.

What am I now? Not much, it seems.

Curiosity is lost. I have no desire to read or learn – because I just can no retain any information anymore. I feel exhausted just picking up my Kindle, magazines, or iPad for anything other than fooling around with it. I shouldn’t – and quite frankly, I’m not even sure why.

I am immobile and housebound. Under a required house-arrest because the off-the-rack wheelchair makes me so ill it’s insanity itself to even attempt to sit in it anymore.

My strange neuropathic paraesthesia / (numbed?) Fibromyalgia /  Hemiplegic Migraine thing going on, that no one can actually explain, keeps me prisoner in its claws – I can’t walk, sometimes barely crawl, my fingers don’t work very often, and I can feel so terrible (paraesthesia, spasms, feeling like I’ve been filled with cement, brain-fogged, unable to eat or move) that I simply can do nothing but stare at the TV. Not really watch it, just stare at it.

I am badly overweight and struggling to even move, let alone try to be any kind of active. I do try – a lot. But the windows of opportunities are so sporadic, they don’t really count. So I don’t get to do the things I love(d)much anymore – Pilates, Yoga, dancing. I do them as much as I can when I can, and it’s literally quite the relief to be able to do at least something, no matter what it is. Another part of my past that I can touch occasionally, and feel something that brings great comfort and familiarity. There aren’t many of those left now.

I have so little control over limbs and key muscles. There’s no diaphragm, no pelvic floor, very little use of my right leg at the best of times, and on occasion my right arm too. I can barely feel my tummy except in one space in the very centre. I can’t sing, have to use Gown-up Huggies (or lady-pants, as Tena likes to call them), and I am a slave to the weather and air pressure (check your isobars if you feel really rubbish – I just stop working once it dips below 1020mb, and I fall apart and can black out in 1015mb or less).

Dignity is gone. I quite often have to crawl, or worse, be reduced to attempting to “commando crawl” because my arms and legs dont work properly. I need help to clean myself, shower, brush my hair, change, go to the bathroom on bad days. And the Grown-Up Huggies don’t help, either.

I lost the ability to drive. I can no longer cook. I have a robot I was so excited to make sitting around in parts. I have courses I wanted to learn that have sat around gathering dust, after only managing a small handful of them before falling too ill to carry on. I can no longer go horse riding. The list of books and magazines that keep going unread hurt me deeply. I feel like I live in loss and missed opportunity, and it’s quite frankly heartbreaking.

My memory has gone, particularly STM (Short-Term Memory). The long term memory went a long time ago, and has never really returned. There are people, places, things, occurrences that I have no idea about. Today I forgot how a General Election worked when you went to vote. I’ve been voting since I was 18… I hate to count how many polling stations I’ve been to in the subsequent near two decades hence. I should have known it, but I did not. People tell me things and have conversations with me, and I have no idea ten seconds later that it even occurred, let alone what was said. I’ve given up being disturbed by that – it happens too often now… it’s another unfortunate “new norm”.

The small things can really get you. I feel really put out I can’t now go to the cinema, because I can’t use my chair – I’ve spent ages looking forward to seeing the new Wonder Woman movie for months, and now I can no longer go. I feel awful I cannot cook my own food. I can’t even make my own tea, and the hot water dispenser is actually in my room (because once upon I time I actually could).

My ability to play games is sporadic, and I don’t enjoy it half as much as I should, could or would without this rediculous situation that I find myself in. The same goes with conversing with my friends, almost entirely losing my ability to actually speak to anyone – because it’s contra-indicating my ASD something rotten. I can’t fixate on anything but fear anxiety now – so there is no room for my usual crazy obsession about Mass Effect and Dragon Age. This might break my heart more than anything else.

I keep asking myself “What can I do?”… But there doesn’t seem much on an answer. I can sit… sort of. That causes problems in and of itself. I can stare at the TV… which I hate. Sometimes I can hold a conversation. On rarer occasions it might even be intelligent. I sit here thinking… and I struggle to think of anything more. That does not make me feel very good at all…

    I’m waiting – constantly waiting – for it to “get better”. It doesn’t get better. It never get better.

For some reason, so far it’s only become worse. I really wish it would stop doing that.

Right now, it’s just existing in limbo, waiting to see if a new, proper, chair might allow me to have some semblance of an existence, in being that I get some respite from my incarceration here, get some perspective in going some places where I can take myself along. There’s always hope, and I really do hope to god this time I get some respite from all this by being able to “walk” myself about, to go for a “walk”, to make it to places that I can’t go now. Certainly couldn’t go in that other chair.

I’m trying to do good in waiting for it. Trying to get stronger arms and core. It’s not going too well, because despite it being June, no one told the weather, and the isobars and temperatures are through the floor – and we’re being bombarded by gales, rain, and storms. Fun. So far, for the last two weeks, the isobars haven’t risen above maybe 1010 or 1015mb. Next Tuesday (it’s very early Friday morning right now) it threatens to get to at least 1021mb. Hopefully, this time, it’s telling the truth. The last time, it most certainly was not!

If this weather doesn’t improve neither will I. I will still do as much as I can, but it won’t be the same, because the extent it makes me feel utterly terrible to the point of passing out can render it impossible to do anything. It seems so rediculous to be enslaved by something so rediculous, but there it is.

I hope I shall get some sleep sometime tonight – it’s 4:06am and I feel too wired to be able to sleep. I don’t even know why – if I did, that at least would be a start! I guess as an Aspie, that kind of thing is probably always going to elude me, but I do try my best to work it out. I could be anxious – it’s general election night. Or it could come from the fact that mornings can be harrowing after disturbing dreams/nightmares and being awoken badly in the morning – frankly the last two days have been extremely traumatising (no, I’m not kidding nor over-playing it… more like the opposite), and I do not have it in me to even begin to deal with a third day of such things.

Of course, I might not be anxious. It might be from a lack of being able to expel energy, thus never feeling tired. It’s hard to expel energy when you can’t move. It might be from the “pain” – and by that I mean feeling the intense sensations of Paraesthesia, which may as well be pain. It hurts, I suppose, but in a very different way to before, or what I’ve ever been used to before. So I just call it “pain” because it’s a shorthand that other people can easily understand, more metaphorical than literal.

I think the problem is I honestly don’t know if it’s all of them, any of them, or none of them. I wish I did, so I could do something about it. As it stands, I have no idea how to help myself, which is really annoying.

    What Am I…? It feels like it has been a long time since I knew what it meant to be "me".