#one man party

[the-fuckwizard]

[doctorsiren]

The books reveal that Ford is actually a secret partier

(Available as a print on my Etsy Shop)

(wips under cut)

[umblrspectrum]

data ghost tessa is an extremely fun idea

[bedforddanes75]

im not american but some of you guys are just fucking stupid ong what do you MEAN youre not gna vote because you disagree with like one part of what youre voting for. like okay me when im fucking thick

[canaryyello-art]

THEY R SO CUTE TO ME!!!!!!!!

[bacchuschucklefuck]

we let the ocean drown out our voices/enjoying the bitterness/in the chaotic light, I close my eyes and see

[blorbologist]

Y'know, I think I figured out why the Hells still feel like a new low-level party to me, even though they're level 13 and almost 100 episodes in.

I don't quite think it's the lack of conversations, or the fact half the party's plot hooks are big ties to past campaigns - though that definitely plays a part.

... Bell's Hells still primarily rely on quest givers.

Most of their goals are given to them and do not feel organic to the party, and constantly remind us that the Hells are pretty much never the most powerful people in the room. Which is usually something you see with a low-level party.

NPCs offering jobs is not a bad thing; it's a very common plot hook. Matt has been extremely skilled with using NPC quest givers in those two campaigns. Not only do they provide an obvious plot thread, but they can put the party in the path of others (say, the Nein running into the Iron Shepherds while doing a job for the Gentleman and everything that came of that). And the Hells had a solid start with it too - Eshteross was an excellent quest giver!

The problem is that Bell's Hells have never really not had a quest giver.

Maybe it's a byproduct of the more plot-heavy structure of this campaign? But while prior parties have felt like they decided on their course of action and what they prioritized, Bell's Hells feels less like level 13 (13! Level 13!) experienced adventurers and more like an MMO group clicking on the exclamation point over an NPC's head. Where does the plot demand we go next? Who do we report back to?

They're level 13.

At level 13, Vox Machina had just defeated a necromantic city-state to clear their name and Percy's conscience. And, you know, the Conclave just destroyed Emon. No one was explicitly telling the group to gather Vestiges and save the world (though Matt guided them there), and they were usually among the most powerful people in the room. They chose which Vestiges to prioritize, which dragons to tackle when, even if the over-all plot was pretty clear.

At level 13, the Mighty Nein were celebrating Traveler Con (another PC goal, I'll note) after brokering peace between two nations, accidentally becoming pirates and heroes of the Dynasty. The Nein regularly chose what to do based on personal goals, not grand ones. Though definitely smaller fish than Vox Machina at this level, they were very independent and gaining solid political clout.

While we're at it: level 13 is one level lower than the Ring of Brass, who had a huge amount of sway over Avalir. They ended the world, and also saved it, while in the grand scheme of things being only a smidge more powerful than Bell's Hells are now.

Can you really see the Hells wielding that amount of influence, when they're constantly being told what to do next?

The god-eater might be unleashed, so Bell's Hells have no time to do anything but what is asked of them. No time for therapy unless stolen from Feywild time, no travel on foot and late-night watches. They haven't even had time to grieve FCG. Percy was grieved in the middle of the Conclave arc. Molly was grieved when half the party was still in irons.

Matt is in the very unfortunate spot of not being able to give the Hells the same agency as the other two parties. Not only because of the world-ending plot introduced so early on; they are surrounded by characters they know (and the cast knows) are stronger and wiser than them - the familiarity of the past PCs and NPCs is to their disadvantage.

Why would the party reasonably ignore Keyleth's task that will help save the world and go off on a romp? Why would the cast when they know well Keyleth has to be sensible and with the best intentions in mind? The stakes are just too high.

It means that the Hells still feel like they're running errands instead of pursuing their own destiny. Their accomplishments are diminished as just being parts of a to-do list, and any stakes feel padded by several level 20 PCs/NPCs standing 5 steps away ready to catch them.

This isn't Bell's Hell's fault, nor is it Matt's. It could be amended, I think, if the Hells are really left to their own devices for a long period of time without support and shortcuts (like during the party split)... which would be really tricky to pull off at this point in the campaign.

They're level 13. They're big fish, but they're stuck in a pond full of friendly sharks, so they don't feel big at all.

[themisterhip]

Is my birthday today, so now is his birthday too lmao

[luckyblackcatxiii]

It's been MONTHS since I figured out Strahd's outdoor wear, and I've finally figured out Rahadin's as well! The creeps can now be nice and warm when traveling the horrific countryside~

I actually started this back when I finished Strahd's look, but I think I bit off more than I could chew by trying to figure out both Rahadin's face and his clothing that I got overwhelmed and ran away from finishing the concept. I've really been into drawing CoS NPCs lately (which means hopefully I'll have more of those to show you guys) which brought me back to finally finishing this. Phew!

And to think: eventually I'll have to figure out and draw his and Strahd's canon fit eventually too! Sigh, it never stops... (but I love doing it <3)

(ALSO I STUPIDLY POSTED THIS WITHOUT THE IMAGES OOPS

[infamously-winking]

Silly Straw Page Fully Translated:

hbh grfwru ri d gliihuhqw nlqg/ zkr zdqw wr pdnh klv sdwlhqw eolqg = “eye doctor of a different kind/ who wants to make his patient blind”

Qeb alzqlo pxvp/ qeobb pfmp x axv/ tfii jxhb qeb sfpflkp/ dl xtxv = “The doctor says/ three sips a day/ will make the visions/ go away”

Ixvvb hdwhu/ edeb eloob/ zrxogq'w gulqn/ xqohvv lwv vloob = “Fussy eater/ baby billy/ wouldn't drink/ unless its silly”

215 858 117 450 110 628 19 211 120 2256 216 951 25 256 27 532 212 506 18 1317 110 1137 221. 658 23 1330 210 231 118 929 112 2043 = “Twisted out of shape after the kill, the ghosts of his family are haunting him still.”

we’re not talking about that last cipher enough…

[lesiasmadness]

It's a dead man's party, who could ask for more? Everybody's comin', leave your body at the door

Happy one year to Murder of Sonic the hedgehog!

[lightseoul]

ooooo could u do 30?? love ur writing sm!! ur an inspiration!!

yes, i can! and thank you so much <3 this one was a bit of a doozy to write, since i really tried to take the unexpected route. enjoy!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

30. "WE SHARE THE SAME NAME!" (1.4k)

he was in the middle of opening the mysterious package—cautious as ever, of course, lest it be a bomb threat sent to the #2 pro-hero dynamight—when he hears the barrage of knocks echo from the door.

he’s not used to visitors showing up unannounced to his home, what with privacy being one of his most deeply held values, especially now that he’s a top-ranking hero in his early 30s.

but it’s not the prospect of having to deal with an intruder that sends his heart racing and his stomach churning with equal parts dread and excitement.

he can easily deal with a non-savory—no doubt about it.

but the person who’s responsible for the all-too-familiar three consecutive, not too heavy but not too light-handed rapping on his door?

not so much.

despite himself, he crosses the distance between him and the entrance in just a matter of few strides, and he takes a deep breath as he steels himself for what’s about to greet him at the other side.

he doesn’t even bother to look through the peep hole, opting to grab the knob and turn it with conviction.

and sure enough, there you are in your—no, his—front porch, decked out in your casual clothes with no makeup on, looking like you just hurriedly dressed yourself to run to his place in a fit of urgency.

it’s that thought that causes his face to morph into worry, even though a million other things are racing in his head, like how long it’s been since you two were alone together, or how fucking pretty you look despite looking so bare and winded.

he gives you another once over, eyebrows further furrowing in confusion, because why the hell would you go out of your way to see him amidst everything? “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you start, “it’s just—well, of course it’s not nothing. i wouldn’t bother you if i absolutely had no business to—”

bakugou feels himself frown at your words, but you don’t stop.

“—but i think my package got sent… here…”

you trail off, gaze shifting from him to the cardboard box he was just trying to pry open with his bare hands a few minutes before you unceremoniously arrived at his doorstep, and the second you land on it, your eyes widen, and before he knows it, you’re toeing off your shoes and barging past him and into the living room.

you reach for the package that has been sitting on the kitchen island this entire time, clutching it to your chest and turning to face him, looking absolutely horrified. “you opened it?”

bakugou stammers for a beat, not knowing what to say, before finally settling with: “what else was i supposed to do? we share the same name!”

that must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because your face falls, and for a millisecond he thinks he shouldn’t have went there, but just as quickly you school your face into a neutral expression, before heaving a deep sigh.

“they got my address fucking wrong again.”

neither of you say anything for a while after that, the both of you just standing there in tense silence.

because in bakugou’s case, what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

that he thinks the universe is telling you two something? that the delivery men can’t even move the fuck on so why should he? that, after all this time, you two do still share the same name, and that it should stay that way—the bakugous—and not separated by a fucking ‘versus’ in the middle?

but he doesn’t say any of these, opting to stare at you instead as you fumbled with the package.

you’re being extra careful with it, he notes, your body angled slightly away from him, perhaps purposely obscuring his view of the parcel.

but then your hands slip and you yelp; down goes the box onto the pristine, hardwood floor, and out tumbles the contents so important that you raced all the way here to what used to be your shared home.

and when he sees it, everything suddenly makes sense.

because sprawled over the ground are what looks to be at least three matching sets of revealing underwear.

before he can even react, though, you swiftly crouch down and stuff the lingerie back into their container.

“they’re not mine—it’s my friend’s.” you then abruptly stand up, awkwardly smoothing back your hair, “she had it sent to my place to save on delivery.”

bakugou doesn’t know how he manages, but he hears himself reply in a surprisingly steady voice. “you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“well, i want to,” you toss back without missing a beat, and he legitimately feels a seed of hope and relief being planted in the pit of his stomach.

because, sure, your reason for filing a divorce against him might be something he can never wrap his fucking head around, but he knows you’re coming from a place of immense love for him.

always, always coming from a place of love.

immense love that he knows hasn’t died out despite your insistent efforts to pull away and keep him at arm’s length.

still, he must’ve been looking pained, because your face softens the way it always did when you were about to soothe him. “i don’t want you to misunderstand, katsuki.”

he doesn’t get the chance to respond to you saying his first name again after what has felt like ages, though, because you reach for the undergarments again before dangling them in the air for him to look at.

“see?” you wiggle them for further emphasis, cringing at the fabric. “you’d catch me dead before you see me in these.”

and he agrees, that type of style was never your cup of tea, and he knows that better than anyone else.

but the way you just said that?

“don’t fucking joke about you being dead.”

“i was just kidding,” you retort defensively, the playful expression that was just etched on your features now long gone. you drop your hand to your side, and you heave such a heavy sigh it wracks your entire body.

you’re exhausted, but so is he.

who wouldn’t be, fighting for a marriage where your spouse is your motherfucking opponent?

bakugou clenches his eyes closed for a second, before opening them and fixing his gaze onto you. you must’ve felt his piercing stare, because your own, timid gaze drifts to him.

and he knows it’s stupid for him to ask, but he just can’t help it—not when you’re looking oh so vulnerable in the kitchen where you’ve cooked a thousand meals together, watching him with palpable longing.

“…are we still doing this?”

this being divorce by litigation—something he never would’ve imagined would be part of his future.

imminent death, life-threatening injuries, global destruction, maybe.

but not this.

and when you nod, he curses himself for even asking in the first place, because no matter how many times you’ve gone over this, the scalding pain that stabs his chest doesn’t get any less excruciating.

“i’m not gonna get any better, kats,” you add on, voice small. “i’m way beyond recovery.”

“and so naturally you have to divorce me?” he snaps, although he instantly regrets it.

you purse your lips into a thin line like you always did when you willed yourself not to cry. “i’m just trying to give you a second chance at love while you still have the time.”

bakugou’s about to spit something along the lines of why you’re talking like you’re already dead but he bites his tongue just in time.

he already knows what your answer is going to be.

so, instead, he shakes his head, muttering to himself. “…whatever the fuck happened to in sickness and in health?”

if you heard him, though, you don’t make it obvious. instead, you gingerly gather your things and start heading for the door.

his eyes only follow your movement as you put on your sneakers, and as you straighten up, he has to fight the lump in his throat at the sight of you leaving.

something that you’ve been doing a lot these days.

“‘m sorry again for the hassle,” you speak up, sheepishly gesturing to the parcel in tow.

he shakes his head. “‘s nothing.”

only it isn’t just nothing.

because at this point, every excuse for him to get to see you is everything.

[afewproblems]

Eddie downs the last of his beer and tosses the empty red cup into the kitchen sink, right between a couple who were clearly gearing up to claim one of the spare rooms upstairs. 

Eddie snickers and winks as the girl tells him to fuck off while her boyfriend flips him the bird, god he loves highschool parties, and this one is no exception.

It's Halloween and business is booming for Eddie Munson.

He imagines Dian Fossey felt similarly, wandering through the Congo studying the great apes' behavior patterns and social structure from within rather than observing from afar. 

So far Eddie's observations have paid off in spades and he's managed to sell out most of his stash by targeting the basketball team and their girlfriends. No one wants to get high all by themselves after all, it's almost too easy the way these sheep all flock together. 

Eddie leaves the kitchen behind him, but not before snagging a can of something cold from a nearby cooler of half melted ice. With a decent buzz going, what's one more? He's done working for the night after all. 

Eddie climbs the stairs, dodging drunk teens left and right as they make their way past him, shirts ruffled and hair messy. Eddie snorts, ignoring the wistful pull in his chest as a tall boy on the swim team pulls his girlfriend closer to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head before smoothing her curls away from her forehead. 

Unfortunately no one Eddie would be interested in would accept him brushing their hair like that without punching him in the face.

He shakes his head and continues forward, he's an observer, nothing more. 

Eddie passes a closed door on the second floor and pauses as a raised voice splits through the wood.

"It's bullshit, you're bullshit," the voice slurs out and Eddie feels a wide grin pull at the corner of his mouth. 

He takes a step closer, nearly pressing his ear to the flat of the door.

"Like we're in love?" Another voice says softly, a guy, "you don't love me?" 

A small part of Eddie knows he shouldn't be listening to this, he can hear the waiver in this guy's voice like his heart is slowly cracking in his chest. Shit, he almost feels bad for this guy. 

But the people that go to these stupid parties, the Hawkins elite, the gorillas in the mist, deserve their bullshit --to use this girls turn-of-phrase.

The only reason they didn't mess with Eddie was because he was these highschool shit-heads main source of weed. 

Its karma, plain and simple, Eddie reasons as he presses even closer now.

"It's. Bullshit". The girl hisses emphatically and for a second Eddie hears nothing.

It happens so quickly after that. 

The door swings inward, causing Eddie to stumble into a tall firm chest as the bathroom guy collides with him.

"What the fuck?" The guy says as he pushes Eddie away from himself and --no way.

"Harrington?"

Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes red rimmed and shiny in the dim light of the hallway, the tip of his nose is pink as he reaches up to pinch it roughly before swiping across his eyes as well.

Even though Eddie's fairly certain that he and Steve are the same height, he seems smaller like this, deflated, standing in the hallway while a party rages down below them both. 

A cheer rings out, startling Steve into action.

He steps widely around Eddie, enough that his shoulder connects with the wall in his haste to take the stairs down, two at a time, as though Hell is hot on his heels. 

And Eddie should leave it, go back to the party, see if there are any snacks left before calling it a night, but something pushes him to follow the path Steve took.

It's like he's possessed, the haunted look in those hazel eyes forcing him forward until he's outside on the lawn.

A few other teens are outside, including a couple making out on the porch, Eddie steps over them and jogs to the end of the driveway.

He spots Steve down the street sitting on a large rock at the end of another neighbor's lawn with his face in his hands.

He looks up as Eddie gets closer and curses softly.

"Seriously? It wasn't enough that you were listening, you're following me now?" His voice cracks on the last word as he wipes his eyes again, he can't quite hide the way the moonlight catches the tear tracks running down his cheek and neck though.  

"Oh come on Harrington," Eddie says, walking up to Steve. He sits on one of the other rocks and takes a crumpled pack of smokes out of his vest pocket, "it's no fun if you're sad".

"What is?" Steve mumbles after a beat, wiping his eyes again as he stares at the ground. 

"Making fun of you," Eddie shrugs as he takes a cigarette and puts it between his lips, he smiles at the startled bark of laughter from Steve.

"You're a prick," he huffs softly, the barest of smiles slowly blooming across his face.

Eddie can count the constellation of freckles and moles across his face, giving the blanket of stars above them a run for their money. His hand twitches at the thought of touching the ones on Steve's throat.

Eddie coughs once, mentally tallying the number of drinks he must have had for those kinds of  thoughts and shifts on the rock to adjust his pants. 

He holds out the pack to Steve who looks at the nearly empty sleeve before his eyes shift to the house behind Eddie. 

"Nance hated cigarettes," Steve murmurs as the corner of his mouth twitches into a terrible frown. It's gone in an instant as Steve blinks once and reaches out for the pack.

"I got something stronger if you want?" Eddie offers, he shrugs when Steve looks up at him with suspicious eyes. 

"Come on Harrington, I'm not gonna keep kicking you when you're down, you need a pick-me-up and then I can get back into it," Eddie stands up and without thinking, holds out a hand towards Steve, "what do you say?"

Steve stares up at him, his eyes flick once to the outstretched hand before he snorts dryly and slowly takes his hand. 

It's warm in Eddie's own. The fingers squeeze gently as Steve uses it to hoist himself up until he's once again eye level with Eddie. 

From this close Eddie can see the way his eyelashes have clumped together with leftover tears and the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes

Oh…this, this was a bad idea. Eddie swallows roughly as Steve finally nods.

"Lead the way Munson," Steve says with the barest of smirks as he wipes his face one last time, "and if you tell anyone about this, I'll slash your tires".

Eddie cackles at that, "there he is!"

He claps Steve on the back as he leads them towards where he parked his van down the road, "our chariot awaits!"

Eddie ignores the small voice that whispers in his ear, the one that sounds remarkably like his uncle, as it asks him just what the hell he thinks he's doing with Harrington of all people? 

It'll be fine, he tells himself.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

Part Two

[fatedroses]

More than just the Demon.

[c-tepx]

ok so despite the obvious "kabru is so obsessed and yet laios can't even remember his face" and "of course laios would recognise the kobold of all party"

SPOILERS FOR SHAPESHIFTER CHAPTERS

laios is the one who had the closest to the original mental image of his companions. he doesn't have any racial prejudice or some sort of expectation. he sees them as it is

like the only thing he got wrong are some minor details in equipment or hairstyle

he is also the only one who doesn't see chilchuck as a kid

quite similar chilchuck at least got laios general appearance right. it's just the more.. unhinged version of him.

my point is. laios is observant when it comes to the things he cares about

[hey-there-hunter]

The best I could

For bonus pain check the meaning of yellow carnations (colour is important) and edelweiss flowers