#she would never seek them out and work with them

[dolche-tejada]

"I respect shirakumosolos opinion because he's realistic"

Saying villains shouldn't get an happy ending because it's unfair isn't realistic, it's just moral. And claiming these villains deserved to die because "an eye for an eye" isn't either, it's the classic edgy teenager bs you can find everyday on the Punisher subreddit.

"and I also see what you're trying to convey but the world didn't work like that."

Yes and that's kinda the problem in MHA. The Hero Society is consistently framed as heavily fucked up but in the end, problems are either swept under the rug or superficially addressed. Yet Horikoshi treats this situation as if everything was fixed or soon to be when no, shit barely changed.

"You are disappointed with the ending of the manga because the Hero is alive and well after they save the world from the villains."

Nope, I'm actually disappointed by how villains are either dead or incarcerated for life in miserable conditions despite Horikoshi spending hundreds of chapters building up themes and a development for them which should have logically resulted with them being saved.

If a story promise its audience something only to do a 180° at the last minute and pretend it was the logical conclusion, it's perfectly legitimate to call out this bullshit for what it is.

And since this is the topic of this post, I'm also annoyed by how Horikoshi unfairly favored the heroes with a blatant lack of consequences for their actions and stakes overall while the villains suffered from them at every corner. Not by the heroes winning a conflict they were obviously going to win at the end...

"Villains who caused the mass destruction in Japan, which in turn cause harm to the public."

Which doesn't change anything to my point. Yes the LoV committed atrocious crimes across the plot, it's undeniable. But the thing is it isn't the point, the question wasn't about whether they should be forgiven or if they deserved a redemption. Hell Tomura, Toya or Toga never even asked for that to begin with, none of them seeked forgiveness (at least not for killing people).

Their entire point was about them being saved by Deku, Shoto and Toga, this was literally their arc but they weren't. Horikoshi can sugarcoat that with all the "Toga was truly happy thanks to Ochako", "Toya got to reunite with his family" or "Tomura got his soul saved by Deku", it's just narrative gaslighting.

Despite all his speeches about trying to understand and rescue Tomura, Deku didn't save him. Worst, he never made a proper plan to save Tomura or tried to talk with him despite this being literally his goal for weeks

The only thing Deku did during the final arc was beating the shit out of him so hard his body crumbled to dust. That and taking a look at his backstory...

Toya spending some time with his family is sweet but it would have been way more coherent if Horikoshi wrote an ending where he was actually saved by them like they textually intended to. Instead of painfully keeping him alive for a few years before passing out offscreen...

As for Toga, I'm pretty sure that suicide doesn't count as "being saved" either, even if it's to save someone you care about.

"I see your point and I truly wanted the Lov to live but they already redeemed themselves by saving the people they care about.

Except again, that was never the point, this story wasn't a redemption one about a group of "evil" characters trying to be better and actually doing so by sacrificing themselves at the end.

It was a story about a new generation of heroes learning from the mistakes of the previous one and improving society by saving villains instead of just beating them to a pulp (something textually framed as wrong many times) among other things.

But again, it just didn't happen. None of them were saved.

"Toga bleeding to death trying to save Ochako not because she scared of Tartarus"

Meanwhile Toga a few instants before sacrificing herself

"because she finally have someone who understands her and sees her. A friend."

And because from her own admission, she knew dying was still better than rotting her whole life in prison, even with Ochako for friend.

"Shigaraki is free from AFO control. Cool."

And he died like 15 seconds afterwards due to Deku beating him into dust so it may just be me but I don't get how he's supposed to be free now.

"No concrete proof that villaint will murder innocent people. Didn't Dabi confessed on the live TV that he killed 30 peoples include innocent people?"

This point concerned Twice, why are you switching the subject on Dabi ?

"The hero shouldn't kill the villain but the villain can kill the hero?"

When your job is literally neutralizing criminals without killing them, that you can effortlessly subdue them at any point and that they are trying to run away, yes stabbing them in the back is rationally not justified, in addition to being also outright fucked up.

"I can't take the logic because look at Batman and Joker."

Yes and Batman isn't in the wrong for not murdering him. I've already had this debate hundreds of times, I won't refute the same eternal bs arguments once again.

"Eye for an eye."

Believe it or not but most modern societies have evolved over the last few centuries beyond this childish and stupid approach of justice.

Also for someone who truly wanted the LoV to live, it's strange that you're reasoning exactly like the people who wanted them dead.

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst, talk of revenge, death and mind manipulation

word count: 1.5k

Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness

Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog

Taglist @sinfully-yoursss @sillyfreakfanparty @phoenix666stuff @ quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @hellohauntedturnstudent @love-over-fears @kk191327 @i-am-infinite @historygeekqueen @yourdarkrose @fr0stfall @dnfhascorruptedme

Image of Elain owned by Bookart by Amai.

To see more work by this artist, join Patreon and become a member of this artist's collections!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

********

Chapter 15

Hewn City was a far cry from Velaris.

The air was thick with sin, with cruelty, with whispers of treachery lurking in every alleyway.

Elain had never stepped foot in a place like this before.

Never imagined she would.

But desperation was a cruel motivator.

And hatred was an even stronger one.

Her boots echoed against the grime-slicked cobblestones as she wove through the winding streets, ignoring the lecherous gazes of passing males, ignoring the curses and drunken laughter that filled the night.

She had one goal.

Find Alatar.

She had heard of him from Feyre’s loose-lipped conversations, had pieced together fragments of information.

He was powerful.

Dangerous.

Feared.

And, most importantly—

He had nearly severed the mating bond between you and Azriel.

Which meant he was exactly the kind of ally she needed.

And so, she searched.

Slipping into seedy taverns, shadowy corners, eavesdropping on hushed conversations.

Her name was not well known here, but word of a female from the Night Court seeking out a warlock for revenge spread fast.

And she knew—if she kept searching, he would come to her.

Because monsters always found each other.

*****

Alatar sat in the depths of his lair, shadows slithering along the walls like serpents of darkness, listening.

A seer from the Night Court was looking for him.

A female scorned, desperate for revenge, blinded by hatred.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his lips.

Because he had been waiting.

Waiting for a chance to strike back at those who had wronged him.

For Rhysand—for daring to interfere, for mocking him as he left him paralyzed in that alley.

For Lucien—for tricking him, for humiliating him, for playing him like a fool.

For Azriel—for stealing from him, for ripping away his prize before he could claim your power.

And now?

Now, it seemed a gift had fallen straight into his lap.

Because if Elain Archeron was truly here, seeking to kill you and warp Azriel’s mind into loving her forever…

Then they had mutual interests.

And he already knew exactly how to make them both happen.

"Find her," he murmured to his shadows, his voice a silken whisper of malice.

"Bring her to me."

And with that, the darkness slithered from his hands, twisting through the city, seeking the lost little lamb who had strayed into the den of wolves.

Because Elain wanted revenge.

And he?

He wanted blood.

And when they were finished?

There would be nothing left of you, of Azriel, of Lucien, of Rhysand.

Only ruin.

*****

Elain never saw them coming.

One moment, she was moving through the streets of Hewn City, her cloak pulled tight around her, her mind consumed with thoughts of vengeance.

The next moment, darkness wrapped around her throat, her limbs, dragging her back into the shadows.

She gasped, tried to fight, but the grip was unyielding, cold, unnatural.

And then—a voice, smooth as silk and dripping with malice.

"Ah, there you are, little seer."

The shadows coiled around her, guiding her forward, pulling her into the depths of the city, deeper, deeper, into the lair of the monster she had been searching for.

*****

Elain stood in a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with ancient power, shadows crawling along the walls like living things.

And there—at the center of it all, was him.

Alatar.

He was tall, unnervingly elegant, with piercing dark eyes that seemed to see straight through her, straight into the blackened parts of her soul.

He regarded her with amusement, tilting his head.

"I understand you’ve been looking for me."

Elain lifted her chin, forcing herself to steady her breath, to suppress the shiver running down her spine.

"I have," she said, her voice firm, resolute.

Alatar’s lips curled into a mocking smile.

"And what is it you seek, dear child?"

Elain’s jaw tightened.

"I know what you almost did," she said, her voice laced with bitterness.

"You had her. You were going to break her bond to Azriel, take her power."

His eyes darkened with intrigue.

"And yet, she was taken from me before I could finish what I started," he murmured, his voice dripping with cold resentment.

Elain’s fingers curled into fists.

"I want your help," she admitted, hatred burning through her veins, fueling her courage.

"She has ruined everything. She has taken everything from me. I was going to make Azriel love me—I was pulling him away from her, but she took him back. She ruined everything I built."

Alatar’s eyes glinted with something unreadable.

"And what exactly did you do, little seer?"

Elain’s lips twisted into something cruel, something dark.

"I poisoned him," she admitted, savoring the words, the way they tasted like control. Like power.

"Day after day, I fed him enough to make him believe he didn’t love her anymore. Enough to make him look at me. To need me."

For a moment, Alatar said nothing.

Then—he laughed.

It was low, condescending, dripping with amusement.

"Poison," he mused, shaking his head.

"Ah, dear child. Poison is simply a child's game."

He leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering with promise.

"If you truly want Azriel, I can break the bond. I can get his mate out of the picture—permanently. And I can manipulate his mind, erase every memory of her, make him forget he ever had a mate. I can bind him to you instead, make him love you so deeply he will never think of another again."

Elain’s breath caught.

She had wanted this, had dreamed of this, had spent countless nights lying awake imagining a world where Azriel was hers.

And now—it was within reach.

But she wasn’t finished yet.

"Lucien must suffer too," she said, her voice sharp, cold, devoid of the softness she had once been known for.

"He was supposed to be my safety net. My backup plan, my last resort. But instead, he broke our bond. Allowed me to be exiled. Didn’t even fight for me."

Alatar smirked.

"Ah, yes. The High Lord’s son. The disgrace of Autumn."

He traced a finger through the air, his shadows rippling as if already calculating how to tear Lucien apart.

"I can make him suffer, if that is what you desire," Alatar said, his voice a silky promise of destruction.

"I can strip him of his power. Make him mortal. Make him weak, make him nothing."

Elain exhaled sharply, satisfaction curling in her chest.

"And Azriel?" she asked, her voice trembling with anticipation.

"How will you make him forget her?"

Alatar’s smile was wicked.

"I have my ways," he murmured, stepping closer, his presence a suffocating force of power and darkness.

"Memories are fragile things. Love is even more fragile. With the right magic, the right… persuasion, Azriel will not only forget her—he will love you more deeply than he ever loved her."

Elain’s heart pounded.

"And what is the price?" she asked, her voice steady, but cautious.

Alatar’s eyes narrowed, considering.

"We can discuss price later," he said smoothly.

"For now, I require one thing of you."

He leaned in, his breath cool, calculated, precise.

"If I am to help you, if I am to ruin them all—Rhysand, Lucien, Azriel, and that wretched female—"

His shadows coiled tighter around her, like vines constricting, suffocating.

"You will need to call upon your abilities as a Seer. You will inform me when and where they are most vulnerable. When to strike. When to make them suffer."

Elain felt her pulse quicken, a slow smile curling on her lips.

"I can do that."

Alatar’s smirk was pure malevolence.

"Then we have a deal."

He extended his pale, clawed hand, shadows swirling around his wrist.

But before she could seal it, before she could reach for his outstretched hand, she added one more name to the list.

"Rhysand."

Alatar’s interest piqued, his head tilting in amusement.

"Rhysand?"

Elain’s gaze hardened, her nails digging into her palms.

"He exiled me. He cast me out like I was nothing. He made me feel worthless."

Her hands trembled with rage, with years of silent humiliation and rejection festering inside her.

"I want him to pay."

Alatar’s lips curved into a slow, wicked grin.

"Oh, little Seer," he murmured, pleased beyond measure.

"I can make that happen."

And with that, he took her hand, sealing the darkness between them.

And Elain…

Elain, once soft, once gentle, once filled with hope -

Took his hand, sealing the darkness between them.

Because she was done playing the victim.

Done waiting for love.

If she couldn’t have Azriel’s heart willingly, then she would carve out the part of him that belonged to you and replace it with herself.

And when she was done—

When Alatar had warped Azriel’s mind, erased his memories, shattered Lucien’s and Rhysand’s power, destroyed everything you held dear—

She would stand in the wreckage of it all.

And she would finally be victorious.

No matter the cost.

[emmg]

Bees

This piece of unholy crack is for my wife @jainydoe

I want a fic where bellara is emmrich's ward and rook does the whole Look at your dad keeping bees Bellara I'm gonna fuck your dad shtick

"So he, like, adopted you?" 

Bellara gets bonked across the face by a very round, very enthusiastic artifact. "I guess? Kind of? A little bit before I was all grown up." 

Rook pulls a face. "Why?" 

Bellara idly scratches her ear with a wrench. "Oh, you know. Legal things." 

Rook’s face only twists further. "That explains nothing. That is the opposite of explaining. What in the Maker’s name does that even mean?" 

"Oh! Well, see, he was in Tevinter, and I sort of—not on purpose—ended up owing a lot of money. And then the people I owed were, um, very insistent that I give it back. Which was unfortunate, because I didn’t have it. And I told them I didn’t have it, but they still wanted it. So he paid it for me, and now I just use his money. It all worked out!"

Rook's eye twitches. "So… you're his mistress?" 

Bellara blinks. "His what?" 

Rook pinches the bridge of her nose. "Never mind. That was a no." 

"Mphff," Bellara replies as her eyebrows are promptly seared off. 

****

She doesn’t mean to stare at Bellara’s not-dad, but, well, here she is. Staring. Very accidentally, of course. Completely unintentional. It’s just—he’s her colleague now, and Bellara is her friend, and who could have possibly predicted that she’d one day reunite with Bellara only to find out that her not-dad was someone she’d end up working in—er, under—uh, near. In close proximity. Adjacent to. 

At the very least, Rook thinks, the Mourn Watch dresses excellently. Or maybe Emmrich Volkarin just has an aesthetic because the man doesn’t walk—he floats. His coattails are so long and dramatic that every step he takes looks like he’s being ceremoniously carried by the souls of the damned. Which, given the necromancy, is not off the table. 

They’ve been at this for, what, three months now? A season. A quarter of a year. Long enough for her to cycle through every possible thought about him and then loop back around for seconds. 

Oh, he’s so polite and well-spoken, she thought at first, when he shook her hand with all the enthusiasm of a professor greeting a particularly promising student.

Oh, he’s a fucking creep, she thought upon learning he had adopted Bellara under circumstances that sounded alarmingly vague.

Oh, well, maybe not a total menace, she thought after Bellara’s half-baked explanation, which made it sound only mildly suspicious rather than deeply, horrifyingly illegal.

Oh, he smells good, she thought during her first week as he escorted her through the Necropolis, his hand casually redirecting hers away from things that would almost certainly kill her, and books that, to her absolute dismay, were not only sentient but also carnivorous.

Oh, he’s rather suave, she thought over the next few weeks, as he took her through Nevarra City, treated her to a hot drink, and assured her that she was always, always welcome to seek his assistance.

Oh, he’s handsome, she thought immediately after—so immediately that her brain barely had time to pretend it had arrived at the thought by accident. And he’s old enough to be her father, but mostly handsome, and the moustache is unreasonably attractive, and the height is even worse, and she should really, really not be thinking about any of this, and yet here she is, thinking about all of this.

"Rook!" Emmrich exclaims one incredibly random, incredibly uneventful day while she is, unfortunately, very busy looking at his hands. "Bellara tells me you have a particularly sweet tooth!" 

She does not. She would die for pickles. She would haunt this plane for pickles. "Yes," she lies. 

"Splendid!" he says, bringing his hands together and clasping them tightly. "Then you must visit us soon. I have recently come into possession of some wildflower honey—oh, it is exquisite, truly, the product of a most diligent colony. The foragers in particular have demonstrated remarkable efficiency this season, and I suspect the local flora has been unusually accommodating due to the recent shift in temperature." 

"Right, well—" 

"—Which, of course, brings me to the worker bees," he continues. "Fascinating creatures, Rook. Did you know they regulate hive temperature by vibrating their wing muscles? And the social structure! Unparalleled efficiency! Every single one of them understands their role perfectly—unlike certain apprentices I have had the misfortune of instructing." 

Rook opens her mouth. "That's—" 

"—And then there is the queen," he barrels forward, adjusting his cuffs. "A singular force within the colony, capable of laying thousands of eggs in a single day. A most demanding role, truly. Yet she is fed and attended to with such devotion! Such order! Such discipline! If only more societies followed such an impeccable model, we might see—" 

"Bees?" 

Emmrich finally pauses, as if just now remembering she exists. "Indeed, bees. What is so odd about them?" 

A slow nod. "Nothing. Just bees." 

Ah. Yes. Silly Rook. Silly, ridiculous, absolutely pathetic Rook who somehow failed to anticipate that obviously necromancy and beekeeping go hand in hand. Because why wouldn’t the man who commands the dead also spend his free time whispering encouragement to a bunch of little winged bugs? 

She forces a smile. "I'd love to see your bees," she glances at his hands, "Professor Volkarin," she glances at his crotch. 

"Wonderful," Emmrich replies, fingers moving ethusiastically. "Now, then. That is maudlin enough. Shall we return to our work? I regret to inform you that the integument of this dearly departed is well beyond viable preservation. A pity, of course, but such is the nature of decomposition. We cannot embalm everyone, though that does not mean we are without recourse in matters of preservation." 

Rook stares at his mustache. "Mm-hm."

"It is but a matter of methodology. Acid or dermestid beetles?" 

Dear gods—Tevene, elven, Andrastian, it hardly matters—she is, at this very moment, experiencing an overwhelmingly physiological reaction to the prospect of engaging in relations with a man who is, quite literally, vibrating with enthusiasm at the idea of either meticulously excoriating a cadaver or observing the natural efficiency of insect-assisted tissue removal. 

Rook supposes there are worse wet dreams to have, worse ways to absolutely wreck her underwear. But if there are, they’re only marginally worse. A fraction. A hair’s breadth. What could be more concerning than getting embarrassingly, shamefully worked up over a man who talks about corpse preservation with the same breathless enthusiasm most people reserve for poetry? 

She should be ashamed. She should be reconsidering her entire life. Instead, she’s two seconds away from letting him embalm her from the inside out.

****

Bellara's eyebrows have mostly grown back.

She’s eating a sweetroll and staring blankly out the window. “What is your not-dad doing?” 

Bellara shrugs. "Something with bees. Oh, I don’t know. Emmrich’s taken with them. He cycles through hobbies. Manfred’s a big help though! He can’t be stung. Because he’s a skeleton.”

��Yeah,” Rook says, chewing, watching. “I get that.” 

She does not get that. Mostly because she's not really listening. 

This is getting fucking ridiculous. 

Out in the garden, Emmrich Volkarin, a senior necromancer of the Mourn Watch, a man tasked with managing the corpses and souls of the dead, a man whose entire job is death, is delicately tending to his thriving apiary. 

I wish he was fingering me instead of that honeycomb, she thinks. 

And then: Actually, no, I wish he was doing both. 

For the first time in her entire life, she thinks she would gladly, enthusiastically, joyously welcome a yeast infection.

Forget a locket, forget a pressed flower between the pages of a book—this would be her keepsake. A souvenir of her reckless devotion, a parting gift from a lover who, in this scenario, has not gone off to war but rather retreated indoors to alphabetize his collection of sentient, bloodthirsty tomes and, of course, check on his precious bees. And instead of a love letter, she'd get an ungodly amount of discomfort, a medicated salve, and a firm recommendation to avoid sugar for a while.

Or, she could just walk off a pier and let the ocean absolve her of whatever the fuck this is.

"Bellara," Rook says after clearing her throat, because she needs to clear something before she says this, preferably her entire fucking soul. "I don’t really know how to tell you this. But. Like. I’m going to fuck your not-dad." 

Bellara pours herself a cup of tea. "Oh." 

"While his bees watch." 

Bellara chews. Swallows. Looks at the wall. "Yeah, they do that. They're bees." 

****

It doesn’t get that far, mostly because Emmrich is self-conscious. Not about himself, not about his station or his dignity. Instead, he is deeply, tragically preoccupied with the goddamn bees. 

There’s a great deal of nervous glancing, a fair amount of softly muttered hesitation, and at least two instances of him clearing his throat as if that might somehow dissolve the situation entirely. Meanwhile, Rook, having very graciously cornered him in his own garden (while Bellara is mercifully elsewhere), informs him, quite politely, that she is going to ride him until his very narrow hips give out. Or, if that’s too much for his delicate sensibilities, she is happy, delighted, even, to let him make use of those long, elegant fingers instead. 

Or—and—and this is the option they end up going for—she can simply kneel and suck the very essence of his being out through his very academic, very esteemed cock. 

"Ah—yes—well," Emmrich says before trailing off. His hands twitch at his sides, his jaw tightens, but it is the unmistakable way he keeps looking at the beehive, as though his tiny buzzing witnesses might be horrified by this development, that really seals it. 

"Your, ah, interest is certainly reciprocated, my dear," he continues, voice smooth but just a bit strained, "but—oh—perhaps—oh—we might consider a more… traditional approach? A courtship, if you will? A proper engagement with dinner, and wine, and—Maker help me—a door that closes?" 

"Hmpf," Rook says, pulling her mouth off his cock before deciding that, truly, there is nothing worth saying to that. 

She sincerely hopes a bee stings him right in the ass so that he stops waxing poetic about the sanctity of romance and just concentrates on fucking her mouth, this handsome, ridiculous, too-tall, too-suave, insufferably sweet, bee-obsessed, not-dad of a man. 

[skele-doll]

God i hate men who victimize and act oppressed. Tell me why i saw a bunch of butthurt men in the comments of this one video saying shit like "Opened up once.. never again." "And they wonder why we dont talk to them.." "This is why we dont talk about our emotions" like LMFAO WHATT For reference, the video was of this man sitting outside alone with a spool of wire, His wife said "What are you doing out here alone? I thought you were working?" and he said "This spool of wire has been with me for 40 years, and now its almost gone, look at what's left of it!.." and he was laughing and smiling. His wife had been filming him, confused on why he was sitting out there alone and concerned. In the end she said something along the lines of: "Oh, im sorry you feel that way, but im a little concerned because youre wearing your jetts hat and i thought they lost" and the man said "Goodbye" and rolled his eyes before getting up and leaving. There are MULTIPLE issues with this. The most prominent one here being the lack of communication on the mans end. She thought he was being happy because he was smiling, he didn't tell her he was out there because he was feeling sad or down, he just said something and she thought he was reminiscing. And because of this miscommunication, he got mad. He could've just said "No, i was out here because i feel like life has just been flying by recently. Can we sit here and chat?" and she would've listened, i mean, she came out there to check on him and was obviously concerned sooo..??

Also, people got pissy about her saying "i thought you were working".. LMAO?? She's just asking because she didnt expect to see him outside alone as its getting dark. The fact that she asked about his jetts hat as well makes me think he's done something irrational before when the jetts lost. I feel like men just can't communicate at all 🤷‍♀️ The men in the comments saying they'll never open up again over (1) issue is just sympathy seeking. They can literally find another person to talk to?? Think guys.. If you met someone who really messed you up, would you go looking for someone who acts just like them?? No. You'd avoid those types of people. So, it is EXTREEEMMELY easy for these men to just find new friends and people who will listen if they know who to watch for. 🤦‍♀️ This is so different from what women face, yet they find ways to compare us and see who has it worse despite the facts. Women run into evil people regardless of whether were looking for them or not. I was 15 when some 20 year old dude got into a relationship with me and groomed me. When i tried to leave, bro threatened to go back to the military and get himself killed. (He wasn't ever IN the military, he just wanted to make me feel guilty.) Little girls, young women, and mature women, will always have some asshole trying to get with them or some asshole trying to harass them. They cant simply walk away from that unlike men.

[autumn-sweet-fae]

Jayvik time-travel fix-it Concept

So with the anomaly transportation theory gaining more support, let me pitch this to ya’ll:

Jayce and Viktor holding the acceleration rune stone between them in the chaos of the anomaly one second, and then standing together in Jayce’s old blown up apartment, with Jayce’s same acceleration rune stone bracelet held between them the next.

The two fall into each other, hugging and crying at both being alive together and being back before all their mistakes could be made.

They’re both restored to their younger selves, but also forever changed by their connection to the arcane. Viktor can still feel the arcane within him, not the consuming void of the hexcore, but a new awareness and understanding of the world he didn’t have before. He could also still feel the tethered connection to Jayce, those iridescent fingerprints reemerging in a glow when the connection is tugged, but otherwise hidden.

Jayce can still feel the phantom pains of his anomaly infected injuries, the webbed scars following into this reality, even though the bone itself never suffered the break. Jayce himself cannot sense the arcane as well a Viktor on his own, but when he tugs on their connection he can feel it through his partner.

And so here they are, two young scientist turned mages, sitting in the center of Piltover, a city that has no tolerance for any such magics.

It’s Jayce who suggest they leave for Zaun, take what they can carry and find a little place in the undercity to hide away, until they can figure out what they want to do next. Viktor finds himself agreeing, as there’s no way he can face Heimerdinger again without the Yortle clocking his dramatic change of character, if not his outright connection to the arcane.

Viktor would think of getting in contact with Vander, the man he found within the beast. He deeply regretted what he had done to Vander in their past life, and hoped he and Jayce might be able to help him in some way. After all, it makes sense for two runaways to seek to build an allyship with the leader of the Lanes, for both protection and potential work in the short term.

It’s in this moment then that Viktor is slapped with the realization that this is the very night Vander dies.

Refusing to let such a thing come to pass, to let Vanders beautiful dream for Zaun and his family be shattered once again, the two would start brainstorming what they could possibly do to prevent such an out come. It doesn’t take long for them to come to one troubling conclusion….

To instead ally themselves with Silco through using Viktors past connection with Dr. Reveck.

-

Later, when Vander discovers Vi’s plan to turn herself in, Vander and Benzo rush to stop her, just as they had in the main timeline.

Except here, no one comes for them. Not Captain Greyson and her Enforcers as they had expected, and not Silco and his goons either. Instead, the night goes on, and Vanders family is safe, not yet aware of the strings being pulled around them.

Until the next day, when Captain Greyson arrives for a privet chat. She carry’s two documents with her. One, the confession from Vi. The other, a warrant for the arrest of two wanted men who had gone missing last night. After stealing all the confiscated equipment from the lab Vanders kids had robbed.

She demands that Vander use his pull over the Lanes to fine these missing fugitives, and in exchange, she’ll push to have the search for his people dismissed. After all, one of the missing men, Jayce Talis, was the same man that lived in that apartment. And Viktor? A potential traitor to the academy and Piltover, to have no doubt helped a disgraced mad scientist like Talis steal back his illegal research and then smuggled him out of the city to his homeland of Zaun.

The Hound of the Underground will do what it takes to protect his family.

The hunt is on.

(Additionally, Viktor eventually wearing Silco down to rethink his takeover plans and maybe even Communicate with Vander. While Vander is getting back his spark to fight back against Piltover again between more arguments with Vi and maybe a confrontation with Jayce.

Viva la revolution + Zaundads couple counseling)

[goldenboywrites]

Apollo leaned heavily on Isaac, listening to him, and then Cassio as he filled him in on what he had missed. No one had answered why he was missing the last few hours, but it didn’t matter. There was a higher priority. Theo was a higher priority. He hated missing pieces of his memory, mainly because Cassio kept struggling to hold his gaze, and Apollo couldn’t even figure out what could have happened to cause that. He would fix things with Cassio later. Apollo had a one-track mind, and it was set on revenge right now. 

He had grown up with the same type of man Theo did. He knew what kind of monster his biological father was because Apollo’s father was the same. They were always the same, meaning he wouldn’t give up until he found Theo again. Men like that rarely let their victims get away. This wasn’t a situation Apollo could go to the Aurors about; if he brought it to their attention, he would lose Theo once they ran their DNA and realized they weren’t related. No. A situation like this needed to be handled silently for the safety of everyone in the room. 

His magic raged through his body, demanding he act now. His mind consumed his need for revenge and blood to keep his family safe. But if Apollo stormed off in front of them, they would stop or follow him. He couldn’t have that. “I think you two should stay in the guest room tonight. Oliver is drained, and this way, Isaac can help heal him. And if anything happens, then we’re all here to protect Theo. At least, until we can track down his biological father.” He wouldn’t need more than a night to neutralize that threat. He didn’t look at Cassio as he crossed the living room to Theo, knowing the blonde could read him. Hopefully, with Oliver hurt, Cassio would only have eyes for his boyfriend and not meddle in Apollo’s plans. 

He cradled the little boy in his arms, cradling him against his chest. Theo turned his head into Apollo’s chest, seeking his warmth and protection. “You’re safe now,” He whispered to the boy, kissing his mop of brown hair. “You’re safe forever.” 

“I’ll settle Theo down for the night and then set about creating protection and detection wards around the house,” he said to the room as he made his way to the stairs. He needed to keep them busy if he would slip away from them. “Isaac will help you get Oliver up to the guest room and will assist in healing him. There are far too many wounds for you to handle alone. When everyone is fully rested tomorrow, we can reconvene and figure out what to do next.” By then, Theo’s dad would no longer be a threat. He would be dead. 

Apollo didn’t wait for them to agree; he went up the stairs and into his and Isaac’s room, setting the little boy down in the middle of their bed. He brushed back his hair from his eyes, feeling wetness on his cheeks as he looked at him. He blinked the tears from his eyes, brushing his fingers along the curve of the child’s jaw. He had never wanted another child to go through what he had growing up. He didn’t want Theo to grow up making the same choices he had, living the same life of distrust Apollo had. And he was furious at Alexandria for not contacting him before it was too late. He could have saved her if she had told him. If he had known. Why had she only trusted him when it was too late?

He wiped his face and then set to work, boxing Theo in with pillows so he wouldn’t roll off the bed. Then he went to the closet, pushing back clothes and boxes until he found the invisible, hidden hatch that would only react to his touch. He pulled out a set of clothes, attire spelled to react like armor, the same ones he had used when he was back at university doing the bidding of dark wizards. There wasn’t much need for the clothing these days unless he was set out to extinguish a threat, but it was comforting to keep them close by. For nights like this.

Isaac was at his side the second time he slipped. Truly this day had to be in the books for a record of some kind. Plenty were being broken that day. His fingers twitched before he placed his hands on him but this time he was certain that there wasn't a chance of him being subjected to his magic again. No, things had gone from bad to worse and the babe was none the wiser. And off all of them in that room, he was the one that was going to tell Apollo exactly how their lives were about to change because they decided to choose each other rather than letting his betrothal go through as their parents had intended. His gaze slid to Oliver and Cass and he knew he had to.

"We cas' the spell." Isaac spoke softly, seeing blood smears on the fabric and he immediately bristled. Keep it together. "Well, Oli'va' did." His gaze lingering all over his partner until he found the source of the blood on his hand. He was gentle but quick with rooting through his hair to see exactly how bad it was. Thankfully it looked relatively clean and no more than an inch or so. He'd be okay but that had to be fixed now. Fingers gently moved to the spot and he muttered softly under his breath, watching as his words spoke action into existence. "Theo wasn' safe where he was an' Alex knew tha' sendin' him he'e would be best."

Apollo's skin slowly stitched itself together as he watched and Isaac breathed out slowly. His arms wrapped around Apollo tightly and he just held him. There was so much insanity he just needed to be grounded to him in that moment. And especially before he went on. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cass whispering in Oliver's ear. He couldn't make it out but decided that maybe that wasn't for him. They deserve privacy too. Cassio did. He knew he was close with Alexandra, if for no other reason than the man under his touch at that moment.

"His real da' was abusive an' she was very sca'ed." His tone was even but quiet, his now bloody fingers motioned towards the pair on the floor and winced seeing his friend like that. He could only imagine how that could translate to a body nearly a quarter his size. Isaac's stomach flipped and he decided that whatever hell was coming would be worth it. "She knew tha' we would ta'e care o' him." His lip started to quiver then and he grew quiet. His eyes drifted to the little form of Theo laying on that floor as if he were always meant to be there. "He's ... he's stayin' with us." There wasn't room for discussion that front. Whatever questions he had he could ask Oliver but Isaac wrapped his arms around the man and held him as tight as he could manage. "'m so sorry." He whispered, kissing the soft spot under his ear just ever so slightly.

Cass stared at the little boy's sleeping face and found himself oddly envious in that moment. He wondered for a moment if anyone had ever took the time to watch him sleep when he was younger. He felt Oliver flinch under him as his shoulder bumped into his and Cass finally pulled back. His hands immediately reaching for his face to wipe way any sign that he'd cried or let the frustration truly take over. Because for once, this wasn't his fault. It wasn't because of something he and Apollo were involved in but it seriously made him question what they were doing. He'd been questioning it for a while but today was enough to know that it was enough.

"She's dead, Apollo." He spoke plainly, pulling his gaze from the boy and finally holding Apollo's gaze then. His fingers gently rubbed over Oliver's arm and he sighed out, feeling the air hit his face and he let another tear go. "She got him out but .." He trailed off, not really knowing where they were meant to go from that moment. There'd been some bombshells but the blonde had had his fill for the rest of his life so far as he was concerned.

[nobilisseoblige]

[ GOSSIP ] With all these people milling around, there’s plenty of room for discussion… like who would make the most adorable couple? Or, even juicier, who has invisible strings tying them together? Do tell!

"So, is there anyone here who has caught your eye?" Deirdre approaches Ferdinand with a mischievous glint in her own eye. "I was about your age when I first married. You never know when that perfect person might appear in your life!"

"Miss Deirdre!!" he was beside himself in eagerness, wringing his gloved hands as she approached with her beautiful, kind eyes and hair of fields so silver it glittered in tints of lavender. just seeing her was like running through a field of flowers. how fond he was, to see her again after all this time. how homesick he was, to know she was not around last month when so many others were… "you look well! beautiful. stunning. all the world your oyster and pearls." Ferdinand flourished a bit, affection pouring in place of concern and the spiking pang of emptiness. did she know she was loved?

"ah—" she started and he started with her, catching the glint in her eyes and taking on flames in its place. his cheeks are red for only a moment, and his hands wave her off playfully. "nothing like that, Miss Deirdre. though I am pleased to hear of your love. at this age, many seem to seek it out, but the unfortunate tend to outweigh the few lucky hearts out there."

"ah but…" he blurted out the first thing that was always and perpetually spinning in his mind.

"I think it is obvious."

"the one person always on my eye is edelgard. you know her, don't you? she is my eternal rival. the one that is currently set for the imperial throne. you should certainly watch over her and compare us, to see which student has performed superiorly."

"though, I prefer a fair judgement over consolation, if you don't mind. I need to work hard to make sure she always stays in my line of vision." fingers raking through his hair, he sighed.

"such is my devotion. she has no appreciation of me."

[oddly-specific-hermit-headcanons]

(guys I'm back with another essay long headcanon ,.I have to much time on my hands 😔)

I like to think some hermits with non overworld origins have never seen snow (like me before it snowed 8.8 inches in Florida where It hasn't fr snowed In like 50 years and they cancelled school for a week - I mean what?) they just see this mysterious white powder that makes your hands numb floating down from the sky and are like "what. is this like, ashes? nuclear fallout? drugs??".and one of the other has to explain "yeah that just. happens sometimes. we kinda just deal with it and move on" but even after years of living in the overworld they're still not used to it and just. look at it. In awe. everytime it snows.

NAH YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS THE END?! IF YOU THINK THESE HERMITS DON'T HAVE AN ORGANIZED SNOWBALL FIGHT EVERY YEAR YOU ARE WRONG. THIS THING HAS BETRAYALS, ALLIES, AND IS A FULL ON MONTH LONG WAR.

(don't ask them what the rules are, no one knows. they decide who wins by who has to get treated for frostbite the least) (its not a snowball fight on the hermitcraft server unless someone loses a finger)(or gets hypothermia)(it's usually bdubs)

tbh the reason bdubs always gets hypothermia is because he always hides in an impressively camouflaged igloo the entire month with a continuously growing pile of snowballs that may or may not be the size of a house of which he refuses to "come out we have hot chocolate" this is not helped by the fact they are shouting this into the open air hoping he is somewhere nearby as bdubs hide and seek skills are exquisite, and he refuses to "forfeit" the game by "giving in to the enemy" no matter how many hot drinks and blankets are promised

grian is treated like Schrodingers ̶C̶a̶t̶ (that's supposed to be a strike though btw) parrot, as in "if I don't check, he is both at once and therefore cannot hit me" (which he might be because grian will be grian fr) check being check to see if he is hiding around the corner with the ball of ice he passes off as a snowball which he never the less will be . Staring at you. (Until he starts pelting ice chunks at you. He might still be staring, but no one knows because they're too busy running away to check)

Cub sees grian standing in the door way and just dodges them. Without moving from his spot. He just dodges.

Did doc invent a large snowball firing machine that could knock over even the feistiest gem. Yes. Was he also banned from using it because it would break the server as well as the gem? Yes.

Do not .I REPEAT, DO NOT take the snow from pearls backyard. It may look safe, but I guarantee you, that snow has been peed on by a dog.

Jevin is over here just absorbing those snowballs like a boss

pearl is also over here staring into the open sky menacingly throwing a snowball between her hands. "Whatcha doin?" "Threatening grian" "?" "He'll know"

An unidentifiable being that you cannot look directly at but definitely has deer antlers floats down from the sky landing daintily on top of a kraken tentacle holding a glowing golden chest adorned with many beautiful designs and engravings. The chest floats down, gently landing on the floor in front of gem. "Thanks 👍" gem says looking directly at it with literally no trouble because she's just like that- the chest opens to reveal a hole to a pocket dimension full of unmeltable snowballs and a note that says "I heard you needed snowballs for a fight? Who am I to deny my champion a good war :D anyways usual Thursday gossip sesh still work?" This is probably a bad thing because if patron deities are about to get involved, this fights 'bout to get CRAZY . I would say it's impressive help from deities hasn't been banned yet, but there is both no rules and that would also disqualify a significant amount of hermits from playing

Pearl decides that the easiest way to win would be to get the moon involved, its basically a giant snowball right? This is quickly put a stop to. No one wants a repeat of moon big. How she was able to ask the moon though raises questions...

Biblically accurate angels look kinda like snowballs right? This is skizzs logic. He might have scared some people though... Alternatively, he divebombs people with an arm full of snowballs while laughing maniacally

Alternatively alternatively,skizz distracts them with dad jokes, and impulse comes at 'em from behind this works like a charm if you ignore all the times this ended up with impulse face down in the snow and skizz pointing and laughing before he gets a face full of the snow as well

Joel also prefers the tactic of laughing manically while chasing you with his (suspiciously yellow) snowballs (don't worry it's just from the honey) (or is it???)

COINCIDENTALLY (or not) one of these famed snowball fights during the empires crossover. This has resulted in some non hermits becoming aware of this amazing event and being roped in. This has subsequently resulted in many more people for me to think of head canons for 👍 yay !

Scott is just having fun making his snowmen with jimmy and gets pelted (dont worry though this results in many many shovels of snow being dumped down jackets and onto heads by Scott)

Jimmy wills get hit with one snowball and instinctively block it with a wing and start yelling and chasing people down with "I'm not a toy" level rage but then spend all day complaining to grian about how wet his feathers are now

Sausage will inevitably make a ball related joke

Oli will start singing the ballad of the snowball fight or something

jimmy will also start making a rube Goldberg style sort of machine or something outside of Grians house consisting or two oranges one milk carton five glass bottles 'organically sourced' wood planks, diamond ore wiring from the bowels of docs latest redstone machine, tango, some suspicious milk (not in the carton I might add) one of pearls dogs sitting precariously on a teetering wooden board (it looks quite surprise on how it got there) (don't tell pearl) an anonymous persons plushy, some number twenty two pencils (not sure where those came from) a Giga Pie, some royal emeralds, and a large boulder sitting at the very top, worryingly positioned above the dogs head. All of this to drop a bucket of powdered snow on grians head when he walks through. This is the ruined of course when who but grian himself walks up behind him and just straight up WALKS THROUGH THE DOOR. and then the bucket falls on Jim's head while his mouth is still open in shock. Sorry Jim.

Bonus: I have this very clear image in my head of Martyn hearing all bout this and being like "you didn't tell me ren >:(" and ren just stand their sheepishly. About a week later, Martyn is visiting the hermitcraft server and someone throws a snowball at him. He is sitting in a pool chair. He catches it without looking. This is why they did not tell him.

(I do not apologize for the long headcanon I had so much fun with this)

.

[novelconcepts]

Do you ever just lay awake at night, turning over in your head the stark difference in delivery between Hewson's Van saying--steadily, unshakably--"it's just something that's happening to you...happening to us" and Cypress' Taissa saying--imploringly, whiningly--"this was not just my dream, this was our dream"?

Do you ever just turn it over and over, how often Tai tried to scare Van away, and how it only made Van set her feet more firmly? How Taissa's first love was this person who saw a problem fall into Taissa's lap, a problem that was quite literally trapped inside Taissa's body, and decided unflinchingly: No, that's an us problem now? How she refused point-blank to walk away even with blood in her mouth, how she flatly informed Tai "I'm never gonna be scared of you", and promptly turned a moment of pain into a declaration of love? And how this would etch itself into Taissa for the rest of her life? How she'd take these things that worked with Van--with the person Van was, with the bond they shared--and try so hard to run through an identical script with Simone?

Except Simone is her own person. A completely different kind of person. A person who hasn't been offered any of the context, any of the realities going on inside Taissa. So: naturally she doesn't respond the way Van did at eighteen--and will go on to do all over again in her forties. Naturally, she hears our dream as the excuse it is, not as a plea for connection. Naturally, she is scared away when Taissa pushes, and shouts, and begs. Because there isn't blood in her mouth, not yet, but there will be. And they have a son to worry about. And she isn't eighteen and a special kind of immortal, a special kind of romanticized. She's a grown woman with responsibilities, with priorities, with an understanding that you can't fix someone just because you love them. And Tai can't just perform a revival of the play she and Van had memorized twenty-five years later with a whole new performer in the works, and expect it to shake out the same.

Of course it doesn't work. But look at Taissa trying it. Look at Taissa trying to reframe her first love through a new lens. Trying to recast it. Trying to play it through again. Van taught her love was sticking out the blood, shaking off the pain, making a you problem into an us problem. Does it ever just eat at you, how tragic it is, watching Taissa try to shape her marriage around a woman who isn't even wearing a ring?

[rosewcterdrunk]

"I had lovers, as did every man in the service and every man in London does," Thayer spat, trying to recall what these letters entailed but every accusation William spewed infiltrated any semblance of the memory of Elizabeth. "But precautions are made, and if this is true... I would not have— what is your purpose in this, William? A claim in letters without a real name, a concept of a child lost to the miscommunication of war? You strike with hear say, and it is unsettling, but what proof do you have? If I have a child, where are they?"

His voice wavered, softening ever so slightly under the protest of every grimacing detail William hurled his way. A plea swept in between words, dismissing whatever attempt at tainting him was here. Thayer did not care for reputation. It would not change that he was responsible for Cassandra, that there was a child aside from her roaming in ignorance of their parentage.

"You fool!" He snapped at him, growing more and more irritated at his rantings. "Do you not know of what my name holds, what lack of honor is thrusted upon anyone who utters it? I have a title from service alone, for following what could be the only right thing to do with what my father imposed upon this land and country. I do not care for the formalities of it all— spit on my name all you want, feed more rumors, I do not care."

He would not let a mere stable boy, however, rot the name Cassandra belonged to. A promise had been made to her mother, the only woman he thought he truly loved and could never forget— his savior.

"You bring shame upon her, you defile a reputation that a lady could not overcome so easily. It is the way our world works, and it is vile, but we cannot change it. You want to do some good, make yourself worthy?"

Thayer would come to regret it, but what lied in these letters was the only honor he believed in. This went beyond the right posture, the right amount of acres, medallions upon a breast pocket. If William could resolve this, would that be enough for all he'd done?

"Prove you are a kind hearted man, prove that you do not seek her out for vengeance," Thayer told him, letters folded and thrown against the other's chest. But he did not pull away, did not leave this in the woe of feeble violence until he had finished the last offer he would ever make to William Erwood. "Find this child, prove it is mine. You have until the end of the social season and I will pay for your efforts, double of what I gave you to leave Cassandra alone— but that rule remains. She will have the social season to find a husband that is suitable for her endeavors, and you will not interfere. If she is unsuccessful, overcome by true love that keeps her from participating— not because you place yourself in her way— then I will provide her a dowry myself for both of you. I will get Mister Lockridge's blessing for you, and a special license. You give her a chance, William."

The edges of the paper crinkle, roar as if to mock them both with every rustle.

"But if you interfere, this arrangement is null," He warned him. "You will not receive payments. Tell the whole lot of them, it does not matter. I will find this child with or without you, but I am making you an offer with those you care for in mind— Cassandra and your uncle Henry."

While the members of the British high society whispered amongst themselves, their disregarded servants conversed together with their own gossip of their employers. Those who had met Thayer were only too happy to divulge their gossip. One older man who had spent at least thirty years of his life serving in London had referred to Thayer as Lord Clare, only to quickly dismiss it as ramblings of an old man. “Do you deny that you had a woman practically every night of the week during your service?” Given the rumours, William didn’t doubt that Thayer was responsible for just one child.

“Reputation and standing are everything to you, how would it look if the honourable Sir Thayer Claremont had a child out of wedlock.”  It would have been different if the child was born from love, but it appeared that Thayer was incapable of such an emotion. “The letter is not enough to go on, I know, but people have been serving the noble families for yours, did you think they would not gossip or speculate on all of you?” And some relished in the potential scandals of those above them, not that William could blame them. 

There were questions that William had that had yet to be answered, but frankly, it was only his drive to bring down Sir Thayer Claremont that powered that, but his anger could only burn for so long. “Letters get lost all of the time, especially during wartime but there aren’t many Lord Clare’s about London.” William didn’t need that question answered. He’s done enough sleuthing to determine that fact, he just needed Thayer to hear him. 

Thayer knew nothing of Cassandra’s life or the sorrow that lived within the Lockridge estate. William couldn’t blame Thayer for continuing to bring up his shame. His jaw tightened and William’s whole body went rigid as he folded his arms, trying to keep his expression indifferent. “I was left with nothing while you took everything I cared about. You know nothing of my reasoning, only the vile assumptions you made about my character.” Guilt and shame were written all over William’s face, but it was nothing compared to the disgust he felt when he looked in the mirror.  “And if she agreed to marry me, would you allow that?” The choice should always be Cassandra’s, but William knew it wasn’t an option. He couldn’t offer Cassandra a fraction of what the men Thayer had lined up could, but that didn’t stop William from voicing such a thing. 

“I haven’t had a reason to look that far ahead.” William said, tilting his head at Thayer. He wasn’t going to do the man any favours but completing his dirty works and looking up the consequences of Thayer’s old actions. William had anticipated Thayer’s disbelief, and it truly didn’t trouble him. He knew the truth, this was just the man's denial speaking, not fact. “You have my starting point, do with it what you will.” William nodded at the letter, hellbent on reusing Thayer any aid in the matter. 

[coldjustness-archive]

Can’t believe BioWare created Neve and Rana, with the dynamic they have and said yes, these women are friends.

[panestates]

faceless / obscured face besties ! (2 of these characters loathe each other and one accidentally murdered the other)

[nobodybetterlookatme]

pls just be wary of him he’s a lot older than you and that’s not always bad but the way he keeps giving you plushies is sending off warning bells from other stories i’ve heard. again not inherently bad, he sounds sweet and that’s probably all it is, but just make sure he doesn’t start making comments about how young you look or anything like that. i know you’ve said in the past that the age thing doesn’t bother you but you still wanna stay careful

This actually is the first thing he's given me that wasn't either food or something for work ahdkaksk it's not like a regular thing so no worries there. Also it was less bc it was a date and more bc my bday is in a week and I'm not gonna be seeing him until after so he just gave it to me now bc it was convenient lmaooo. I'm being careful tho, like I'm naturally sus of men especially bc of ✨ the trauma ✨ but I really don't think he's a bad dude

[skele-doll]

"Gender based" oppression does not exist. If i were to be born in Africa, India, or under the Taliban, i would not be killed and thrown into a dumpster, suppressed from speaking my mind, or performed FGM on simply because i randomly decided i was a woman. And i would not suddenly gain my rights back if i decided i was a man. If you can pretend you aren't trans when trump stated he would get rid of transness, then you aren't oppressed. POC and women cannot just pretend to be anything else other than what we were born as. You cant identify your way out of oppression or privilege. So yes, communism excludes transness as a whole.

2. "they are about individuals aligning with their true gender identity" Which isss..? Stereotypes. When trans people think of women, they think of shopping, long hair, painting your nails, getting plastic surgery, dressing ''feminine'', and being ditzy. When trans people think of men, they imagine dirt under the nails, a beard, no sense of style, short hair, being closed off emotionally, a gruff personality, and construction work. I have yet to see a trans identified man not dressing like a high school girl or a trans identified woman not thinking being a man is the best because "you can do whatever you want" as if they couldn't always do that. 3. Yes, im aware of this. Which is why i also think that because its a diagnosed mental illness, that the medical field should not be taking advantage of mentally ill people and engaging in the mental illness by telling them to cut off their own body parts. You would not tell a depressed person to cut just because it gives them a temporary good feeling or a person with BIID to cut their limb off if it makes them happy. Trans people should be receiving the same amount of care as any other mentally ill person such as; having more research on body dysphoria, a better understanding therapist, having better support groups and systems, and given coping mechanisms that are better than impulsively harming yourself and your body. 4. Just like other mental illnesses, some are genetic and some are gained through traumatic experiences. Dysphoria is in no way genetic leaving the only reason for it to exist to be from external causes. So yes, i do think that dysphoria is invertedly caused by experiences and pressure from the crushing weight of the system. 5. Those who don't go through with surgery mostly do it because they feel like the medical industry is not yet advanced enough for sex reassignment or feel that its too risky. I would know, i identified as trans for quite some time.

6. Your argument adds nothing to the statement and my point still stands. Whether they don't have the money to do it doesn't matter, the idea that trans folks still think about undergoing surgery or HRT and view it as an "important milestone" in their transition is still an issue. That means the advertising and propaganda is working. The fact that theres even support groups for people who will never be able to "medically transition" because of the lack of money and feel depressed about that really shows you that the only "treatment" is just a huge money farm for mentally ill people seeking a fix.

7. No matter how you word it, it sounds wrong for a reason. Because gender based oppression doesn't exist and because medically transitioning and HRT is risky and exploitation of mentally ill people, it is very much still doing the job it was intended to do when it first became a thing.

8. Transgender ideology has not existed for centuries, people dug up a grave of a viking woman who they misinterpreted as a man for being so tall and large and they thought she was trans. Again, this is stereotyping that being large makes you manly. Some countries had different societal expectations, So the stereotypes of what was "feminine" and "manly" have always changed through out the years. The second trans folks see a man wearing a skirt, they question if he was an egg, but that was normal in Scotland for men who wore kilts. In the end, no amount of evolution will erase the fact that it was made by Nazis who wanted nothing more than to convert gay, bi, and lesbian women and men into straight people for a "perfect race". 9. This further proves my point that getting surgery or going onto HRT is always going to be a placebo. You will end up sad and unfulfilled either way. Even those who are happy afterwards are happy because thats exactly what their dysphoria, a mental illness mind you, wanted. In the end, there is no excuse for ignoring reality.

At its very core, communism cannot be trans inclusive. Communism wants to dismantle sex stereotypes and embrace reality while also dismantling capitalism and helping to bring equality. However, the trans ideology supports sex stereotypes and profits off of making the vulnerable hurt even more than they already do. Let me explain; gender dysphoria is a product of the patriarchy, it tells women they need to look a certain way in order to date men and be accepted into society. They pump insecurity into little girls heads and sell them products that promise to fix that insecurity which creates unethical profit. But what happens when women and girls grow tired of having to go to surgical extents to be "womanly"? What happens when they realize that this idea of "woman" was created by a man? They try to opt out of it by of course 'becoming' a man because feminism is said to make you "bitter", "masculine", "evil", and they see the way feminists get treated for being feminist. When you identify as trans, you immediately get told that you will feel as horrible as you already do forever if you don't get the surgeries and go on to take testosterone to also look the part. Those who dont get the surgeries and dress it constantly get 'misgendered' and treated like a normal woman which further fucks with their mood. What they dont tell you is to seek out therapy. Why? Because the surgeries, pills, topicals, shots, new wardrobe and binders, makeup to look like a man, voice training, and treatments for the side effects all cost hella money and spending hella money makes the rich get richer. you could argue; "but anon! under communism wont the people take up making those things themselves?" and i'd say yes, but not everything human made is a good thing. just because you can make it doesn't mean you should as that wont get rid of its impact and history within capitalism. "reclaiming" it wont take back the health complications and dead de-trans people, it wont erase the fact that gender affirming surgeries were an invention by a Nazi and transness is built on oppressive stereotypes either.

[gu6chan]

the brief mention that 1.3 leonard could still be feeling some deep lingering grief over his brothers' deaths still never fails to fascinate me tbh like, does he think of the standards he must have lost since their passing and feel guilt? or does he see them in every child he abuses??? does he keep his grief to himself or does he find it a useful anecdote to what must be a countless number of families dealing with loss??? does the green dragon know? does he confide in it????? since leonard seems to be aware of what arioch lost to the union, just how aware is/was she in what HE lost???????? did they have a role in each other's loss? is THAT where their beef came from??????? im going to merge into a wall

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

2 & 3 from section 1 for peri and 7 from whichever section has a more interesting #7 for diodore -moss

oooh these are fun ones!

2. Describe their tent set-up (outside and inside) (Peri)

I think Peri's tent is constructed similarly to Gale and Astarion's (boxy, fabric walls, little covered area outside). Deep blue fabric w/ golden astronomical embroidery, mostly the sort of thing you see on star maps. Little golden tassles around the edges of the tarp (?) and the doorframe. He'd have a small, circular, dark wood side table short enough that you can use it sitting on the ground, and a dark blue pillow next to it; there would be some parchment and a bronze miniature astrolabe on the table. The inside would be just. full to the brim with the gaudiest night-sky-themed pillows you've ever seen. No bedroll, no palette, just a nest that would put those cube pits in trampoline parks to shame. There would be two bird perches for his familiar Medani: one taller one next to his tent and one shorter one under the overhang. The shorter one would have a crow-sized bow-tie hanging from it. Rugs on rugs on the outside area ofc. 3. What would their character quest be titled? Why? (Peri)

This is a hard one! His tav ending involves taking over the Waterdeep arm of the Harpers, so I think his arc would have something to do with that. He'd be pretty bitter about being dropped into another near-apocalyptic mess when dealing with the last one a few years prior was supposed to be a one-time thing. Something-something ptsd in a world that doesn't have the words for that yet, something-something 'once a hero always a hero', something-something the weight of responsibility...he's a planeswalker so I think part of it would be whether he decides to stay on Toril long-term and directly help rebuild the Waterdeep Harpers or if he continues to run travel around afterwards, so maybe The Far Traveller/The Far Walker?

Harpson/Fae-son are also potential options. "Fae-son" nods to him being a changeling without it being super obvious (like Astarion's "The Pale Elf"). It would also mimic his backstory reveals from RoT ("oh he's not 'from here' so, like, the Feywild" -> "OH he's not from here"). 7. Describe their arc. How would a player help resolve it? What choices can be made? Can your Tav be turned down a dark path, or pulled to a lighter one? (Diodore)

Buckle up because we're in for a long one here. I've thought about Dora's story arc a lot because she's the first of my tavs that I truly made for the game while having full control over her backstory, etc. (versus Corentin, who had their arc baked into the story as a durge). Dora's a paladin of Corellon (oath of ancients) and her story arc as a companion would have to do with whether or not she should accept capital-r-Redemption, the process by which a drow can be truly "freed" from Lolth and rejoin the ranks of the rest of elven society. It involves all of the Redeemed drow's memories being erased and them being reincarnated as a surface elf. The implication seems to be that without that, regardless of a drow's actions, they'd be thrown back to Lolth when they die? Or at least that their eternal fate is unknown (which is the way I prefer to think of it for. personal reasons). Under normal circumstances, Dora would be a long way from Redemption being presented to her at all (she's not even 200 yet and has only been on the surface for a couple decades), but like with the other gods' Chosen among the companions, near-apocalyptic circumstances tend to speed up those sorts of things.

Of course, you'd have the themes of faith & relationship with deity when they're all unequivocally real and are also mostly all assholes; maintaining or breaking generational cycles; facing the unknown; morality when none of your choices are "good" (and how that interacts with morality vs self preservation); power vs freedom; identity outside of the people who made you; etc. The choice would first be presented to her sometime in late Act I/early Act II, likely the first long rest after the group resurfaces from the Underdark and you've probably gotten some of her backstory already. I have no idea how Larian would have characterized Corellon, but he's considered one of the more benevolent/open-minded deities iirc, which could be interesting to see contrasted with Mystra, Vlaa'kith, and Shar. How much that open-mindedness would extend to a drow, even one who has been a faithful follower even before she escaped to the Surface (and who inherited that faith from her father), is unclear. At the beginning of the game she would be leaning towards accepting Redemption, despite her own misgivings about whether or not she would still be her in that case.

Her final decision (at the ending pier scene) would depend on the relationship she has with the PC and the other companions. Her best ending, imo, would be her not accepting Redemption but continuing to be a force for good. If she has a good relationship with the PC, she would have something to lose. I think seeing the House of Mourning would affect her too. After all, the thing Corellon is offering to her as a way to find peace is the same thing the Sharrans are using as a way to manipulate and control others.

She's viscerally aware of how she was socialized and very actively chooses "good", so pushing her towards a darker path would be incredibly difficult but not impossible. If you side with the goblins she'll leave immediately, and turn on you if she's in your party when you attack the grove. But if you decide to try and control the cult in Act II, depending on your over-all actions before then and how you've interacted with her, you could disillusion her to the point of convincing her to break her oath. That path would entail convincing her that controlling the cult is actually the best idea. I'm sure there would be other times that her oath could break that wouldn't necessarily lock her into an "evil" path, especially with how Oathbreakers are handled in the game. Knocking out Minthara instead of killing her outright and letting Auntie Ethel go in Act I instead of killing her are two things that come to mind.

If she doesn't choose Redemption she would be at the epilogue party, of course. I'm a bit undecided on what would happen if she does choose Redemption. She may not be there at all, w/ Jaheira, Halsin, Minthara, and/or Astarion mentioning running into her in her new, reincarnated state. Or she would be there, confused, and mention how the PC seems familiar in a way she can't quite place. In that case, she would ask them how they know each other and mention something about feeling a twinge of grief looking at everyone, but that she doesn't know why she feels that way. It would be up to the PC how much they tell her (if they tell her anything at all).