#so like I'd want it to be temporary & maybe a means to an end?

[maraskywalkers]

I want more Givenson fic with jealous Raylan but not the possessive kind more like he didn't realize he has feelings for Tim & doesn't know how to handle it type thing

and it could be because of anything like an OMC or whatever but I'm also digging the idea of a temporary Boyd/Tim thing whether it's just a flirtatious thing or an enemies with benefits hookup thing or something IDK but Boyd is so smooth & charismatic & also can be manipulative & just the idea of him getting under Tim's skin??

and like I'm a sucker for low key jealous/insecure Tim (who definitely has feelings for Raylan & knows it) especially in regards to Raylan's history with Boyd & like Boyd maybe playing on that a bit but the idea of him also being able to get under Raylan's skin about Tim??

basically I guess I want an endgame Givenson fic in which Boyd is an instigator with all the jealousy miscommunication hurt/comfort romance mutual pining Raylan/Tim goodness?

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Sugar, Spice and a Tempting Vice (1)

VA! MC x OM! Characters

TW: Eh it's more fluffy than smutty I'd say, but minors DNI. Loads of random lore for the sake of immersion. Now to brainstorm the rest of the characters.

INTRO

Tagging: @romaissa @eliciana @your-favorite-god @april-notthemonth69 @ikevampharem @k8tznd8wgz @futureittomain @m-majoko @the-auguer @yurinayumi @i-am-empress-irish @deepazur @rippedbutnotamasterpiece @pomegranateboba @ra1ns70rm @anjodedesgostoeerros @sammywo @annoyingbiscuitathleteland-blog @ourfinalisation @creativecupcake @snowthatareblack @angelofbooksworld

"After a freak accident, you and a group of 5 people get teleported into a fantastical world together. Who will you team up with to try and leave this place? Or will they convince you to stay and have a new life with them here instead? Or will you stumble across the biggest secret that this new world holds...?"

You read out the summary for them at a group dinner at Diavolo's castle. Apparently, it was to celebrate your debut as a VA. They all clapped and bombarded you with questions. You tried to answer as many as you could without any spoilers.

They were supposed to have already started playing the game but the game servers got a little overwhelmed and had to go under maintenance with so many people downloading and making accounts at the same time. So Diavolo hosted this party instead.

"So how many endings can you get with a single character?" Simeon inquired.

"Well on an average there's around 12 endings per character, but there's a varying number of endings depending on the character you choose. I'm not sure I remember for all of them-"

"We just want to know yours." Belphie smirked.

"Oi come on, it makes it sound like you're all just going to play my character, don't do that! The other characters are also incredibly well written!"

The sheepish grins and side glances told you that they were clearly going ignore your last advice.

"Honestly you guys, one of the characters here has a teleportation ability, one can read minds, and another one has insane fighting skills - the only thing you know about my character is that I don't have a name!"

"Omg this means they are definitely building you upto to have the most OP ability of them all!" Levi exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh yes that's usually how it goes in these tropes. The most unassuming character ends up giving you the secret ending." Solomon nodded in agreement.

"Both of you, shush! Just play the game normally okay?! You will get to interact with all the characters anyway until the second phase." You reprimanded, sighing, knowing no one would listen anyway.

Lucifer - Saved by the Belle

"Before Tyla takes us home tomorrow, would you like to spend your last day here with me, Lucifer?"

Lucifer and you worked with loyalty and rigor under Tyla, an old world Sorceror. It was because of you two specifically that Tyla's magic was powerful enough to create a portal back home. Your character was so much like you - it felt like he completed this whole journey of freedom with you, and not just an image on screen.

> "Of course, MC. In fact...I would like to spend the night with you too."

MC blushed on screen, looking away and nodding. "Oh? Well then... I'll look forward to it."

He enjoys this way more than he thought he would. He visits for the last time, all the places you both had been together. The first tavern, the first forest path, the first temporary abode - the HumbleBee Inn.

> "It's late. Should we go back here again, for old times sake?"

"Why not? Maybe they'll accidentally put us in the same room again and get overbooked so we have no other choice. Maybe this time it'll be a bit more...eventful." You said with a sly and knowing smile as you skipped ahead.

Lucifer's knee jerked upwards, hitting the table. Just what kind of lines are these? And what are those expressions? Who else was in there listening to you when you recorded this? The way your voice sounded, Lucifer was convinced you were thinking about someone special. If only you saw the effect you were having on him.

> "I've been holding back all day. Forgive me if I'm too rough."

Lucifer pushes you against the wall, caging your body. You blush in the dark, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. It was driving him insane. He could feel his pants getting tighter at the crotch.

Last time he endured the sexual tension of sharing the bed with you, constantly trying avoid your body even though he was desperate to feel it's warmth. This time there wasn't any reason to deprive himself.

"It's okay...I can take it. Please don't hold back..."

Oh hell, you were about to be the death of him. These...are these really the sounds you'd make in bed? Godamnit you are ruining his mind. He can't relax until he's jerked off now. And it's all your fault.

The next couple days, you notice Lucifer hesitates to keep eye contact with you. In fact, he has a rather visceral reaction every time you simply call his name, standing at his door. Only he knows how badly he wants to pull you into his bed to ravage you - practice your lines with him, why don't you?

Mammon - Stranded Together

"Guess they didn't want either of us huh, Mammon?"

Nah Mammon was mad at this ending. He gets why the group left him behind - he made too many questionable choices like stealing the last reserves of food or money (so you never went hungry), running away from the monsters instead of staying and fighting with the group(with you ofc so you wouldn't be in any danger), finding new shelter and not telling anyone (except you).

> "I'm so sorry...it's because of me that they left you too. You did nothing wrong yet...no this will not stand! I'll go threaten them into taking you too!"

"Mammon wait- no don't! Alright fine I was lying! They didn't leave me...I chose not to go!"

Mammon was stunned. He stared at your character blushing and looking elsewhere while holding onto his arm. His heart beat just a little bit faster.

> "Wait...what? But you wanted to...don't you want to go back and keep looking for your family?!"

"Who knows if the family I was looking for even exists?! But you...you are real. And you are so kind to me, and so great. So..."

Your character moved in closer and closer to him. Mammon leaned back too far from the screen, falling backwards on the floor. He was not ready for what was about to come.

"If I really want a family that bad...I can just make one here...with you. But only if you wanted that too ..."

> "I do! Of course I do! We can both find work and home in the kingdom now that big monsters are all dead! I'll be yours and you'll be mine!"

Mammon pressed it on instinct, not knowing his character was gonna grab yours and pin them to the ground. His face burnt up in excitement seeing you all cornered like this. You blushed and whispered as you leaned in to kiss him.

"Hehe...Mammon...I'm all yours already. But there's others ways you can claim me if you like..."

Your sleeves fell loose, and off your shoulders and his hands began to wander. Mammon almost screamed the house down, grabbing at his sheets, humping his pillows, struggling to look away from the screen. But he couldn't stop.

How the fuck was he supposed to face you tomorrow at the breakfast table?! Yet, Mammon re-played that part at least 30 times. And now every time you whispered to him in class, Mammon had to grip his knees and stop himself from imagining the unholiest things.

Leviathan - Power of Friend-ship??

"We did it! We actually did it, Levi! Can you believe it?! Look even the people are cheering for us!"

Levi punched the air in glee, he definitely must have gotten the best ending right?! That was such an intense combat scene - he almost cried when he thought you got swallowed by the Giant of The Depths, then he watched you burst out of its stomach with all the other victims while he slashed through its neck. You and him - the two underdogs dealt the final blow. At this point, every other character was shipping you two together.

> "Let's go Army of the Third Lord!"

MC cheered and high fived him from the screen, while the rest of the group danced in celebration! Ah MC had already become one of his favourite characters of all time. He had already preordered the action figures, posters and a body pillow (yes the ecchi one).

"Come on Levi, won't you join the celebration feast!? Everyone is calling for you!"

Oh no this was Levi's nightmare. Loud and crowded parties - but it was you asking him to go, what if he missed out on an important secret ending. Just to be safe he chose a neutral option to see what you would prefer.

> ... I'm not too sure.

"Then...would you like to celebrate in private with me? I know a quiet place with a good view."

Levi almost fell out of his seat. It's happening. This is where he unlocks the hidden erotic ending. The blush on your face, the way you held out your hand for him to take - biting down on his knuckles in excitement.

> I'd really prefer that! Thank you!

You smile and nod, leading him by the hand to a nearby pond. The moonlight shimmered on the water, the reflections dancing on your skin as you both lay down next to each other. Levi could feel himself falling for you all over again.

"Look Levi, in the pond! The Gloriees are back! Aren't they beautiful?"

Levi looked at the pond in awe, glowing orange fishes swam around in the waters, jumping in and out. He watched the fishes swim around the hand you put in the water. It was like you and hundred Henries in the water.

> "So beautiful..."

"They are my absolute favorite....they have the same color as your eyes..."

Your hands reach up to touch his face, pulling him closer and Levi feels all his self restraint jump out the window. He tried to grab and kiss you but ended falling in the water with you instead.

"Oh? I didn't know I excite you so much... don't worry, it makes me really happy..."

You rose from the water, laughing and coughing slightly, your entire body now laid bare through the transparent white cloth. And if that wasn't already bad enough, he heard your moans as his character started going at it with you in the lake. You were so professional, so skilled at it...he thought he was prepared for it but he clearly wasn't.

Levi couldn't resist jerking himself off there and then, soiling his computer screen with light ropes of his cum. Now every time you announced you were going to shower, this image just popped into his mind, giving him instant boners at the most unfortunate times. And god forbid he sees you walk out of the shower with your hair wet - he'll have to rush to his room to hide that he's creamed his pants.

Satan - Bridge to Televithyia

"Satan, I will be waiting for you always. I know if fate wills it, I'll definitely get to see you again."

Satan cursed himself for this ending, almost chucking his phone at the wall. His magical powers no longer worked since the portal now connected him to his own world. And while you could use all your magic here, it would lose all power in his world. With both worlds needing help after a long and destructive battle, you both knew it was selfish to abandon your either of them - especially since you two were the only Great Guardians left.

> "I will find a permanent path between our worlds. I swear upon my life, MC."

Damnit this game had better not cut his story short. He was willing to keep going, trying to fix the playthrough so he could make a good ending out of this. Just you wait MC, he's not letting you go. A part of him wanted to go into your room and hug you, just to make sure you're there atleast in real life.

Satan rubbed furiously at his eyes as you waved him goodbye. His total playtime could rival Levi's. After gathering enough resources and magical knowledge - he could finally get started on creating the bridge. But to his pleasant surprise, he only needed to build half of the bridge, because there you were standing on the other - building your own path towards him too.

"Satan...is this a dream? Are you really back? Or is this another magical illusion again...?"

Satan blushed as you rushed to hug him peppering kisses all over his face. He had to physically get away from the game, walk around, and silently scream into his hands before he could calm himself down. Because he knew even better things were yet to come.

> "It's really me, MC. I'm sorry did I make you wait too long? I missed you so terribly...I have so many things to tell you about..."

"Come with me, we've been rebuilding our town. I know a place we can catch up...it's a special place I helped build with you in mind."

Satan follows you, your arms intertwined. You point out places to him - old renovations and newer projects. You tell him about everything that's been happening since he left.

How some endangered species came back to life, how the remaining smaller beasts were tamed and how the cursed were given peace. You stopped suddenly in front of a quaint little cottage.

"Welcome to my humble abode. I'm sorry I didn't prepare a separate room for you...because I thought you wouldn't mind sharing a bed with me..."

He blushes and grips your hand as you open the door to your room. He sees pictures of both of you on the wall and next to the bed.

> "You already built a home...with me in mind. *Smiles* Yet...the bed looks in it hasn't been slept in for a while? Did you get no sleep for the past few days?"

"Actually I haven't slept in the bed yet. I sleep on the sofa - I know it's silly but I really don't like sleeping alone in a place of two..."

Satan grips the phone tighter, as he makes his character push you on the bed. How sweet - you both get to enjoy it together for the first time. He climbs after you, trapping you underneath him.

> "Good thing I'm here now, MC."

He cups your face and trails his hands downwards, undoing some buttons on your clothes. You kiss his palms and tug down his collar.

"It's a pity though...I don't think we'll be using the bed for sleeping tonight afterall..."

He watched the screen, slack-jawed as I heard your sultry voice echoing through his room. He fell back on his pillow, hurriedly attaching his earphones. It proved to be more lethal. He could almost imagine you in his bed right now, kissing your way down his chest, while he fondles your bottom.

When you approached him later asking if he liked your work in the game, he had to cover half his face to hide the redness. He couldn't possibly tell you that he had downloaded snippets of all your moans and saved them to a secret folder. Or that he listened to them quite frequently.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey Miss Raven!! I wanted to ask what kind of events would you like to see from TWST?

Personally, I'd really like to get a Coral Sea hometown event!! I've been wishing for one ever since we got our first off-campus trip (to the Scalding Sands). It'd be such a different environment than what we're used to, not to mention a great opportunity to learn more about merpeople culture and the history between them and humans. Plus, we might get some really beautiful temporary merforms for the event characters ^^ Since we already got Mermaid Fin twins with the Octavinelle book 7 update, maybe we’d get a merform Azul SSR to go with a Coral Sea hometown event? Meaning… 👀 We’d most likely see… one of his family members…

Another place I'd like to visit is the Land of Crimson Long! Diasomnia brings it or eastern dragons up every so often (Malleus picks longs for Diasomnia's Halloween costume, Lilia mentions traveling to that place + wanting to retire there, Silver admires the story of the girl who took her father's place in the army, etc.), so I'd really like to go and experience it ourselves. It would be cool to meet a long and see how they compare to western dragons!! I also happen to love the original Disney Mulan movie, so I'm really interested in seeing how they interpret bits and pieces of that film into the Land of Crimson Long's lore.

I've also been thinking that it would be super fun if we had a mob student-centered event 👀 since there are so many beloved mob students, from Scarabia B-kun to Rollo’s aide and VP to the Ignihyde and Pomefiore mobs that may or may not have romantic tension! Like maybe the school newspaper is interviewing them or we follow a particular mob student through their daily routine. A mob student event would have sooo much potential… We could see the lives of background characters and how they interact with the main cast and how they react to main story events (like pre- and post-OB). This could be a great indirect way of showing us the development of the main cast too!! Like maybe we'd see what the mob students initially thought of their dorm leaders and then they make comments about how some characters have changed since the OB incident. We could even see mob students being more willing to reach out to mob students in other dorms over the course of the main story rather than just staying isolated in their own groups. I think something like this could really help make the school feel more "real" and organic ^^

asdkhlbasvoefacmayca ALSO IT WOULD BE FUNNY IF WE GOT LIKE A MOB STUDENT SSR + TWO MOB STUDENT SR CARRDS... The initial artworks featuring the mob students themselves while the main cast members are featured but in the background and blurry—to reverse the roles of who the "main" and the "background" characters are! Even funnier if they include a main cast boy as the event R and he has his eyes shaded out like he is a mob himself 😭 (It should be Malleus because he's the Final Boss + poster boy, he barely has any event Rs, and he even canonically appears blurry in photographs because of how fast he moves.)

I would call this theoretical mob student event B-Team or Side B…! The B stands for Background Character, but is also a reference to how Disney’s reserve team (or B-team) worked on The Lion King which ended up being so much more financially successful than the project their A-team was working on (Pocahontas). It’d be kind of like the mob students’ chance to show they can be as interesting as the main cast boys!

… Can you tell I’ve been thinking about this concept way too much—

[ollyissleepy]

𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬

summary: christmas without cookies? no, that's not right! christmas is nothing without some baked goods so you and your boyfriend decided to bake some! Also let's judge their baking and decorating skills! a/n: I'm finally home for holiday break, doing a ton of baking in order to prepare so it's so fitting (I love being the baker of the family around holidays/s) cw: maybe fome swearing? idk

series masterlist

sucks at baking, lowkey a god at decorating

"Alright, Rafayel, the cookies are ready!" You call out for your boyfriend, that was temporary banned from the kitchen.

"Finally! You should've let me help you" your boyfriend comes in to the room and stands next to you.

"And risk christmas without cookies? Yeah, no" you move away from the counter to make space for Rafayel. "Now do your job, Mr. Artist"

And he does. Who knew that having an artist as a boyfriend would have it's perks? All of your friends and family can't stop gushing about how pretty the cookies are and how they feel guilty about eating these small pieces of art.

"Here, I made two that look like us."

really fun to bake with (stuff the two of you bake comes out edible), refuses to decorate ('it won't change the taste, so why do that?' type of mf)

"They look… decent enough" Sylus says after pulling cookies out of the oven.

"It's all gonna come together once we decorate them" You look over his shoulder to check how they're turned out.

"We're not doing that." Sylus turns around and now you're face is centimeters away from his.

"What? Why?" You try your best to understand Sylus's position on the matter.

"Doesn't change the taste and it's the only thing that matters" Sylus shrugs.

"But with decorating they'll look pretty" you try your best to reason with your boyfriend as you were really looking forward to decorate them.

"Doesn't convince me." He ruffles your hair before walking away from the kitchen.

You end up sneaking in to the kitchen with the twins and decorate the cookies regardless.

surprisingly good at decorating, as long as he follows the recipe all is good

"Aww, Xav, you made this one look like a polar bear. So adorable" you look over at your boyfriend's most recently done cookie.

"And yours looks like Santa" Xavier smiles at you only for you to smile back at him.

The two of you were decorating the cookies for quite some time, occasionally eating the ones that didn't come out right. You pick up another human-shaped cookie, when you have an idea.

"We should make ones that look like us" you examine the cookie and the icing to make sure you have the right colours to pull it off.

"No." Xavier pics up a cookie that's shaped like christmas tree and starts working on it.

"Why?" You question him, focusing your entire attention on your boyfriend.

"I'd feel bad about eating you"

good at baking (it's that doctor skills or something), doesn't really care for decorating (would do a decent job if asked)

"And they're ready" Zayne says, pulling the last batch out of the oven.

"Wow, I fell like I just watched a magic show or something" you say, sitting on the counter. "Anyway, let's get to decorating" you jump off and prepare the cooled batch for decorating.

"Sure" your boyfriend helps you set everything up.

The two of you work together on different designs on cookies, chatting away on random topics. The cookies come out looking quite good. Yes, some of them came out a little funky, but that doesn't mean they're any less tasty. Let's just say these ones were reserved just for the two of you.

taglist: @leighsartworks216 @faeryminnyx @iloveboysinred @sstar-ggirl @bellagrayson-wayne

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[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

[redrayvenrr]

Y'all are sleeping on Sweets headcanons, so I am here to pick up the slack (which ended up becoming a long rant, and I'm not sorry)

-Sweets' bitch from another ditch Gael is a tattoo artist, y'all know Sweets is Gael's test dummy

Sweets is probably covered head to toe in the randomists tattoos. They got at least one full sleeve, 7 of them are incomplete, and maybe like 3-5 of them are actually ones Sweets wanted

But I offer you Nat coloring Sweets' tattoos to the point where Sweets buys her temporary tattoo markers for her birthday

-Essence Eaters live longer than the average person, right? So Sweets could easily be twice Law's age but is still making fun of him and calling him an old man despite him being in his 20's (imagine Sweets being born in the 70's-80's and Law 90's-early 2000's XD Sweets is very happy that ripped jeans are back in style)

I also imagine Sweets with longer hair because at some point they decided that going to get a hair cut every month or so is too much of a hassle for how long their life span is (and I offer you Sweets eventually needing to dye their hair grey to match Law's so they still look like a couple to non-attuned (I'm not sorry))

Also, remember that in the "getting patched up-" video Law says that "this doesn't look like one of the little scuffles you do for fun at the circle"???? Hello??? Street fighter Sweets??? Go kick ass Sweets you got this baby

-And scars?? I'd imagine they'd obviously have the few you get from childhood, and if we're going with street fighter Sweets, then they probably have a bit more than normal. Like on their knuckles and maybe one on their cheek/forehead/lip/ankles or something. But ya know, it's just for fun, and every once in a while, they're not addicted to fighting or anything

But then the fight with Joel? Joel was out for blood, and Sweets practically died. There are definitely scars, one of which I imagine being a scratch over their eye cause I'm edgy like that (plus it makes sense that Joel would use everything in his arsenal to take down the all powerful Sweets which means nails and playing dirty).

But there is definitely a bite scar since he drained Sweets' lifeforce, which is why they were so concerned about Law getting scarred after the train incident. They don't want him living through that pain they feel every time they see their own bite scar (and ya know they can't live with the idea of hurting Law so "please at least don't let my mistakes scar")

-And speaking of the train incident Law stated that Sweets is strong as all hell and I'm here for it and I need them to crush a watermelon and Law looses his shit (buff Sweets for the wiiiin)

-Sweets' heartbeat was already a comfort for Law, but after Joel, you'll often find Law pressed against their heart. Cuddling on Sweets' chest is a must. When Law has a bad day, Sweets immediately presses him against their chest. Hugs often are one of Law's arms wrapped around them and his other hand press against their chest. Law sitting in between Sweets' legs so he can lean his back or shoulder against their heart

-I think it would be funny if Sweets also had an accent (like Bitish or Scottish or some shit) and everyone enjoys watching Nat struggle with her own accent because she'd have the weirdest mix of her father's southern, her mother's average american, and Sweets' (maybe a bit of uncle desdes)

(And while we're talking about Nat, when are we getting her dog!??! Please, I need the household to just become Spy X Family)

-Can we talk about how good Sweets is with kids? Where did you pick that up? Cause I just always imagined them as an orphaned only child? Like I physically can't see them with a family before Law and Nat, but maybe that's just me

(Maybe they grew up in foster homes and were always the older sibling of the group? Idk)

-One order of Sweets being good at the guitar and singing, strumming their guitar while Law plays the piano and singing Nat to sleep please

Sweets being in a band as a teen in the 80's/90's sounds like good blackmail for Gage to abuse (especially the hair) (but like imagine them doing a killer rift then proceeding to sing Def Leppard)

-I think their job would be like a metal worker or glass blowing, and I don't have an explanation as to why

-Sweets honestly feels like the most responsible and mature person out of all the characters they're just shit at taking care of themself and, say it with me: ✨️traumatized✨️

-I also imagine Sweets as a male, but that's my own problem

But imagine Nat finally calling them dad, and they just combust

Plus Sweets feels like one of those dads who drops a piece of lore then never speaks of it again (whereas Law is the hands on hips, legs apart dad pose (you know the one I'm talking about))

The idea of Sweets being "one of the guys" with Law's coworkers gives me life (because yes Love/Newbie is also a male cause if Desmond isn't just a pure gay man then you're wrong (honestly like 90% the listeners are male in my head)idk)

[thr0wnawayy]

Dissecting the Jaku General Hospital Disaster and MHA's failures with complexity

Ahhh, The Jaku Hospital Raid. The point where MHA's story went from it's ever increasing decline to throwing itself right off a cliff.

(boooring)

I think most can agree this event was a travesty writing/plot wise, but how about all of those in regards to MHA's setting. Well that's what I'd like to discuss.

Point 1: A Goal Without a Plan is a Dream

The plan summed up is "fuck around and find out".

The heroes came in to uncharted enemy territory relying soley on brute force, broke a bunch of equipment that did God knows what (for all they knew, it could have been lethal*).

Then they proceed to shoot themselves in the foot by getting too cocky, despite knowing that Shigaraki was undergoing some sort of procedure. X-less shoots a machine that for all he knew could have been a bomb or generator. Why?, because he had a "bad feeling".

* I'm talking potential toxic fumes, gas leaks, accidental combustion, etc

Now let's focus on the evacuation effort...

Oh.

Oh FUCK!

That's it!?. A couple hundred dozen heroes and a select handful of first and third year's.

One of whom, mind you, is strictly combat oriented by the (extremely niche) capabilities of his quirk. What can Bakugo actually do here?, in the worst case scenario (being Shigaraki's awakening) he's limited to one arm and two legs (maybe his mouth?). That will further drag him down due to his quirk relying on both hands to be viable.

And we see this!

Moving along.

Another thing they didn't count on was outside help. The moment Gigantomechia arrives, it throws another curve ball. With the only reason for their survival being Dues-Ex-Machina Best "Dirty laundry" Jeanist.

They failed in the end anyways because a large portion of the LOV+ the MLA escaped.

Point 2: Organisms Used for Nefarious Means

I will keep this section brief

Nomu are in my opinion one of the biggest wastes of potential MHA produced. Going from being unnatural goliaths capable of striking dread into the hearts of even the long standing No1 Hero, to being undead cannonfodder that heroes can beat up so the audience doesn't question their ethics or (lack of) morality.

It is a sheer miracle that the Nomu didn't leave the heroes worse for wear. This is again more due to Hori relying too heavily on "convince" and not enough on in-world solutions, but I digress.

The Nomu should have been the biggest threat and again, the heroes failed to account for this. They had no way of knowing, sure.

But they should have accounted this early on. What about the civilians, evacuating them isn't enough as seen in Hosu. I mean they were walking into a lab and they had dealt with Nomu facilties before (Kamino)

Were there inpatients during the raid? and if so were they evacuated or did the Heroes say "fuck it." Given what eas allowed at Central Hospital I wouldn't put it past them.

Point 3: A civilians point of view.

I want you to imagine for a moment: You're a civilian and your whole life, you've been told how wonderful heroes are and how they'll always be there, after all they're heroes.

Sure, they may dictate what quirks are "in" and maaaybe they have a tad to much influence over your average person but they're licensed and your not.

Why question it?

Then one day everyone and everything you've known is just blown away. Heroes barge into your house and begin scrambling to get you and your family out of your house before something happens, they dont tell you what.

It is a sloppy and hurried effort, your life's belongings tucked into a small carryon if you're lucky and some plastic bags if you're not. They tell you it's probably only temporary and you'll be back to normal shortly.

Then the nearby Hospital blows up. You and your family can only watch as heroes flee from the scene, some rising into the sky, others sprinting like hell. You barely make it out alive yourselves.

Within minutes everything is gone and it's not until the fightings iver that you hear it. You hear people (you think it's your neighbors) pleading in pain underneath the rubble, a little girl can be heard sobbing somewhere in the torn landscape.

Everything's been torn upside down.

And the heroes, the poeple you've depended on your whole life...

They quit. They say they need to find another line of work.

Is that what you are to them!?. Just another line of work, a number on a tally!?.

Worse still. The NUMBER ONE HERO has just been exposed by his presumed to be dead son for being a child beating, wife trafficking, eugenist with an implication that some, if not all of his children were made against the mother's will.

The current Number 2 murdered a man for the "greater good" (what even is "good" anymore).

The people who were supposed to protect you are quitting in droves, leaving vast portions of city to fall to villains and are refusing to take any responsibility for their negligence and poor planning that made an already bad situation worse.

Oh, also the single most dangerous villain in history has broken out of Tartarus and multiple prisons have been destroyed leading to further destruction.

This is then followed by a "blackout" period. Heroes give zero insight into what they're doing or what their plan is. Mutant discrimination is running wild, support gear is flooding the streets and any protests are being silenced.

So I'll ask you again, how do you react?.

Point 4: Hubris

Over all the entire operation was a complete and utter failure. I see alot of people giving the civilians flack for their strong reactions, but honestly I can't blame 'em.

The issue is Hori paints the narrative to minimize the damage towards the heroes. (For example he characterizes one of Enji's critics as a snobby shut-in surrounded by trash bags). We only ever see the worst aspects of the civilians because Hori has consistently failed to delve into anything beyond surface level emotion/themes.

Eri is a good example, she should be a very different character. She should be allowed to show her trauma and all the "ugly" emotions and baggage that come with that, we as the audience should see the lasting impact being killed repeatedly has had on her.

For example, Eri should be very adverse to touch. A problem that started with her father and was worsened by Kai.

She should be expressing her trauma through play (think reenacting her "surgeries" on dolls)

She should be distrustful and even cold (especially after Mirio abadoned her).

Her inability to smile might stem from a lack of viewing her self as equal to others, viewing herself as more of an object than human being.

But do we ever see this. No.

Because Hori doesn't let us. He simply as a writer, cannot appropriately handle or even seem to grasp complexity and every part of the story suffers because of it.

With the civilians it's no different and as a result Hori whether intentionally or not, twists the narrative to make them seem unreasonable.

This doesn't help when from what we've seen a shocking amount of MHA's main cast are drenched in hypocrisy. The only experiences we've had with the civilian population is through Shigaraki's backstory (bad) Toga's parents (very bad).

It's just not a good look.

Conclusion:

Over-all, the Raid and by extention the war was a mess in every aspect and I personally think the story would have been better off doing something else.

The time wasted here could have gone to any number of things (how about fleshing out the non existant world building) but I honestly believe that it would have been subpar regardless, it's all to apparent Hori had no idea where he wanted the story to go. That can be seen as far back as everything post MVA.

Just, what a mess.

[hybbart]

Hi! I absolutely adore your work, I was wondering if you have any advice on getting your ideas and au's out there? Sometimes it feels like no matter how much you post/try to connect with others it's impossible for any posts to break out of the little tumblr interaction bubble

Well, I'm not really the person to ask this, cause any popularity I have at any point is almost entirely dependant on my current hyperfixation, and I'm not one to care much about it.

Mostly I have a good enough appealing and safe art style and good enough sense of humour that's easy for people to like even if they don't especially care about the content, and draw often enough that I don't get forgotten.

My current stuff is fanworks, which have a built in audience, so you're always going to be seen as long as you tag it properly. Especially if you're actively participating in the fandom. I also have the benefit of being obsessed with a rather popular duo like ranchers.

Basically, the notes I get are very predictable and temporary, and not really based on any intentional work. I'm good enough for casual followers to pay attention to as long as it's stuff they recognize. I'd say like 80% of my notes are from casual engagement who aren't really going to do much besides a like and maybe reblog just because they were told they have to reblog artists or they're using the site wrong.

I guess what I mean to say is, having those notes is nice and appreciated but at the end of the day I also have a pretty small little bubble. There's just a wall of passers-by around it making it seem bigger than it actually is. It very quickly dissipates when I draw anything out of the ordinary that I can't put a bunch of popular tags on. So, I'm not really the person to ask about that sort of thing.

That said, I guess all that might sound a bit cynical to most people even though it isn't meant to be, so I guess some actual tips might be in order.

Skill. Art's about communication and expression, which like anything is better done with a larger toolkit and knowledge. And also especially casual engagement just enjoys things of higher quality. Raw ideas aren't usually enough to get people to understand or care unless they care about you. To be blunt, sometimes people just aren't good enough or are too niche for a general audience. That's nothing to be self-conscious or miserable about, it's just something you have to be self-aware about enough to accept that you're not gonna attract people who aren't invested in you. If that's something you want to change by becoming better then you have to intentionally do so, talent is a lie.

Passion. It's obvious when your heart isn't in it regardless of skill level because art is about communication. And passion's what drives us to do better, it's hard to develop and spend time on work you don't really want to do. If you're enthusiastic other people will be more likely to join you in your enthusiasm. If you don't care or are burnt out people will notice. If you're doing things just to get attention people will notice. You have to want to create what you're creating.

Good ideas. To be blunt a good idea that interests people is just going to be more popular than a bad one that doesn't. Sometimes something that interests you doesn't interest a lot of other people, that's why you gotta make peace with caring more about quality interaction over quantity, and being more self-aware.

Making friends. Finding people who are as enthusiastic as you about something is going to go a long way, and people who aren't as enthusiastic are more likely to become enthusiastic or support you if you're friends and you can annoy them in their DMs with 3 hour tangents about your favourite thing. Honestly once you have someone you can do this to you stop caring about the other stuff. Art's about communication, like I said. Participating in events is a great way to make friends, but so is just reaching out to people you like.

Being friendly. This one's pretty simple. If you're a dick people aren't going to take the time to get invested in your project even if it interests them.

Being accessible. This covers anything from literal accessibility to having clean directories and tags, to anchoring/themed extra engagement. 'Do you have any questions about [character]' is going to get more engagement than 'feel free to ask me anything about my au' even if there's less questions to ask because it's less broad and puts less of a burden on the asker to come up with a prompt. It's easier to be broader later on when you have already put out a lot of information and people are more invested.

Being concise: Basically very few people are going to read this goliath of a post compared to a short, information dense, clear post. When I post art I try to avoid too much text, because I want the art to be the focus of the post. When I post writing I put it under a cut so it doesn't consume someone's dash and write something clearer above. The reason writing is going to get less engagement is because it takes more time and effort to engage with than a picture. People who aren't already invested aren't going to sift through 10 paragraphs of loose info. This goes for art, too. One piece is going to catch the eye easier than 10 unrelated sketches or a long form comic. This doesn't mean don't make this content, but be smarter about how you present it to take into account how it engages people.

Tagging things. Don't abuse tags or put irrelevant tags, but finding out what tags are frequented that apply to your art helps. There is definitely still an inconsistent limit of tags that tumblr's search actually pays attention to, so put the most important ones first. I usually put warnings first and foremost and put personal categorization tags last. Being consistent with tags lets people find stuff on your blog easier and makes you show up in a search more frequently, so you're easier to find for people who use tumblr in different ways.

Time of day. This one's finicky to figure out and can change but if you post when there's more people online... well, more people are likely to see it. Apparently other people follow like hundreds or even thousands of blogs and don't even look at everything on their dash, so for those types of people posts might as well not exist unless it's at the top of their dash. This also helps when popping up in more popular tags' most recent when people are actually looking them up. This doesn't affect posts as much as people think but it does enough to be visible. I frequently post things at like 1 am when no one's on so it doesn't get notes until later on and through notifications.

anyways, i hope something in there helps. If not, well... crap.

[animatedjen]

What's some stuff you're really hoping to see in Jedi 3 (either narratively or gameplay wise)?

Oh I'm so glad you asked this 🙌 Because I have THOUGHTS.

Gonna put everything under the cut so this doesn't clog up the feed with a wall of text (whoops.) Some of these ideas I hope to create concept art for, after I replace/fix my very cranky thirteen-year-old tablet. Anyway let’s start with gameplay!

Gameplay!

Maintaining Cal's abilities: Survivor handled this beautifully by keeping many of the skills learned in Fallen Order, instead of undoing Cal's growth from the first game. I think it'll be trickier to keep this momentum into Jedi 3 (the skill tree has gotten so large!) but story reasons could push Cal towards new types of abilities instead of bloating the current options.

More synergy between the lightsaber stances: I like all the stances in Survivor and it'd be A) disappointing to lose any of them, but B) overwhelming to add MORE combat styles. Being able to flow between the stances more fluidly would be fun though, with specific combos unlocked depending on which two are active together. Now if Merrin lets Cal borrow her knife-staff and he puts his lightsaber on the end... MAGICK SABER PIKE GO.

New or adapted movement mechanics: Maybe the ascension cable is replaced with a force ability (Force Ascend or Force Leap for an extra vertical boost?) or is "upgraded" to connect between two anchors, letting Cal create his own temporary ziplines.

Replayable missions: This could be explained in-game with a Force Tear or Cal's own interactive echoes. But I'd love the option to experience story missions and boss fights again post-game.

Customization!

This is a bonus section because Merrin should get new outfits. Haven't decided how to make it part of gameplay yet, stay tuned.

Cal's cosmetics in Survivor are mostly cool, some just funny, but overall a huge improvement from Fallen Order (yes, even though we miss all the poncho designs). For Jedi 3 I'd love to see more story-centric cosmetics that tie into the communities and people Cal has met along his journey. A Legacy outfit (incorporating pieces from his three Jedi masters), an Anchorite-inspired outfit (with arm tattoos), a bounty hunter outfit (the prize after defeating the Brood), etc. Maybe a Bogling outfit? No not made from Boglings; it looks like a Bogling. Hang on lemme fix my tablet—

Narrative + Gameplay!

Explore Tanalorr: Right now this sparkly, strong-in-the-Force, temple-carved planet is a huge mystery box for Jedi 3. There's a few directions it could go - more High Republic history, another civilization (the Nihil? someone new?) lurking in the shadows, or Force-related secrets hiding below the surface. Each Jedi game has followed Cal's exploration of an ancient culture, and I think Tanalorr can be a focal point in that journey.

Defeat Sorc Tormo and the Haxion Brood: I mentioned this in an ask earlier this week, but I so want a resolution to this fight against the Brood. Especially since roaming bounty hunters would threaten the Hidden Path. Maybe Cal breaks back into Ordo Eris, or hunts down Sorc Tormo on another planet. Maybe there's a Force-only stealth section?? Maybe a big multi-wave boss fight? Maybe Caij is there??? (no she doesn't get an invite to Tanalorr)

Dark Side Force Slow: The fact that Cal's Force Slow ability kept its red-stained aura, even in the Survivor post-game, is great. I love lasting consequences and ludonarrative harmony, yes yes yes. Really hope this isn't fully resolved by the start of Jedi 3 (potential timeskip makes it tricky but whatever) and the ability receives some sort of healing through Cal finding his way out of the darkness.

Narrative!

Timeskip?: I vote no, but I think Jedi 3 will vote yes, likely to age up Kata and allow Tanalorr to be more developed. But that also means Cal and the Mantis Crew goes through character development without us (boo) or remains emotionally stunted until we get there (also boo?). I'm more comfortable with the five year gap between FO and Survivor than I used to be though, despite "missing out" on big character moments, so maybe it'll be okay. Maybe. 👀

The Hidden Path builds a home on Tanalorr: This works until it doesn't, whether from outside pressure or the threat of a spy within. I don't think Bode's fears should necessarily be validated, but I do think the risk will keep Cal on edge and hurt his ability to trust (both others and himself.) It'll drive decisions that strain his relationships and be a source of conflict for part of the game.

The Mantis gets semi-retired and then reinstated: I just love the mental picture of the Mantis parked somewhere cozy and decorated with cloth and lights and a hideout for Kata. It's become too small and high profile to use for gathering the Path, but when the plot gets going, they're gonna need her back in action.

Three main antagonists: The Empire, an unrelated third-party with their own goals (Nihil or someone else), and Cal's own demons. The first two drive the external conflict, the third drives Cal's inner conflict and the story's themes. More on that at the end.

A memorial garden: It's designed by Pili and filled with native Tanalorrian plants and trees, from which the Anchorites hang cords and windchimes and bits of colored glass. Cere's saber was buried beneath the largest tree. Cal plays her hallikset here when he's too troubled to meditate. If we want to be mean, this place gets damaged during a battle in Act 3. If we want to be less mean, this is the place that doesn't get damaged during a battle.

Kata has some sort of student-teacher relationship with Cal: I'm torn on her being Force sensitive: this is a story about Jedi and "guide her through the darkness" is pretty telling given Cal's own darkness at the end of Survivor. But Cal helping Kata (and Kata helping Cal) can happen regardless of her Force sensitivity - it would just look different. This is a soft answer because I'm still exploring ideas around it BUT admittedly the angst levels would be higher if she is sensitive.

A battle against the shadow self: Look this one is cliche. I don't care. I want a huge cavern in the depths of Tanalorr where Cal gets to fight a dark version of himself that switches between all his former enemies. If we're making a video game here let's physically beat up our darkness. Let's have it not work. Let's bring Cal to rock bottom to remind him that he is more than his darkness and he doesn't have to do this alone. Let's go back to that same fight later and then we finally win.

There's more to explore story-wise and I will eventually, but I'm overall not concerned about Jedi 3's narrative. Respawn has been very intentional with their writing of Cal Kestis and the Jedi series so far (despite some last minute changes to Survivor) and I love this character and this story because of all the great work they've created. I really hope they finish this journey the way they want to. That being said—

How should Jedi 3 end? Should Cal die?

No: I'll argue Cal dying at the end of the trilogy completely undermines the entire lesson of Survivor.

Cal wouldn't stop fighting the Empire: The Cal we meet at the beginning of Survivor definitely wouldn't. That Cal also watched countless friends die to that same fight and saw two different Jedi fall to their passions-turned-obsessions that led them to the dark side. He may wrestle with remnant obligation or a bitter apathy, but he's definitely not as single-minded as he was before.

Cal would sacrifice himself to save the Path: Yeah, he probably would. Cere did exactly that during the Siege of Jedha when all else failed. But maybe the Path could be protected without Cal needing to be a Weapon - a lesson Cere also wanted him to learn.

Another way: I think the Koboh abyss (that separates Tanalorr from the rest of the galaxy) could be destroyed. I don't know if Cal would choose to destroy it, but I think the Empire would: if they can't reach Tanalorr it's the next best thing.

Now Cal has to make a choice: Leave (continuing the fight alone) or Stay (shepherding the Path for an unknown future.) It doesn't mean they never find a way back to the known galaxy, but it'll take time. Enough time for a New Hope to appear.

Whatever your opinion of the Sequel Trilogy, the line: "That’s how we’re gonna win. Not fighting what we hate. Saving what we love." is not only a complete thesis of Star Wars, but fits really well with Cal's journey. He's become very good at fighting. He wants to save everyone in Fallen Order, and he can't. He still wants to save everyone in Survivor, and they refuse him. His Fight has made a difference (again, Cere says as much) but it's clear this can't be Cal's final answer.

Choosing to protect the Path, choosing to trust the Force, choosing a home. That's what he's been fighting for. I love Cal Kestis because he isn't the chosen one and he isn't going to save the galaxy. But for his family and his community, he saved their galaxy. It's cheesy but I don't care, and you know Greez and BD would agree with me.

-

Okay this got so, so much longer than I expected. Bonus points if you made it all the way down here haha. I've had a weird assortment of concepts and ideas over the past year but never wrote them down in one place - until now. I've said it before but part of my hyperfixation with the Jedi series is because it isn't finished yet and Survivor ends on such a gut-wrenching cliffhanger. Whatever happens to this series, I'm slowly finding some sort of catharsis through all the edits and photomode shots and half-baked concepts. Thanks for tagging along ✌️

[eri-pl]

Let's discuss:

What do you think: what happens to the Valar after Arda breaks (or whatever it does, anyway it ends somehow)?

(Or should I say "what will happen"? But for fictional end-of-the-world present tense feels more natural to me. I'm not sure why.)

Both in the terms of "what Tolkien intended at various points of his career" and of "what makes the most sense with the Legendarium". With whatever version.

Let's ignore Morgoth (and Sauron etc), assume they've been dealt with in some way that works (if you prefer this including "Sauron is good now", ok, why not) and that no other Ainur got depressed because of it.

Whatever happened, we're discussing just the good guys now. Because it is a mess anyway so let's try to narrow it down for now. It's still a very difficult question, I think.

So, the Second Music. Where is it sung and is it material? (well as much as music is material anyway, but I think you know what I mean)

On one hand, the Music of the Ainur was clearly not material (because matter did not exist), and its being a music feels somewhat like an approximation. And took place (it's not a place but whatever) in the Timeless Halls.

On the other hand, Men are said to sing in the Second Music (and maybe the Elves too, unclear), so… will it be material? Or does this mean "the spirits of Men"? Will it be more of a literal music than the first one, or not? Where will it be sung?

(If we simply copy and paste a solution from outside the Legendarium, it still leaves a lot of questions, depending on how much do we copy)

(Also, Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth is not an answer. It is a question (and no, I don't mean a "the answer is yes" question (though this too), but an open question. It's a discussion of two characters, not anyt sort of explanations, and it leaves more questions than it answers. but if you want to elaborate starting from this text, you're welcome.)

But yes, even with those disclaimers, "the Second Music immaterial; spirits; it reboots Arda into Arda Healed" seems like the most fitting solution. Especially if we ignore the whole "and then Feanor reboots the Trees" thing which… for me the important part of that is "Fefe gets over his issues", and that we can keep.

And generally, what do the Valar do afterwards?

On one hand, in Ainulindale chapter (or was it in Valaquenta? nvm) it seems like their being on Arda is temporary. On the other, with Arda Healed… It's still Arda, in a way.

So do the Valar still govern it (I need to remind myself that Manwë having a burnout is not canon), or… what? Do they live there, or in the Timeless Halls, or are they free to move between those (and somehow the Elves and Men don't get jealous about it).

And if the answer is "the Timeless Halls effectively get moved to Arda" – ok, this solves some questions, but why? why. All the other Ainur were not interested in material existence. Why would this be a thing? It seems quite out-of-the-blue and random.

I'd love to see your thoughts (plural "you", though I'm sure some will have more intense thoughts than others :) )

[ilguna]

Before I get in on the fun, I'd like to say 1. the theme of your celebration is flawless an 2. You deserve 3k and so much more, congrats!!

Now if it's not too much to ask I'd love to request a Finnick one, with a platonic reader where they're each others favorite person since their young age. Instead Annie the Capitol decides to take reader and try to get infos out of her that could be used against the 'rebels'. When the rescue mission takes place, they're capable to free her as well but she's not stable at all (not mentally though). Every detail as well as the ending is up to you. Thank you!

(I hope I didn't go against your rules with this one)

If you decide not to write this, not a problem at all, love all your works either way.<3

☼ see you again (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, needle, torture, blood mention.

wc; 2k

—

When Finnick finds out that you let the Capitol torture you in order to keep some information from them about the rebels, you think that he’ll kill you himself. Especially since you promised him that you wouldn’t let it get to this point, in the chance that you weren’t able to get rescued.

It wasn’t supposed to be a possibility, though. 

The day of the reaping, Finnick stopped you before the two of you were meant to be on the stage in front of the Justice Building. He took your hands, squeezed them, and said, “Mags is going to volunteer, and you are not going to do anything about it.”

It was an order, and if it weren’t for his tone and the look on his face, you would’ve thought he was joking to some degree. He watched the way your mouth opened, and then shut. What could you say to that?

“She wants to protect you and Annie.” He clarified, thumbs rubbing over the back of your hands. “This is her sacrifice. Librae has agreed to be the female mentor, too. I want you to stay here, and be safe.”

“When have I ever purposely put myself into danger?” You’d asked him. 

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” He pressed his lips together. “Once we get taken out of the arena, we’ll come for you. And on the chance we can’t, you do whatever you have to do to stay alive.”

At the time, it seemed ridiculous that he felt the need to tell you this. Obviously, you would do whatever it takes to get back to him. You can’t live without Finnick, and he can’t go more than a few hours at a time without checking in on you. He’s your best friend, and he has been your entire life.

It took a lot of convincing from Mags to get him behind the idea of keeping you in District Four, where you were going to be safe. Rather than in an arena with a bunch of victors that would stop at nothing to go home to their own families. He didn’t like the thought of separating the two of you so he could go into the Quarter Quell.

Once she got it into his head that it was going to be a temporary problem that would be fixed as soon as the arena went down, he could support the idea… a little. That didn’t mean he liked it.

Still, he promised that it wouldn’t be long, and you promised that you’d save yourself at every cost. It’s funny how you both have become liars without ever intending to. 

It would be easier to tell the Capitol what they want to know now, considering that half of the plans have already been executed. If it weren’t for the fact that you know every detail there could possibly be to know. If you let one thing slip, the doctors will be all over you, and they won’t stop until they’re sure they’ve milked you dry.

It won’t be that different from what they’re doing at the moment. They’ve been extremely persistent, up until today. You’re not sure what made them stop, but the schedule they had was specific and well thought out. They’d come by every hour of the day to do something to you. Whether it be questioning, injections or plain torture, they would not leave the room.

You’ve been thinking that they’re resetting. Maybe they’re trying to give you a false sense of security by letting you assume that you’re safe and they’re not going to come back. And then later, when you’re sleeping, they’ll come by with worse instruments than they had before.

You won’t crack.

The details you know about the rebellion could make or break it. The tactics on how District Four were going to interrupt and fight back against the Peacekeepers are delicate. In order to spread it to the other districts to make them successful, they selected a few trained individuals to send beyond the fences as a messenger. 

The combined information between you and Finnick about the Capitol Officials could tear their image and plant doubt in the citizen’s minds. If they can’t trust the important people to protect them, then who's to say they’re any better than the rebels? They can’t. It could convince them to switch sides from the inside.

You know all the spies from inside of the Capitol, giving out their names could be catastrophic. You know all the places the rebels were planning on targeting and how that would help them later on. Hell, if you tell the doctors that you know their own battle strategies and have passed it onto District Thirteen, they might just slaughter you on the spot.

So, while you could tell Finnick that you’d save yourself first, you’d never actually do it, it’s an impossible task. If you did, it’ll cost thousands of people their lives and their freedom. As opposed to just you, acting as a sacrifice, knowing full well that you’re circling the drain and it’s only a matter of time.

You can’t go yet, you have to see Finnick one more time.

The lights suddenly flicker. Your face twists, dragging your eyes from the white tile to the ceiling. It’s bright, hard to look at for more than a couple seconds. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the Capitol’s power malfunction before.

You place your head back on the pillow, and watch in stunned silence as the lights flicker, struggling to stay on, before they fail altogether. The room falls into darkness, the hum of electricity gone. You stare into the black, hands reaching for the bed railing, hearing the metal of your handcuffs clink against it.

A few feet away, the door to your room unlocks.

Your breathing picks up, bracing yourself for anyone that might come in. This is it, the trick that they’ve been winding up to play on you. Why else would the lights go out? Now you can’t see them coming.

You’re not sure how long you sit there for, waiting for them to open the door and come out of the blue. It’s got to be more than an hour, and by then, you’ve calmed down a bit. It’s not going to be any different from the last hundred times. You can hold on.

The sound of boots on tile makes you sit up, beams of light shining through your door’s window, only to be taken away. There’s hushed voices, as if they’re afraid of being too loud to attract attention. You watch as the light returns, a shadow of a figure appearing in front of the window, before your door slowly begins to open.

You swallow thickly.

You’re blinded instantly by the beams of light. You go to raise your hand to block your eyes, the cuffs digging harshly into your raw wounds. You have to turn your head away, cheek pressed against your chest.

“We’ve got one!” A man shouts.

The brightness isn’t directly pointed at you anymore, so you’re able to open your eyes to see what’s happening. The room has become crowded, with several people dressed in military gear holding guns. You stare at them wordlessly, not knowing whether or not this is a trap.

Another one comes to the doorway, the barrel pointed toward the floor. “(Y/n) (L/n)?” 

Your eyebrows twitch. “Yes?”

He nods, “Let’s get her uncuffed and ready to be transported to the hovercraft. (Y/n), do you know where the other victors are being kept?”

You shake your head slightly. “No, they could be anywhere in this building.”

He doesn’t say anything, leaving the room. The ones that are left come to try and get you free, but every time they adjust the cuffs for better leverage, you begin to bleed again. The cuts and sores that litter your skin are easy bleeders. It’s because they haven’t been allowed to heal.

They realize this quickly, trying to be gentle. You have to tell them that what they’re doing doesn’t even compare to the amount of pain you’re put in each time you have to move. This makes them stop altogether.

“Are you able to walk?”

“Barely.” You murmur, “I can’t do it for long periods of time.”

“Gale, will you stay with her while we—?”

“Yes.”

They leave the room, but they don’t go very far. With neither of you talking, you can hear every word they say out there. You look like shit, you’re covered in wet and dried blood alike. And you should be dead by now.

“Is he safe?” Your voice is scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is FInnick safe?”

“Yes, he’s in District Thirteen.” Gale tells you.

You hum, sitting back. That’s all you’ve wanted to hear since the feed showing the Quarter Quell went down. They cut the districts off right around the time Katniss shot the arrow into the forcefield. You didn’t see anyone get rescued from there, so you thought that they were here with you, in the Capitol.

“I want to see him again.” You say. “That’s all I want.”

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything back, as the others come into the room. You watch as they pull out a collapsible stretcher. You grind your teeth, imagining all the pain you’re about to be in.

—

“Just hold on, (Y/n).” The nurse tells you, prodding at your elbow. “We’ve got to find a vein.”

You throw your head back against the pillow as she presses her thumb into the skin, tears appearing at the corners of your eyes. You thought that the journey getting here was unbearable, you didn’t think you’d have a team of doctors waiting to help you in District Thirteen.

They’re already talking to you about taking skin and blood samples to run tests. They think that surgery might be a good idea for you, and the physical therapy you’re going to need to be able to walk properly again. It’s like a merry-go-round that you can’t get off of.

First it was causing damage, and now it’s trying to fix it.

“Where’s Finnick?” You groan out between your teeth. “I want Finnick.”

“He’s on his way, I need you to sit still.” She tells you. 

“It hurts.” You cry, tears running down the sides of your cheeks. “I can’t—”

“Can we get morphling, please?” The nurse calls, “We’re going to do everything we can right now to make you feel comfortable, (Y/n). Until then, we need you to relax.”

The idea of relaxing is so ridiculous that you can’t help the pained laughter that bubbles out of you. It’s not funny for long, it dissolves into sobs that aches your chest and makes it difficult for you to breathe. For a second, you think that it’d be easier if you were dead.

“(Y/n)!” A voice shouts.

Your eyes pop open as you fly into an upward position to see who the voice belongs to. It’s coming from the other end of the room, but you’re not able to see with the nurse being in the way. The needle is pushed through your skin, she lets out a sigh of relief and moves to the side.

On the other side of the room, you see him. You see Finnick, his bronze hair tangled at the top of his head, dressed in the same grey jumpsuit that everyone but the medical staff is wearing. 

“Finnick!” You shout.

He begins to run to you, arms out in your direction. The nurse has to jerk in front of him at the last second. “Carefully. Her condition is delicate.”

She moves out of the way, Finnick takes your hand in his, squeezing tightly. The tears begin to blur your eyes again, bottom lip trembling. 

“What did they do to you?” He whispers.

“I couldn’t tell them the truth.” You say. “I couldn’t ruin it for the rebels.”

“So you would let them kill you?” 

“No, not if it meant I would never see you again.” You look away. “But I can’t be the reason why more children go inside of an arena.”

“You wouldn’t have been.”

You look him in the eyes again. “I couldn’t take that chance.”

—

this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on October 31st, at midnight!!

+ thank you anon!!

[yanderes-galore]

A Enki concept from Fear And Hunger, please?

Sure! I have a feeling this is going to be similar to the other Enki thing I wrote so I will also link that here. Here's my general thoughts on Enki.

Yandere! Enki Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Demeaning behavior, Violence, Murder, Delusional behavior, Blood, Necromancy, Forced companionship/relationship.

I feel like Enki is one of the most intense yanderes in the long run... out of the main four characters, of course.

He's slow to obsess, but once he does...

He's beyond insane and delusional.

Enki is often reclusive, only ever paying attention to his studies.

He's rude and closed off, so to get close to him you have to try hard.

He doesn't usually enjoy working with others unless he can benefit from it.

He's a confident and proud man, most of the time these traits are seen as arrogant or condescending.

You'd need some serious patience dealing with him.

However, traversing these dungeons are better in numbers.

You may simply put up with him because you need him to traverse safely due to his magic.

Enki typically keeps his relationships transactional.

When he first meets you, he sees your partnership as temporary.

You two are just meant to travel together.

Is it really that surprising to learn he's just using you for protection?

He has a tendency to dismiss concerns and doesn't typically display fondness or gratitude.

You put up with him for his knowledge...

But it turns out things may get worse between you.

For a long time on your travels, Enki is going to be rude.

He's a disturbing yandere to have, but so difficult to get.

Considering what he does later, it's for the best honestly.

In terms of what might make him obsessed faster, I'd say aiding him in both combat and knowledge seeking.

It takes a long time for Enki to be obsessed over someone regular compared to a Dark Priest! Darling

He just sees you like a business partner, not necessarily a friend or anything more than that.

Although, as you two travel together, he gets used to you.

It's hard for him to form complex relationships.

To become a Dark Priest he had to kill his sister just to learn necromancy.

His sister was probably his closest connection.

In that case it's understandable why he struggles putting a name to what he feels towards you.

It's not like he's scared of personal connection...

He just doesn't think of it often.

Not until he's around you so often.

You two experience life or death situations often.

The few times you get breaks usually leads to conversation and reading.

You actually might learn a decent amount from Enki, which is probably a small way you two bond.

Enki respects your wish to learn.

He himself wants to find enlightenment, so he respects you eventually.

That respect is what ends up creating his obsession.

Just enough interest to make him realize you may be important to him.

He is one of the darker yanderes as he is not hindered by morals.

He conducts all sorts of taboo magic and doesn't mind murder.

Which means he probably won't hold back if he snaps.

Out of all of the main four (Cahara, D'arce, Ragnvaldr, Enki), Enki is the one most likely to kill his obsession.

He wouldn't do it for no reason.

In his eyes, if you ever tried to leave him once he's obsessed, he feels the only way to keep you to himself would be killing you.

For him, that makes sense due to the whole necromancy thing.

That alone makes him one of the more intense yanderes, even if he takes forever to obsess.

You'd be more likely to get one of the other characters obsessed with you before Enki.

The only one just as intense (according to how I write them) is maybe Le'Garde with his attempts to force you into god hood.

All playable characters are pretty bad, but Le'Garde and Enki may be the worst.

Enki's obsession would be subtle until he notices you wanting to cut off your partnership.

Maybe you want to leave upon entering the golden throne room.

That or you wish to abandon the quest somewhere else.

Early on, Enki may accept this and just leave the party.

But by the time he's obsessed, by the time he's followed you around and studied beside you, by the time he finally feels attached...?

The moment you wish to leave him...

That would be when Enki snaps.

It's no longer hidden smiles or oddly fond gazes.

Enki would shove a dagger into your gut with no mercy while telling you how much he adores you.

He'll tell you that you two are bonded now, you're meant to be.

He won't let you just walk out now.

His gaze is fond even as you cough up blood, the essence pouring from your neck as he twists the dagger.

As if it's some sort of punishment.

Your independence, and quite possibly your sentience, ends there.

If you left Enki, he'd kill you...

Just to make you a ghoul for his own amusement.

This way, he can keep your companionship.

You may not be as warm or even speak...

But you'll be his.

By the time he's attached, that's all he cares about...

He just wants you as his... Even if you're a ghoul made by his hands.

[i-heart-hxh]

So I can see Gon wanting to reunite with Killua but feeling too guilty to initiate the reunion. As for Killua, as much as I'd love to believe he wants to be with Gon again, a part of me feels like he's letting go of their promise to stay together in exchange for staying with Alluka because she needs him more. We as the audience know it's temporary, but do you think Killua feels the same way? Maybe I've read too many fics of him trying to move on and leave his feelings for Gon behind (literally every reunion fic is Killua actively avoiding Gon and Gon has to go out of his way to find him and make up it's sad)

Hi!

First off, in canon I think it's likely they'll end up reuniting as a result of the plot bringing them back together, so in that case I don't think either of them will have to initiate it, necessarily, or if one of them does it'll be because they have a good reason to.

Putting that aside, I agree that Gon likely let Killua go with the idea that Killua will get to decide when they reunite (because Killua was likely the one who initiated the separation/had more reasons to separate and because of Gon's guilt about what happened between them), and that Killua may try to push himself to move on from his strong attachment to Gon. I think he'll fail at that over the longer term, though, especially once he heals from what happened a little more and finds pushing those feelings away isn't as simple as he hoped. (I also don't think he'd ever want to move on from his friendship with Gon, it's more the deeper feelings that I can see him trying to run from.)

If we're assuming the plot doesn't bring them back together, I could see them staying in contact lightly throughout being separated--and then gradually, as they both heal and think over what happened, increasing contact and missing each other more as they talk more until one of them finally is ready to initiate reuniting in spite of the anxiety around it. I also could see them eventually needing to be in the same place for some reason (Hunter-related event or something with their mutual friends, perhaps) and that kind of forcing a reunion--kinda similar to my "plot reasons" idea, but more mundane.

I do legitimately think both of them think of the separation as temporary, though, with the caveat that Killua knows he and Alluka are in danger from Illumi and he's devoted to protecting Alluka from that, so naturally that adds some uncertainty on his end. Even with all the emotional complications under the surface, the way they left off was pretty light outwardly and emphasized seeing each other later and staying in touch, and even with everything that happened I truly don't think either of them are done with the other even internally.

There would likely be some awkwardness/anxiety around initiating a reunion and how to time that (though again, I think canon might forgo that by giving them a plot reason to be together again), but that doesn't mean it wouldn't happen. I think they'll miss each other a lot during the separation and eventually something would push them over into initiating something even without any plot forcing them.

I do think it's Gon's "turn" to show Killua again how much he values him (and thus give Killua a chance to finally open up about his feelings), but I also don't think it's fair to see it as super one-sided. Even with all the pain and not being sure what to do because of the uncertainty in their relationship, I believe Killua wants to be with Gon, and his reasons for avoiding him would be more about not feeling ready than legitimately not wanting to see Gon.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Okay - here's a Riley request! Is he still emetophobic? I know he's been trying to overcome it, at least with respect to being able to take care of Madix, and I'd love to see Madix motion sick or something similar where the illness is temporary and not contagious, and Riley deciding that he really wants to sit with him through the entire episode, taking care of him. And he's just holding it together and holding down his anxiety until the end, and he's both proud of himself but also emotionally drained from keeping his emotions in check for so long. So hopefully this works with where they are right now - thank you!

Thank you Lis! This was totally inspiring! It did take me a long time to get the motivation to post it though lol. I wrote this like a day after you sent the idea!

--------------------

“Do you think we’ll see a real polar bear on this trip?” Riley asked excitedly as he boarded the train with a misleading name. Madix chuckled and followed along behind his giddy boyfriend, shaking his head. 

The Polar Bear Express—though unlikely to show passengers a glimpse of the white-furred animal—was still a wonder to experience especially during Christmas time. The evergreens sparkled with frost and the sky wore the colours of crystals. Unfortunately, Christmas was also the busiest time, meaning their tickets placed them in one of the last train cars. In hindsight, Riley should have known that the train ride through Northern Ontario held the risk of upsetting his boyfriend’s delicate constitution when it came to travel. 

Madix had successfully gotten sick from cars, planes, and boats; why not add a fourth mode of transportation. Neither he nor Riley thought to consider the consequences. They heard about a romantic Christmas train ride and jumped on board.  

Riley squeezed past other passengers to get to their seats. “I call the window seat!” He planted himself happily in the blue velvet-lined chair. The interior of the car was simple and spacious. It dared not distract from the beauty of nature. “Maybe we can switch on the way back.” 

The train began with a lurch, reminding the boys of the coffee they drank to wake themselves up that morning. Beginning at 8am, the ride took them past mountains and frozen waterfalls, ending where they began at 8pm that night. 

“We’ll probably see moose,” Madix remarked, taking the pamphlet from the pocket of the seat in front of him. There was plenty of leg room, though he still chose to press his knee against Riley’s thigh. All morning, Riley had not let go of his hand. They were stuck together like packing snow. 

The boys shrugged off their jackets and settled in. For the first two hours, they were content to look out the large window. The landscape was crisp and sharp, that was until everything began to blur together. The icy blues melted into a monotone white as the locomotive sped by. 

Their bodies swayed lightly from the movement. Riley found the train relaxing. He liked its gentle hum, the faint clicking sounds of the wheels on the track, and the soft rocking as they traversed the snowy area. They still hadn’t seen a moose, but he kept his eyes locked on the outdoors. 

Madix could not say he felt the same. The train’s friendly interior lulled him into a false sense of safety. But soon he had no trouble remembering that he was inside a giant, chugging, metal box. Perhaps a moose or a beaver did in fact wave to them, but he would never know. Everything became a blur. His eyes could not keep up with the speeding sights. He swallowed a bout of nausea and closed his eyes. 

Riley perked up when they came upon a flowing river. The water looked frigid, but pleasant enough apparently for the black bear that stood with all four paws in the stream. It wasn’t white, but it was still a freakin bear! He tapped Madix’s arm. “Babe, look, look! A bear! Did you see it?” He looked back at Madix with a massive smile. 

Madix jumped out of his queasy daze. He peeled his eyes open, squinting from the light that bounced off the snow. “Mmh?” he mumbled. He was startled just fast enough to see a micro expression of disappointment on Riley’s face. 

“A bear…it’s gone now.” Riley pouted. “Were you sleeping?” 

Madix sat up straighter and blinked hard. “No, I just had to close my eyes for a second.” The lump in his throat told him that he wasn’t going to be able to hide this. His palms were clammy, and his head ached. The breakfast he’d eaten hours ago churned in his belly. “I’m feeling a bit nauseous.”

“Oh.” Riley took his hand off his boyfriend’s arm and pressed himself up against the window. 

Madix swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, honey.” 

“N—No, no don’t be,” Riley stuttered. He brushed a strand of Madix’s hair behind his ear. “You’re pale. What can I do?” 

“Nothing. I’ll probably go find an empty chair and wait it out.” 

Riley hated that answer. Nothing. There was nothing he could do? And Madix’s plan was to weather out the nausea alone? He couldn’t let this happen again. After all he had done for Madix in his time of need, this was easy, right? 

He grabbed Madix’s hand before he could leave their seats. “No, stay. Please. It’ll be okay. I want to help.” 

“Are you sure?” Madix scanned Riley’s expression, looking for cracks. “Because that was bullshit about waiting it out.” He exhaled shakily. “I really think I’m gonna be sick.” 

As if to test Riley’s resolve, Madix burped into his hand. He let out a groan and folded in on himself. He swore he could feel the wind rocking the train car, threatening to push it off the tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t even open them when he felt Riley’s hand on his back. 

“I’m staying right here.” 

Madix hiccupped, causing his shoulders to jolt. “Ugh…you don’t have to, love.” 

“Hush now,” Riley said firmly. He reached into the seat pocket to grab a bag. “Look, they even provided a barf bag for just such an occasion.” 

Madix chuckled and took the bag from his boyfriend. He opened it, making the loudest crinkling noises that let all the other passengers know he was sick. “This is not the scenic trip you were hoping to have.” 

“Maybe not, but at least I’m by your side.” 

“Is your plan to be so cheesy that I throw up immediately and get this over with?” 

“Is it working?” Riley regretted his reply when Madix belched wetly into the bag. Strings of saliva dripped from his open mouth. “Shit, baby.” 

“I’m okay.” Madix did not look up from the depths of the hellish barf bag. “Just keep talking. I think it’ll help us both.” 

Riley’s heart chugged in his chest, like a train struggling up a mountain side. “Oh gosh, Mads. I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “This is like when you ask me to talk dirty and I say something stupid about underwear.” 

Madix would have laughed at the specific memory that Riley was referring to, but his tongue was flooded with bile. He gagged and filled the bag with stringy ropes of vomit. The train car spun in his peripheral vision, but Riley’s voice remained constant and strong. 

“Oh dear, babe.” Riley rubbed his boyfriend’s back, unaware of the bite force he exerted on his teeth or the bouncing of his leg. “Deer! I hope we see some of those on this trip. Once you stop puking, of course. I can’t believe you missed the fucking bear. Isn’t your family from the east coast? You’re supposed to have fishermen blood in your veins. What is this motion sickness nonsense? I think you’re faking it.” 

A gush of sour vomit surged past Madix’s lips. This wasn’t so bad, he thought. Riley could be a comedian. He could almost enjoy the senseless drabble if it wasn’t for the gut churning sensation in his belly. 

“Speaking of underwear!” Riley said, still in his hushed whisper. This wasn’t so bad, he thought. Madix was looking better with every heave. “I wore the ones with otters on them today. Seemed like the closest thing to polar bears. Except, they’re wearing astronaut suits because, you know, otter space.”

Finally, Madix could give him a real laugh. The vomiting tapered off. He sniffled and chuckled at the same time, forcing him to clear his throat and wipe the tears from his eyes. “God, Ry. I needed that.” 

“Yeah, that was a lot of puke. Good job.” 

“No, I mean you.” Madix crumpled the top of the bag in his hands to keep the contents inside. “Thanks for making me feel better. You did a good job as well.” 

One of the train workers came by with a garbage bin for Madix to toss the used bag. They gave him water and tissues. His eyes were teary from vomiting, but he looked much better than before.

Riley was only just coming down from the adrenaline rush. His hands were shaking, and a cold sweat was drying beneath his shirt. He slumped back in the chair and let out a wavering exhale. “I think it’s my turn to close my eyes for a second.” 

“Yes, honey, rest,” Madix said softly. “You did good.” 

They fell asleep with their bodies falling onto one another. Madix’s head found the spot between Riley’s ear and collar bone, and Riley’s head came to rest on top. 

[thranduil-aran-edhil]

OK, so. Finished my first run. Gotta admit I'm not 100% satisfied with some endings. BUT NO BIGGIE, THAT'S WHAT HEADCANONS ARE FOR, DON'T WORRY I GOT A PERMIT (i'm a Dungeon Master) SO LET'S GO, HC TIME D&D STYLE BC WE STILL GOT 8 LEVELS TO GO: (spoilers for BG3 and Descent Into Avernus going forward)

They'd all stay together and continue to go on adventures, the 9 of them, Tav, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Gale, Astarion, Wyll, Karlach, Halsin and Minthara. Found Families stay together. (I do enjoy the polyship aspect too, so just throwing it out there)

There's an exchange you can have ingame with an NPC in the Guild and Tav will say the party's name is Wormskulls and I love it. I do also love Tadfools. Maybe they are Wormskulls to the general public and Tadfools to their close friends and allies lol. After the tadpoles are gone I think it would be very useful for them to commission earrings enchanted with Rary's Telepathic Bond. Less invasive than a mindflayer tadpole and just as useful. Also symbolic for Gale. I think the earring would have a pendant of a skull with a serpent coming out of its eye and being bitten by the teeth.

OK SO, my girl Karlach. I haven't romanced her yet, gonna do a run for that. But she's not dying on my watch. She's going back to Avernus, BUT YOU CAN BE SO SURE THAT THE MOMENT THE WHOLE PARTY IS READY WE'RE KICKING DOWN ZARIEL'S DOOR AND KICKING HER ASS. Or giving her her sword back and possibly turning her back into an Angel, something that whatever party of adventurers that managed to save BG and Elturel in Descent Into Avernus CLEARLY didn't do, it would probably not only nullify Mizora's contract with Wyll bc Zariel is now a completely different entity, if you decided to redo Wyll's contract with her, but also would give us a better chance of Zariel taking the infernal engine out of Karlach herself. Maybe turning Wyll into a Devotion Paladin? (more details about Zariel here)

I'd ask Jaheira and Minsc to take care of Scratch and Albie (owlbear cub) because the Hells is no place for pets. Even very brave ones. Maybe Halsin's "ending" fits here, taking care of the pets and the kids while everyone goes to Avernus, they leave him with a Sending Stone. And when they are back he's there waiting for them. 🥺

If we saved Duke Ravengard and broke Wyll's contract. (or didn't but are hcing that we broke his contract by defeating/unmaking Zariel) what does that mean to Wyll? I think it be super cool to go more in depth about it. How does he reconsile with his father? Does he accept to be reinstated as heir and becomes the Duke right away or does he think it's best for his father to continue his role a bit longer? Does he even want to be Duke or does he think he can serve the people of the Sword Coast better as an adventurer? If he turns into a Duke, what sort of benefit does that give an adventuring party?

Finding something to make Astarion able to walk in the sun again I've seen people talk about the Ring of the Sun-Walker as if it's from the 5e books, it's not, it's homebrew. HOWEVER, any freaking DM with a heart would create something similar for their player to continue playing without being afraid of dying instantly bc of the sun. The Cloak of Dragomir is canon to the Baldur's Gate videogame universe, so it be a good tie in, but it would be a temporary solution at best since it penalizes the player quite harshly, Strength: -6, Dexterity: -4, Intelligence: -2, Wisdom: -2, Charisma: -4 and Vampire Regeneration divided by 3, to 1 HP per 3 rounds. That being said, I wouldn't make it TOO easy to obtain as there are other ways for Astarion to be safe, like the Darkness spell. It would be interesting to see him (and Tav) struggle a little bit more, really feel the sacrifice Astarion made by rejecting the Ascendance even after they find something to combat the Sunlight Hypersensitivity.

Astarion's biological family would be something very interesting to explore in the future. They would be Elves themselves and are most likely still alive, we even have a surname thanks to people analyzing the shit out of that tombstone: Ancunín. As a DM I wouldn't wait for a player to decide to search for these people, I'd throw them at the players! Strolling through the Upper City in a quick shopping trip? You hear a loud gasp, things clattering and bumping into the ground, hurried desperate steps and then someone sobbing "Astarion?? Astarion is that you?!" What do you do?

Visiting Waterdeep and Morena Dekarios. This woman deserves to see her son again, and Gale deserves to finally go back home and see his mom without the burden of an ancient artifact lodged in his chest and a goddess wanting him to kill himself. Would he stay? I'm not sure, he went through an entire Odissey and maybe now home, although pleasant, is not as comforting anymore. Waterdeep is the element of Gale of Waterdeep and he's not him anymore. I think this would be a great premise for a roleplay focused arc. Gale is invited to the Blackstaff Ball for the first time since Mystra shunned him, the Wormskulls are famous now, The New Heros of Baldur's Gate (Gala Episode anyone? All of them SLAYIN with their fits? Poor Halsin totally out of his element). He's once again welcomed into the society of the Lord Mage of Waterdeep and his peers seem to have all but forgotten he was ever a pariah. Is that what he wants?

And Waterdeep has many opportunities for more adventure.

A paranoid Beholder underground anyone?

Kill the Lich Queen (CLASSIC D&D). Vlaakith IS FINISHED. TIME TO SPELLJAM AND BE SPACE PIRATES YALL. Lae'zel deserves to see this through to the END.

Shadowheart goes through another journey to find out if she wants to truly embrace Selûne or maybe become another thing entirely. Selûne should reach out or Isobel and Dame Aylin would help her out. Or maybe Shadowheart is tired of being a Cleric and following a god. But change and inconsistency is something that is under Selûne's portfolio, she's often followed by those who are lost, so I think she'd find more than fitting for Shadowheart to be a cautious and weary follower of her.

Your Tav's personal stuff. The Dark Urge sounds amazing and I can't wait to do a run with them, but I think most of us got very attached to our Original Characters Do No Steal. So I'm excited to see what people come up with for their Tavs. Otessa, my Tav, doesn't know her dad was a pirate, he never told her, so I expect that his past will come bite him in the ass and she'll have to help him out of that pickle.

When the party has reached level 17, Gale has access to the Wish spell. And I really do think they'd use it to get rid of Astarion's undeath. As a DM I wouldn't let Gale simply get the spell outright, he'd have to research it. Not only that, I don't think Astarion would be totally free of undeath, some remnant of it would linger, he'd probably turn into an Elf that needs blood to survive and is forever locked out of the Call of Arvandor or something. But he'd be mortal and would be able to walk in the sun without that ring, cross bodies of water, wouldn't instadie from pointy wood objects in the chest etc. (i'm writing a little one-shot about this, should post it soon)

[barcaluvv]

Lamine yamal x reader You and Yamal, the bond of friendship, which no one could ever separate, whether together or not at all, but as they say, a man can only kill his happiness because of feelings, but this time they both separated their wires that held many years of friendship.

One night, everything snapped and huge feelings came out of you both.

You were talking, you were sitting on the very bench, talking about irrelevant things, because you were both thinking the same thing, and if only you knew that, everything would be different. Yamal was teasing you with the book he was holding tight in his slender arms,grabbing your pens away as you were just out of class, second shift, laughing loudly and not caring about what others thought but yet not a single soul was seen. You felt like the while city was sleeping, as your paths will slowly diverge any moment from now. When you calmed down a bit Lamine said something condescending, his voice shaking not from cold but from fear "Can I tell you something?but dont be mad okay?" He was admiring your hair slowly but precisely fluttering in the wind, he looked at every line that your smile leaves, all that persuaded him to say what he was going to say now. "Listen y/n" he grabbed you by your palms, creasing your hair, tucking every strain of hair behind your ear, slowly and softly. He clings to you, his voice barely above a whisper "I feel so guilty sometimes... like I'm such a burden on you. I want to be perfect for you." he sniffles, looking down at the leaves falling from the branch.

"What are you trying to say?" U get worried. Tears form in his eyes as he continues "I'm scared too, ... scared of losing you. You mean everything to me." he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself "I just want to make you proud and happy, but i cant continue like this, i wake up everyday thinking about how my emotions tremble against your will, not being enough to express them to you, i love you y/n, u have every right to be mad at me and leave, and end our conversation forever but you cant run from the feeling of guilt" he sobs uncontrollably, burying his face in the cold current wind, that was trying to remove a tear from his cheeks ... I need you so much. he clings to you tightly, his entire body shaking from the intensity of his emotions "I don't want to lose you."

"Now maybe i did threw 7 years of friendship away in 5 minutes of speech but, ive waited for these few minutes my entire life now I'd have to break our contact." Said lamine with tear drops falling off his eyes, down to his sweatshirt. This all happened too fast, you're literally out of words but this sentence felt powerful. "Maybe we are soulmates after all".

Lamine wipes off his tears, trying to act tough not understanding your words. "What? What do you mean?".

Lamine, u lean closer feeling his heartbeat acrobat as u get to him.

"The truth is, ive been meaning to tell you that too, but also many thing more such as that my family is moving back to Portugal, this is my last goodbye my love". He sits in shock, feeling his empty-handed heart break in pieces, watching it flow like ashes.

He stands up, kisses your forehead soflty, not leaving any hope after it.

He pulls you tightly,holding you for seconds, treating them like years not wasting any of them, atleast that's not wasted besides the love potential we had.

He pulls away, giving you a bracelet, which says "Why not this universe"

that was written on the black buttons, like he was prepared for this. "Let this be a remember, it might be temporary but my love for you wasn't." He starts walking away, the streets carried him off, and poof suddenly our love too. Two months later, you found out he burned himself down. You were devastated, it took you so many months to put yourself together after this. 6 months passed, you heard a loud knocking on your door, it's better if you didn't open them, just like that I found out that the police was holding a paper, that was apparently held by Yamal when he died. The letter said "when you quietly told me that I won't be able to do without you. X your Lamine." That was supposed to be shifted the same night to Portugal. With a bracelet next to it.