#that part was just... really anticlimactic

[assaries]

the ending of monster pissed me off so bad

[ieidolon]

now that i'm playing dragon age: veilguard i understand hbomberguy so much better. think i could probably do a 3.5 hours long video called "dragon age: the veilguard is FINE and here's why"

[blackjackkent]

Slowly discovering the freeing power of the words "I know this is bad but I'll fix it in editing."

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

and what are you going to do if you overshoot the demand (maybe limit per person too to help avoid scalping, amirite?) and there are a bunch left. are you going to add them to the site (for what price exactly? the same? lowered due to the low demand at the event? or higher do to the limited supplies? any way the resale prices are going to be insane. you're going to have to limit the amount per person lest we encounter a fad 15 year anniversary scalping incident again!) or are you going to give them away. for free, you say? hm. very interesting. it's almost like the structure of capitalism itself is inherently flawed/predatory.

[capaldiera]

sleep no more is so annoying bc i feel like it could have been a pretty fun kinda experimental episode if they hadn't tried to do a twist at the end but they did and it just wound up being confusing. and you can Tell they were going for a super horrifying epic "blink" "forest of the dead" kind of vibe but instead it's just like. huh?

[larnax]

finished the ot2 half party challenge:

yeah i ended up pulling out the hired help to do roque at lvl 40. i ended up doing the darkling second try at lvl 43 with no hired help so in hindsight i should've switched the orders i was just really scared of malicious bite

honestly. very anti-climactic. sucks that the tower is locked behind hikari's story because i think she would've probably been a big challenge. ot2 in general is easier than ot1 just because of the introduction of almighty damage but i absolutely should've kept hired help banned because roque took about five minutes with an attack that could destroy his entire train unbroken.

i unlocked all the other jobs in case i needed their skills or i got tired of not having staff/dagger coverage but i ended up not switching once or even using support skills other than evasive maneuvers. that was mostly because without grinding i was pretty low on JP but sans saving grace or insult to injury or patience or snatch or cover there aren't that many support skills that are really worth it.

[yanderenightmare]

does bakugos protectiveness mean he won’t get intimate with reader? like does he see them more as like …. a fragile pet/person to look after?

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, immobilization, yandere, captive reader, quirkless reader, grief, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, hypochondriasis adjacet, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Despite all his lingering stares, the way he washes you in the bath and holds you at night, and the bulge you feel press against your ass—he hadn’t taken it further, and you’d started thinking he never would. His worries for your health might be so restricting he believes an act such as sex would be too exhausting and harmful for you. Sometimes, on his more rigid days, he doesn’t even allow you to walk on your own. So you wouldn’t put it beyond him.

But then, one night four months in, it comes. Creeping in slowly. You’re left wondering about it for a moment, lying there in anticipation as his large hands roam more than usual—over the plush of your thighs, up the small of your waist. The bed shifts as he slots himself closer—you think you might feel his heart thunk at your back. His breath comes with wet heat against your ear, his words even more so, drenched in arousal, yet oddly restrained, “Can I… touch you?”

He's so hesitant about it. Something in his voice, something so careful, makes you feel you can take it as an actual question and not one of his usual orders in disguise. Even so, you hesitate in return. But after a minute of contemplation, you decide to take advantage of the offered choice. Whispering back a firm and trying “No.”

You await his reaction warily—the possibility of him ignoring you is still very much plausible despite his caution.

But then… his touches recede to their designated places—to their normal hold, to the one of a simple dragon guarding treasure and nothing more. He releases a pent-up breath, then takes another deep one before settling.

“Okay.”

It seems somewhat anticlimactic. You’re not entirely sure you believe it. But as you wait for him to go against his own word, he doesn’t do anything but hold you like any other night, and then, a while later, you hear him snore.

You suppose it was expected. If your theory is correct and he doesn’t want to put you through the strain, it would only make sense he definitely wouldn’t do it if you were going to fight back on top of it. And as he doesn’t use the sedatives without deeming it utterly necessary, you can’t see him regard his horniness as a need that would justify its means.

Which can only then mean he wouldn’t touch you like that without consent. Perhaps the only saving grace in it all.

Or at least that was what you thought…

You’re both in the tub. You’d since allowed his thorough bath rituals without fighting back. Those times you’d bothered in the beginning, he’d used a sedative each time and left you as limp as a puppet. And even though you didn’t enjoy having any part of it, going through with it consciously was better than the alternative. And so you sit there, letting him lather and rub—trying to ignore the fact that his callused hands are twice your size and that he’s entirely naked, paired with the occasional feeling of his cock bumping into your lower back.

“There’s a lot’a health benefits to it…”

There he goes again. Health this, health that—constantly. He’ll most likely never let up on convincing you, no matter how much you declare you don’t need any of this inane insanity he calls protection.

“Sex, I mean…”

Your ears draw back at that. What… what did he just say? Your skin tightens around you, crawling with shivers even in the hot water. Health benefits… Sex…

You don’t like the sound of that. You thought he’d decided the means outweighed the need—his need, which is, in fact, not a need at all but a selfish desire. Similar to your desire to drink coffee or eat cake—both things you’re no longer allowed to do since it’s not compatible with your health regimen. Sex, as was decided, is also not compatible with your health regimen.

“It improves the immune system, lowers the risk of heart disease, decreases depression, makes you sleep better…” he mutters behind you. “Also… it’ll help you settle.”

“What are you talking abou—” Your outcry is cut off by the needle deep in your arm. The liquid enters you quickly and taints your bloodstream shortly thereafter. You watch him pull it out and place it gently on the neatly folded stack of towels beside the tub. Your breath is forcibly subdued before it has the chance to flare with the panic rioting your chest. The only protest leaving is a wasted “No…”

“I’m sorry…” he apologizes, wrapping his thick arms around your softened body before it could collapse forward, pulling you close while pressing his forehead between your slumped shoulder blades. “But this is for your own good.”

You don’t know whether he’s trying to convince you or himself. When he subjects you to all his other methods, he does so with impenetrable justification—as though religiously, sanctioned, with a rigid belief of what he’s doing. But now he seems more torn—as if he’s sullying himself with dubious intent, not entirely able to hide from his own ulterior motives.

He carries your limp body out of the bath in a fluffy towel. Your eyes are half-mast and blurry at times, but still, you can see it, written plainly on his face—guilt. No, not of the tiny needle hole he’d made in your arm—that shame is more fleeting, more of a grit-teethed all’s fair in love and war. This look on his face was different from that—weighted with a burden he still isn’t sure if’s worth it.

He lays you down softly on the bed, then takes a step back, swallowing thickly.

His shoulders look braced from what you can tell when looking down at where he stands at the foot end—overall uncomfortable in his stance, looking as though he doesn’t want to be there, as though he shouldn’t be there. Maybe he’s changed his mind? Maybe the guilt has fostered regret? Maybe he won’t go through with it after all?

The bed sinks to accommodate his weight. You feel it swallow you from beneath as if you’re drowning in the sheets. You feel heavy enough for it to be true—heavy like lead, unmovable. And yet, Bakugou moves you all too easily. Parting your thighs as if they didn’t have any gravity to them whatsoever, placing them atop his own as he shuffles in close.

You want to scream, but you can only cry silently. You feel so betrayed—that’s what gets you most. Familiarity in what you’d always known about how to live had been stripped away, leaving you to Bakugou’s rules and regulations—which weren’t much to find comfort in. Still, you had felt you could in the least trust in them, in his mania, in this unshakable need of his to keep you safe and healthy. But now he was breaking that trust.

“You aren’t comfortable with me yet. That’s the issue,” he says—insists on it. And it’s very clear now—he doesn’t even have himself assured. You can see it on his face, behind his eyes, racking his brain, grasping at straws.

Your skin ignites with goosebumps as he trails up both your thighs—his red stare rimmed with unease, brows cinched, looking at the place between you. His mouth hangs slightly open—you hear the shallow breaths seeping in and out, thicker and thicker with heat.

“We need this.”

That’s different. We have never been a part of it before. It’s always been you first and foremost and then him as an afterthought. Your chest churns again with the same sensation of back-stabbing—this isn’t right—he’s breaking all the rules! He said he wouldn’t—he promised he wouldn’t!

You squeeze your eyes shut with all the might the drug allows you when you feel his gritty finger filter through your slit. His warmth tells you he’s leaning down close, then the sensation of his mouth wrapping your nipple, soaking it in spit, even hotter than the steaming tub from earlier.

“I want to make you feel good—I need you to be happy,” he moans around the nub, sucking it into a pretty pebble before doing the same with the other—leaving them both glossy. “To smile. And laugh. You aren’t healthy if you don’t want to live.”

You can feel the bed shake beneath you, and you can tell from the tremor in his voice it’s from jerking himself—teasing your entrance with the other hand. You wince when his fingers enter you. The bathwater makes it easier—one digit first, testing you out, then quickly followed by the sting of another. It’s a stretch—after all, you haven’t done it in the many months since arriving here, and even before then, you’d been busy with work. You don’t remember how long it’s been, but it’s far long enough to make it feel both a little painful but also way overdue.

It's embarrassing how quickly you come undone. Two fingers barely doing anything but fill you out, and you’re already throttling them and cumming—wetting them with slickness of your own.

He pulls them out shortly. You don’t want to open your eyes, but the stillness that befalls the bed tells you everything of how he’s inspecting them with that god-awful doctoral leer in his eyes.

You think you hear the sounds of suction a second later—yes, definitely slurping.

You want to crawl in on yourself and die.

The hand returns, settling flatly upon your pelvis—a fat thumb nuzzling your pearled clit. And then something grazes the puffy lips below it—softly and slowly, ever-gently. Something hard. Something big. Something bulbous.

“This will hurt a little. But then you’ll feel good,” he cares to explain as if you’ve never done this before. It’s awful how soft and sweet he makes his tone, masking the brute—but the room is too quiet to hide behind, and you hear it anyway. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

Liar.

Liar, liar, liar liar liar!

He nudges against your entrance to find purchase, a request soon granted—though it requires much more than what his digits did. A cry cracks from your chest and his movements halt. But that’s somehow worse—the slow burn is all but torture—you wish he’d rather do it quickly, in one full motion, like ripping off the band-aid. But no, he eases in, and the tear feels everlasting until it nudges right and tight against your womb.

“Fuck.” His whole body labors with his breaths, trying hard to restrain himself—and you suppose that’s something to be thankful for. “Fuck, that’s so nice…”

He, as well, hasn’t had a fuck in ages. Since before he met you.

He’d been too much of a wreck after the funeral when the realization had finally settled. Unfit in every sense of the word. Put on mandatory sick leave.

He had a month of binging. Too many hookups in poor taste and even shittier circumstances—sloshed at exclusive clubs, taking home the first person he could play pretend with. It was easiest with his fans—they remind him of him—how they fawn over him so wholeheartedly, cute nerds all too eager to let him use them.

Kirishima had beaten him half to death at some point, fed up with his bullshit—told him he was tainting his memory. His words hit harder than his fists. Set him straight. He’d sobered up, and then he’d gone back to work as the new number-one hero.

He had touched neither bottle nor another human being since. It had been all business.

And then he met you.

He hunkers down—his lips and nose brush along your neck in small kisses. “I love you,” he confesses under his breath, circling your clit under his thumb while his other hand dwarfs your hip tenderly. It’s the first time he says it out loud like that. It doesn’t mean much to you, or no, it means you want to twist away—but to him, it’s as if he’d said so under the climax of a romance, or maybe an even more dire intimacy than that, like the last breath he’d take before death, coated head to toe in blood, knowing he’d never be able to see you again.

All previous reservations are thrown as he pulls back and starts rocking forth slowly.

“Ah fuck—” he hisses. “I love you.”

The patterns drawn on your clit get messier—so do his kisses—sloppy and getting needier. The hand on your hips has to grip the mattress instead, supporting him while his breaths turn gruffer.

“I love you,” he keeps repeating, and you keep your eyes closed.

The bed rocks softly beneath you like you’re lying on a saucer swing—making you a little nauseous, and yet you feel it coming anew—the sweet tingling from below, simmering beneath Bakugou’s thumb.

Then his lulling picks up, veering on thrusting—just hard enough to make your skin softly clap upon meeting. It’s just enough friction to make you jerk again, seizing up and shivering on his cock. It jitters shortly, stutters, and then stills—and you feel it fill you—swarm you—hot and wet and spreading.

His chest rests on you—heavy and plump with brawn coated in sweat mixed with bathwater. It’s suffocating, yet you breathe fine, albeit in shambles, recovering from the toll.

“I love you,” he says a final time, breathless.

And you don’t know… something about the entire thing feels as though he’s talking to someone else.

♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[kitkat13001]

☆⋆｡𖦹° 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝙻 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

>> l lawliet x reader

i feel like he’d thrive with a pet. he’s never had any exposure to animals so it’s definitely a new experience for him. i think the unpredictability of a cat would suit him. its irregular behavior keeps him on his toes, given his tendency to analyze patterns. he’d be very affectionate with a cuddly cat 

i think he would also like the loyalty of a dog. he needs stability in his life 🫶 and a cute little puppy that’ll grow w him is just perfect for him. plus, im sure it’d force him to exercise a little more (couldn’t hurt him tbh) w all the running after it he’d be doing

he watches true crime for background noise—if he actually sits down to watch it, he’ll figure it out in the first five minutes (if he didn’t already know the case outcome himself). he needs to multitask in order to genuinely enjoy it, so he usually puts it on while he cooks or cleans so he’s not dedicating his full focus to it and proceed to act like a mom watching a telenovela 

*gasp* “they found the body in the lake!”

“hmm…that was anticlimactic.”

“‘breaking news’? i had already figured that out three episodes ago.”

“oh, i worked this case!”

his cooking is shit at the beginning. you have to be patient with him. he goes in thinking bc he’s so smart it’ll come out good no matter what. (this is the case with a lot of activities he’s now discovering due to the new lifestyle). he is wrong. 

HOWEVER…he does improve with time. he’ll follow a recipe to perfection and study it until he gets it right. the only downside is his food tends to be on the more plain/bland side, so if you like strong flavors i’d keep seasonings handy. he grew up in england, what do you expect? he does excel at making sweets and baked goods though, those tend to come out more flavorful.

for all his previously normal ‘secrecy’ he’s actually a chronic oversharer. because you’re bonded for life now, he feels the need to tell you everything, all of the time. his brain runs a mile a minute and he voices pretty much every thought he has. 

“does the fan seem louder to you?”

”no, ryuzaki. go to bed.”

“but we’re not doing anything tomorrow, so we can sleep in. there’s no need to go to bed right this instant.”

“…”

“that won’t be the case next week, though, we’ve got that birthday dinner to attend.”

“…”

“dinner sounds nice enough, but i loathe the thought of shopping for a present. maybe—“

“ryuzaki. go. to. sleep.”

“hmph.”

similarly, he has a tendency to notice your patterns (he calls it a “detective’s habit”). he’s freakishly accurate with it too. sometimes it’s useful, like when he stops at the store to pick up your favorite snacks and hygiene products when he knows your time of the month is approaching. however, sometimes it’s…just weird

“darling, do you need to use the restroom?”

“um…no?”

“really? interesting. your diet hasn’t changed the last couple days, and you usually use the restroom at approximately this time for about 10 to 12 minutes every day.”

“…what the fuck?”

even though you’ve both changed your names in order to secure your identities and safety, he still calls you by your real name when it’s just the two of you. in public he prefers to call you pet names instead of your newfound aliases

he has no issues switching back n forth and he’d never slip up for fear of exposing you both, but he just tries to avoid calling you by your cover name. he feels a little guilty because if he was a ‘normal person’ you wouldn’t have had to undergo all these procedures just to be with him. he’s used to using different names for himself, but it makes him a little sour that you now have to do that too :(

speaking of sour, he’s a veeeryy jealous man. he’s not obnoxious or even outright about it, but he doesn’t like when other people get too close to you (physically and emotionally). part of it is him being paranoid that they “know something” about you, but part of it is just bc he’s just a clingy lil guy 🥺 and he just wants to be your only special guy

he’s like a territorial cat

he gets nightmares about the kira case and all of his other past cases. he doesn’t make a scene when he wakes up from them, but if you notice he’s awake don’t ask him about them. it’s unlikely he’ll answer you, and he’ll feel bad thinking he woke you up. just pretend to still be asleep and subtly cuddle closer

it coaxes him right back to sleep knowing you’re safe and sound beside him. if you’re brave you can ask in the morning, but it’s likely he’ll have forgotten the dream by then

pleeeeassee take up yoga with him. since he doesn’t need to be crouched in his heightened-deductive-skill position 24/7 anymore, it’s a worthwhile investment to fix his posture and his numerous back problems. he might enjoy the calmness and flexibility yoga provides

he might be open to the idea of children. according to canon, he only interacted with the wammy kids once very briefly, but i like to think he was fairly involved with the orphanages considering they were raising his successor. it only makes sense they’d need to get to know him at least a little—and it would explain why near’s mannerisms are so similar to his. 

i think contrary to popular opinion he would be good with kids—in his own special way. he’s not exceptionally cuddly, but he won’t reject affection either. and his intuition and reflexes are so keen that it’s not like the kid would ever be in danger. 

he’s such a homebody. i mean, we already knew that—but him being able to go out in public now has not changed his desire to want to be alone (w/ you)

he has mixed feelings about crowded places. on the one hand, the anonymity of it is kind of nice and it sets his mind at ease that no one will be able to recognize you two in such a swarm. but on the other, someone is touching him and all the noise n stuff sorta overstimulates his nervous system

the next best alternative? take him to places that are still public and out-and-about but a little more secluded. a corner booth in the back of a little restaurant, a sprawling botanical garden, an independent cafe that’s not overcrowded, etc 

HE CANT DRIVE LMAOOO. a helicopter is one thing but cars??? on the road??? with other cars?????!!! he cannot. he’s a MENACE. hopefully you can drive, but if not then it comes to public transportation 🤷‍♀️ 

[only-1-a]

Imagining this within the first week of Charles and Edwin knowing each other. Charles has helped Edwin catch up on a BIT of what’s happened in the last 70 years, but Edwin can tell that Charles’ knowledge and strengths are not in history (finding out there was an even worse world war right after The Great War was certainly horrific though). So Edwin decides his best bet is to look in the public archives. Charles is sitting in the room with him absolutely bored out of his skull when he comments “Wow, you weren’t joking about not being great at people, were you?”

To which Edwin’s patience runs out, and he snidely responds, “Evidently not. If my researching the events of the last seventy years is so off-putting to you, then you can leave.”

Edwin was expecting some kind of token protest, but instead Charles just hops up, and says, “Cheers mate. See you.” Then LEAVES. Just like that. Edwin would like to be offended, but he supposes he did tell Charles to go. He just thought there would have been more to it than that? It almost feels…anticlimactic. At least he and Charles barely knew each other. Better to cut their losses now than get attached. Even as he thinks it he can’t help but feel maybe he was already growing attached.

So he spends the whole day digging through the archive and he learns so much about the past half century. It’s amazing and daunting just how much as changed. No wonder Charles hadn’t been able to go over even a fraction of it. It’s like the world is a completely different place.

He’s engrossed in his research when a head pops in through the door, and violently startles him with a cheerful, “Hey mate!” Edwin doesn’t have a heartbeat, but if he did it would be running a mile a minute from that fright. Charles is just grinning as he walks through the door. “I have to say, that’s my favourite part of being dead so far. I can just walk through walls.” Charles continues to chat happily, completely oblivious to Edwin’s shock.

Eventually Edwin gains enough of his senses back to interrupt Charles and say, “You came back.”

Charles just cocks his head, but he’s still smiling. “Yeah bruv. You’ve been here ALL DAY. The sun’s started going down. I know we don’t need to eat or sleep, but I figure you should take a break. Plus all the people playing football at the park left, so I got bored.”

Edwin doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He’s still working on the fact Charles came back. Charles hadn’t planned on leaving in any permanent way. He just went to do his own thing while Edwin did his. Yet instead of anything intelligent coming out of his mouth, he says “Football?”

“Oh c’mon! I know you had football even a thousand years ago. Yeah, I went to play with some other guys at the park across the street.”

Edwin snorts at that, and isn’t that a strange and wonderful feeling, laughing after all this time. He doesn’t even know if he did it often before he went to Hell, but here Charles has been making him laugh on and off for the week they’ve known each other. “Yes, we had football. You’ll have to explain how you managed to play a team sport without being seen by either team. You are right though. If it’s getting dark out, they’ll be turning the lights out in here soon. We might as well leave for the day.”

“Cheers. Mostly it involved messing with the ball so it went the wrong way when they kicked it. Oh! I kicked one over a fence. Do you think we can go grab it? How about your day? Learn anything exciting?”

Edwin leads them out, and now in a much better mood he shares something he thinks Charles will enjoy. “As a matter of fact, there was quite a lot about how music evolved, and styles from the Americas really took off since the 20s.”

[thydungeongal]

Many D&D 5e DMs ignore the game's own suggested structure of having multiple encounters per adventuring day, and while they aren't entirely wrong to do so (the suggested number of encounters per adventuring day doesn't quite line up with the actual math of the game nor does it produce enjoyable gameplay for those who don't enjoy D&D's combat, i.e. the part that D&D is the most about so you know what are we even doing here). Instead they focus their attention on trying to run only a single, narratively satisfying combat encounter. Which often works against itself because you will find yourself hard-pressed to get a dramatic combat out of a single battle in D&D 5e when player characters will be going into battle at full resources.

Because in most cases D&D's resource management is really at its best when it's not about managing resources within a single encounter but over multiple encounters. If you can expect only one encounter per adventuring day "should the wizard cast fireball now or save it for later" really isn't a relevant question in most encounters. In most cases the answer is "cast it now because the more enemies are dead by the end of this round the fewer attacks the party will have to potentially suffer next round."

And it often ends up eliminating all tension as well. If characters can count on having all their resources available for their one combat encounter of the day then they can pretty much rest assured that they will have enough healing and damage at their disposal to eliminate the enemy. The GM can hope to alleviate this by adding enemies that can take out party members quickly, but it is a risky proposition in many ways: the dice can swing one way and eliminate a player character before the group has a chance to react at all, which isn't exactly a failure on the party's part, it's just dumb luck (now, dumb luck is sometimes a valid way to introduce tension, but in the context of an encounter that is supposed to feel dramatic a character being taken out during the first turn before there is any input on the player's part can feel anticlimactic). Characters have very limited resources available to them to actually actively mitigate damage. Most of the time if a character loses initiative they are at the mercy of the enemy, being entirely reliant on the enemy rolling low on their attack/them rolling high on their saving throw. Some characters have reactive defenses available to them, but that's the thing: only some of them.

On the other hand things swinging the other way and an enemy having a single bad round during which they fail to deal meaningful damage to the party can conversely begin a death spiral for the enemy, where characters will be able to reserve resources that would normally be spent fighting back against enemy assaults on simply focusing on damage.

Of course this hasn't always been the case in D&D: the conventional wisdom in older editions was that player characters would have to delve into dungeons on limited resources and conserve those resources throughout the adventuring day. And this basically is how 5e is supposed to be run: but for a variety of reasons it also runs against the idea of combat being dramatic. If most combats during an adventuring day are just obstacles to be overcome, it eventually does make combat feel routine. Which, you know, somewhat also undermines the idea that combat is supposed to be dramatic.

But also, on a per encounter level, there was a brief moment in a bygone age known as "fourth edition" when player characters regardless of class had meaningful decisions to make within an encounter: compared to 5th edition, daily abilities were at a premium, which makes sense, because in 5th edition the assumption is that characters will have more daily resources they must juggle throughout a long adventuring day. 4e does also assume multiple encounters between long rests, but its adventuring days are noticeably shorter. Furthermore, healing is a finite resource in 4e on both a day-by-day and an encounter level. Characters can take a second wind action once per combat to spend a healing surge to recover some hit points, after which they are reliant the party's leaders (whose standard healing abilities are limited to two uses per combat. Scary!). And while 4e combats could also get swingy, the numbers were usually set up in such a way that a single swingy round would usually not take a player character from 100 to 0 percent. Like in 5e, most characters lacked reactive defenses, but they usually still had time to act before they were dropped.

But even 4e didn't fix one issue of D&D combat: that it often lacks permanent consequence beyond just "your character is dead." This is of course not an issue for the type of play that D&D natively supports and there are exceptions to this rule in the form of some creatures that can inflict other consequences on characters, but due to the abstract nature of D&D's combat the outcomes of combat are usually "my character fell to 0 hit points and died" or "my character dropped the enemy to 0 hit points and they died."

Speaking of those alternate consequences, an encounter with a basilisk that turns a party member into stone isn't necessarily fun as a dramatic combat encounter because it simply takes out one party member from the action, meaning they don't get to enjoy the afterglow of having defeated the enemy. Or if they do it's because a party member could cast a spell that undoes the petrification which is like. Oh, the character was only dead temporarily. You know what genre of play temporary death as a minor setback works really well in? Dungeon crawling. It also ties nearly into the logistical side of the game.

Anyway, point being, there are multiple contradictory design issues inherent to the very idea of combat and how it should be handled in tabletop RPGs and not a single correct answer. But D&D does not natively support a model of a single dramatic encounter per day, because that runs against the game of resource management and attrition inherent to it. D&D's combat can often lack tension on a per-encounter basis, but that tension arises are the very latest once characters need to start conserving their resources.

Or idk.

[thesweetestofdreams]

Sugar quills and Spilled Ink

pairings: poly!marauders x reader (800 words)

warnings: should be none, just a super fluffy blurb

a/n: Thank you so much for the warm reception to my blog. As I am working on the next part of my series, please enjoy this very unserious blurb

Your first kiss with James was a complete accident. It was your first kiss with any of the boys. Sirius always looked ready to kiss you, with soft eyes and adoration. Remus had hardly broached the subject, obviously waiting for you to make the first move, but he did kiss your forehead in the late hours of the night when neither of you could sleep. James almost always seems to kiss on accident, like he doesn't even think about it. It just happens. 

He bent over the back of the couch whispering sweet good mornings as quietly as James can, which is exceptionally unquiet. You turned to kiss each other’s cheeks at the same time. It was the tiniest peck but it seemed more like an electric shock, mostly made of surprise. Your fingers flew to your lips almost as if to hold the tiny, nothing kiss down so it might stick.

“Oh come on,” Sirius cried, discarding his quill in his disdain. It clattered against the small table spitting miniscule black droplets towards Remus, sitting across from him.

A ringing laugh bubbled up from your lips, fingers still tracing their edges. James looked so ready to apologize, his brown cheeks were turning a deep red. The whole thing was far too funny, far too anticlimactic, and rather dramatic at the same time. 

“I could have sworn it would be me,” Sirius continued, looking absolutely dejected, “and how unromantic, James.” 

James laughed, it was a nervous sound you'd hardly heard from him. “I am so sorry (y/n). Of course, I would have asked. I should have asked…” he trailed off. The whole thing was just so pitiful. 

Propping yourself up on your knees you leaned over the back of the couch, hands on his shoulders, sliding to either side of his jaw. You pulled him in gently for a kiss, a better one, a real one. He eagerly followed. You sat back with a lingering taste of fresh air and mint toothpaste. The blink of an intimate moment was soon interrupted by Sirius. 

“Now you’re just rubbing it in. I still think it was quite a boring first kiss.” Sirius looked at you with as much hurt as he could muster, but it was only a facade. You saw the curling edges of his lip and sneaky eyes. All that of course until he realized he roused Remus’s pity, then the puppy dog eyes truly shone through. 

“You’re very romantic Sirius, darling,” Remus said, it was placating and he also knew exactly what he was doing. In the next moment, he looked at you, asking a silent and mischievous question. You nodded in response with a devilish smile matching his own. 

While Sirius sulked, Remus shot up darting to your spot on the couch. His was rather different from James’s much less hesitant than you thought it would be. A bit more “romantic.” His touch to your cheek was feather light contrasting a firm hold on your waist and well, all that to say he was a very good kisser. 

Sirius had slits for eyes when you finally looked back at him. “So I have never truly been loved. I understand,” he said as he started to pack away his things. 

“Pads,” James laughed. “You know that’s not true.” 

“No, no James. I understand how you all truly feel about me.” Sirius stood from the table, pretending to leave, but they all knew he wasn’t, not really. 

“Sirius this is rather unromantic,” you said, truly facetious. You caught up to him in just a few quick steps. You wrapped a loose hand around his wrist. “Sirius,” you whispered, ready with the doe eyes he always melted for. “Can I kiss you?” 

“No,” he turned his nose away from you, but you saw him sneaking a look back at you. Then he was wrapping his arms around your waist, spinning you both in a half circle, and finally, he kissed you. It was perfectly dramatic, perfectly Sirius. He tasted like sugar quills. Being completely honest it made you dizzy.

“That lads, is how you kiss a lady,” Sirius said looking exceedingly proud of himself all things considered. 

You rolled her eyes, patting his arm. “The most romantic of all, love,” you said in the same tone as Remus, placating, although you'd be lying if you said it wasn’t a nice kiss. 

“Okay come on you lot, I’m running out of quills because someone keeps stealing them,” Remus said with an incriminating look at James. 

“I’ll buy the first round of butterbeer,” James said in apology. 

As they filed through the portrait hole James hung back whispering to you. “So we can do that again, yeah?” He looked golden a shining smile adorning his face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you said, sliding a hand to intertwine with his. Even still, at the end of the evening, he could taste the butterbeer on your lips and you could feel the start of a happy ending.

[bamfkeeper]

Reunion.

RQ: 'I was hoping for some hurt/comfort 🙏🏽. I was never really satisfied with Kurt and Amanda's reunion after he came back to life(aside from the fact that that ship gives me a major ick for ibv reasons). It was so anticlimactic! You would think a woman who knew him all his life would she'd a few tears. I was wondering what your take on a reunion scene with Kurt would be? Like the reader was a member of the X-Men and saw Bastion kill Kurt. Because of her grief she leaves the team unable to cope from the loss. And then after years of being without him he just shows up at her apartment just like he did with Amanda.' - @gildedjerk

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: Major character death | Descriptions of injuries | Mourning & grief | Happy ending ofc

A/N: Wooo I had a lot of fun with this one. Angst and comfort, yum. Anyway I did try to give a realistic response to him coming back from the dead. I was stuck between two reactions but I think this one is good. I hope you enjoy! Unedited hehe WC: 3.0k

It had only been a week. A week since your heart became slow, dull, and empty.

The mansion took a hit. The team broken into pieces.

It was unusually quiet around the manor. Normally, the sound of padding footsteps and excited laughter and voices filled the halls, but now...it was silent. You weren't' the only one that lost something, but by all hell, you deserved to grieve.

You hadn't left the bedroom you shared for days, your body curled tightly on the bed, clutching his suit against your chest as if it were a lifeline. Tears flowed endlessly, soaking the pillow beneath your head. The salty streams seemed inexhaustible, leaving your eyes red and swollen, leaving you with a constant headache you ignored. You were likely severely dehydrated from the constant outpouring of grief, but in your state of mourning, those concerns held no importance to you. All you desired was to be left alone with your sorrow, to process the loss in solitude.

His suit bore a large, jagged hole, Kurt's dried blood stained the fabric, a sight that simultaneously pained you and kept you connected to him. You couldn't bring yourself to wash it, fearing that doing so would erase the last tangible traces of his presence. The suit still carried his distinct scent, a bittersweet comfort that you clung to desperately. No amount of spraying with cologne could ever bring back his natural musk that he had, and you would rather die than get rid of it.

Embedded within the flexible fabric were tufts of his fur, some parts adhering more stubbornly than others. As you ran your fingers over these patches, you recalled with a mixture of fondness and anguish his playful complaints about how the suit would cause him to shed. Those light-hearted moments now seemed like echoes from a distant, happier time, making the overwhelming ache of his absence feel much worse.

The team struggled to regroup, attempting to rally support and formulate a plan of action in the aftermath of the blatant slaughter they endured. However, you found yourself emotionally paralyzed, unable to contribute to their efforts. The weight of loss and despair settled heavily upon your shoulders, making even the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. In a daze, you rose from your seat, your movements mechanical and detached from conscious thought. You were on autopilot, nothing else mattered, you couldn’t even think.

You began to pack your belongings, carelessly tossing clothes into a small bag without regard for order or neatness. Your fingers then ghosted over the familiar fabric of his suit, the last tangible remnant of Kurt's presence in your life. With reverence, you gently lifted the garment, cradling it against your chest as if it were a fragile, living thing. This suit, once a symbol of his strength and selfless heroism, now served as a poignant reminder of all you had lost. As you held it close, memories of Kurt flooded your mind, intensifying the ache of his absence and solidifying your decision to depart.

You had no tears left. Not right now.

You took your bag and you left.

The nightmares were relentless, haunting your sleep with disturbing frequency. Night after night, your subconscious mind replayed the horrific scene of Kurt's demise, each detail etched with painful clarity like you were reliving that exact moment over and over again. The vivid imagery of Bastion's merciless act - the brutal impalement - refused to fade. You could still see, with sickening precision, the crimson spray erupting from Kurt's azure lips, staining his chest in a macabre pattern, the life essence dripping down his skin and mocking you. The memory of his lithe form, once so full of life and grace, suddenly tensing and then crumpling lifelessly to the ground as Bastion withdrew his weapon, was seared into your mind.

The physical sensations were equally intense. You distinctly recalled the disorienting waves of heat and cold that washed over you, and the violent tremors that wracked your body as adrenaline surged through your system in rage fueled torrents. The emotional trauma was blatant, manifesting in physical symptoms that left you feeling drained and vulnerable, pathetically and frantically scrambling to get to his side in the middle of the battlefield.

The image of your final moments with Kurt were the worst of it all, your eternal Hell that never ceased. Holding his rapidly cooling body in your arms, you watched helplessly as the light in his beautiful, golden eyes gradually dimmed. Even in his last breaths, Kurt's selflessness shone through, as he valiantly attempted to offer you solace and comfort, despite his own dire circumstances.

Your grief and suffering was a wound that never healed. Each night proved that it would only reopen from the desperate scab it tried to become.

As the years passed, your close friends from the mansion persistently attempted to maintain contact with you, but you deliberately distanced yourself from them. The desire to communicate with them had completely faded, and you found yourself wanting to sever all ties with the X-Men.

Your sole focus became an attempt to carve out an existence devoid of the tumultuous chaos that had been an inherent part of life within that unconventional, misfit family. You couldn’t stand any more pain, the loss you took had been severe, thinking about any of your old friends losing their lives was too much to bear.

You retreated into a life of solitude, taking on a mundane and unremarkable job that offered little stimulation or fulfillment. It wasn't so much living as it was merely existing - a bare-bones survival that felt hollow but required.

Yet, in your current state of mind, this was all you felt capable of managing. The weight of your grief remained a constant companion, refusing to lift even as time marched relentlessly forward. The passage of years did little to alleviate the profound sense of loss that had taken root in your heart, leaving you trapped in a perpetual state of mourning that colored every aspect of your isolated existence.

You tried therapy, for a while.

It didn’t help much.

You were constantly bombarded with well-intentioned but ultimately unhelpful advice. People would tell you to move on, as if it were a simple switch you could flip.

They'd say he was in a better place now, as though that somehow lessened your pain.

They'd remind you that years had passed, implying that your grief should have an expiration date.

But none of these platitudes actually provided any comfort or solace. In fact, being told to move on was perhaps the most infuriating of all. It felt dismissive, insensitive, and completely disconnected from the depth of your loss.

The suggestion to move on ignited a spark of anger within you. How could anyone possibly understand the magnitude of what you'd been through? You couldn't even share the full story with them, the pervasive discrimination and prejudice against mutants still ran deep in society, and you weren't ready to expose that part of yourself.

But regardless of the details you had to keep hidden, the fact remained that you had lost the person who brought light and love into your world. It was as if the sun had been extinguished, leaving you in perpetual darkness. The audacity of someone demanding that you simply move on from such a profound loss was both hurtful and enraging. How dare they trivialize your grief and dictate the timeline of your healing? Your pain was yours to process, and no one had the right to tell you when or how to do it.

You came back from a rather dreary work day, annoyed and angry with the world. It felt so unfair. You wondered if Kurt would be disappointed in the sheer amount of hatred that you allowed to consume you. Did it matter?

As you closed your door, you trudged through your barren apartment, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You hadn’t bothered to decorate, it was just you, and when you were home all you did was sleep. No reason to waste money on furniture.

Suddenly, a familiar scent wafted through the air - brimstone. That sharp, smoky odor that had haunted your senses for years now made its presence known once again. The acrid smell tickled your nostrils, bringing with it a flood of memories you'd rather forget. At first, you dismissed it as another phantom smell, a lingering remnant of Kurt that your mind conjured up in moments of solitude. After all, these olfactory ghosts had been your constant companions over the years, taunting and mocking you with their ephemeral nature.

You continued your way through the apartment, your mind wrestling with the reality of the scent. The logical part of your brain insisted it was just another trick of your senses, a cruel joke played by your subconscious. Yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was different this time. The smell seemed more tangible, more real than the fleeting wisps of memory you were accustomed to. Still, you pushed the thought aside, convincing yourself it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You were just tired. It had been a long day.

As you rounded the frame of the door, preparing to step into the next room, an inexplicable chill ran down your spine. In that instant, you felt everything around you freeze up. The air grew thick and heavy, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Your muscles tensed, your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the familiar figure laying on your couch.

Kurt smiled at you, his familiar figure rising from his seat. His arms extended in a welcoming gesture, a warmth radiating from his presence that you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. "Liebling...I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice carrying the same tender inflection you remembered.

Every detail about him was overwhelmingly authentic - from the timbre of his voice to the subtle cologne mixed with that harsh brimstone that always clung to his clothes. Your senses were inundated with evidence of his reality; he wasn't just there, he was undeniably real.

A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, leaving you utterly bewildered.

What the Hell is happening?

The thought ricocheted through your mind, unable to find purchase in the face of this impossibility.

You found yourself frozen, incapable of formulating a coherent response. The shock of the moment had completely blindsided you, leaving you reeling as if you'd been struck. It was as though you were face to face with an apparition, a specter from your past that had inexplicably materialized before your eyes.

But this was no ethereal vision - this was tangible, corporeal.

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on you; if this was indeed some sort of phantasm, it certainly had a sick sense of humor.

Your lips parted as you let out a soft, trembling sound, his name barely a whisper escaping through the opening. Your eyes, wide with disbelief, were glued on him, taking in every detail of his familiar yet seemingly impossible presence. His demeanor faltered slightly as he noticed your lack of enthusiasm at his sudden appearance, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Ah, liebe...I...understand this might be quite shocking to you..." He mumbled out shyly, his voice a mixture of hope and apprehension as he slowly walked towards you, each step careful and measured. "But, I am back. I am truly here, alive and breathing. Can you see that?"

You remained rooted to the spot, unable to bring yourself to move a single muscle. The overwhelming tsunami of emotions that crashed over you felt like it was too much for your body and mind to handle. A wave of nausea washed over you, making you feel as though you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, your stomach churning violently. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm you completely.

You couldn't fathom how he could be here, standing in your apartment, flesh and blood, after years of believing he was dead. The grief you had painstakingly lived with, the torturous reminders that mocked you every day - it all came crashing down around you in an instant, leaving you reeling in a maelstrom.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, sensing the overwhelming shock that had gripped you. He anticipated a joyous reaction, but instead, a heart-wrenching, soul-shattering sob escaped your lips, echoing through the air and piercing the silence between you.

Taken aback, Kurt's body tensed, his eyes widening with a mixture of concern and confusion. This unexpected outburst was far from the jubilant reunion he had envisioned in his mind. The stark contrast between his hopeful expectations and the raw, emotional reality before him left him momentarily stunned.

You had always been strong and level-headed with your emotions, but seeing you like this made him realize his absence and sudden appearance again had clearly done some psychological damage. "L-liebling," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with uncertainty and worry.

Hesitantly, Kurt extended his hands towards you, offering comfort and desperate support. However, the fear of exacerbating your distress held him back from actually making contact. His fingers hovered in the air between you, trembling slightly as he grappled with the desire to console you and the apprehension of potentially making matters worse.

Kurt bridged the gap between you with a single, desperate motion, not wanting to watch you sob any longer. His arms enveloped you, strong yet gentle, pulling you against his chest. You felt the solid warmth of his body, a sensation you had been deprived of for what felt like an eternity.

As he held you close, Kurt became your anchor to reality, proof that this wasn't just another cruel dream. His familiar scent washed over you, a mix of brimstone and something uniquely him, further cementing his presence. "I'm here, liebe... I'm here," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Es tut mir Leid... I never intended to be absent for so long, but... the circumstances of my return are a mystery even to me. Perhaps this is a divine gift, a second chance from Gott…a miracle. Ja?"

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they resonated deeply within you. "I cannot imagine the anguish you've endured in my absence," he continued, his accent more pronounced in his emotional state. As he spoke, his hand moved in soothing circles on your back, a gesture so achingly familiar it threatened to unravel you completely.

In the safety of his embrace, years of bottled-up emotions finally found their release. The dam broke, and you allowed yourself to experience the full depth of your agony, your body shaking with the force of your long-suppressed grief. Kurt held you through it all, a steady presence as you wept the tumultuous sea of your emotions, whispering words of comfort and love in a mixture of English and German.

You don't know how long you cried for.

You felt your body gradually succumbing to exhaustion, your strength ebbing away with each passing moment. What seemed like mere minutes to your grief-stricken mind had, in reality, stretched into over an hour of uncontrollable sobbing. Throughout this emotional display, Kurt remained steadfast, his arms encircling you in an unwavering embrace, not daring to let you go. He bore witness to your anguish, listening intently to every heart-wrenching wail that escaped your lips, each cry a testament to the depth of your sorrow and mourning. He felt so horrible, seeing just how much you loved him and how the grief had overtaken your being.

Kurt did everything in his power to provide solace. He held you close, gently squeezing you with his arms, whispering soft reassurances, each gesture carefully crafted to soothe you.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. "I'm not leaving. I promise..." His indigo lips grazed your sensitive temple while he whispered gentle nothings against your skin. The contact was feather-light, yet profoundly comforting. He peppered your clammy skin with tender kisses, unable to hold back on his affections.

The sudden nature of Kurt's reappearance left you reeling. After enduring the agonizing belief that he was gone forever, his unexpected return stirred up a complex cocktail of emotions - happiness, relief, anger. A part of you yearned for the joyous reunion he seemed to expect, but another part bristled at the simplicity of such an notion.

How could he materialize out of thin air, after all the grief and pain you had endured, and anticipate an uncomplicated, happy welcome? You supposed that is his specialty…appearing suddenly in a rapid purple cloud with that happy smile exposing his fangs.

Kurt wanted that happy reunion. He wanted you jumping in his arms and that loving, passionate kiss he dreamt of and missed since his departure from this plane of existence.

But you couldn't give him that. Not now.

For now, you needed his comforting presence more than anything else. Recognizing your emotional state, he gently lowered himself onto the couch, cradling you in his arms. His embrace was firm yet tender, providing a sanctuary where you could finally release everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. As he held you close, you continued to sob and cry into his chest, each tear carrying with it a fragment of the pain and stress you had been harboring for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as you remained in his protective embrace, your sobs gradually subsiding as exhaustion began to overtake you. He made no move to interrupt this cathartic process, understanding that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. His steady heartbeat and warm presence served as a lullaby, slowly lulling you into a state of tranquility you hadn't experienced in years.

The conversation you needed to have could wait.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber - a luxury that had eluded you for far too long. His presence alone had snuffed out the vicious plague that infected your mind, the nightmares that were forced upon you over and over of his gruesome death were destroyed.

For the first time in years, you actually slept.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight & @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Nightcrawler #1 (2014)

[love-byers]

sus music editing in s4 byler scenes (a saga)

since tiktok might die in the US soon, i wanted to convert some of my old tiktoks into tumblr posts so they can live on forever! i've been wanting to do this for a while but never got around to it. i'm starting with this one because ive been posting about music coding a lot lately. i recommend watching the video attachment (at the end of the post) after reading the whole post, just so you'll have context when watching.

ALRIGHT!

will and mike are interrupted in the majority of their solo scenes. the scene in jonathan's room, the scene in will's room, the scene on the car, & the scene in the cabin. i noticed a long time ago that the songs used in the first 3 scenes listed build up for the first half and then kind of explode for the second half. there's a point where the song changes/released after the buildup.

the songs are:

eight fifteen (jonathan's room)

on the bus (will's room)

letter to willy (talk on the car)

BUT, in will's room & the car scene, mike and will are interrupted almost right before the song is supposed to climax. i lined the songs up and listened and i'm right. interestingly, in the scene in will's room, on the bus is edited. in the scene, the song starts like normal at the start of the song. but they cut the middle out so it would skip right to the part RIGHT before the climax of on the bus. THEY DID THAT. so at the very end of the scene just before they get interrupted, the song is teetering on the edge of the big explosive part of the song, but it doesn't happen because they're interrupted and the song ends. in the car scene letter to willy is also edited. maybe im wrong, but there's a note i hear in the car scene that i cannot find anywhere in the song. so it seems like they're purposefully using songs that are building to something but cut off right before the pay off of the buildup. i wouldn't be capitalizing on this so much if 90% of the scenes this happens in werent mike and will staring into each other's souls and then having their gazes torn from each other, but they are. so take that as you will.

now we need to talk about eight fifteen. this is fucking wild.

eight fifteen is all build up for the first half. then there's a moment where it teeters on the edge for a second, and then BOOM! release & loud pretty synths. i lined it up, and the 'teetering' part of the song is in the scene in jonathan's room, but like the others, it's edited. but this one is WAY more crazy.

the song starts from the beginning when will sits on the bed next to mike. it builds while mike talks about his problems with el and not saying the thing she wants. then will says "look, mike, you're gonna see her again, and whatever it is you didn't say, you can say it to her then, okay?" the teetering part starts when will says

"look" and goes all the way until he says "then"

when he says "then", that is the moment when the buildup is supposed to release. but in this scene, it doesn't happen. instead, when he finishes talking, specifically when he says "then" the note kind of trails off. it sounds weird. it's unsatisfying. there was no payoff to all that buildup. i've seen plenty of other tv shows where this is used to emphasize the face that there was no payoff. something in the scene was anticlimactic. something that they wanted to happen or were expecting to happen didnt. the characters are disappointed or left hanging.

and when that note trials off, mike says

"yeah...yeah" and looks down, looking upset and conflicted and disappointed

he wanted will to say something else. will saying "you can say it to her then, okay?" disappointed mike. that's not what he wanted to hear. i think mike wanted will to reassure him and tell him he doesn't have to say something he doesn't mean or doesn't want to say, and that when they see el again mike can explain himself. mike desperately wants to be told he doesn't have to pretend to be in love with el if that's not how he really feels. he wants to be told that el won't be angry if he's honest with her about his true feelings for her, which are platonic. (hence why he later nods after will says 'what if they don't like the truth?')

but will doesn't understand that. will thinks they are in love, he thinks they're perfect. so in his mind, it's fine because mike can just say it when he sees el again. but he thinks that because he thinks mike actually means it, when in reality he doesn't. and by doing that, will only further pushed mike into giving his false confession. now mike thinks even more that he just has to spit it out and tell el what she wants to hear even if it's not how he really feels. this just breaks my heart because mike is so hated on but he's a GOOD BOY💔💔 he's just a 14 year old kid who's afraid of failing the people he cares about but also hates lying about his feelings and just wants to feel free from the expectations others have for him. he just wants someone, specifically will, to tell him it's okay, and that he doesn't owe anyone anything, especially not his own feelings. and it hurts extra bad because if will knew the truth about mike not loving el he would shower him in support because of course mike shouldn't have to lie just because it's what el wants to hear.

and just in case anyone tries to say otherwise, YES mike lied in the monologue. it doesn't need to be proven, it's simply canon.

like there's no denying this. believing it's just a mistake by the writers before believing mike lied is CRAZY heteronormative copium. like come on���

anyways, the things mike says and does in the scene in jonathan's support this theory. he threw away el's note. "a fight you cant come back from" "maybe if i just said that thing then things would be different" his phrasing sticks out so much. "said that thing" and not "told her" or "told her how i feel". to mike it's just saying words he doesn't want to say. and "a fight you cant come back from" its almost like he's hinting to will that he and el need to break up and he's hoping will will catch on and support him. he trusts will and values his opinion and wants his support. usually he and will very easily communicate non verbally and are naturally in tune with what the other is thinking and feeling, but this time will doesn't catch on (because of his own heteronormativity and assumption that mike and el are in love), and mike is disappointed. he brings this up over and over, like he isn't satisfied with will's answer, and is a little more honest every time. the only thing that seemingly satisfied mike was hearing will's feelings. why did it even get that far?? why would what will said in jonathan's room not suffice if he is actually in love with el??? it just doesn't make sense.

(unless it actually makes perfect sense)

i'm very confident in this since this lies less with the continuity within stranger things itself and more with basic film/video/sound editing. i even got some comments from editors/musicians who agreed with me!

"It's a tactic I've actually used before in editing. It keeps the audience engrossed, and really makes it FEEL interrupted for the audience."

"Woah that's crazy! And it literally stops on the fifth so it's totally legitimately unstable/ unresolved."

stopping on the fifth refers to a technique used in music composition to make a chord progression sound completed. i actually know a bit about this because i took music theory in college, but if anyone knows more than me feel free to share! a completed progression is like a circle. you must begin and end with the same chord. you start with one chord and move down a fifth to the next chord, and do that until you end up back at the original chord. that way it sounds nice and satisfying and completed. in 'on the bus', which the commenter was referring to, this process is cut short, which would serve no purpose other than making the music sound and feel incomplete or interrupted or unsatisfying.

if i just butchered that whole explanation please let me know, but im pretty sure that's accurate.

here is the video with two of the scenes i talked about, using 'Eight Fifteen' and 'On The Bus'

and just as a reminder, on the bus has only played twice in the entire show. first in the lumax talk on top of the bus in season 2, and second in the byler talk in will's room in s4. ��

anyways i hope this was comprehensible😅 i remember my tiktok followers being very confused so feel free to re read and re watch as many times as necessary or reply with any questions! and anyone who has more input on editing/music pls share with the class if you'd like!!

anyways byler endgame, thanks for reading

[wolverigrl]

Moments of Desire

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

A/N: I may have rushed this one a bit, because I'm reeeally tired right now. I thought I'd have more time today, but unfortunately not. I hope you still like this one!

Warnings: smut, oral m!receiving, unprotected pinv (wrap it up!), light spanking, pet names (baby etc.)

Enjoy!

Not proofread!

Previous part

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

The late afternoon sunlight filters in through the half-drawn curtains, casting a soft glow around the room. Hugh is sprawled comfortably in his favorite armchair, legs spread slightly, his posture relaxed but commanding. He's watching me with that familiar, playful glint in his eyes that always makes my stomach flip.

I'm sitting across from him on the sofa, my legs tucked under me, a pillow hugged to my chest.

"So, when do you think we should start telling people?"

I ask, my voice bubbling with excitement. Even saying the words feels surreal. I can't believe it.

I'm pregnant - we are pregnant.

Hugh smiles, that irresistible, easy grin spreading across his face. He looks so at peace, so happy, and it makes my heart swell.

"I've been thinking about that." he says, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

"We can't just blurt it out over dinner, you know? This is big! Huge! It's our baby, and I want everyone to remember how we told them."

I nod, biting my lip as I imagine it.

"You're right. It has to be special. But how?" I lean forward, resting my chin on my hand, thinking.

"We could throw a little get-together, invite our close friends and family and do big reveal. Maybe a cake or something?"

Hugh chuckles, shaking his head, his

voice warm with amusement. "A cake? I don't know if that's us." He shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers lightly on the armrest. "Feels too... formal. I want something more...personal. Something just for us and the people we love."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Okay, Mr. Creative, what's your big idea?"

He grins wider, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying this. "What if

we visit everyone in person? One by one. That way, it's more intimate. No big groups, just face-to-face moments with the people who matter most to us."

I tilt my head, thinking it over. "That could work... but what would we do? Just knock on the door and say 'Hey, guess what?'.. It deels a little..anticlimactic."

Hugh's eyes light up like he's thought of something brilliant. "No, no! We take a picture with them. Every single person, we gather them together for a photo, right? And just when everyone's ready to say 'cheese', we drop the bomb: 'y/n's pregnant!"

I burst out laughing, picturing the stunned faces of our friends and family when we spring the news on them like that.

"Oh my God, baby! That's perfect! Can you imagine the looks we'll get? And we'll have it all captured on camera!"

He chuckles, his deep, rich voice

making my heart skip a beat.

"Exactly! That way, it's not just an announcement - it's a moment. A real memory we can keep forever."

I lean back, grinning from ear to ear, already imagining the reactions.

"I love it! I really do!" My eyes drift over

to him, and something shifts in the

air between us. The playfulness

fades into something deeper, more intense. He's watching me closely, his gaze lingering a little too long on my lips, then my legs.

"You always come up with the best

ideas." he says softly, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that sends shivers down my spine. I feel a slow smile curve my lips, knowing exactly what that look means. "Oh yeah?" I tease, letting

my fingers absentmindedly trace the

seam of the pillow in my lap.

"Is that why you keep me around?"

He smirks, his eyes darkening a

shade as he leans forward slightly.

his posture shifting, more predatory

now. "Among other reasons."

His fingers start moving, tracing small,

lazy circles on the armrest of his chair. The movement is slow, deliberate, and for some reason incredibly sensual. His middle and ring finger glide over the fabric in a rhythm that's almost hypnotic. And as if on cue, he spreads his legs just a little more, his posture relaxing even further.

Casual, but undeniably suggestive.

My breath catches in my throat, my body responding to him almost instantly.

God, he knows exactly what he's doing. The way he looks at me, the way his fingers move in those subtle, teasing circles. It's like he's turning me on without ever touching me.

"You're really distracting me."

I murmur, my voice quieter now, more

breathless than I intended. Hugh's eyes flick up to meet mine, and there's something molten in hisgaze.

"Am I?" he asks, voice rough and full of heat. His lips curl into a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on me.

"I'm not even doing anything."

I swallow hard, feeling my pulse quicken.

"That's the problem." I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from the way his fingers move.

They're still drawing those maddening circles, slow and steady.

Every time he completes one, a fresh wave of heat pools low in my belly.

He doesn't break eye contact, his gaze locking onto mine as he leans back again, making himself even more comfortable. "You're the one who's making it hard to

concentrate." he says, voice soft but dripping with desire.

I shift in my seat, feeling the tension

Between us coil tighter, the air in the room practically crackling with it.

"Is that right?"

I stand up slowly, my heart racing as I walk toward him, feeling the heat between us intensify. Hugh's eyes follow my every move, dark with need, as I approach. His legs spread just a little wider, and I can feel the tension in the air-thick with anticipation.

I move closer, standing between his

legs, feeling the magnetic pull that always seems to draw me to him.

My fingers trail lightly over his broad shoulders, tracing the firm muscles under my touch. I can feel his body tense as I lean down, pressing soft kisses to his neck, tasting his skin.

His scent, warm and familiar, fills my senses, making my pulse quicken.

A soft groan escapes his lips as I kiss along his neck, his breath becoming heavier. His hands move to my hips, pulling me closer to him, his grip firm and possessive.

I bite my lip as I kiss him again, lower this time, nipping at his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from his body.

Slowly, I drop to my knees between his legs, placing my hands on his thighs. Hugh's breath hitches, and I hear the sharp intake of air as I look up at him.

His eyes are locked on mine, filled with desire, his chest rising and falling a little faster now.

He leans back slightly, his hands

sliding into my hair, gently tugging

me toward him.

I press soft kisses along his inner

thigh, while opening his jeans with my hands.

His body tenses beneath me, his

hands tightening in my hair as he

groans softly, his hips shifting

impatiently. I smirk, enjoying the

way his body reacts to my teasing.

He lifts his hips slightly so that I can pull his jeans and boxers down to his ankles.

I slowly start stroking him and finally take him into my mouth moving slowly, savoring the feeling of him against my tongue.

His groans grow louder, his body trembling under my touch. I move my hand to the base of him, stroking in time with my mouth, and he lets out a deep, guttural sound while his hips jerk slightly forward.

"Fuck.." he moans, his voice thick with pleasure, his grip on my hair tightening as he guides me, pushing me deeper.

His breaths come in heavy, ragged bursts, filling the room alongside the wet, rhythmic sounds of my movements.

I hum softly, the vibration making him groan even louder, his hands shaking slightly in my hair.

"Just like that baby.." he breathes, his voice

strained as he tries to hold himself back.

"God, you're so good at this.."

His words send a thrill through me, and I move faster, taking him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as I quicken

my pace. His hips lift off the chair

slightly, his groans becoming more

urgent.

The sound of his pleasure, the feeling of him in my mouth - it's all overwhelming, and I can feel my own need growing

But just as his body tenses on the verge of release, he pulls me up, his hands strong and commanding as he lifts me to my feet. His eyes are dark and wild, his breathing heavy as he stares up at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Strip." he growls, the single word heavy with desire

I obey without hesitation, my heart pounding in my chest as I peel off my clothes slowly, teasing him with every move.

His gaze never leaves me, following every inch of bare skin as it's revealed.

The intensity in his eyes makes my skin prickle with anticipation.

Once I'm fully naked, I straddle his lap again, feeling the heat of his body beneath me. His hands immediately grip my hips, guiding me as I sink down onto him, both of us moaning at the sensation. He fills me completely, and the sudden rush of pleasure makes me gasp, my fingers gripping his broad shoulders for support.

I begin to move slowly, rolling my hips against him, feeling the delicious friction as he presses deeper inside me.

His hands slide up my back, gripping me tightly as he thrusts up to meet my movements.

"You feel so fucking good ." he groans, his voice rough with desire.

I lean in, kissing along his neck, my lips brushing over his pulse point as I ride him faster now.

"You're so big.." I moan softly, my breath hot against his skin.

His hands move down to my ass, gripping me tightly as I grind down against him. Without warning, he brings one hand down hard, delivering a sharp smack to my ass.

The sudden sting makes me gasp, a mix of pleasure and pain shooting through me.

I moan louder, the sensation pushing me higher, my movements becoming more frantic. He smacks me again, harder this time, and I cry out, my nails digging into his

shoulders as I rock against him, the wet sounds of our bodies meeting filling the room.

"Keep going baby." he growls, his voice thick with lust, his hand coming down on me again, sending another wave of heat through me. The sharp smack makes my body tremble, my legs shaking as I ride him harder.

"Oh god Hugh.." I moan, my voice shaky as I feel the tension building inside me, ready to snap at any moment.

"I'm close.."

His hands grip me tighter, guiding me faster.

"Cum for me." he growls.

His voice commanding, full of raw need.

"I wanna feel you."

With one more hard thrust, I fall over the edge, my entire body trembling as the orgasm crashes through me. I cry out his name, my body shaking as the waves of pleasure wash over me, my legs quivering as I ride out the high.

Hugh isn't far behind.

With a low, primal groan, he thrusts up into me one last time, his hands gripping my

waist as he buries himself deep inside me, finding his release.

His head falls back, a deep moan escaping his lips as his body tenses beneath mine, both of us completely lost in the intensity of the moment.

The room is filled with the sound of our heavy breathing, the aftermath of our release still buzzing in the air.

I collapse against him, resting my forehead against his, both of us catching our breath as our bodies slowly come down from the high.

His hands move softly now, stroking my waist and back, his touch gentle and soothing.

We stay like that for a moment, our bodies still connected, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin as I run my hands through his hair.

There's a deep, lingering intimacy between us, as if we've just shared something beyond physical.

Our eyes meet, filled with love, and we don't need to say anything - the

connection between us says it all.

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

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[kermitthesog]

ok quick rant post.

*HUGE TOA SPOILERS BELOW*

i just saw somebody say jason’s death was poorly written.

i mean this in the most respect way to those people saying that jason’s death was meaningless and careless…did we read the same book?

first of all, it was not anticlimactic. It would’ve been unexpected for me if i wasn’t spoiled. he quite literally went out with a bang. he made a gigantic tornado/storm to pretty much single-handedly fight an emperor. i mean, no one around him was equipped or ready to fight. he was doing so good, but he knew he had to die anyway. he might’ve tried harder if he hadn’t heard the prophecy about him or piper dying. my point is, he did not seem “nerfed” or “not powerful”, apollo was really impressed by his skills in his narration.

i saw somebody say they didn’t it like it because he had so much potential. that’s the whole point though!!! many tragic deaths are brought to life by an unkept promise or something they couldn’t carry out before they died. all of jason’s storylines were going to lead him somewhere great, but of course it couldn’t go like that. rick riordan pretty much put in that whole part with apollo and jason talking about his promise to the minor gods to dangle that in front of us. to emphasize how tragic his death was.

people say his death was only for apollo/lester’s character development? i don’t agree. i mean, yeah, that was a huge thing that came from it. throughout the rest of the books, he tributes his growth and actions to jason. but i don’t think that was the only reason for it. i saw a great post by @a-cup-of-coffee-and-the-moon about this. go check it out here, but basically they say that was it inevitable (they go to say it was because he went against zeus, and the greek leaders had a history of their sons overthrowing them). even other than that, it developed the storyline and the whole trials of apollo series in general.

ok so maybe that wasn’t quick. but still. i hope i proved my point. i am a huge jason defender and i just hate when people comment on his death like this. he’s dead, guys!!! that’s just like pooping on his grave! ok, but seriously, we need to end the jason death slander. i feel like some people see something they don’t like and come up with reasons as to why it shouldn’t have happened and why it was weird that it did. i mean, yeah, i didn't want him to die, but i’m willing to accept it and respect him.

[thrumugnyr]

I don't know if there's anyone still around who cares about my Curse of Strahd campaign updates, but Patataj and his companions had to rescue Rahadin (and all of Barovia) from some amber temple eldritch evil and it was really sweet!

We also had 3 bags of animals and might have panicked a little for this battle....

In the end we won the battle! We almost lost twice. Having the entire plane of Barovia collapse into itself would've been a rather anticlimactic end for this campaign - but luckily we managed (that giant elk held on longer than expected and was surprisingly useful haha). Strahd is also so impressed that he didn't have to lift his ass to do anything, he might just let us leave as a parting gift if we ask him for it.

Though, I don't know if Patataj even wants to leave anymore.