#|game over: bad ending|

[determined-magi]

Dreams of my downfall realized... [Timeline's ending Epilogue]

Drifting through moments, then all of a sudden it hits me... What if I stumble and all of my world starts to fall?...

Their return to their homeworld is bitter, but accepted.

It was an outcome they had already seen, one whispered in their mind though they desperately tried to heed it not.

Armored shells never once turn back, as they listen to Void's aimless words, its patronizing nonchalance ever apathetically indifferent to the hollow turmoil tot he answers they now had. Or... at least as close an approximation as they could get.

Hope... such a double edged blessing and curse...

They should have seen this would be how it went, to be honest. Their grave had been dug centuries ago, after time and again making the same mistake and never learning, until little to nothing remained as they fought against the relentless tides that dragged them underwater. This was their sentence, their grave, their punishment

They had to now lie in it.

They were sick, wrong, twisted and beyond salvation...

To think otherwise had been foolish, and it had cost not only them greatly, but to many others. In blood, in pain, in lives, in grief, in trouble they never deserved. And they would have to live knowing that, the rest of their human half's lives, until they forgot how to be themselves, until the sickness erased what remained of the humans that, once had foolishly believed they could change their story.

And so they return, tail between their legs, just as empty handed as they had returned to that place. Not a tear to shed, to their unconcievable dismay. What could they say?

Creation had been right, Kairos had been right, Clemency was right. And they could not fault What Henry had felt, they could not fault and could only respect the Cosira's desire.

They were frauds at best, deluded selfish monsters at worst. Unbefit to be given another chance, for they had squandered them, time and again with their own hubris, betraying all goodwill in their stubborn arrogance. One that was beyond self-destructive, and one that was best isolated, kept away from a place meant for others to find a home with, not debris and hubris hurting them and making them bleed.

It was time to give up, it was time to admit they had lost.

And it was all their fault, and only their own fault.

So silently they return, making their bitter peace...

Their only solace is the presence of Calim, Alador, Yseldeir, Nanbarwen, Nar'osul and Arqueno chosing to visit, before they returned to that place, to stay for some time, make best with what they could, until one day they left too, for the sake of the peace of the people in that world. After all... their world was rotten, their universe tainted with a sickness of the mind, and they weren't free from it...

They could not let that history repeat, even if it meant more heartache. No... their universe should stay away from the Carrefour as much as it could be, anything from their home just ruined and infected what was good.

And they could not bear to let them to suffer the same fate, no, they were better to stop it before it happened.

Even if that universe grew to hate them.

Gone was their hope, gone were their dreams for anything otherwise. They had learned their lesson, their place in the large picture of all, and that picture... it was never the ally, it was never the hero that saved others, that brought progress and goodness. Of the noble deeds seeing the better of others, no... it was the opposite.

They were the same thing they once fought, lying to itself, deluding itself to be anything but the raised monster of their own kingdom. And their own self-fullfilling doom and damnation. A source of pain and grief, of death, of destruction. Made to bring naught but chaos, disarray, destruction and despair or hatred their way. A rot to fester light into shades and darkness, the cut to bleed until red turned sickened black with sickness, the rot to turn the gold heart into coal and stone... just like their own...

No wisdom could save them, so experience teach them, no words sway them, not until it was too late, not until the damage was done. Not until the corpse was bled dry, bloated with the decay of death until it seeped outwards from whatever crevice and hole it found. Ignorant of their extent of their misdeeds...

Until it was too late, and no hope could keep the festering wound from needing to cut away the rot, until they had to be carved away to keep them from further damaging anything. Until no redemption was left for them to reach for... Until none could hold, not without damning themselves, or bringing their own harm for doing so... Until everyone was forced to give up, and let them sink to drown alone, as they should.

Their head turns to the younger mage generation. Questions finally needing addressing, and concern visible in their eyes. And so, they fill them in the happenings of their homeworld, of the time that had passed since their arrival to their ruined home, and their departure of their former friend's universe. What had happened to them, what they had done, every single detail without painting themselves saints.

They make little of their expressions, only answering with an acknowledging nod over their unspoken words. Only one thing ran in their mind as they spoke... the need to protect what remained of their past life, and how to keep the last family they had safe.

Once they reach Bellegur's castle, it is Modi's due to depart. To which Thannor steps in forward, along Agarwaenor...

" So... I guess it is time I... Uhm... "

Thannor shakes his head, and the boy tenses. Then freezes.

The older adult hugs him, quietly, firmly. An action his alternate's offspring had all but not expected, his only answer standing then, stiffly and shaking. Before hands hesitantly reach for him... There were no words needed, for either of them.

Thannor continues regardless...

" Boy... we would be glad to have ye, do not think elsewise " The man says, his hand gently caressing the boy's head, awkwardly. Words soft despite the rasped weariness that overwhelmed his forced physical existence... a sound the young child had never head in such a voice before, it felt... almost caring, paternal in a way. " I... It would be rude otherwise, ye went lengths ta have things fixed, offered to do something unthinkable... It is the least we could reward. "

" Didn't do it for rewards "

" Aye, I know... but ain't the only reason te do it, boy... I know yer thought process, boy, ye are my son, my alternate's child, my blood, flesh and mind. " The mage answers, countering with a chuckle, honest and, for once, lighter in tone than so far he had been. " Been in yer spot, though younger... I wondered the same with Braigon, once, ye are welcome te stay however long ye want... And... I would love to learn and getting to know ye... "

" You... don't mind? "

" Oi... I'd be delighted, little lad. I only hope the answer's of yer liking and not further waste of your efforts and noble heart. " The man pulled away, ruffling the boy's hair with a short laugh. " Who would've though I'd spawn such a brave and noble little cub, I'd be honored if anything, considering my alternate's... ways. "

" So far you're not too bad? You lot are very dumb, but... What I am seeing is... it is nice... even if what's happened isn't. "

" An unfortunate family trait I fear " Agar interjects, ruffling Thannor's head, before leaning on the man with one arm. Eventually then bowing towards Modi " I... apologize, for not defending you from my alternate's actions towards you that time, I should have stopped him from causing you harm. "

" Eh... it wasn't cool, but I did pull a dragon's tail, didn't I? "

" And yet it excuses my inaction not, let me apologize for my faults and mistakes, Modi, you were undeserving of that. " he sights, shaking his head. " I share my brother's view, and would be delighted to meet and start anew, if you would have me? "

" It... would be nice, besides, it would make things awkward otherwise if I get along with everyone but you, right? "

" Yes... yes it would, but it is not something that hasn't happened before, and not one you should worry off. " There is a pause, a humming noise. " I... have one condition, however. "

" Well that ruins it... please tell me no tasks or little favors. "

" No! Goodness, I do not do child labor... yet, I have some vague and skewed senses of ethics, morals and all that, but I am still on enough of my senses. " His answer is quick, and his tone clear in alarm. " I yet loathe the idea of child slavery, worry not. No... I... just don't put your own well being at risk for the sake of others, will you, kid? "

" Well... can't promise that, you know a heart's desire. "

" Unfortunately, I do... and I wish you not end on our hole, please... at least promise me you will try? "

" ... Okay. "

" It is the only thing we'd ask... so you end not like your father, or us. You are but a child still, hardly an adult, Modi "

" I get it, I get it! You're not even my dad and you're already fussing! Oooiiii! "

There whoe group, besides void, chuckle and laugh at the sigh...

" Pardon my interruption, I am aware you may wish your businesses resumed... but... "

" Would you like some tea and pastries before you depart? "

" I... uhm... okay? Would be neat? "

" We can also tell you tales of Thannor here~... "

" Oi! Ye shite don't ye dare! I know that look! "

" Dooon't know what you're talking~! "

" Okay now I am definitively staying for that tea! "

" Bloody'ell! "

Maybe, for now, things weren't as bad as they thought... Life was short, and fleeting as many things... They should just make with what they could... and hope their memories last.

Maybe they lost their game and the game was over

But there were others and maybe.... just maybe... they might win them

One day

but that?

That was for other day, right now, it was tea time with family...

[candyopals]

x

I'll be your spark of sunshine!

& I won't feel so left behind.

[rivalkieran]

(no major spoilers please!) sooooooo I started isat...

[bacchuschucklefuck]

okay unironically I love so much that porter is like this world SUCKS its BAD here and it HURTS you why do you care abt it!!! and literally every single bad kid is like ngl we just hate ur ass it does not matter what ur philosophy is

[esprei]

wip of a dark volo (for those who might remember him)

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

Do you ever think about

Peeta being 5 years old on his first day of school and noticing this girl in a red plaid dress with her hair in two braids that his father points out to him. And then he sees this girl stand up on a stool and sing in front of the whole class and he notices that the birds stop to listen, just like his dad had told him they did for her father.

Peeta being 6 or 7 years old, practicing his cake icing behind the counter of the bakery. And then the father of the girl who wore the red dress comes into the bakery singing a song and Peeta raises his head to see if the birds stop to listen. And they do.

Peeta being 11 years old, standing behind his mother as she yells at that very same girl, looking hunger-stricken and so weak, for looking through their rubbish bins. Watching her as moves just a little bit away until she's behind their pigpen, leaning on their apple tree for support. Hurrying back inside and burning two loaves of good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. Checking over his shoulder as he wills the crusts to blacken faster. Feeling his mother deliver a blow to his cheek with a burning hot tool, falling to the floor. Being told to go out and give the blackened bread to the pigs but waiting until his mother has gone back inside to throw the bread to the girl. Going back inside and watching as she takes it and hurries away. Seeing the girl at school the next day and wanting to catch her eye, waiting and waiting for her to meet his eyes. But the one time she does, she looks away quickly, towards a dandelion, smiles and plucks it from the ground.

Peeta being 12, 13, 14, 15 years old, finding himself constantly sneaking glances at the girl. Wanting desperately to go over to her, talk to her, see if he could make her smile. He sees her watching him back. But then he shakes his head and tells himself to knock it off. Plus she seems to be with that older boy a lot.

Peeta being 16 years old. Staring at the floor until he hears her sister's name. Feels the air go out of him when he sees her push through the crowd and volunteer. Fixing his eyes on her, watching her stand up there, heading far far away from him. Oh, how he wishes he would have talked to her when they had had time. So lost in his thoughts of her that he almost misses his own name being called out. Feels the eyes on him, a pair that must belong to her too, following him as he makes his way to join her on the stage. Shaking her hand and hoping she knows he chooses her.

Peeta being 16 years old, in the games. Deciding that she can win, she can survive, she must live. Letting the whole of Panem know his feelings for her. Choosing to join the Careers to lead them away from her. Choosing to save her even if it means getting his leg slashed by Cato. Finding a place to conceal himself, hoping death comes sooner rather than later. Hoping she's okay, that she's made it. Listening out for cannons and watching the sky, hoping she doesn't appear, as he bleed outs. Hears the rule change one evening and cries, because it's too late now for him.

Peeta being 16 years old and she's found him. She's called out his name and she's found him. And she's helping him. He's struggling and dying and weak, a hindrance more than a help, but she stays by him constantly, watching him closely like she's done for years but now it's up close. And soon she's kissing him and though he's tired and draining all the time, this sets off a spark in him that makes him feel alive. Joking with her, teasing her, sleeping with her curled up against him, hearing her laugh at his jokes, feeling her touch and reaching out to mirror her touches, kissing her. And soon his crush, this care he's felt for this girl, develops into feelings that are stronger, feelings that feel a lot like love. And they talk and they talk. She risks her life trying to get the medicine that will save him and he realises he completely underestimated her.

Peeta being 16 years old and a victor. But he's not the only one. She's right there beside him and he can't believe his luck. Hope. Love. The future lies out ahead of them. But then something is wrong. Haymitch tells them to keep it up until they're back but he doesn't realise there's anything to keep up. Finding out that there was something a bit too shiny and sparkling about these last few weeks. Something not completely real. Feeling something horrible twist inside him. Letting go of this girl and taking a step back, because something hurts deep in his chest.

Peeta being 17 years old, going about his days back in Twelve. Painting, fending off nightmares with a paintbrush, walking by her house everyday, noticing when the lights are on or off in her bedroom. Then they're going on a victory tour and the feelings he's tried to cover up with bakery bread and painted canvases and set alight again because there she is, holding his hand on stage, kissing him at times where he even doesn't anticipate it, smiling up at him in a way that ties his stomach into a million different knots. At night he hears her screaming and runs into her room. Whispers to her til she's conscious, holds her until she's calm in his arms and slips into her bed to hold her until they fall asleep. His own nightmares stay away, their interwoven limbs creating a barrier against them.

Peeta being 17 years old, spending every day in her glow. They're friends now. She might not have chosen him but he can't make himself stay away now, not now that she needs him. Listening to her ideas, wanting to run away with her. Talking to her on the phone. Baking her cheese buns and carrying her up and down stairs. Still holding her while she sleeps. Painting pictures for her family book. Sitting with her in the quiet, feeling her breath close to him. Looking up and smiling at her furrowed brows. Catching her look at him all the time.

Peeta being 17 years old, going back into the games. Making her train, choosing her again. Withdrawing because she has to win. She has to. But seeing her, weary and tired, a mirror of himself, he can't help but open his arms to her, feel her warmth beneath him. And it only furthers his resolve. Fighting, fighting, fighting. Always to make sure she makes it out alive. Feels her mirror his love, his kisses, his touches. And one night, he loses her. He can hear her but he can't see her. And then everything changes.

Peeta being 17 years old, living in a world where shiny images fight their way against other images that are matte in his memory. She's far away now, he's not sure where. But he knows she's alive. Why else would they torture him and the people around him. And he always says he doesn't know, knowing what it will mean. But he'd still suffer those same consequences even if he knew what they needed. Still needing to protect her.

Peeta being 17 years old and here she is in front of him. But his head roars at the sight of her and he doesn't know why. She's anxious and weak and damaged, but the alarms are going off in his head. The shininess takes over in this new setting. And he doesn't know why, but he knows something is very wrong. They take him away then. Try to undo something that needs to be undone.

Peeta being 17 years old, not sure which way is up and which way is down. But he sees her, watches her. And then he's sent off on a mission with her. This girl that consumes his every thought, on both sides of the war that's going on in his head and he doesn't know what to do. The shiny and his memory are still fighting, and it leaves him so tired. Seeing her, hearing her speak brings memories out of the recesses of his mind. He starts to piece together a puzzle that's been scattered in his mind. Feeling feelings that he once felt in his chest. Real or not real? Green. Orange. The colour of her dress. Cheese buns. Lamb stew in their den. Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other. Knowing it's true and knowing he must.

Peeta being 18 years old, coming back to Twelve after the war. For her. Seeing primroses growing and digging them up, bringing them to her house. Planting them for her. Seeing her again, weary and tired and broken. But she's here. And so is that feeling in his chest that was buried under shiny images that he has since ripped up and discarded. Walking with her through town. Having meals with her, making sure she has cheese buns. Seeing her start to smile again. Climbing into bed with her so that they can create that barrier again, the one that holds off their nightmares. Tentatively kissing her and feeling that fire rage again.

Peeta in his late 30s, watching Katniss lay out a picnic basket in the meadow. Seeing the sunlight fall against her hair and skin, making them shine in a way he knows is real. See the dancing girl weave around the items Katniss lays out. Laughs as the boy with the chubby legs tries to keep up. Walks over to them with the freshly baked cheese buns and sets them down in the space she's left vacant. Feels her smile trained on him before he turns his head to see it. Kisses her softly and breaks away laughing as the dark-haired girl covers her eyes and the blonde boy looks between them. Sits down as Katniss lays her head in his lap. While their children eat cheese buns and make up games in the grass, they sit there in the sunshine, taking it all in. Katniss makes a flower crown using the dandelions growing around her while Peeta runs runs his hand through her hair. He looks down into her eyes just as she tilts her head back to look at him. Knowing that they don't need to freeze this moment.

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[cogdominium]

saw a post in the corporate clash tag that caused me to black out and make this

[coern-art-very-cool-and-nice]

try again?

[wikoymi]

normalest gay person

[ganondoodle]

just saw more on twitter about the stupid book and apparently theres a "timeline update" and supposedly hylia made the stupid magic pebbles

yeah sure, say whatever you want, theres no saving this shit anymore, lore down the drain yeehaaawww

one of my biggest fears before totk came out was that it would screw not only botw lore up but also mess with existing lore, and i hate to be right on that part, id much prefer if theyd leave whatever shit they invent as being something new and not something that has "totally always existed", they clearly dont care about lore consistency, why do they keep trying to connect things afterwards anyway

....... if im being honest, i was surprised but glad that the game didnt actually end up killing my passion for the franchise even if it made me struggle for a good while

but

the stupid book might. and im being serious.

i really just want to throw everything zelda related i ever made or bought away right now, it will only get worse from here and the sooner i can stop caring the better

"that sounds unhealthy" oh you dont say?? i am mentally ill, in fact, the passion that an obsession like that brings with it can turn into some really ugly distress, i am aware of it, i do fucking wish i could just stop caring about lore and timelines and find something else, but i cant, thats not how this works, just bc i am aware of how stupid this is doesnt mean i can change anything about it, i feel what i feel

[daily-beast-wirt-brainrot]

[Day 27] The Hunger games Wirt Fight event was very fun :] Cannot believe og wirt almost won but died to a fucking tree.. Some of this might not make sense if you’re not in the server

..which you should totally join..

[svtskneecaps]

"do you think god stays in heaven because he too lives in fear of what he created" except it's the qsmp admins realizing players including but not limited to forever, pierre, tazercraft, cellbit, phil, fit, bad, and etoiles are able and completely willing to break the server for reasons such as "to gamble more", or simply because it's funny

[natasha-in-space]

So I'm replaying Ray's After ending rn, and it got me thinking that what I adore so much about Rika as an antagonist is just how damn scary she can be. I always found those who cause harm with good intentions (at least in their point of view) much scarier than those who hurt you with pure intention on hurting you. I think the best example of it is this CG in particular:

Look at that. Such a loving, gentle expression on her face. Probably kissing his forehead. Because she loves him. Heck, without any context, this CG looks even sweet, if you think about it. And yet, all that is while Saeyoung is forcefully sedated on a powerful concoction of drugs even a trained agent like him can't do anything about (and Saeyoung WAS definitely trained to deal with this sort of thing, hence it's mentioned that this is a 'special' kind of drugs). He looks miserable. Bags under his eyes, his expression pained and troubled, even his hair is paler than usual. All that as a direct result of her actions. But she's utterly blind to it. What's scarier, is that she knowingly shuts off her understanding of what's really happening. She's not oblivious to it at all. She just chooses not to see it that way. Simply because she doesn't want to.

Rika is the type of antagonist that will cup your cheek into her warm hand with the most loving of smiles on her face, all while you are getting elixir poured down your throat. Even whispering to you that you're doing great, that the pain will soon pass, and that she can't wait to see you reach the happiness she knows you deserve. I won't be surprised if she even cried genuine tears of compassion during some ceremonies for her believers. All while being the sole reason behind their suffering.

And that's... God, that's terrifying to me. I love that about her.

Rika Kim, they could never make me hate you

[jeeaark]

Why would Emps send a letter on a timeline where you side with Orpheus, he considers it a betrayal. Friendship over :'( My theory is that he flees if you free Orpheus is because he thinks Orpheus would kill him. And you did that to him. I don't blame him for not sending letters.

The same reason why art of Durge and Gortash having sloppy make-out sessions materialized with a vengeance after Larian announced 'babygirl got no time for kisses'

because it's fun. I'm having fun. With my suspension of disbelief and the artistic power to recreate more satisfactory silly conclusions that adhere to my personal tastes and not the game's obligatorily unfun tragedy.

[vaugarde]

im abt to rb a post on this anyways but tbh i dont know how you can finish isat and go “siffrin wasnt punished enough”.

the fella has killed themselves several times, what more do you want from him?