#say i do chapter 1

[seagreenstardust]

“When toxic behavior is portrayed as romantic, it’s problematic. When problematic behavior is portrayed as a character flaw for a character to work through, it’s good storytelling.”

Katsuki Bakugou, my friends.

His behavior was problematic but never once portrayed as romantic at the same time. Katsuki said and did awful abusive things, and he also chose to be better when he was given the chance. If you’re still hung up on chapter 1 Katsuki now then I don’t think you’ve been reading the same story I have.

I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m not shipping Izuku with an irredeemable abuser. I’m shipping him with his most important person. His narrative foil. His childhood friend who made awful mistakes and then made it right when he saw he was wrong. The person Izuku looks up to and strives to emulate, despite their past struggles.

Bakudeku is so good because of how flawed these boys are, and how hard they’ve worked to get over it, and how much they matter to each other after it all

[ruporas]

special operatives (silly interaction beneath read more)

[ID: Digital Art in color of Trigun Maximum, characters included are Wolfwood, Elendira, and Legato in a casual meeting situation. The piece consists of orangey yellow lighting and purple shadows. Wolfwood sits on the left side, facing Elendira who’s on the right. He’s seated on a plain wooden chair with one knee up and he’s holding the strap to his Punisher in his left hand while his right sits against his thigh, He has an irritated expression as he speaks to Elendira. Elendira is sitting in a fancier seat, her right arm rests against Wolfwood’s propped up knee, her left hand holds her suitcase. She’s sitting cross legged with an amused expression. Legato can be seen in the back at the center of the image in his mobile body case, one of his eyes shown to be glaring at Wolfwood. End ID]

[ID: Sketch, uncolored comic. Elendira says to Wolfwood, “I’m not telling you to dedicate yourself to him, but just accept the situation at hand. We could get along better if we were on the same page.” Wolfwood responds, “Don’t peg me me for an optimist. I’m not dumb. But, I’m also not going to just live in resignation. Plus, I don’t have any interest in getting along with ya.” Elendira coos, “Aw, you sure? I have a wonderful shoulder to cry on when the weak people you’re trying to protect eventually dies in the coming months. Though, I guess it’s fine. Someone like you might just die before then anyway...” She snickers in her hand while Wolfwood is speechless and just glares. Legato is faintly drawn in the back, glaring at Wolfwood, muttering “worthless” repetitively. End ID]

[ayasenisan1713]

Cale in a world where strength is the most important thing: ✨I am weak✨

Also Cale when someone looks down on him in that world: *dominating aura*

[cozylittleartblog]

so many people complimented rouxls' boots on the last deltarune post, i forgot i basically never post full body doodles so you've never been able to get a good look at him. so here he is ✨

[shorthaltsjester]

god i cannot express how impressed in general i am with the storytelling that cr is doing with candela obscura but what really strikes me is how evident it is that the storytelling they do is defined by the hearts of those who are putting it together rather than adhering to a specific idea or image of a given story that they want to uphold. there is such a stark difference between the tones of chapter one and chapter two (to the fault of neither, i’ve enjoyed them both immensely because they both happen to hit parts of the supernatural-horror genre that I am so deeply fond of and so happy to see in a real play medium).

there’s the obvious difference in gming styles, matt has fantasy running through his veins and that’s evident in the way that chapter one ends up having a tone akin to something like the scarier episodes of buffy the vampire slayer. spenser outright references mike flanagan in his pre-interview thing and good grief is that so so evident in his narration and the way he emphasizes the themes emerging in the story in the environment of the world they journey through and choices like the letter from sean’s mother that subvert the audiences ability to rely on a character’s perception.

but the energy the groups of players bring to the storytelling is obviously also so important, too. like, even just looking at the groups prior to watching each I probably could’ve guessed which might’ve had a more lighthearted tone. the combination of ashley, anjali, and robbie already would be one i’d guess a more warm/goofy vibe for (not to say they can’t be serious and dramatic, but the tone of the seriousness is still warm and the world that prompts them towards drama likewise feels warm) and laura, despite her propensity for goofs, does tend to be a chameleon with group make ups. likewise i think we all had a certain (affectionate) fear™ when it was revealed that marisha, brennan, luis, and travis would be reuniting in another short form story and that has certainly held up and been incredibly bolstered by zehra’s absolute commitment and immersion into the story (constantly fucking blown away that this is her first real play she’s incredible).

this is all just to say as someone deeply interested in digital storytelling, i am so so enamoured by cr’s commitment to following their own desires as humans telling stories to one another while adhering to the requirements they have as a company. and also if you haven’t you should watch candela obscura, especially now that spooky season is here.

[mintygreencake]

We don't talk about how unhinged early Seth was, bro DEADASS took Boo's phone and started talking his shit to Al 😭 BROOO...

Then he OFFERED Boo to come find him if Al leaves them OH NAHHH 💀

Dame near gave Al a heart attack when he answered the phone and HE KNEW THAT 😭

[nevertheless-moving]

Stormlight AU Number Three Chapter One, Part One

"Captain? May I speak with you? I had one more thing that I was hoping to discuss. At your convenience, sir."

He turned to see Renarin, still lingering at the edge of the now mostly quiet campfire, stack of clean bowls beside him.

Kaladin barely restrained a sigh of annoyance. He had been planning on checking on the other barrack fires, then maybe getting some actual sleep.

"Of course, Brightlord," he said, stuffing down any irritation.

The prince jumped to his feet, looking nervously at the handful of men, some of whom had pulled out a deck of cards and were either genuinely no longer paying attention to the Brightlord among them, or were doing a very good impression of nonchalance.

Seriously? Kaladin thought, curious despite himself. He just begged to join a darkeyed spear crew, practically in public. Called a shashbranded man 'Sir' in front of a dozen witnesses and the open air. I didn't think he even knew what discretion was.

Kaladin tilted his head to the side, and they moved away from the group, well out of earshot, but Renarin still glanced at the other men in fear.

Talat's sword, the kid was tense as a bowstring again, hands shaking even as they clenched his sides, though they still didn't go for that box of his. A few twisting black spren trailed him. If Kaladin had thought he had been anxious before, then this was a whole other level.

"What do you think it is?" Syl asked, passing overhead, ruffling black and yellow hair. Renarin twitched at the breeze.

"I know some of the other bridgemen were whispering mean stuff about him," she said, examining the prince, "But I don't think he heard, and you said soldiers don't come to their commanding officers about that sort of thing, right? And he looks too scared for that, anyway. Unless they were really being cruel."

With another narrowly repressed sigh, Kaladin led them further away, to an alley between a storage building and an unused barrack, out of both sight and sound.

Something more about his Epilepsy, maybe?

Renarin pulled a sapphire mark out as they left the glow of firelight behind, blue light making the visible tremble of his fingers more obvious. The prince went even further, to the dead center of the alleyway. Even if someone skulking around the corner abandoned all pretenses and pressed an ear to the wall, they would be hard pressed to hear a quiet conversation.

And still, Renarin looked nervously to both of the alley's exits.

Kaladin's heart started to pick up in sympathetic dread. "Soldier?" he finally asked. "You wanted to speak with me?"

The youth flinched, before bowing his head and leaning forward.

"I need your help," he said, staring at the ground.

Kaladin furrowed his brow. "With...?"

"I need your help with—" he cut himself off, seeming to choke on the words. He let out a frustrated sounding grunt.

"We..." The prince opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands also opened and closed at his sides. "You..."

"How— his jaw snapped shut again and even in the low light, Kaladin could see him swallowing several times, before taking a deep breath and setting his jaw.

"You... survived a highstorm. You... healed from that."

Kaladin started at the unexpected line of conversation. Syl crossed her arms in the air, staring Renarin down.

"Yes," he said cautiously. "Not a pleasant experience."

"And you fought off the Parshendi army. When you charged the tower. By yourself."

"My whole bridge fought," Kaladin retorted, slightly offended on their behalf.

Renarin shook his head. "Yes, but you cleared the landing for them. You went ahead. And you won."

Kaladin's heart picked up a bit more.

"Briefly," he said with forced calm. "My men—"

"And you saved my father. From the Parshendi Shardbarer. By yourself... Adolin is still resentful of that, I think."

This time Kaladin said nothing. He hadn't done anything wrong, he reminded himself. Nothing to give away his advantages. His achievements had been unusual, yes. But that was common knowledge. Nothing to panic about when confronted, even by a prince with an unnerving tendency to watch people.

"I wondered... I suspected. But then I saw..."

Renarin looked up, but not at Kaladin. He stared into space, eyes unfocused, then shook his head.

"I saw you breathing in Stormlight," he whispered.

"Oh!" Syl said. "Oh!" She looked at Kaladin, but he wasn't listening to her right now.

A chill ran down Kaladin's spine, and it took everything he had not to move back in the narrow space.

"Breathing in stormlight?" he repeated after a moment, trying to sound confused. Trying, at least, not to sound afraid.

Brightlord Renarin's eyes snapped to his and now he found it very easy to hold himself in place. He didn't think he could move, chill down his back having hardened to ice.

"I saw you. And then I saw it — and I saw it again. A faint glow...you're a surgebinder. I know it. I saw it." The Brightlord's stare, somehow, grew even more intense.

Oh. It's over. It's all over.

"Kaladin! Kaladin!" Syl floated before his face, between Renarin and himself. "It's going to be okay! We like Renarin, remember? Try and calm down — just, just listen to him, alright? I have a good feeling about this."

"I..." Kaladin cleared the sudden dryness from his throat, clenching his hands into fists to try and control his abrupt, almost painful shivers. When had the night grown so storming cold? Why was the cold making it hard to breathe? "Who else knows?"

"No one!" the prince assured him quickly. "I wouldn't — I know it's a secret."

That softened a fraction of the crushing tightness in his chest. But only a small amount.

"What do you want?" Kaladin managed to get out. "What do you want from me?"

"I need help," Brightlord Renarin said, hands coming together in front of him, thumbs shifting end over end. "Please... I. Please. You have a spren. The assassin didn't, but you do. She looks like a windspren, but she's something else, right? Something more."

The weight, impossibly, redoubled on his chest. He sucked down a breath, then struggled to take in another.

I knew it. I knew it.

"Kaladin! Kaladin can you hear me?" Syl said, from very far away.

I knew they'd try and take her from me.

He saw the Brightlord 's terrible blue eyes as if from the end of a tunnel, looming above him. At some point he had stumbled back, the soulcast stone wall frigid behind him.

He couldn't fight. If he killed a third dahn, even if he could bring himself to kill Dalinar's son, he'd never know peace again. Bridge four would never know peace. He couldn't attack the prince, who was under Kaladin's protection, possibly twice.

He couldn't run. His men were here. He wouldn't be able to get to them all, not before they came after him.

He couldn't fight. He couldn't run.

He couldn't — he couldn't — he looked desperately for Syl.

She hovered over him, tears in her eyes, mouth moving silently.

He couldn't protect her.

The tunnel closed in around him.

...

"...says this weird shade of orange is the next big color—"

Kaladin blinked in bewilderment. He turned to see Prince Renarin next to him, talking nonsense.

"—but honestly the fabric swatches give me a headache..."

He glanced towards Syl, searching for an explanation, but she seemed enthralled, laying on her front in the air, heels kicked up behind her.

"I hope he moves on as fast from this as he did yellow. He still can't make up his mind about Takamas, though he pretends that..."

There was about two week's worth of pay between them. Two weeks worth of pay for him now, as head of the cobalt guard. A small fortune. Pocket change to a prince.

"Why," Kaladin said, too confused to be anything but blunt, "are you sitting on the ground next to me, talking about fashion?"

The prince startled, scrambling halfway up before kneeling back down, level with Kaladin.

They were on the ground. Why were they on the ground...in an alley?

"I'm sorry!" the youth said. "It's what Adolin does when I... when the world is too much and I leave my head. I wasn't sure what else to do."

Kaladin felt slightly dizzy. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself involuntarily. Hazy dread started creeping back towards him, like fronds after a storm.

"I'm sorry," Renarin whispered again. "I've done this all wrong. I should have started by showing you, but I was too scared. I'll show you now."

He fumbled with the sphere, in his hand, bringing it close to his face. Then he took a deep breath.

And the light from the sphere went alongside.

Kaladin gaped as the prince glowed in the dark alley.

"I'm a surgebinder too," he said, light escaping quickly as he spoke. "I'm not trying to take your spren, I swear. I'm came to ask your help with mine, and for your help controlling my abilities." He glanced down, and it occurred to Kaladin he might be looking at something, someone, Kaladin couldn't see.

"Glys says that he thinks there's something wrong with him, that my powers are manifesting differently then he thinks he was expecting. I've told him that it's probably me, that I tend to mess things up, but he seemed sure that something happened to him, even if he can't quite remember...and I realized that you..."

He turned watery blue eyes towards Kaladin. "I'm sorry to bother you. There's not a lot of people I can ask for help with this. Please...if you can help him. Help us."

"Oh," Kaladin said, feeling strange. "You're like me."

Renarin blushed, staring at his lap, face illuminated by the last wisps of light escaping his skin. "I'm really not. I'm not a warrior, I can't even wield a Shardblade without..."

Syl hissed beside him.

"I don't like Shardblades," Kaladin said innanely. "I mean, I thought it was because of the death I had seen them deal, but Syl hates them worse than anything."

"I... hear something when I hold mine. Screaming. It hurts. It hurts Glys too, I'm pretty sure, though he won't admit it. I thought it was hallucinations at first, but..."

"I don't — Hm. Actually, I couldn't actually bring myself to touch one, when I had a chance," Kaladin said quietly. "If you want, I suppose, you could summon yours, and I could try to touch it, and if I hear something too, then..."

He regretted the offer almost as soon as he made it but...there was someone like him. A lighteyes, but still.

Renarin sat back, closing his eyes. He reached his hand out to the side, turning away as if braced for blow. He winced when the blade finally dropped into his hands, gritting his teeth.

"It's terrible," Syl whispered. "It's...it makes me angry, so angry, but also...sad?"

Kaladin forced himself to reach forward, not wanting to prolong Renarin's obvious pain. He felt the same as he did every time he saw one of the things, no matter from how far away — that same sense of wrongness, of concentrated injustice. He carefully touched the flat of the blade, and...

Screaming.

He could hear screaming. Inside his head. Syl! She was dying!

It reverberated through Kaladin. His muscles spasmed as that horrible, awful screech shook through him. He pulled back, gasping, looking frantically for Syl. She was crying, and he reached for her with trembling hands, even though he knew they wouldn't be able to touch. She stumbled towards him.

Renarin dismissed the blade, slumping in relief. "So you hear it too."

"Storms! What was that? How did you stand bonding with it?" He cradled Syl in both hands, almost able to feel her, soft as a breeze on his palms.

"It...was a really bad week."

Kaladin barked out a laugh, then pulled himself together.

"Well, either we're both crazy, or...it's a Radiant thing. Something to do with the Recreance, I'd guess."

The corners of Renarin's lips twitched up slightly as he nodded. "That's...I'm truly sorry, I know that was terrible, but it's such a relief —"

"No, I get it —" The cold, the earlier misplaced terror was ebbing in away. Even that horrible scream. In its place, was a feeling that he could best describe as relief. "It's — it feels good to not be alone."

Renarin hummed softly, nodding vigorously in agreement, then tucked his chin to his chest.

If he had to pick a lighteyes to become a surgebinder... well, Renarin was probably the best choice, the least likely to misuse his power of anyone of his class that Kaladin had met. Bizarrely humble, despite his proximity to the throne. It could be a lie of, course, but he didn't seem to have the...entitlement that led other lighteyes into casually committing horrors.

Kaladin studied the prince. At some point he had pulled out that box of his, and was turning it end over end in shifting patterns. Renarin looked up, met Kaladin's eyes, then quickly looked back down, blushing.

Storms, had he really been scared off this man?

Dalinar, an honorable lighteyes if one existed, could be frightening, exuding the sense that he expected the world to move to suit his needs. Zahel may have had a point about Renarin's character, not to mention his willingness to come here the way he did, rather than demand answers on his own turf...

And a radiant Spren chose him, too. Surely, that had to be a good sign, if nothing else? Then again, Syl chose me, so who knows.

"I also forgot a lot," Syl said, and Renarin turned to look at her, eyes wide.

"Oh! You're —"

"Slyphrena," she said, smiling, standing proud on Kaladin's hand. "Honorspren, though I didn't remember that part until kind of recently. I just thought I was a weird windspren, that is when I could string two thoughts together!"

She turned into mist, sneaking up Renarin's arm like clouds over a mountain range.

"Where's your spren? What type are they anyway? They're not a cryptic, are they? Come on, it's been ages since I had someone intelligent to talk to who wasn't a windspren."

Kaladin rolled his eyes.

"Glys?" Renarin asked softly. There was a long pause. "He — uh. He's too nervous to come out right now."

The syl cloud paused at Renarin's shoulder, then shifted back into her female form.

"Huh!" she said. "So he's like you!"

Renarin let out a bemused huff of air. "Yes, yes he is. I thought that might also be a radiant thing, since we're bonded, but..." He looked out of the side of his eyes at Syl who was sitting on nothing, swinging her legs, then back at Kaladin, who quickly tried to school his resting features into something not a scowl.

"This... this is exactly the type of thing I wanted to talk to you about," Renarin said. "There's books on Radiants, but I don't think I could have them all read to me without word spreading. I've been mixing them in with other random subjects, but I don't know what would happen if this got out. The ardents already mutter about my cousin and my father committing heresy, and I'm not nearly as, uh, established as them."

Kaladin nodded, eagerness surprising himself. But damn it, Renarin had asked for his help, and it would be good to talk with someone who knew how Stormlight felt in their veins, maybe spar, if he could get Renarin a different weapon.

Renarin might not be as stocky as his brother and father, but he must exercise, as he clearly had some amount of lithe muscle, now that Kaladin looked closer. He wasn't as young as Kaladin had first thought, and his height would give him reach. How much of his perceived frailness was just because of his family's shadow? How much of his martial ability had been held back by his Epilepsy, now no longer a problem? How much had that sword held him back, once he had the chance to actually fight?

"I train with stormlight sometimes, in the chasms," Kaladin said. "When I can get away. Sigzil, Rock, and Lopen help. If you can convince your father to actually serve on a spear crew, then next time I'll have you join us — the other men might mutter about you getting special training, but well..."

"I'll live. Though I was being honest when I said I wanted to be a soldier, or something close to one."

"I believe you. We'll figure something out — it's not as though my duties allow me to get away often. Most of the time you'll be cleaning boots and drilling spear forms, don't worry."

Renarin nodded, hands turning the box over. "So... those three, they know about you? Who else?"

"All of bridge four," Kaladin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or the ones who were there when I charged the tower, anyway...there wasn't really away to keep it secret after that. I was terrified that someone in your army would see. Plus Shen, he was there when I talked more about more powers around the first stew in this camp. Not any of Lopen's cousin's, I don't think. Or the injured recruits. Just the original bridge four, and... now you."

"Oh..."

They sat in silence, Renarin twisting his box around. Kaladin grew briefly distracted following the lines.

"I'm sorry," the prince finally said. "I know you wouldn't have wanted any lighteyes to know. It's one of the reasons I didn't say anything to you when I just had suspicions. I'm truly sorry to have alarmed you like that, I wasn't expecting..." Renarin continued twisting pieces about in an oddly soothing way. "But if I thought someone was coming after Glys... Brightlords have taken a lot from you, haven't they?"

Kaladin grimaced but didn't say anything. He forced himself to look away from the box, he didn't want Renarin to think he was staring. The prince was very perceptive, sometimes.

They sat in silence for a longer time.

"Should I tell bridge four about me?" Renerin asked eventually.

"It's up to you. They're good men, but I understand if its a bit soon for you."

Another long silence. The men were probably wondering what had happened to them, the ones who hadn't gone out for drinks, anyway.

"I don't think I want to, not yet. My abilities... they frighten me." The prince's fingers tightened around the metal cube, knuckles growing white.

"What... what are your abilities? I know there were different orders, which could do different things..."

"Truthwatcher," Renarin whispered. "Or so Glys tells me."

"Windrunner."

A small red light pulsed beneath Renarin's shirt, quickly winking out, and the prince wrinkled his brow. "Huh. Glys is surprised by that for some reason."

"I'm the only Honorspren," Syl said quietly. "The only one who would come. The rest — I can't remember, but they're not here. There were...others. Other types of spren who came through, but not ones like me." She ran her fingers through her hair in an oddly human gesture of frustration.

Renarin forced his shoulders back, tension returning. Kaladin waited while he arranged his thoughts, in the mean time letting himself enjoy watching the shapes that Renarin unconsciously formed and dissolved out of the box's rows.

"I'm not completely sure what I can do. I can grow things. There were some seeds in one of my meals and — they grew, as if a weeping passed in a minute. Some rockbuds outside my window did too. Glys thinks I might be able to do that for people, but I haven't really had the chance to try."

Kaladin's jaw dropped and he couldn't help but reach for the prince, stopping himself just before he grabbed the man's shoulder's. "That's incredible! With stormlight — you could prevent famines with that! And people — you mean you think you could heal?"

Renarin nodded, a few shockspren breaking around him.

"That's incredible," he said, giving into the urge to shake the man's shoulders. "Renarin, that's amazing!"

The prince blinked rapidly, cheeks and ears darkening. "Really? I mean can't Windrunners — you can fly can't you?"

"I haven't... figured out flying. I assumed it was impossible, before I saw the Assassin. But I did figure out wall walking, just earlier today, and I think I can see how that would turn into — it wouldn't really be flying, just sort of...falling sideways. I think I could do it, with practice."

"Wow."

Kaladin shook his head. "People don't appreciate healing as much as they should. My father trained me as a surgeon —"

A wave of melancholy hit him, as it often did when he thought of home.

"That makes a lot more sense then field medicine training that would cover epilepsy."

Kaladin smiled. "Anyway. If you could heal like the Radiants from myths could...I can't express how incredible that would be. The growing crops by itself is..."

Renarin smiled shyly, looking pleased, and Kaladin pressed one last time on both shoulders before drawing back.

"That's not... the only thing I do." The prince looked down. "The other thing I do — well. It feels more like it happens to me, actually. I've been pretending it's my epileptic fits but those actually stopped around when I bonded with Glys."

"I stick rocks together," Kaladin offered. Renarin cocked his head, peeking up through his lashes, and Kaladin sighed. He breathed in a small amount of light, picking up a pebble, then pressed it to the wall.

"Oh!" Renarin said, scrambling to look. "Wow!" He reached for it, but the pebble fell almost immediately.

"Eh. I've tried using it sparring, and honestly its easier just to fight normally."

"But maybe with practice..."

"Maybe. I've gotten some use out of it, but it's not quite as exciting as walking on walls, or as useful as growing crops."

Renarin scrubbed a hand across his face. "My other thing. It's not boring... it's bad. It's. Pretty bad." He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes, and drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Do you ever... get highstorm visions? Like my father?" the prince asked, not opening his eyes.

"A few times," Kaladin said, just as quietly. "You?"

Renarin nodded, than shook his head. "Mine are...different," he said grimly. "And they don't always happen during storms." His hands picked at the cuffs of his pants, then worked to follow the seams of his shining leather boots.

Kaladin waited, but it didn't seem like the prince was going to keep going without Kaladin giving something.

"Mine aren't like your father's either. I understand those are of the past, mine...it's like I was the high storm, I could see the continent moving beneath me. The last was when the assassin came. I...the Stormfather, I think it was him, said 'he was coming.'

Renarin jerked to face him, his eyes opening wide, alight with...hope? "You mean you saw the future?"

Kaladin recoiled on instinct, and he could see the spark die in Renarin's eyes.

Oh. Oh.

"You could call it that," Kaladin said carefully. "Though I feel the Assassin was already, uh, fairly present. More like a warning from an ally, although I don't think the stormfather actually likes me."

He didn't want to talk about the Stormfather's accusations about killing Syl. He hadn't even talked to Syl about that.

"He said he was sorry about 'him' coming," Kaladin explained. "And I didn't see the assassin but – Um. Do you..."

Renarin nodded, shoulders slumping and head curling down. It was hard to see, shadowed as he was, but his eyes looked open now, watery and looking into nothingness.

"The images don't always make sense in the moment. At first I thought it was just...madness. The things I see...it would be better if it was just madness. But they always come true. Always."

An agony spren appeared from the ground, reaching for the hem of the prince's pants. Another followed close behind.

Kaladin sat thinking, not wanting to reply hastily and make things worse again.

"Can you guess what my men said, after they found out what I could do?" Kaladin asked slowly.

Renerin shook his head, but the agonyspren at least faded.

"I was terrified that they would think it was alarming. Unnatural. I thought I was cursed for a while...and Skar said, "If it helps you survive, it’s good. That’s all that needs to be said about it." And...that was that."

Renarin clutched his knees closer, starting to rock slightly. "I don't know if my powers can do that," he whispered. "It feels like the visions can't be changed. I don't know how to change them, I barely understand what half of them mean, not until it's too late."

"Maybe...that's part of why there are so many warnings about being wary of telling the future?" Kaladin said. "It would be easy to think they're guarantees, and set yourself up for failure, but if they're more like highstorm predictions..."

"You think?"

Kaladin shrugged helplessly. "I honestly don't know. But I realized that this — what I can do, what we can do — it's not evil, and its not a curse. So... maybe the legends of telling the future are like the stories of the radiants turning against mankind. Too much time has passed, and everything we know now is confused."

"Hm. I don't know," Syl said doubtfully. "I still feel like predicting the future is weird and dangerous."

"Syl!" Kaladin hissed, while Renarin curled in tighter, rocking staying the same speed.

"But," she said, putting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes, "I like you Renarin, and I'm a tiny piece of God with impeccable taste, so you can't be evil."

Kaladin slapped a hand to his face, but Renarin seemed to unfold at that, blinking rapidly.

"Really? Glys says as far a spren go, you're the ones that are pure Honor."

"Obviously," she said, sounding for all the world like a stuck up lighteyes.

"And you — you like me? You... think I have honor?"

She squinted at him, and he straightened like a soldier awaiting inspection.

"Yep!" She said finally. "You're not as good as my human obviously —"

"Syl," Kaladin hissed again, flushing, but Renarin just nodded.

"—But I like you, so you must be honorable. And my Kaladin can be weird and dangerous, too, so it's probably fine."

"That's—" Kaladin started to protest, but saw how inexplicably cheered Renarin looked and decided to let it go.

"We should probably get back to the others," Kaladin said finally. A wave of exhaustion hit him, and he stumbled to his feet. Storms, he felt like he had just run a marathon. He brushed off flakes of dried crem from the back of his uniform.

Renarin clambered up after him, and he looked...lighter. His hands twisted over the box, but they weren't shaking. He smiled widely at Kaladin, teeth showing, genuine relief and joy and hope crinkling the corners of his eyes. Kaladin couldn't help but pause and smile back.

"You — you won't tell anyone? About me?" Kaladin blurted out, before they fully left the alley. He just — he had to be sure.

Renarin nodded furiously.

"And I won't tell bridge four about you," Kaladin promised in return. "Not until you ready, but... they might guess, if we keep meeting."

"I understand," Renarin said, expression earnest. "And...I really want to talk more. This...just this meant a lot."

"And maybe..." Renarin looked at Syl, then his voice dropped to a hopeful whisper. "If Glys is willing to talk to Syl, they could try and work on the gaps in their memory together, about where they came from."

Kaladin nodded slowly. Storms, I didn't even think... if it could help Syl... maybe I can move the schedule around so I guard Renarin in the evenings, so we can have more time for them to figure it out.

"Thank you," Kaladin said, reaching out a hand and grasping Renarin's shoulder. "I know it wasn't easy coming to me like this."

Renarin ducked his head, tips of his ears red. "Thank you for hearing me out. Sorry I... startled you."

Kaladin rubbed the bridge of his nose. Startled. That was one word for it. A few shamespren fell. Almighty, what would have happened if he had frozen up like that in a fight? He shook away the thought, he couldn't remember ever losing himself like that, it was likely a bizarre and unpleasant fluke.

Though some of his memories of being the wretch were a haze... Regardless, it was probably why he felt so tired now. That and perhaps the lack of sleep.

They left the alley to find Torfin waiting around the corner; Renarin and Kaladin both froze on seeing him.

He saluted, looking guilty. "Sir! Apologies for eavesdropping, Drehy and I were assigned to guard Prince Renarin tonight, and when you and he didn't return, we grew concerned. I moved away as soon as I could tell that...uh. A guard was not needed."

Kaladin crossed his arms, scowling, and Torfin fidgeted, not meeting his eyes.

"...What did you hear?"

"Very little Captain, I swear! The prince wanted to talk more, then mumbles, then you thanked him, then I left, I promise!"

Kaladin relaxed. "I believe you Torfin, and I'm not upset, you were doing your job."

"Of course, sir!"

"I can—" a wave of exhaustionspren fluttered up around him and he staggered; Renarin reached out to steady him.

"You've been working two, possibly three shifts in a row?" Renarin murmured. "Torfin and Drehy can escort me back. We can, uh —" He glanced nervously at Torfin, still standing at attention. "We can talk more another time."

Kaladin nodded, and Renarin let him go.

Getting to his bed was a blur; he was fairly sure he at least mumbled goodnight to the men still by the fire, but couldn't be certain.

"There's someone like me," he whispered to Syl, pulling his boots (not as nice as his old ones) off, barely mustering up the energy to trade his uniform for more comfortable sleep trousers. Storms, it felt good to change clothes at the end of the day. The little things bridgecrew makes you appreciate.

"And there's someone like me!" Syl said, twirling happily. He smiled at her, then was out before his head hit the pillow.

[blinkpen]

i made a semi-facetious joke about kabru dungeon meshi but then it turned into a long ramble oops

kabru is so weirded out by laios' inscrutable vibes and lack of interest in other people (including kabru which he totally doesn't take personally or anything) that he immediately descends into paranoia and assumes malevolence

what i'm saying is laios is autistic rep, this we know, but kabru is also autistic rep, for equally traumatized autistic people who think their hard-learned mastery of people pleasing, social scripts and masking translates into unilateral skill at reading people of all types and assuming they are right on the money about it every time (**despite obvious cases of this not being true) and now call themselves Dark Empaths and have that one person who didn't wrong them but also didn't notice them or immediately become their friend and so said Empath is waiting desperately for another, actually valid reason to call them out and claim this weirdo was evil all along and be 'dealt with' and feel reassuring closure over not being able to connect with what is now clearly proven to be just an obvious error of a human, whatever that even means,

and tragically not grappling with the irony of this being the exact fate they've merely defensively trained their way out of facing at the hands of others

i say this as someone who likes kabru and think he and laios should kiss btw i just wanted to see how many people read all that and Flinched, happy tuesday

**something something:

Worthy Contrast i think, between A) kabru assuming average joe adventurers laios and falin are sinister people hiding something... after seeing their honest generosity be pretty blatantly taken advantage of, without them ever catching on or at least never causing a fuss, and kabru assuming laios could only ever be corrupted by the forces of the dungeon because laios doesn't care enough about people or what people think, which must mean he doesn't value human life enough to not do evil things one day

B) kabru having misguided trust for the town's literal crime lord, who he knows is a crime lord, entirely bc of how friendly the guy is and how clean and orderly he runs things (because it's functionally pragmatic to not be as evil as possible about it) and oohh they're so well acquainted! kabru knows he's a ultimately a good dude who'd do the right thing and care about the community whose seedy underbelly he oversees, and look at him, he even looks like santa claus...! after all the cordial interactions they've had, surely "leave money on the table to prevent a calamity that could leave hundreds dead" is a favor he won't mind kabru asking of him at all!

kabru said he wanted to see a mask fall,

he got exactly that

[kkshowtunes]

what about 13 year old Richie and Eddie walking by the R+E that Richie carved. What about Richie trying to nonchalantly bring it up like “it’s us, haha, right Eds?” as if someone else carved it. What about Eddie laughing and not thinking anything of it while Richie is dying inside. What then?

[velvetjune]

the chapter songs in Alan Wake 2,, flawless

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead. 

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this. 

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs.  Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair. 

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?" 

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs. 

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles. 

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him. 

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That. 

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to. 

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly. 

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor. 

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step. 

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's. 

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before. 

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray. 

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further. 

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs,  "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of! 

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons. 

[hanzajesthanza]

the scene i find most relatable in all of the witcher saga is ciri in the korath desert, and idk what that says about me, but… probably nothing good 😅🙃

[lavenderjewels]

i have a lot of issues with jjk in the recent years, but i do think the culling games colonies were enjoyable and fun, and that the character development and exploration tends to get overlooked. watching shibuya animated really made me realize that, even though i love that arc, it’s more about the chaos of that single day—the characters put in bombastic fights, power reveals, the villains’ plans set in motion, introductions of major plot lines and characters. kenjaku sealing gojo, yuuji’s entire fight with mahito, and toji’s second death were great emotional moments, but i like that chapters after the arc and in the culling games colonies make more time with self-reflection.

maki’s complicated relationship with her parents and sister, and her moment of enlightenment. panda’s familial bonds and having to say goodbye. yuuta discussing with uro and ryu on what’s meaningful in their lives, love, and the increasing pressure of being strong. yuuji’s overwhelming guilt and hatred of himself reflected in higuruma’s own past and thoughts, with him trying to spare yuuji from that blame. megumi trying to save tsumiki and yuuji, but inadvertently making everything worse, spiraling into killing others, and drowning in despair, when he’s the one who has to be saved. uraume’s funny relationship towards sukuna and kenjaku. kenjaku’s motivations unraveling with their desire to find something beyond their limits in a chaos they cannot control, and killing their friendships.

There’s more than that, but it was when I finally started to really love some of these characters, even ones we’ve known from the start of the series

[pup-pee]

so i have a problem & its called rereading this fic i just quickly doodled these 2 thingss but ill prolly make an actual piece bc i think about this a lot

sunshine. falling.

u can decide which part of the convo theyre on kfjsdh

gift 4 @radioactive-earthshine

HERES THE FIC AGAIN BC I REALIZE THE LINK MIGHT NOT LINK? ignore mefjksdh\

((idk y the quality is so badfjsdgf BUT THE DIALOUGE WAS CUTE OK ik part of it was from superboy & the ravers (#7) but just ok just))

this is like a couple weeks old @ this point idk y i never posted it

[dipplinduo]

I have decided your little Latin message in Chapter 11.

What does it mean?!

What Does It Mean?!?!

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!?!?!

This is it!!! Ding ding ding!!!

It means...something....very important...:)

[hella1975]

wondering why old ladies aren’t smiling at me around town as much this morning then remember im wearing hoops and a puffer jacket and generally look like a bitchy year 9 girl who’s about to punch someone