#god i havent posted here in ages

[organicjacket]

no thoughts, head empty

testing out ibis paintx, p neat

[veilkeeper]

ive had a sort of wild concept in my head since i saw how mad gale gets when durge's past is revealed at the inauguration so bear with me here.

gale walking into the throne room and having to realize that not only does this Obviously Evil Guy know his lover, but that he knew them well. and from how durge is talking to him, part of them remembers, even if it isn't the conscious part of them.

and what's worse, they don't seem nearly as put off as they should be by everything they're learning. in fact, they're mad at gale for being mad at them! as if he isn't completely justified in being upset, learning that they were one of the orchestrators of all this chaos.

and im imagining once tempers cool, durge pitches the idea of allying with gortash with little stars in their eyes, we can be gods, gale, both of us. and gale just watching them with horror, because how could they possibly be on board with this?

so durge spits an ultimatum. both of us or neither of us. equals, one way or another.

but that makes no sense! they were completely fine with gale taking the crown before! and it's not like he's going to just abandon them once he has the crown, they'll be equals not in power but in affection, which is basically the same thing, right? so he takes a breath to argue his side, to convince them to just go back to the old plan and ignore whatever gortash had offered them (why do they trust him so much, anyway?). he tries to convince them to see sense, but before he can, durge just hears "no" and cuts him off.

fine. we could have shared, you know.

and they leave. worse, they leave him, and they go back to the person offering them a chance to be equals above the rest, accepted wholly as they are, at the cost of the entire world.

[canesshuga]

wonderful nothing by glass animals.................soooo real

[thegreatyin]

you haven't properly roleplayed or obtained roleplay experience until you've gotten intimately familiar with the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of tumblr askblogs

[scattered-winter]

the fascinating thing about the maze runner books vs the movies is that they're both tragedies, but just...different kinds. in the books no matter what wicked did, they never got close to a cure. it was all for nothing: all the torture, all the death, all the money and effort spent trying to cure something that was just unstoppable. the world burned while a few hundred immunes survived, and there was no other way the story could have gone.

but in the movies they were so close. thomas was the cure. they had it in their hands and could have saved everyone, but they were just too late. wicked was destroyed, the last city fell, and with it the world's last hope for a cure. they almost got the cure in time. they almost made it in time to save newt. they almost won.

[iaintkissingnofrog]

We love casting spells

[yanderespamton78]

damn it feels so good to actually have friends who i feel safe around. like to have friends who im not worried that if they find out that i like "cringe" things they wont judge me. woah!!

@angry-avaocardo @silly1xxx @gollyimsosoevil

[dawns-beauty]

pretty tired of skyrim, modding, and this blog.

see ya around someday, maybe.

[themyscirah]

This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier

Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦‍♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags

[photochoco]

Testimonials to a broken oath

When Nemises (Tav) breaks her oath freeing the 7,000 spawn from Cazador's dungeon, one of her companions, newly free and ever in love with her, has some thoughts of his own regarding the matter.

(A drabble written from the perspective of Astarion after Nemises, my Paladin Tav, makes a fateful decision.)

The benefits of having a smaller party meant they were able to slip out of the Szarr palace without much notice. None of them were quite aware of how much time had passed in that shadowed, acrid, foul place. When they did push their way out through the door they had entered, the sun, the lovely sun, was already nearly finished with its descent below the horizon, signaling the arrival of another night. 

The air of the lower city was not the freshest, full of smoke and heat and a stink that made them all almost long for the wilderness where they had found each other. But now, after spending what had evidently been hours in the underbelly of Cazador’s wretched abode filled with centuries of stagnant air that reeked of death, it was as sweet as any ambrosia. 

Karlach shifted the weight on her back. Through their slow ascent up too many stairs- truly far too many- Nemises had not awoken. She’d barely even stirred. 

It was a memory still fresh; Astarion, unsure of what to do with the staggering number of spawn, turned to Nemises for advice, his dead master’s staff white-knuckled in his hands. There had been a moment of ponderance, or maybe of hesitation, before she voiced her opinion. 

We should free them. They deserve a chance, like you. 

And so Astarion did. The cell doors swung up, the starving spawn swarmed around the other six, and at Astarion’s behest, they all left quietly, to the Underdark. A decisive act of mercy and compassion in a place that had, up until that moment, been so utterly devoid of it.

What happened next, happened fast. 

Nemises doubled over, wracked with chest spasms. A gasp of shock rolled into a groan of pain as she was driven to her knees. Then, a figure appeared. A tall, imposing knight in full armor, eyes glowing an ethereal red, gloved hands resting on a massive greatsword.

“You have broken your oath, paladin.” 

The figure disappeared with the promise of waiting for her at the end of day, at their camp. It left her, with Karlach, Shadowheart, and Astarion in that quiet place.

“What have you done?? What have you done?!” It was Astarion who shouted first, turning on Nemises. 

He didn’t know much about paladins and their oaths, but knew enough to be aware that whatever had just happened was bad. Her oath, broken, because she decided to- 

“I— I told you we should have let them die!” He couldn’t stop the words that burst forth. “Look what that did! Gods, why…why do you always have to be like this?! Things would be so much easier if you didn’t have such a godsdamned bleeding heart!”

“They…deserve a chance…” Nemises wheezed out. Her face had turned a sickly color, a sheen of sweat across her brow. “You…you wanted to kill them…to ease your shame. That…isn’t a good reason. You’re…better than that.” 

“"And you're not letting them live for the same reason? To erase your own shame and guilt for something from your past? Not everyone is a little feel-good passion project for you!"

“Astarion, that’s enough!” 

Astarion jolted to hear Shadowheart finally speak. She knelt next to Nemises, holding her close, cradling her as she panted for breath. And she glared at him. It didn’t last, however, as her angry visage sputtered out and she turned her attention back to her partner. She tucked Nemises’ hair behind her ear and spoke soft words of reassurance.

Nemises’ face, covered in blood, screwed up in agony as another shudder wracked her body. “I…I…”

“Hush, love,” Shadowheart murmured, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Just breathe.” 

Nemises mumbled something incomprehensible before her eyes rolled and she slumped, passed out, against the ex-Sharran. 

“That was a bit out of line, soldier,” Karlach murmured to Astarion. “You know she meant well. She always does.” “Let's…” Astarion swallowed. “Let’s just get out of here. This place stinks of death and I want to feel alive again.”

— — — 

That had been nearly three days ago. And Nemises still hadn’t woken. The party moved to the Elfsong Tavern; they were lucky enough to snag the entire top floor for a mere 200 gold. It was a far cry from the camping conditions they’d put up with for weeks, this had closed walls, a roof over their heads, and privacy. 

Luckier still, to have a comrade in someone as wise as Jaheira, who had fought alongside many a paladin before, and seen her fair share of broken oaths. 

“Sometimes, the paladin can pass out from the shock,” she had said. “From how I know it, a paladin’s oath is a cause they swear to with their very soul. A promise made that deeply, when broken, does something to them. She is young, and clearly embodied her oath wholly and fully. She will likely be unconscious for a few days. All we can do is watch over her until she wakes.”

This was confirmed by a book Gale had found in the camp inventory, one Nemises had apparently found and stored with the rest of their reading material. A book on Paladins and Oathbreakers. 

Jaheira was right; breaking an oath literally ripped out a piece of the paladin’s soul.

Astarion left Karlach and Shadowheart to fill everyone else in on the blanks as he went to wash the remnants of Cazador’s blood from his body. To be honest, he didn’t really remember most of that first night. Or the second. The numbness hadn’t gone away, even after he climbed to the top of the tavern to watch his very first sunrise as a free, truly free man. The rays of first light washed slowly over his face, his neck, his body, his hands, but it did nothing to chase away that numbness that had settled into a hollow pocket in his chest.

Numb.

Everyone in camp was now well aware of what Nemises had done for the spawn, for him, and the sacrifice she had made. She was still asleep, made comfortable in the softest bed available in their private quarters. Shadowheart insisted on caring for her, but it became clear very quickly she was reluctant to leave her self-assigned post. She shooed away anyone who offered to take over. 

Eventually, however, seeing Shadowheart’s head bob to her chest then jerking up one too many times got to him, and Astarion stood and walked over to her.

“Shadowheart, let me take over.”

“A-Astarion?” The cleric looked up with a start. Her eyes were bleary, face puffy. It was evident she’d barely slept at all. 

“You’ve been at it ever since we got back. Take a break.” “But-” “I can handle it. I only need to trance. You look dead on your feet and it isn’t a good look for you,” Astarion interrupted. “Imagine how Nemises will feel when she wakes up and finds out you didn’t take care of yourself at all. She’ll have a fit!”

“Keep up those jokes like that and you’ll be the one who’s dead where they stand,” Shadowheart retorted. There was no real bite behind it; the two of them enjoyed such a manner of dark banter, even now was no exception. “I’ll let you know if she begins to stir. I promise.”

Shadowheart stood up slowly, wobbling, and made her way to her own bed. Astarion watched as she collapsed onto the comforter unceremoniously and was out in half a breath.

The air was quiet, save for the muffled hustle-bustle of the tavern below them. But even that seemed far away now and Astarion sat down next to Nemises for his vigil. Her face was peaceful, her chest rose up and down steadily beneath the covers. The blood was wiped clean and the bruises almost faded. Her arms were resting nearly atop the comforter.

It was smart on Nemises' part to bring Shadowheart to the fight. It had been short but utterly brutal, and plainly speaking, they'd made it out by the skin of their teeth. Had Shadowheart not been there, with her healing spells, and Nemises, with her Healing Radiance, they all might have died down there.

Astarion suppressed a shudder to remember how Cazador had nearly sucked the life from Nemises with Blight after beating him just about within an inch of his life. His pointed teeth grit; the bastard was dead, forever, yet he still had the gall to haunt him both waking and sleeping like this??

He sat there, feeling swallowed by the silence.

“You paladins…none of you make sense,” he heard himself say. “You act like your oath alone makes you better than everyone. Placing yourselves on a pedestal of self-righteousness. Being so nice, so moral…I always found it pathetic.

He gazed down at her. 

“Then there was you. The true poster child of paladins, you're as goody-goody as they come. Avoiding violence whenever possible and whenever you did thrust your sword into someone, there always had to be a good reason. Even back in Cazador's palace, you held me on such a short leash. A paladin in the castle of a vampire lord, determined to help kill him, what a tale that would be, hah! He took another deep breath. “I always figured you felt guilty for something. After all, that’s the only reason people are ever nice. They either want something from you or are trying to make themselves feel better.

“And when it came down to it…” his clenched fists shook in his lap. “You somehow talked me out of the ritual. Out of all that power. Because you thought it wasn't worth it to sacrifice all those souls. You, the golden paladin, always tough to swallow, always! With that defender of the helpless and the hopeless act. Trying to save me from myself.

It was over. It was done. Why was he still dwelling on this? 

“Except I see now it isn't an act. Gods, that makes it even more unbearable.”

He stared at her, feeling something inexplicable, ugly, breach like a bubble in his chest. 

“Why do you care for others so much? You've barely asked for anything in return, ever. People should be on bended knee for you, thanking you with everything they have, all the money and protection and power in their possession, for what you do. 

“You saved a grove of refugees and lifted a century-long curse. Helped countless strangers with all manner of problems. You encouraged Wyll to choose himself and free his soul. You helped Lae’zel and Shadowheart turn away from their goddesses who sought to use them. You helped fix Karlach’s engine so she has a little bit longer left. You persuaded Gale to not blow us and himself all up in some giant self-sacrifice to appease his goddess. And you helped me kill my master, something I never thought possible. You freed me. Not once did you ask for anything in return.

Astarion chewed the inside of his lip before he reached out and took her hand. It was so warm in his, he could feel it seeping into his flesh like a ray of sunlight.

"I still don't understand why you did that, when it did.... this to you. I always thought you were too kind for your own good, how many times has that bleeding heart of yours nearly been the end of you...? Yet, if you weren't this kind, would you even be you...?"

Guilt snaked its way inside, twisting with the sorrow. Why had she done so much for him when he’d given her nothing but trouble from day one? Why had she continued to show everyone, including him, such unfettered kindness even after she had seen the worst parts of him, his worst shames? She helped and supported and fought for everyone, but when she did it for him, it cost her a piece of her soul. 

He wasn’t worth that. He wasn’t. Why did she so stubbornly refuse to see it?? 

Astarion brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against it.

“I still don't think I can be what you see in me. Even if I'm more than what he made me to be, that doesn't amount to anything at all.”

Gods, why did he feel so lost? So uncertain? What would Nemises be like when she woke up? If her kindness and compassion were tied to her oath, and it was broken, would that part of her be gone too? What if his sun had gone, because of him?

…Surely…surely it had to persist beyond it. Surely…it had always existed, and it was that warmth that made her oath strong rather than the other way around. After all, she was the only one. No one else had a heart like her. 

She…who shone brighter than the sun itself. 

The stairs creaked, and Astarion heard Karlach’s peppy voice floating upwards. The group was back from shopping. Hopefully they managed to find something fresh for him as well- 

He squeezed Nemises’ hand one more time before carefully laying it down to rest upon the comforte. A moment’s hesitation, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear- 

He didn’t get the chance before Gale cleared the last step, arms heavily laden with supplies. Shadowheart’s head jerked up with a start, noticed who it was, then promptly flopped back down into the pillows again. Astarion’s hand similarly jerked back into his lap and he busied himself with pretending he’d picked up where he left off with his book. 

His head felt a little clearer now, as did his heart. If not just a little. He hoped, when she woke up, Nemises’ would, too. And when she woke up, he would thank her. Properly.

I’d like to try for you.

[woahajimes]

i feel such an incredibly frustriating yearn

[hella1975]

forever wishing sam fender would unrelease dead boys

[astrozuya]

josh [BLOWS UP]

[apocalypticdemon]

ughhhhhhh the Depression Miasma is settling in, I fear

[nomairuins]

i want to watch the things on my watchkist but i also never do its rly tragic

[littleeyesofpallas]

Niwasaki Anbai[庭先塩梅]: Tending The Garden