#hey this is based as hell

[000marie198]

I don't care how excited it might make some people, I don't like this remake

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[crow-with-a-pencil]

First thing you see after you die

CotL au by @intistone

[moeblob]

son boy raccoon trash can man suffering in a dnd au as a cleric bc his warlock will not stop committing murders and he has to keep coming up with reasons murder is valid to convince the gm its fine and under control

[pupovkitty]

HUNGER HUNGER HUMANITY

[rambles-about-minecraft-ocs]

cubfan135: Hey Grian Grian: hell

saw this in the background of xisumas episode 1144. my man forgot the o i think-

[mecub]

I wrote a thing! It’s 3am! Warning for body horror and the nonsense that comes out of my brain this late at night.

You’ve been traveling for days, and you’re tired. The inn is full, and it’s too cold and rainy for you to sleep in the streets. But a woman with a warm voice like honey hears you complain, and she offers sanctuary at her home. 

You go with her. Her house is the definition of cottagecore, with a big garden and climbing vines and tall grass. She offers fresh strawberries and poppy seed bagels that she’s been learning to bake, sorry if they’re not great. You tell her that they’re amazing, and scarf down what’s probably too many strawberries, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

You spend a few days with her, recovering from your most recent battle. The two of you pick berries and cut up a perfectly ripe watermelon, letting the juice run down your fingers as you picnic in the forest behind her home. You tend to her flowers with her, try everything she bakes, teach her an old family lemonade recipe. You talk, too: about books you’ve both read (she studied classics! You have a long conversation about interpretations of Circe in modern media), about people you’ve known and left behind (“I hurt people,” you say. “Every time I get close to someone, it just blows up on my face.” She smiles, almost bitterly. “Me too.”), about your adventures (you trust her, you realize as you open up about the details of monsters that you’re not sure you regret killing).

But still, the day comes when you know you need to leave. You have so much to do, so many people to save, and sitting in the sun eating fruit is just… selfish. You learned your lesson a long time ago, about being selfish.

On the morning when you plan to leave, the woman sets out fresh poppy seed bagels— the same recipe she made the day you got there. She’s already improved at making them, in the few days you’ve stayed with her.

You tell her that, and you must sound sad when you say it because she looks up and whispers, “Ah. You’re leaving?”

Something inside you hurts at the look on her face when she says it, but you nod. “I have to.”

She just shrugs, with this look that you can’t make yourself read, and it really does hurt, but you have a duty. No matter how much a place feels warm, and safe, and calm, finally calm after everything, you need to go.

You stand in the doorway, running a finger over the climbing vines. You can almost imagine they move towards you, almost imagine this place cares for you like you’ve come to care for it.

A soft voice behind you says, “Wait.”

Your stomach sinks. Why couldn’t this be easy? Why couldn’t you just go, and forget about her, and about this place, and about feeling safe?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“You can’t leave.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, and she sighs behind you. Your body twitches to turn around, to face her, but you know you can’t, you can’t.

“No. You don’t understand,” she says, and you hope you’re just imagining the something dark in her voice. “I can’t let you go.”

No. Your hand clenches on the doorframe, but you stay put. 

You’ve been wrong before, about countless things. You could be wrong about this. You could’ve just misread her tone. You can still be safe.

“What?” you ask.

Her voice is honey-smooth, too sweet. “You heard me, hero. Stay.”

Not this. Not her, not here. 

You turn.

You turn, and find her kind face twisted with hate, staring at you from across the room. Her smile is too sharp, her eyes too bright. You reach for your sword. You would rather be anywhere else but here, now.

She laughs. “I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out. It’s rare to meet a hero this naive. Your type usually don’t trust.”

Tears well in your eyes as you draw your sword and say what’s expected of you. “What are you?”

“Does it really matter? We’re all monsters to you, aren’t we?”

“You’re not a monster. You’re—“

“Kind?” she hisses. “Caring? Good?”

You nod.

She laughs, humorless. “So were the so-called monsters you killed. They were my friends, and my family. And you killed them, without regret, without mercy.” Her eyes glow, and you take a step back, but she steps forward and growls. “There were children amongst those you killed, ever think of that?”

Oh, god. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know, I—“

“Quiet, little hero. Your excuses don’t matter, because I’m not letting you live long enough to make them.”

Something behind you hisses. You spin, and find the vines around the doorway have woven themselves into a wall. You slash at them with your sword, but it doesn’t work. The vines wrench it from your hands, and you’re left defenseless against— against whatever the woman is, a witch or demon or something that you should’ve recognized. It’s your job to spot danger, it’s your job to kill monsters, yet you trusted her. You trusted her and now her eyes are glowing and a wind whips through her home and your stomach clenches and—

She raises her hands. Smiles. You open your mouth, to beg for mercy or to scream for help or something, anything, but you don’t get the chance because something inside of you is wrong.

It takes you a moment to realize that something in your stomach is writhing, growing, pushing against your guts.

The woman’s fingers twitch, and you know what’s about to happen. 

“Please,” you whisper. “I have people to save, I have to protect them.”

“So do I,” she growls, and then her hands curl into fists.

It doesn’t hurt, for half a second, when your stomach bursts.

And then you’re on the ground, sobbing, screaming as poppies curl around berry bushes that burst out of you, petals glistening with your blood. 

The only mercy of it is that your body drops you into unconsciousness quickly and that, after she’s sure you met your end painfully, she leaves you to the forest and lets your body become food for the plants growing from your guts.

At least you can do something good in your death. At least, even though you failed to save the world, you’re good enough to be fertilizer.

[deepseaspriteblog]

hello i have compiled all of your DLC symbols into the icon base if that is something youre interested in

alt link

Honestly very cool of you, I'm literally just gonna start using this version myself from now on

[crimeronan]

i think one of the most quintessential things about princess AU lumity is that it never ends up being a [dramatically gazing into each other's eyes] [tenderly touching each other's wounds] [low and furious] "Who Did This To You" ship, because...... that's not what either of them need.

instead it's more like [seeing the other flinch at something completely normal] "....okay. yeah. i already know who did this to you. we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. but i don't think you're strange/broken/wrong/bad. sometimes bad things happen to us and it's Fine"

a relationship where violence and trauma are sort of a given, you don't have to act shocked about it and it would make the other person uncomfortable if you did. instead it's just. yeah this is what our lives are. you can talk to me if you want but in the meantime i'll just quietly sit with you like a cat.

[anotherpapercut]

CORRECT THANK YOU FOR SHARING

[peaches2217]

Aquamarine

AO3 link!

"Everything will be alright."

Mario’s head snapped up. Surely he’d misheard her.

But Peach, meeting his gaze evenly, repeated herself: “Everything is going to be alright, Mario. This will pass, however painfully, and then we can rest, rebuild, and return to life as we know it. I have faith in that.”

Mario knew better. An all-out war raged around them, and they were both being pulled into the fray, in opposite directions. People were dying. They very well could die too. He knew she was scared. And he was almost certain that she knew he was scared, too. How could she say something so… so foolish, so false, now, of all times? It wasn’t like her.

Yet the resolve in her voice was unwavering, and determination burned red-hot in her eyes, and as quickly as he’d been confused, he understood. Acknowledging what might happen — what was probably going to happen, if either was permitting full honesty within themselves — was counterproductive. They could agonize over their circumstances, over the many outcomes, over the plenitude of things they wished they’d said and done if only they had known there might not be another opportunity. But where would that lead them? 

Falling into despair would only guarantee their demise. Hope would give them a chance. No matter how miniscule that chance or how false that hope, they had to take what they could get. She understood that, and now she was inviting Mario to join her in reclaiming what might be their last prospect of victory, or at least survival.

How often he wished he could be as strong as her.

But before he could accept that invitation and return her assurances, something in Peach’s expression flickered… and it was gone just as quickly, squashed down and set alight with an internal force that only a goddess could possibly possess. Her fingers fumbled with the brooch on her chest for a few seconds before she freed it from her dress and pressed it into Mario’s hand.

“This jewel has been in my family for at least a hundred and fifty years,” she said, guiding his right hand with her left so that the brooch sat exposed in his open palm. “My mother had entire outfits designed around it; it’s my sole reminder of her. So it is, without a doubt, my most valuable possession.” 

Mario regarded it as well as he could in the dull light. He recalled seeing it on past queens in the old paintings lining the castle’s entrance hallway, but it certainly didn’t show its age. The aquamarine gem matched her eyes in color and almost matched them in intensity, exploding into fragments of light whenever the sun caught it just so. He’d always thought it suited her.

Carefully, she folded his fingers over the brooch, resting her small hands gently over his. “I absolutely can’t lose it,” she added, quietly. “No matter what.”

He heard the intent all too clearly. He was being trusted to guard her most prized accessory. Therefore, he had an obligation to return to her.

I can't lose you, she said in all but words.

“I… I’ll keep it safe,” he promised, and the few seconds he pulled away from her to pocket the valuable were torturous. Taking her hands in his made everything feel right again, gave him the boldness he needed to match her resolve. “And once this is all over, I’ll give it right back. I’ll even have it polished so it looks good as new! You have my word, Princess.”

The cacophony outside grew louder. They were running out of time.

“Good. I’ll make all sorts of pastries as thanks,” Peach said, and her smile looked truly heartening for the first time since all of this nonsense began. “We’ll stuff ourselves on tiny cakes and endless tea and coffee and talk all day and all night. Or at least until Toadsworth comes to complain about having a visitor over so late and shoos you off.”

Mario couldn’t help but laugh. She was right; Toadsworth became more strict past ten or so at night, flustering himself over the princess’ wellbeing because a proper princess simply must remain well-rested, Your Highness! Maybe they could pull the “We just survived a catastrophic war” card, or at least get Toadette to cover for them so they could sneak out after hours (which would hardly be the first time).

Those thoughts slowed to a halt as Peach joined in, giggling quietly. The sound echoed off the barren walls hiding them away, delicate and pure; she blushed a sweet shade of pink, and her whole face glowed so achingly softly. It was as beautiful as it was haunting.

She truly believed what they were saying. And for a moment, Mario had believed it too.

I can’t lose you.

“Run,” Peach finally urged, a beacon of stability in the madness encroaching upon them. “Run, and hurry back to me. There’s still so many things I want to tell you, Mario, so don’t keep me waiting too long, alright?”

Mario’s breath caught in his throat.

I can’t lose you.

A rush of impulse surged through his blood, and he didn’t have the strength to fight it off.

“Ti amo,” he whispered, pulling himself into their conjoined hands. “Ti amo tantissimo, Principessa.” He bowed his head over her knuckles and screwed his eyes shut, trying and failing to control the trembling that overtook him — he wanted so desperately to remove their gloves, feel the imperfections of her skin against his, or kiss the silk separating them, kiss her, tighten his grip and run with her until all of the mayhem was far behind them or they were cut down where they stood. He didn’t care, so long as he didn’t have to leave her side.

“Mario…”

He stiffened.

“...What does that mean?”

For a fleeting moment, there was no war. Looking up didn’t reveal any fearsome resolve or half-suppressed fear or dread within her eyes. All he could see was affection, tinged dark with sadness.

This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. He would ensure that or die trying.

“It means…” Squeezing her hands one final time, he forced himself to smile. “...I will see you soon.”

He let go before he could register how painful it was, and he turned and ran, until a dozen doors and countless layers of stone separated him from her, until he stepped into the fray and acrid smoke filled his lungs.

Pausing in the final doorway, he snaked his hand into his right pocket, his fingers caressing the aquamarine brooch tucked safely within.

Images of tiny cakes and golden hair and clear afternoons full of laughter and sunlight flickered through his mind. He let them pass, he took a breath, and then he charged ahead.

[cosmik-homo]

Honestly i really do know im being annoying with this but the logistics of swapping out Avon and Raistlin and watching what theh do is the greatest form of Playing With Dolls I've ever ever had. Its a serotonin treadmill. You've heard of watching a brilliant, dark tortured genius asshole slowly create his own downfall what about landing in the middle of such a slipperyslope and starting to turn it into an entirely different one. AND THERE'S PVP ALLOWED, one of my main options rn is Avon-as-Raistlin starts planning how to re-open the connection and either undo this or pass some more things between the worlds- and Raistlin-as-Avon is like FINDERS KEEPERS BITCH. Paying It (The Lichdom Curse) Forewards, im staying in your life and im winning at it, fuck off. And Avon's like, ex-fucking-scuse me?

[simikae]

hit em with an art summary when they least expect it

template from @/Taxkha on twitter!

[cowboysuperhero]

collab with @cowboyvillainz who did the lineart here, i did colors

(alistaire is biting charlie’s sunglasses) (charlie did not know this was going to happen) (next photo: blurry shot of charlie yelling and chasing alistaire who is running away, sunglasses still in his mouth)

[plinkcat-gif]

chat i'm deranged about minecraft again

[gxlden-angels]

I'm forced to go to a Catholic school, and my theology was trying to teach us about how some disciple was asked by Jesus to follow him out of nowhere and he did? She then made us write what we would do?

And I was supposed to give the classic Christian girl answer of "of course I would follow Jesus :3 <3" But I kid you not I wrote "Well, let's see...a random dude asking a teenage girl to follow him? seems sketchy doesn't it..."

No one knows i'm sacrilegious and a dystheist yet

Reminds me of when my youth group was asked how they'd react to a popular celebrity coming in the door then we were asked how we'd react if Jesus walked in and got shamed if our Jesus reaction seemed any less enthusiastic than our reaction to our favorite celebrity