#past transgressions

[awkward-sultana]

(Almost) Every Costume Per Episode + Naevia's white dress in 1x01,2,3,5,6

[blackandwhlteaesthetlc]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTR9odCtk/

🤣🤣🤣

Anon, I’m too wine drunk for this. 🥴

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTR9odCtk/

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Tis but a flesh wound!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[iheartbookbran]

lol imagine you’re Colin Bridgerton and you’ve spent the last three weeks pinning for your best friend who’s being courted by a vegetarian so now you have to jump through hoops and loops (and some finger tricks) to get her to marry you instead.

she accepts your proposal and as you’re still riding that high reality comes crashing down all around you as you realize marrying her means Portia Featherington will be your future mother-in-law…

[utilitycaster]

I feel like we as a fandom had a lot of this conversation during Campaign 2 but redemption, however you may interpret it, is a process. It is not a binary of redeemed and not redeemed. And in the world of a D&D actual play, a lot of the hard decisions really come down to "is the harm this person did actively ongoing, or is it a past action with ongoing ramifications" and "will they stop doing this continued harm quickly enough for it to matter." It sounds cold to say that it's a risk-benefit analysis, but on some level, it has to be be. I think Bor'Dor was likely redeemable in some abstract sense, but could Team Issylra do it with the time and resources they had without risking their own lives? Probably not. I think the same is true with Liliana: if they had months in which to do this - and they have been contacting her on and off for a couple months, and every effort failed - maybe, but the clock's run out.

[brother-emperors]

so it’s. it’s like. man this is so hard without my laptop.

alright so Crassus is a weird guy, existentially. There’s a tendency to speculate, assign, and insert him into whatever places are conspiratorial and shadowy because he fits into those narrative places with ease. My personal favorite (aside from all of it) is the idea that he may have pulled strings wrt to Sulla and Caesar’s conflict to help get Caesar out of it.

The Defeat of Rome: Crassus, Carrhae and the Invasion of the East, Gareth C. Sampson

In the universe that exists in my head, he definitely had a hand in it, but he didn’t really intend for Caesar to figure out he played a part in it, but Caesar’s good at puzzles, and noticing someone goes both ways. Binding someone to yourself goes both ways.

Crassus: The First Tycoon, Peter Stothard

This scene takes place sometime relatively soon after Sulla’s death. Crassus has complicated feelings about it, Caesar less so. Veni, vidi, vici, baby!

Here’s a bonus thing that I keep thinking about with them.

The Roman Revolution, Ronald Syme

like, utang na loob. and it is DEEP between them.

[lokisis]

And why did I draw you like that

Lots of thoughts but they all boil down to this

[somedreamlove]

The reason the rhetoric around ‘victim blaming’ is so insidious—and the reason people are still attacking George as an ‘abuser’ despite the situation having been cleared up as a non-issue—is because that phrase, the way it’s currently used, is quite literally intended to be a thought-stopper.

It’s intended to eliminate the possibility for nuanced thought and conversation because it’s a convenient catch-all intended to silence anyone who doesn’t conform to the scary demands of total denunciation.

It functions as a radicalised demand that either demands total loyalty—‘she’s a perfect victim stripped of all agency’—or else cancels you for seeing nuance—‘you’re a victim blamer’.

You need to be very, very careful of any phrase that is intended to cut off any possibility for nuance or further discussion because these are classic tools of increasing radicalism.

Once that scary word is brought out—no matter how inappropriately—can have no more thoughts, no discussion or middle ground; everything must be black and white.

That just widens the mental divide between ‘good person who can do no wrong’ (even when they do) and ‘bad person to blame for everything ever’ (even when there’s ever-present human nuance).

[hamartia-grander]

It's always a great day to remind resident evil fans that hating Mia while loving Luis is so very misogynistic of them :D

[viktoriakomova]

Has the Ohashi Costume™️ been posted on here yet? If so, are we ready to fully cancel her orrrrrr ???

[awkward-sultana]

(Almost) Every Costume Per Episode + Extras' costumes in 0x01,3,4,5,6

[obeetlebeetle]

the thing abt learning abt waste is that it is literally, literally everywhere. the makeup of the planet is microplastics and forever chemicals and excess carbon and my god the amount of fucking radiation. read any given wikipedia page for any given nuclear site and learn about the hundreds of thousands gallons of irradiated water that we've dumped into our rivers. and so it's interesting how upsetting it is to learn about ancient remains contaminated by microplastics, the remains themselves being a waste factor in their own right. not to say that all pollution is made equal, ofc, but just to point out that our contaminants cause a stronger affective response when they are entirely synthetically produced and therefore more apparently pervasive. shelley had it right with frankenstein: we are activated by horror when we witness our own ability to act outside of what we have determined to be natural laws.

[pagetreader]

@retrograderesemblance //𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆’ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

[ TRACE ]:     sender slowly traces the receiver’s hands/shoulder/arm/back/etc. while spooning together.

Marriage had been an interesting feat, to say the least. Abe had wished that he'd had the sense to tell Molly about the ring and his involvement in it sooner than he had, especially because there was no avoiding her being caught in the fray now that she was his wife. That argument had led to both of them yelling at each other for once, which had then led to perhaps the best lovemaking yet, or at least in his opinion.

Laying beside her, Abe curled into her touch, lips pressed into her hair as she traced along his bare skin. Her fingers stopped over the scar on his back, just below his left shoulder. He hadn't yet told her about how he'd gotten it, simply because it'd never come up.

"I was wounded before I left my service in the military...the doctor had said if it'd been a quarter of an inch to the left, It would've pierced my lungs..."

He'd left the militia because his father had been too ill to care for himself, but there was a part of him that knew he'd been glad to do so, scared of dying, scared of standing up to an enemy. He'd never fought against his moniker as the town coward because he felt it was deserved, ashamed of his fears.

[miraclemaya]

why am i blocked by so many blogs making gbc posts??? they hate my beautiful posting swag

[utilitycaster]

What would it take for you to redeem Liliana?

The pithy answer to this is "I can't redeem Liliana; she has to do it herself" but in all seriousness, either she needs to leave the Ruby Vanguard and begin working against them, despite the risk to herself and without the expectation of forgiveness from Imogen (which, to be clear, I think she will probably grant), or she needs to irreversibly sabotage the efforts to free Predathos from within the Vanguard. It is definitely possible! I do not think she is irredeemable; in fact, that's what makes her so interesting. But she can't just show up when called and be helpful in a way that doesn't blow her cover and look sad while still continuing down the path; she needs to either leave outright and join the opposition, or destroy from within.

[nocentis]

Sown Fresh to Bloom┆ X793

╳ ┆A beautiful dawn. Its fingers splayed over the horizon in brilliant golden streaks, flexing heavenward in decorous praise. Their warmth graced his face; cupped his cheeks with the airiness of a lover's caress and tilted his chin toward infinity. A gentle so overindulgent and undeserved.

Still, he felt the spread of his own fingers in time with the sun's stretch. A vigor reignited from skin to soul. He felt victory and defeat in equal measures. Love and life at last, free to take, and yet he'd never felt less qualified to seize either.

Familiar steps approached. He need not turn to know. She was the only one who might seek him out now, as the rest were well on their way. He watched them embark just before new light, smiling fond, waving kind, yet he could only see past as they walked toward future.

“When will you be leaving?”

Meredy chuffed, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, like she wasn't expecting his ask. “Is that your way of telling me the guild’s disbanded?”

“No,” he answered honest, “Everyone is leaving. I just assumed...“

"Right. You assumed," she chastised, never shy. “Where will I go?” She mused, stabbing forth, “I have no village to return to. Few other friends, and none more important than you. I’ve got nowhere to be but by your side. Why would I leave now?”

“You've grown. Any legitimate guild would be lucky to have you. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Maybe I never did,” she posited simply.

“Maybe so,” he returned evenly.

Her hand curled around his shoulder, light enough that he could pull away and yet present enough for comfort. “You’re my family. What’s left of it, anyway.”

“Family?” He repeated, testing it on his own tongue. It was honey-tart. Sweet dressing to an open wound.

“Like an Uncle,” she clarified with a half-shrug. She smirked, nearly teasing, “A young one, of course. But you’re all I have left in terms of kin.”

So simple. So light. So free. Her voice was airy and unburdened despite how much she'd lost. In that way, he envied her. She made peace with her transgressions, made proper sense of them, and moved to become someone radiant and inspiring. Whatever was left of her hurt was buried; deeply personal and harshly constrained. Perhaps he wanted that for himself — to become a beacon for those harboring remorse or regret and to lead them to peace.

The horizon blurred into something grey and sallow. His own voice sounded foreign when he droned, “And that means you’ll stay?”

Meredy’s light-hearted demeanor dropped. She sighed, combed a hand through her bangs, and took a seat in the grass beside him. Rather than answer his, admittedly, redundant question, she issued one of her own. “Aren’t you happy for the Seis? They’ve finally been awarded their due freedom. They can do what they truly want now.”

“Of course I’m happy for them. Beyond happy. I’m elated,” he answered in truth. "I only wish it could've happened sooner."

“But there’s something else, too,” she gathered. “There’s always something else with you.”

“You’re right." His gaze dropped to his worrisome hands, diligently rubbing themselves raw. In comparison to the blownout blur, they almost looked too real. "It has nothing to do with the Seis though, I'm afraid."

“So, what is it?" She prodded, insistent. "What plagues you?”

“I’m not sure how to describe it," he admitted. "Guilt, perhaps."

“May I?” It was more of a suggestion than a question. Her finger flared a soft pink as she pointed between his wrist and her own. “Maybe I can give it a name. That ought to help. At least a little.” At his blatant hesitation, she coaxed, “Come on. You said it yourself. I’m grown. There’s nothing you could be feeling that I haven’t felt myself.”

“Alright,” he conceded, though he remained less than thrilled.

She closed her eyes, released a stalled breath, and their wrists came alight with shared rosy charms. Her impatience was a fading whisper, quickly replaced by a mix of curiosity and concentration, and then his own hesitation echoed back to him twofold.

“You don’t have to say anything," she coached, nothing but patience in her instruction, "Just... think.”

Just think. Right, then. He could do that, couldn't he? It was one of the things he did ceaselessly, second only to breathing.

Meredy's concern was latent, flowing into him unbidden. More dominant than that was concentration—no, determination. Her focus on sorting him out indirectly fueled his own internal redirection, gently nudging him back into his own head from whence he came.

It felt entirely too open, though he probably should have expected as much. He made her worry, and vulnerability was the unfortunate consequence. He shouldn't have been so presumptuous, assuming she would leave simply because the Seis were ready to move onto bigger and better. He knew better than that. She wasn't so fickle as to spring such a lofty switch on him without first discussing it at length.

His insecurity was eating at him again. What he deserved was hardly his reality. He knew that to be true, though on occasion, he allowed that thing in his chest to paint the scene a ghastly pallor; a delusion of death owed.

But true justice wouldn't award him death. It would have him live all of their lives in succession. It would have him live their pain, their futility, their trust and betrayal and their earth-shattering moment of clarity, an endless loop of agony for naught, and then—then it would spit him out at their feet and have him beg for their mercy.

His life should be in their hands, and yet, because of the strength he coveted under the influence of the damned, because of the strength he cultivated in his selfish desire to preserve the ones he so loves, he still held a power he wasn't so sure he'd earned. A power that kept him almost untouchable.

His own magic was a cruel irony. A reminder of the standard he could never embody so long as he breathed and evermore. For all the Heavens he'd drawn from, he was himself the false-prophet, undeserving of the stars' forgiveness. Undeserving of peace. Of light. Of love.

And yet it followed him still.

“This isn't guilt. It's shame,” Meredy chimed in.

“That’s… warranted.”

“To an extent." Her hand rose to her chest, idly rubbing circles just beneath her collarbone. Her face twisted in despair, and he could feel his own sorrow amplified and echoed back to him through their link. Meredy's voice wavered when she argued, “This is exorbitant. It should be debilitating.”

"Break the link," he suggested. Tears brimmed her eyes as her nails sunk into her shoulder, yet he could feel her reluctance to let go; to leave him alone with it. "Please, Meredy."

Despite her obvious hesitation, she honored his request, rubbing her wrist where they were only just connected. There was pity in her eyes, so much of it that it was sickening. Her words came out wet, strangled, like she was still choking back the tears he wasn't willing to shed, "Is that really how you feel all the time?"

"No," he attempted to ease her concern, but it was utterly unconvincing. "There are moments of joy, and pride, and hope."

"What about peace? Calm? Silence?"

He opened his mouth only to close it again.

"Why haven't you..." she stopped herself and started over like she already knew the answer to her initial question, "Do you think it's doing you any good, holding onto this?"

"I don't know how to live without it," he confessed. "It's my burden to carry. I cannot forget. I cannot separate myself from what I've done."

Her face pinched, somewhere between anger and upset. For the first time in a long while, she seemed disappointed in him. "You're not carrying it. You're letting it consume you."

"I don't want that."

"What do you want?" She bawked, voice riding the line between irritation and incredulity. "From life, from yourself, from anything?"

"I want to help others," he answered immediately, no rumination required. "I want to find others like me, like us, and lead them to light."

"How can you do that if you can't find it yourself?"