something that is so funny to me is the solution to the "why does Durge have amnesia" subplot

no mystical curse, no magic potion, not a spell, no elaborate divine retribution for your failures.

no, Orin just got a really sharp stick, poked a hole in your skull and and got you an improv lobotomy . and put a worm in there

and every character who gets a chance to examine you basically goes WHOA there chief your brain is fucked up. like. thats just straight up brain damage. i cant fix that

If you are a person who doesn't like Frodo Baggins I am taking you by the shoulders. I am shaking you gently. I am asking you if you've ever had to try to do something overwhelming. I am asking you if you've ever had to carry on in the face of insurmountable despair. I am asking if you've ever carried burdens no one else could know of. I am asking if you've never seen yourself in the monstrous. I'm asking you if you've ever been unable to trust your own mind. I am asking if your mental health has ever made you unreasonable. I'm asking if you've ever been too weak to take care of yourself, too weak to do the right thing in the end, too weak to do what, in your heart of hearts, you want to do. I'm asking if you've ever been too small to make a significant difference and if you tried anyway. I'm asking if you've ever faltered under something heavy placed on your shoulders. I'm asking if you've ever taken the next step despite never wanting to move again.

If you haven't yet, you will.

oh no, I love them

(super quick doodles done between other stuff, there will be better things later I promise :')

"I'll make a save here and try breaking up with Astarion, just to see the dialogue- I could see him get kinda nasty about it, but I honestly don't know what to expect so---"

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I’m sorry but . Your butch Celia is fucking everything to me I think . She’s so <3 the everything .

[ID: Digital drawings of Celia Ripley from The Magnus Protocol on a gray background. She is a slim, muscular Korean woman with pale skin, short black hair, dark brown eyes, dimples, body hair, and eyebags. In all drawings, she is wearing black rectangular glasses, and snakebite piercings, industrials, and x-shaped stud earrings, all gold. The top two drawings are of her in casual wear, with a light green t-shirt with the short sleeves cuffed, purple cuffed jeans, light green socks, dark green Doc Marten boots with gold laces, and a green belt with gold hardware. The upper left drawing is of her from the shoulders up, holding a purple mug with both hands and taking a sip while looking up, and to the right is a full-body of her sitting holding the mug with one hand and leaning slightly on the other, smiling at the viewer. There is a note that says "casual mode" pointing to both of them. The last drawing on the bottom left is much smaller and is of her wearing a light green button down, dark green trousers, light green socks, dress shoes, a belt, wrist cuffs, and shoulder holsters, all purple, and a black necktie. She is kneeling and aiming a golden pistol with a serious expression, and she has a second gold pistol in her other holster. This drawing is labelled as "spy!Celia theory/au" and "(I'm gay let me have this)" end ID]

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never apologize she is everything to me also <3

jason doesn’t feel guilty for the murders he committed!!! he can’t feel catholic guilt or want repentance or atonement for something he doesn’t feel guilt about! and there are dozens of religions we could explore jason in that would be so much more fun than catholicism or any type of christianity

Welcome Home Homewarming Update Moodboard™

Super old doodles to remind myself at the very least that I draw sometimes….. and it's been a long time.

Whumpees who used to be notoriously heavy sleepers, but after their captivity they hardly sleep at all and the smallest sounds jolt them awake.

Caretaker hardly dares to breathe when Whumpee falls asleep around them. They silently threaten anyone within earshot not to make a sound. They protect Whumpee’s rest with a vengeance, because it’s so rare.

sketches for my fruits basket au while I figure the fuckity out of my tablet pen :)

the opening lines of the shadow of the erdtree trailer remind me a LOT of a certain quote from another game:

and with this in mind, i really hope that the direction they go with miquella is less like the manipulative griffith-esque archetype some people are theorizing, and more like N’s characterization in pokemon black and white: someone very intelligent and powerful but naïve, whose honest attempts at creating a better world might bring about more destruction in the end.

Track list for Fig and the Cig Figs independently published Junior Year album (officially named “Infaethable”)

Teenage Rebellion

Night Yorb (a heavy metal banger)

Summer Scaries

Devils Nectar

Time Quangle (a love song about Ayda)

Multiclass (Gorgug sings on this!)

The Ballad Of Lucy Frostblade (Kristen was the one who convinced Fig to write this)

So Late, So Tactical

Do You Have A Fucking Warrant

Cassandra (Can You Hear Me)

Hall Of Mirrors

President Applebees (written entirely in the night after Kristen gets elected by a drunk Fig with extremely drunk notes by Kristen)

Raging For Love (inspired by Gorgug, of course)

The Elven Oracle (Has A Day Job) (So Stop Bothering Her)

Maximum Legend

Fury Of The Ball

Cursed

Infaethable

The Bad Kids

How did I never hear this radio until the brawn doc hahahaha

(it probably wasn't actually Idia's fault)

(or was it)

some quick initial reactions to celebrate Diasomnia Day One! it felt like a bit of a short intro, but oh, what a tasting menu of things to come.

I CHANGE MY PFP FROM THIS AFTER HAVING IT SINCE JAN RIGHT BEFORE IT BECAME RELEVANT LMAO RIP TvT

mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.

he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.

you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.

in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.

"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."

standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.

"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.

and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.

with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."

silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.

"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"

had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.

his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.

(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.

you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seems from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.

you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)