#ITS DARK DOWN HERE

[shepscapades]

Spiralling down the jimmy drain?

um. um.um um um. um um.um um. um.

no? (smiles)

[suntails]

knighted

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

some Lights Out au scribbles. thinking about Sally... thinking about her A Lot... shhhh she's sleeping<3

[nemofil]

i love wind i love girls and i especially love wind girls

[p41nkillers]

'i oNLy tAkE a siP aT cHuRCh' but then they found ur secret wine bc youre secretly an alcoholic-

[scopophobia-polaris]

I didn't even conclude my Ganondorf thoughts on Bloo's poll like an idiot

[fandomfloozy]

Bittersweet Nothings

Pairing: Durge x Gortash, reader x Gortash

C/W: gn reader, redeemed! durge, platonic/romantic soulmates, sfw

~°•*~

It's just a glass of wine, you'd told yourself. What's the harm? You'd naively asked.

Having the newly appointed Archduke of Baldur's Gate set up in your camp was unprecedented enough, but to agree to join him in his tent for a spell was hardly appropriate. Especially now that over half the bottle had disappeared in no time at all.

You were hardly to blame, to be fair. He had a certain air about him that had drawn you in from the beginning. A comfortable familiarity with you that left you equal parts confused and amused. He was charming, as is his way. Which is why when he'd asked you to share a drink with him, the only response you could scrounge up was a shrug and a "What the hell, why not?"

Which left you here. Sprawled out on an assortment of cushions and floor mats, a slight heat in your face that spread from your cheeks to your neck, cackling at whatever sad attempt at comedy has just left Gortash's mouth.

"You're positively primeval," you laugh as you playfully push at his shoulder, which is lightly adorned with just a black dress shirt. His overcoat lay forgotten in the corner somewhere, shed about two glasses ago.

"Oh, come now," he grins slyly in response, face leaning against his hand as he lay facing you. "You always liked that one."

You can tell in the way he says it and in the moment that follows that he knows not what he said or how it came across. The words flowed out of him without thought, as if by nature.

And you're no fool. You've scrounged up enough clues and hints of a past alliance. Words written in your own hand, and some in his, that tease at something even deeper than that. A friendship. A bond. Maybe something more, if you look real close, if you squint.

It's circumstancial at best. Letters can be fabricated, feelings can change. One page of a book tells only a fragment of a story. Yet it's moments like these, where his facade cracks and his defenses drop, that cement a truth in your mind: you meant something to him. Mean something to him. And a lifetime ago--a gruesome, gory, painful lifetime ago--he might have meant something to you.

And you don't remember it.

He's too engrossed in pouring his next glass to notice your shift in mood. You almost feel sober, idly circling the rim of your glass with a finger.

And yet the alcohol definitely plays a part in loosening your tongue. "You know, in our travels," you begin. His gaze shifts to you again. "My group and I, we've come across many an expert who have taken it upon themselves to inform me of just how..." You struggle to find the words, yet he hangs off each one in rapt attention. "Mutilated my mind truly is. In a very literal sense." You don't gauge his reaction. The ichor of the liquid in your glass seems far more fascinating right now.

This subject matter makes you feel shy and exposed, and yet his response is nonchalant. "Yes, well, it should come as no surprise how thorough Orin was in her brutality." You can hear the roll in his eyes.

The mention of her name leaves a foul taste in your mouth and a tightness in your chest. "I've no doubt she took great pleasure in her work," you retort, emulating the exasperation in his tone. Your feelings pertaining to Orin are complicated, and this wasn't really the direction you intended to steer the conversation.

There's a hand at your chin and suddenly your eyes are level with his. "Dear assassin, take comfort in the fact that you were always her better." His expression is fierce. A sense of sort of... pride emanates from him. "She lies in the very bed she made and you alone stand victorious, as is your right." There's a finality in the way he says it. He sounds so sure, as if it was written in stone. As if he'd known this would always be the outcome.

You realize his finger and thumb linger on your chin. The exaggerated sense of warmth is dizzying. You blame the wine.

You attempt to refocus, smile with an exhale. "While I appreciate the sentiment, that's not what I was getting at."

"Speak then." He adjusts his frame. The hand remains in place, save for a rogue thumb that travels upward, brushing your bottom lip. "What troubles you?"

He asks in a cavalier sort of way, but his eyes carry an earnest. I'd move mountains to ease your troubles. It makes you hesitate before you continue. "Well, because of the sorry state I'm in." He chuckles at that. "It's entirely possible that... no amount of magic or healing could ever restore my memories. Return me to I was--"

He scrunches his brow quizzically. "I'm sure some way exists. We are set to conquer an elder brain, after all--"

"If your Grace would allow me to finish my thought." The words spill out of you with a laugh. Playful yet frustrated. So frustrated, in fact, that you've grabbed the hand that was at your chin. It's still in your grasp as you huff out a puff of air at the unperturbed face of Enver Gortash.

Your display apparently gives him no pause. He only raises a brow in amusement. He allows his hand to remain in your grip as he brings the other to his grin. He mimes zipping his lips shut and bows his head as a gesture to continue. You have the floor.

You sigh. "Were it possible... By some miracle or great power, to restore my mind to what it once was..." You look down and fiddle with his fingertips as you try to organize your thoughts. He lets you. "I'm not even sure that's something I'd want?" It comes out as a question. Rhetorical in the sense that you have no answer and Gortash doesn't offer one, true to his promise to let you continue uninterrupted. So you do.

"I'm free of my father. I've no concept of what it was like to submit to him fully, and I don't think I want to." The you that you hear about sounds nothing like the you you know. The you that was willing to watch the world burn--willing to be its last inhabitant, its last sacrifice to your god, your very blood--isn't you anymore. Everything you've heard has led you to believe the person you were was disturbed, deranged, unhinged. Who was that person beyond the madness? Was there one? "That part of me feels better off lost... Lest I lose my current self to it."

When you meet Gortash's eyes again, they're still on you, expectantly. His lips are sealed, determined to a fault to allow you to finish--somehow aware in the first place that you aren't yet.

He waits.

The bastard.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You sit up to your knees, now holding that hand so fiercely in both of yours. "I'm so certain of this. But..." Your brow furrows. "When one decides to leave their past behind, there are tradeoffs. One truly leaves everything behind them. Other aspects of my old life are simply lost to me. I know not who raised me up, I know not whether I was sweet as a child, I know not whether some trace of who I am existed in the person I once was." You bring his hand up to your forehead and shut your eyes as you confess. "And I know not who you are, Enver Gortash."

You either still have the floor or he doesn't know what to say. Either way you keep going.

"While I've come to respect you, and somewhat even trust you, no part of my mind remembers you."

You look down at him and search his eyes in desperation. The amusement in his face has softened into something else you can't quite place. He looks up at you, not having torn his gaze away.

You don't remember him.

"And yet, dear tyrant." You've known something from the moment you first met. "Some part of my soul knows you..." You exhale a laugh without humor.

"And I don't know what to make of that."

~°•*~

[m1zumon6]

Ok ok I'm sorry but every single time I see that scene where Will and Hannibal meet Freddie after talking with Abigail, I get so much second hand embarrassment. Like come on.. I love Will but what possessed the man for him to say that 😭😭😭

I'm wondering if he knew the consequences of threatening a very stubborn journalist then.

[glasscandywitch]

gankutsuou + death and the maiden - egon schiele

[cherubytes]

im choosing to interpret v1 having had a flashlight this whole time as it having been broken but not a priority, until having experienced 0-S and 4-3 after which it concluded it might be worth it to put effort in repairing it

[fallen6253]

Probably gonna sound random, but

do you guys think story packs had a similar limit like blood packs? Cause that would be interesting.

I remember something like that being mentioned once or twice, but I wanted to discuss in more detail.

Instead of the blood type you're checking for, it's divided into genre, narrative, or the perspective it uses.

The question isn't a, b, ab, or o, it's 1st 2nd or 3rd person pov, or he needs a fantasy transfusion, coupled with a shot of historic narrative.

Imagine needing a nonfiction story pack and someone makes a joke saying they need a dose of reality.

story donations: are people more likely to donate a memory as a story, or would you more likely see people writing different stories to donate?

Again, I know Aileen mentioned something like this but I wanted to go into more detail about it.

[darkvolley]

Excuse the YouTuber in the corner I'm too lazy to switch to a different video but, it's probably a pretty easy conclusion to come to that KH might function off a somewhat stable time loop but nothing has really made it feel blatantly obvious than realizing that actually, since Ansem SoD sent Young Xehanort to Scala, that would mean there would have to be a starting timeline where the first SoD went back to start the loop, meaning there has to be a timeline where Xehanort never left Destiny Islands MEANING there has to be a timeline where SoD never existed, and as such neither did Xemnas and Terranort never happened along with basically everything else. So are we in fact confirming that KH does indeed function off a stable timeloop that never truly "started" somewhere and has just always been this way, or what in the world could have happened to still lead Xehanort to Scala without interference? Cuz now I have to wonder, if we're going by stable timeloop, then either Sora creates the tear in time every loop effectively creating endless ones over and over which could lead to a bigger problem(or not a problem at all if it's supposed to happen??) OR this is somehow the first deviation, which doesn't feel likely considering obviously Quadratum and Srelitizia being there seems to be decidedly factored into the equation here, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it hasn't been. Or maybe the problem is that Sora's genuinely not supposed to be there. Idk where I'm going anymore, but basically if time started somewhere and it hasn't always been a loop, how did we get HERE to the point in the screenshot where SoD/practically everything was able to exist to "create itself" essentially??? And I don't think that's possible without outside intervention, so it's gotta be a stable timeloop!

[selenealwayscries]

in what fucking world would you need to put this frame in your stageplay trailer

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

wooooo warlock Wally and his delightful totally normal patron

[ectonurites]

ZACH TAYLOR x MODERN BASEBALL on JOSH TEMPLETON and ALLISON BANNISTER

[ BROKEN CASH MACHINE | ROCK BOTTOM | THE OLD GOSPEL CHOIR | THE WEEKEND | ALPHA KAPPA FALL OF TROY THE MOVIE PART DEUX (2 DISC DIRECTOR'S CUT) | EVERYDAY | HOURS OUTSIDE IN THE SNOW | NOTES | I THINK YOU WERE IN MY PROFILE PICTURE ONCE | HOME | REVENGE OF THE NAMELESS RANGER | INTERSECTION ]

[identityquest]

lizzie get two wolves 👍