#help my orb

[b0g-w1z4rd]

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

[mintjeru]

rough day?

open for better quality | no reposts

[galedekarios]

wyll: this was a hospital? feels more like a prison. gale: a common enough interpretation. sickness has a nasty habit of making you feel trapped, if only within the confines of your body. gale: i once spent weeks convalescing in the hospice of st. laupsenn after a nasty bout of ruddy pox. for all their kindness, leaving that place behind felt like freedom to me. wyll: i've always relied on the kindness of the healers and menders of the coast. better a cleric's healing touch than a chirurgeon's scalpel.

i'm assuming this banter is supposed to trigger upon entering the house of healing, but it hasn't triggered for me. still very much interesting. not only does it offer another insight into gale's past before the events of the game, but also the hospice he found himself in for weeks is interesting itself as well:

"The Hospice of St. Laupsenn (N73) is a Sancturary of Ilmater in the North Ward of Waterdeep. In the City of Splendors, worship of The Triad has long been subsumed by the Halls of Justice, Waterdeep’s temple of Tyr. After the Time of Troubles during the early stages of the Spellplague, large swaths of the citizenry were afflicted with fiendish plagues. While most recovered with clerical attention, for some the effects of the disease continued to linger, resistant to the healing effects of magic. As few Waterdhavians would have anything to do with the fiend-afflicted sufferers, for fear of catching the plague anew, the llmatari decided to create a place for the lepers. The Order of the Golden Cup erected the Hospice of St Laupsenn, named for the priest who tended those similarly affected in the aftermath of the Weeping War, and have continued in quiet service to this day. The hospice is funded by private charitable contributions (many of which come from the personal holdings of the Lords) and tithes from the Halls of Justice and the Order itself." [source]

i was at first playing around with the idea of gale suffering from such a long illness because he might have been affected by the spellplague. then again, the spellplague usually affected magic users mentally rather than physically, so this might really just be the pox, common in big cities and beyond of course, probably during his childhood.

if larian had kept to the lore and the timeline, the effects of the spellplague should have been more central to gale's childhood and made it much more harrowing, especially since he is so intrinsically connected and linked to the weave itself.

[veinsfullofstars]

You can't tell me their first meeting didn't go something like this.

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Dark Meta Knight and Daroach in a recreation of the Princess Mononoke "You're beautiful" meme. Original screenshot below the cut for comparison. Top panel - DMK hovers against a starry sky facing forward, his wings breaching the edges of the panel and spread to make himself look more intimidating. He glares down, one angry glowing eye visible in the visor of his mask, gripping the handle of his sword in both hands as if to stab downward, subtitled "I'll cut your throat! That'll shut you up!" Bottom panel - Daroach lies on his back at a slight angle on a nighttime grassy plain, his body and cape breaching the panel in places, his paws palm-up at his sides, his wand dropped beside him. He looks upward, unperturbed by the several sharp points of DMK's sword hanging over him, eyes half-lidded and brows lifted in interest, mouth drawn open in a smile and blushed at the ends, subtitled "You're beautiful..." Of course, every metal and/or shiny surface is lightly touched with rim light and sparkles. END ID.)

Started 03/26/24, finished 03/29/24.

Original: Princess Mononoke (Hayao Miyazaki, Studio Ghibli, 1997)

[harpyface]

Kim Kitsuragi - The bullet falls in the bag leaving a smattering of blood on the plastic. He raises the bag under his eyes and says:

Kim Kitsuragi - "Unknown calibre. Rifled. Some kind of brittle alloy, fractured on impact..."

You - "Can I have it?"

Kim Kitsuragi - "Of course. You've *earned* it." The lieutenant drops the bag in your bloody hand. It feels light.

Perception (Sight) - Your gardening glove is completely covered in the corpse's blood.

Inland Empire - Cold and absent of life.

Half Light - Lick your fingers.

Volition - What-

Electrochemistry - YES-

You - Um...?

Endurance - Uh, no. You barely got your shit together when approaching the hanging corpse. Your body will not be able to handle its dead blood inside it.

Electrochemistry - The dark liquid glistens on the yellow latex in the cold sunlight. Your fingers are *dripping* with it.

Authority - You outlived this sad, sad man. It's only right that you should feast upon his corpse.

Logic - No, you shouldn't. The corpse has been hanging outside - mouth open - for a week. In any case, it won't taste good.

Conceptualisation - That's because it's raw, unseasoned blood. This is just a little taste.

Perception (Smell) - You waft the odor towards your face. If you close your eyes, you can imagine it's a kebab.

Volition - We all know that the kebabs you ate were no better than a week-old corpse. Take the gloves off and clean them when you get back to your room.

Reaction Speed - You will never get this chance again, especially with how the lieutenant regarded you when you tried to remove the hanged man's boots.

You - Lick your fingers.

Perception (Taste) - You swipe the flat of your tongue along the back of your hand. Why did you do that? You could have just dabbed at it. It's disgustingly sour and tastes awful. You gag when your saliva washes the fluid down your throat.

Authority - You have bested this man. You have consumed him.

Electrochemistry - It's fucking vile. It's enlightening.

Logic - Great. Now that you've established that brain fluid and blood tastes bad, let's get back to the autopsy.

Kim Kitsuragi - He had turned to his notebook when you took the bagged bullet. He's still looking down at it.

Kim Kitsuragi - He was beginning to write the bullet wound's description. The pen has not touched the paper.

Composure - He *saw* you lick your bloody glove.

Empathy - It's not a surprise. He is still appalled.

Half Light - You conquered your prey. You are the predator.

Inland Empire - A four-legged beast with sharp claws and numerous teeth. Muscles powerful and flexing.

Shivers - In a grimy butcher shop in Faubourg, a rugged man pulls a thawed lamb down onto the somewhat clean counter. He grips the front legs and tendons crack. In the front of the shop, raw meats line the shelves. Red steaks with beautiful marbling, sausage casings stuffed full of spiced pork, pink breasts of chicken shining in the artificial light.

Electrochemistry - You recall the sweet ham of Gaston's sandwich.

Physical Instrument - Your muscles are also powerful and flex-worthy. Your meat would be highly coveted.

Volition - Right. Who would want to buy meat sourced from an addicted alcoholic? Take off the damn gloves.

You - "I wonder what I taste like."

Kim Kitsuragi - You pull him out of his silent stupor. After a second, he decides to ignore what you said. "We need to add an item to the injury list."

[waywardstation]

As someone who's gotten verrry good at the first two PMD games I wanted to give the input that Ingo's strategy is honestly not far off the mark- scanning for items can be very useful, especially if you happen to be a hoarder like I am and pack light for the dungeon ahead. Also yeah, starving tends to happen if you're conservative with your resources, not a big deal though usually.

Sometimes Ingo prepares so much for the dungeon ahead in anticipation of all the items they’ll need to take back with them, that it loops back around to being entirely unprepared for the long haul (<- I do this more often than I should).

Haha I make Ingo a fan of thorough exploration because I’m also a fan of doing it and I’m really the one who insists on scouring every single floor. I love looking for rare items, searching out battles with a specific pokemon to recruit them, farming treasure boxes, and razing monster houses!! So yes among that, I am also a fellow hoarder lol, and I do also pack very light for dungeons to save as much room as possible for whatever I pick up.

Hunger mechanic just really gets in the way sometimes which is why I’m looking hard for the tight belt item right now, it eliminates the hunger points going down entirely (except for a few exceptions I think?) I NEED THAT ITEM!!

[orb-the-watchman]

I hope we all invoke death of the author and all agree even though Chandlo ate the Cheddaboardle Rex that it’s still Triffany’s boss snak in spirit

[fisheito]

wait. puss in boots rei? unfulfilled dream? as.. as in. kinda like. a last wish.? like. the last puss in boots movie.? perrito garu?????

[vvitchering]

I’m replaying act 1 (for the fifth time) and when Gale is explaining his condition to you he mentions he’s “never told another living soul” about it, except for Tara. You’re telling me this man shut himself up in his tower for an entire year and didn’t tell anyone why and no one ever bothered to find out? He has so few people who care about him in his life that he fell into a depression and disappeared for a year and NO ONE thought to go and check on him and find out what was wrong? He’s had no one but Tara providing help and support until he meets Tav???????

[recitedemise]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗿𝗯 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗿𝗼𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆. And it is excruciating. On his chest, one can trace its ugly mark, the brand less discoloration and more, unfortunately, a deep-grooved scar. It is unavoidable and impossible to ever miss. Similarly, the way it eats at him is obvious, too. Gale, especially at the start, when his condition, fresh and disorienting, was still abundantly new, the effects of the orb were frighteningly worse. At that time, he little knew how to quell it, that feeding off the Weave would balm the pain, and so for all those days and weeks of panic, he rotted and ached at a terrible pace. He had decayed. And he had bled. Gale's body oozed black, skin, especially at his casting arm, rupturing like cracks in terracotta. He tasted filth always, the bitterness of wasting flesh thick in his throat, nose perpetually leaking with the ink-dark of bleeding. He'd labored to breathe, a feeling like devouring maggots pulsing in his chest. In fact, at the lowest point by then, wallowing and stuck in his tower, Gale began to lose hair, his nails loose and cracking as he scrabbled at the floorboards, knees weak and pain bolting when he collapsed to the floor. He was a pitiful sight. And a worrying one. And even now, with the consumption of magical artefacts, one can still see the way he bows to the blight, heaving for breath when it takes his chest again, sweat at his temples and mouth gone dry. It's all-encompassing. The agony is chronic. It feels like being eaten, being hollowed to his barest self right from the inside. He's a vessel of magic, and the orb means to consume him down to his every last molecule, teeth bared, hackles raised, and appetite crushing. It's like--dying, stolen away to be but swallowed down whole, surrendering to the suck of a hungering vortex. He's unsightly. As well, too, as a burden, he thinks, to the very naked of his bones. But when someone hangs back, touches him despite his rot, he thinks, you shouldn't have to handle something like this. This mere shamble of a graveyard--he's so sorry to dirty their hands.

[mo-ok]

Absolutely obsessed with how these mecha move tbh

Land Lion - Choujuu Sentai Liveman

God Logan - Ninja Sentai Kakuranger

Won Tiger - Gosei Sentai Dairanger

[chicinlicin]

what astrolabe is Rune using with the frog outfit?

it's vaguely canopus lux shaped! last stage of the anima relic

also regular canopus with the brown/orange effect

i love my orbs =w=

[kirby-the-gorb]

[w1tchybusiness]

i could write a 100 page essay about what a fucking masterpiece warframe is. i will write many words in the tags. please readem if you want my 'tism.

[rosenfey]

okay not to like get real or anything (I'm def gonna get real, sorry), but one of the reasons why gale is so important to me is that I've learned to just. like something without feeling guilty over it. like I used to believe having strong feelings for a fictional character is cringe, that oc x canon is cringe and daydreaming abt pixels is cringe when it is. not? I mean I only thought its cringe when I do it, not anyone else, but you know how it is. but hey. I'm learning to just. love. unconditionally. lichrally fictional characters are designed to be liked and related to. gale has gone through a lot of things that I personally went through, like the resemblance is uncanny. feeling like one is not enough and throwing yourself into love so readily, not realising the problem is in the lack of self-love? not being loved in turn and feeling the fault is in you, that you need to be better, that you need to impress, that you need to prove yourself worthy without realising that none of that matters to someone who truly loves you? believing the world will be a better place without you in it? ouch ouch ouch. I know these feelings so well and going through his romance has helped me heal, something I strived to do for so long. I know he isn't real, I know he is a bunch of pixels, but I am real, and my feelings are too, and I am forever grateful for this game because it has opened my eyes and let me process my past as an abuse victim, in a safe and healthy way. I'm not the same person I was before I played the game and I never will be. and that is such a comfort to me.