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#yeah this was fun :)
1driedpersimmon · 1 year
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Oh... Maybe Light in can't cheat karma and L in southern snow? :0
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Only had the energy for L 🥴
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bardnuts · 5 months
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Fall of Last Light
Had the fight of my life last night and I wanted to write it out like a proper scene (under the cut). I never intended for it to see the light of day but @ggreeeenheart said I should share it so I am sharing it the blame lies squarely upon them
Brought to you by the Watersparkers (those motherfuckers) and a potion of angelic slumber which I forgot about until the last possible moment.
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The cool glow of the barrier curving over the inn was cracking. Fragments of decaying magic fell away like flaming bits of paper and burned to nothing. Tendrils of darkness seeped through the cracks. Ripples of horror and fear ran through the crowd of Harpers and refugees gathered in the courtyard, but Twill could only stare after Isobel’s receding form as the imp bore her away, into the night. 
“The barrier,” whispered Gale. “It’s coming down.”
“No,” choked Jaheira. “It can’t be. This isn’t supposed to …” She rounded on Twill. “What happened?” 
He fixed her with a cool stare. Lady, if you only knew what I’ve just done for you. “They came to kidnap her. We fought, but …” He gestured helplessly at the sky. 
“Ehm,” said Astarion, “Look.”
He pointed into the courtyard, and the others followed his gaze. The two Harpers stationed by the gates had collapsed into silent convulsions. Darkness flowed visibly over their twisting bodies. Beyond the thinning barrier, thorny vines pressed against the boundary, curling and tapping in something very like a … 
Knock.
“Is it just me,” said Astarion, “or does something want to come in?” 
“No,” Jaheira gasped. She swung her staff around. “Prepare for battle!” 
The barrier dissolved all at once. The faint moonglow of Selune’s light dissipated into nothing and a bleak, swampy darkness broke over the Last Light like a stinking wave. Twill felt a choking cold fill his chest, clawing at his lungs and numbing his brain. His hand flew to his throat, but then the feeling passed, leaving only a chill and a sense of vague exhaustion. 
Those gathered in the courtyard, however, had not been so fortunate. The little party on the porch watched in dawning horror as the Harpers and the refugees slumped, one by one, in a gathering wave across the yard, until not a single one was standing. 
“They’re dyin’,” whispered Karlach. 
“Selune’s blessing is protecting us from the curse,” said Gale. “Look!” 
As suddenly as they had collapsed, the people of the Last Light were rising: they struggled jerkily to their feet, twisting shadows streaming from ruined eyes and gaping mouths. Almost as one organism, they turned to stare at the group standing on the porch.
The refugees. The people they had saved. All lost, all for nothing. It’s beautiful, thought Twill, and gripped his sword so hard the wire hilt hurt his palm. No, he told himself sharply, it’s a tragedy. 
“Do not hesitate!” shouted Jaheira. “Show no mercy. These are not the people we knew. If you wish to survive, fight! To battle!” 
The dark rushed in.
Karlach knocked Jaheira aside with a howl and charged at the converging mass of newborn undead. There was a meaty thunk as her hammer plowed through a halfling’s skull. A half-elf lunged at her from behind, but an arrow slammed into his eye. Twill felt the missile sting his ear and whirled to see Astarion lowering his bow, teeth locked in a grimace. 
“Shit,” he said fervently, and spat. 
Gale shouted a Word and Karlach turned, shielding herself, as a tremendous explosion mushroomed over the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Undead Harpers fell in smoldering piles. The cursed darkness swallowed any firelight but the flames lapped at Karlach’s furred boots. With what could only be described as a roar, she swung her hammer and knocked a Harper clear across the courtyard. 
“Could use another one of those!” she shouted.
“There are too many!” Gale shouted back. “We have to escape!” The air blurred around him, making him difficult to see. He and Astarion fought back to back, the elf sliding around him like water, but Jaheira and Karlach fought alone. Twill hung back, surveying the carnage and trying very hard not to revel in it. 
“Another fireball, wizard!” said Astarion. “Make yourself useful!” He jerked his blade out of a groaning Harper. 
“I’m about dried up! We need to get out of here.” 
“And go where?” 
Pull yourself together, thought Twill. Karlach needed help. With gritted teeth and a stifled urge, he charged into the fray and met an advancing tiefling with a lute in the face. The strings retorted discordantly, the tiefling stumbled back, and Twill recognized him at once: it was Dammon, the smith.
Or, well, what was left of him. 
There wasn’t time to hesitate. Twill leveled his finger at Dammon and hissed a Word that burrowed into the smith’s skull like a hungry worm. He fell to his knees with his hands clamped over his ears, then slumped lifelessly to the ground. Karlach’s only hope for healing, dead in an instant. 
No time for a funeral.
“Behind you!” Karlach roared. Twill turned just in time to dodge a blow from an axe, then threw himself sideways and slipped under the searing path of Astarion’s firebolt.
“Watch it!” called the elf. 
“They keep coming!” This from Gale, who had retreated under the inn’s overhang, eyes wild, perfectly coifed hair disheveled beyond recognition. “We have to get out of here.”
“And go where?” Astarion snapped.
“Karlach needs help!” shouted Twill. At his call, Gale swung his staff around and cried a spell that translated words into heat. Twill threw up his arm as a fireball exploded in the midst of the throng of Harpers, and tried to count in his head. How much could Gale possibly have left in him? Who were they if he went down? A barbarian, a badly-drawn elf with a dagger, and some guy with an indestructible lute. They wouldn’t last a minute without his spells. 
“Get Gale inside!” he shouted. “Inside!” His words were drowned by a distant crack—then screaming.
“In what?” Astarion shouted back, but the din swallowed his voice too. Twill whirled around to see great thorny vines erupting from the ground. The dark was closing in, and nature’s twisted fury had joined what was looking increasingly likely to be a successful attempt on all their lives. Their only hope was to get inside and hope four solid walls and a roof might grant them some respite.
Vines raced across the courtyard toward them. The dark turned cold. Karlach split a halfling’s skull like a pumpkin. Twill stumbled over his own feet, turned around, and ran for the doors to the inn. 
“INSIDE! THE DARK! TAKE SHELTER!” 
Astarion dispatched a Harper in an arterial spray and sagged against a post, fumbling in his bag with bloody hands and gritted teeth. “Of course—of course!” 
A sphere of white moonlight burst forth as he produced the lantern they had stolen from Moonrise Towers. The undead Harpers and refugees faltered in their advance, unwilling to step into the light.
“I could kiss you!” shouted Gale.
“Don’t,” said Astarion. He jumped onto the porch, beckoning. “Come on, all of you, get ins—gah!” 
Blood spattered the floorboards and Astarion dropped the lantern as something hoisted him into the air. His head cracked against the overhang. One of the vines, sizzling in the holy light, had seized him around the ankle and was dragging him toward the shadows. 
Gale slammed the butt of his staff into the ground and the vine exploded from within. A burst of splinters rained over them and Astarion hit the ground with a dazed grunt. 
“All right, Astar—”
“Get inside, you dolt!” 
“Right-o!” Gale hiked up his robes and ducked inside the inn, high-stepping through the puddles of water left over from Jaheira’s ice spells. Twill scrambled past the converging Harpers and sprinted for the door, but as he passed Astarion he hesitated. The elf was hopping from foot to foot, tugging on his boots. 
“What are you …?” 
“They’re enchanted, my boots, they’re electric, the water.” 
There was a creaking groan from the courtyard. Twill squinted into the dark and saw the largest of the vines pulse, then shiver, as if preparing for something, as if readying a blow.
“Take them off,” said Twill. His voice came out weak. “Take them off, take off the boots, take them off now—”
Gale poked his head through the door. “Astarion, what are you waiting for? Don’t just stand out here all—”
With the inorganic shriek of splitting wood, the vines in the courtyard released a hail of splinters and thorns. Twill turned away from the blast and felt dozens of needles slam into his shoulders and neck, knocking him against the wall. Gale went down. Astarion was luckiest—the support beams shielded him from the blast. 
Out in the courtyard, Jaheira fell with a choked cry. Karlach shrieked in agony, knocked a Harper clear across the yard, and broke for the door. Thorns protruded from her flesh in half a dozen places, but she still stopped to pull Gale upright. “C’mon now, stop napping!” 
Gale’s eyes were glazed. Blood ran from his mouth. “What was …?”
“No time for questions, but you’re doing great. March, soldier!” When it was clear Gale couldn’t walk on his own, Karlach braced him with her strength—though it made her gasp in pain—and the two of them splashed through the doorway into the frost-encrusted taproom.
Twill pulled a splinter out of his neck and sprinted through after them. Astarion splashed inside last, boots tucked under his arm, swearing as the frigid water nipped his bare toes. They were all inside now, the only four survivors of the Last Light, back-to-back in a tiny circle of moonglow as the void converged upon them. 
The Harpers were coming through the door now. 
“Your boots!” said Twill. “Use them! Electrify the—no, don’t put them on! Astarion! Just throw them!”
“They only work if I’m wearing them!” snarled Astarion, bouncing on one leg. 
A Harper pushed a crossbow through the opening and fired. Gale fell into the water with a groan, the bolt protruding from his shoulder. Twill splashed across to him, and with Karlach’s help they rolled the wounded wizard onto a dry patch of floor. 
The crush at the door broke. The Harpers began streaming inside. Twill whirled around, icy water soaking through his shoes.
Astarion got his boots back on and jumped in the puddle with both feet.
A crack like thunder deafened Twill. Heat surged up his legs and through his chest. His heart stuttered, and he smelled the too-familiar stench of burning flesh. He watched the Harpers at the door convulse and drop like twisting mice, and then he was on the floor too. Every muscle in his body was twitching uncontrollably. From what felt like a thousand miles away, he heard Astarion’s voice:
“Ah, shit.” 
You idiot, Twill thought dimly. You fucking moron. 
Through blurred vision, he saw vines break through the door. Despair rose like vomit in his chest. They were done for. Karlach swung at an advancing tendril with her hammer, scattering thorns. The retorting blow caught her full in the stomach. She slammed into the far wall and slid to the floor, motionless. 
Gale struggled halfway upright. He pulled a sealed vial from his pocket, popped the cork, and downed the contents. Twill felt a swelling of hope as his consciousness flickered—maybe he was gathering the strength for one more fireball.
Instead, Gale’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped, lifeless, to the floor.
“Oh, wonderful!” cried Astarion. “So you get to take the easy way out?” 
A moment later Twill felt a hand on his arm, and then Astarion was tugging on him, trying to pull him upright.
“Come on, you aren’t dying yet. Get up, get—ignis!” This last was shouted at a vine, which burst into shrieking flames. The woods were crowding through the door. 
“We’re fucked,” moaned Twill. “We are so fucked, we are so—”
Another explosion of thorns caught them both. Astarion wheeled backward fell flat on his back into the water. Blood streamed from his mouth and ruined eyes. He was dead in an instant. Without his support, Twill fell back into the water. Aftershocks shivered through him, and he knew that he was dying, but for some reason he was holding back laughter.
So much carnage, he thought. Why is it so … beautiful?
His vision faded. It was over. It was all over.
Light bloomed. 
Gale stood, straight and tall, his wounds healed, crackling with power. All magic restored, all tiredness expelled. His magical slumber had healed him. He drew a pattern in the air as the vines rushed toward him, breathed out—a tiny huff of air—and smiled.
The air exploded. 
His fireball ripped through paintings and scattered furniture. The goblets and cups of the Last Light became a hailstorm, pinging off walls and window frames. The raw force of his spell incinerated the vines, which burned instantly to blackened, shriveled, shrieking twigs. Astarion and Karlach were incinerated—but Gale dodged another hail of thorns, pointed at Karlach’s blackened corpse, and spoke a Word of Revivify. 
She rose with an agonized shriek, bloodied and torn but alive once again. Gale pointed at Astarion and spoke again. And then one last time, at Twill. 
Once the four of them were on their feet again, they made short work of the few remaining vines. An uneasy quiet fell as they sheltered behind the counter in the ruins of the Last Light, a quiet broken only by Karlach’s intermittent shrieks of rage as she hacked a motionless vine to pieces next to the stairs. Gale, Twill, and Astarion sat on the floor together, passing a blood-encrusted bottle of wine around in shell-shocked silence. 
After a while, Astarion spoke. His hair was standing on end. 
“Well,” he said, “that could have gone better.” 
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vir-adahlen · 1 year
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thinking about the women of Goncharov (1973) a normal amount
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mischief-tea · 9 months
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Finished my first shawl!!!
Free pattern: Spiral Staircase Wrap by Sally Ridgeway.
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ei genshin impact is a prince of space by the way. youre welcome <3
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akkpipitphattana · 1 year
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i’ll never understand people who can’t make fun of their faves a little. like yes i love this character and would defend them to my grave but also they’re stupid sometimes and they do dumb things and imma make fun of them for it
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teaboot · 9 months
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how could you like the colour yellow
see a therapist immediately
I actually used to hate it! Like, actually despise it! Yellow was too bright, too loud, discordant, unruly, and clashed with everything. Nothing like what I wanted in my life, nothing I wanted to be.
When I first moved away from home, everything I owned was black. Jet back. As black as I could get. Smooth, cool, sleek, discrete, calm, unassuming. Flexible, cohesive, agreeable black. Fashionable black.
I had a really, really bad time. Unrelated to the decor. It was my first year out of a toxic place I'd grown used to my whole life, my first year acknowledging a mental illness I'd believed to be normal, my first year fending for myself with very little money or sleep or companionship.
I'd grown up on instant white rice and unseasoned ground beef. One day I realized that everything I'd been raised on tasted like cardboard. While out on an assignment, I passed a tent with a woman selling spices, and bought myself some turmeric. I went home and tried making curry with it. It was so yellow.
Another time, my professor took us out to a modern art gallery. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but when we got there, the whole building had been painted bright sunshine yellow.
The artist's theme was "happiness".
What it is. How we make it. How to share it.
All bright, lovely yellow.
The house I grew up in was beige. The walls were white. The appliances were post 9/11 stainless steel. My job was to be quiet, compliant, presentable and agreeable.
Black goes with everything. Black is neutral. Black is quiet, reserved, elegant and mysterious.
Yellow is warm. Yellow does what it wants. Yellow tastes sweet and spicy and hot and cool, like a summer breeze, like sunflower petals, powdery like dust on a long dirt road and soothing like well-worn linen.
I still like the look of black. I like the look of most colors. But I like the way that Yellow makes me feel.
Do you understand?
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inkskinned · 6 months
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hey btw if you're in the USA at  2:20 p.m. ET on Wednesday, Oct. 4, they're testing the emergency broadcast system. your phone is probably going to make a really loud noise, even if it's on silent. there's a backup date on the 11th if they need to postpone it.
if you're not in a safe situation and have an extra phone, you should turn that phone completely off beforehand.
additionally, if you're like me, and are easily startled; i recommend treating it like a party. have a countdown or something. be surrounded by your loved ones. take the actions you personally need to take to make yourself safe.
i have already seen mockery towards any person who feels nervous about this. for the record, it completely, completely valid to have "emergency broadcast sounds" be an anxiety trigger. do not let other people make fun of you for that. emergency sounds are legitimately engineered to make us take action; those of us with high levels of anxiety and/or neurodivergence are already pre-disposed to have a Bad Time. sometimes it is best to acknowledge that the situation will be triggering for some, and to prepare for that; rather than just saying "well that's stupid, it's just a test."
"loud scary sound time" isn't like, my favorite thing, but we can at least try to prevent some additional anxiety by preparing for it. maybe get yourself a cake? noise cancelling headphones? the new hozier album? whatever helps. love u, hope you're okay. we are gonna ride it out together.
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kilometresrufflefuck · 2 months
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me: so u see apollo's objection theme starts out with the melody following the same beat as the rhythm track in the background, unlike phoenix's objection themes, which are all very distinctively syncopated all the way through. but as apollo's theme progresses the melody gradually gets more out of sync with the background rhythm track. this shows that while phoenix's style is unconventional and "off-beat" from the start, apollo starts out trying to do his job by the book but eventually finds that the most effective way to seek justice is to be a little unconventional and not just follow the beaten track because u can't win by following the rules in a broken system. do u understand. he's finding his voice. making himself heard against the background. it's symbolism
my work emails: inbox (6385)
me: i mean im not a music theorist
my work emails: inbox (6386)
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sualne · 8 months
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i imagine Mihawk doesn't know how to act around children.
(timeline)
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destiny-islanders · 6 months
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i get it now
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violetsandshrikes · 1 year
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to all my researchers, students and people in general who love learning: if you don't know this already, i'm about to give you a game changer
connectedpapers
the basic rundown is: you use the search bar to enter a topic, scientific paper name or DOI. the website then offers you a list of papers on the topic, and you choose the one you're looking for/most relevant one. from here, it makes a tree diagram of related papers that are clustered based on topic relatability and colour-coded by time they were produced!
for example: here i search "human B12"
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i go ahead and choose the first paper, meaning my graph will be based around it and start from the topics of "b12 levels" and "fraility syndrome"
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here is the graph output! you can scroll through all the papers included on the left, and clicking on each one shows you it's position on the chart + will pull up details on the paper on the right hand column (title, authors, citations, abstract/summary and links where the paper can be found)
you get a few free graphs a month before you have to sign up, and i think the free version gives you up to 5 a month. there are paid versions but it really depends how often you need to use this kinda thing.
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velinxi · 4 months
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Hi I compiled all of my dvattra sketches into a zine. It's 62 pages of pure delusion and self indulgence, bon appetit.
[LINK]
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mokeonn · 11 months
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I am trying to decide what I want to draw today so I think I'm gonna make the Mane 6 in the sims and see where it goes from there
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the-phantom-peach · 7 months
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Meeting the Light Dragon ✨🐉
[tagged as spoilers!]
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somnimagus · 4 months
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My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.
[id in alt text]
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