august-cabin7

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#my husband #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #baldurs gate wyll #baldur's gate 3 #dont tell my irl partner /j #hes dating karlach its ok

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Videogames I wish were real #97

A roguelike game that takes place in the world's biggest library, which has been overrun by monsters, where you play as a librarian determined to save it. You venture inside the library armed with your weapon of choice and two messenger bags you plan to fill with whatever books you can rescue.

After you clear the monsters in a particular section of the library, such as the Poetry section, you'll unlock a permanent buff that will last for the remaining of that run. For example: clearing the Travel section will help you map areas faster, and also unlock the bookworm railway system that will allow you to move more easily between certain parts of the library.

Besides section buffs, you'll also be able to learn all kinds of useful attacks and skills by finding specific books in the shelves, reading them and carrying them in your messenger bags. The more books you carry, the stronger your character will be, and the abilities each book will grant you will be on theme with the book, it's literary genre or one of its tropes: carrying with you a bestiary will allow you to quickly identify the weak points of monsters you've met before, a book with an enemies to lovers trope will allow you to turn a monster into a temporary ally that will fight alongside you, a botany book in your bag will let you gather medicinal herbs growing in the library, and carrying a potions book will allow you to prepare healing potions (more effective than just herbs), etc.

Not everyone believes the library can be saved, which is why during your expeditions your mission is not only to kill monsters, but also to rescue books and bring them to the new library. Since getting books out is one of your main priorities, starting your runs with your satchels nearly full of books that grant you useful abilities won't be very efficient, so you'll need to decide how many books you want to bring back with you to the library during each run.

Fighting monsters is dangerous, and sometimes you get hurt, but also, sometimes books get hurt, which why after some runs you might need to stop by your workshop to repair any damaged books. The hides of certain monsters are very sturdy, so using them to rebind books will make them more durable.

There is no respawning in this game. If your librarian dies inside the library, the next librarian that ventures inside might eventually find their body. If you're close to death and you have a particular book from the Travel section in your bags, you'll be able to use it to summon a bookwork that will take you quickly and safely back to the entrance with whatever books are currently in your bag.

You love your library, and you are determined to save it, armed with the greatest weapon in the world: knowledge (and a sword), even if it's one book at a time.

#viwwr #videogames i wish were real #video games

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After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

#writing #microfiction #short story #flash fiction #holy shit #yes #reblog #let them underestimate you

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Complimentary post to my last reblog LOL

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3

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Astarion with a gun

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #karlach #wyll

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JUST SAW A FED-EX DRIVER JUMP OUR OF HIS TRUCK AT A REDLIGHT AND RUN UP TO A SECOND FED-EX TRUCK (THREE CARS AHEAD) AND THE GUY LEANED OUT AND THEY JUST KISSED ON THE LIPS? HELLO?

#XD

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the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

[august-cabin7]

Babel Spoilers!!!

Been thinking a lot about Letty Price and her inability to comprehend how the act of Robin, Victoire and Ramy standing up and joining a resistance against Babel was so integral to their identities and experiences as POC and scholars in Britain.

How could they hate and do this to a nation that gave them so much? That gave them literature and translation, education and funding and the ability to expand their minds. How could they turn their backs on that?

She could not conceive that they had been given these opportunities, but at every turn they were disrespected and mistreated for who they were. Given rewards and treats and opportunities with the consolation that yes “you are lesser than” but don’t worry we can beat the ethnic out of you. And to hang that over you, it is only natural to form a twisted sense of self-worth contingent on the whily and abusive whims of their oppressor. The constant need to prove that they were worthy of acknowledgment, of this position. The anger and twisted gratuity for the opportunity, but injustice in being used for their minds and their abilities by an empire refusing to acknowledge them as humans, let alone equals. Stolen bodies and stolen lands.

And Letty, her only framework of suffering was the coddling of a girl in an upperclass white family and the restrictions of conservative social constructs. That while hindering and discouraging, were not a question of life and death or of humanity, but of simple opportunity and intelligence. And looking through these eyes, how could she comprehend such a thing?

#letty price #babel #babel spoilers #babel an arcane history #rf kuang #god im not normal #this is literally it #THIS #i could write a fuckin essay on this

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Crying

💙for kanej, let’s goooooooo 🫶

drunken/tipsy kiss

For the record, Kaz is blaming Jesper for this one.

To be fair, Kaz blames Jesper for a lot of things. Like teaching Inej's male cousins the words to that stupid Kaelish love song, "Black is the Color," or some such thing, or insisting on trying to introduce color to Kaz's wardrobe, or the mangy orange and white cat that's taken up residence in the Slat. Granted, the last thing is not really Jesper's fault, but given time, and the proper motivation, Kaz is confident he can pin the blame on Jesper somehow.

Not this time, though. No, this time, this whole stupid situation is entirely Jesper's fault.

Jesper's fault, and the homemade moonshine that Colm Fahey brews with peaches and strawberries and wild ginger. He sent Jesper a jar of the stuff for the winter Kerst celebration, and now it seems like the entire Slat is near falling down drunk.

"It was one jar," Kaz says now, his tongue oddly thick. He hadn't been able to escape getting a glass shoved into his hand, so he'd looked at the seemingly innocuous pinkish-gold liquid and knocked it back without even thinking. He's had paint thinner that's milder than whatever brew this is. "How does one jar do all this?"

Inej is listing besides him, her long braid nearly coming undone. She says wisely, "Jesper says his da brews it with the fermented honey water. To give it, it, you know. Extra strength."

"All the Saints and their ugly mothers," Kaz mumbles and Inej swats at him, and misses by a mile. Which is a sign of just how potent this stuff is.

Inej had accepted a glass of moonshine from Jesper, tempered with water, and she'd danced with nearly everyone in the Slat--all the young kids, Anika, Pim, Roeder, Jesper, even Wylan, who let Inej drag him away from the upright piano someone shoved into the corner. No one's played it until tonight, until Wylan has started playing. Then someone got out a tin pennywhistle and another person dragged in a fiddler player from one of musician troupes that walk the Barrel busking inside, and the moonshine had flowed like water.

Music, wild and raucous and only slightly out of tune, poured out of the Slat, and the Dregs had danced like madmen, like heathens, howling at the winter moon. Kaz sat by the wall and watched; no one would ask Dirtyhands to dance, even if they didn't account for his leg. But he didn't mind watching Inej dance, her hair whipping around her, as she used her hands and feet to tell a story of a Saint defeating a monster on a mountain. Her hair is curtain of black silk in the light, and he wants to bury his face in it.

He blinks at the unguarded thought, shifting as Inej lists further and further, leaning into him more fully. "Sorry, sorry," she says, her s's oddly, delightfully sharp. Like a piece of ginger candy. "The room's dancing."

"The room's not dancing, you are," he says nonsensically and then gives up on shifting altogether. Inej is pressed up against him now, their layers of clothing between them prevent any skin on skin touch, but his heart pounds at her proximity anyways. He suspects that no matter how long he's gotten used to touching her, it always will.

"Did you like it?" Inej asks, a little dizzily. "Seeing me dance," she clarifies when he doesn't answer right away. "I didn't have the bell anklets, or the finger cymbals, but I think I got all the steps right. From what I could remember. Mama would do it better, though. Or Cousin Kathani."

Kaz couldn't tell her what they could do any better than Inej, and says so. Inej beams up at him, that smile he'd crawl over hot coals for, and for one glorious moment, leans her head on his shoulder. "One day I'll take you," she says, as the room continues to waltz and weave around them. "And you'll see me dancing. Properly, with jasmine and everything."

Later, he can blame this on the moonshine. Or the dancing room. Or the wild laughter and music still going around them, sealing them away from the outside world, and whatever consequences face them out there. But he finds himself pressing his lips to the crown of her head, lingering on the silky smooth strands, the scent of moonshine and the gardenia oil she uses on her hair. It lasts no more than second, but Inej's hands curl in the fabric of his waistcoat. Her breath catches in her throat, not in pain or fear, just dazed wonder.

He holds the moment as long as he dares, like a magician dragging out the climax of a trick before he releases the tension and settles back against the wall. Inej is still in his arms, and the room dances on all around them. Just this once, he can give Jesper and the moonshine credit.

#soc #kanej #grishaverse #kaz x inej

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Physic in this game is outstanding!

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he just wanted to make him a nice hat ✨

#gengar #ditto #eevee #pokemon #halloween #animated #THIS #MAKES ME SO HAPPY #REBLOG

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Selkiesssss

REBLOG FOR BIGGER SAMPLE SIZE BC IK YALL MOSTLY GOING FOR VAMPIRE AROUND HERE

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#Arcane Spoilers #Viktor #Jayce Talis #Mel Medarda

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Mist sweats???

via Pinterest.com

#the cosmere #cosmere #vin mistborn #mistborn fanart #mistborn #cosmere fanart #screaming #crying #my baby

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Yeah. I recently saw a tiktok that put the current trend of “we’re just rewording harmful and stupid gender stereotypes but dont worry its ok but its funny now and has a hehe little tune” perfectly

That being said. Idc what people have to say. Girl dinner is ungendered; its the gremlin ass meal you put together on Wednesday night because fuck you forgot to go grocery shopping for the week AGAIN and honestly cant be bothered anymore so fuck it. Pan fried cheese and a handful of pretzels. Maybe a bagel. Idfk

"girl dinner is when you don't eat teehee" "men think about the roman empire women think about their ex best friends and poetry" "✨sapphic love✨ is so pure and innocent and sweet unlike nasty gross Man Lust" "girl math is when you can buy starbucks and makeup because you didn't buy it yesterday so it's free" "I'm going to explain (complex topic) for the girlies! so basically it's like when you go shopping-" "I love women because they're so soft and smooth and feminine and we can talk about girly things and they're not sweaty or hairy or horny like gross men" "women should be unemployed girls don't need jobs men should do all that for us" "ugh girls that don't like pink or being feminine just need to stop being such pick mes and get over their internalized misogyny it's gross"

god save my hairy dyke ass from this hell before I start whacking people's shins with my Girl Baseball Bat. teehee!

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[august-cabin7]

Repeat, Repeat, Re-

Attraction, lust, love, fear, hurt, sadness, repeat.

She knew the cycle well. It was always the same, over and over again. Love, hurt, repeat.

Love, hurt, repeat.

Repeat.

She should know better by now, but when he showed up to start the cycle again she found herself giving in. Like before. Like always.

It started as it usually did, with attraction. And hell was he attractive. Strong jaw, tanned skin, messy raven hair and green eyes. God those green eyes. She blamed them for starting it all.

It started as it usually did with warm smiles and impossible promises. Promises of love, comfort, kindness. He looked at her with a soft smile and whispered his dreams into her shoulder as they cuddled in the cold night.

It was followed by lust which was followed so quickly by love she wondered when it changed. The passionate kisses starting to lead to something more. Something more physical for him, something more emotional for her. He held her as if she was providing his life source as he moaned her name, she stared at him wondering if he felt what she did.

It was followed by sweet nights and the familiar tug at the heart, a reminder that she was falling all over again. A reminder that she was in love and the cycle was about to continue. But he still held her at night, only leaving in the morning when he had to, it made her feel cared for. She shrugged it off, it wouldn't last. It never did.

Next came fear. The part that realized that he didn't care, that she wasn't enough. It led to hurt pretty soon after that, thinking she was unloved and unwanted. The sadness only came when it was over, when she rid herself of him once and for all and realized that she still wasn't okay.

Then of course, repeat.

But this time the fear was something else. Because it had been a while and he hadn't left, he hadn't stopped caring. His touch was still gentle, never forced. His hugs and kisses still warm, never rough. The look in those green eyes that could only be described as-

No.

This was the fear. That the cycle had stalled momentarily, and she was waiting for it to start again. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why had it stopped? When was it going to pick up again?

He held her in his arms and she feared the day it would end.

This time the hurt was something else. The hurt in forms of tears running down a face, but not hers, his. When she told him about the cycle, about the others. He had cried, and she was shocked to see the hurt pour out of someone else. He had promised then that he would never do that to her. That she would never hit repeat again.

She hoped one day she could believe him.

This time the sadness was replaced by a bubbly feeling in her heart and a smile on her face. Tears only from laughter and ice cream only from dates. He was still the same, still as kind, still as caring.

She saw the promises come true before her eyes and doubt crept into her heart. Doubt of the cycle. Because this time the sadness was replaced by happiness.

This time the cycle had broken.

This time there would be no repeat.

Read More on Semantics of Love

#percabeth