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mylonelylittlestar · 3 months

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My little star

Characters: Xavier Summary: random relationship headcanons with Xavier Warnings: None A/N: I've completely fallen in love with Love and Deepspace, especially with Xavier. It's truly hopeless

the type of boyfriend to get you matching pyjamas

he gets you so many that they slowly start to replace all of your own

likes to match with you even if you don't live together, so sometimes he just texts you to ask which pyjamas you're wearing so he can change into the matching one after he showered

if you ever gift him slippers, blankets, or pillows, he will keep them forever (even if it's something goofy like those big fluffy bunny slippers)

the best person to ask for good midnight snacks. He can recommend fantastic instant noodles, chips, crackers, or other snacks that are light and won't give you stomach aches late at night or negatively impact your sleep in any other way

very interested in your skincare routine (if you have one) and will try out any mask or cream that you give him

if you come up with a routine for him (a simple one, maybe, like the basic cleanser > toner > moisturizer), he will follow it diligently, dragging himself out of bed before he sleeps every day to do it because you were the one to pick those products for him and he doesn't want to waste that

he feels like it connects you to him, even if your routine is completely different and a bit more complicated

never cries during movies, no matter how sad they might be, but he does (on very rare occasions) get a bit teary-eyed

he will hold you if you cry during a movie, and he would never even think about making fun of you for it

he does secretly think that it's cute that you get so worked up about a movie

can sleep through anything. a bomb could go off in his house and he wouldn't know that it happened until he woke up

has seen every single episode of any shitty sitcom you can think of at least three times because he occasionally watches them while he sleeps

sometimes he quotes them but because he knows each of these shows so well now he always quotes the lesser known scenes and no one gets what he's talking about

you start to understand his references after a while, so sometimes he will quote some obscure scene from a super unpopular sitcom that got cancelled after one season and you're the only one laughing

secretly sneaks to the arcade sometimes to practice the claw machine game because he wants to get you the plushies you don't have yet (and to impress you)

he ends up getting dozens of repeats of plushies that you already own. he collects in a small storage room in his apartment that used to be empty

he ends up giving them away when the collection gets out of control, donating them to a children's hospital nearby

gets all shy when you find out about it, blushing bright red like a tomato (or a wasabi octopus)

knows about every single 24 hour store in the city because of his odd sleeping habits and always knows what to do no matter what time it is

you can't sleep and want to go on a date at 3:27 am? he knows a place

if someone is mean to you he will try his hardest to deescalate the situation, but he's also fully willing to fight the person if that doesn't work

I mean have you read his Anecdotes 2? He doesn't give a fuck. He'd prefer not to fight, sure, but if it's unavoidable? What is he gonna do? Not fight and defend you? Ridiculous.

The fandom has already started turning him into this soft uwu stereotype, but the thing is that that's... just not him? He's sweet and kind, yes, but that's not all he is. He's complicated! He has layers!

if he ever falls asleep during a date he would feel awful about it for days, even if you reassure him that it's fine and that you're glad that he feels safe enough around you to fall asleep

he tries to make it up to you with a different date and he falls asleep again, which starts a vicious, endless cycle

when he finally does get over his guilt it's only because you fall asleep during a date after you had a long day at work

knows when you cheat in kitty cards, but sometimes he just lets you get away with it, especially if he knows you had a stressful day at work. He hopes that the win will cheer you up

his good night kisses are forehead kisses while his good morning kisses are on top of your head if you didn't sleep over or on the cheek if you did

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff #xavier x reader #xavier fluff

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thegrapeandthefig · 7 months

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Dissecting ancient Greek wedding customs (or “How to adapt the clusterfuck they are into something somewhat doable for the 21st century”)

This post is going to be a bit different. I could stick to writing about the customs we know of from a purely historical perspective, and while it would be informative, it wouldn’t reflect what I’ve actually been up to. Some of you might already know, but I’m getting married, so I approached this topic with the intent of seeing what I could do (and get away with).

So this post is going to be more about method and the practical challenges that come with doing the groundwork of adapting very old (and often outdated) traditions in a way that makes sense for our modern times.

I do have some disclaimers to make before I get started:

Most (if not all) of the literature around ancient Greek marriage is hetero-normative. However, this does NOT mean that marriage rites shouldn’t be adapted for queer marriages or that queer marriages can’t be done within Hellenic paganism. It’s our job as reconstructionists and revivalists to rework and adapt to our needs.

Similarly, this post is bound to mention or detail cult practices that are no longer in line with our modern sensibilities. I also want to make it clear that this post is not a tutorial. I’m not saying how things should be done, I’m only exposing elements that I consider reworkable and propose suggestions so that it can help others make their own research and decisions, with the level of historicity that they deem fit.

While the wedding customs from fifth century BC Athens are decently known, the ones from other cities and regions of Greece are much more obscure outside of anecdotal and fragmentary details (with the exception of Sparta). For this reason, the Athenian example is what I’ll be using as foundation. If you reconstruct practices from other areas of the Greek World, you might find something valuable in this article: The Greek Wedding Outside of Athens and Sparta: The Evidence from Ancient Texts by Katia Margariti.

Basic/simplified structure

The typical Athenian wedding would spread over three days, and be marked by several steps, some of which are listed below. Note that the order of these steps is not precisely known and might have been flexible:

Pre-wedding:

Decorating: korythale at the door, decoration of the nuptial bedroom

The Proteleia

Filling of the loutrophoros

Wedding day

Nuptial bath

Adornment of the bride

Wedding Feast

Hymenaios

Anakalypteria

Nymphagogia

Katachysmata

Day after

Epaulia

Gamelia

Final sacrifices

Some of these steps included specific customs and traditions, not all of which are reconstructible for various reasons.

Decorations

The korythale: the korythale was a sprig, usually from an olive tree (or laurel), which was placed at the groom’s door (and perhaps the bride’s too). The word in interpreted as deriving from “koros” and “thallein”, which would translate “youth-blossom”.

The korythale is very reminiscent of the eiresione, which was a similar kind of branch of laurel used during the Thargelia and/or the Pyanepsia that had apotropaic purposes. Athenian weddings included a procession from the bride’s home to the groom’s house, so the presence of the korythale at the doors would indicate that a wedding was taking place involving the decorated homes.

While I haven’t seen any one make this interpretation, I would still be tempted to argue that decorating the thresholds of houses has a similar protective and luck-bringing purpose than the eiresione, which was also hung above the door of Athenian houses.

The thalamos (nuptial bedroom): While there is no doubt the houses were properly decorated for the occasion, we have mention of special care given to the nuptial bedroom.

It’s important to understand that the procession from the bride’s house to the groom’s went up to the bedroom door, it was generally an important location and its preparation is seen represented on ancient pottery. Euripides mentions the adornment of the bed with fine fabrics, while Theocritus mentions the smell of myrrh (sacred to Aphrodite). There is also evidence that, in the Imperial period, the practice of hanging curtains to create a canopy above the bed was adopted, very likely from Egypt.

When it comes to adapting this today, it is pretty straightforward and there is plenty of room for personalization. The korythale could be challenging depending on how easily available olive or laurel are in your area. I would also argue that the custom could be more loosely adapted so that instead of being at the houses’ doors, it could take the form of a floral arrangement at the door of whatever venue you are using.

Proteleia

In short, the proteleia refers to sacrifices and offerings that would be made to various gods before the wedding. The exact timing of these is more or less unknown, but we have reasons to believe they could be done a day or a few days before the wedding, and perhaps also on the day of the wedding. These offerings were made independently by each family.

It is in this context that the offering of a lock of hair and of childhood items is best known for brides. The recipients of the offerings are varied: In Athens the most mentioned are the Nymphs and Artemis, but various sacrifices to Aphrodite, Hera, Athena and Zeus were also performed. In other parts of Greece, pre-nuptial customs often included sacrifices to local heroines. Plutarch, in the 2nd century AD (and therefore way after the focus of this post) mentions the main five nuptial deities to be Zeus Teleios, Hera Teleia, Aphrodite, Peitho and Artemis.

Today, I believe the exact choice of who to offer to and what to offer very much comes down to personal preferences and circumstances. While we assume that both families made prenuptial sacrifices, we know very little of the groom’s side of things, since the focus was on the bride, and the rite of passage aspect was not present for the groom in Ancient times. This is a gap that leaves room for modern innovation eg. including Apollon to either replace or accompany Artemis or choosing a group of deities that is more couple-centric rather than family-centric.

Personally, I have settled on Aphrodite, Hera and Artemis and have integrated a Spartan custom that includes the mother of the bride in the sacrifice to Aphrodite. Hera Teleia will receive a lock of my current hair, while Artemis will receive a lock of hair from my first haircut as a child (that my mother has kept all these years), alongside some other trinkets. The groom will honour Zeus Teleios in a passive way. And I will honour the Nymphs through the the rite I will explain next.

Nuptial baths

Both bride and groom had a ritual bath before the wedding. Its purpose was of cleansing and purificatory nature, and is consistent with other water-based pre-sacrifice purifications. What made the bride and groom's baths distinctive was their preparation. The bath water used to be drawn at a specific spring or river. At Athens, the water for bridal baths came from the Enneakrounos, the fountain house for the spring Kallirrhoe, but each city had its dedicated source. The water was carried in a special vase named the loutrophoros (bathcarrier) and the act of fetching the water and bringing it back to the homes constituted a procession. The loutrophoros was often given as offering to the altar of the Nymphs after the wedding. It was an important symbol of marriage, to the point that, if a woman died before being married, she would often be buried with a loutrophoros.

This will be more or less difficult to adapt depending on circumstances and environment, but the logic of a purifying bath (or shower even) can be kept (though I would discourage bathing in water you are not sure of the cleanliness of). The idea of having a specific vessel can also be kept. Personally, I plan to have a special vessel for some type of purified water, and while I may not bathe in it, I plan to sprinkle it and/or wash my hands with it.

Adornment of the bride (and groom)

Traditionally, the bride would have a nympheutria (which we could equate as a bridesmaid, but seems to have often been a female relative) charged of helping the bride get ready. I won’t get into the details of the clothing we know about, mostly because there seems to be a lot of variation, and because I consider this to be a very personal choice. However, we can note that both groom and bride were adorned with a wreath or a garland of plants that were considered to have powers appropriate for the occasion (sesame, mint, plants that were generally considered fertile or aphrodisiac). Perfume is also something attested for both bride and groom, especially the scent of myrrh. The bride would wear a crown, the stephane, which could be made out of metal or be vegetal (the stephane is now the object of its own crowning ceremony in Greek Orthodox weddings). The bride’s shoes were also particular for the event, and named nymphides. The bride’s veil was placed above the crown.

Hymenaios and Feast

I am grouping these two since they are linked. The feast was more or less the peak of the wedding ceremony and lively with music and dances, as Plutarch indicates (Moralia, [Quaest. conv.] 666f-67a):

But a wedding feast is given away by the loud cries of the Hymenaios and the torch and the pipes, things that Homer says are admired and watched even by women who stand at their doors.

The hymenaios was a sung hymn in honour of the couple and the wedding, and there were other songs that were specifically sung at weddings. However the hymenaios wasn’t only for the feast, these songs would be sung also during the processions. The hymenaios also had the purpose of ritually blessing the couple, a ritual that bore the name of makarismos.

As for the feast, it was obviously abundant with food and the prenuptial sacrifices provided the meat that would be served. There is otherwise very little difference with what a modern wedding feast would be like: food, drink, music and dance around which gathered friends and relatives of the couple. Like today, the wedding cake(s) was an important part of the celebration. It was called sesame and consisted of sesame seeds, ground and mixed with honey and formed into cakes to be shared with the guests.

Anakalypteria

Note that there is a bit of a debate around this step, which is the unveiling of the bride. Some believe the bride kept her face veiled until this part of the wedding, where her face would be uncovered for the groom to see. Others interpret this step the other way around, where the bride is then veiled as a result of being now married. The timing of the unveiling is also up for the debate. It might have been during the feast (at nightfall), or after once the couple was escorted to the bridal chamber. There doesn’t seem to be a clear consensus.

The concept of unveiling the bride is otherwise something that isn’t unknown to us as a modern audience. As with everything else, how to interpret and modernize it is up to personal preference.

Nymphagogia and Katachysmata

The nymphagogia aka the act of “leading the bride to her new home” took place at night, likely after the feast. It is at this point that the groom ritually led the bride to his home by taking her by the wrist in a ritual gesture known as χεῖρ’ ἐπὶ καρπῷ (cheir’ epi karpo). The relatives and friends of the couple formed a festive procession that accompanied them to their new home accompanied by music and songs. The mother of the bride led the procession carrying lit torches, while the groom’s mother awaited for the new couple in their home, also bearing lit torches.

Once there, the rite of the katachysmata would happen. The couple would be sat near the hearth and the guests would pour dried fruits, figs and nuts over the bride and groom as a way to incorporate them into the household and bless the union with prosperity and fertility. As part of this rite, the bride ate a fruit (either an apple, quince or pomegranate). It is only after this step that the couple would be escorted to the bridal chamber.

These two rites are tricky to adapt in a modern context because of how location-specific they are (and that’s not even taking into account the implications of having family escort you to your bedroom etc). My take would be that the katachysmata is not too far off from the custom of throwing rice/flowers at the couple after the ceremony, and could probably be incorporated as such. The torches could also be replaced by any source of light placed in a meaningful location, depending on the where the wedding is being held. The nymphagogia could also do with an update, the easiest of which could simply be holding hands while leaving the wedding ceremony.

The day after (Epaulia, Gamelia & sacrifice)

The epaulia refers to wedding gifts to the couple, which would be given the day following the ceremony. At this point, it is implied that the couple has consummated their marriage and are officially newly-weds. Pausanias informs us that the term “epaulia” (also?) refers to the gifts brought by the bride’s father in particular and included the dowry.

After the epaulia, the bride's incorporation into her husband's house was complete. This might have been when the groom held a feast for his phratria (aka direct family), as a way to conclude the wedding.

As for final sacrifices, the bride herself may have marked the end of her wedding by dedicating her loutrophoros at the sanctuary of Nymphe, south of the Acropolis.

The epaulia could be adapted, in modern terms, with having a registry. Should someone choose to have a specific vessel linked to the ritual bath today, it could very well be kept, dedicated to the Nymphs and used as a small shrine. Considering how symbolic the object is, there is also room for it to become a piece of family heirloom.

Final words

This is really only a small summary of what a wedding could have looked like, sprinkled with a few ideas of how to manage the gaps, discrepancies and limitations. As I said in my introductions, there are details I haven’t mentioned. Some of the customs detailed here have clear modern counterparts, but others don’t. I’d like to conclude by addressing these.

First, the ancient Greek (Athenian) wedding is completely devoid of priestly participation. It was entirely planned, organized and led by the two families. Religious responsibilities were entirely self-managed. I find this point important to remember because it makes it much more accessible than if modern Hellenic pagans had to seek out an external authority.

Some of you might have noticed the absence of wedding vows, at least in a formal form like the one we are used to in our modern days (derived from Christian and Jewish traditions), this is not an oversight, there simply were none that we know of. As a sidenote, I would also advise against turning a wedding vow into a formal oath. I’m still debating on what to do myself, but I’m leaning towards a religiously non-binding vow that won’t curse me should things go wrong.

Adapting the structures and rites of the ancient wedding to today’s framework of ceremony will naturally lead to changing the order of things, on top of sacrificing elements for the sake of simplicity, practicality, personal preferences and, very likely, visibility. Unless you’re lucky enough to do a private elopement, chances are that relatives and friends might be there, and not all might know or even approve of your faith. I hope this post shows that there can be ways to include traditional religious elements that will go unnoticed to the untrained eye, like I hope it showed that the private nature of the ancient Greek wedding rites is a significant advantage for modernization.

#hellenic polytheism #hellenic paganism #hellenic pagan #heradeity #greek history #ancient greece #zeus deity #aphrodite deity #artemis deity #hellenic reconstructionism #wedding rites

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sunny-human · 6 days

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spencer agnew flirty slow burn office romance <3

too cool pt. 1 | spencer agnew x f!reader

new fav pic btw

thank you so much for the ask, i totally will write more parts to this i just got sudden motivation after watching spencer on miles’s podcast!!

part 2!!

~~~

In the heart of the Smosh office, where creativity never ends, Spencer Agnew sat at his cluttered desk, his attention focused on his and Alex's empty idea list. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his tousled hair, deep in thought. The rhythmic tapping of his foot was interrupted by the soft steps of mary janes approaching his desk.

"Hey, Spencer, got a minute?" A cheerful voice broke through his concentration, and he looked up to find Y/N, standing in the doorway of the games pod with a warm smile.

"Of course," Spencer replied, giving her his full attention. Y/N was known for her infectious and gorgeous smiles and unwavering dedication to her projects, qualities that everyone obviously admired. Today she was wearing something only Spencer could describe as librarian chic, while still having her own edge. Everyone in the office was cool, but Y/N was cool in a way he was enamored by.

Y/N walked next to him, her smile brightening the room from her excitement. "I just wanted to run a few ideas by you for the new video. I think we can take it in a totally different direction and make it stand out."

Spencer leaned back in his chair, intrigued. "I'm all ears. What do you have in mind?"

For the next, who knows how long, they dove into brainstorming, bouncing ideas off each other with ease. Spencer found himself suddenly energized by Y/N's creativity. Slowly they dived into a conversation about common interests and nerdy gossip, and Spencer couldn't help but notice the way her eyes lit up when they landed on a particularly intriguing concept. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, blending professional insights with personal anecdotes. Spencer learned about Y/N’s love for travel and her quirky sense of humor, while she discovered his penchant for classic literature and obscure movie references.

As the clock ticked towards evening, they wrapped up their discussion, satisfied with the direction they had charted for the new video. Y/N stood up, stretching her arms with a contented sigh. "Thanks for the brainstorming session, Spence. It was exactly what I needed."

“… Oh yeah, of course," Spencer replied, a genuine smile gracing his lips at the nickname he enjoyed too much coming from you. There was a spark between them, one that went beyond professionalism. It was a spark he couldn't ignore, a silent promise of something more waiting to be explored.

As Y/N bid him goodnight and left the office, Spencer sat back in his chair, his mind buzzing with thoughts. The lines between friendship and something deeper blurred, leaving him with a sense of anticipation and uncertainty.

- - -

The days that followed their fruitful brainstorming session passed in a whirlwind of scripts, rehearsals, and endless cups of coffee. Spencer found himself looking forward to each interaction with Y/N, their bond growing stronger with each passing day. Yet, beneath the surface of their professional behavior, an unspoken tension simmered, a delicate dance of hidden glances.

It was during a particularly chaotic day, with agonizing shooting delays and creative blocks hindering progress, that Spencer found himself seeking solace in the quiet of the meeting room. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he tried to untangle the jumble of thoughts in his mind.

A soft knock on his door pulled him from his silence, and before he could respond, Y/N peeked her head in, a sympathetic smile on her lips. "Hey, mind if I come in?"

"Of course, please," Spencer replied, grateful for the interruption. Y/N stepped into the space, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.

"Rough day?" she asked, taking a seat two spots away.

Spencer chuckled wryly. "You could say that. Sometimes, my mind just..."

Y/N nodded in understanding, her gaze softening. "I know what you mean. It's fighting gratefulness that your job is this but… your job is this."

They shared a moment of quiet understanding, the weight of shared challenges weaving a bond between them that went beyond words. Spencer found comfort in Y/N's presence, a sense of calm amidst the chaos of their days.

"I have an idea," Y/N said suddenly, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Why don't we take a break from the scripts and go grab some fresh air? A change of scenery might do wonders for our creativity."

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his mind already racing with deadlines and unfinished tasks. But the genuine warmth in her eyes told Spencer to follow her anywhere she wanted to go. "That sounds like exactly what we need," he agreed, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

They stepped out of the office into the crisp afternoon air, the sun casting a golden glow over the bustling streets. As they walked side by side, their conversation shifted from work to personal anecdotes, sharing stories and different favorites, ones even Shayne couldn’t guess.

With each step, Spencer felt the unspoken tension between them growing stronger, a magnetic pull that left him both exhilarated and apprehensive. He stole glances at Y/N when she wasn't looking, admiring the way her eyes sparkled with passion and her laughter filled the air. Unknown to him, Y/N did the same, watching his eyes crinkle at every joke, searching for that look after every one she made.

They found a quiet bench in a nearby park, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of city life. Spencer took a deep breath, the weight of deadlines momentarily forgotten as he savored the simpleness.

"Thanks for dragging me out of the office," Spencer said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

Y/N smiled, her gaze softening. "Anytime. Sometimes, we need to step away from the chaos to find clarity."

“Poetic.”

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. In that moment, Spencer knew that their bond was something special, something worth exploring. But as the sun began to set and they returned to the studio, he couldn't shake the lingering question in his mind - what would happen if they were more?

#smosh #smosh fanfiction #spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh x reader #smoshblr

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nomiqbomi · 1 year

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Updated designs for Fophid and Lepignito commissioned by my friend @plus-sizedscribe! Plus a new middle form, Impodster, and 4 distinct formes that Lepignito can take, based on the environment it evolves in.

More info under the tab!

Fophid are timid creatures with many predators. Their carapace has evolved to blend in perfectly with an arboreal environment. When provoked, it wields the branch-like appendage on its abdomen like a lance. It has no venom, it's quite sharp!

Impodster attaches itself firmly to tree limbs, disguising itself as a small branch. Once it has done this, it is impossible to detach until it evolves. (It would be much easier to take the entire branch with it!) It does not budge, even after being discovered. Individuals who have camouflaged themselves poorly can often be found with leaves full of holes, made by bird Pokemon that attempted to carry them away.

When Impodster evolves into Lepignito, it takes on a perfect likeness of its immediate environment. Four unique patternings, based the biomes it occurs in naturally, have been officially recorded; however, it is believed that new patterns could be created by evolving the pokemon in a unique environment.

Even when their immediate environment does not match the markings on their wings, they somehow still manage to obscure themselves from view. Many theories have been pose as to how they are able to do this, but none have been proven, as this behavior is quite difficult to observe.

It prefers to sit motionlessly and evade detection, but when provoked, it uses its stealth to confound opponents and catch them unawares. Once the opponent has become disoriented, it flies off into the shadows, never to be seen again.

---

The line is based on the Peppered Moth, which are a famous example of natural selection that has actually been observed and recorded in real-time. The moth originally evolved to camouflage against lightly-colored trees, but a melanic mutation became more genetically favorable during the industrial revolution, when the trees became blackened with soot. After environmental standards were introduced, the white variant became common again. Today both variations can be found, and they are often mistaken for different species!

Plussized-Scribe helped conceptually with the variations/typing, with his own rom-hack in mind. I may add more variations for my own fan project.

I had originally designed Fophid to camouflage with the forest floor, but during my redesign I found out that the peppered caterpillar camouflages itself as a tree branch. I thought that was neat, to I went with that angle instead.

I also added a middle form to make it a better counterpart for the Pareyeva line who use the opposite form of self defense!

Edit: @plus-sizedscribe wrote some really great Pokedex entries for his hack that he allowed me to share here as well:

"Unlike Sewaddle, the leafy bits Fophid sport are not fashion statements, but specialized organs for camouflage. In autumn, their bodies release chemicals to redden the organs and match the foliage.

The base of the headcrest pulls double duty as a third mandible. Thus, Fophid can chew better while also maintaining camouflage, as the shaking of the crest resembles a leaf trembling in the breeze."

"Having secured themselves on a sturdy tree trunk, Impodster steadfastly await evolution. Very little can dislodge these Pokémon, which are nearly helpless if they happen to end up on the ground.

Impodster with poor camouflage are often found with leaves full of holes. These are made by naïve bird Pokémon attempting to carry them away, only to realize they picked almost the worst prey they could."

"Some people claim to have fallen for a person who always wore a long coat, only for their lover to turn out to be a Lepignito. The veracity of these bizarre anecdotes is suspect, to say the least.

Lepignito live in trees whose bark match their wing patterns. They boast different patterns to blend in with the available types of trees in the regions they inhabit. At least 25 different varieties are known."

#would people like it if i made more comprehensive posts like this of fakemon I've already finished and posted?#I think some consistency would be nice #Pokemon #fakemon #bug type #moth #caterpillar #cocoon #character design #monster design #artists on tumblr #photoshop #digital art #writing #insects #pokemon chartreuse #no offense but ash forme is kind of mothman

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winnix85 · 6 months

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Maurice Roche (4th Baron Fermoy), who once rumored to be a boyfriend of Miss Doris Ryer, was the maternal grandfather of Princess Diana.

#Doris Ryer #Mrs Stanhope Nixon #Maurice was educated Harvard #raised by his American grandpa #He was a minor Irish aristocrat #His mother was a American dollar princess #He was broke #I kinda see why he and Doris didn't work out #Lewis Nixon #band of brothers #obscure anecdotes

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peachdoxie · 1 year

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Is there a blog that only reblogs posts unrelated to the Locked Tomb but feel like they could be Locked Tomb posts?

#anecdotes by peachdoxie #the locked tomb #if not there should be #I'd do this but i already have too many sideblogs i started that have faded into obscurity

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defectivehero · 24 days

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warnings: suicidal ideation, conversations about death and morality, blood & violence

The hero looks out into the faces of strangers gathered around the coffin and takes a deep breath. The effort isn't easy, and it takes a few moments for them to calm their racing heart rate. This is all an act, they remind themself. It's all just an act—a farce, a trick, whatever one wants to call it.

When the agency had offered an olive branch to the villain, the hero's enemy, the hero didn't know what to think. They thought their agency was misguided—or, more likely, desperate—to attempt a truce with the villain. The hero knew their enemy well enough to know that a promise of peace wouldn't be sufficient enough to guarantee the city's safety.

Yet here they are, standing over their enemy's elegant black coffin. The agency had spared no expense in maintaining the act, it seemed. Beside the coffin is a photograph of the villain—one from their civilian life. And next to it stands the hero, who was chosen to speak at the funeral—to pose as a grieving friend. They initially opposed the idea, but eventually agreed upon realizing the charade was necessary to maintain the façade.

For this fake funeral to work, the hero had to learn about the villain. They learned more than they would have ever hoped to know—everything from the villain's upbringing to the circumstances behind their second job. The hero had studied up on Jordan: the person behind the villainous mask. Yet, as the hero stands over the villain's coffin, they can't help but think that they didn't prepare enough.

"Jordan was a close friend," the hero begins. The air is silent around them and the weary afternoon sun casts shadows across the malnourished grass. "A sibling to some, a coworker to others." The hero adds. They're doing well so far, they think. Out of the corner of their eyes, as they continue speaking, they can see nods of agreement.

The hero can't quite register what they're saying, as the words begin to escape them. They launch into a fake anecdote of sorts and their focus slips elsewhere. Their fists are clenched at their sides and their eyes refuse to leave the ornate coffin marring the center of their vision with a blackened smudge. They come back to themself at the end of the anecdote, recognizing that they need to find some way to wrap it all up neatly. (They need some way to finish this, please-)

"I can't imagine what my life would have been like without them," the hero realizes aloud. Indeed, their life would be very different if they had never met the villain. The hero glances at the coffin and a shiver runs down their spine. "And now that they're gone..." Their voice cracks at the end of that statement. Their eyes are unwittingly drawn to to the tree in the distance—where they know the villain to be hiding. Their enemy has enhanced hearing, and the hero knows they will be listening with rapt attention. The hero tries to focus on something else, but their thoughts continue to spiral.

The hero sees the villain's dead body sprawled across the pavement... They see dried blood stains sinking into the cement, the only sign of their enemy's existence... They see an empty glaze to the villain's normally bright eyes...

The hero sees themself waking up in the middle of the night and moving to the sink mechanically to wash the unseen blood from their hands, as they grow accustomed to nightmares where the villain revisits them... The hero sees themself slowly fading away into obscurity, their morality teetering on the precipice of something darker...

Someone in the crowd coughs, jerking the hero from their thoughts. They remember themself. "Now that they're gone..." The hero resumes, "...I don't know what to do with myself." Their throat is burning. They turn their head to the side and blink tears from their eyes, before taking a deep breath. With a shaky breath, they step away from the coffin and walk away from the funeral.

The hero would have walked straight past the villain, if not for the sudden grip on their arm. The villain tugs them off their predestined path and pulls them behind the cover of the conveniently large tree.

"Bravo," the villain says. It's only then that the hero allows themself to look up from the ground and meet their enemy's gaze. They're surprised to find the amused glimmer in the villain's eyes, the playful smile on their face. "That was rather convincing. Perhaps you should pursue acting."

"I-" I don't think I was acting, the hero thinks to themself. Imagining life without you genuinely made me feel... empty. "Ha, yeah." Their voice sounds off and the villain raises an eyebrow. There are a few moments of silence, but their enemy mercifully does not poke or prod at the subject any further.

"So," the villain drawls, burrowing their hands in their jacket pockets. The hero envies their collectedness and composure in this moment, but also worries for how unaffected they are despite it all. "I'm dead now."

"You're not dead," the hero feels the need to say. They're not sure who exactly that remark is meant for, but they have a feeling they uttered it to remind themself of the truth.

"Legally, I am," the villain points out. They cross their arms over their chest. "It's kind of freeing, in a way. Maybe I should pursue death as a long-term solution to all of my problems."

The hero's stomach lurches and everything around them seems to fall to silence. "Stop." They don't realize they've spoken until they see the villain's mask shudder around them, their eyes momentarily widening before returning to an expression of uncaring. "Stop it," the hero repeats, "I- Don't joke about something like that."

The villain regards them with interest. "Who says I'm joking?" They ask, nothing but sincerity in their voice. The hero is hit with a wave of nausea.

"That's- Please just- It's not funny. It never was." The words are crawling from their lips entirely of their own volition.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," the villain says softly, their voice almost a whisper. They're telling the truth, the hero realizes. And something in the hero just breaks. The frail string they had been hanging from simply... snaps.

"I don't want you to die," the hero finally chokes out. "Okay?" Is that what you wanted to hear—what you were trying to coax out of me? Well, I've said it. How fucking pathetic I must be, for caring."

"I wasn't acting. It was all real—real to me. I tried to imagine my life without you and I couldn't.

"I'm sorry," the hero spits, their hands shaking now. Tears are falling down their face now, blurring their vision. They feel deeply humiliated and embarrassed, especially in the wake of the villain's callous and uncaring gaze.

When they turn to leave, they don't expect a hand to fall onto their shoulder—and the hero certainly doesn't expect to be pulled into an embrace. The villain's arms wrap around them and the hero instinctively returns the gesture. Even if this is a trick, or some convoluted way to make them feel even more ashamed, they take comfort in the visceral feeling of the villain's touch and the physical confirmation that they're still alive.

"Don't apologize," the villain says, placing a hand on the nape of the hero's neck and hugging them tighter. The hero closes their eyes and leans into their enemy's shoulder. "I... I'm sorry for being so morbid." They say, an uncharacteristic depth of emotion present in their voice.

"I don't want you to die," the hero whispers into the villain's shoulder. It's a remark meant for only themself, yet their enemy hears it anyway. The villain stiffens for a moment, their shoulders tightening, before they grasp the hero with dueling tenderness and strength. Suddenly, the villain's hands are on their cheeks as the hero is pulled back to look at their enemy. The villain's gaze is determined and entirely honest.

"Then I won't die," the villain asserts. "Simple as that."

The hero knows it's illogical, knows that the villain will have to die some day—as everyone does. But the conviction in their enemy's voice is enough to dissuade them. The villain's grip is reassuring enough, real enough for the hero to breathe again.

tag list: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @agayprince @starsick1979 @a-lonely-little-ghost @agayprince @plum-tello

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#defectivehero #hero x villain #heroes and villains #superheroes and supervillains #hero and villain #writing #writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #I wish ao3 tags translated here #whump #emotional whump

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m-a-salter · 2 months

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Why is Peter Capaldi so hot? Part Four.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

What is sexier than (6-7) personal devotion and (8) correct political opinions? This concluding installment of "Why is Peter Capaldi so hot?" will address what we know of the life and beliefs of Peter Capaldi's public persona.

6. His 40+ year relationship with Elaine Collins

With the caveat that you can never really understand anything about other people's marriages, especially people you don't actually know, everything Peter Capaldi has publicly said about his marriage paints a picture of a lifetime of devotion.

To give one example, in an interview with Larry King he explains that his relationship with his wife was essentially his first relationship, and that he has been in love with her since he was 23 years old (this topic starts around 16:20):

youtube

Another anecdote I find particularly compelling is his general reluctance to take off his wedding ring, which led to both Malcolm Tucker and the twelfth Doctor wearing wedding bands.

7. His 60+ year relationship with Doctor Who

I don't mean to suggest that Peter Capaldi's life-long love of Doctor Who is in any way equivalent to his marriage, but I do think they are two elements of a personality that seems (again, from the outside) to be grounded in the joys of long-term commitment.

It is widely known that he was a big fan as a kid:

But there is also plenty of evidence that his love for the show hasn't faded:

youtube

8. His lefty politics

It is easy to find photographic evidence of Peter Capaldi at demonstrations for women's rights, climate justice, labor rights, etc. In most long-form interviews, he expresses some form of condemnation of recent Tory governments, advocacy for public services like the BBC and the NHS, and anti-austerity (and sometimes more openly anti-capitalist) ideas.

Take, for example, this article, which includes a discussion of the no-longer-operative social programs that allowed him to go to art school and how all forms of art are harmed when the privileged classes have differential access to arts training:

He's loved Doctor Who since 1963, and shows no signs of stopping. He's loved his wife since 1983, and shows no signs of stopping. He has not allowed his professional success to obscure his vision of the role of class and material deprivation in British society, and he uses his celebrity to advocate for social justice and the public good. Hot.

That is the view from where I sit. Peter Capaldi is hot because of his physical characteristics, his mannerisms, his skills, because the characters he plays are hot, and because all evidence suggests that in real life he is a genuinely nice person. It is a holistic, ineffable feature of his personhood.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

#peter capaldi #elaine collins #larry king #twelfth doctor #malcolm tucker

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kineticallyanywhere · 1 year

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many of you already know why but I spend more time than any sane person should listening to dungeons and daddies. doing some work tonight and solidifying these tips for dndads listeners who are continuity-trackers. To be specific, which players to actually map your flexible dndads “canon” off of:

Beth: very consistent about her own characters’ details. might wobble in regards to others’ or world continuity at large. safe to map off of.

Anthony: typically your best bet on world building details, starts to slip on things that aren’t particularly relevant to the overall plot, like an NPC that’s only barely a character at the time, or a specific game rule that’s funnier/better to have forgotten about anyway. very safe to map off of.

Will: most likely to be accurate about an obscure detail from 5 sessions ago. also might be plotting something directly in front of your face. pay attention to him, but also pay attention to where his plan clearly started from because anything before that is fair game to be lightly ret-conned for the sake of something better. generally safe but watch yourself.

Freddie: this man is making it up as he goes do not trust. unless it’s about an obscure fact he read on wikipedia or watched a youtube video about, then write that down.

Matt: This man knows continuity in vibe form only. Is his character role play impeccable? Yes. Can he keep his anecdotes about those characters from contradicting? Absolutely not. Disregard unless backed by a secondary source.

#IF HE DROVE GRANT HOME AS A BABY #IN THE BEAST #BUT HE ALSO DIDN'T LEARN TO DRIVE TILL HE WAS 32 #THEN HE /CANT STILL BE IN HIS 30S MATT/#WHAT HAPPENED TO LINK WANTING TO BE ON HAWAII VACATION WITH HIS DADS MATT #HAS HE LEFT SAN DIMAS OR NOT MATT #YOURE KILLING ME #CAN LINK DRIVE OR NOT #RESULTS MAY VARY #me talking #dndads #dungeons and daddies #this is how I decide whats probably canon and whats not

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sorceresssundries · 26 days

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A Battle of Wits

Summary: As an arrogant wizard and a jaded cleric set out to find a suitable campsite, tensions rise between them. Tav finds herself wrestling with Gale's shadowed past, as well as other feelings which are starting to make themselves known...

Word count: 3,4k

Notes: SFW. Felt the need to write a one-shot which featured a more arrogant version of Gale than in my longer fic.

It had been two days since Gale had disclosed his dark secret, and Tav had decided she preferred the enigmatic stranger to the apparent ‘open-book’ he had turned into. Now that everything was clearly laid out, it was as though the flood banks had burst and the constant stream of references to being Mystra’s chosen were wearing Tav thinner by the hour.

The two of them had been tasked with finding an appropriate location for their merry band to set up camp, as last time Astarion had lumped them alarmingly close to a pack of Gnolls. His scouting privileges had since been rescinded, and instead he had been demoted to foraging duty with Wyll - to the vampire’s loud and dramatic disappointment. This left Tav to navigate the nearby woodland alongside the insufferable wizard to try and find a suitable resting spot.

“There was this one particularly riveting occasion, where Mystra twisted the weave into an exceptionally elaborate piece of magic which allowed me to pleasure…

"I'm going to stop you right there," Tav declared, halting in her tracks and fixing Gale with a stern gaze. She folded her arms across her chest, her expression blazing with disapproval. "I do not want to hear any more disturbing stories about you and your... mother of all magic," she emphasised, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. She couldn't bear to entertain any more of his unsettling anecdotes.

"Envy is a predictable response from a devoted cleric such as yourself," he continued, his tone dripping with condescension. His casual demeanour contradicted the gravity of his situation, an arrogance unbefitting someone carrying a self-assembled bomb in their chest. "But I wouldn't expect you to grasp the complexity and intensity of our relationship."

“Listen wizard” Tav retorted “I serve with appropriate devotion. I am not blighted with the arrogance of believing I should be entangled with the deity who decides my fate and guides my hand”

He laughed in a pitying kind of way which made her want to rip out his stupid little earring. “She was more than my deity, she was my lover.”

“There is no ‘more’ than a deity.” Tav sighed in frustration, determined to end the conversation and talk of it no longer. Gale was a man lost. She was bound on a journey with a vampire, a Sharran amnesiac, an extinguishing barbarian, a tortured Warlock, and Lae’zel - who quite frankly was a breath of fresh, albeit sharp, air compared to the others.

Gale was the biggest challenge of them all. At least Astarion, the vampire spawn, was transparent in his values, a quality Tav could begrudgingly respect. Self-serving, untrusting, and manipulative, Astarion possessed qualities Tav, with her decades of clerical service to the downtrodden, could navigate. She had faced the darkest corners of humanity, offering healing and support to the most burdened and jaded souls society had cast aside. Dealing with Astarion was familiar territory.

Gale was… complex at best and a dangerous hypocrite at worst. While he professed a deep-seated value for kindness and the safeguarding of the vulnerable, his path was often clouded by impulsive decisions and an overbearing sense of self-importance. In him, Tav glimpsed the flicker of greatness which he seemed determined to extinguish. He could be a beacon of light, if only he wasn’t obscured by the fog of his self-delusion.

"I could delve into exquisite detail about the intricacies of our romantic entanglement, but I wouldn't want to overstimulate your senses," Gale's smug smile returned, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. "So, I'll leave it to your somewhat limited imagination, shall I?"

Tav tilted her head ever so slightly, a gesture laden with subtle disdain, and let out a dramatic exhale. “Yes, what an arousing thought. One of countless wizards plucked and discarded by Mystra. A drop in an infinite ocean. How impressive you must have been.”

Gale's pride remained unshaken "I was quite impressive, actually. In various aspects. The youngest chosen in a century..." he bragged, his blind arrogance failing to grasp the heavy undertone of exploitation in his admission. It made Tav feel sick. “That was before I was cast aside and abandoned, obviously.”

“Tough was it? Moping around on your sunlit balcony in the city of splendours, caged in a luxurious prison of your own making?” Her mind wandered back to her days in the lower city of Baldur's Gate, where poverty was an ever-present spectre. There, her sanctuary had been anything but opulent—a humble cleric's tent nestled in the harbour, among the downtrodden and destitute.

While others struggled in the comforts of their gilded towers, Tav laboured tirelessly amidst the suffering and hardship of the masses. Her hands, calloused from endless toil, offered solace where there was none. Exhaustion had been her constant companion, born of the ceaseless tide of poverty that swept daily into her little tent. Some she could aid, yes, with her limited skills and the grace bestowed upon her. Yet, for many, the damage ran deeper than flesh wounds, and her healing incantations were mere whispers against the roar of their suffering.

How vividly she remembered those penniless urchins, the spark in their eyes smothered by the weight of their burdens. She recalled the heart-wrenching sight of a child slipping away in the grasp of a grieving mother unwilling to let go. In that moment, she was not just a healer, but a bearer of sorrow, tasked with the duty of ushering a fragile soul into the afterlife.

As Gale raised his finger, poised to deliver what Tav anticipated would be yet another vexing remark, the murmur of voices drifted toward them. With swift determination, Gale ushered her behind the shelter of a nearby tree, their bodies pressed close to conceal themselves from prying eyes. His back against the rough bark, he drew her against him to minimise their silhouette against the midday sun.

Tav couldn't stifle her yelp as she found herself with Gale’s arm around her waist. His hand swiftly covered her mouth, preventing any further noise she might have made, eliciting from her a muffled protest that manifested as a defiant 'hmph'. Gale couldn't help but give a low chuckle at her discomfort.

Tav tried to focus on what the approaching voices were saying, but her thoughts were muddied by how soft the skin of his hand was against her lips. This spoiled magician had obviously never done a hard day's labour in his life, everything about him seemed to get her riled up. What a frustrating, arrogant, soft, lavender scented…

She lost her train of thought as the voices became clearer.

“...hidden it away from camp. Don’t fink she trusts the others not to fuck about with it.”

“I don’t even know why we shittin’ bothered. It’s just a bit of wood shaped like an old man. Betcha couldn’t even bash someone over the head with it.”

“It’s not for bashing, you mush-minded lump. It’s for fuckin’ with the druids. Those animal-wankers will be all over the place with their precious idol gone. And now Mistress Minthara knows where the grove is, it will be easier to kill ‘em all. I can’t wait to tell her.”

“She won’t fuck you, you know. She’s some kind of Drow princess, and you smell like shit.”

Gale’s breathing had quickened at Tav’s ear, surely he wasn’t scared of a couple of Goblins?

So, the Drow had figured out the location of the grove. It was inevitable really, Goblin search parties had been increasing by the day and with the added pressure of the Tiefling refugees, the sanctuary of the glade was becoming more and more difficult to keep hidden.

"We need to question them," With a deft flex of her tadpole connection, Tav probed her thoughts into Gale's. Each time she delved into his mind, it felt oddly intimate, a sensation amplified by their current proximity—her back pressed against his chest, his hand firmly covering her mouth.

“Ok, let me - i’m much more capable at the art of negotiation than…”

“No. I'll do it. You’ll just piss them off.”

His hand dropped from Tav’s mouth, and she turned to glare at him. His pupils were wide, and breathing still heavy. His eyes seemed to flicker over her face and settled for a brief moment on her lips. The close contact and the heat of the day must have been addled her brain, she thought to herself.

Quickly and quietly she rummaged through her backpack, and pulled out a leather dog collar and a bunch of rope the group had found earlier. Tav had been saving it for Scratch, but she was very much going to enjoy putting it to a different use.

“Put this on.”

“Excuse me?” Gale held the collar up to study and his distaste was clear in her mind “I am an infamous, educated, revered…”

“You’re a whiny prick. Now put it on.”

He grumbled intelligibly to himself as he fiddled with the strap around his neck. The leather pressed tightly around his tanned skin, and the small silver tag sat pretty in the hollow of his throat. Tav made a small sound of smug satisfaction at the sight of him, and the silver tag bobbed tellingly in response. She then bound his hands with the rope, and tightened it just a little more than was necessary. She was surprised that didn’t complain, the only noise between the two of them were his increasingly heavy breaths. He must be nervous, Tav thought.

It only took a couple of seconds for Tav to cast a quick spell to change her appearance to that of a dark-skinned under-elf, and Gale quickly picked up on her plan.

“Oh for the love of…” he exclaimed out loud.

“Who’s there, show yourself!” The slightly larger Goblin pointed its spear in their direction, and Tav took pleasure in pushing Gale out from their hiding place, before she swaggered out behind him.

“Oh! A drow! In the sunlight?” The Goblins looked at each other in confusion, surely only a True Soul could bear to be in this blistering daylight without any discomfort?

“And here I was thinking Goblin heads are just full of flies.” Tav sneered at the two of them.

“Why were you ‘iding behind that tree?” The Goblin did not lower its spear.

“Ah, there’s that tell-tale buzzing noise of gnats in an empty skull, or maybe it’s just because of your pungent scent.” Tav’s voice dripped with as much venom as she could muster, and Gale did his best not to turn his head to glare at her. “I was not hiding. I was allowing my recently-caught slave to grant me pleasure. It’s a warm day and I needed him to lick the sweat off me.” At those words, Gale seemed to shift a little on his feet. Tav revelled in the fact she was making him uncomfortable.

"I've been sent by Minthara to check up on you. She said you useless cretins were taking longer than expected. She does not like to be kept waiting." Tav took a leaf out of Gale's book and tried her best to mimic the arrogant lilt that brushed his voice when he talked about being Mystra's chosen.

“Oh.. do not fear your excellency, your loveliness, your dark majesty… we have completed our task! We buried the idol good and proper…” The Goblin bowed low in deference.

“You buried it?! Out in the wilderness, where there are Gnolls and other wild animals clawing around for scraps?”

“We are good at burying fings! Bozza here buried her whole family last week.”

“That’s awful..” Gale’s reaction was instinctive, and Tav gave him a sharp shove in the back as a punishment.

“Not really, I was the one what killed ‘em”, Bozza shrugs.

“Oh..”

“Silence, pet.” Tav pressed her foot to the back of one of Gale’s knees, causing him to drop to the ground. “You speak when I allow it.”

Gale grimaced, he was going to be unbearable after this.

“Good boy.” Tav purred. She could swear she noticed him shudder slightly at her words. Excellent, maybe this would knock him down a peg or two.

Before Tav could delve further into her interrogation of the goblins, a sudden thwack cut through the air, and a well-aimed arrow found its mark, striking Bozza squarely in the forehead and snuffing her out in an instant. Startled, Tav barely had time to react before two more arrows whistled through the air. One found its mark through the second goblin's eye socket, while the other veered slightly off course, embedding itself in Tav's shoulder with searing pain.

"Fuck!" Tav exclaimed, the agony of the arrowhead piercing her flesh causing her concentration to falter, her disguise fading back to her usual appearance as she crumpled to the ground.

"Shit!" A familiar voice rang out from the nearby bushes, and Astarion and Lae'zel emerged, rushing to their aid.

"We thought Gale had been captured," Astarion explained hastily.

Gale, exasperated, raised his bound hands in frustration. "I am an exceptionally competent wizard! My knees may be a tad on the creaky side, but I can assure you I am more than capable of locating a suitable campsite without getting captured by a couple of goblins and a drow!"

“Yes, of course darling.” Astarion sneered “And that leather collar suits you quite well. A true mark of competent wizardry, wouldn't you say?" His laughter punctuated the jab as he deftly freed Gale from his bindings.

Tav's pained groan cut through their bickering, drawing their attention back to her.

"Tav requires healing, oh competent wizard," Lae'zel interjected, her voice carrying a hint of impatience. "She is fortunate it was the vampire's arrow that struck her. One of mine would have spelled her end.”

“That was your arrow!” Astarion argued.

“Chh’k” Laezel stowed her bow away and counted her remaining arrows. “Your many years have made your brain slow and your aim weak, blood-sucker. It cannot be helped. “

"Guys!" Tav's urgent interruption finally broke through their squabbling, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand.

“Go on then, chosen one. Do your thing.” Astarion waved his hand dismissively as he started rooting around the dead Goblins to see what goodies he could find. He started removing a pair of boots as Gale knelt by Tav’s side to examine the injury.

“Healing magic isn’t my forte” he admitted a little sheepishly.

“Of course it isn’t” Tav panted between strained breaths. Her vision was blurring as the pain began to overcome her senses.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His voice was coloured with offence.

“A wizard naturally blessed with control of the weave, an archmage, the chosen of the Goddess of Magic herself, and yet you never devoted any real time or effort into learning how to heal people? Why am I not surprised.”

He did not respond, just furrowed his brow as he looked through his pack to find any healing potions.

There was another rustle from the bushes, and just as Lae’zel drew back the string of her bow for another shot, Scratch appeared wagging his tail - paws dirty from digging, and with the Idol of Silvanus clutched in his jaw.

“I fucking love this dog.” Tav exclaimed through her pain-gritted teeth. “Good boy, Scratch.”

“Do not give that to the wizard, hound” Lae’zel commanded. “He will only eat it”

Gale dropped his attention in indignation. “Firstly Lae’zel, I do not eat magical items, I absorb the stands of the weave residing within them to sate the arcane hunger of the voracious orb which resides in my chest. Secondly, I would not dare to drain away the magic of something so significant! The trinkets that have been offered so far are more than enough to… “

Pain made the anger which suddenly coursed through Tav burn hotter. “That trinket we gave you was from one of the Tiefling refugees, who soon will be out in the wilderness with barely two coins to rub together!” she snapped, and Gale at least has the decency to redden slightly.

“So, listen to me, former arch-wizard - everything we have is hard-won. A magical locket that was a gift from a family for saving the life of their child has now been sacrificed upon a dark altar of your own making. And it was just as significant to them, as that religious idol is to the druids.”

“I did not mean…”

But Tav did not get to hear the end of his protest, pain and blood loss overtook her, and the last thing she remembered was the feeling of being slung over a lavender-scented shoulder before drifting away into unconsciousness.

Tav awoke much later, the setting sun casting a soft pink glow over the Emerald Grove. The air had cooled, and the crickets began to sing their evening song. A bandage snugly covered her shoulder, and her arm was secured in a tight sling. She found herself laid out on a bedroll in the central circle of the Grove, where the Idol of Silvanus sat back in its rightful place, bathed in the fading light.

“Do not fear, all is well.” Lae’zel was sat on the ground next to her, deep in concentration sharpening a dagger. “The Idol has been returned, and the druids warned. In the morning, we must waste no more time in eradicating the goblin threat.”

Tav nodded in agreement, pain still thrumming steadily in her shoulder and head woozy from the potions she had been given.

"You've just missed Gale explaining the intricacies of the Astral plane to me," Lae'zel said through gritted teeth.

"Oh," Tav replied, her confusion evident. Partly at how that conversation must have started, but mainly at how Gale wasn't lying dismembered at her feet. "The place where you grew up and your entire race is based?"

"Yes," Lae'zel hissed as she stalked off to practice her sparring technique, no doubt with Gale's face at the forefront of her mind as she brandished her sharpened blade with warrior's devotion.

Tav eventually stood up, still feeling lightheaded but strong enough to stretch her muscles and go in search of something to eat. As she approached a simmering cookpot, she noticed Arabella the Tiefling girl sneaking around with something behind her back.

"What's that you've got there, little one?" Tav inquired, her voice gentle as she approached the child.

"Boots that make you move faster!! Aren't they cool!" Arabella's eyes sparkled with excitement as she proudly displayed the pair of boots in her hands. "The handsom—uh, I mean the wizard gave them to me to give to my parents! He told me to tell them I found them in that abandoned Harpy nest."

Tav couldn't help but smile at Arabella's enthusiasm, her heart warming at the sight of the girl's joy. Yet, Arabella's grin faltered as realisation dawned upon her. "Oh! I don't think I was meant to tell you he gave them to me either", she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," Tav assured her, placing a comforting hand on Arabella's shoulder.

Arabella dashed off to reunite with her parents, her excitement contagious as she handed over the prized boots. Tav watched with a tenderness as Arabella's mother erupted into laughter, her husband joining in as they struggled to fit the boots over her legs.

Tav scanned the room, and saw Gale sat amidst a small gathering of wide-eyed Tiefling children, his presence commanding their undivided attention. In his outstretched palm, a small purple dragon breathed delicate sparks before flitting around the heads of the mesmerised youngsters, eliciting giggles and applause. Tav smiled at the heartwarming sight, her heart softening as she watched Gale perform for the small, awestruck faces.

As the scene unfolded, one of Mol's gang approached from behind, their intentions less than noble as they deftly detached Gale's coin purse from his robes, swiftly pocketing their ill-gotten gains. Tav tensed, ready to intervene and reclaim what was rightfully Gale's, but before she could make a move, something unexpected happened.

Behind Gale's back, a subtle wave of his hand went unnoticed by the children, yet Tav caught the faint glimmer of magic. In an instant, the purloined purse reappeared in Gale's grasp, his smile warm and genuine as he met Tav's gaze with a knowing look. A subtle wink followed, and Tav couldn't help but burst into laughter, her heart light and fluttering.

Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale fanfic #gale fanfiction

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mamawasatesttube · 2 months

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one thing that is kinda wild to notice is the way fic seems to have gotten a shorter and shorter lifespan over the years. granted, i only have my own anecdotal experience to go by, and there's plenty of factors that can contribute to that, but it's wild because like i remember posting fic in like 2015 would get so much more engagement over time than posting fic today. in 2015 if i posted something i generally would get comments and interaction with it for a week or so before it tapered off into obscurity. today, its like. you post a fic and after 24 hours its dead in the water. odd.

#rimi talks #on the one level i don't care because i know the value of my own effort #on another level it's like... man. this really does incentivize me to stop writing stuff that's long #bc you get more people actually talking to you about your work if its short and you post constantly #of course posting constantly is like. a recipe for super fast burnout #and i LIKE writing longer stuff in the like novellaish range #but the way fics just Dont get comments after the first day or so is so wild to me bc i SWEAR it wasnt always that fast a cycle #i mean comics fandom might just be worse about it than any fandom ive been in before #but i dont know!! it FEELS like a general trend over time at least.

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xzho-writes · 2 years

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and so, i confide in parchment and ink

pairings: zhongli, diluc, kaeya x gn!reader

genre: angst/comfort

summary: in which you are separated from the genshin men, and their only way of communicating with you is through words shakily scribbled on a blank piece of paper.

wc: 700, 900, 1k

warnings: slight angst (mostly in kaeya’s), mentions of blood and injury

a/n: i’m dividing these into three parts with three characters in each. thank you all for these past few months, and i hope to be back some time in the future! i’ve also decided to name diluc’s falcon here so i hope you don’t mind :)

directory:

- ✦ masterlist - ✦ series masterlist - ✦ (pt.2), (pt.3)

zhongli

liyue’s most esteemed gentleman heaves a particularly weary sigh as he eyes the delicate slip of paper before him. the quill in his hand tap, tap, taps away at the surface of his office desk in a futile effort to relieve the twinge in his ancient heart.

it’s become a constant feeling, this pang.

a gloved hand rises to ease the pain in his chest, clutching at the area encasing the organ, but it does little to relieve the unwelcome feeling. the words on the parchment are blurred and are nothing more than obscured shapes but zhongli shakes away the tears before they could fall.

a single drop would ruin your letter after all, and you deserved only the very best of what he could give you.

with an aching soul, the former age-old archon flits his tired eyes over his penmanship once more. you always did love his handwriting, never missing the opportunity to compliment his skills whenever you chanced a glance at his works.

the fond memory gives him just enough strength to rise and fetch the qingxin flower sitting at your bedside table- one he had plucked himself after scaling the heights of minlin’s stone peaks. your favourite flower, he recalls.

he grabs his cologne on the way back, too. an earthy scent. homely.

zhongli returns to his desk with the flower cradled in one hand and his cologne in the other. after confirming the contents of his letter, your lover sprays a generous amount of his signature scent onto the paper and tucks it into its envelope, sealing the item carefully with wax. then with extra care he ties the delicate flora to the envelope using a thin chord.

he gives the gift a satisfied nod and carefully stows it away in his inner pocket.

it didn’t take long for zhongli to travel to the nearest postal service, practically sprinting there in an attempt for you to receive his words as soon as possible, desperately hoping you’d send one back in reply.

zhongli went to bed that night recalling what he’d written in his message to you.

—

“my greatest treasure,

please forgive how solemn this letter might sound. i assure you, darling, that this was never my intention.

my fingers itch ceaselessly to pull you close but given our current circumstances i am loathe to accept that impossibility. and so, with the loss of my closest confidant, i instead confide in parchment and ink.

how have you been faring on your travels, my love? are you taking care of yourself? enjoying the new scenery?

if in the unfortunate case that you aren’t, i have a little story that i’m sure would humour you: as i was cooking dinner this evening, i was struck with the realisation that i’d mistakenly made two portions of bamboo shoot soup… a dish of mine that i know you quite enjoy- it seems even subconsciously i cannot stop thinking about you.

perhaps this small anecdote might encourage that smile which i love so dearly to adorn your face in my absence.

it pains me that you must be away for so long. is it selfish for me to hope that you long for me just as i yearn for you? if so, then please forgive me. these thoughts refuse to leave no matter how hard i will them to.

despite today only marking a fortnight since your departure i fear that i may not be able to tolerate another week without your presence.

i miss you, my love… terribly so. it’s rather lonely here without your company.

i’d prefer to share all my thoughts with you in person but it seems this is the best i can do as of now. regardless, please remember to eat all your meals which i regrettably cannot provide (you seem to have the hapless knack of forgetting such important things- much to my utter dismay), and ensure you come back home to me safely.

i patiently await your return, my dearest.

with all the love in my heart,

- zhongli.”

diluc

the moon is high in the sky when you hear it- the shrill cry of a falcon. you recognise the sound immediately and jump out of your lonely queen-sized bed, throwing your book aside and flinging the doors of your balcony wide open.

there in the distance was diluc’s feathery companion in all her glory. she spots you instantly and hones in to land at the railing just in front of you, shrieking at your figure and giving her grand wings a restful shake.

“avaria!”

the friendly creature caws at her name, happy to be in the presence of her master’s most beloved. with one finger you reach out to gently ruffle the feathers of her chest in a manner similar to how you’ve seen diluc pet her. you receive quiet coos of content in exchange for your kind gesture and with one extended arm you invite the bird to perch on your forearm.

she happily takes her place atop your appendage and once on your arm you finally take notice of the scroll attached to her left leg.

a letter. from diluc, no doubt.

“what’s this, hmm?” you ask the bird in a curious tone full of mirth.

she all but peers at you with keen eyes and you breathe out, humoured, at her obvious inability to respond to your question.

“thank you, avaria. you’ve done well to fly here.”

carefully unlatching the letter from her leg, you turn to head back inside hoping to feed the wise bird in order to replenish her strength but pause at the way the falcon latches onto your arm tighter with her talons. you realise that she must be itching to make her way back, to inform diluc of her successful delivery, and so you give her a parting kiss to her head instead, petting her chest once more for good measure.

“keep him safe, alright?”

she nips gently at your finger and you can only take it as a sign of both understanding and affection. you chuckle happily at your silly guess, your wishful thinking.

with a mighty cry and the strong beating of her wings, you send avaria off with the careful launch of your arm and watch as her figure retreats into the midnight sky.

her piercing shrieks are the last thing you hear before making your way back to your shared bed, one that feels rather cold with the absence of your lover, tucking yourself into the sheets and lighting a nearby lamp.

you run your fingers over the delicate scroll and smile knowingly at diluc’s elegant penmanship. beautiful and neat as always.

there’s an odd sensation tugging at your heart, a feeling that only ever comes whenever you’re separated from the ragnvindr, and you wonder whether or not to save the letter for tomorrow instead, lest you fall asleep with a heavy heart.

but patience was never really a virtue you possessed in abundance and when it came to diluc’s wellbeing… said virtue was nigh inexistent.

with nothing but the company of the moon, you get lost in the feel of parchment at your fingers and the allure of the darkest ink.

—

“my love,

i hope this letter finds you in good health.

as of writing this message, it’s currently around nine in the evening and i’ve managed to find shelter in one of the many caves here in dragonspine. the bitter cold is incessant and i’m yet again reminded of the blessing that is my vision.

fortunate, isn’t it? this pyro vision.

and yet, despite the heat it provides me with and although my mind is at ease with the fact that you’re home and safe at the winery, i can’t help but wonder how much warmer i’d feel if you were here with me. i’m almost certain you’d be clinging onto my side and whining about how much you hate the cold, face flushed with the bite of frost and unknowingly sharing your warmth with me.

but i should stop with the wishful thinking. it only encourages the longing in my heart and i really shouldn’t have any distractions on this case.

as for my progress, i’ve finally discovered the final location of the abyss mages’ hideout. pesky little things. if i make haste i should be through with this mission by daylight and home by the time you awaken.

i’m fine too, so don’t worry yourself sick with my wellbeing as you so often tend to do. there’s bound to be a bruise or two somewhere but it’s nothing to fret over.

it’s alright. don’t worry.

usually i’d ask you about your day and any troubles you might’ve experienced, as i do with each letter addressed to you, but i’d rather save that conversation for when i next see you.

avaria will no doubt make her way back to you after informing me that you’ve received this letter, expecting you to write one in return, but don’t trouble yourself. as previously mentioned, please save all your thoughts for my return.

i am eager to hear your voice once again. it’s... been far too quiet without your constant chatter to fill the silence. i’d much prefer to have you here, talking to your heart’s content, but i would never jeopardise your safety in favour of my selfish desires.

i’ll be home soon, my love. i promise.

- diluc.”

kaeya

“damn...”

there’s a searing pain in kaeya’s leg. it shoots up the limb, up his spine from where he sits on the ground.

one glance to his left thigh has the captain gritting his teeth and clenching his fists in order to alleviate the throbbing sensation. there’s a gash there. a huge one, so very deep and so very red. his blood stains the fabric of his pants and soils the ground beneath him.

but he does his best to ignore the feeling. does his best not to focus on the over-hanging threat of blood loss. it’s— it’s imminent. it’s bound to be, what with the rate at which his blood pools below him, but he can’t fall into the depths of unconsciousness.

no, not yet.

not when he hasn’t sent you his weekly letter.

he promised, after all. promised he’d send you a letter for each week he had to be away on this damned expedition. for each week he coudn’t be home and by your side.

black dots swim around in his peripherals, but the cavalry captain stifles the heady feeling and instead turns his line of sight towards the right.

a desk. chair. a half-empty pot of ink... and a single slip of paper.

with great effort kaeya manages to rise to his feet. the world tips and twists around him but he manages to grab hold of the nearby makeshift bed.

the man has to actively recall how to walk, reduced to having the coordination of a newborn fawn: his injury was on his left, so that meant...

right leg, left leg. right leg, left leg.

kaeya is thankful for the tiny space of his tent despite having been used to his grand office. it only took a total of four shaky steps to reach his destination. he didn't know if he could manage any further.

a bloodied hand reaches out for the quill sitting in the ink pot, missing entirely at first before finally grabbing hold of the delicate item, the other reaching out for the stray parchment.

it's smeared with red now. he hopes you don't mind.

of course you would, he admits. of course you would, you'd worry almost instantly. what else would this colour mean?

it's not like he could fetch a new piece of paper, though. this would have to make do.

and so, with the final remnants of both his strength and his consciousness, kaeya scribes.

—

there’s someone knocking at your door, three raps against the polished wood.

your ears perk up immediately at the sound and, donning a thicker robe to keep out the morning chill, you make your way towards the entrance of your abode.

a familiar face greets your visage as you peer out of the peep-hole, an excitable smile on your face as you open the door for your guest.

“noelle! what brings you here this morning?” you greet, and the maid gives you a friendly smile and a small wave with her ironclad hand.

something clasped with her other catches your attention.

somethings brown.

“this is addressed to you,” she holds up the item you’d just been staring at. it’s an envelope with your name on it, albeit rather hastily written. “it came in last night.”

“thank you, noelle.”

the favonius maid graces you with another of her kind smiles and bows before taking her leave. with the company of no one but yourself again you close the door and quickly make your way back upstairs and into your bedroom, occupied with the slip in your hand.

it must be something from your lover. from kaeya.

the week had gone by without any signs or news from the cavalry captain. you didn’t worry initially, seeing how he was off on an expedition with the other knights, but as the week began to draw to a close with no word from kaeya you had began to feel rather restless.

but it was alright now. you had his letter in your very palms.

wrapping yourself under your duvet you begin to gently open the envelope. a single pull and the letter glides out and unravels itself before your eyes.

…and the high of anticipation all but crashes around you.

the writing is messy. scribbled. scrawled.

the paper was red. not all of it, only a few dots and a single streak, but the fact still stands.

it was red.

red?

wine, perhaps? if not wine, then some other alcoholic beverage? red water? no, kaeya loved wine- wouldn’t dream of nursing anything else unless completely necessary. red water didn’t exist. so maybe a juice of the same colour? a fruit stain, a food stain, any stain, something that isn’t, couldn’t be—

archons. there’s blood on the page.

your heart drops.

—

"calla lily,

i’m sorry.

this won’t be the prettiest of letters i’ve ever sent you by any means, but i hope it still finds its way to you. i’ve not got a lot of space or ink so please bear with me.

you’re no fool. i’m sure you can deduce my situation with how awful my writing is and the stains on this paper but please don’t worry, alright? it’s just a scratch- nothing our healers and a good night’s sleep won’t fix. it’s certainly nothing i haven’t faced before.

i’ll be okay, dove. promise.

and i’ll be home soon, too. varka and the rest have the situation all under wraps. shouldn’t take too long now. keep the bed warm for me, eh?

i love you, (name).

i’ve lived a lie my entire life, but that’s one thing i’m certain of. dead certain. if that’s the only truth i’ve ever known then so be it. i don’t care.

so please- please believe me. you have to.

take care of yourself for me, and know that no matter the distance between us, i’ll never stop lo—”

taglist

- ✦ @tellerluna-stories , @byeol-ssi , @irethepotato , @roguebox , @umiwu , @pinkuberii , @fiannee

published on 03/09/22

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin fanfic #diluc genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #zhongli #genshin zhongli #kaeya alberich #kaeya alberich x reader #genshin hurt/comfort #genshin angst

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monologuerhead · 1 year

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Radiohead public library

The idea of the archive is a romantic one: in the age of information technology who can resist the pull of a centralized archive? Not any who has ever followed a trail of hyperlinks through the channels and nooks of Wikipedia. I find myself pulled into the romance of the archive drawn by the hint of knowledge that is just out of reach. The archive is just one way to make sense of the themes that have dominated the 20th century onwards*; cycles of repression, isolation, and capital make themselves clear almost immediately with any sort of sifting into the history of information technology (which is tied inextricably to the history of the archive), but in ways that are difficult to categorize and quantify.

This interest lead me to look into the radiohead public library. In its thoroughness (and their rare willingness to include an archive of their own websites, in the memory hole!) I have been pleasantly surprised to find a reflection of the original memex proposed by Vannevar Bush in his 1945 essay “As We May Think”, a labyrinth of articles linked by the paths of those who have read them before, and open to further linkages as the reader proceeds on. The memex could be seen as the prototype for any website stitched together by hyperlinks, a la wikipedia or the encyclopedia britannica, or more obscurely certain sections of the museum of jurassic technology’s website, and it is through the memex’s associative potential that a nonlinear (even networked) model of the world can be studied for its array of information, displayed for casual consideration, or even used to hypnotize the pursuant into a fictionalized version of events (for example, I still have yet to figure out how close to consensus reality the history of the museum of jurassic tech that is featured on its website. Clicking through the site itself is a trippy experience).

The mind fills the gaps between dream imagery with narrative and the cuts between movie scenes with implication— could the same be true for the spaces between hyperlinks, or even the silence between one tiktok video and the next? What is the meaning that links one thing to another? The Dewey Decimal System incorporates within its classification incredible bias against marginalized groups (thankfully, bias that is, albeit slowly, being addressed) simply in the way that information in the form of published books is sorted into one group or another. Through this sorting information of a slippery kind is introduced into the unwary unconscious. A connection between ‘x marginalized group’ and ‘abnormal psychology’ (DDC 301(dot)4157), has been made in the mind of the pursuant irrationally, and without any supported evidence, anecdotes, or even necessarily logic.

This is an important distinction between these hyperlinked archives and the Borgesian ‘total archive’ introduced in the short story The Library of Babel. The Library of Babel simply presents information at its rawest and most indigestible- disregarding all meaning, all truth, and all direction, the pages of its books contain more or less entire nonsense unless one is willing to use the website to find a specific hex that will repeat to you the phrase that you have asked for. Sure, it contains the summation of all human knowledge (within the english alphabet), but only at infinitesimal odds does one stumble upon meaning within its halls. It is perhaps better (or at least more sensical) if the map is smaller than the territory.

I wonder if in the present day the algorithm is at odds with the old system of hyperlinks. The algorithm approaches with a seemingly benign offer of information and media— arranged on a plate you hardly have to make the connections yourself. It’s far more coherent than the Babelian library, but its system of organization is just as dense and nonsensical (at least to the user, I have no idea what’s going on in the back end. Ping pong tables and swanky apartments in Brooklyn?). The threat within the algorithm is that the connections themselves are unstable and irrational, based and reinforced on the patterns that people already move within, but also directing their movement towards undemocratically controllable goals (I was about to simply say uncontrollable goals, but I realized that yes, there are people behind the algorithm directing it to hit certain metrics of responses or views or emotions or whatever). Being irrational, they’re difficult to rationalize, understand, and either follow further, outside of any given algorithm, or deprogram from the pursuant themself. I’m reminded of Burrough’s cut-up technique that he uses for The Soft Machine and the kind of magical terrorism that he inflicts upon his least favorite cafe. Information will resolve into meaning and meaning will condense into (re)action whether consciously or unconsciously. Even the space within paragraphs, even sentences, requires a willingness to find associative potential.

And so here I am back to my romantic archive, (let’s pretend wikipedia) where I can pretend to see within the spaces between a kind of orderly, genteel meaning, where I the pursuant can follow my own heart down the isles, tracing my own steps in a trail of purple hyperlinks. Or if I’m in the depths of the past twenty-five years of archived radiohead websites, I can find a surreal landscape where I can only partially direct my path through lyrics and images both familiar and unfamiliar; things that pertain to the year that the site was archived and things that did not reappear until much, much later (burn the witch). Still, despite all its surrealism, meaning surfaces like the white whale, and the ship goes down with its hunt.

Anyway, I wrote this all on a whim. I like to pretend to be 45 years old. I like radiohead.

*I’d be very open to extending this date further back but unfortunately I haven’t found a whole lot of material that goes further than that— or maybe I’m just not that interested in anything much older

#radiohead #william s burroughs #borges

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