#Exceptional Cask

[valid-name]

thinking so hard about dgs pokemon au

[thebisfor]

I'm just saying I bought custom leatherwork from a scruffy pirate guy who proceeded to show me pictures of all his screen worn black sails costuming and if he'd have offered to show me I would have been inside a brick wall faster than you can say "I met him one time at the renfaire"

[jadedresearcher]

And I can show you them whenever you like, I promise nothing bad will happen to you.

I'm not ignoring my WIPs. they're ripening in my mental cellar

[forgottenroderick]

OOC | Roderick & Event 5

idk how to title this bc like...basically summary thoughts/ideas now that we know the results of the tourney etc!! ok so like...the overall winners:

GRAND TOTAL FOR REWARDS:

Roderick Varmont: 600,000 crowns

Arthur Varmont: 600,000 crowns

Bran O'Connor: 330,000 crowns

Cathaoir Rith: 330,000 crowns

Finley Doyle: 300,000 crowns

Edmund Varmont; 300,000 crowns

Eoin Varmont: 300,000 crowns

Tristan Calanion: 90,000 crowns

Alaric Varmont: 60,000 crowns

Godfrey Calanion: 30,000 crowns

Sebastian Varmont: 30,000 crowns

ok so roderick feels that he knows what's up w ~everyone~ (godfrey: *looks directly into the camera*) in this roundup except BRAN O'CONNOR, CATHAOIR RITH, and FINLEY DOYLE who're all native peasant (lol) astairans who're all redoubtable warriors AND able to work together in a fighting unit to achieve a goal, and all of that comes together to make them highly sus!!!!!!! esp bc they're def all men ;DDDD

so yeah im def thinking there will be a looooovely lil gala to fete the winners in which they'll just happen to want to show bran, cathaoir, and finley smth realllllllly cool in the crypts cask of amantillado style ;DDDDD jk jk they're not getting bricked in but they ARE getting nabbed and questioned. ronana and kale are ofc prepared for that...do you think brigit would be prepared for some shenanigans of the type given her obv distrust of roderick?

either way, i feel like some rescue operation is probs planned and they'd probs take this bran guy w them (def would tho if they know its brigit but! even if they don't!) and yeahhhhh idk!!! but my point is i can def see where, given her winnings etc @forgottenbrigit might get roped into all of this mess alkjsdfajksdf brigit: 'i was just tryna save my home' ronan and kale probs: 'hey! same!' lakjsdflksjdfj

also if roderick ever learns that bran and brigit are the same person that right there will be cause enough for him to think her a witch alksdjfklsdjkjsdf he requires no further proof laksdjflksjdf that awk moment when you really ~are a witch but that's just a total coincidence that has nothing to do w any of the reasons why this dude is saying you are lakjsflkjsdfjk

also total sidenote but i would like to say that roderick isn't proud that every single one of his sons got rewarded. he simply expected that it would be so. and sebastian should be glad he's not in contention to be heir rn bc otherwise, having gotten the lowest, roderick would probs be mad at him. as it is...that's to be expected. but he ~is a lil miffed that he got beat out by a kolchean tristan: 'im literally part of ur honor guard. i fight for a living. sebastian doesn't??? also...im standing right here???' anyway sebastian's kinda spared bc mostly he's miffed at bartholomew for making their house look bad by not winning anything smdh alskjfskldjfksldf

[the-promise-has-been-made]

Like with all Mike Flanagan shows, I have to sit and stew on The Fall of the House of Usher for a bit to let it fully settle, and then I'll probably have to rewatch it to get the full picture.

But what I can say now after the first watch has sat with me for 2 days is that compared to Hill House which dealt with grief, Bly Manor which dealt with love, and Midnight Mass which dealt with faith, House of Usher for me dealt with consequences. Madeline and Roderick were offered the deal that they could basically do whatever the heck they wanted, and all the consequences of their horrible actions would not be suffered by them. Which is essentially what capitalist super-rich experience all the time - and we, the ordinary people, suffer the consequences. It's funny that they thought it worked like that, but I guess they saw their father who suffered no consequences for abuse and for mistreating their mother whom he had ann affair with (if it even was that, and not rape) - but he did suffer consequences, he was strangeled to death by a dead woman. And Griswold, who seemingly suffered no consequences for his fraud and the many crimes of his company, except he did - he was literally cask of Amontillado'ed which is honestly the funniest thing! But for the Ushers, the consequences were suffered not just by the anonymous masses, not just by the thousands upon thousands that suffered and died because of their actions (powerfully depicted by the rain of bodies Verna showed Roderick in their meeting in his tower) and not by Madeline nd Roderick themselves, but very directly, very brutally, by their own children - who all in the span of a few days were driven insane and horrifically killed. They were offered this deal, and while Madeline had no children and made sure afterwards that she never would, Roderick already had two children by that point. He signed that deal not for some hypothetical children he might have, but for Frederick and Tammerlane who were already alive then, and for his 4 as of yet unborn children! They barely hesitated. The Ushers TOOK that choice away from their children, they doomed these children before they were even born. And they doomed even their grandchild before she was born. If that doesn't show the crippling consequences of actions we take today, I don't know what does. Every decision the rich and powerful make today has devastatign consequences for generations to come - not hypothetical, but very real and very dire consequences. But these people don't care about that, because it's not consequences they suffer NOW, so it's not their problem. The Ushers are charicaturized representations of that mindset, their children representations of the generations of people fucked over by their decisions. That's why I am torn between feeling glee at the bizarre demise each of the Usher children met (cause let's face it, they were all assholes and messed up) and at the same time feel immense pity for them (because the fact that they were assholes and messed up was almost not their fault but a product of growing up under the trauma Roderick and Madeleine suffered when they were children, and in a mindset where they genuinely believed being richer than God made them immune to cosequence, and because their fate had been decided for them without their knowledge).

But also, Verna gave EACH of these kids an option. They were all going to die, sure, but they were given the choice to do the right thing. Prospero was offered the chance to end his orgy and his filming of incriminating material but he chose to continue. Camille was offered the chance to turn around and go home and instead die peacefully in her sleep. Napoleon was offered the chance not to lie to his boyfriend and bring a fake 'cat' home, and instead go home, sober up, get his shit together, be honest about his fuck-ups. But he didn't. Victorine was offered the chance to say 'no, this treatment is not ready for human testing' but instead she deceived what she believed to be an innocent, desperate woman into essentially signing away her life. Tammerlane could have stopped her jealousy, her envy, and instead reach out to her husband, actually communicate, actually appreciate him, but she didn't. And Frederick, well, Verna spelled it out for him, didn't she? He had to bring her home, he had to bring out the pliers. He CHOSE to abuse and brutalize and mutilate his wife when she was completely defenseless, helpless, and innocent - yes she had gone to the orgy because she felt unappreciated, unseen, and nothing actually happened, she didn't cheat, her only 'crime' was chosing to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He chose to be a monster to her and to their child. All of them could have stopped, could have chosen to reflect on their actions and be better, do BETTER. Instead, they doubled down on their horrific behaviour, and sealed their own fate. All except Lenore, who until the very end chose to be good, chose to be kind, chose to see the best in people. That's why she was the only one to whom Verna appeared with kindness, giving her the certainty that her life mattered, that her sacrifice would save thousands, that her mother would do incredibly good in her name in the future, and she did not die with horror and suffering, she died peaceful, quick, quiet, like Verna had offered all the others. Verna was not so much a demon as she was the personification of "actions, meet consequences".

TLDR: The Fall of the House of Usher is the hardcore version of 'play stupid games, win stupid prizes' and will for me be part of the 'rich people actually suffer consequences for their shitty actions' cinematic universe.

[season-of-hope]

 How did that cat come back as a goddamn reference to an Edgar Allan Poe short story?

you bottle Miette??

[oh-no-its-dragons]

Sleep Walking, pt 4

For Garrick Week day 5, Loyalty, sponsored by @empyreanevents

--

The good news was that Garrick woke up in his own bed. 

"Fucking finally," he grumbled, making his way to the small bathing chamber in the corner. He showered, shaved and dressed for breakfast, already planning to thank Imogen for her help.

The door, of course, was still sealed shut. 

Garrick tried dispelling the rune, then negating it, but apparently it was too strong for that. He banged on the door instead, taking down his sound shields so he could shout into the hallway. "Imogen? Hey, Cardulo! Your rune worked great, now let me out!"

There was no answer, but he could have sworn he could feel Imogen smirking on the other side of the door. 

"Immy! Mimsy! Pinkie!" He tried, using lesser magic to boost his voice.

"Don't call me that!" came roaring back from the other side of the door. 

Garrick laughed despite being the one sealed away in his room like a cask of Tyrrish whiskey. "Let me out then!"

"Maybe one of your mares can help with that little problem," she sang, clearly enjoying herself.

He banged on the door again. "Come on, I have things I need to do today, you made your point, I was an idiot."

"What was that?" Imogen called. 

"I was an idiot!" he answered, as loud as he could.

"Damn right you were," he barely made out her words. "Oh, hi, Sorrengal. No, everything's fine. Go ahead to breakfast, you'll see me at formation."

"Violet! Make her let me out!" Garrick yelled, but if Violet was still there to hear him she'd clearly decided not to get involved. Considering Imogen was on her Squad and he wasn't, Garrick couldn't really blame her, but still. 

There was a low whistle from the hallway and he heard Bodhi's voice then. "Is he still in there? Nice work, Imogen."

"Bodhi! Bodhi, make her let me out!" he yelled, hoping Bodhi would at least make her see reason. Garrick couldn't hear anything after that but some muffled talking, but that had to be a good sign, right?

"Why, Imogen!" he finally heard Bodhi's voice clearly again. "You want to run away with me while we leave Garrick sealed in here forever?"

"Oh, yes, Bodhi, I've always been in love with you, not that big lug," Imogen answered, her voice also suddenly clear. 

The rational part of Garrick's mind knew they were fucking with him. However, he had already not been sleeping well. He hadn't had any coffee, nor any breakfast, and he never functioned well when he was hungry. And they were messing with him and his sense of loyalty instead of letting him out, so the rational part of Garrick's mind was about as effective as a lightning rod when Xaden and Violet got to spend the night together.

The rest of his brain had determined that he was getting out of that fucking room, right fucking now. He backed up toward his bed, giving himself room to run a few steps before the door, and lowered himself so he could ram it with his shoulder. He was going to get into that hallway, dammit.

He took his first running step and-

-he was in the hallway?-

-he didn't have time to stop before he rammed into the wall across from his still-closed door, denting the plaster that covered the stone wall. Fuck, that hurt even more than he was anticipating. He was not looking forward to explaining that to Brennan. 

Except.

Garrick turned to look back at the door to his bedroom, which was still just as closed as it had been, and then at Bodhi and Imogen, who were both staring wide-eyed at him.

"I knew you'd figure it out eventually, Squire!" Chradh offered cheerfully in his mind. Suddenly the fact that his dragon had been largely saying nothing but the draconic equivalent of snickering behind his hand all week made sense.

"Figure what out?"

"Distance-walking!"

Garrick opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Could you do that the whole time?" Bodhi asked slowly. 

Imogen snorted. "Only when it was funny, clearly."

[takescrackseriously]

Nevermore Theory Time!

Annabel Lee might kill Pluto

So as we know, Nevermore is based on Edgar Allen Poe's works, a very popular one of his is The Tell-Tale Heart.

In this particular story, a madman who (tries convincing us he is not mad) kills his neighbor for having an 'evil eye'. After killing said neighbor, the man then buries him underneath a floor board, but strangely enough, can still hear his neighbor's heartbeat. Eventually, the police come to investigate and the neighbor's heartbeat grows louder and louder, but only the man seems to hear it. Convinced that the police can also hear the heartbeat and are just toying with him, the man confesses to the murder. The end <3.

Due to it being very popular, I doubt RnF wouldn't atleast incorporate some elements of it into Nevermore. And we've been shown that characters can come for multiple stories (such as with Duke being from both Duc De L'Omlette and The cask of Amontillado).

Now as to how this ties into Nevermore (another person made a post similar to this but I can't find them)

Annabel Lee is shown to have connections to both insanity, with her being afraid of being considered a mad woman, and her close associations with hearts. Examples:

Her spectre missing it's heart

The Nevermore logo featuring a beating heart

When having her panic attacks, it's noted that her heart beats faster (obviously, but hear me out on this one)

She has a fear of being called mad, which is shown throughout the series, such a s when Lenore accuses her if being a madwoman

Little extra bit here: Pluto has a fear of eye contact, which could be another reference to the tell tale heart.

Now as to why I believe she will kill Pluto, one of Pluto's spectre abilities is called 'Evil eye'. Now technically I don't have much of a concrete motivation for the kill, in fact it is unlikely due to her fear of Lenore not trusting her.

But

What if she tries to kill one of Lenore's friends again to try and convince Lenore that this whole academy is an 'us vs them' situation? And it's literally shown to us that she isn't above (albeit more indirect) murder.

Another, more logical reason, would be that she now sees Lenore's friend group as more of a threat than ever, especially since Pluto and Duke tried to kill her. Now as to why she would do it herself, let's be honest all the Clusterfuck (except her and maybe Prospero) are idiots and couldn't even kill one man, who says what they could do to kill a another?

When this will happen, I think closer to the end of season 2, for no reason other than it feels right.

Now, (this whole theory is mainly speculation) as what I think would happen if Annabel Lee is to kill Pluto, is a discussion for another day as I am trying to figure out what the hell is up with me for making this.

Actually, nevermind, I wanna think how would they react.

Now I would assume Annabel wouldn't tell Lenore of this murder, but I personally think she'd crack (heheheh) under the pressure of killing Lenore's friend. Why? Well, the main reason she was so okay with killing Duke was because she viewed him as an extra (if that makes sense). But after her becoming friends with Prospero, she may actually start to understand why Lenore values people other than her, and this may encourage her to tell Lenore of her terrible act, out of guilt.

Or maybe Annabel suspects Lenore knows and is just not telling he that she knows.

I mean like, another possibility could be Prospero being the madman, as he does ask Annabel Lee if she thinks he is neurotic/insane, and he then tries telling her that he is sane and was roommates with Pluto, I guess.

But hey, that's just a theory, a Crack theory!

[moxiepower2]

Nevermore theory: Annabel Lee is tied to “The Tell-Tale Heart”

In Nevermore we already have characters who play dual roles for two different Poe works. For instance, this is seen with both Montresor and Duke. Montresor is both Montresor of “The Cask of Amontillado” and the Devil in “The Duc de L’Omelette” and Duke represents both Fortunato and the Duke in these stories

I think that Annabel Lee is one of these dual characters and is tied to both “Annabel Lee” and “The Tell-Tale Heart”. I don’t have much evidence to back this up except for one thing:

The heart is Annabel Lee’s symbol in Nevermore

It appears at her death

As part of her specter

And it’s her part of the Nevermore logo as the story’s deuteragonist (with the wings being implied to represent Lenore)

The creators of Nevermore have proven over the last season that they are VERY detailed and precise when it comes to the story’s writing. Even a small comment made by a character might have a callback/payoff later on. With that in mind, I find it highly unlikely that they chose to make Annabel Lee’s symbol the heart without considering how reminiscent it is of one of Poe’s most famous works.

I don’t have any detailed theories on how this might come into play but I just wanted to get my thoughts out lol

(Also you might see a post exactly like this in the tags. It’s my other account, I created a new one bc Tumblr for some reason isn’t letting my posts show up)

[boneapplet]

Regarding the informal system of trade amongst the legions. It likely started out as simple bartering between serfs and remembrancers, the marines started taking part in it.

A Space Wolf might trade a braid of smoked jerky and mjod for a cask of Baalite wine; a Word Bearer might offer a waxed scripture-candle to a Raven Guard in exchange for a vial of anti-glare optics gel. Trinkets, inks, cloaks, stimulants, and oils passed hand to hand, often with no words spoken, no records kept(except for certain legions, aka Ultramarines, Imperial Fists, Iron Hands, and Iron Warriors).

Some Legion Masters ignore it. Others encourage it as a way to foster loyalty or gather intelligence. A few forbade it outright, only to find its gone underground, carried on in whispered deals behind hangar bulkheads or inside the quiet stillness of Librarius halls. Having a sketchy meet up just to trade a pint of Macraggeian wine for stone-pressed Terran tea leaves.

[fxllxwmyfxxt]

who: open to anyone where: Outside THE DEVIL’S CASK

It had been lucky to find a spot to sit outside of the Devil's Cask. Ptarmigan had wanted to be able to see the sky, he'd say smell the sea but this close to the docs there were a lot of other less pleasant smells that usually hid the salt smell except when the right breeze caught through the streets. The large pirate had found a small stash of tobacco leaves in one of his many pockets and was contentedly chewing on it as he listened to the sounds of the tavern at his back. Sitting on a barrel with one foot kicked up, heel resting on a box, mostly in shadow. His eyes wandered restlessly from the movements in and out of the tavern, to the street, to the slice of sky he could see. The tension in the town was palpable and Ptarmigan was already heartily sick being on land for this long already. But his outward appearance was calm, a picture of relaxation. He felt someone approach and he let out a small sigh, his right hand sliding silently into one of his many pockets, "Don't want no trouble." Before he turned his head.

[serpentface]

how does currency work in this world? do they use coins or some other item as a vehicle for exchange of goods and services?

Depends on the location. The only generalizations I'll make are that most economies worldwide are barter systems, items like valuable shells/seeds/etc are probably more common as mediums of exchange than coinage, and fiat money is Probably entirely absent (outside of proto-paper money in the form of promissory notes).

I'll give some examples from around the area I'm mostly writing:

Wardin is in a current transitory state where it has been freshly and increasingly flooded with foreign coinage, and has only just started minting its own coins at Scale in recent history (past 40 years, escalated in the past decade under current monarch Amanti Stawis). It's still predominantly a barter economy internally, and the price of goods and labor is (attemptedly) fixed by a weight unit called a tligai. This is not a coin or object in of itself and is rather a reference point for pricing commodities.

I am just 100% spitballing here to demonstrate the concept so don't take any numbers I'm about to give seriously, but say one tligai is the price of 100g of copper, a cask of mixed wine (there are semi-standardized units of volume), and a pair of good grass sandals. If you're owed one tligai for a days work, you can be fairly paid in any of these things and they Should all have the same purchasing power (its a little more complicated in practice). Foreign coinage is attemptedly translated into this system, ie: a foreign silver coin's weight is ascribed the internal tligai value of silver. The newish native coinage is also fixed and standardized along this value (with coins denoting fractions/multiples of tligai based upon their actual weight). Wardin is currently the most powerful state entity in its immediate sphere and a lot of its trade partners have had to adapt to the tligai system.

Taxes are still collected almost entirely in goods (namely grain and textile) and livestock. Tributary pulls are also exclusively goods (varied by the resources of the subjugated territory, and sometimes including artisanal goods). Household taxes are almost completely divorced from the tligai system and are based upon a percentage of agricultural yield (to the point that you can't substitute grain for a commodity of its otherwise equivalent tligai value, as much of the point of taxation is for grain storage/sale), taxes on trade goods are calculated along tligai weights. Tribute is completely separate from these systems and is 'fixed list of items your territory must provide annually or else we will take what we want by force'.

Of immediate neighbors: Most Hnaimale and Wogan speaking nations have fixed-weight values that developed in relation to the Wardi tligai and it's uncertain who actually first developed this system. Chenaheyigi speaking nations are the only neighboring peoples with pretty much pure barter systems (with a few exceptions) (also tend to have Very complicated gift economies). Cholemdinae chiefdoms mostly use the Wardi tligai system for external trade but are internally a barter economy, and widely utilize non-metal commodity money (with camiche seeds being used as a standardized medium of exchange for small goods). Jazaiti society uses a very complicated shell/pearl/bead/seed commodity money system along with bartering.

Its Biggest adjacent powers and most of their surrounding states have coin currency systems. The Burri economy is similar to the Wardi economy in being a mixed system where the price of barter goods is partly fixed by a weight value, though this developed post societal collapse (Bad for Ecocomy :( ) when the expansionist state based out of the region imploded (most of the land is Relatively resource poor in precious metals, the former empire's currency system was heavily reliant on extracted foreign metal). It still has a silver coin system determined by this weight value, and its currency (having had about a century to develop and standardize into its present form) is a lot more stable than that of Wardin's.

Yuroma speaking city-states are the other Big powers in this eastern seaway trade system and have very well developed coin systems with bartering being heavily sidelined (mostly performed on a peer to peer basis). Most city-states share a semi-standardized silver coinage (name undetermined) but variants are minted separately by different cities/leagues and have effectively different purchasing power. Their currency systems are pretty much dominant on the southern west side of the Blackmane mountains where a few individual leagues (in competition with each other) have a combined monopoly over regional land and sea trade.

The other Large state on the eastern side of the mountain range is the Useyen people who live in parts of the Blackmane highlands (on the northern west-face end) and have a currency system with multiple forms of commodity money that convert neatly to one another- rice as a baseline unit (measured in standardized volumes), several precious feathers (mostly tail plumes of a few different pheasants), and bronze and silver 'arrowheads' with a hole in the center (intended to be strung), which are standardized but unstamped. The arrow coinage system has common ancestry with that of Yuroma states (their ancestors formerly had a tributary empire stretching to the southern coasts, both groups have some common cultural ancestry) and though have diverged beyond the commonality of their coins having holes.

[bitterbuffy]

book of hours: buffy’s insane ramblings on the casks in the vaults

i had a set of epiphanies with my friends over discord today, but i couldn’t be assed to type them all up, so here’s some screenshots. tl;dr: all the casks in the vaults align with a librarian background except for three of them, two of which are separate and one of which can be associated with the arts unregarded. but there is Much more.

people have probably noticed this already, but i am noticing it now. and i dont know what to make of it. can anyone explain all this. what the FUCK is up with the attaché case. am i going insane. why did i keep typing attaché case with a hyphen

[thought--bubble]

To Lay Hands

Hugh Hammer X Dragonseed Reader

Word Count: 1,380

For the 12 days of smuffmas (Prompts by @ewanmitchellcrumbs)

December 15th - mulled wine and mutual masturbation (I'm nothing if not consistently late lmao)

** Delay on this one because it is my first ever Hugh fic and I was really nervous

Smuffmas Masterlist

Hugh Hammer Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings: Infidelity, masturbation (duh), Wine (also duh)

“We are going to look tomorrow, I hope?” You plop down onto the seat before the fire in Hugh's rooms.

“Yes… I said we would. My word is good.” He lifts an eyebrow as he looks over at you, an amused lilt to his voice.

You sigh and lean back in your chair. “My apologies.”

He puts his hand up as if to silence you.

You look into the fire and swallow audibly. You know that you should be grateful—grateful to be alive after the gracious Queen Rhaenyra sent you to the slaughter.

You can close your eyes and still smell the blood, feel the fire curling over your shoulder blades, and see Hugh's face—the man who didn't even know you, yet was all too willing to sacrifice himself to let you live another day. You, a simple washmaid, hardly worth the live of a blacksmith. Yet there he stood screaming into the face of the beast while you ran. That has to be why that beast chose him. No fear. Unlike you, who cowered behind a rock, more than happy to let Hugh die for you.

The queen had been too cheap to provide the surviving dragonseeds with passage back to King's Landing. So, of course, with all her grace, she added you to the staff, while Hugh and that idiot Ulf got dragons and plush rooms. You shared a room with four other maids and spent your days scrubbing linens.

But not for long. There were wild dragons on this godforsaken island, and Hugh had promised to help you find one.

“I brought you some wine from dinner. I was unable to sneak food away; I apologize.” He hands you the half-full cask of wine, and you take it.

You mimic his earlier gesture, raising your hand with a smirk. “No apologies. You have done more than enough for someone like me.”

He huffs at this. “Someone like you? A fellow Targaryen bastard? We are not so different, you and I.”

You scoff and look up at the ceiling, your fingers digging into the fabric of your ashen-covered dress, frustration rippling through you. “Except you are a dragon rider, and I am a maid. The gods have chosen you for greatness, and me… they have forgotten.” You sip the lukewarm wine and grimace. The traces of cinnamon and clove tingle across your tongue, but you know, at this point, the wine doesn't taste half as good as it did for them—the dragon riders. The ones who matter.

“A dragon chose Ulf. Clearly, this has nothing to do with the gods and everything to do with luck.” He chuckles and gazes at you with a boyish grin.

“How much of this have you already had?” you chuckle and take another swig. “One day mine will still be warm when I drink it.”

“It will. We will find you a dragon, little one.” He tosses some more kindling in the fire. “Perhaps the most wild of them all; it would suit you.”

You scoff playfully, the wine beginning to have its intended effects. “Have you heard… from your wife?” You nervously play with your fingers in your lap. It's probably not proper for you to ask him about his wife—not after what happened between you when he brought you to meet his beast.

His face grows stern, and he looks ahead. “I have not.” You can see his large, calloused hands curl around the arms of the chair in which he sits. You have watched him send raven after raven to his wife, only to be met with silence.

“Maybe your messages are being intercepted.” An awkward silence fills the space, interrupted only by the crackling fire and your not-so-subtle gulp of wine.

“You drink like a Braavosi sailor,” he says, keeping a completely straight face.

You burst out laughing, spraying wine from your mouth to dribble down your chin. “You would as well if you were a downtrodden maid with nothing to look forward to but leftover wine!”

He laughs—a big, boisterous laugh that sends tingles through your body from your toes to your center. “Your laugh… it is so handsome, if it is not too bold of me to say.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes soft but sad. “I cannot lay my hands on you again. Not until I hear from my wife. It is improper. I need to know she has left me.”

“You are a good man, Hugh. Much too good for the likes of me.”

The room falls silent again, and you nervously sip on your wine.

“That is not true,” he finally says, his voice quiet. “You are not the issue here. The issue is me. I am married.”

You nod in understanding and tap on your knee. “So you mustn't lay hands on me.”

He nods, a solemn expression on his face “ As well as I must not allow you to lay hands on me.” He takes the wine and gulps a generous mouthful. “As much as it may pain me to decline your company.”

You get up from your chair and make your way to his bed behind you.

“Little one… do not tempt me. I ask for your kindness,” he says without turning around, his desperation evident in his tone.

“I wish not to tempt you. Only to follow your rules. I may not touch you… but I may of course touch myself?” You crawl onto your back and lay on his bed, parting your thighs and rucking up your dress. “If you choose to watch… well…”

You slide your hand into your underclothes, finding the wet warmth that already awaits you there.

Hugh's fingers claw into the arms of his chair as he fights to stay put, but with your first breathy moan, he is immediately up from his chair and sauntering over.

“What am I to watch if your small clothes stay in place?” he growls, standing at the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on the tantalizing view between your thighs.

“Oh, pardon my rudeness, dear dragon rider. Let me correct this most egregious of sins post haste.” You quickly slide the small clothes down your legs and cast them from the bed before spreading your legs wide and bringing your hand back to its rightful place, swirling your engorged nub.

Hugh grunts, his own hand rubbing the front of his breeches. “You seem to be experienced in this… particular sin.” His breathing picks up as he slowly starts to undo the laces of his breeches.

“I may not know how to claim a dragon…” you moan loudly, sliding your hand down to your entrance to collect more of your delicious wetness before resuming your hasty circular motions. “But this… this I know how to do.”

Hugh pants with wide eyes as he finally gets his laces free, pulling out his hardened cock, which he squeezes.

“Come closer,” you plead as you arch off the bed, your moans becoming more needy, your thighs parting impossibly wide.

“No. I cannot—” he grunts again, his hand now making quick strokes along his girth, a faint slapping sound filling the air like a beautiful carnal melody. “If I do, I fear I will lose control.” While he says this, he steps closer to the foot of the bed. “I have a spectacular view from here.”

You raise your head enough to see Hugh, his lustful gaze locked onto your heat, the vision of him panting and the sound of his slapping skin pushing you right to the edge. Your hand moves in wild, wide circles as you gasp before falling pliantly back on the bed.

You again lift your head to see Hugh gripping the bedpost, the evidence of his enjoyment scattered atop the linens.

You lay back and pant. “Why did I do such a thing?” you chuckle between labored breaths.

Hugh's head snaps up. “I did not wish for you to do something you would regret.” He hastily starts to fix his pants.

“No, it…” You sigh and chuckle, forcing yourself to sit up. “I wash the linens.”

With that, Hugh breaks out into a great big smile. “Then I think it best we make quick work of finding you a dragon hmm?”

[whiskyblog]

Bowmore Whisky Master's Selection Aston Martin 22 y.o. 3rd Release

The Bowmore Master's Selection 22-Year-Old Edition 3 is the result of the third collaboration between the renowned Islay distillery, Bowmore, and the luxury car manufacturer, Aston Martin. This limited edition presents an exceptional single malt Scotch whisky.

Cask type: European oak casks, Oloroso sherry casks, American hogsheads.

[kerink]

could you elaborate on the argument that Cecil’s the only living person in Nightvale that’s really interesting

this is an extremely old theory that was most popular in the early years of wtnv. i don't see many people talk about it anymore except the old head fans, and this is because the majority of the evidence comes from early series materials.

so to set the foundation, we need to know a little bit about cecil not as a person but as The Voice. Voices show some degree of immortality, or pseudo-immortality. leonard burton is the only known Voice prior to cecil, and despite having died several decades ago, he has been brought on to cover the show when cecil's been out and also everything going on with the current arc. he is dead, but he is alive when the town needs him to be. cecil started interning for leonard around age 15, and was still about that age when night vale was founded in 1745, making cecil at least 295 years old as of today.

in 1983 the world was destroyed in a nuclear war and cecil declared he would stay at the station for as long as he could:

and the radio station has been described as being bunker-like a few times (there's at least one more instance but i can't for the life for me remember where it is):

WZZZ similarly has its broadcaster hidden inside a bunker:

the show has outright commented on cecil being the only real person in night vale a few times as well:

so given all this, the idea is that cecil is an immortal being that survived the nuclear apocalypse because he was safe in a fallout shelter and the town exists only as he breathes life into it.

some additional bits of flavoring that i personally am attached to but aren't part of the main theory revolve around cecil's role as the soul of night vale.

in episodes 117-119 we learn about the cask of canadian club, which is night vale's soul. it had both been consumed by the town and has been safely stored under cecil's desk. cecil referenced schodinger's cat in order to explain how the canadian club was both already drunk and also with him, which could be seen as the town both being alive and dead at the same time.

in episode 132 we learn about a boy who existed before night vale was founded, who was buried alive and turned into a tree which gave root to the forest that was cut down to build night vale, and how this boy's soul became entwined with the souls of everyone in town so that he could experience all possible lives. i and many others believe this to be cecil's life story, given the known timeline of cecil's life, cecil's mother leaving flowers at the stump of a redwood tree, and cecil's affinity for climbing into (and possibly routinely dying in) a hollow in the stump of a redwood tree.

so anyway, that's the cecil is the only person alive and everyone only exists because he wants them to theory ✌️ other wtnv old heads feel free to chime in if i forgot anything, it's been awhile since i did a wtnv meta