#brick the slab king

[vaulthunterlands]

FAVORITE DRINKS OF THE VAULT HUNTERS

ROLAND doesn't drink much, but he'll drink a beer of some sort on rare occasions

MORDECAI canonically doesn't drink anymore as far as I remember, but he also canonically loved Rakk Ale. I'd say that and probably either whiskey or tequila.

BRICK also doesn't drink very often. He CAN drink, yes, but he likes to be in control. Likes the occasional beverage, like Roland, on special occasions. Likes sweet drinks.

LILITH also loves sweet drinks. Absolutely a fan of cosmopolitans.

AXTON likes to drink. A lot. Absolutely can't handle more than a few, but this man will drink anything. Prefers hard seltzer though.

MAYA is a Moscow Mule enthusiast when she does have a drink. Somehow always has a lime on her.

SALVADOR is, like Axton, a drinker at parties. Loves beer and tequila. Very picky about selection.

ZER0 doesn't drink. Sometimes they'll pour a beer out onto their helmet. *disclaimer I saw this concept in one of @sufroyo 's posts and inspired me to make this list lmao*

GAIGE canonically loves margaritas (and also can't handle them ily baby)

KRIEG doesn't drink a lot, but when he does, he's right alongside Axton and Sal. Likes Maya's mules and beer.

ATHENA tends to avoid drinking to keep her mind sharp, but when she's home with Janey? Wine girl. Just a glass. Or two. She's tired, guys...

CL4P-TP is a fiend when it comes to alcohol. Not because he's ever tasted it--because if he even gets a splash of alcohol on him, he acts drunk. Naturally, this gets on EVERYONE'S nerves.

WILHELM is a simple man. Beer.

NISHA is heavy into those "cask strength" bourbons. She likes her bourbon.

TIMOTHY is also a wine man. He's definitely tried other drinks but he absolutely cannot stand being drunk (metaphorically and literally).

AURELIA is, to no one's surprise, an absolute snob when it comes to alcohol. Expensive wine, expensive whiskey, sneers at people who don't spend three digits minimum. What is wrong with you girl

FL4K doesn't drink. Sometimes they'll be nice and feed their pets extra treats and that's their reward. (Has also poured a beer onto their face before.)

MOZE is a vodka lady. Also loves Moscow Mules for some reason who knows why right no correlation there...

ZANE is canonically drunk like, at LEAST 50% of the time. My man will drink anything but I'm getting big beer and whiskey vibes.

AMARA loves her gin. Usually mixes it in drinks, but sometimes she'll just knock it back.

[incorrectborderlandsquotes]

Gaige, after Brick and Mordecai had an argument: So did they kiss?

Lilith: No...

Brick: I mean we have definitely kissed before.... 😳

Mordecai: We literally kissed like two hours after this.

[roguelioness]

fables from the field

[written for ffxivwrites2024]

Day 2: Horizon

Rating: T Words: 1067 Pairing: none

Rows upon rows of grave markers line the entirety of Bloodhowe. Ordinary tombs lie dotted between modest mausoleums, all under the watchful eye of The Song of Kings. 

In another world, her mother would have been buried within those hallowed halls, laid to rest with the rituals and offerings befitting her status as a primor’s daughter. In another world, Alyzen would have lived her life amidst the riotous, uncommon beauty of Gyr Abania, would have spent her life in modest luxury, mingling with fellow nobility within the halls of the palace. Perhaps she might have found contentment here, surrounded by the many towering peaks of Alabathia’s Skull. 

Or perhaps she might have been stifled, caught within a gilded cage.

This land, that had for so long been a name pointed at a direction in the horizon, is now- not quite home, not yet – maybe never – but it is no longer a story shared day after day with sorrow, with anger, with nostalgia. It is real, the crunch of gravel beneath her feet, the dust gathered on the hem of her breeches. This is what her mother had wanted for her all her life, and finally, finally, Alyzen is living her dream.

Her mother should be here. Should be, but isn’t. Should be, but will never get the chance.

There’s a gaping emptiness in her chest, a harsh, caustic grief corroding her lungs as she makes her way towards the cenotaph. Every footstep only highlights the one that is missing – that one that should be here, the one that had tried so desperately to be given a chance to walk the dust-covered road from citadel to graveyard, to gaze upon the unbroken salt flats and towering rock formations once more.

Oh, amme, sorrow leaches from her bones into her blood and her breath. That you could be here to see this.

The monument, which had been but a mere speck in the horizon from the palace balconies, grows larger and larger the closer she gets to it. A few steps further, and she’s covered by its shadow; she shivers, both from the sudden absence of the sun and the lonely, mournful atmosphere. 

Worn cobblestone bricks form the path leading to the stairs. Gripping the bouquet of  alyssum – collected by her own hand from the slopes of Mount Yorn that very morning – she climbs the first of the steps, a wet heat pricking her eyes and blurring her vision.

Malyna Kaide had been a great many things - stubborn and dogmatic, old-fashioned in ways that frustrated her, perceptive to even the smallest of errors; a demanding perfectionist who could not give up control. Yet for all her faults, she had been a loving, caring mother, one who had wanted nothing but the best for Alyzen. That they clashed often was but natural; she had, after all, inherited her mother’s persistence. But despite their many fights, there had been little doubt in Alyzen’s mind that Malyna loved her.

The sun starts its descent into the valleys of the mountainous landscape, the mist covering the slopes turning a beautiful shade of mauve to contrast the dark silhouettes of the tallest peaks. Heavy grey clouds accumulate in the horizon, flanking the setting sun; the sky begins to bleed glorious shades of golden orange. By the time she reaches the monument, the rust stone glows warm in the light.

It seems rather ironic that a monument dedicated to those who perished fighting for their country is build from red brick. 

Or perhaps that was the intention.

Alyzen places the flowers – the flowers she was named after, the small, blue-petaled flower that, despite its delicate appearance, thrived in the harsh arid environment of Gyr Abania – at the base of the tall slab with the long list of engraved names. She recognizes none of them, but there are hundreds upon hundreds of those who had fought with fierce determination for this beautifully wild, untamed land.

“I miss you, amme,” she murmurs. “I wish you were here to show me all the sights that were familiar to you. I wish you were here to take me to all of your favorite, secret hiding spots.”

The tears she’d tried so valiantly to hold back now flow freely. “I may not have understood before, but I do now,” she speaks into the wind, willing it to carry it up, up, up into the sky so her mother might hear them. “It is a marvel, this homeland of yours…” she hesitates. “Of ours,” she amends softly. “I do not have the ties to it that you do, but I feel the strength of it in my heart. I feel the wonder of it in the breath I take. It is fierce, and proud, and willful. Like you,” she hiccups a wet laugh. “I know if you could  see me now, you would tease me for all that I feel.” She curls her fingers into the brightly patterned cotton of her tunic. “And you would scold me for my outfit. I can hear you now, you know. One must wear dark colors for somber occasions. But…” she wipes haphazardly at her face with the back of a hand, “there has been so much violence, amme. So much death. I think, this time, you would excuse me.” 

Alyzen stares at the peaks of Alabathia’s Skull, several of which serve as conduits for sharp, jagged lightning strikes. There will be a storm later in the evening; the air is heavy with moisture, and she can smell the faint scent of petrichor on the wind. 

“I hope I made you proud, amme,” she whispers. “I hope I made you happy. And I hope,” she watches as a gentle gust of wind scatters the flowers about, a few rising up on a draft and drifting out into the mist. “I hope you’re with abbe again.”

The sun takes its rest, marking its absence with a rapidly-darkening sky and ash-blue clouds. The wind dries the tears on her cheeks. Alyzen takes out her little chisel and carefully, lovingly engraves her parents' names into the stone slab.

Some day, her name too will be carved into this stone, beneath that of her parents. But that day is yet to come, and until then… She traces the newly etched letters before rising to her feet. 

Until then, there are places beyond the horizon she has yet to see.

[ego-osbourne]

Starting Something

//click for better image quality … Time: 6.5hrs//

Velehk: Bold n’ brave of you t’meet the Pirate King out alone this eve.

Rakell: That so? Well, I’ve never been known for my cowardice.

Velehk: Aye, n’ this landlubber has charm. I s’pose I could make use of a slab of landlocked brick fer more than a few sellsword’s septims worth. Though, I’d suggest becoming very familiar with swimming if yer not already. Be a shame to lose a fine face like yours to such a fool’s death. N’ I’ve no patience to wait fer yer flight from the Deadlands.

Rakell: Well and understood, Captain. (is this flirting … I cannot tell … I’ve been out of the game for too long)

~~~

Velehk and Rakell pre-relationship. This was inspired by a Pirates of the Caribbean movie night yesterday, particularly based on the impossible pirate speech in the dialogue.

Also, I’ve noticed that I’ve been drawing Velehk and Rakell being very cozy as of late, but not enough of either of them being bold and intimidating. My dang heart just loves the fluff, but soft moments are so much more impactful if a character is dealt the opposite treatment. All that to say: expect more unhinged Velehk content in the future.

//also, this is a re-upload bc the image file was acting up earlier, sorry if you saw this post beforehand//

[aboutanancientenquiry]

Some elucidating facts and comments on the Daiva and Harem Inscriptions of Xerxes of Persia

"The trilingual inscription attributed to the Achaemenid king Xerxes (ruled in 486– 465 BC), commonly abbreviated as XPh and also known as the “Daiva inscription”, was discovered in Persepolis in 1935 in the course of the excavations funded by the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago and directed by Erich Schmitt 1 . The slabs with the text of the inscription were found in a rather unlikely location: two copies of its Old Persian version and its Babylonian version were found in Room 16 of the Garrison Quarters 2 . The four other slabs found next to them bore the text of another inscription of Xerxes, commonly abbreviated as XPf and also known as the “Harem inscription” 3 . Six of the seven slabs stood in an almost vertical position, while a row of three upright baked bricks stood parallel to some of those. The excavators quickly realized that the location and arrangement of inscriptional fnds precluded their meaningful display: as hypothesized in Schmidt 1953, 209: “the discarded royal records, as well as the bricks, had simply been used to face a bench or benches of mud”. As for the Elamite version of XPh, its fragments were found in Room 5 of the Garrison quarters, likewise in a secondary context. Furthermore, the excavations at Tall-i Takht in Pasargadae revealed an additional Old Persian version of the text under discussion, reused as a makeshift drain-cover 4.

Although the text of XPh is generally understandable at the linguistic level, its pragmatic content is arguably as obscure as the original location of the inscriptions. The usual set of formulae featuring the Achaemenid royal titles and the list of lands controlled by Хerxes are followed by the narrative part consisting of two episodes, which are apparently associated with two diferent lands. One of them is said to have been in commotion but was put by Xerxes in its place with the help of Auramazda, the turn of phrase that is compatible with an account of quenching a rebellion. Another land is presented as the place of worshiping the evil gods. The term daiva-, used by Xerxes with reference to these supernatural beings, represents a transparent Old Persian cognate of Avestan daēuua-, the designation of the evil gods in the Zoroastrian religion 5 . Xerxes remedied the situation by destroying the temples of evil gods (daivadāna-) and worshiping Auramazda in a proper way at the place of the destruction. The final part of the inscription contains an exhortation to future readers to worship Auramazda in a proper way."

"2 A copy of the Babylonian version of the “Daiva inscription” is now on display at the Oriental Institute Museum, Chicago."

"3 A brief remark on the abbreviation of Achaemenid royal inscriptions is in order. Their frst capital letter refers to the name of the king, while the second one abbreviates the discovery place. The final small letters represent indices refecting the order of discovery or publication of the respective texts. Thus, both XPf and XPh belong to the inscriptions of Xerxes found in Persepolis but XPf was discovered before XPh. The list of abbreviations used in the article: DB – Bisitun Inscription of Darius I; DNa – Upper inscription of Darius I from Naqsh-i Rustam; DNb – Lower inscription of Darius I from Naqsh-i Rustam; DPe – Inscription of Darius I on the southern wall of the Persepolis terrace; DSe – Inscription of Darius I commemorating the reparation of the city wall in Susa; DSf – Inscription of Darius I commemorating the construction of a palace in Susa; XPf – “Harem inscription” of Xerxes I; XPh – “Daiva inscription” of Xerxes I; XPl – Inscription of Xerxes I modelled on DNb."

"5 The English translation of Avestan daēuua- as ‘evil gods’ follows the practice adopted by P. O. Skjærvø in his numerous contributions to the study of Iranian religion (see e. g. Skjærvø 2012). An additional reason why this translation is extended here to the Daivas of the XPh inscription is that they are explicitly called lemnu MEŠ ‘the evil ones’ in its Babylonian version (Filippone 2010, 70)."

"6 For the photograph of the relevant passage, see Schmitt 2000, plates 43b and 44a. The tablet on the photograph is XPh 1, one of the copies of the Old Persian version of the XPh inscription found at Persepolis. It is now kept in the National Museum of Iran (inventory number B.K. 805)."

First two paragraphs and some notes from the article of Ilya Yakubovich ""Daiva Inscription" of Xerxes: Historical Account, Ideological Statement, or Propaganda?", 2023, Journal of Ancient History -Вестник древней истории-, Moscow.

View of the eastern stairway and columns of the Apadana (Audience Hall) at Persepolis, Iran, 5th century B.C.

Persepolis was excavated from 1931 through 1939 by Oriental Institute archaeologists Ernst Herzfeld and Erich Schmidt. The team documented the site in dramatic black-and-white views of the architecture and the rugged surrounding terrain. The photographs capture the forest of columns that tower over the site’s raised terrace, which supported grand ceremonial audience halls, palaces, great stone portals and carved scenes of the kings and their courtiers.

Source: https://news.uchicago.edu/story/exhibit-features-archival-images-persepolis-royal-complex-ancient-persia

[an-asuryampasya]

get to know me(me) (heh)

tag 9 people you want to get to know better

tagged by @wizardofgoodfortune and @themirokai. many thank for the tag! :D

three ships: ah, oof. idk what to answer this based on, so I'll go with three ships that I've read a lot of in recent history: Zoscar (Zolf/Oscar from Rusty Quill Gaming), Marvin/Whizzer from Falsettos, and Dream/Hob from Sandman. (That also quite neatly sums up the different mediums I primarily follow now, heh.)

first ever ship: okay wow this took me back! Probably Dannyl/Tayend from the Kyralia series by Trudi Canavan. It was reading them during The Traitor Spy trilogy that helped my baby ace self first see the appeal of shipping. (man, I miss those books :') )

last song: probably Epic II from Hadestown. Was listening to that on repeat while baking earlier (I canNOT get enough of "the pickaxe flashes / the hammer falls" and the music during "king of mortar / king of bricks" <3)

last movie: 18 Pages, although tbh the movie was just an excuse to meet up with some lovely folks for the first time in yearssss :)

currently reading: mostly fanfic of late, but I'm also attempting to wrestle my attention span into letting me finish What Matters In Jane Austen by John Mullan. It is a delightful read digging into how Regency society functioned in order to better appreciate just how brilliant Austen's writing is, and I am LOVING it.

currently consuming: is this about food? media? idk, but I just finished dinner so my answer's going to be uppudu pindi with avakai. (I am. very telugu in some ways, yes.) (avakai is the most basic mango pickle and I have no idea how describe the former, so take my word for it when I say it is the superior low-effort comfort meal.)

currently craving: some direction in life would be nice, but I'll settle for some piping hot chocolate slab cookies. tried baking some earlier but they turned out brittle instead of chewy since my baking soda stabbed me in the back :(

zero pressure tags: @averythepirate, @shewantsitall, and @rosettarants! [and @permanentlyspacedout >:) ]

Not sure who else I can tag that I know doesn't mind getting tagged and hasn't done this already - so this is me @ing anyone else who feels like doing this!

[agaraugur]

I started Dungeon23 a little early. Dungeon23 is a room-a-day ttrpg megadungeon writing project. The premise so far is that there’s a floating chunk of mountain I’m calling “the Clod” that houses the megadungeon. I’m not attached to the name, but the etymology of “cloud” is related to “clod,” as anglo myth imagines clouds as floating rocks where you might, for example, encounter a giant after climbing a beanstalk.

Room 1 28Dec2022 A dozen mythril braids anchored the Clod to the valley. One mythril braid anchors it today. Most are either scavenged (mythril is valuable) or their anchors in the valley have broken in the intervening years. One way to get to The Clod is to climb 600 feet on the surviving cable and then to scramble from there to the vines and odd perches. This involves at least one reasonably difficult check, whose primary dangers can be avoided with a climbing kit.

Room 2 29Dec2022 When the wind catches it, the Clod collides with the side of a mountain. Where it connects, both the Clod and the mountain are worn smooth. This has exposed a mining tunnel in the base of the Clod. Entrepeneurial sorts have dug foxholes into the side of the mountain, which offer an element of safety (being in one during a collision does modest thunder damage, preferable to instant death.) From the highest foxhole, one can leap into the mine tunnel. The darkness, tendency of moisture to freeze, smoothness of the contact surfaces, and angle of the slope renders the space between foxholes difficult terrain.

Room 3 30Dec2022 On the north face of the Clod, a conspicuously large hallway large enough for a gargantuan creature is visible. This is accessible to flying creatures, or to characters making the lengthy climb from the western cable to the hallway. Inside is a thick basalt door, and a series of levers and a button set in the wall, and the long-ruined remains of a camp site. The wall containing the levers has been partially opened, exposing the mechanism which has itself fallen into decay. Repairing the mechanism or finding a bypass requires an appropriate skill check. Blood inside the mechanism indicates the previous party attempted such a thing before being fatally attacked, though no bodies are visible.

Room 4 31Dec2022 The top of the Clod has copses of evergreen trees growing in irregular spots upon an eroded slab brick surface, and a gilded obelisk covered in draconic boasts. A dozen perytons exist up here, living off the wild goats, bears, deer, and other wildlife. Perytons, by their nature, take a special interest in humanoid travelers, and attack at night. At dusk they will harass humanoids with dropped stones, pulls and shoves with hooked sticks, and occasional attacks. They maintain smaller nests on nearby peaks and ridges, out to two days out, but return to the Clod regularly. Their continued harassment prevents restful sleep, and locals know to avoid this valley. Once a prey is deemed suitably vulnerable, they will commit to a fight to the death.

The golden obelisk proclaims the Clod as the property of Gozpoditakel, a dragon that boasts of their most valued hoard: the chiefs and nobles they hold for literal kings' ransoms. A history check against the names, or the obvious age of the space, indicates that the dragon seems to be gone. There is probably a direct way from this perch to the "hoard" itself, but it's not obvious.

Room 5 01Dec2023 Mt. Dlagan is to the southwest of the Clod, and it's peak sits about 400 feet higher than the apex of the Clod. 200 feet below the apex, observing the Clod, is a carefully obscured shelter. It houses two fraternal twin dwarven adventurers - Grake and Yurrow Ironboot. They are the hired guides of the party that failed to repair the door in the north hallway. They have a spell scroll of Fly which neither can use. Their deftness with mountaincraft is how they survive, but they don't have a clear plan out of the valley entirely. They have the skill to lasso a peryton, but they don't have the nerve or people to try the gambit. They may attempt to sign their location to players with a hand mirror at a distance.

Room 6 02Dec2023 A now closed entrance, covered in snow and moss, appear on the south side of the Clod. Once used as an exit for detritus from the mine, it has been closed with a round copper plug that has tarnished green over the years. A reasonably high passive perception score will notice a roughly circular patch of green-stained snow against the moss and rock. Climbing from the western cable, flying, or gliding from a higher point can access the spot, and clearing the snow reveals a five-foot threshold safe for standing. The plug has a fist-sized hole in the center and numerous matching holes near its circumference. Inset in the leftmost hole is a pin. Removing the pin and setting it into the center allows the plug to roll sideways, opening the space.

Room 7 04Dec2023 Sitting a bit north of the Clod's current location in the Ka'ahli Valley is an abandoned dwarven mining camp. What remains of it would require an organized excavation, but some features are visible and potentially useful. An earth and stonework ridge, once used for water diversion, surrounds the camp and sits three and a half feet tall. A large freestanding domed furnace can provide emergency shelter from the elements. Inside the furnace are lead pellets (suitable for use as sling bullets), bronze molds, bowls made from crushed bonemeal, and a short flat adamantine bar with a bifurcated hook on one end, and a hole in the other. Once used to fish material out of the furnace, the bar can now be used as an improvised grappling hook or as an adamantine sickle that does piercing damage.

[ultraheydudemestuff]

Dr. James Bell House (Bell-Williams House)

1822 E. 89th St.

Cleveland, OH

The Dr. James Bell House, also known as the Bell-Williams House, a 1901 Richardsonian Romanesque home in the Hough neighborhood designed by noted local architect George J. Hardway that epitomizes the local reaction against the excesses of Victorian architecture, is a historic home located at 1822 E. 89th Street in Cleveland, Ohio. Designed by Hardway for Dr. James Bell (a local dentist), it was completed in 1901. The home is a prime example of the Cleveland-area reaction at the end of the 19th century against high Victorian architecture, utilizing elements of Richardsonian Romanesque architecture to create a highly individualized, severe style.

     James Richard Bell was a prominent dentist in Cleveland in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In 1900, he commissioned noted local architect George J. Hardway to design a large residence on E. 89th Street in the southeast quadrant of the Hough neighborhood, one of the city's oldest settled areas and which at that time was inhabited largely by white, middle-class and upper-middle-class residents. The block on which Bell chose to build was built up with a number of large residences over the past 30 years, ranging in style from Italianate to extremely elaborate Queen Anne style. The increasingly elaborate embellishments of Victorian architecture had fallen out of favor with homeowners and architects in northeast Ohio by the late 1890s, and Bell and Hardway agreed on a home that was simple to the point of being severe.

     The Bell House is largely Richardsonian Romanesque in style. However, it deviates from this style by featuring a contemporary massing and relying on plain exterior walls. The three-story structure is constructed of stone and brick. The front of the house is roughly square, with an east-facing gable, a single dormer on the south side, and steep roof pitch. The third-floor windows are topped by round stone arches, with stone slabs constituting the lintel and sill of the first and second story windows. A rusticated stone porch with canopy provided the entrance to the house. The narrow-depth center section of the house features projecting polygonal bay windows on all three floors on the south side. This projection is topped by a hip-end roof. The north side of the center section is essentially a triple-wide dormer or gable facing north, with a gable roof. The rear of the building, which is about as large as the front section, returns to the square plan, although it features two dormers on the north side and none on the south. The home originally had 12 rooms, four baths, and a third-floor ballroom. By the 1970s, the ballroom had been divided and the house now had a total of 21 rooms.

    Bell occupied the home until his death in 1912. The home was bequeathed to his wife, Anna Roeder Bell. She died in 1940, and bequeathed the home to her daughter, Frieda Meriam. Mrs. Meriam died in 1942, and the home was sold to John A. Smith in 1943.By 1947, the home belonged to the Sabo family, and by 1948 the Jaskell family. By 1956, it was owned by Enoch Spence, who sold it by 1961 to Harold C. Scheunemann, who in turn sold it to Raymond Beedlow by 1966.  The Hough neighborhood became an overwhelmingly poor African American area by 1960. In May 1968, the mansion was purchased by the Berry Foundation.  It became the home of the Martin Luther King Residential Youth House, a residential home for troubled black youth. The ballroom was probably turned into bedrooms about this time.

     In the early or mid 1970s, the youth house closed, and the Lee Heights Community Church rented the structure for use by The Straight-up Half-Way House, a transitional residence for alcoholics, criminals, and drug addicts. The Berry Foundation sold the house in 1979 to a private owner, Margaret J. Williams.  Because it exemplifies the local architectural reaction to the excesses of Victorian architecture, the house was added to the National Register of Historic Places on October 16, 1986, and it is part of a Register-listed historic district, the East 89th Street Historic District, which was added to the National Register of Historic Places on May 26, 1988.  It was also named a Cleveland Landmark by the Cleveland Landmarks Commission, under the name Bell-Williams House.

[leiccsters]

Amy’s long, amber-coloured hair smelled of fresh-crushed lavender, bluebells, meadow-sweet, popping up around the mellow red-brick stables of Kenilworth Castle – of home, halcyon days, the hum of bees and the fountainous trickle of their children’s laughter, rippling like a knight’s banner in midsummer skies.  He breathes deeply the scent, strands of copper-silk cascading between the gaps of his long fingers like a river’s gentle stream.  In the brightest gardens of England, won by fame and glory and devotion to the King and his family who now occupy its velvet throne; in the dark, stone-walled chambers of their keep, likenesses of that illustrious family dappling the tapestries, their black eyes, their spindly splendour.  

Oh, he kens well that she would rather be there – anywhere but here – where his heart is her domain and where he will gladly abscond to when plague and the summer’s stink runs riot in London and assume the role of a dutiful husband like a prancing actor in a paltry play – but never without mournful parting from she who’d pierced his soul, the Virgin who keened for his touch.  He blinks away the film in his gaze, though a shadow of that regret – of that longing – remained scattered amid the gilt–flecks in his eyes. 

Leicester transfers his hands from her arms to her knees as her fists knot at the linen of his shirt, craving his proximity, clawing at his shoulders.  His fingers roam deftly across the softness of her skin, the winkling dimples embossed into the soft muscles of her thigh, each fleshy divot pressed firm into her leg – those small ripples and stretches of flesh ladies hid from their lovers with coy flashes of their skirts that made his mind drunk with lust.  ‘If my wife will accept my presence as such,’ He murmurs, ‘and forgive me for not having the good sense to arrive at our chambers flush with gifts deserving of her praise, I would be most humbled.’  Pinching the plumy underside of her thigh, he murmurs, ‘I cannot make promises to you, wife, but I vow that if I must fight, I will carry our banners with pride.’ 

He nips, in turn, at her mouth, a mischievous gleam curving at his lips as their chins meet, a bumping of flesh and bone, her spine arching toward his body with movements feline.  ‘Is that so?’  Robert hums. ‘I daresay, Lady Dudley, if you were not so chaste we would have long courted glory and fame. This body of yours would’ve taken you far.’  He tangles his hands in her hair, gripping a thick, silken clump of it and using it to tilt her head up to face him.  ‘But then I would not have the pleasure of knowing your sweet virtues alone, for which I would happily die a poor man.’

His wine-dark eyes watch with thinly-veiled anticipation as Amy shifts back and falls against the pillows, her limbs fanning about her, enticing him with the outward fall of her knee, the coaxing of her arched foot.  A quirk of his lips, a shift and a hardening beneath the belt, and he covers her body with his like a mighty marble slab, his hands mapping the mounds of her outer thighs, lifting her leg to drape effortlessly across his waist, his arousal finding perch in the honeyed gap between her knees.  ‘I would be a fool not to.’  His breath coasts across her skin, his head bent to lavish her neck with his mouth.  ‘We mustn’t wake the girls, Amy.  Bite my shoulder if you must, or else they’ll have my head long before I can spill an heir into you.' His words – chaste and methodical – are a far cry from the vulgar passions shared with Bess, but no less heartfelt. 'Do you understand, darling? Believe you me, if we were at home, and not here...’ 

though  amy  robsart  had  come  very  far  from  where  she  had  been  raised  as  the  daughter  of  a  glorified  farmer,  granted  a  begrudging  respect  owing  to  the  vast  stretch  of  lands  that  he  possessed  and  had  passed  into  her  hands,  and  then  as  the  wife  of  a  household  guard,  there  had  been  very  little  attempt  made  to  rise  any  further  than  where  she  was  currently  placed  and  one  might  even  argue  that  she  had  shown  very  little  interest  in  court  life  before  her  husband  had  been  made  master  of  horse  ─  hopelessness  and  no  small  amount  of  guilt - stained  grief  had  driven  her  into  the  arms  of  robert  dudley  all  those  years  ago  but  affection  now  rooted  her  to  his  side  through  the  best  and  worst  of  times.  the  proud  girl  that  she  had  been,  an  unbroken  mare  that  reared  back  at  the  slightest  attempt  to  tame  her,  would  have  spat  upon  the  spectacle  that  she  had  become,  even  if  only  a  few  people  were  aware  of  the  shame  that  she  was  forced  to  constantly,  silently  endure,  cursed  by  her  love  for  him  and  the  determination  of  a  mother  to  spare  her  children  from  the  truth.  it  was  a  truth  that  she  desperately  wished  to  forget  as  well  and  in  the  warmth  of  their  chambers  with  her  husband  before  her,  it  was  seemed  easier  to  pretend  that  they  were  at  home  with  no  god,  king  or  council  to  steal  his  attention  away  from  her.

whether  they  were  in  kenilworth  or  in  london,  it  had  become  one  of  her  duties  (  when  she  was  not  in  attendance  to  her  mistress  anne  )  to  ensure  that  there  was  a  warm  room  and  a  soft  bed  for  him  to  sink  into  after  a  long  day  ─  though  her  vows  had  been  made  in  some  haste  before  the  countryside  priest,  she  had  treated  each  uttered  word  with  a  gravity  that  she  had  not  shown  to  her  first  husband.  amy  would  never  be  clever  enough  to  navigate  the  political  intricacies  of  court  but  she  would  always  try  to  support  him  and  do  her  best  to  ensure  the  future  of  their  children  at  the  risk  of  her  own  morals,  so  she  knew  exactly  what  to  say  when  necessary,  well - versed  in  his  idiosyncrasies  after  nearly  a  decade  of  marriage.  ❝  my  lord  husband  is  most  generous  to  allow  his  majesty  to  hold  the  victory  as  he  does  not  yet  have  a  wife  to  soothe  his  pride  if  he  should  lose  to  you.  ❞  he  was  being  smart,  more  likely  than  not,  especially  if  william  inherited  the  late  king's  appetite  for  flesh  and  a  fight  along  with  his  red  hair.  ❝  what  else  do  you  hide  up  your  sleeves  ?  a  gift  for  your  wife,  perhaps  ?  ❞  

as  light  as  the  legs  of  a  spider,  her  fingers  trailed  up  his  arms  as  though  she  meant  to  unravel  what  other  secrets  he  had  kept  hidden,  calling  him  back  to  her  with  a  considerable  amount  of  success.  the  press  of  his  mouth  was  received  with  a  delighted  hum,  spine  extending  to  push  herself  up  further,  closer  even  as  he  pulled  away  to  leave  her  mouth  parted  and  her  eyes  glazed  with  the  beginnings  of  a  carnal  hunger  that  had  quickly  replaced  exhaustion  at  the  first  touch  of  his  hand  upon  her  skin.  ❝  if  you  mean  for  me  to  persuade  him  as  i  persuade  you,  husband,  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  such  methods  are  reserved  for  your  pleasure  alone.  ❞  one  hand  formed  a  fist  in  the  billowing  material  of  her  shift,  squeezing  and  twisting  with  impatience  that  mirrored  the  burning  heat  in  her  abdomen  and  lower  as  he  disrobed  until  a  pale  knee  is  exposed  to  create  a  divot  in  the  mattress  ─  he  captivated  and  manipulated  her  with  an  ease  that  would  embarrass  a  prouder  woman  but  she  obliged  his  inspection,  shifting  her  face  in  his  grasp  only  slightly  so  that  she  might  take  the  tip  of  his  thumb  between  her  teeth  with  a  gentle  bite,  entrapping  his  gaze  beneath  her  lashes.

❝  for  you  ?  impossible.  ❞  his  finger  was  wet  from  her  mouth  as  she  moved  to  speak,  relinquishing  the  grip  on  her  shift.  amy  extended  both  arms  until  they  rested  upon  his  shoulders,  leaning  forward  to  line  up  the  length  of  her  torso  against  his  own  like  a  stretched  feline.  her  back  was  kept  arched,  partially  to  add  to  the  appeal  as  the  swell  of  her  breasts  pressed  against  him  and  also  to  keep  the  small  curve  of  her  stomach  as  hidden  as  possible.  ❝  you  could  never  run  out  of  good  fortune,  robert  dudley  ...  you  have  always  created  your  own  fortune.  you  will  defy  men  and  challenge  god  and  you  will  win.  ❞  he  was  destined  to  rise  to  the  heavens  as  a  star  and  she  would  watch  from  afar,  as  dutiful  as  the  astronomers  that  kept  watch  over  the  night  skies.  ❝  but  perhaps  it  is  time  for  you  to  take  steps  to  ensure  a  stable  future  rather  than  pursue  excitement  ...  we  need  an  army  full  of  dudley  boys  to  conquer  the  fields  of  england,  after  all.  ❞  perhaps  one  grew  within  her  now  ─  her  mouth  parted  to  tell  him,  fingers  pushing  at  the  loosened  shirt  around  his  shoulders.  with  her  nose  this  close  to  him,  amy  could  smell  the  traces  of  liquor  and  tobacco  on  his  breath  as  well  as  something  deeper,  muskier  and  rich  with  a  fragrance  that  nearly  made  her  sneeze.  it  brought  something  to  mind  though  she  could  not  place  her  finger  on  it,  mind  clouded  with  a  haze  that  compelled  her  to  draw  back,  landing  on  the  mattress  and  a  pile  of  pillows  with  a  soft  laugh.

❝  don't  you  agree  ?  ❞  a  foot  flicked  up  daintily  to  beckon  him  closer,  the  hem  of  her  shift  rising  to  unveil  more  skin  ─  a  coquettish  gesture,  a  deer  teasing  the  hunter  just  seconds  before  she  falls  into  his  trapping.

[bromethea]

hello borderlands tumblr it's been a while since i drew my favorite couple

[vaulthunterlands]

"Mordecai's been on my ass about getting a non-punching hobby, like gardening" how else am I supposed to interpret this quote from brick??? They're gay your honor, I don't make the rules

[incorrectborderlandsquotes]

Brick: Stress is caused by not enough front porch sittin and sweet tea drinkin.

[tench]

I want to know context but at this point i not sure if i really do (it's all in Krieg's head so it's not really them and that's all i know and it raises even more questions i don't want to know answers to)

(the picture is from here)

[ackerghoul]

please don’t tell me we gotta fight lilith, brick, mordecai, and talon... 

[roboticromantic]

St...Strawberry Brick....

[harpaax]

cute-n-deadly said: B-team?

the Best team