#early forties

[samme-wunder]

Still thinking about ISAT so I made designs for them for a few years after the game's events. Slight spoilers for ISAT below? Not really tho. Captions: Picture one: Siffrin and Beau's bonding earrings. They shaped them to look like shooting stars and reminiscent of Isa's old earrings. Siffrin has a star-shaped scar under his eyepatch. I don't make the rules! I also gave Siffrin a cape. I imagine Isabeau gets super into fashion and Siffrin becomes his model and muse. Whatever he thinks will look good gets slapped onto Siffrin; their outfits are ALWAYS changing and they adore it. But they won't wear super heavy clothes. Picture two: Isabeau and Bonibelle! Isa is rocking an undercut and started growing out his beard a bit. He, like Mira, incorporates the change symbol into his clothes as he keeps his devotion to the Defenders. Boy is in his fashion designer era though, so many changes to the outfits happen. Bonnie's maxed out the cooking skills! They've gone back home to Petronille and are very active outdoors, always finding new interests. They've gotten into drawing and etymology, and those often come together! And in their pocket, they keep a gift from Siffrin: his silver coin. (It's definitely a joke that it's a symbol of Siffrin's eye and Bonnie gets to keep it.) Picture three: The ISAT girlies! They have the least changed about themselves but it's very symbolic. Odile has always been comfortable with her style, but she's started getting into writing novellas. After their journey, Odile's knee started going so she uses a cane and orthopedic shoes, but it doesn't slow her down much. If anything, it's only made her reach longer. Mirabelle started taking design courses with Isabeau and her Stylish classmate. She loves wearing flow-y dresses, and dressing like Euphrasie. She loves to change her hair and experiment with her hair texture and what she can make it into, but otherwise, Mira's stayed true to herself. And she's out of the dating pool, for sure, but that hasn't stopped her from picking up teaching classes at Dormont's house. (Also, her ears are pierced, but she's stopped wearing them.) Both girls send letters often back and forth for book club. And on the side, for Siffrin, they've been researching into the country North of Vaugarde. Anyway, honestly? I'm just having a lot of fun daydreaming about them and what they're up to. I REQUIRE a second ISAT about Siffrin's country. It'd be Neat (◐‿◑)

[dinosaurspen]

CSIRAC, Australia's first digital computer, on display at the Scienceworks museum.

[manga-and-stuff]

Source: The Art of Nausicaä of the valley of the wind

by Hayao Miyazaki

Link to the full Artbook

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

pascal and nervous in bert and ernie's sweaters

this was supposed to be a joke post but the demons took hold of me and now it's a fully finished drawing

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

🚨CROOKED KINGDOM SPOILER ALERT!!! 🚨

I’m once again thinking about how genius it was of Leigh Bardugo to kill off Muzzen near the start of Crooked Kingdom, simultaneously foreshadowing Matthias’ death and leaning us away from thinking it would happen

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

am thinking dangerous dangerous thoughts of middle-aged milf duo sugusho coaxing you into their long-term relationship . and keeping u there

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Forty-One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Fireheart made an impressive effort to focus on anything but what he and Dustpelt had talked about. He taught Cloudpaw a new hunting position, he led a patrol and caught prey himself, he sat and chatted with Greystripe and Ravenwing at dinner. The entire time, his mind swirled and spun with the prospect of being chosen as deputy.

He can’t be right, he would think. Dustpelt is a good choice, but surely not me.

Dustpelt’s words would immediately come back to him. We are the better options. We’re young enough for Whitecloud to be confident. He’s not all that young, you know.

“Dude.”

Fireheart flinched like he’d been struck and looked around in alarm, only to see a very concerned Greystripe with his paw on Fireheart’s shoulder where he’d shaken him.

“I’m here,” Fireheart said quickly. “What?”

Ravenwing stretched out his neck to look past Greystripe and see his other friend. “Are you okay?”

���Yeah, you’ve been wandering elsewhere all night,” Greystripe said. “I just asked you a question three times. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Uh…” Fireheart’s paws shuffled in front of him, his prey untouched. “Nothing.”

“That is the single most blatant lie you’ve ever told us,” Greystripe said.

“You can talk to us, you know,” Ravenwing added. “If something’s worrying you, we want to help.”

Fireheart debated internally on whether he should explain everything. He had withheld Cloudpaw’s visits to Rosy already; would they get mad if he didn’t tell them he was potentially in the running for leadership? They might have helpful thoughts, or even just comfort and support. But to bother them with that…

Just as Fireheart opened his mouth, Whitecloud walked past them, seemingly unaware of Fireheart staring at him. He made his way past the prey-pile and out of camp with a nod or two to the cats he passed, who nodded back at him.

“I gotta do something,” Fireheart said, standing up fast enough to make himself a bit dizzy. “I’ll tell you guys later.”

“Fireheart—” Greystripe started, Ravenwing echoing him a moment later.

Fireheart ignored them, instead trotting fast enough to almost canter after Whitecloud. He didn’t notice if anyone nodded to him, just hurried out in time to see Whitecloud start for Bluestar’s den.

“Hey! Sir?”

The deputy turned with mild surprise as Fireheart caught up to him, very aware that his tail was puffed out a little in stress when he asked, “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Whitecloud nodded slowly, crooking his tail and leading Fireheart a few trees away from camp, turning to face him and sitting down with a mildly curious look on his face. Fireheart sat down with him, trying to figure out how to ask this question.

“Are you testing me?” he blurted out.

Whitecloud blinked, then slightly narrowed his eyes in understanding.

“And Dustpelt, for that matter?” Fireheart’s paws fidgeted again. “Are we, um… are we both potential choices for deputy?”

Now that he said it out loud, it sounded incredibly arrogant and stupid. Embarrassment burned his ears and his tail curled around his legs as well as it could like an attempt at a shield. He anticipated a scoff, or something polite but deriding.

All he got was a warm expression on Whitecloud’s face. “I am, and you are.”

Oh. Fireheart felt dizzy again. “…Oh.”

Whitecloud purred soothingly. “Take a breath, Fireheart.”

A breath, he decidedly did not take, instead failing to restrain his next barrage of words. “Why? Why me? I-I get Dustpelt, but– but me? And neither of us trained our apprentices fully yet, and…”

A long, white paw lifted up and gestured down in a calm command for quiet. Fireheart clamped his mouth shut, not sure if he was more afraid of Whitecloud staying confident in him or deciding that he wasn’t in the running after all.

“You and Dustpelt are both young, that’s true,” Whitecloud said. “Young and strong and full of potential. Your apprentices should be nearly fully trained or warriors by the time I become leader, and at that point I could name either of you as deputy and have the confidence of the entire Clan in that decision.” His eyes creased. “Though I would hope whichever one of you I choose has the other become their deputy once my time comes.”

Fireheart stared at him, mouth slightly open to spill words he couldn’t even begin to think up.

“As for ‘why’…” Whitecloud’s face turned amused. “Well, the reason I hope both of you lead one day is because you’re both excellent choices for different reasons. You, first, have a wonderful relationship with cats in the other Clans—if any arguments come up, you could easily calm things down and have a peaceful solution to the problem. RiverClan likes you quite a lot, enough that I don’t foresee any fights with them happening in your lifetime. That’s vital to the health of our Clan.” Amusement turned to fondness. “And that’s not to mention how much your Clanmates like you. You must have noticed that everyone except Darkstripe obeys your orders without a single word of protest. We shouldn’t forget that you saved all of us when we were panicking in the fire—and a clear head like that is something ThunderClan can rely on and trust to keep them safe and calm in dire times. You’d be a comfort as a leader: someone trustworthy, compassionate and with a healthy perspective that will let you solve problems when others would be frozen up by their dedication to the code.”

Fireheart was dimly aware of his mouth dropping even further open as he gawked at his deputy. What to even say to that?

“Now, Dustpelt…” Whitecloud tilted his head a little, thoughtful. “I can trust his diligence and dedication. He would die for any of his Clanmates, even the ones he doesn’t like, simply because they are his Clanmates and it’s his job to serve them.” He winked at Fireheart. “I know you would, too, but for different reasons. Dustpelt has a wonderful sense of honor, even with enemies, and he would work within the boundaries of the code just as well as you would work outside of it. The Clan would be under the constant watch of a young leader who they know could keep them fed and safe from outside threats. We both know he takes everything very seriously, which a good leader should, no matter how small the issue. And he would have the inherent respect of the other Clans thanks to being native to ThunderClan and understanding every aspect of our culture and laws without having to have been taught it.”

Whitecloud paused for a moment, breathing in a soft, deep breath. Fireheart said nothing.

“Truthfully,” Whitecloud said after a moment, “Speckletail and I talked about this a great deal before she died. She was already eyeing both of you as her potential successors, with me as an emergency choice. We never did decide which one would be the next deputy.” His yellow eyes had a visionary shine to them. “It’s why I hope that one day, you two can lead together. ThunderClan would be protected outside and inside. All our corners will be covered.”

Dustpelt doesn’t want to be leader, Fireheart almost said, but closed his mouth against it. He just swallowed air and said unsteadily, “I… I appreciate your confidence in me, sir.”

“You’ve earned it.” Whitecloud nodded once and started to turn away. “Now, I’m going to check on Bluestar. Go ahead back inside.”

Fireheart didn’t move just yet. “Uh… do you want me to keep all this a secret?”

The deputy paused and looked back. “No, you’re free to talk about it all you want.” He purred in amusement. “But I wouldn’t go around proclaiming you’re going to be the next deputy, just in case I choose Dustpelt instead.”

With a weak chuff, Fireheart dipped his head and plodded back through the tunnel as Whitecloud disappeared into Bluestar’s den.

When he emerged into the sandy clearing, he looked up at the sky: graciously clear, the stars sparkling as brightly as they always did. Even the fog had been kind enough to leave for a few nights, making the chill drier than it usually was. Chatter rose up and sank down, waves rippling around Fireheart. It vaguely reminded him of the buzz of insects in springtime.

“Are you back?” Greystripe said, and Fireheart looked back down to see his friends approaching. Their ears were perked more like they were listening for the hiss of a snake than any good news, and their tails twitched anxiously.

“I’m back,” Fireheart said, then realized what his friend meant. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m back. Uh, here, come on, I need to tell you something.”

He trotted back over to where they had been sitting, his friends following him. When he turned around, their eyes were pale with apprehension. They immediately bulged and blazed when Fireheart whispered his conversations with Whitecloud and Dustpelt, leaving out Dustpelt’s requested secret.

“That’s insane,” Greystripe whispered, but before Fireheart could interpret that as negative, his face nearly broke in half with a beam brighter than the sun. “That would be so cool! Can you imagine that, Ravenwing? Fireheart as deputy?”

“It’s never occurred to me before,” Ravenwing admitted, tip-tapping his paws in place, his eyes shining. “But that would be incredible. I know you’d do a great job, Fireheart; you already are!”

Fireheart ducked his head down, ears warm again. “I mean… I just feel like a regular cat, just doing what I’m told.”

“And telling others what to do.” Ravenwing nudged him gently with a paw to get him to look back up. “Whitecloud’s right. You’ve been doing more than your fair share to help the Clan, and we’re all happy to listen to you. You’ve got the potential, even if Cloudpaw isn’t a warrior yet.”

Sheepishly, Fireheart blinked at his friends, silently and dryly amused that they looked a thousand times more excited than he felt. Greystripe bumped their heads together, forgetting his strength for the first time in a long while and nearly knocking Fireheart over. Ravenwing purred and made a much gentler repeat of the gesture.

Fireheart opened his mouth to say something, but a dark shape crossed his vision; Darkstripe was stalking past them, tossing a squinted glare Fireheart’s way. By the especially curdled scowl, he had heard a bit of the conversation. Or he was just particularly full of hate tonight.

You are going to be furious if Whitecloud chooses me as deputy, Fireheart thought, not wanting to admit how much the idea tickled him.

“Fireheart, there you are.”

The trio of toms turned their heads to see Dustpelt padding up to them, Thornpaw in tow. Fireheart’s whiskers twitched as he noted the difference in height between them, where Thornpaw had suddenly grown over the past month, still filling out but now taller than his mentor. Even so, he had his head ducked to look smaller as he looked admiringly at Dustpelt.

“Am I interrupting a conversation?” the brown tabby in questions asked, eyes flicking between the boys with the slightest, curious squint.

“Oh, nothing big,” Fireheart said before his friends could answer. “Is something up?”

“A bit, yes.” Dustpelt straightened up, tail high and posture businesslike. “I went out to train with Willowpelt and Brackenpaw, but we caught a scent in our usual training area.”

Fireheart jolted. “Not the dogs again—”

“Oh, no, not the dogs,” Dustpelt said quickly. “We’re not entirely sure what it is. It’s got the tinge of the Houses to it, but I’ve never smelled something like that before. It made the apprentices nervous—” Thornpaw flattened his ears shamefully “—so we decided to come back.”

Fireheart glanced at Brightpaw, who was luckily asleep below the stump. “Well, we can’t afford to be too cautious. Do you think we should change the training place for now?”

Dustpelt nodded. “I was going to suggest that to you and Whitecloud. I think we definitely should have everyone closer to camp—if it’s empty enough, even in camp.”

An angry hacking sound answered him; when everyone looked over, Darkstripe was glaring at all of them, his hurt eye only slightly squinted now.

“You can’t have the apprentices train in camp,” he snapped. “Do you know how noisy and busy that’ll make this place?”

Fireheart couldn’t stop his response, but he could keep it in a friendly tone. “Well, we could put you on a patrol when training sessions are going on. It’d be more peaceful for you, I think—”

“I am not,” Darkstripe said through his teeth, “going on any patrol on the orders of a kittypet.”

Greystripe rolled his eyes. “You’re aware he’s lived with us for a year now, right? He’s as much a warrior as you are.”

“More so, I would think,” Ravenwing said coldly.

Everyone looked at him in surprise. Darkstripe’s face quickly changed back to curdled and angry.

“You don’t want the apprentices to train safely?” Ravenwing’s voice was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “Then you go out and handle the dogs yourself. Or you go on a patrol like Fireheart tells you to. You decide.”

A broad band of fur on Darkstripe’s back and tail flared. He took a few steps towards his nephew, teeth bared as he loomed, even from a distance, over Ravenwing. “You think you can talk to your family like that?”

The skinny black tom was not moved. He regarded Darkstripe with contempt. “I’m not a kitten anymore. You don’t frighten me.” His ears slid back. “Embarrass me? Annoy me? Sure. The last of my family is a pathetic kitten constantly throwing a tantrum about not getting his way. You tell me if that’s worse, eparme.”

Fireheart stared at his friend in awe. How long has he wanted to say that?

Darkstripe’s claws dug into the sand, his face burning. After a moment of visible struggling, he spat out, “Whatever, runt. You’re still a coward. You aren’t fooling anyone.” Before anyone could respond, he whipped around and stormed away, the playing kits scurrying away from his path as he snatched something from the prey-pile and stomped into a corner of camp by the tunnel, facing the wall of brambles as he sat down with a thump.

“Putting himself in time-out like a kit,” Ravenwing said quietly. “Didn’t think he was that reasonable.”

Dustpelt regarded Ravenwing with the same awe and shock as Greystripe, Fireheart, and Thornpaw. “That was amazing. Well done.”

Ravenwing took in a breath, and with the exhale, his meekness returned, edge and stoicism gone in favor of a shaky sigh and anxious eyes. He admitted in a low voice, “I think I would have run if he actually got in my face.”

“If he’d got in your face, I would’ve killed him.” Greystripe tapped Ravenwing’s side with his huge tail. “He wasn’t going to win either way.”

Ravenwing gave a wobbly chuff. He said something to Dustpelt, but Fireheart didn’t hear it. His attention was drawn to a cat a small distance away: Snowpaw, standing just outside of the apprentice’s den, bright blue eyes gleaming with admiration as he stared at his mentor.

Whether he had understood exactly what happened or not, Fireheart figured, didn’t matter. What did was that Snowpaw had a new reason to adore Ravenwing, even more than he did already. He glanced at Ravenwing, who had not yet noticed his apprentice, looked back at Snowpaw, and signed, “Crazy, right?”

Snowpaw beamed and gave him only one word. “Awesome.”

[kawareo]

Nsfw alphabet

A- aftercare

Can we know for Gortash/durge compared to astarian/durge?

I'm fascinated by the differences in those relationships

(Gonna say for pre-tadpoles because after that the dynamics obviously change)

Astarion and Durge are very much friends with benefits, and (mostly for Astarion's sake) their aftercare is them getting back to normal as soon as possible. That includes breaking any potential tension, starting a conversation about something unrelated, healing whatever injuries Durge has given to himself during sex (their bondage tends to be improvised and not exactly safe for Durge when he's tied up) but they do also cuddle. Often Durge falls asleep and Astarion gets to lay there and think about when he will do when Caz is dead, or just whatever, because he does feel safe enough to dare think about things Cazador wouldn't like when he's being held by a Bhaalspawn.

On the other hand, Durgetash... They're more domestic. More quiet. Silently undoing Durge's binds and Durge quietly checking up Enver to see how badly his body took it. Enver often has a flareup in his bad hip after sex and they both pretend not to notice but Durge is mindful of it. They often take a bath if they have time and whichever is injured less helps the other there. Healing potions and quiet prayers are a staple of their aftercare. Neither of them is supposed to care enough about the other to provide aftercare tbh, so they do it almost silently and pretend it never happened.

So yeah the main difference is that (in Bhaal's eyes) Durgestarion is just casual necrophilia and Durgetash is a fucking blasphemy and aftercare is treated accordingly

[pinnithin]

on my second playthrough of dav. playing as an older nb he/him shadow dragon rogue named loren. having a lot of fun running around pretending im mentoring all these young people as a bitter, jaded elf who grew up in minrathous. picking the comedy dialogue option most of the time bc after seeing all the shit hes seen in his life all thats left is to laugh at the most inappropriate times. hes taash and bellara's quirky uncle. he sees a lot of himself in davrin. etc etc you get the idea.

im romancing emmrich this time and its really sweet. hes very proper. gives you flowers, calls you darling, takes you out for a nice dinner. took loren a lot of warming up to get to this point (being an elf from minrathous who mistrusts mages on principle, putting his cynical and negative personality up against emmrich's hopeful naiveté). i imagine lorens had a lot of flings but never something this romantic. theyre having a great time in the apocalypse.

but ive noticed the game just... expects you to be younger? its most apparent with varric calling rook "kid," which. okay i can make that work in my head. it seems just like him to make jokes about that to someone whos only a year younger than him.

everyone else? im?? theres several examples. harding mentioning that rook's "kinda younger" than emmrich, insinuating its a problem. emmrich himself worrying what others might think of their relationship, "given their ages." emmrich often and repeatedly calls rook "fresh-faced" when complimenting them. the list goes on.

im familiar with bioware writing being The Way That It Is, so im not tryna get into the root of the issue here. i just want to have fun with my little fake guy. so. to make this all not be weird im hcing that varric started the joke of calling rook "kid," and now the rest of the team is carrying on the bit because they know it irritates him. harding heard loren go "WE'RE THE SAME AGE, VARRIC" one time and was like oh im never gonna let him hear the end of this. and then she got everyone else on board with it.

[shadowuserannie]

Unreal

You know what would've been fun? If the elves had indefinite lifespans but not indefinite bodies. and them just like. not talking about it it being sort of an open secret that your parents take you aside to quietly explain, then make sure to say 'never mention this again'

Because just think about it. Elves taking a special elixir that maintains their body in its prime state. Skip a day and the decay is obvious, especially if you're already centuries old.

Some of the older elves obsessing because the elixir isn't perfect, it staves it off but they're not eternally twenty anymore, they look human forty now and forty is too much by elvin standards so they get plastic surgery.

Except elves' surgery consists of more elixirs. And the elixirs are almost perfect, too. They don't have the plastic botox effect that humans' plastic surgery does, that makes their face harder to move. The elves just...have this weird feeling about them. Like there's no obvious plastic surgery effect. It's just that uncanny valley feeling of 'face too perfect, too unreal.'

Elves obsessing over taking their elixirs, because there's a single Wanderling of an elf who was an Ancient. She lived in isolation. One day someone visited her and screamed because all that was left was a pile of ashes on the floor within a dress. She didn't want to live anymore and skipped a single day of her elixirs.

Elves can live forever, but unless they use elixirs to maintain their body then they will die. Except this contradicts itself, doesn't it? The very definition of quasi-immortality is living unless an outside force kills you. Your own body shouldn't qualify. And of course it's Sophie who brings this into question when she first hears it.

So what's happening is that elves aren't actually immortal. They just take elixirs to stop their bodies from aging and decaying to nothing. Otherwise, they have a lifespan just longer than a human.

And the very first elixir one takes to slow their aging, preparing your body for the rest, is Youth.

[jakemyboy]

King of the Paved Trail.

[catilinas]

rereading masters of rome 👍 save me lucius cornelius sulla 👍 in retrospect it is kinda funny how it starts ten years before caesar is even born but there’s still this teleological pull towards him being [colleen mccullough voice] rome’s sexiest and specialest little dictator. from like page ONE

[clove-pinks]

Paul Gavarni, "Le parfait créancier" series no. 4 (detail), 1846.

[youokaybucky]

Oh yeah 😎 we all know smoking is very bad for you, but if bad why is it hot? Like I don't smoke, but fuck do I wanna share a cigarette with benny cross. Either before or after he takes me for a spin on his harley. And even more so after... well, what the prompt says 🤭😂

And this shot is probably my favourite shot of austin in a movie or tv show EVER:

How he be walking while lighting that cigarette on his way to his motorbike 🥵 I need to lie down 🫠

And can we all appreciate how his lips pout around the cigarette?? PRINCESS behavior

[girlcaelius]

hbo rome cato the younger the elder....... no one cares about your old man boobs ://