#eponymous rose

[loquaciousquark]

Tonight at D&D, almost three real time years later, it turns out I WAS RIGHT.

To say I'm giddy is beyond understatement.

[bettydice]

couldn't ignore those colours

View from my living room this morning. How is this place real????

[workathomemom13]

Furiosa’ Fires Up Cannes With 6-Minute Standing Ovation for Anya Taylor-Joy and Teary Chris Hemsworth

In a remarkable display of cinematic fervor, "Furiosa" ignited the Cannes Film Festival with an electrifying premiere that left audiences in awe and admiration. As the highly anticipated prequel to George Miller's iconic "Mad Max" series, "Furiosa" has been the subject of much anticipation and speculation. However, its unveiling at Cannes exceeded even the loftiest of expectations, earning a thunderous six-minute standing ovation and moving its stars, Anya Taylor-Joy and Chris Hemsworth, to tears.

The film, directed by George Miller and starring Taylor-Joy as the eponymous Furiosa and Hemsworth in a yet undisclosed role, promises to delve deep into the backstory of one of cinema's most enigmatic and beloved characters. Set in the dystopian world of the Wasteland, "Furiosa" takes audiences on a thrilling journey through a harsh and unforgiving landscape, where survival is a constant struggle and hope is a rare commodity.

The Cannes premiere offered a tantalizing glimpse into the world of "Furiosa," showcasing its breathtaking visuals, adrenaline-pumping action sequences, and gripping emotional depth. From the moment the lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled, it was clear that audiences were in for a cinematic experience unlike any other.

Anya Taylor-Joy's portrayal of Furiosa captivated audiences, with her fierce determination and steely resolve bringing the character to life in vivid detail. Taylor-Joy's performance was nothing short of mesmerizing, showcasing her range as an actress and solidifying her status as one of Hollywood's brightest talents.

Equally impressive was Chris Hemsworth's performance, which reportedly left the actor visibly moved during the film's emotional climax. While details about Hemsworth's character remain shrouded in mystery, his presence on screen was undeniable, adding depth and complexity to the film's narrative.

But perhaps the most unforgettable moment of the evening came during the film's conclusion, when the credits began to roll and the audience rose to their feet in a spontaneous display of appreciation and admiration. For six minutes, the theater echoed with thunderous applause and cheers, a testament to the film's undeniable impact and the talent of its cast and crew.

As the applause finally subsided and the lights came back on, it was clear that "Furiosa" had left an indelible mark on the Cannes Film Festival and the hearts of all who had the privilege of witnessing its premiere. With its captivating story, stunning visuals, and powerhouse performances, "Furiosa" has set the stage for what promises to be an unforgettable cinematic journey, one that will undoubtedly leave a lasting impression on audiences around the world.

[targaryen-dynasty]

INNATE DESIRES. (1/5)

Maegor Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT — MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, profanity, semi public sex, size kink, power imbalance, breeding, choking, female reader (no mentions of looks besides purple eyes)

WORDS: 3.4 K

NOTES: The events of this start somewhere between 41 AC to 44 AC, while the rest takes place around 45 AC. Visenya has not died (yet), but Cersye, Alys and Tyanna have. Aegon and Rhaena are captured at Crakehall, and Viserys is still his squire and hostage.

After the passing of your father, you, your younger siblings and mother had fled from Dragonstone to Driftmark almost immediately. It was a blessing and a curse altogether, because it meant you could keep your life after the arrival and coronation of your uncle Maegor, while you would have loved nothing more than to witness the sight of the Black Dread’s shadow devouring the castle on the eponymous island. 

When the Dowager Queen and Vhagar arrived, it was her that urged your mother to come back to join the busy life at court – meaning you and your siblings were to abandon her childhood home Driftmark. 

Your mother’s stay in the capital was brief, and you assumed it was because she could not stand to be separated from her children any longer, as Visenya had ordered you four to Dragonstone instead. 

Two years after your arrival, it was evident that you had become a prisoner in all but name to Visenya on Dragonstone, barely allowed to leave the castle. When she was not around, her spies and vipers were. 

And so it was even more surprising that, when you were summoned to the Throne Room in the midst of your lessons, you came face to face with none other than your uncle. He sat on the throne, his mother lingering not too far away. With him in the room, his big frame concealing most of the impressive seat, it was even more apparent how frail she had become over the years. If you would have to guess, she would not do much longer. 

As your purple eyes met his, it was as if a wildfire ignited in your body, coursing through your veins, vividly remembering the night you had caught him speaking to your father about a possible betrothal. But it also angered you, knowing that he had left for Pentos with his second wife not long after, without even saying goodbye. 

On the other side of the throne stood none other than your mother, and while both Visenya and Maegor seemed rather smug and pleased, Alyssa had a grim expression on her face. 

Like an invisible string luring your body towards his, you came to a stop shortly before the first step to where he sat. “Your Grace.“ You smiled sweetly at him and slightly bowed your head, more out of courtesy than true belief, because your brother Aegon was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne after all. 

At least five knights guarded the door to the Throne Room behind you, and when Maegor rose from his seat with the pommel of Blackfyre fidgeting between his thick fingers, you were certain that was the moment your life came to an end. 

His steps were heavy as he walked down the steps, coming to a stop just shy of you. His domineering frame was looming over yours, and you had long forgotten the last time you had to crane your neck to look up at someone as tall and big as he was. 

“Leave us,“ Maegor’s gruff voice rang out, and when both Dowager Queens opened their mouths to protest, he was quick to shush them with a simple raise of his hand. Even when they walked past you, you did not dare break eye contact with your uncle, and while he usually was a hard and brutal man, there was a hint of softness in his eyes solely reserved for you. 

When you two were the only people left in the room, he directed his voice towards you. “You have grown,“ he stated, his eyes traveling up and down your body. With the defiance of a young woman, you jutted out your chin just slightly, nonchalantly looking up at him. “How would you know?“ you asked. “Five years and you have not once come to visit me.“

Your uncle chuckled dryly, one hand coming up to pinch your chin. “You know ‘tis not as easy as you make it seem.“ 

From how much your father had told you after Maegor’s departure, you knew he probably was right, though you had yet to find out the true reason behind it. With his longing stare making you somewhat uneasy, the pregnant pause between you two grew thicker with tension.

Until your voice cut through it. 

“Why are you here, uncle? Do you not have a wife to care for and a realm to rule?“

“I do,“ he said, his tone growing a bit harsher as the memory of the stranger taking his three wives not too many moons ago flashed before his eyes. “I am here for you.“

A small crease formed between your brows at his words. “I am afraid I do not understand.“

“Maybe you will understand this.“ Where his paw had rested on your chin before, it traveled down to your waist, almost taking up its entirety with his fingers splayed out. 

He dipped his head towards yours, but you were quick to bring your hand up between your faces, taking a careful step back. “We can not,“ you stated, trying to sound stern, yet you were betrayed by your fluttering nerves, your heart beating in your throat.

With his hand still on your waist, he pulled you back against his firm chest as if you weighed nothing, the sheer display of his strength bringing heat to your cheeks. “The matter is settled already. I shall take you as my wife in a sennight,“ he said. “I have waited long enough for this, and with my brother dead there is no one left to deny me.“

“My mother–“ 

“Has no other choice than to give me what I want.“ The threat was unspoken but clear. 

Every attempt to speak against him was silenced by his lips on yours. The kiss was far from being gentle, and it was evident he claimed your lips with a carnal need. With his hands traveling over the curves of your waist down to your rear, roughly fisting the skirts of your gown, it was obvious that he intended to do the same with your body. 

Your heart was racing, pounding against the confines of your ribcage when your lips parted, releasing a shaky breath. “I-I have never–,” you whimpered, trailing off as you looked at him with wide eyes. Every ounce of affection and gentleness Maegor mayhaps held before had vanished with a snap, leaving only a man hungry for your virtue. 

But no matter how badly your body ached for his touch, having craved it for so, so long, you pulled away to walk past him, climbing the few steps towards the throne with shaky legs as a heat settled at the apex of them. You had to bring some space between the two of you, mayhaps that allowed your thoughts to clear again. 

”My brother Aegon–,“ you started, but were interrupted when you tripped over one of the last steps, causing you to topple forwards. Taking in a sharp breath while bracing yourself on your hands and knees, Maegor was quick to not allow you to get back on your feet. Kneeling down next to you with one hand resting in the place between your shoulders, he applied just enough pressure to keep you down. 

“Where is your craven brother now, sweetling?“ he emphasized the nickname with a condescending tone, and it should have you feeling sick to the stomach, not aroused. “Not here. He had the chance to claim the Iron Throne, but he did not take it.“

His hand brushed over the bodice of your dress, trailing deep enough so he could cup your arse. But it merely lingered there for a few seconds, never settling. That touch alone still was enough to reignite the flame within you, and only when your fluttered nerves calmed just a bit, you noticed the proximity between you – and how he looked at you with darkened eyes. 

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you tried to gather some courage before speaking, “You are just as much of a coward as he is. Coming to claim what is rightfully his when he is besieged at Crakehall.” Another chuckle came from Maegor, but this time it sounded somewhat amused. 

“Oh, I know you do not think so highly of your own kin,” he said, a smug smirk pulling on the corners of his chiseled lips. His other hand came up to cup your cheek gently, the pad of his thumb brushing your lips. 

“Enough with the mummer's farce, Y/N. Are you not at least a little happy to see me, mh?” It was evident in his mocking tone that he did not really care much about your feelings. You were meant to marry him regardless of what you wanted. 

With pleading eyes, you looked at him, slowly nodding your head and allowing your guard to fall – even if only for a few seconds. “Y-Yes.”

“And do you not want to be a good, obedient wife to me?”

If his question did not already choke the air from your lungs, his hand fisting the skirts of your dress to lift it just enough for his hand to snake underneath certainly did. It was him harshly groping the flesh of your arse that caused you to speak again, forcing you without voicing a command. 

“I do.”

As his fingers started to drag over the dampened spot in the center of your smallclothes, he got all the confirmation he needed to proceed with his actions. The ministrations of his fingers grew in determination, dragging around your little bud in circular motions and eliciting soft whimpers to fall past your lips. As the pleasure rippled through your body, your hands grabbed the edge of the step beneath you, knuckles blanching from the force. 

Shame filled your veins, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, instead focusing on the throne in front of you. “I–,” you wanted to repeat your previous words, but your uncle was quick to cut you off. “Then let me be the first and only. You belong to me.” 

Any protest was once again silenced by your own gasp as two of his thick digits pushed the linen of your smallclothes aside, scarcely dragging through your soaked mound. Only when they were generously coated in your arousal, he eventually pushed them inside without a warning. 

“Gods,” you whimpered, tears brimming in your eyes as your maiden hole tried to adjust to the girth of his fingers. “P-Please��” You did not know what you were begging for. For him to leave you be or for him to give you more?

Maegor seemed to be at least a bit mindful when it came to your maidenhead, keeping his fingers still until they were buried to the hilt. You clenched around him tightly, which caused him to hiss through gritted teeth as if it was his cock plunging deep inside you and not his fingers, hardly preparing you for what was to come. 

“Please,” Maegor mocked you with a chuckle, pushing his lips forwards into a pout that feigned his pity. “You are so pretty when you beg, niece.” The ministrations of his fingers were slow, pulling out almost completely only to push right in again. The sounds of pleasure they forced from your throat were enough to drive the man next to you close to insanity. 

His head dipped forward, looking you down with a sharp expression that savored the sight of your face contorting in pleasure all because of him. Your body was torn between feeling hungry for him and being humiliated because of him, the interplay leaving you utterly confused, and longing to be filled by something else of his. 

When he withdrew his fingers from your cunt, they were glistening with your arousal. The warmth that slowly spread throughout your stomach had vanished just like that, and the whine that slipped past your lips at the loss of friction was the epitome of being pathetic. 

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, engulfing them with his lips and humming as if he enjoyed the finest Arbor red the castle had to offer. You squeezed your thighs to soothe the aching that burned between them at the sight, feeling empty and not at all satisfied. “So, so sweet,” he purred, the tone a stark contrast from the harsh one he had used before. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he released in the following, the purple of his eyes almost eclipsed by black. 

Magor leaned in to nuzzle his nose along your cheek, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent he had missed so dearly for the past five years. 

The softness of his voice and the close contact had you losing yourself in his dominating presence, completely at his mercy. A kiss was pressed to the crown of your head before his bulky frame disappeared behind you, one leg bent at the knee while the other foot was planted firmly on the ground. Because he was so close, you felt him undoing the laces of his breeches, his hands bumping against your arse each time he pulled the strings loose. 

Your impatience got the worst of you, masked as a shiver traveling up your spine. You were not sure if you had to accommodate a girth wider or lesser than his fingers, but at this point you did not care. Your body longed for something you hadn’t felt before, and it needed it. Now. 

One of his hands darted to your hip, squeezing it harshly while the other wrapped around his hard member. Feeling the impatience take over your body, you pushed your hips back enough for the tip of him to prod at your hole, causing your teeth to sink into your bottom lip. 

As you turned your head to look at him from over your shoulder, your hooded eyes met his, a lazy smirk draped over his features. “That is all it takes to change your mind?” he mocked, stifling a grunt as he forced himself into your tightness, your maiden walls squeezing him. “Pathetic.” All of the sudden, his raspy voice was strained, having to restrain himself from pounding into you before he even filled you to the brim. You could see it in the way he set his jaw, forcing you to avert your eyes in fear.

You released a mixture of a whine and a shaky breath, the burning of the stretch prominent enough to cloud your mind and set your body on full alert. With both his paws on your hips, you could not even intervene or squirm away. Every ridge and vein of his cock dragged along your clenching walls as you accommodated the sheer size of his member, not making the stretch any more pleasurable. 

“S-Stop,” you whimpered. 

And Maegor actually listened, but only because he had bottomed out completely and needed a few moments to regain his composure, adapting to you squeezing him like a vice. “It will become more pleasant soon,” he grunted, trailing his hands up and down your sides in a comforting manner you did not know he possessed. “Trust me.”

The first snaps of his hips were neither hard nor fast, but deep and determined enough to brush that sweet spot inside of you your own fingers had not reached before. Having his breeches pulled down enough to free his cock and the sac of his stones, they slapped against your sensitive bud each time his hips met yours. 

With that pace, the burning slowly but surely turned into the pleasure your body had been asking for. 

Looking back at him once again, you were blessed with something you hadn’t seen before. A few strands of his usually neat, silver hair hung in front of his face, every now and then clinging to the few beads of sweat on his forehead before the tremors of his thrusts freed them again.

He felt you adjusting to his size, which prompted him to increase the pace to the point he was pounding you. Each impact forced your head to tip forwards and your knees to scrape across the stone floor, barely diminished by the skirt of your dress. 

Something you hadn’t anticipated was him bringing his hand in front of you to clasp around your throat. With the strength he possessed, his grip was tight, choking you regardless of him intending to do so or not.  

“I want you to look at the throne,” he commanded through gritted teeth, the choking and gasping sounds you made merely a dull noise in the background. “‘Tis the seat our son will sit in one day.”

His other arm snaked around your waist as he pulled your back flush against his firm chest, securing you and keeping you steady despite the reckless snaps of his hips. Mayhaps it was the possibility and danger of the Dowager Queens barging into the Throne Room or because you finally got what you had craved for more than five years, but your peak built in the pit of your stomach far too quickly for your own liking. 

“I am going to fuck you so full of my seed, making sure it will bear fruit.”

Maegor shifted his hips, angling them so he was thrusting upwards into you, which had his cock reaching even deeper than before, causing you to mewl and whine. Even if you wanted to, you could not reply, but with a renewed wave of your arousal dripping down his throbbing member and stones, you did not even have to.

“I-I–,” you stammered, his grip not loosening. It was a surprise you managed to inhale enough air to fill your lungs – mayhaps he was better at assessing his strength than you thought. 

“Go on,” he rasped, squeezing your throat in a rhythm that matched his hips, sensing your impending peak. 

It was embarrassing how quickly your peak took over at his words, rippling through you with soaring pleasure. Each time his stones hit your little bud, your overstimulated body tried to jerk away from him – but to no avail with his strong arm around your waist. 

Maegor watched in awe as your body trembled within his grasp, the tremors growing more apparent with each second he did not pull out. His mouth pressed to the side of your face, tongue licking a flat stripe from your jaw up to your temple. 

“You want my seed, niece?” he grunted into your ear, “want me to fuck a child into you? See your body swell with my seed?”

Finally loosening the grip he had on your throat to allow you to speak, you croaked a ‘seven hells, yes!’ into the chilly air of the Throne Room. “Put a babe in me… please,” you all but begged, turning your head to the side to catch a glimpse of him – enough to capture his lips with your own. 

The response of your body his and your own words elicited was pitiful, but it was just the truth. You wanted his child, the thought lingering in your mind for the past five years. Your walls trembled around him, choking him so tightly the bull of a man behind you had to take a deep breath to keep his composure. But all effort was fruitless when his pulsing cock spent itself inside of your quivering walls. 

Each of his grunts and groans was devoured by your lips on his, drinking them down as if they were the only things keeping you alive. Out of instinct, you started to roll your hips against his, prolonging his own peak as you milked him for every drop of his seed. 

Maegor was out of breath by the time his movements came to a stop, staying buried inside of you as if he meant to make sure his efforts bore fruit. And you relished in it, despite the vulnerable position it brought you in.

Tipping his forehead against your temple, he closed his purple eyes, breathing shakily before speaking, “merely pack the bare essentials for the travel. We shall depart for King’s Landing in the morrow… on dragon back."

Bowing your head once, you fixed your undergarments and dress once he had pulled out, sitting back on your haunches. With your back facing him, he did not notice the wide grin on your lips. 

Mayhaps then you finally were to witness the sight of Balerion’s shadow devouring Westeros' capital.

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @watercolorskyy @xxxkat3xxx @baedebnam @simonedk @heavenhatesme

[californiannostalgia]

Anyway I've been in too much distress so it's

5+1 Vox Machina Throwback Time

They're not legendary heroes. They're petty competitive assholes who love getting up to stupid shit together. They don't have any dignity. Let's return to our roots. Here's to the Super High Intensity Team, the epic dumbasses.

1. RIP Magic Carpet (edit by GammaAlanna)

2. Pike Teaches Grog to Read (edit by TP Burrow)

3. Cannonball Contest (edit by Eponymous Rose)

4. Making Taryon Cry (edit by Shortlan)

5. Vax and Grog prank Scanlan (edit by Stephani Moss)

(+1 under the cut)

Hey. Scanlan's Dragonslaying Carols animatic (by TJ Sohre).

[contemplatingoutlander]

Falling inflation, rising growth give U.S. the world’s best recovery

The European economy, hobbled by unfamiliar weakness in Germany, is barely growing. China is struggling to recapture its sizzle. And Japan continues to disappoint. But in the United States, it’s a different story. Here, despite lingering consumer angst over inflation, the surprisingly strong economy is outperforming all of its major trading partners. Since 2020, the United States has powered through a once-in-a-century pandemic, the highest inflation in 40 years and fallout from two foreign wars. Now, after posting faster annual growth last year than in 2022, the U.S. economy is quashing fears of a new recession while offering lessons for future crisis-fighting. “The U.S. has really come out of this into a place of strength and is moving forward like covid never happened,” said Claudia Sahm, a former Federal Reserve economist who now runs an eponymous consulting firm. “We earned this; it wasn’t just a fluke.” On Friday, President Biden hailed fresh government data showing that annual inflation over the second half of 2023 fell back to the Federal Reserve’s 2 percent target. Coupled with Thursday’s news that the economy grew by 3.1 percent over the past 12 months, the Commerce Department report showed that the United States appears to have achieved an economic soft landing. The post-pandemic recovery challenged long-standing economic beliefs, such as the idea of an inverse relationship between unemployment and inflation. (As one rose, the other was expected to fall.) Expressed in what economists call the Phillips curve, this nostrum proved nearly useless in explaining the economy’s recent behavior. [...] “Putting money in people’s hands vs. moving around interest rates, which is monetary policy, fiscal policy is going to be stronger,” Sahm said. “We cannot go into the next crisis being, like, ‘Oh, the Fed’s got this.’” Consumer spending is driving the economy: Real consumption rose by 0.5 percent in December, its fastest pace since last January. Pending home sales jumped, too. Following the flurry of good news, JPMorgan Chase economists said they raised their first-quarter growth forecast.

Biden deserves credit for turning the economy around. This was a front page headline article on the WaPo website for a short time on Sunday Jan. 28th. I didn't see anything about this on The New York Times front page website. The mainstream media should do a better job of conveying this good news about the economy. Certainly, the right-wing media won't do so.

[bettydice]

ALL THE TAVS! thank you for letting me draw your darlings my Tavs Zorne and Shiv, @loquaciousquark Tavish Gale, @annalyia Olivia, @jadesabre301 Elarwyn, @fistfulofgammarays Verrin, @perahn Varash, @servantofclio Ravat, @eponymous-rose Amisra, @probablylostrightnow Rianna, @mystery-moose Sevistur, @nelsynoo Aleah

[tarnished-doll]

KISS ME, SON OF GOD! ch.1 [godrick/oc, canon-divergent, origin story au]

'You will keep Godrick, heir of Leyendell, alive.' A Marionette of Liurnia would proceed to do a great many, terrible things to obey that directive.

The Shattering didn’t grind the world to a halt. Not at first, anyways. Life endured, births continued. Petty squabbles between factions rose and fell, and barely anyone really thought much of the demigods. Mortals had no business with the divine, unless they were related to it ever so distantly.

The Golden Lineage - the descendants of Marika, the lasting legacy of Godwyn - had a dynasty that sprawled considerably over the generations. It didn’t help that anyone with fair hair and maybe a hint of grace-gold in their eye could boast of being some unclaimed bastard. Godiva, however, had a pedigree. She knew well her place in the family.

Eldest daughter to the eldest son of Godwyn the Second, who in turn was eldest of the eponymous Godwyn the Golden, first son of Godfrey. The most direct line to a throne she would never reach in her lifetime. But why would there be a need for a mortal heir, when the very gods themselves ruled? She never thought it was fair, but it was the way things worked around here. Nobody questioned the Greater Will and its plan for the realm.

But some time after the Shattering happened, Radagon left the throne vacant, and Marika vanished into the Erdtree. These were considered two separate tragedies to the family, who had occupied almost every political seat in Leyendell since the very establishment of the Golden Order itself. For one, they actually needed an heir to the throne now.

The demigods were squabbling over the Elden Throne, sure, but the mortal side of the family could finally have a chance at something beyond mere nobility. All they needed was an heir worthy enough to hold Godwyn’s Great Rune. Godiva’s pedigree - no, her son’s pedigree - may finally culminate in that moment.

What a shame it was that young Godrick turned out like… that.

It wasn’t his fault the absence of divinity in his blood left weakness in its wake; his mother inherited it too. But at least she was dignified about it. Godrick was a young man now, and he was still throwing tantrums like a little boy. Godiva went through a new nurse for him every month, and it was getting harder to find any that hadn’t heard of how awful her son was to work with.

But now, she had a caretaker for him that wouldn’t be driven off by his foul tongue and rebellious nature. She had a nurse that wouldn’t have to be bribed or paid at all for loyal service. A nurse that wouldn’t be subject to fatigue or human error. It was wheeled into the apartment still in the box it was shipped in; an inert and vaguely humanoid thing of carved wood, metal and twine. In its featureless skull there was a chunk of glintstone powering an enchantment that would give it life. Or, ‘life’, in the most basic sense. 

Godiva was assured that it would have enough brains to keep up with a human, and it came ‘pre-programmed’ - whatever the hell that meant - with the most recent teachings of a healer’s art. Most of all, it needed no salary nor upkeep. The perfect servant.

Servants of a flesh-and-blood nature did all the work in unpacking and assembling the thing. Godiva watched them impatiently, and occasionally pressured them to hurry up. The less time she had to stay in this miserable place, the better. When the puppet was fully put together, the magic that powered it kicked in.

It was a disconcerting thing, watching a Marionette move of its own accord. It didn’t help that it had four arms that moved independently of each other, and a face that was naught but two holes on its blank, oval head in the place of eyes. What a foul thing, so uncanny and removed from humanity. Godiva would have loathed to trust her son with such a thing, if her son wasn’t such a little asshole.

As the Marionette began to assess its surroundings, Godiva turned her attention towards a human servant. “Alright, go get him up.”

The servant looked a little dismayed at being chosen. As they headed towards the young Lord’s room, Godiva leaned in to whisper something into the puppet’s ear.

The young Lord’s room was a mess, owing to often being sequestered in it all day, and how loathe the housekeepers were to have to deal with him. The usual affects of a sheltered boy clashed with medical supplies and instruments better suited to a clinic. The last nurse didn’t bother to clean up after themself, it seemed… or young Godrick chased them out before they could.

The servant approached the lump under the covers of a four-poster bed cautiously. Thankfully, it still rose and fell minutely from the boy’s breaths. “Young master.”

The boy let out a grumbling sigh, and settled deeper into the comfort of the bed. The servant cleared their throat politely.

“Young master, your mother’s here.”

“Ugh.” The thick, embroidered quilt on the bed was pulled into a tighter, curled up tangle around the boy like a cocoon. “Tell her I’m dead.”

“You know I can’t do that again, Godrick; your mother certainly doesn’t find the humor in it like you do.”

A quiet, sardonic laugh came from under the covers. With a groan, the layers of blankets were peeled back to reveal the heir apparent of the Golden Lineage.

He was but a pale, scrawny thing; all ribs, knees, and elbows. The curve where his spine met his neck was severe, and it seemed especially uncomfortable for him to stretch against it as he wrung the fatigue out of virtually non-existent muscles. Godrick took in a deep breath to yawn, only for him to choke on air and wheeze. The servant approached as the young man failed to stifle a coughing fit.

Godrick always had a kerchief at hand for this very reason, his narrow, near-concave chest heaving as he fought against his body’s reflex. Despite his distress, he glared at the servant and waved them away irritably.

When he could breathe semi-normally again, Godrick inspected the soiled white cloth of the kerchief. There was no blood this time, but it was also early in the day.

Getting down the stairs was always a miserable affair for him. He wondered often if his mother put him up on the second floor in hopes he really would one day die from one of his frequent falls. His ankles were weak and unsteady, from illness, misuse, and fear.

Godiva stood rigidly at the bottom, rather than aiding her son. As he got older, it seemed she became more and more uncomfortable around him. Though, perhaps that was just from his sour expression and rude tone. They exchanged similar scowls.

“Morning, mother.”

“Godrick.”

He didn’t notice the thing that stood in the middle of the living room at first. When he did, its human shape made him flinch away, sneering at it. “The hell is that thing?”

“Language.” Godiva reminded him cooly. She circled her son like a hawk, drawing his attention away from the Marionette. If nothing else, the family resemblance was clear when they both looked at each other with equal resentment.

“I recently received another letter of resignation from a nurse I assigned to you. I’m running out of qualified caretakers in the city still willing to work with you at this rate, you know. Do you know how embarrassing it is to bear the reputation you’ve made for yourself?”

“It’s not my fault if they can’t handle a sickly little boy.” Godrick cracked a cruel smile.

“I know you do this on purpose.” Godiva pointed a bony, accusing finger at him. “And I’m wise to your tricks. I’m not going to be responsible for when your health turns again and you have no one to keep you from choking on your own blood in your sleep.”

“That was the one time!”

“I am not giving you any more people to torture, Godrick. So, I had a suitable replacement commissioned.” Godiva gestured to the silent, still puppet that stood uninvolved in their conversation. Having to look at the thing made Godrick sneer again, his pallid face screwing up in confused disgust.

“A puppet?”

Minutely, the Marionette’s head turned towards him. Godrick practically screamed as he reared back from it.

Godiva seemed similarly disturbed by its presence, but she could temper her distaste into a more reserved, chilly frown. “It is a very sophisticated piece of technology. The sorcerers from Liurnia swear by the servitude of the automaton - it's not as filthy as a Misbegotten and it isn’t prone to illness like an Albinauric. Most of all, it doesn’t have feelings to hurt.”

The Puppet watched with its blank expression how hatred simmered in the young Lord’s eyes. “Oh, I’ll find a way.”

Godiva scoffed softly, all too used to the boy’s attitude. “It has been imbued with the latest medical knowledge from the academy, so I’ve been told. At the very least, you have someone to pick you up off the floor when you break another ankle.”

“By the next time you visit, I’ll have this thing chopped up for firewood.”

Godrick bristled from his mother’s harsh, mirthless laughter. Godiva’s spiteful tone mirrored her son’s. “You, holding an axe? I doubt that.”

She turned back to the Puppet, and snapped her fingers to get its attention. The wooden head turned unsettlingly towards her, the only reaction to be had from it as she issued her final command.

“You will keep Godrick, heir of Leyendell, alive.”

Silently, the Puppet bowed to her in response. The corner of the woman’s mouth twitched with the slightest hint of amusement. “At least this thing minds me.”

Finally, Godiva fished into the layers of her robes to hand her son a meager bit of gold. She yanked the coinpurse back from his grabbing hand momentarily to look him in the eye.

“When I come back next week, this thing better be in one piece. If you can hold off on wrecking it for that long I’ll give you double.”

Receiving his allowance was probably the only thing to please the boy all day. “Alright, deal.”

Godiva gave the Puppet a final glance before taking her leave. Apprehension briefly crossed her face before it soured, and her icy glare returned. The Puppet stared silently back.

As soon as his mother left, Godrick visibly relaxed. His posture slumped, and he leaned a little more on his cane. There was no reason to put on airs for this thing, like it was another human being. The disgust he had for it hadn’t left his face, though now he could lean in closer, curiosity piqued. He peered into the facsimile of eyes bored into the puppet’s head with a squint.

“‘Sophisticated’ my ass. You’re just another one of those ugly little Marionette soldiers the Carians keep around. I bet there’s not a single thought going through that head, isn’t there?”

“Should there be?” The Puppet asked. 

This time, Godrick did scream. It took only a single, reflexive step backwards for the boy to lose his balance. Two sets of hands caught him before he could even register the pain of his ankle twisting. The Puppet caught him mid-fall, though he probably would have preferred to crack his head open on the floor. The heir squirmed out of its grasp. “Ugh - don’t touch me!”

Godrick made sure he was a good few feet away from the Puppet, eyeing it cautiously. “What the hell, she didn’t say you could talk!”

The Puppet’s rigidity relaxed, not unlike how the boy reacted to his mother leaving him. Their four hands folded plaintively in front of them as they eyed the door Godiva left through. “It felt like it was the better choice not to do so in front of the Mistress.”

“No shit. Maybe you do have brains, then.” Curiosity overrode Godrick’s lingering fear and revulsion. Now that he could get a better look at it, he seemed almost impressed. “I thought you things couldn’t just do that - isn’t the appeal the fact that puppets can’t talk back?”

“... Is it?” It sounded concerned, like a child waiting on being lectured for a wrong answer. Godrick could only shrug.

“Fuckin’... I dunno. You’re supposed to be a ‘sophisticated piece of technology’, after all. Right? You’re a servant, not a soldier.”

“I am versed in the execution of domestic duties, yes.” The Puppet’s words were firm and certain, though they looked around the room with the wariness of a cat in an unfamiliar house. “My primary directive is to serve you in your bouts of illness, as the Mistress has outlined.”

“You’ll serve me, eh?” Godrick smirked crookedly, that cruel glint returning to his eyes. “So you’ll follow my orders, right?”

The Puppet perked up with the anticipation of being given a command, their posture going rigid again. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Alright then,” Godrick rubbed the subtle cleft in his chin, an impish look still on his face as he considered the automaton before him. “I have an order for you right now, actually.”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“I want you… to go upstairs, to my room, and out onto my balcony. Then I want you to climb over the railing and do a swan dive into the streets below - make sure its face first, now.” He could barely contain his childish glee at the idea, smiling broadly.

The Puppet just stood stock still and stared with their unnerving not-face. “The Mistress has accounted for this. I am allowed to ignore commands that may bring me to harm.”

Godrick looked a little crushed. “Dammit.”

“I have been informed that you may make it difficult for me to attend to my duties.” The Puppet’s wooden head tilted slightly in curiosity. “I find it hard to understand why you would do so, do you believe you are not in need of a nurse?”

“It’s because you’re more than just a fucking nurse, like all the other ones - you’re a babysitter because mum doesn’t think I can take care of myself, but she doesn’t want to to do the job herself, either.”

“I noticed that she left. She doesn’t live here?” Concern wavered in the Puppet’s voice. “Do you live alone in this place?”

“I asked for it.” Godrick tried, and failed, to stand straight and puff his narrow chest out. He quickly went back to his more comfortable slouch. “I’m not a kid anymore, I’m an adult - you’re going to treat me like an adult, do you understand?”

The Puppet regarded the anger in the boy’s eyes, sounding almost innocently perplexed. “I don’t understand why I would not?”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.” Godrick couldn’t keep up his own serious expression, shifting on his feet as his face screwed up in discomfort. “Ugh. I’m going back to bed. Go do… nurse… things on your own time, I’m not going to spoon feed you every order because you have a brain made out of a rock.”

His movements were careful as he hobbled off without another word, leaning heavily on his cane. The Puppet observed his uneasy gait in silence for a moment.

“You seem to be in a significant amount of pain.”

The heir groaned in exasperation. “Yes, I’m in pain. No, I’m not faking it, no I don’t know where it comes from. And yes, it does hurt everywhere!”

“I was not contesting the validity of your symptoms.”

“You’re goddamn right you weren’t.” Godrick stopped at the foot of the stairs, steeling himself for the climb. He eyed the stairs cautiously, knowing all too well the danger they entailed. Why in Marika’s name did his mother put him on the second floor?

He was startled when the Puppet returned to his side to stare blankly at the stairs alongside him. His newest nurse innocently asked, “Do you require assistance, my Lord?”

The boy’s pallid face turned pink, and he rushed to take the first few steps for as long as he could stand the pain shooting through his legs. “No, no, I’m fine, I don't need help. They’re just stairs, I can handle-”

He really couldn’t handle them, not in such a reckless manner. Eventually a knee painfully locked up and he nearly fell, stopped only by holding onto the railing, with no small part of assistance from the wooden hand that grabbed him by the scruff.

“I was also informed of your stubborn, uncooperative nature.” The Puppet noted, infuriatingly dry and unfortunately correct. Godrick braced himself for the humiliation of being carried.

Instead, they stood beside him to offer their hands to be used as extra leverage. “I only wish to make your life easier, my Lord.”

Godrick looked down at their wooden hands, his lip curling into a sneer. He still took them with an exasperated sigh. “Nothing you do is going to make it easier. Nothing works.”

“Truly?” The Puppet aided him in taking slow, careful steps. Their charge shook his head, his uncombed golden hair falling in his face.

“Nobody knows what’s wrong with me. Nobody cares, either - you can’t see pain, after all. They thought I was faking it until I started getting even sicker.”

“I do not feel pain,” the Puppet noted almost wistfully, “but I am inclined to believe you suffer from your affliction. One can see pain, if they understand the signs.”

“Hmph.” Godrick kept his eyes averted from the Marionette, cautiously watching his own steps. “When people see the signs, it's already too late. I would have preferred to be believed when I was merely aching, not when I was writhing about in agony.”

He let out a sigh of relief when the last step was cleared, already winded from such a short climb. He needed a short break even from that, leaning against the wall to take a reprieve from his cane. He gripped it too tightly again, and the hand was beginning to act up as well. He only barely moved his fingers from the stiff position they were locked in.

Gingerly, Godrick tried to massage the stiffness from his knuckles and stretch his fingers out again. He noticed the Puppet staring again, and scowled. 

“Are you just going to stand there gawking at the poor infirm little prince, or are you going to do your goddamn job?”

It was truly infuriating how they would just… stare at him, somehow conveying an expression without a face; one of a naive sincerity that clashed with the subtly wry tone of their responses to him. They mocked him, surely.

“Which is it, my Lord? Do you wish for me to aid you, or not?”

Oh, they were definitely mocking him now. If the mere idea of it didn’t make his hand hurt even more, Godrick would have loved the satisfaction of punching the damned thing. “I want you to throw yourself into the fucking fireplace, that’s what I want you to do. That will serve me quite nicely. You want me to be healthy, right? Nothing is going to be better for my health than to see you drop dead right now.”

“... I rather like living, my Lord.” The Puppet meekly refuted, “I have only been alive for a very short time, but I find this simple existence pleasant. I would like to serve - I want to serve you, my Lord.”

Godrick stared back, at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure what he expected them to say, in hindsight.

“Well, I… don’t like being served. I don’t want to be coddled, I don’t want to be looked after. I just want… someone to keep me from choking on my blood in my sleep. And pick me up off the floor when I break my ankles.”

The Puppet nodded, apparently taking his requests to heart. “I understand, but would you not prefer if I prevent these sorts of incidents happening in the first place?”

“Oh, they’re going to happen. And they’re getting worse.” Godrick managed to massage his stiff fingers into straightening out, the ache in them still seeping into their very bones. “I have more bad days than good days. New stuff comes up, I get sick in different ways all the time now. But I’m so fucking tired of having a nurse, do you understand?”

“I do not,” the Puppet answered frankly, “but I would like to understand. There are many things I don’t understand but wish to find answers for.”

“Yeah, well.. I’m not going to have those.” Godrick managed a weak shrug. “So sorry, I guess. Sucks that you’re alive but you’re stuck with me, eh?”

He tried to laugh, but the telltale feeling of a cough welling up in his chest made him stop to sputter a bit. At the very least, he felt slightly less ashamed to show his illness in front of a mere Puppet - it was different than a human that had the capacity to show contempt. Contempt was something he saw in every other servant’s eyes, and contempt was what he responded with in kind.

But this… thing, at least, held none of that in its blank expression. Its eyes were mere holes, and looking into them Godrick saw nothing. Just a stupid thing made of wood, that was alive. Which was odd.

Were these things supposed to even know they’re alive?

[squirtqueeen4ever]

Manfred Thierry Mugler was a French fashion designer, creative director and creative adviser of Mugler. In the 1970s, Mugler launched his eponymous fashion house; and quickly rose to prominence in the following decades for his avant-garde, architectural, hyperfeminine and theatrical approach to haute couture.

[kaurwreck]

i have perhaps never sent a more important ask in my life. DROP THE BUNGOU STRAY DOGS A/B/O DESIGNATIONS AND SCENT PROFILES

(also without the slashes abo is used as a slur for indigenous australians aka aboriginal people! important to know, i didn't either until just last month)

anon, at the risk of seeming naive, i'm choosing to trust that people are picking up on enough context to not assume the slur denotation.

anyway!!!! supernatural-origin misinformed wolf sex designations but bsd, ft. scent profiles + some additional (but not comprehensive) notes where applicable:

Armed Detective Agency

Fukuzawa [Α]: Fukuzawa smells like agarwood and eugenol, which is distilled from the leaves of red camellias and smells warm and spicy, like nutmeg. Agarwood was popular among Sengoku-era samurai and is often associated with Tokugawa Iyesu, who famously collected incense. I chose eugenol more specifically as a reference to Higo camellias, a group of Camellia japonica cultivars.

Ranpo [Ω]: Ranpo smells buttery sweet, nutty, and creamy with a hint of vanilla. In other words, he smells like an azuki dessert. Fukuzawa thought he'd grow out of it. He did not.

Yosano [Α]: Yosano has a really rich, sensual coffee and rose and patchouli scent.

Kunikida [Α]: Kunikida smells like whiskey oak barrel wood smoked hojicha. The wood I've chosen here is an intentional reference to Hokkaido, where Kunikida Doppo wanted to live with Nobuko Sasaki, and about which he wrote.

Dazai [Ω]: Dazai smells like bamboo, vetiver, and ginger, inequally depending on his state. There's a hint of saltwater too, but it's subtle and most don't notice. I won't explain myself here, but I will say the saltwater is a layered reference to multiple moments and places in his life and works lest anyone misconstrue it as referring to Flowers of Buffoonery and the events externalized therein.

Jun'ichiro [Ω]: Jun'ichiro smells like urushi sap with an edge of melon-sweetness, and red maple wood. My choices here are, in part, references to In Praise of Shadows.

Naomi [Α]: I'll decide when I finish reading the eponymous novel.

Atsushi [Α]: Atsushi smells like yuzu, mikan, and basil. Very edible, that one. Most assume he's an omega when they meet him.

Kenji [Α]: Kenji smells like nutty wheat, rain, and freshly tilled soil.

Kyouka [Α]: Kyouka smells like woody neriko incense with notes of honey and plum.

Port Mafia

Mori [Ω]: tbd

Kouyou [Ω]: tbd

Verlaine [manufactured to be and cloned from Α, but inexplicably Ω]: tbd

Chuuya [Ω]: Chuuya smells like French violets, anise, black pepper, and myrrh.

Akutagawa [Α]: Akutagawa smells like smoked amber, leather, and fig.

Rimbaud [Α]: tbd

The Guild

Poe [it doesn't matter, don't worry about it]: Poe smells like wet, freshly poured graveyard soil.

anyone not mentioned and any scents yet assigned are only because i haven't gotten around to them yet. (except for poe's designation; that one just doesn't matter, so don't worry about it.)

[cantheykillmacbeth]

Here’s a tricky one: Steven Universe. Yes, Rose Quartz (a woman) canonically carried him to term, but the gem stuff complicates matters meaning that it may not have been a typical birth at all. Rose had to die for Steven to live since they share the same gemstone, so maybe she like, literally faded away (since gems are just light projections) and then just baby Steven was left? So more similar to the C-section in the original Macbeth if anything in a way, especially when the woman in that also died in childbirth.

Believe it or not, this blog began because of a conversation with my mom and sister about whether or not various characters, including Steven Universe, could kill Macbeth. During this conversation, we ultimately concluded that if a C-section is enough to count in the story of Macbeth, then Steven's whole situation should also count as well. So...

Yes, Steven Universe from the eponymous Steven Universe could kill Macbeth!

He applies for the Unconventional Birth Clause! Thank you for your submission!

[loquaciousquark]

Two astonishing moments from tonight's completion of Act 2.

After the Ketheric fight, I decide I really, really want Aylin to have a clean face for the reunion with Isobel & the cutscenes afterwards. I have a sponge in inventory. I throw the sponge at her three times. Two miss, Aylin deftly dodging out of the way; the third throw hits. The third throw also does sneak attack by accident. The third throw with the sponge damages Aylin for 23 piercing damage.

The sponge survives with two hit points.

Once back in Moonrise Towers, I chat with everyone in the party, including Jaheira. All is well; everyone's survived and is ready to march as allies to Baldur's Gate. Aylin has her emotional reunion with Isobel. That cutscene finishes--and suddenly Jaheira is mad. Really mad. Really, really, "I bear some blame for what you have become," "I was wrong about which side of [the fight] you stood on," Your Companion Has Permanently Left the Party mad. It turns out Isobel walked through 3 hit points' worth of acid damage from the earlier fight. On the replay, @eponymous-rose and I catch the "Jaheira disapproves" the moment Isobel steps through the doorway.

23 sponge damage to Dame Aylin: Jaheira sleeps. Tav fails to lay down her cloak before Isobel's dainty slippered feet: Jaheira WAKES LIKE THE LEVIATHAN FROM THE DEPTHS TO KILL YOU. (this joke is meso's)

(In the end, Shadowheart washed down the stairs and then also Aylin before the next attempt, just in case. Jaheira seemed okay with that.)

[loquaciousquark]

I did what the kids do in the other social places and dueted this! The sentiment is echoed in every way; I hope your 2024 is a measurable improvement by every metric over 2023. Meso, thanks for letting me obscure your beautiful keys! <3<3<3

One of the great joys of the latter half of this year has been getting to play a whole lot of piano! (with apologies for the weird camera angle and so-so audio)

It's been a lovely year overall - lots of time spent with friends, family, and a goofy little kitty; amazing travel across three countries; and some big moments at work. I hope all of you have a 2024 that is better in every conceivable way!

(arrangement by Dan Coates)

[whitherwanderer]

2 // horizon

// 449 words. Why make admissions when you can banter instead?

She’d sat there for a bell.

Her drink was warming in her hands now, well after the ice had melted, but it didn’t bother her enough to distract her from drinking every moment as it ticked by. And how could it? A shaded porch, a quiet evening, and a sun to watch set over unfamiliar mountains couldn’t be tipped back to drink in one pull, or stolen and frittered away like an unattended coinpurse. Her vices felt so distant. Each shifting color was due no less than awe, here in the red-gold washes of a place whose name was its mandate.

“Where the sun guides”, indeed. The mountains wore the Warden’s light like gilding. Even the cacti were suffused with a glow. Maybe that was why the thought of the eponymous guide dipping behind the mountains ached in her chest like a starving flame.

And apparently it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“It ain’t goin’ nowhere, y’know,” was teasingly, if gently, called out.

She turned to her counterpart’s voice, serving him a light smirk that thanked him disingenuously for the assurance. “I ain’t been starin’ tha’ long.”

“Starin’?” Dugald’s eyebrow rose, and a look was given between her and the crimson glow of the sky. “Lass, yer practically makin’ eyes at th’ desert. Lovestuck don’t even begin t’ describe it.”

She snorted at his typical hyperbole and her fool’s gold stare rolled away, back to the land awash in deep copper light. She doubted he’d blame her.

“Am I tha’ easy to read?” she ceded with a chuckle, and he forced a laugh of his own through his nose.

“Only ‘cause yer lookin’ at it th’ same way y’ look at me when yer thinkin’ I ain’t gonna catch it.”

She opened her mouth, some insult loaded and ready to fly, but there was little point in denying painfully self-evident truths. Instead she turned only slightly to shoot a withering sidelong glare at him, catching his green-flecked gaze stealing a glance at her in his periphery. His smile was all too certain of himself. Smug bastard.

And yet, she felt that ache in her chest again. It was duller, somehow, than she remembered it being. She took that as a good sign. Her weight shifted, and her shoulder crashed against his own in an invitation to a familiar routine that he wordlessly obliged by leaning himself against her.

This did not, however, mean that he had won. “No use in statin’ th’ obvious then,” she finally fired back with quiet self-satisfaction.

She laughed at the small, retaliatory shove that threatened to topple her, and it was the last sound that either of them deigned to make until the sun had well and truly set.

[toritelling]

ACNH island themes list I want to do but I probably won’t:

(posting it here in case maybe some of you will like any of those ideas and you need some inspiration)

1) Uzumaki - Junji Ito’s horrors inspired island. Dark abandoned-ish Japanese island with tons of Junji Ito references.

2) Gilneas - World of Warcraft themed island inspired by eponymous location. Rainy, dark academia/gothic aesthetic. Red roses only. Wolf villagers only.

3) Old Town - Sims 1 themed island. It’s just a towncore, but the layout is imitating sims 1 map and villagers should look like townies/NPCs (ex. Marlo - Mortimer Goth, Pietro - Tragic Clown, Ribbot - Servo, etc). I almost done this one, but I got bored lol.

4) Area 51 - obvious from the name, lol. Nevada inspired desert island, with all the UFO themed items hidden here and there.

5) Fern - Dark Academia + forestcore + witchcore island. Dark Academia central area that includes all the main buildings + 6 villagers houses. The rest of an island is a dark forest with 4 villagers houses + player’s house spread across the forest as witches houses.

[sparklegemstone-cr]

What's Up With Taliesin's Dark Percy Meta Sometimes?

Spoilers for Critical Role Campaign 1

I'm relatively new to Critical Role and I've fallen head over heels for Percy and Perc'ahlia. I'm making my way through outside-the-game cast Q&A and commentary to get deeper insight into the characters and every once in a while Taliesin says something that confuses me and doesn't feel completely congruous with how I was personally interpreting Percy. For example:

Taliesin (a couple months after Sunken Tomb): "If I had killed Vex, I would have felt really, really terrible. Actually, weirdly, more out-of-character than in-character. I would have felt really awful because that's such a fourth-grade mistake."

And then in the 3rd Talks Machina at 14:47

Question: "What family does Percy hold higher? VM or the De Rolos?" Taliesin: "Oh wow, that's a good question...<snip>...I think it would be a very interesting question if it came down to it. I think at the moment, thankfully, one can kind of eclipse the other just because he's all about what's important right now, but I think if things weren't quite as dire then he might have been able to be swayed into really uncomfortable and terrible decisions on what to do with the rest of you...<snip>...If it came down to some weird fatalism thing where he had to have some of you quietly executed in the night...<snip>...I certainly would have talked to professionals about it. Things gotta get done."

And I was just curious what other Percy and Perc'ahlia fans think about these quotes. Would love to hear from anyone that wants to share their reaction, and I'm also curious how CR fandom in 2016 was thinking about this, if any of the fandom's "old ones" that were around then and built the fandom (it has been such a delight to go through and see their 2016 posts and all the beautiful meta and art!) happen to be interested in responding ;-). @eponymous-rose @percahliia @spiceshorthalt @curriebelle @critrolesketch @soaringsparrows @thesunshunter