#plume inkwell

[randompony03]

Beach shenanigans continue!

This time with volleyball ball because

Heh

Fun fact: Haikyuu used to be my hyper fixation

Omg guys! Alastor's having a Daichi death scene moment!!

[girl-with-the-flowers]

Oldddd Moomin oc

Her name is Henata and she's an Aos Si :33

Also these idiots

[onlineantiques]

Beautiful Rare Late 18th/early 19th Century French Porcelain Encrier Inkwell eBay item number 234880672559 #encrier #inkwell #vintage #encre #ecole #brocanteenligne #etudiants #enseigner #enseignement #enseignant #enseignants #etudiant #encyclopedie #inkstand #scribaland #plume #encyclopedia #artdeco #brocante #ligne #lines #artinthepark #antiques #decorativeart #vintagedecor #zeist #decoration #inktpot #ecoles #porteplume https://www.instagram.com/p/CoGMJGIILmS/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[vidavalor]

(Non-Frozen) Peas. A Good Omens Sex Meta Thing Side Dish

Shorter little vegetable-themed side dish to Crepes, which you do not have to have read first. All by way of Aziraphale's dirty French in S2 about how he has a craving for Crowley's Eden.

*slips into GO fandom quietly* *whispers*

Do you all realize that another translation of Aziraphale's "Ou est la plume de la jardiniere de ma tante?" is...

"Where is the feathered garden box of my queen?"

I probably don't need to tell you that both 'garden' and 'box' are sexual euphemisms for lady parts and, to make matters funnier, remind you of this scene earlier in the season, in which a literal box became related to... well, it's somewhat open to interpretation so let's just call it a gasp-worthy, part-related situation. :)

"Where is the feathered garden box of my queen?" is Aziraphale saying that it's been a minute since he worshipped Lady Crowley and he misses her.

This would account for Aziraphale's impish "but you understood me" and flirty little smile and wiggles. He's so cute about it that Nina comes out of her coffee shop to try to hear what they're talking about that's made the bookseller look so alive and has Snarky Sunglasses all flustered.

Crowley's "Only because, for two hundred and fifty years, you've been wittering on about the plume of your imaginary 'tante.'" = "Only because, ever since you took French lessons the human way, I've had to listen to you euphemistically referring to my occasional wild flower garden and calling me your queen in two different languages and I love to hate how much I absolutely love it."

We know that Crowley did understand Aziraphale and not just because he also speaks French but because his traditional choices in translating it back to Aziraphale in protest-- "you don't have an aunt, she doesn't have a gardener and he doesn't have a... pen"-- is intentionally a bit incorrect because Aziraphale used the feminine French word for 'gardener'-- la jardiniere-- in his sentence. As a result, Crowley is protesting that "the gardener" is a he right now, Aziraphale, and he doesn't have a-- pause of 'wait, this isn't going to work if I translate 'plume' as 'feathers'-- euphemistic or literal-- as I have both so I'll go with the other thing the word means instead'--... pen.

(Which winds up even funnier since a pen is phallic and euphemistic, in this sense, for currently having a penis, which is actually Crowley's current state of effort in that moment. Hold those thoughts until we get to turnips and inkwells down below lol.)

A 'plume' in French is a pen, a feather, a quill, and a cloud of rising smoke. In Good Omens, it's also used in the smoke-like definition by Michael to describe the pink plume of magical energy that came from the bookshop when Crowley and Aziraphale miracled together. Crowley responded with 'pen'-- which is a riff on the fact that Aziraphale is riffing on "la plume de ma tante", a cliched line said derogatorily to mean 'those sentences that you learn when you learn a new language that you'd never say in real life.' Crowley used 'aunt', 'gardener' and 'pen' as the translation in reference to the cliche Aziraphale was referencing. Aziraphale, though, adjusted the line, as we saw-- adding words to it to make it a stealth, flirty request-- and Crowley did hear the innuendo. Crowley correctly heard Aziraphale using 'plume' in the 'feather' sense (hilariously, considering that they have actual feathers in their angel/demon forms lol), with the 'feather'-context 'plume' being euphemistic for Crowley keeping it real down below.

(It could be worse, Crowley. He could be in a blasphemous mood and referring to it as "The Burning Bush"... which I feel like you'd actually find hilarious but anyway, moving on...)

In English, appropriated from the French, a 'jardiniere' is a flower box/garden planter. 'Tante' is French for 'aunt' but it's also a word meaning both 'queen'/'pansy' in the queer sense of the words (a 'pansy' also being a kind of flower, of course, adding to the Eden motif that "*the* Southern Pansy" Aziraphale has going on for his gardener partner here) but 'tante' is also one of the words that just means 'queen' as well, in the 'regal' sense of the word. It might not be the first word Aziraphale would use if he were, instead, speaking a sentence in French about, say, Queen Camilla-- but it's maybe a more appropriate one for flirting with his gender-everything partner by telling him in French that it's been too long since he spent some quality time with his queen's jardiniere.

'A la jardiniere' is also a French cooking term. It translates as "in the manner of the gardener's wife" (Gabriel: "Whatever that is."). It is obviously an archaic-sounding term when it comes to gender but, for the purposes of metaphor here, it's actually a little useful. The phrase is born out of the idea that the chef would be male, straight and married and that his wife would be keeping their kitchen garden-- which, even though she was probably running it, is credited to him, because the patriarchy-- from which fresh vegetables could easily be picked and used in a dish. As such, it's a lot more fun that Aziraphale is using the French here because the actual gardener doing the garden work in the definition of 'jardiniere' is specifically female by the term's description, so it's another way to reference Crowley's femininity.

There's also, of course, that "in the manner of the gardener's wife" is about as porny a definition for a phrase that can possibly be translated from one language to another lol and so adds to the idea of 'jardiniere' being sexually euphemistic. Atop that, there's the fact that the word itself relates food to romance and sex by referring to the chef and the gardener as married in its definition. The second half of this scene is the Nina & Crowley "partners" conversation. In a season that has Crowley and Aziraphale unable to deal with words like 'couple' and 'partners', if only Maggie and Nina understood that maybe they don't know how to use traditional words but damned if Aziraphale isn't already on covertly calling Crowley his spouse when flirting with him.

While 'a la jardiniere' is a cooking term, 'la jardiniere/jardiniere' is also a French food term. It is a side dish or a garnish of mixed vegetables, usually spring garden vegetables. So, carrots, green beans, potatoes (Crowley: "You say 'potato', I say 'excellent'" lol), turnips (Aziraphale can turn garden variety sex into inkwells!-- haha 'garden' pun, get it? please send help-- and inkwells are the things one dips a quill pen into.... and, now, we're back to the 'pen' translation of 'la plume...').

The most signature vegetables of jardiniere, though, are peas.

As Crowley would tell Shax and anyone who will listen, literal ducks-the-water-fowl need not get their actual jardiniere defrosted.

Aziraphale-- the more discerning duck-- likes his hot, though.

~~~

If you have not already and would like to read more meta like this:

[daftpatience]

!!!! thank you for the infodump !!! i learnt so much omg it’s all so cool !!! i’ll defo get a pen and some ink (sailor to give it a sniff) when i get some free muns !! i looked at ferris wheel inks to see the bottle (<- bottle lover) and oh my goodness have you seen the ferris and esterbook collab ? with the nebulous blue and nebulous plume ???? i’m a certified space lover so i’m loosing my shit over how pretty the pen and ink so hguhrbdbfjdbd

yaa omg they look wild!!!! fwp makes some of the PRETTIEST bottles and packaging and such!!! i deeply desire one of their carousel inkwells even though they're not in stock anymore ;o; ♥

[hatsofftomadness]

Inkwell Riddles and Feathered Fables

Pray, tell me, why is a raven akin to a writing-desk?

A most curious inquiry, one may suggest.

Though at first glance, disparate they may appear,

Creativity intertwines them, without any fear.

Perhaps, it's their plumes and quills so sharp,

That impart tales with their soulful harp.

Or maybe, it's their endless capacity,

To inspire the minds of the curious and bold with tenacity.

So let us ponder this conundrum with care,

For in its enigmatic depths, we'll find a world rare.

A realm of wonder, where creativity soars free,

And the curious mind forever shall be.

[soul-our-punk]

"Do you think I like training the exact same kind of mage every half-millenium?" Gilvnchaud huffs wearily at my disbelief. Their sharp beak gnashes a loud crack, drowning any presumption of retort. "Every iteration of Dragonscriver before you has influenced the direction of your bipedal empires. Do you know how many have made the same causes for war? The same strategies to solve seemingly unsolvable woes!?" Smoke curls from the serpent's nostrils while their third lid slowly nictates.

"N-no. Though, I've never been very good with history," my body tremoring in conflict. Gilvnchaud the Magecrafter is famously friendly toward mortals, but that knowledge pales when confronted by fifteen meters of a grumpy fire breather. "It's just, you know, I can barely manifest a flame to light a match. What nation would take that kind of archmage seriously?"

Sensing my apprehension at their enormity, my new tutor nudges me with their snout. "You are not the first beginner to struggle. Should you never learn to be a novitiate in the art of spellwar, it would be no mark against your value. It may even be to your credit." A long talon gestures to a trove. Precious metals and gems, yes, but most notable are the many books. Among them are original manuscripts from prior holders of my title. "Tell me, what do you make of their appellations?"

I glance over the piles, immediately registering some of the most well known. Halidea, the Flame of Brokenwood; Valenwald, the Sun Driver; and Throngar, the Crag of Morrowtok. Another moment and the less discussed enter my awareness. Varsig, the Heartfeldt Mender; Seres, the Whisper Among Stars; and Alchiim, the Brewer of Bowery. I look back at my professor, completely oblivious to the lesson.

Plumes of chuckles preceding, "they each were summarized by their own admitted concentration. Some big picture, some small. None any less important than the others, in the grand scheme. Yet, none relegated exclusively to their prime field." Their tail produces a tome from elsewhere, drawing attention to a lecturn. The volume is placed open on the desk, beside an inkwell. In it, many signatures and scribbles in a table with columns labeled for the mage, their special interests, goals, and anxieties.

"Varsig, mental health, the forgiveness of debts, afraid of being misunderstood. Throngar, veterinary medicine, sustainable resources, afraid his people will suffer." I keep reading, finding the insight into their first steps relevant.

"First, you will learn to summon a quill, by which time should have excised from your mind who they thought you to be. Then, only then, should you be able to record for me who you are and who you wish to be."

"But conjuration is one of the most complex schools!" I flail, still grasping for any proof that there's been a mistake. "I'm hopeless with it!"

"Really?" Their beak framed by upturned lips. "We best get on with it, then. I want to take a nap within the next 10 years."

Every 500 years, the dragon who founded the Academy arrives to choose a student to tutor directly. You are the weakest mage on record and she has chosen you.

[xuxanov]

🔹

XVI əsrdə yaşamış Təbrizli miniatürçü rəssam Mir Seyid Əlinin öz görünümü (avtoporteti).

▫️

بودا بیزیم تَبداش "میر سید علی نقاشئن" اُوز گؤرونوْمو.

🔺

Mir Sayyid Ali (b. 1510). Self-Portrait of Mir Sayyid Ali, 1555-1556. In the collection of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (Los Angeles County Museum of Art)

▫️

Mir Sayyid Ali was born in Tabriz, Azerbaijan-Iran. He migrated to Kabul, Afghanistan in 1552 to work for the Mughal Emperor Humayun (r. 1530-1540 and 1555-1556) and accompanied him to Delhi in 1555 to become the director of the royal manuscript atelier. He oversaw the production of the Hamzanama (Adventures of Hamza) project consisting of 1400 large-scale paintings bound in fourteen volumes in 1562-1572, which was completed under Abd al-Samad in 1572-1577 (see M.78.9.1). Mir Sayyid Ali depicts himself dressed in South Asian garb. He wears a Deccani style white turban with a decorative band wrapped around it and a floral jigha (plume-like ornament similar to an aigrette). Kneeling on a rug in a landscape, he is intently reading a book supported by an elegant book stand (see M.73.5.118 and M.76.2.19). Beside him is an inkwell, a pen box (see M.73.5.340 and M.89.160a-b), a writing tablet with two inscriptions, and an unfurling paper scroll. The upper inscription on the tablet reads, ‘At the top of the writing tablet, it is written in gold: “The master’s tyranny is better than the father’s kindness.”’ The lower inscription furnishes the artist’s signature, ‘Depicted by Sayyid Ali, the rarity of the kingdom of Humayun Shah.’ The calligraphic panels on the rug are a poetic couplet, ‘My two eyes are the coverings in that abode so that you may ordain your bridal room, there. Wherever you trudge along, I want to become the dust on the road, there.’ (Translations by A.S. Melikian-Chirvani.)

[chroniclesofthrmir]

The Night The Compound Fell

It was barely an hour past midnight when I heard the explosion. At first I mistook it for an ambient crack of thunder, but then the howling started. Wretched, guttural shrieking, carrying through the stone corridors of the building. In those first few moments of primal fear and panic, I do not recall the exact transpiration of events, but I found myself in the courtyard. Torrential rain battered my shoulders, as if forcing me to my knees, making my hair slick and wet against my scalp. The far tower was in flames; violent plumes of orange-red erupted from shattered windows and cracks in the stonework, spouting black smoke from the caved-in roof into the night sky. The light from the inferno revealed an ungodly behemoth crouched amongst the partially destroyed west archway. I can barely find the words to describe that... monstrosity... even now. It was an abomination the size of a house, covered in fetid reddish fur that clung to its bulk like fungi to a tree trunk. Its obscene face was contorted into a masque of rage, with eyes like inkwells and a mouth bearing long yellowed fangs. It reeked of rotting flesh.

The compound continued to fall into the maw of chaos as the night continued. The buildings it was split between, the west and east wings, were grandiose constructions with high ceilings and ornate arches connecting their various quarters. They proved easy to navigate for the beast as it continued its massacre. The halls soon rung with the omnipresent sound of screaming, attenuated by deep howling and the rumble of falling masonry. Supposedly, it had destroyed the entirety of the west wing's archives, according to one poor soul I briefly spoke with in the main hall. His lower half, from ankles to pelvis, had been entirely mangled, as if some mad blacksmith had taken a cudgel to his legs. He expired soon after. The compound's guards, mostly hired blades from the region, took the main hall as a stronghold against the beast. They spread the wounded and dead across the floor, as many as they could carry out from the west wing before the doors were barricaded shut. Among the injured, those who were capable of speech beyond delirious babblings told horror stories. The beast had devoured at least seventy guilds-men, and in the chaos, a fire had started. I realized with dread that the survivors and I would have to abandon the main hall and flee into the east wing, otherwise the inferno would quickly creep its tendrils around our refuge.

None of the guilds-men of the compound were "mages". We were merely students of the arcane, men and women brought together by intelligence and collective intrigue for metaphysicks. We had no way to defend ourselves; the beast slaughtered anyone in its path, students, tutors, guards, even the cooks. Our defenders perhaps fared the worst, trying bravely to face the horror only to be struck down. One attempted to slash the beast's leg to incapacitate it - his blade was lodged in its disgusting matted fur, before his head was ripped off as if uncorking a bottle of monastic wine. The captain of the guard stayed in the main hall after the door had been broken down, in a final valiant effort to buy precious time for our escape. In full plate-mail, she survived the first blow from the monstrosity, though it sent her sprawling. It charged forward, forcefully grinding her under its massive palm. For a moment, I saw her liquefied flesh erupt in crimson streams from the cracks of her armor.

The night dragged on. The stone halls I knew so well, that had once been havens for knowledge accrued over centuries, were now transfigured into a labyrinth from which I could not escape. The cobbled paths were slick with blood, every room and every hall was strewn with dislodged stone and glistening entrails. Everywhere I looked I saw death; the bodies of my fellow guilds-men crushed underfoot, mangled into offal, torn apart like hogs at the blood market and disemboweled more voraciously than the cruelest of human tortures. At the fifth hour - the clock in the east wing's library remained miraculously undamaged - we conceived of an escape plan. With a length of rope salvaged from the guard's barracks, we would rappel down the outer wall of the compound and head northwest to a nearby town. They would surely have an outpost of the Legion there; perhaps properly armed, they would be able to kill the monstrosity. We clambered up to the battlements to execute our plan, although in a stroke of ungodly luck, one of the survivors slipped and dashed his brains across the rain-lubricated stairs. That left four of us, myself included. As far as I knew, we were the only survivors. The beast would've soon explored all of the east and west wings, and then it would come for us. I prayed to any deities listening that the high walls of the compound, designed to keep threats out, would serve to keep the beast in for long enough that we could escape. Finally reaching a suitable point of anchorage, the oldest of our group tied the rope around a merlon and descended into the darkness. A firm tug was enough of a signal for me to attempt the plunge next. My whole body trembled as I gripped the rope with both hands and feet, inching down to the forest floor, unrelenting rain threatening to weaken my grip. I reached a point where I could see nothing above nor below me. The barrage of wind and water against my skin and the harsh rope against my fingers were the only confirmation that I was still alive.

Finally, my feet sank into wet podzol. Once all four of us had escaped the hellish confines of the burning compound, the old man lit a torch and we began walking. My mind was set upon a single goal at that time: escape. I did not know the distance we would have to walk, whether we would need to forage for food, whether the beast would hunt us down or, conversely, whether it had perished in the flames. Our only objective for the rest of the night was to walk until we were far away from the remains of the compound, and the beast within.

All I know is that I escaped by sheer luck. That abomination is terribly hungry. Its lust for brutality and death was not quenched by the destruction of our compound, of that I am certain. If we do not evade it, I know it will come for us. It will kill us. And it will savor every moment.

[randompony03]

I think this is the most affectionate I've drawn them being together

[ansu-gurleht]

@aanthirin: "how are you supposed to write in that journal with a quill if the nerevarine is so often on the move and updating the journal on the spot. where is the ink coming from"

fun fact that can serve as a kind of answer to this question: you can derive inks from mushrooms! plus glassblowing is pretty common evidently, there's so many potions lying around, wouldn't be hard to make an inkwell too. matter of fact there ARE inkwell clutter items in morrowind, but i can't tell if they're glass or ceramic. either way would work. and if we have potions that don't just get everywhere in our bags, it means we probably have corkbulb stoppers. so you can stop an inkwell when you're done with it. maybe you can use racer plumes to make quills! world's your oyster buddy

thinking about that pic with the nerevarine writing in their journal. ku never would use a quill she never learned how to use one right until probably learning in the mages guild or telvanni or something. she writes in her journal with sticks of charcoal

[abihasablog]

Drawn On

Tickletober Day Two!

Fandom - Our Flag Means Death

Characters - Ler!Ed, Lee!Stede

SFW

Words - 711

“Stay still!” 

“I can’t!” Stede squealed, trying desperately hard to free his foot from Ed’s wicked grasp. The soft feather of the quill was being sawn between his toes, and Stede, who had adamantly declared that feathers didn’t tickle him, was almost regretting his words. 

“I know it’s hard, love,” Ed cooed teasingly, “But if I remember correctly, you asked for this. I think your exact phrasing was ‘I’m not ticklish by feathers my dear, but perhaps trying wouldn’t hurt’.” 

Stede blushed at his own words being used against him. Fine, he had asked, but he had genuinely believed that feathers wouldn’t tickle that badly. As it turns out, they did. Quite badly. Well, badly was the wrong word, seeing as Stede’s protests were entirely performative and he and Ed both knew it. 

“So, toes are a yes for being ticklish from feathers!” Ed declared, and in a surprisingly wicked stroke of genius, dunked the nib in the inkwell and drew a little tick on each of his toes. If Ed hadn’t been holding him tight then he would have launched himself off the bed from how good it tickled. Ed grabbed his legs a little tighter, laughing in surprise. “Oof! This tickles pretty bad too, eh?” 

“Yes!” Stede gasped for breath as Ed finished the last tick on his big toe with a flourish. “Fuck…” 

“Is that a greenlight to keep going?” Ed ran a gentle hand along his calf, checking in as he always did. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” Stede said, eyes wide. Ed grinned, flipping the feather over in his hand and running the plume back and forth over his soles. Stede arched off the bed, dissolving into giggles and scrunching his toes. 

“Ticklish here?” 

“Yehehehes!”

“Scale of one to ten?” 

“Eight!” 

“Only an eight, hmm? Are you sure about that?” Ed twirled the feather tip across his arches. Stede smacked weakly at him. 

“I’m sure!” 

“Alright, eight it is.” Once again, Ed flipped the quill over and dunked it in the ink. Stede tensed to prepare himself but it did no good as Ed traced the tip in a large figure of eight across his left sole. 

Stede slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screeching and bringing the whole crew to witness his demise as Ed repeated the process on the other sole.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ed said cheerfully. Stede stared wide eyed at the ceiling, panting. 

“I’m dead.”

Ed grinned, dropping his feet and shuffling up to rest Stede’s knees over his lap. 

“Oh, oh no.”

“Oh yes!” Brandishing the feather once more, Ed dragged it along the soft skin of the underside of his knee and Stede went off like a cannon, kicking at Ed with such giggle-infused strength that the feather wielding fiend fell to the floor with a yelp. Stede gasped, leaning over the side to see Ed on the floor, glaring up at him. “Rude.” 

“Oh Ed, I’m sorry! That just - oh my God, that tickled so much!” 

“I noticed.” 

Stede held out his hand for Ed to take, hauling him back up and checking over him for any injuries. Ed dutifully let him fuss. When Stede was satisfied the only thing bruised was his pride, he sat back awkwardly, staring at Ed. 

Ed stared back.  

Then they both burst into laughter, collapsing on each other in fits of giggles. 

“I really didn’t mean to kick you Ed, I’m sorry!” 

“It’s fine mate,” Ed said, wiping a giddy tear from his eye. “Never had a tickle fight related injury before, can’t wait to show this one off to the crew.”

“Oh no, please don’t tell them I was so dramatic over a feather!” Stede flopped back on the bed with a giggly groan. “Oh, I will never hear the end of it.” 

Ed patted his leg sympathetically. 

“Maybe it wasn’t dramatics, maybe you really are just that ticklish, mate.” Ed digs through the crumpled mess of blankets for a minute before hoisting the feather in the air with a triumphant ah ha! “Perhaps we ought to keep on testing, just to be sure?”

Stede looks at the feather, then at Ed, and his grin grows wider. Slowly, he lifts his shirt up to his chest. 

[your-bigender-big-brother]

Looking for a neutral name? I’m thinking about names right now. Let’s make a huge list of gender neutral names! They’re all below the cut and I encourage suggestions! (Many spelling variations are not included because those are up to the user to decide.)

Please know that there is a very long list under Keep Reading!

Adair

Aden

Aeden

Aer

Aether

Aiden

Air

Aire

Alex

Alyx

Amethyst

Apricot

Arden

Argyle

Ash

Aspen

Aster

August

Auxin

Avery

Ax

Axe

Axialis

Axis

Ayden

Azimuth

Bae

Beck

Berrie

Berry

Biblo

Birch

Bird

Blu

Blue

Blake

Borage

Bracket

Brynn

Cadmium

Calyx

Camden

Canary

Canter

Carson

Casey

Cherry

Clover

Colby

Copper

Coron

Cosmo

Cove

Crow

Cuperton

Cuprum

Curve

Dakota

Dalton

Daryl

Day

Deck

Ether

Ethereal

East

Easy

Ellery

Elm

Ember

Emerson

Everest

Extra

Faven

Fig

Finch

Fir

Flair

Flaire

Fur

Future

Garnet

Gibbous

Goby

Gray

Grey

Hale

Hark

Harper

Hart

Haven

Hayden

Hayes

Heart

Helium

Henley

Hickory

Hive

Honey

Hum

Hyperbola

Hypernova

Iggy

In

Indie

Indigo

Ink

Inkwell

Jae

Jay

Jey

Jules

Juniper

Jupiter

Justice

Kap

Kapree

Kay

Keelan

Kelp

Kendall

Kennedy

Kestrel

Kilo

Kris

Lair

Laire

Landish

Lane

Lapis

Lark

Lavender

Legion

Lennon

Lennox

Lev

Lex

Lime

Locust

London

Loop

Lore

Luck

Lumen

Luster

Lustre

Lutra

Lux

Lynx

Lyric

Maple

March

Mare

Marlow

Mars

Mass

Mauve

Mercury

Milli

Moo

Moon

Muni

Neptune

Neutrix

Nine

Noon

North

Nova

Oak

Oar

Onyx

Opal

Orange

Orion

Packett

Paralax

Parker

Parsec

Patton

Pearl

Peridot

Perihelion

Petri

Peyton

Phoenix

Pigeon

Pine

Plum

Plume

Pluto

Presley

Pulsar

Purple

Pyramid

Pyre

Pyro

Quark

Quasar

Quincy

Quinn

Quint

Raine

Ram

Ramsay

Rayn

Rayne

Reagan

Rebel

Reese

Remington

Remy

Rey

Radley

Ridley

Rigby

Riley

Rin

River

Roan

Rook

Root

Rowan

Rub

Ruby

Rune

Ryder

Sage

Salem

Sapphire

Saturn

September

Shiloh

Silver

Sky

Skye

Skylar

Skyler

Solar

Solaris

South

Sphere

Squid

Star

Sun

Tailor

Tar

Tare

Tayler

Taylor

Taylore

Teagan

Terabithia

Thyme

Time

Tobi

Tobie

Toby

Trapezoid

Tree

Tri

Triangle

Tuber

Tucket

Twinkle

Tyad

Tyr

Tyre

Umbra

Under

Uni

Ursa

Vale

Valor

Value

Vapor

Veil

Vine

Vio

Wane

Wax

West

Wick

Willow

Wothen

Wren

Wylie

X

Xap

Yam

Yarn

Yarrow

Yawn

Yellow

Yield

Yoshi

Zap

Zappi

Zappy

Zenith

Zev

Ziggy

Zylith

[bcdaily]

Official (James/Lily, Drabble)

A/N: What’s this? A canon drabble? Is it 2014?

The important part is that I finished something tonight. Miracles of miracles, these rusty fingers still work! (I didn’t say well, they just work.)

A03 ~ FFnet

“Shit,” says a cool, familiar voice, filtering in through the thick shelves of the Ancient Runes section. “This isn’t—I’ve got my bloody boyfriend’s textbook.”

In an instant, James's feet sputter beneath him. Trip, topple, thump. It's a clumsy dance, an off-kilter lurch, halting only in the nick of time as James's arm flails out to grab hold of the adjacent shelf. An angry plume of dust mites fly up, flaking and floating before his nose. He stifles a cough, wildly conscious of his noise level. The keeling ship rights itself slowly, one hand still gripping the burnished wood of the library shelf.

The other clutches a thickly-bound textbook—Lily's textbook—tightly to his side.

I’ve got my bloody boyfriend’s textbook.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

“How do you know?” comes another voice, as James finally finds his feet. Marlene McKinnon's, idle and casual.

A pause. A put-upon sigh.

“Well, for one, it hasn’t got my half-finished Transfiguration essay tucked up front.” Lily sounds resigned, a bit impatient. There is a brisk sound of flipping pages. “For another—doodles."

"Doodles?"

"He doodles. Incessantly."

"In the textbook?"

"Let them eat cake."

James swallows his snort, even as Marlene fails in the same task. There's a slower, crisper rustle of pages turning.

"Hey...these are actually quite fun, aren't they?" Marlene says brightly.

Lily's laugh—low, intimately familiar to his ears—weaves through the shelves.

"Don't you dare say that to him," she warns, though it's warm, amused. Crinkle, crinkle. "Look at this one—or...where was that...truly, how does he come up with these things?" Another snort from Marlene, a softer sound from Lily. "Do you see this? Different inks and layers...dedicated, isn't he? They're everywhere. Well, except—"

An abrupt stop.

Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle.

An excited suck of the air.

"Except in the back...where he writes the answers for assignment questions in the margins—a-ha!" A decisive thump, book against table. "The bored little genius. Quick, jot these down—"

As the light clatter of parchment unrolling and rattling inkwells sound from the other side of wood and books, James finds his eyes narrowing, even as his chest bubbles and brews, a cauldron full of warmth. The feet that had failed him so ardently minutes before suddenly rediscover their rote mode: sleek, strong steps, as he slips around the tall bookcase and appears at the corner of the quaint study table beyond.

Without a word, he drops into the empty seat beside Lily.

Blinking in surprise at his sudden appearance...it is nonetheless noted that she smoothly pushes his open textbook across the table to Marlene, who cunningly and casually collapses her arms over it, covering their tracks.

Sly, his girlfriend.

(Girlfriend.)

"Hullo," he says.

"Hullo," Lily replies sunnily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. A silky, sneaky toss, accompanied with a small, innocent-looking smile.

James's fingers itch. They know all too well what those silky red strands feel like sifted through his hands. He knows, too, what that small, innocent-looking smile feels like when it's pressed against his own. Knows that glint in her eyes, the green darkest around the edges. Knows the sound of her laugh, and how it fills his veins like a heating potion. Knows what makes her laugh, and sigh, and frown, and sigh (that kind of sigh). Knows all these things, but hadn't known what to call the cumulative collection of these bits of knowledge—or, rather, knew what he wanted to call it, but wasn't certain what she wanted. Couldn't bring himself to press, to push, to make a misstep somehow. So they've remained in this halfway, undefined area.

Until now, suddenly defined.

Boyfriend.

It's the best word James has ever heard.

"What can I do for you?" she asks, shoulder nudging his.

He lifts his arm and drops her textbook onto the table. "Yours, yes?"

She barely glances down at it, batting her eyes at him. "So it is, so it is." She pulls the book closer, does her shiny best to blind him with her smile. "Thank you for the delivery. Goodbye."

"Don't you have something for me?"

"Something for you?"

"Yes. About...this high. Yay wide. Remarkably similar to what I've just handed you."

Lily's tongue briefly swipes across her lower lip. James's eyes are like magnets to the pearly glisten. Her hand lifts, and she taps idly at the slick rose with her finger tip.

"No," she finally says, as his body revs, tightens. "Can't say that's familiar."

His girlfriend is a siren.

Girlfriend.

"Hm." James leans back in his chair, lifting his arms to rest lazily against the back of his head. Because two can play this game, and even as Lily's eyes narrow, they do their unavoidable, perfunctory, predatory sweep across his chest.

"Do I need to leave for this?" Marlene asks dryly from across the table.

"You can't take that textbook with you," James shoots back, to Marlene's sulky pout. Then his eyes dart stealthily right. "Of course...if, say, my girlfriend kindly requested to filch my textbook…all my hard, hard work..."

When he turns his head fully, he finds Lily staring at him. Green eyes squint with suspicion.

"How long were you hiding behind those shelves?" she asks.

James grins. Leans down and kisses her. Because he can lean down and kiss her.

"Idiot," she says, though she's stroking his face as she says it.

He cocks an eyebrow. "I thought I was a bored little genius?"

She snorts loudly, and the hand on his face gives a playful swat before reaching out to snatch his textbook back from Marlene. As she ducks her head and flips pages again, James can see the red cresting her cheeks, blooming down her neck, and he wants to kiss her again.

"You better have two weeks of assignments I can filch in here," she mutters, but when he laughs and reaches out his hand to twine easily with hers, she doesn't pull away.

Instead, their fingers interlock, warm and tight atop the table, and James reckons he quite likes officially being a boyfriend.

Quite, quite likes it.

"Now I'm definitely leaving," Marlene mutters.

[skyriderwednesday]

Tea, Sir

Drumknott picked up a small plate from the tray, “A biscuit, sir?” -- Drumknott and Vetinari share a tea break

(Rated G, 821 words)

Also on AO3

Drumknott entered the room slowly, balancing the contents of a full tea tray. Vetinari stopped writing and watched him over his reading glasses as he carefully and delicately crossed the office like a child carrying their grandmother’s favourite vase. There was no variance in his focus, not a single item on the tray rattled, even as he stepped over a stray dog toy halfway along the carpet. Vetinari cleared the desk of obstructions. With jeweller's precision, Drumknott placed the tray down. Only then, it would seem, he allowed himself to breathe. “Are you quite sure you have never trained in domestic service?” “No, sir,” Drumknott said, retrieving a chair from the corner of the room. “No, you are not sure that you have not trained in domestic service, or no, you have not trained in domestic service?” Drumknott positioned his chair and, accounting for the front of the desk, sat down in a manner resembling side-saddle. “The latter, sir,” he said, lifting cups and saucers from the tray. “I see.” Vetinari put aside the letter he had been drafting and placed his pen in the inkwell. Drumknott glanced up, teapot in hand. “Sir…” he said. Indeed, there was a pen-rest for a reason. Leaving the pen in the ink would corrode the nib. Drumknott may not have trained in domestic service, but he was trained as a scribe and therefore Knew These Things. Vetinari took the pen from the inkwell, wiped the ink from its nib, and placed it into the rest. “Quite right, Drumknott,” he said. “Thank you for reminding me.” Drumknott nodded, and continued to pour the tea. The cups filled, he sat back down to add milk and sugar to his tea, leaving Vetinari to add lemon to his own. There was a certain sense of decorum as they stirred their tea in silence. Neither spoon clinked. Not a sound was made until they were set down. Drumknott picked up a small plate from the tray, “A biscuit, sir?” Vetinari took one, it had been piped and was flecked with lavender. “Thank you.” Drumknott took a biscuit for himself and put the plate back down. They sipped tea and ate their biscuits quietly for a few minutes. “You have read the paper this morning, I assume?” Vetinari said. “Yes, sir,” Drumknott replied. “I am interested to hear how the Milliners’ Guild chooses to justify such an increase in its import of plumes, especially with regard to the embargo on such.” “Should I arrange an appointment for Mrs Bertrand, sir?” “I will see her on Thursday, thank you.” “Yes, sir.” Vetinari took another biscuit. Drumknott did also. They were buttery, but the lavender offered a lightness. They were very good with tea. “Is your sister well?” “She is. Daniela is starting school.” “Ah, I wish the best of luck to her.” “How is your aunt?” “The same woman as ever,” Vetinari said, taking a particularly long sip of tea before he continued. “She has named yet another cat after me.” Drumknott paused with his biscuit three-quarters to his mouth. “I suppose it shows she cares for you, sir.” Vetinari turned his cup in his hands, examining the dregs at its bottom. “It is hardly that I do not appreciate her reasoning. I only question how many primarily black cats can be inflicted with my forename in one woman's lifetime.” Drumknott hummed and tucked the remainder of the biscuit into his saucer. “More tea, sir?” “Yes please, Mr Drumknott.” He broke a biscuit in half, it snapped pleasingly. “Do you believe these have been made with saffron?” Drumknott stood to pour more tea into his cup. “I would think so, sir, based on their colour.” “Yes, more yellow than only butter would impart,” Vetinari said as Drumknott sat back down. “They’re very good.” Drumknott hummed in agreement. “I will tell the kitchens to keep the recipe, sir.” “Do you remember the ones last week, made with cardamom?” Drumknott nodded, “I liked those a lot, sir.” “Yes, I’d think they’d be very well with coffee.” The city began to chime. “Has there been word of Vimes this morning?” “I have no reason to believe that he will be late, sir.” “Then it shall be time to clear away.” “Yes, sir,” Drumknott said, beginning to replace items

on the tray. “Would you like the last biscuit?” Vetinari asked. Drumknott glanced at the plate. “You can have it if you like, sir.” “Oh no, it wouldn’t be fair. After all, I’ve already had three.” Two and a half, precisely, but well on the way to three. There was a snuffle from beneath the desk. “No, you certainly can’t have it,” Vetinari said to the resident of the basket. He raised his eyebrows convincingly at Drumknott. “Thank you, sir,” he said, pocketing the biscuit. “You’re very welcome, Mr Drumknott. If you could bring the council minutes from Tuesday, please?” “Of course, sir.” “Thank you.”

[snapperpups]

I’ve been planning nine months for this... my 30th birthday mass chest opening

minimum treasure: 4,377,000t maximum treasure: 10,204,000t median treasure: 7,290,500t minimum gems: 5,508g maximum gems: 13,710g median gems: 9,609g

and below is the list of items I hope to get along the way. I’ll post a final tally showing how many of them I managed to get when I’m done!

-All-Seeing Eye -Ancestral Incense -Antique Lace apparel -Arcane Runestone -Ash Lace apparel -Aspen Gall Dryad -Astonishing Sweater -Attendant Rings -Autumn Harvest apparel -Black Breeches -Black Renaissance Shirt -Blackwood Necklace -Bloodsong Starsilk apparel -Blue-Footed Eggull -Bone Antlers -Brass Scale apparel -Brown Breeches -Buff Laced Cockatrice -Burlap Hood -Calico Ferberus -Carrot Harvest -Chancellor apparel -Charged Stormcatcher Sackdoll -Cinder Mith -Classy apparel -Cloudberry apparel -Coast Charger -Cobalt Filigree apparel -Contrast Aviator apparel -Contrast Rogue apparel -Copper Harvest apparel -Copper Pocketwatch -Counselor apparel -Crimson Feathered Wings -Dark Harvest apparel -Deeprealm Leon -Dented Iron apparel -Diaphanous Sylvan apparel -Dried Flower apparel -Dunerunner -Dusky Rose Thorn Gloves -Dusky Rose Thorn Stockings -Dustrunner Arctic apparel -Dusty Sage apparel -Earth Runestone -Ebony Antlers -Edamame Harvest -Eggull -Ember Sylvan apparel -Exotic Arcanist Idol -Faded Shadowbinder Effigy -Faerie Rose Thorn apparel -Fennec Kitsune -Ferberus -Fig Plumed apparel -Fire Runestone -Foolish Prince -Fruitful Garden apparel -Furry Icewarden Puppet -Gardening Rake -Geartoggle Smith -Gentle Healer apparel -Ghost Manticore -Giggling Planesrunner -Gilded Rose Thorn Gloves -Gilded Rose Thorn Stockings -Glamorous Scarlet apparel -Gold Breeches -Gold Glasses -Gold Halfmoon Spectacles -Golden Harvest apparel -Golden Lionsnake -Golden Sage apparel -Gossamer Silk apparel -Gothic Tea apparel -Grove Sylvan apparel -Heatherbed Lily -Heckling Hydrena -Humble Tea apparel -Ice Runestone -Indigo Harvest apparel -Inkwell Feathered Wings -Ivory Scale apparel -Kelly Green apparel -Kelp Caretaker -King Quillrunner -Koi apparel -Lagoon Starsilk apparel -Lavish apparel -Learned Sage apparel -Leather Aviator apparel -Light Runestone -Lightning Runestone -Loamy Garden apparel -Lost Gladekeeper Sackdoll -Lucky Sage apparel -Luminax Plushie -Mantled Foo -Maren Harvester -Maren Seahunter -Masked Gryphon -Meadow Tea apparel -Mechanical Destroyer -Medusa Leon -Mysterious Cowl -Mystic Sage apparel -Nature Runestone -Nightfall Starsilk apparel -Nightglider's Arctic apaprel -Onyx Roundhorn -Pale Roundhorn -Pastel Rose Thorn Gloves -Pastel Rose Thorn Stockings -Patched Beggar apparel -Peace Dove -Peacebringer's Cowl -Phantasmal Halfmask -Phoenix -Pillager's Fur Armwraps -Pillager's Fur Legwraps -Plague Runestone -Playful Windsinger Puppet -Pleated Ruff -Poet's Tam -Pomegranate Plumed apparel -Pristine Rose Thorn Gloves -Pristine Rose Thorn Stockings -Proper apparel -Psion apparel -Ragepuff -Raider's Fur Armwraps -Raider's Fur Legwraps -Refined Highnoon Vest -Robotic Tender -Rose Feathered Wings -Rose Gold Steampunk apparel -Rose Harvest apparel -Rotting Plaguebringer Effigy -Roving Seafarer's Armcuffs -Roving Seafarer's Legcuffs -Ruby Starsilk apparel -Ruche Slug -Ruched Sojourner -Runebead Necklace -Sanguine Multimist -Sanguine Rose Thorn apparel -Scrapmetal Tracker -Sentinel Mith -Sepia Wood apparel -Shabby apparel -Shadow Runestone -Shifting Kelpie Mane -Silver Ferret -Silver Pocketwatch -Smoldering Flamecaller Puppet -Soft Lightweaver Idol -Sopping Tidelord Sackdoll -Sparksylph -Spectre Loop -Spectre Wyvern -Sprouting Garden apparel -Squire's Beret -Strawberry Harvest -Studious Healer apparel -Stupendous Sweater -Sunsetspeaker's Arctic apparel -Supplicant apparel -Sweet Tea apparel -Sweetheart Lace apparel -Swift Volt -Tanned Rogue apparel -Tarnished Steel apparel -Tawny Antlers -Teal Starsilk apparel -Teardrop Pearl apparel -Teardrop Ruby apparel -Tengu -Tourmaline Vulstal -Traditional Broadsword -Tribeam Hunter -Tribeam Lurker -Tutor apparel -Ultimate Buttersnake -Velvet Floracat -Verdant Sage apparel -Verdant Starsilk apparel -Veteran's Eye Scar -Viper's Samurai apparel -Viridescent Harvest apparel -Void Wyvern -War Smith -Water Runestone -Watermelon Coleus Gecko -Well-to-Do Sable apparel -Which Waychip -Which Waychunk -Whisperer's Cowl -White Aviator Scarf -White Breeches -White Linen apparel -White Wooly Coat -Wind Runestone -Wintermane Minstrel -Winterwatcher's Arctic apparel