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pokkop15 · 1 year

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Thalergy

The opposite of Thanergy (AKA “Death Energy”) in the Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir.

So you say, “ok so it’s just life energy?” to which you are mostly correct. Thalergy is exactly that but what’s interesting about this to me (and soon to you all as well I imagine) is the etymology of thalergy!

The etymology?

The Etymology.

Thanergy as death energy derives its name from Thanatos, the greek god of death (technically the personified spirit of non-violent death but modern perception of the name is usually edgier than that lol). So it would be normal for those unfamiliar with the myriad of divinities within the Hellenistic pantheon to justly assume the ‘thal–’ in ‘thalergy’ comes from an opposite divinity of Thanatos that was a personified spirit of life. Except that doesn’t exist. Reading the first two books I knew that thalergy as a word wasn’t derived from any greek or roman words meaning “life” but I didn’t really dig any deeper on where it did come from because I didn’t think it was overly important. I Was Incorrect.

Because you see, the context for me to really connect the dots had gone over my head up until I had read Nona the Ninth. (I recall some meta posts pointing out that the Themes™ had in fact been present in the previous books just less obvious.)

What Themes? And Who The Fuck Is Thalergy Named For??

Thalassa.

Primordial Goddess Of The Motherfucking SEA!!!!

So yeah! Remember all those posts talking about the importance of all the themes regarding the sea/ocean in the Locked Tomb series? Yeah so here’s more fuel for that lmao

Edit 11/20/2022: also many people have brought up other examples like Thalia (the muse of Festivity whose name also means blooming) as another more direct connection to life and @adurna0 who actually speaks Greek has pointed out that thaleros is in fact a word that means "lively" so even if the Thalassa connection is a thing it is more likely a double meaning than the lone one.

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midnightrings · 7 days

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SIENA ROSSO and ANTHONY BRIDGERTON

-> Bridgerton 1.08: After the Rain (1/3)

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tradingjack · 2 months

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cringefail late valentine's day posting some rushed kiss studies bc I worked like 36 of the past 72 hours yippee

and I STILL can't draw kissimg this shit haaard how yall do it 😭😭

#and let me tell ya!! kids will not!! stop!! fuckin!! bein!! sick as FUUUCK!!!!!#like just BE HEALTHY for a LITTLE BIT you little shits (affectionate but exhausted)#posted this earlier after trying to type out tags for like 4 hours to get it out on time and.#it didnt matter i posted to the Wrong Fucking Blog anyway #ik it's practice. almost put a period after 'and i STILL cant draw' lmao but. that's not nice #tag time bc fuck it. if im gon post this shit #trigun #trimax flavored but who cares #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #vash x wolfwood #vashwood #drawing #artists on tumblr #my art #fanart #ooooh using my skills for crimge bc it makes me happy ooooooh #yes i was too lazy to shade the arm. i'll do it later im fuckin tired #wip #i'll also say hey it's already leagues better than the last time i tried lol. prolly cause i used a ref #kudos to you if you recognize which reference pics i used. eat a chocolate for me if you do lol

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adrianicsea · 3 months

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the time that glenn howerton was in a gay period-piece play about crossdressing

so awhile back i was poking around glenn howerton's wikipedia looking for movies and such that i might have missed, and i noticed it had a small theatrical section listed. this was never something i'd given much thought in the past, but on this particular occasion i was so hard-up for new Glontent that i decided to see what i could find about the three plays listed there, because i'd never seen anyone else have much luck with that and i love a good internet scavenger hunt. walk with me.

compleat female stage beauty caught my eye right away-- the title of the play itself is interesting, and i happened to know already that the most famous real-life duke of buckingham was the lover of king james. so of course i went delving...

and what should i find but the entire playscript for compleat female stage beauty, For Free, on archive dot org? anyone on earth can rent it and read it for an hour at a time, or for 14 days if you want to really take your time with it. i have to assume that this is NOT common knowledge among sunny fans (or anyone else), as the archive upload only has 99 views at the time of making this post.

to give a VERY succinct summary of what the play is about-- in the 1660s, during the english restoration, women were allowed to act professionally onstage for the first time in english history. this caused problems for the male actors who had previously made their careers playing female characters, such as edward kynaston, around whom the play centers. outside of his acting career, kynaston is a gay man, and he's in a romantic entanglement with george villiars, the duke of buckingham (NOT the same duke of buckingham who was fucking king james-- that was this villiars' dad. we love gay fathers and their gay sons!) kynaston struggles to find his place in a changing social landscape where it seems as though his talents are no longer needed or wanted.

before getting into the script proper, the book has some information about notable early productions of the play. this is great because it pins down a lot of details about glenn's involvement in the show that wikipedia left unanswered, but there's also an unexpected sunny crossover here-- in an even EARLIER production, the lead role was played by david hornsby!

(i also learned over the course of my deep dive on this that glenn's costar, lead actor brandon demery, was a fellow member of glenn's graduating juilliard group!)

things don't end well for kynaston and villiars, but still, the onstage relationship between the two is both electrifying and heartbreaking as it changes over the course of the show.

now, this WOULD be where i would include cast pictures or footage or any kind of photos of glenn in this show... but if any such material exists, it's not publicly available. i went so far as to email the publicity and outreach coordinator for the theater that hosted glenn's production of this show to ask if they had any archived materials, but she told me that they didn't.

but this production took place in october of 2000, meaning it was pre-that 80s show, meaning we can all sit and think about how a glenn that looked like This was acting in a gay period piece about crossdressing and gender roles and the mystery of human sexuality. dudes rock.

a bit of a disappointing note to end on, i know, but i really wanted to talk about this play and share it with people!! it's a super interesting and overlooked part of glenn's early career, but also i think the script is fascinating and very well-written in its own right. i definitely encourage yall to check it out on the internet archive if you're interested-- again, it's literally free!

#glenn howerton #iasip #it's always sunny in philadelphia #compleat female stage beauty #this is a longer and more coherent version of a post i made two months ago that got no traction--#--because i accidentally opted out of having my blog's original posts show in any tags. lol. and even lmao #it's crazy what's just like. there and relatively easy to find on the internet if you take the time to look

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mordremrose · 2 months

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March VS art party!!!!

I totally forgot to get tags this time around so no @‘ing for anyone today my bad LMAO Nakiya Taneri is mine, drew her as a warm up for the EU side of things :3c

Remember to parallel park your jackals and water your strawberries!!

#gw2 #vsartparty #guild wars 2 #my art #batsy art #definitely got looser w the sketches as the parties went on my wrist tried to cramp after eu which was Not an option lmao #na chaos also is v distracting but i love it sm #limited myself to 9 per bc i like to keep it even between both but it was so hard to pick #so many pretty characters #if u wanna be tagged and i drew u #plz let me know!!!#also posting on the Correct blog this time smh #nakiya taneri

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micamicster · 1 month

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Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

#lmao with this and the country playlists this blog has been on a real raven boys kick the last few days #anyway... enjoy?#i need to make a tag for my writing like... generally but until then #super rich kids #this really isn't about anything and had nothing else attached to it #it was just a random scene that stood alone so like...#probably the best thing for me to start out this 'posting unfinished stuff' project #i feel like gansey does not appear at his best in this fic but that's not a reflection of how much i love him!#he's trying his best to keep this family together! and the other 15 year olds are no help at all!#ronan lynch #adam parrish #the raven cycle #pynch #tw suicide mention

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