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scotianostra · 2 months

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One of Scotland's' most iconic films, Local Hero was released on February 18th 1983.

In the days before mobile phones we used to use things called phone boxes when we were not at home, and the phone box in Local Hero has become as iconic as the film itself.

There aren’t many films that have a 100% Tomatometer , on the movie website Rotten Tomatoes, backed up by an impressive 87% audience score, it should be all you need to know when choosing a movie to watch, expecially if you haven’t seen it before. IMDb also rate it highly with 7.4 out of 10.

Bill Forsyth’s oil-refinery comedy isn’t billed as a weepy. It is, however, a love poem to Scotland, and that’s what brings the lump to my throat.

Quirky, wry, gentle are words most often used for this comedy on the movie database site, IMDb, the starting point for many of my posts about those Scots in the acting profession in my posts. They brief story line on the site does not hint at the emotional turbulence you might soon be experiencing. So maybe it’s just me being a big sissy. Wouldn’t be the first time I lost the plot. All it says is "An American oil company sends a man to Scotland to buy up an entire village where they want to build a refinery. But things don't go as expected." The film is so much more than this and it stands the test of time much better than other Forsyth films like Comfort & Joy and Gregory's Girl, well in my opinion anyway!

Crackpot Texan oil magnate Felix Happer (Burt Lancaster) gets the idea that a small Scottish fishing village would be a marvellous acquisition for his so-rich-it-makes-you-sick company, Knox Oil and Gas, so he sends an executive gopher named MacIntyre (because that sounds Scottish, yeah – played by Peter Riegert) to close the deal and get the pipeline pencilled in.

“Mac” is met by some local “dork” called Oldsen (a young Peter Capaldi), who attempts to steer him through a tartan microculture that includes a lawyer-cum-publican/hotelier (Denis Lawson) who tapdances while standing on a chair shouting “Stella” – the name of his ever-randy wife; there is a super-hard marine biologist played by Jenny Seagrove who, after delivering a short lecture on the North Atlantic drift, ends up helping Oldsen to find that pistol in his pocket; and then there is a scene in which a very whisky-sodden Mac calls Texas from a red phone box on the harbourside, a phone box that has featured in so many peoples snaps when visiting Pennan in Banffshire.

Other bits of business in the film involve a salty Russian seafarer and overflying warplanes. You can see how it got the comedy tag, and I haven’t even mentioned the thing with the rabbit. And you can see how Mac ends up smitten.

This is all top material from a very talented writer/director, with photography and music from Glasgow born Mark Knopfler matches the acting and direction perfectly. But on first viewing I found myself asking halfway through, “What is this film actually about?” After not very much thought, I came to the conclusion that it was not a How Things Never Go According to Plan story, but a love poem to Scotland and the Scots. A bit slushy, but never mind. It’s only a film.

The scene when Mac phones to describe the Northern Lights, to me is very special, but the scene that prompted the lump in my throat at the end of the movie is when, having failed in his mission to secure the Knox refinery deal and mutilate one of Planet Earth’s most beautiful locations, Mac returns to his frigid steel-and-glass Houston apartment. He stands at his kitchen counter wondering what to do next, the hushed march of oil capitalism buzzing gently outside. He pulls from his coat pocket a handful of pebbles and shells, smelling one of them poignantly remembering as he spreads them on the work surface.

As Knopflers music gently plays he goes to his balcony and looks out to the city......the scene fades to black, then reopens 4,500 miles away, where, on the harbour side of a small Scottish fishing village, we see the phone box, perhaps ringing and the credits begin as the horns of Going Home blast out.

Others in the film include Rikki Fulton, Alex Norton, Kenny Ireland, John Gordon Sinclair and of course Burt Lancaster.

#scotland #scottish #history #cinema history #comedy gold #move #classic #Bill Forsth

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throughtrialbyfire · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday <3

tagged by the amazing @saltymaplesyrup @skyrim-forever and @your-talos-is-problematic !!

tagging the incredible @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @viss-and-pinegar @dirty-bosmer @orfeoarte @changelingsandothernonsense @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @gilgamish @wispstalk and anyone who wants to participate, consider yourself tagged!!

this week i bring a section of the rewritten chapter 9 of Cycle of the Serpent. i'm planning to do some final edits to chapter 8 and 9 both and update those in the fic, finish 10, and then do some tiny editing for consistency in the rest of the published chapters in the next couple of weeks. for now, have this! <3

Thick, impenetrable night slid through the cracks of the inns walls, cool air and occasional passes of torchlight from outside bringing slivers of light into the otherwise dim hall. In the rented upstairs room, the flickers from the hall found their way in, bathing it in a bronze hue. Sleep, the elusive beast, sometimes captured and sometimes wild and far away, had wrestled itself from Athenath's grasp minutes ago. So now, he lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the heavy wooden beams, the aged surfaces revealing previously unseen shapes as his mind tried making sense of the dark. There were promises to keep, come tomorrow. Whispers from under the balcony flew up through the wooden floors, the conversations of some patrons up well into the night. The constant hiss of syllables against teeth, the sharp, whistle sounds of them, made the Altmer want to grab the pillow and shove it over their ears and clutch it until his hands forced themselves loose from aching. But he couldn't do that, and he definitely didn't want to wake his friends, so they lay there, chest tight at the agitation. The shuffle of blankets rose up to end the quiet. Just Emeros, turning over in his sleep. They glanced to him and then returned to staring at the ceiling, brow knit, the sound of whispers softly fading. Finally. A sigh of relief had nearly left their mouth, but they stifled it, his focus again on the two Mer beside them. He didn't want to wake them. They'd both earned the rest. Athenath could hear Wyndrelis breathing, but aside from the rise and fall of his side when he did, he resembled more a corpse, entirely still and curled into himself. Emeros, meanwhile, had his forearm tucked under the pillow, his other arm around himself, blankets tight to his form.

The bronze light dimmed. A torch blown out. The night must be deep into itself, somewhere in the latest hours before morning would come and wake everyone up with its crowing. Athenath had blamed his sleeplessness on the whispering below the bed, but now, it was as though that had just been the catalyst, and now he was truly awake and alone, and unable to creep out of the bed if he even wanted to. At this rate, they'd look like a draugr in the morning, shambling up to Dragonsreach and barely forming the words to tell the Jarl of what happened to Helgen, what happened to them.

He shut his eyes tight. Gods, they didn't want to think about that day. But it still found a way to invade their thoughts, even when they were making all the effort in the world to go back to sleep. Their mind ignored every attempt to shove the fires aside, Athenath's arms wrapping tight around their middle as he stubbornly tried to push his mind to something else. What about the nights in Anvil, walking the salt-scented paths through town? And the dares to go up and knock on the old haunted mansion? What about the laughter of their old friends, and the house they grew up in? What about the shopkeep with the strange necklace, and the strangers in town in their black coats, and… Athenath's eyes shot open. The dark was still the dark. The same thing he'd closed off. But now, it seemed to wrap around them, tighter than they could bear. They fixed their gaze on the ceiling and thought of poems he'd memorized on the road with troubadours from High Rock, or the songs that they'd thought about writing down and quickly forgot, or the bards who sent them on this damn journey in the first place, but none of it replaced the sinking feeling in his stomach, like he was desperately clinging to a broken raft far out to sea. "What are you doing up?" Emeros whispered. He didn't need to open his eyes. He knew from jokes shared at the campfire that Athenath never slept on their back, and here they were, and he could feel the way the blankets laid over them and how different it was from when they were truly well asleep. Athenath shot their gaze to him, brow knit.

"Just can't fall back asleep," they whispered back. Emeros cracked an eye open, face half-buried in his pillow, hair tousled along his neck. He pushed a hand through the front strands, a couple small noises leaving his throat as though he were returning to the waking world by force. "Tomorrow, I fear, is going to be dreadfully long. Don't keep yourself awake, or you'll regret it." "It's not-" Athenath inhaled, held it, and exhaled, "I'm not. I know." "Then what's the problem?" "I woke up, couldn't fall back asleep, and now I'm just… Up. When I wish I wasn't." A long pause. Emeros sucked his inner cheek between his teeth on one side, then repeated to the other. "Did you have a nightmare?" "No," Athenath blinked curiously at the Bosmer, "did you?"

The alchemist rolled slowly over onto his back, palm draping over his eyes, other hand still firmly beneath the pillow. He inhaled, moved his hand down his face, before his arm came to rest over his middle. "I suppose one could say that fire has never been my favorite thing." The bard didn't reply, laying there, watching him as well as they could. He sucked in his cheek, then exhaled, peering at Athenath out the corner of his eye and the smallest turn of his head. "It'll be morning before you know it. Try not to keep yourself awake." The smallest fringe of concern at the edge of his words caught the Altmer off-guard, who only continued to watch him quietly. Emeros' gaze shifted. "You too, Wyndrelis. I know you're listening in." Wyndrelis snorted. "How did you guess?" At this, Emeros merely grinned, rolled over, and said, "I saw you move."

#skyrim fic #tes fic #tes v #ficblr #tesblr #fanfic #fanfiction #wip wednesday #my writing #oc ; athenath #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #cycle of the serpent #bishop.txt

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greenix · 1 year

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third and final part of my desert duo illustrated poem! if you haven't read the other parts, you can find them in the #dying in your arms comic tag. read those first! (transcript below cut)

and thats a wrap! I had a blast drawing these, I really hope y'all enjoy my poetry! I'll post the entire poem by itself separately for anyone who might be interested and shove it in the same tag :)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Full Poem)

(comic text)

On the day that I die, the night sinks black around us

you, bitter victory clenching your heart in a vice,

me, going cold in your lap already.

my hand is on your face or maybe your hair

staining chestnut curls red with so much blood

I can't help but laugh, weak, like it's strangled out of me

and your smile has never been so sweet.

you card a hand through my hair, before it's over.

On the day that we die, the moon sits full and bloated in the sky

like a great beast sated by the blood spilled on this desert,

its ivory light bathing our resting place in stark contrast.

the light panes your face into angles - you are beautiful.

our hands are cold in each other.

you and I, curled together in death, when it's over.

#dying in your arms comic #desert duo #scarian #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitshipping #hermitcraft fanart #grian #grian fanart #goodtimeswithscar #goodtimeswithscar fanart #goodtimewithscar #third life #my art #my writing #blood tw #death #trafficshipping

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bytedykes · 9 months

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What is ORV actually about? I assumed that it was like... A modern psychological thriller with a bit of queerbait, but now I'm seeing your posts and reblogs tagged ORV that are all kinda surreal and fantasy type stuff, I feel like I saw the word isekai a couple times? So what is ORV actually?

ok i have been sitting on this ask for a few days bc i. have no idea where to even begin trying to explain what orv is about

here's a post by tumblr user ot3 that does a better job of explaining orv than i ever could. below the cut is MY attempt at an orv summary

"what is orv actually about?" this is a wonderful question. i don't know. i did nothing but read this novel for 2 weeks straight and i could not for the life of me tell you what orv is "about"

the thing about this book is that if you're reading it, it makes perfect sense. the events are linear. there is a bunch of mindfucky bullshit BUT it all happens in a relatively straightforward way. i understand orv perfectly. but at gunpoint, could i put the events in chronological order? no. pull the trigger

ok. orv is about a salaryman named kim dokja who has the most uninteresting boring life in the world. this is a lie. he does nothing but go to his job he's about to get fired from, eat convenience store kimbap, and read webnovels. he reads a specific webnovel (twsa) that has been updating daily for 13 years straight. he has been reading it since he was 15 through his entire adult life

twsa is about the apocalypse, starring protagonist yoo joonghyuk. the day kim dokja reads the last chapter and eagerly awaits the epilogue to be published the apocalypse happens. exactly like in the webnovel. now armed with a .txt file of twsa and his autism superpowers he navigates the apocalypse trying to reach his ideal ending

orv, for lack of better term, does not take itself very seriously at times. frequently, even. at least half of the major plot points are comprised of complete bullshit. every few chapters i had to put the book down and go "no fucking WAY is this actually happening" but it was! it was happening every time! its hysterical!

orv is also extremely meta. every time you think "ok it cannot possibly get more meta, this is it, this is the peak" ur wrong. u are wrong every single time until the very end of the epilogue. it can ALWAYS get more meta. orv is 100% the most meta thing i have read in my life

on top of all this, pretty much anything you can think of has happened in orv. "orv is a book about everything" while an exaggeration, this is true. it really fucking is. it has everything in it. you know that poem by shel silverstein, "everything on it"? that's what reading orv is like

it tackles many serious topics (such as: loneliness, the desperate desire to connect with other people combined with the inability to allow yourself to be loved, finding the things that push you to keep surviving) and many topics that are. not that (such as: "what if a dumpling had a face how would that work", "what if gay people were insane and not even friends", "what if a guy was so autistic his brain started eating people", "what if a monkey was actually 4 monkeys" and more such things. wouldnt that be fucked up)

orv definitely. yeah. surreal and fantasy type stuff is a very appropriate descriptor. a modern psychological thriller is... also appropriate i suppose. "a bit of queerbait" is NOT appropriate because orv is built on queerbait but not in the sense of it being baiting. in the sense of it being canon but unsaid. like its not canon. but it is. its canon and it is constant. there is an archangel that ships said queerbait she is a proud yaoi supporter. this is a real thing i am not making up

on top of that insane queerbait. there is insane polycule bait as well. like i need you to understand that while its not "canon" in the traditional sense of the word it IS real and it IS on screen and it IS as explicit as it could actually be without it actually being, you know, explicit. it literally makes me feel insane

ISEKAI. RIGHT. im not really familiar with isekai as a genre so take this paragraph with a grain of salt but orv is more of a reverse isekai? the fantasy world comes TO the "real" world. however there are in fact multiple isekais-within-the-isekai later on. multiple types of them even

anyway orv is also heavily based on the theme of stories and like. god i hope you've read ot3's post because im sure they explained it better. its a very theme-heavy piece of media where the rules of the world aren't based on logic but based on how they can further the themes. its very intricately constructed and like

it will blow your mind. god. i dont even know what im saying anymore. its good is my point it is so fucking good. orv changed me. it is a very hopeful piece of media and i am sure that rereading it will devastate me even harder than it did the first time

TLDR: orv is an insane long book about literally everything and at least half of those things are complete bullshit but are incredibly integral to the plot. somehow. it is very worth reading and will change ur life forever

#orv #asks #uhdudhudshu i just used this as an opportunity to infodump im sorry. again ot3's post definitely explains orv WAY way better than i did

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a-sky-of-diamonds · 1 year

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Martyn’s Evo and Limited Life Poem Connections

I was watching Martyn’s finale, and I knew the poem at the end sounded familiar. And it struck me: just compare the poem at the end of Limited Life :

There are some who watch,

We are those who listen.

Not yet free, still you flee,

From weighted decision.

To a poem found in a book written by the Listeners in Evo’s final episode:

...This has some meaning to it, guys.

(Theories/analysis and original meaningful tags (I had to repost this because the original wasn’t showing up, and I’d made a LOT of tags I’m not writing them out again) under the cut):

So firstly, this doesn’t need explaining, but it’s literally the same thing! The first two lines are identical, and the third? The rhyming! is the same! It even uses ‘free’ and ‘flee’ again (swapped around, which is very interesting). And recission/decision? The SAME SOUNDS. Right there.

The meanings are very interesting as well. In Evo, it’s all about instructing the players to leave (through a portal, presumably out of the server). They’re not free but there’s the possibility to be, etc. But the interesting thing is the last phrase, ‘complete your recission’. One of the definitions of recission is the undoing of a contract – I haven’t watched the whole of Evo so correct me if I’m wrong, but could there have been some sort of unknown contract, even if metaphorical, between the players and the Watchers? And by leaving they’d finally break it (which they would have been doing by listening more and more to the Listeners at the end)?

In the Life series, we know Martyn’s not free yet, as with all the other Life and Evo members – something went wrong with their escape and they were recaptured. That means that whatever those rules or agreements were, he hasn’t managed to escape from it. The Listeners are seemingly trying to help at the end of Limited Life, restoring what I assume to be Martyn’s soul from its cracked state – could those possibly be due to that connection with the Watchers? And how they managed to contact him? Are the Listeners helping to break that?

...But in the poem at the end of Limited Life, they say Martyn’s “still not free”, and still fleeing from some sort of decision. He’s still under the eyes of the Watchers, they’re still in contact – that has to be part of what it means, but I’m curious about the line “still you flee/from weighted decision”? What decision is he fleeing from, I wonder? Does there need to be some action on his part to break contact with the Watchers, to complete the original Evo poem? Is it a statement on his character – throughout the series, Martyn has been quite passive in terms of playing the game itself the way it’s ‘meant’ to be played, and also when following the whims of the Watchers, not exactly making decisions entirely for himself? Is it both? Also, it seems like him fleeing may be tied to him not being free – what does this mean?

I don’t have answers to all of that yet, but it’s really interesting, and the poem is such a cool callback to Evo – and the fact that they’re linked probably means something in and of itself.

Tags:

#reposting because this is glitching AGAIN and the cut isn't working #aah #i'm sorry lin i know you just reblogged this...#limited life smp #evo smp #last life smp #inthelittlewood #martyn littlewood #manifesting my post working just like i manifested martyn winning this season and it worked #trafficblr #the life series smp

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catilinas · 1 year

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Hello! I’ve been looking through your terminal storytelling tag and the content consistently rocks, but what exactly does terminal storytelling mean?

hi! the phrasing of 'terminal storytelling' is borrowing (very extremely loosely) from rene girard's idea of sacrifice as 'terminal violence' ->

girard's theory of sacrifice has A Lot Going On but a key part is that the true act of 'sacrifice' is like. spontaneous violence, which is 'sacrificial' in that it ends an ongoing Cycle of violence. this could be though like. everyone involved being dead / violence so over the top that it puts an end to all future conflict. meanwhile the sacrificial ritual that might be what someone thinks of as 'sacrifice' is 'sacrificial' in that it is a substitution for this earlier act of violence, And in that it disguises the true nature of what sacrifice Is (terminal violence). or something.

but then if you get weirder and more into girard it's like. substitution and sacrifice are now the same thing. sexy takes on greek tragedy go here. is all representative Anything now sacrificial? probably not (although girard does have some insane and almost definitely wrong takes on the origin of language + undomesticatability of bears? idk). but i would say certain types of Narrative definitely Can be sacrificial In That they represent BadViolenceDon'tLikeThat in smaller / contained / controlled form e.g. ancient conspiracy narratives ->

(Victoria Emma Pagán, Conspiracy Narratives in Roman History)

like um. greek tragedy + sallust's bellum catilinae + every episode of scooby doo (ESPECIALLY every episode of scooby doo. girl help my monstrous double is being demystified) are all doing the exact same thing. to me.

anyWAY ok now ignore girard entirely. in a poem i have not read in full in plainwater anne carson writes 'who are they the storytellers who can put an end to stories' and it's like. what does it take for a story to tell itself once and then never Need to be told again. what does it take for a story to tell the definitive version of itself in a way that discourages any and all retellings / repetitions / sequels / whatever. if telling a story is like hashtag we are trapped in meanings that circulate like blood, what telling would act as Terminal Violence and just Stop forever?

or is that even possible! e.g. sorry i am always thinking about lucan but cicero (+ hirtius!) said that caesar's commentaries (incl. on the civil war) were written in a way that Deterred future authors from the same subject. caesar's bellum civile as Terminal Storytelling in that it positions itself as The Ultimate Account Of The Civil War (Don't Look Too Closely Btw) like ok maybeeee there was a civil war but caesar is In Control And He Fixed It so don't question his narrative ok. and to an extent it actually WORKED oh my god i hate the afterlife of caesar's commentaries almost as much as lucan, who dug up the corpse of the civil war and stuck it in a timeloop forever. unterminals your storytelling

there is some overlap in my tag w my tag for fate + being stuck inside tragic/narrative repetitions + stories left forever unfinished etc because imo you Do get stories that repeat forever More often than like. stories that self destruct at the end. and they also go together! you can try and figure out what makes storytelling terminal From stories / storytellers that are unable to stop.

but also hrgh stories that self destruct. antigone singing her own funeral lament. every single day i think about my friend ada's game meatspace ephemera (2021) that's made to be played once And Then It Self Destructs (Or Does It). literally perfect execution (haha) of the concept

#sorry if this is not the Most coherent but the tag / the idea of it all is Also not the most coherent. like it is a vibe #also antigone and emilybot from meatspace ephemera ARE holding hands (they dont know that the final scene of meatspace is totally inspired #by antigone :/ they dont know that ada was like hey have you read anything cool abt digital ghosts and i was like.#So There's This Greek Tragedy #meatspace ephemera i miss youuuuuu)#terminal storytelling #beeps

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melpomaen · 6 months

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Blorbo ask game!

Tagged by: @elithilanor

I've been making Haldir headcanons lately so he is the lucky blorbo today woo

What is your blorbo’s:

1. Favorite season?

He's fond of Spring. The weather is fair, the land is in bloom, and travel is easy. All of the seasons have their merits in his eyes, though.

2. Favorite food?

Fish 🐟

3. Favorite plant or herb?

Elanors and other flowers that look like stars

4. Favorite person/being?

His brothers, without a doubt. I hc that his father died in service to Lorien and his mother sails shortly after, leaving him to watch over his brothers. As a result, Orophin and Rúmil often feel more like his children to him.

5. Favorite place?

The answer changes as he ages. When he was young he would say Lorien. After the War of the Ring he would say something along the lines of wherever his friends and people are.

6. Favorite animal?

Birds 🐦

7. Favorite drink?

Dry mead. All the better if it's on the stronger side.

8. Favorite hobby/activity?

He enjoys reading and/or listening to poetry, stories, and songs. I hc he learns his first bits of Westron from songs and stories Lindir and others in Rivendell share with him here and there. Lindir insists he at least become conversational in it because the more avenues one has to eavesdrop the better.

9. Do they like to read? If so, favorite genre?

He enjoys poetry. He has some books of it that his mother left the brothers before she sailed that he revisits from time to time. I think he enjoys poems about land and nature the best. He appreciates a lament but sometimes it's the last thing he wants to read during his free time.

10. Do they like to dance?

Yes! He's not usually one to dance all night, but he'll dip in and out of dances throughout if there's dancing going on.

11. What is their favorite room in the house?

I haven't figured out how many rooms his house has yet but his favorite spot in it is by one of the windows. He keeps some nice furs and skins (as well as a couple of less nice ones from some of Rúmil and Orophin's first hunts) to lay on near by. He tends to take to the floor to read or decompress.

12. Favorite place to travel to?

It depends on the Age. In his younger years: it's a toss-up between Rivendell and Mirkwood. As far as the traveling itself goes, he finds the journey to Mirkwood more straightforward. He's not a fan of crossing mountains. Post the fading of Lorien: Rhovanion is still his preferred geographical region. Traveling to other places is well and all. He enjoys it and he's good at it. But at this point, the destination doesn't matter much to him as long as people he loves are there. The real problem is that the place that he called home for his entire long life doesn't exist anymore. His people are moving or leaving Middle Earth all together and it takes him some time to find his footing in the wake of that.

13. Who is their best friend?

Lindir,* occasionally against his better judgement. They seem like opposites to others at times, but in many ways they're two sides of the same coin. Lindir is more extroverted and Haldir more reserved. In private, however, they're comfortable enough to let their respective walls down; Haldir talks more freely and Lindir is content to retire his performer's persona and listen. They trade stories often, but are just as content to share an evening in silence. They have excellent banter. Haldir has a dry sense of humor and a sharp tongue; he tamps it down in public, especially when he's on business in other elven realms. Lindir has no such reservations and has made a sport out of attempting to needle Haldir into a slip-up during dinners. *I am LotR fandom old so as a note, Lindir as in 2000s fanon Lindir who is a minstrel and a separate character from Figwit/Melpomaen

14. Favorite bioregion?

His stomping grounds are Rhovanion. A good deal of Haldir's duties eventually include bringing messages, gathering news, scouting, ect. The blue area is where I imagine his area of operation mostly lies at the end of the third age, but the green is where he's most in his element. He loves the area immensely, the forests and rivers especially.

15. Choose one for them: wine, beer, cider, hard liquor, or none?

Beer when he's traveling, wine when he's not.

Tagging @oracleofimladris @parma-formenorion @orophin-of-lothlorien @legendariium @helreginn @tarantula-hawk-wasp to blorbo if they so please or whatever the kids say these days

#blorbo ask game #headcanons #Haldir #Lindir #//found out that i don't know what a bioregion is while filling out 14 #//still not 100% on that but it was a fun excuse to highlight a map

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damienthepious · 1 year

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this is truly an unhinged pull from me. did anyone ask for a flower shop au? no? TOO BAD I GUESS

Budding, Blooming

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, (but there's still monsters), Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Tension, Poetry, Flowers, Valentine's Day, (implied but not stated. could be a some weird modern-citadel fest), DOESN"T MATTER

Summary: It is the busiest day of the year at his family's florist shop, and Arum is not in the mood to deal with the worst customer he has ever had. Again.

Notes: i've had this idea for about a billion years and it's vaguely valentine's flavored and i am SCRAMBLING so you get this i guess! Rilla is a tattoo artist in this au and she works literally across the street. Damien is desperately in love, as usual. hope you have some fun with this one! did up quick and dirty, and i don't know fuckall about how florists work. doesn't matter. also it's a modern au but arum's still a monster because why the fuck not. i like that better :P

Arum winces the moment he hears the bell above the door.

"If you are here to pick up, the door for that is in the back , and if you are not, turn around. We are out of everything," he snaps without looking up from the arrangement in his hands. "If you wanted something for the holiday, you should not have left it to the last possible second on the busiest day of my year."

"Please," says a fluting, pleading, familiar voice, and Arum instantly grinds his teeth.

"No," he growls, raising his snout enough to glare down it at his least favorite customer. Or- customer may not be the correct term, considering that this particular problem refuses to ever actually purchase a single damned flower.

"Please," Damien says again, clutching his hands together in front of himself. "Anything you have left, anything. I'll take a single rose, a single tulip, anything-"

"No, honeysuckle, you will not." Arum slices a section of ribbon as if it personally offended him, then deftly ties it into a bow across the boring mostly-rose arrangement in his hands. "You say you will take anything, but the moment I shove some imperfect bloom beneath your nose, your tune will change." He pulls a few stems of waxflower in front of himself, and begins to snip the bottoms off at an angle as he speaks. "You will realize that it cannot possibly be given to your perfect, lovely Rilla if it is not perfect-" snip, "and lovely itself, and then you will attempt to wheedle me into giving you something better-" snip, "when I-" snip, "have-" snip, "nothing left for you."

"But-" he looks lost for a moment, uncertain, and Arum (buries a spark of guilt, and) thinks that he might be able to avoid the rest of this annoyance, for once, before Damien seems to steel himself, stepping up to the counter and pulling out his wallet. "No. Please. This is- this is it. This will be the day, it will. Any arrangement you have. I'll double the price. I'm going to tell her today, and I need- I need-"

"You're going to tell her today," Arum repeats blankly. He thinks he feels his eye twitch.

"I am," Damien says, nodding, apparently entirely ignorant of the way that something in Arum's chest is bubbling over like a volcano. "I have to. I've finally written the perfect-"

"Poem," Arum barks at the same moment that Damien tugs a little folded scrap of paper, powder blue, from his breast pocket. He blinks, and Arum laughs without mirth.

"Wh- what?" he insists, and Arum bares his teeth.

"A poem," he spits. "Rather, another poem." Arum turns, tail lashing, and stalks to tug open the drawer beneath the rack of blue ribbons, grabbing out a small circular box that likely held candy at some point in the past. "Every week. At least once a week, you wander in to my shop and insist upon your angst, whining and moaning about your beloved Rilla - who you can barely bring yourself to speak to - and every single time, you say that you will finally tell her! You will find just the right arrangement of flowers, append it with just the right arrangement of verse, and then it will all be perfect."

Arum smacks the shiny-cardboard box down on the counter as Damien stares up at him with wide, almost panicked eyes. He shoves the top from the box, reaching in to pull out scrap after scrap of paper by turn.

"Poems! Countless poems! Verse after verse about her hair and her eyes and her smile and her brilliance, her cleverness and care, about her humor and her confidence and if she is even an ounce like your writing, then perhaps your cowardice is justified."

"Cowardice," Damien half-yelps, but Arum isn't quite done, yet.

"Because every. Single. Time, you lose your nerve! You abandon whatever overly complex floral monstrosity you insisted that I begin to put together for you, you leave your words in a crumple on my counter and you go sigh your way out of my shop without even the courtesy of an apology for wasting my time, let alone payment for the same, again and again and again! And now you come on the busiest day of the year, no notice! No planning! Last minute and desperate and insistent that your dilemma is the only thing that matters, but it is clearly true! Because you," Arum spits, "have finally written a poem. Because today is the day. For the hundredth time."

He levels his most potent glare at Damien, scraping his claws through the abandoned poems and crumpling the paper again. Damien only stares at him, swallowing uncomfortably.

"Today is always the day, and you will never, never follow through. You will never tell her how you feel. You will never buy a bouquet, you will never hand your poems to her, you will never grow a spine. I am tired of dealing with your dramatics and stupidity," Arum says, and then, in his blandest professional voice, "I do not have any flowers for you today, Damien."

Damien looks up at him with his eyes bright and his lip pulled into a pout- a wobbly sort of pout-

And then he drops his gaze. He tucks the new poem back into his pocket without unfolding it, curling his fingers around the leather of his wallet as he turns.

"I- I apologize for-" he wets his lips, then turns away entirely. "Wasting your time," he finishes.

(Another flash of guilt. Ignore it, ignore it. He might actually-)

Damien pushes the door open, and then he-

Pauses, in the doorway, the little bell chiming lightly above his head.

(something in Arum's stomach twists, a placeless sort of anticipation)

Damien turns, brow furrowing as he glances towards Arum over his shoulder.

"... Why did you keep those?"

Arum blinks. "What?"

"All those notes. All my poems, little scraps of abandoned love letters." Damien pulls his hand back, the door hissing closed behind him as he steps carefully closer to the counter again. "Why wouldn't you throw them away? Why keep them?"

If the earth opened up beneath Arum's feet, he thinks, then he wouldn't have to be in this conversation anymore. Out loud, he says nothing. Damien continues to meet his eye, something searching in his expression.

"You kept them," he says, his voice a little softer. "Arum."

Arum jolts, just a little, vaguely surprised that Damien actually remembers his name. He realizes that his claws are still half-buried in the candy box of poetry, and he pulls the hand back as if it might catch fire in there, another hand slapping the lid back down. "I don't," he says, but he doesn't actually know how to finish that sentence in any way that is remotely safe.

"Why did you keep them?" Damien asks again, and Arum struggles to regain his own tongue.

"B-because you- because you are the most obnoxious- to prove to myself that I did not invent you because it is impossible to believe that someone quite so annoying might actually exist," he stammers, but Damien does not look quite so bothered as he should.

"Did you..." Damien pauses, then reaches to brush his fingertips across the top of the box, tracing an errant loop of pink on the red. "Did you read them?"

Arum stiffens, his frill doing something incriminating at the edges of his vision, and Damien's lips curl into a strange little smile, the tension softening from his brow.

"Do you-" he seems to catch himself, and then he shakes his head. "Er. Right. Inconsiderate. Busiest day of the year, you said, and I- am inconsiderate," he murmurs, and Arum-

Does not know what to do, or say, or think. Mostly he would like to try standing very still, and maybe then Damien-the-worst-customer with the pretty voice and the terrible manners and the deft poetic voice will stop looking at him as if he has actually noticed him.

"What... what time, may I ask, is your shift over?" Damien asks, sounding almost meek.

"Not until at least seven, I should think," Arum says, too surprised by the question to be anything but honest. "Wh- er, why?"

Damien- shuffles his feet, almost boyish, and then smiles very slightly up at Arum. "I think I might owe you an apology," he says. "Or... at least, a poem for yourself. May I come meet you, later tonight?"

Arum stares, still baffled, still adrift. "I... I... suppose?" he manages, his voice sounding oddly distant to his own ears. "I nearly screamed at you. Just now," he says, blank. "Why would you want to..."

Damien only smiles a little wider, nodding, and then he turns. "I should leave you to it, I think."

"Honeysuckle," Arum barks, and Damien glances back towards him from the door again, his expression substantially softer, now.

"Hm?"

"I... it isn't. Quite so bad," he admits, haltingly. "On the slower days. Hearing you out. Putting together something for you, even if you never follow through. On the slower days... I don't quite mind."

Damien smiles, a prettier bloom than anything in any of his bouquets. "Until tonight, Arum," he says, and then he nods and ducks out the door, practically bouncing on his heels until he disappears from sight past the edge of the window.

"Until... tonight," Arum echoes, noticing far too late the flowers he has clutched against his chest.

#crossposting to tumblr a bit LATE in my timezone but it's FINE #elle's fanfic #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #budding blooming

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seldnei · 4 months

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Taking stock of the writing: 2023

For any new followers: this is my annual post about my writing in the past year. This is purely for my own mental health–the tag says “seldnei is tired of feeling like a slacker” for a reason. Please feel free to skip.

So what did I accomplish in 2023?

Well, it was a helluva year, again. We’ve acquired another teenager, with all that entails, which is a good thing overall but definitely added some chaos. My boss retired earlier than expected, so day job went sideways for a while. My cousin died, which was entirely unexpected. My father died, which was both more and less unexpected. Also the eldest BFF’s mom died, which was not traumatic for me, per se, but being able to spend a week with him was, like acquiring Q, a good thing surrounded by chaos. Oh, and Z got his ADHD diagnosis, which has triggered some interesting realizations about the assumed neurotypicality of everyone in the household. We are, in fact, that family who said, “But that can’t be a ‘disorder’; everyone is like that, right?”

I am exhausted, and my brain feels not only full but occasionally like it’s eating itself with self-analysis.

BUT. I am here. And I wrote things.

Stories/Poems/Etc.

Finished the second Exorcist story, and decided it did need to be mashed up with the first one. I dunno, it’s still cuter than I like.

Did the requested rewrite on the Teachout camel story, and got rejected again (I vaguely recall this as another rewrite request, but I could be wrong and can’t be arsed to dig through my email right now). I kind of think this editor and I have fundamentally different ideas as to what these stories are. Keep this in mind as I get into future plans, btw, as it was a contributing factor.

Wrote some more TMA fanfic.

“And the Forest Sings of Secrets and the Dead” for FUCKIT, which prompted the best review of all time from Q: “What the fuck, Laura?”

“The Modern Eurydice: with Leto in the Mountains of Delos,” also for FUCKIT, which is probably my favorite thing I wrote this year. I really hope there are more modern Eurydice stories somewhere in my head, because I loved writing this one and the first one.

Poetry:

“Elpis at the Farmer’s market” for FUCKIT

“4am, April 2023,” also for FUCKIT, the poem my husband wants to frame and put on the wall

Random bits and bobs in my notebook

I wrote three podcast scripts because I really want to make a podcast.

Script one is a monologue type thing, continuing my explorations of ghosts and terrible mothers.

Scripts two and three are the first two episodes of a short series that adapts the not!Tempest/not!Mosquito Coast/not!Island of Dr Moreau thing I’ve been fucking around with for like four years now. I think three more scripts and I’ll have the series completed, and then I can turn my attention to things like casting and recording and editing and hosting and posting and dear lord what the fuck.

I started a bunch of other things:

The baseball/ghost romance novella, where I am trying out iterative outlining.

Some abortive attempts to find my way into my post-apocalypse cunning folk thing

A start and some notes for a gothic horror story that I probably will get back to in a while (watch this space in, like, three years)

Other Stuff

“An Oral History: The Dead Queen at 1223 Murchison Row” sold and came out in Artifice & Craft.

I created my author website, which I’m still very pleased with. Also did some blogging, but not as much as I would have liked. Still, not sure when I had time?

Submitted things sporadically.

Kept up my morning writing routine, though it did have some disruptions here and there and the time got a little compressed. But the biggest thing, I think, is that I kept going. There was a lot of stuff going on in my life this year, and I wrote through it all.

Novel and Goals for 2024

Okay, this is where we get into the stuff that makes me nervous.

So the novel is on a second round of reading at a publisher. This is taking forever, but the publisher has also posted periodically that they’re still working their way through subs, and frankly, I am entirely willing to let them do their thing because, as I said last year, I think this might be the absolute worst time to try and find an agent or publisher. This is one of like two sparks of interest I have gotten for a book that a professional editor says is very good, so … yeah, we will let that lie. Additionally, I’ve been reading some stuff from established trad authors who are also having issues selling things, and I’m like … uuuggghhh.

Bearing that in mind … I’m going to start looking at and dipping my toe into self-publishing this year. Guys, I am so tired of thinking about what an editor might or might not find appealing enough to publish; I want to write my weird little stories and have people read them. I don’t even care if it’s just my friends and I only sell, like, three copies of anything. I have long since resigned myself to never being a full-time writer, so while extra cash would be nice, it’s not something I desperately need. (That said, I am going to be selling my work because it’s work, so. But I have thoughts about discount codes and freebies, so we’ll see how it goes.) I’d like to be able to hire an editor, commission covers, that kind of thing, though, so I’m also thinking about starting a Patreon to help fund those aspects of it, with rewards and all that good stuff.

So I can publish the novellas and short story collections, and if the publisher passes on my manuscript, I can publish the Teachout book and start writing the second one.

This is the scary part, though. Am I too scattered to make something like this work? What if no one has any interest? What about pirates (both cyber and sailor)? Will I annoy people with self-promo? Will people in my circle think less of me? (Do I care about the people who would think less of me for doing this?) How will this affect my other writing? OH GOD HOW DOES THIS AFFECT MY TAXES?!

I think I can do it. I might ask y’all for cheerleading here and there. I have a planner and Mr. Seldnei.

Every time I think about it and get scared, I think second Teachout book no matter what happens and I’m like … yeah. Yeah, I think I need to at least try.

So, goals for 2024:

FUCKIT subs

finish this baseball thing

Podcast

Patreon (?)

Self-publishing

AAAAAAAAAAA.

#seldnei writes things #seldnei is tired of feeling like a slacker #state of the writing #if i post it on social media i have to do it #encouragement welcome #cw: death

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scotianostra · 1 year

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One of Scotland’s’ most iconic films, Local Hero was released on February 18th 1983.

In the days before mobile phones we used to use things called phone boxes when we were not at home, and the phone box in Local Hero has become as iconic as the film itself.

Bill Forsyth’s oil-refinery comedy isn’t billed as a weepy. It is, however, a love poem to Scotland, and that’s what brings the lump to my throat.

Quirky, wry, gentle are words most often used for this comedy on the movie database site, IMDb, the starting point for many of my posts about those Scots in the acting profession in my posts. They brief story line on the site does not hint at the emotional turbulence you might soon be experiencing. So maybe it’s just me being a big sissy. Wouldn’t be the first time I lost the plot. All it says is “An American oil company sends a man to Scotland to buy up an entire village where they want to build a refinery. But things don’t go as expected.” The film is so much more than this and it stands the test of time much better than other Forsyth films like Comfort & Joy and Gregory’s Girl, well in my opinion anyway!

As Knopflers music gently plays he goes to his balcony and looks out to the city……the scene fades to black, then reopens 4,500 miles away, where, on the harbour side of a small Scottish fishing village, we see the phone box, perhaps ringing and the credits begin as the horns of Going Home blast out. Others in the film include Rikki Fulton, Alex Norton, Kenny Ireland, John Gordon Sinclair and of course Burt Lancaster.

#Scotland #scottish #movie #film #independet film #bill forsyth #history

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theleakypen · 1 year

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Fic Writer Interview Game

Thank you for the tag (almost 2 years ago) @gusu-emilu!

I am tagging literally anybody who sees this and wants to play :D

name: Puck

fandoms: multifandom! although Untamed/MDZS continues to be my main

two-shots: I never understand this question but it looks like it means to rec your own two-chapter fics so here we go: Stories More Beautiful Than Answers (CQL, Mianmian gets to meet Jin Ling post-canon) and Rhûnlanders (I published it as a series of 2 separate fics, but it's basically 1 thing: Songxiao in Middle Earth - Xiao Xingchen is an Elf and Song Zichen is a Man, both from Rhûnland so they're still Asian)

most popular multi-chapter fic: Obviously Yunmeng In-Laws (my and @iamwestiec's CQL modern AU groupchat fic which had bafflingly runaway success) has to be the answer to this. But if we're only going by ones written solely by me, it's But, After All, I Am A Wen (incomplete Wen Qing canon divergence wherein she actually takes and uses the comb Jiang Cheng gave her to commit treason and save her family's lives)

actual worst part of writing: having the fucking brain space to fucking write, fuck. it's been really hard bc i have so many other obligations and they eat my brain so even if i have ideas i can't get them to turn into prose :(

how you choose your titles: in order of likelihood: first, quote from the fic itself; joint second place, something kinda descriptive of the fic or lines from a poem or song

do you outline? not generally. I did outline my multichapter Wen Qing fic bc it's so much more ambitious than anything else i've ever worked on and I occasionally do something resembling in an outline in the doc of my one shots when i know what happens in the sections but don't have the prose yet; it's usually, like, a series of bracketed statements.

ideas you probably won't get around to, but wouldn't it be nice? oh god so many lmao. i have an entire channel in my writing discord that is just these ideas. One idea I have is a Songxiao no eye transfer AU because BSSR doesn't open the mountain back up to XXC and how they have to deal with that. Also I have yet to write any Witcher fic but I've been playing Witcher 3 and I really wanna write a Vesemir POV fic that's 5+1 "5 times Geralt sent some random-ass stranger to Kaer Morhen and 1 time he came home" inspired by all the times in Witcher 3 when you can help someone and then be like "Oh yeah you'd be welcome at Kaer Morhen"

spicy tangential opinion: not that spicy but i wish more people would comment, especially on the smaller/less popular fics. i see your kudos! it makes me happy! but i'd love to know your thoughts if you have any!

callouts @ me: none of my self-callouts are writing-related, it's all just - clean your room, go the fuck to sleep, you're not a teenager any more and your body hurts less when you do basic life maintenance tasks. (honestly i'd probably also write better/more if i did basic life maintenance tasks so it counts lol)

best writing traits: Westie once said I'm good at making soft things hurt and I hold that compliment close to my heart <3

#tumblr tag games #writer problems #puck writes #kinda

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goodfish-bowl · 1 year

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EctoberHaunt and Ectober Week 2022 Master Post

Happy Halloween! Here’s my complete collections of prompts for this month. Big thanks to those over at @ectoberhaunt and @ectoberweekofficial for the prompts! All fills should be correctly tagged, fics contain summaries and AO3 links, and please do mind the warnings if they’re there.

All my Ectoberhaunt22 fics can also be found here on AO3

Ectoberhaunt22

Day 3 - Order: Order to Entropy (poem)

Day 3 - Chaos: Refraction Chapter 3: Break to Build (fic)

Day 4 - Box: All Boxed Up (art)

Day 4 - Staff: Spirit of Rock (art)

Day 5 - Wraith: Paved with Good Intentions (fic)

Day 5 - Banshee: The Last One (art)

Day 6 - Burn: Fevour (fic)

Day 6 - Freeze: A Mercy (fic)

Day 7 - Purify & Infect: Detox(ic) (art)

Day 10 - Hunger: Taste Test (fic)

Day 10 - Harvest: Harvest Moon (art)

Day 11 - Drown: A Nap with the Fishes (fic)

Day 11 - Thirst: A Craving to be Sated (fic)

Day 12 - A Way of Life & Cause of Death: A Way of Death (fic)

Day 13 - Restored: Humanity Restored (comic)

Day 13 - Abandoned: The Haunting of Amity Park: Part 1: The Neon District (fic)

Day 14 - Haunted House: The Haunting of Amity Park:Part 2: FentonWorks (fic)

Day 14 - Costume Party: Double Trouble (art)

Day 18 - Eyes: A Trick of the Light (animation)

Day 18 - Teeth: Teeth Bared (art)

Day 19 - One & One Hundred: Hall of a Hundred Eyes (art)

Day 21 - Coronation: The Dragon Queen (art)

Day 24 - Future: The Price of Knowing (art)

Day 24 - Past: Too Dead for This: Chapter 1: Seven Years is a Long Time (fic)

Ectober Week 2022

Day 26 - Six Feet: I’ll Come Home if You Call (poem and art)

Day 28 - “Psst, you’re dead. Pass it on.“: Two Paths (animation)

Unprompted

Cosmic Perspective (art)

Dead and Gone (transparent art)

Squeaky Toy (animation)

Ectoberhaunt21 Master Post

Commentary Under the Cut

It has been supremely challenging and fun to do all of these prompts! I know I’m not a super prolific author and artist, but I really enjoy events like this. While it’s been hard on me to produce this sheer amount of content, it was engaging and active, giving me something to do and has motivated me to put out more content in a month than I would normally do in a year on my own. I also love seeing the improvement in my content from this year to last year, when I first took part in this event, along as throughout the event itself, I noticed improvement. While I might not have been able to fill all of the prompts I had planned to do, I also did much more than I originally planned as well, shooting to fill all of the prompts, both for each day. But with 29 fills, 3 of which have no prompt at all, instead inspired by other things throughout the event, I’m satisfied.

I’ve had so much fun throughout this entire event, from planning my fills, to the story line made up by the Ectoberhaunt crew, to drawing and writing my fills themselves. But of all of them, I do have some favorites.

I found my trend of horrible angst holds true, with some of my most severe fill, at least in my opinion, being Paved with Good Intentions. Vlad’s perspective of Danny’s grief was definitely something I found fun to write.

I noticed I used a lot of Outside, or limited perspective, especially with The Haunting of Amity Park, where you only get the perspective from the camera, so it ended up being mostly descriptions and dialog. The morticians perspective in A Way of Death was also amusing to write.

I tried out a lot of different art techniques this year as well. I messed with my style, bouncing back and forth between a more semi-realistic style and then a more cartoon-esque style for the more humorous fills, and then the simplistic style for a few other ones. I definitely think I’ve improved over the past month, just due to the sheer amount of art alone. The animations were fun themselves.

My ask box is always open if you want to talk to me about a particular piece.

See ya around!

#danny phantom #goodfish writes #goodfish draws #ectoberhaunt22 #ectoberweek2022 #master post #links #goodfish was here #i’m going to go sleep for the next week now. have fun going through everything

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mareenavee · 11 months

Note

Talking about writing and advice on it got the wheels in my brain churning, and now I'm curious! So! If you're so inclined to answer:

Are there any writers who have served as an inspiration to you? (Whether through specific advice or just the stories/poems/music/etc that they have written.) If so I'd love to read some examples of how their words have inspired you!

Hi!! Thank you so much for this ask. It means a lot, actually.

I talked about this a tiny bit on how this specific writer inspired my fic, but honestly, they've inspired my entire writing career! It's not my only influence, but for sure is the most significant one as it's the earliest example I can remember that had me itching to write.

That writer is JRR Tolkien.

When I was a wee child, I read so much and so often that I was above my "reading grade" in no time at all. When I was about 7 years old (so a long, long while ago now lol) my uncle gave me his copies of The Hobbit and The Silmarillion. The Hobbit was missing its front cover. Me being a child, I ignored it for a while, and tried to read the Silmarillion...and it didn't go well. So I shelved it and tried the Hobbit instead. (:

I flew through that book so quickly. I had never, by that point, read anything quite so cool and complicated. There were stories within the story itself and a sense that there was more to the world than just what was being said. I don't of course remember anything of what I actually thought at that specific moment, but I DO know and have proof of from old journals that I immediately set about trying to write after that. My first story was kind of derivative. I turned my friends into characters on an adventure with me where I was the wizard (or witch, as it happens) instead. It was maybe 12 or so pages in a little hardback journal.

Years later, I read The Hobbit as my first read of the year to kind of remind myself of that initial enthusiasm that jumpstarted my journey. Every year, without fail, my first book completed is this one. Maybe at this point I could probably recite it word for word LOL (okay that's an exaggeration.) Whether I read it aloud or I read to myself, it's super dear to my heart.

My current project, as I noted in the link above, has a specific quote from The Silmarillion that I wrote the entire thing around (: There's another specifically from The Hobbit that I keep in general to remind myself of why I do what I do.

“The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with weary feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.” ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, The Road Goes Ever On; The Hobbit

It relates a bit to my advice from a tag game I posted earlier, if you were wondering (:

#AskMareena #MareenaWrites #Tolkien #The Hobbit #Writeblr #Fanficblr #Writing Advice #Writing Inspiration #Writing Tips

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detectivechandler · 10 months

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R O L E P L A Y C H A R A C T E R S T A T S S H E E T

Repost, replacing the old information with your muse’s information.

Hover underlined ‘links’ for better explanations, should you need them.

Pass it on to your mutuals for a better understanding of their muses.

stole it from @spynorth

▍ Face claim: Rupert Penry Jones ▍ Name: Joseph Chandler ▍ Age: 34 (verse dependent) ▍ Gender: Male ▍ Nationality: British ▍ Birthday: October 31, ▍ Sun Sign: Libra ▍ Residence: London, UK ▍ Marital Status: verse dependent, though also eventually in a relationship with @gentlemanstarkey ▍ Alignment: lawful good

L I K E S

▍ Drink: His go to drink is green tea, though he will settle for any type of it if the occasion calls and green isn't available. He also likes sparkling water, orange juice and shirley temples. If he's going to have an alcoholic drink, he will go with usually a pinot noir or a gin and tonic. he also likes a good scotch. but all occasions of drinking anything with alcohol are few and fair between. ▍ Food: sushi !! he'll kill you (not really) for some sushi, man. At home, seeing as how he is usually cooking for one, he will just eat freezer meals. Spoiler alert, they aren't that great. ▍ Day or Night: either. he doesn't sleep much anyhow. ▍ Snacks: junk food. candy bars and packaged pastries and the like. he's got a secret drawer in his kitchen that is his stash. ▍ Song: Him, Sam Smith. ▍ Quote: “Set the force that drove the criminal to the crime against itself.”, Discipline and Punish, Michael Foucault. ▍ Historical Character: John Keats. and also Copernicus ▍ Pet: nope. no way. absolutely not.

▍ Book: He likes poems and owns collections from some of his favorite poets, but hasn't read nearly as much since graduating university. ▍ Colour: red. a more secret one is yellow. he'll never tell anyone. ▍ Flower(s): he doesn't have one. he barely notices them as it is. they're fairly all pretty in their own right .. but he notices nothing to put one ahead of the next. ▍ Sexuality: absolutely asexual. sexual intimacy is the last thing on his mind when it comes to imagining being intimate and vulnerable with his partner. though he discovers more of an interest once he enters into a relationship with james, the other man could say he's decided on a completely chaste relationship and joe would be fine with it. it has nothing to do with his attraction or feelings, he just doesn't prioritize it or, frankly, even understand it fully.

L O O K S

▍ Body type: He’s 6′2 in height and while (obviously) built similarly to his identical twin adam, joe leans more toward soft in some places and slightly round in others due to the more sedentary nature of his job and overall lifestyle. his muscles, while noticeable in his arms and back, are not as toned as they might otherwise be. he's a soft boy - especially around his hips and stomach. he has a slightly rounder face thats only truly noticeable when compared to adam's more lean and angular one. ▍ Eye colour: Blue

▍ Hair colour: dirty blonde. when wet, it will seem almost entirely brown. when in the sunlight, it gets blonder.

▍ Body reference:

Tagging @gentlemanstarkey , @dodgedabullet + anyone else !

#headcanon. it's not a disability. it's a gift.

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scribbledquillz · 1 year

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OCs as Siken Poems

I was tagged by @shivunin and @jellydishes to do this quiz for my ocs to see which Richard Siken poem best suited them. Thank you both so much for thinking of me! <33

I'll tag back: @siriskulksnerding, @heniareth, @raymurata, @wild-houseplant, @m-m-m-myysurana, @melisusthewee, @antivan-beau and anyone else who'd like in. No pressure as always!

Revka

Straw House, Straw Dog "You wanted to be cremated so we cremated you and you wanted an adventure so I ran and I knew you wouldn’t catch me. You are a fever I am learning to live with, and everything is happening at the wrong end of a very long tunnel."

and

Still Life with Skulls and Bacon "I had obligations: hope, but hope negates the experience. I owe myself nothing. I cut off my head and threw it on the ground. I walked away. This is how we measure, walking away. We carve up the world into feet and minutes, to know how far from home, how many hogs in the yard. My head just sat there. Fair enough."

Wow. Wow wow wow. Both of these sections strike very closely to different parts of the old life Revka struggles to leave behind. In the case of Straw House it's the grief of losing her parents, particularly her mother, and trying desperately to fill the roles they played in their family while also knowing she doesn't entirely measure up. And with Still Life it's the different pieces of herself that are left behind as her life carries on. The young girl in Denerim's alienage, the reluctant Warden recruit, the home she made for herself, Ceral and Zevran in Amaranthine they had to abandon, the little cottage in the woods she only just managed to begin to feel at home in before she was forced to leave it as well. All those parts of who she was and still thinks herself to be that are scattered and not entirely her own anymore just - ugh my heart.

Ceral

Saying Your Names "Names of heat and names of light, names of collision in the dark, on the side of the bus, in the bark of the tree, in ballpoint pen on jeans and hands and the backs of matchbooks that then get lost. Names like pain cries, names like tombstones, names forgotten and reinvented, names forbidden or overused. Your name like a song I sing to myself, your name like a box where I keep my love, your name like a nest in the tree of love, your name like a boat in the sea of love — O now we’re in the sea of love!"

and

Lovesong of the Square Root of Negative One "I am the wind and the wind is invisible, all the leaves tremble but I am invisible, bloom without flower, knot without rope, song without throat in wingless flight, dark boat in the dark night, pure velocity."

Names wouldn't work so much for Ceral during Origins, but with an older adult Ceral taken into consideration this feels very on-brand for how he would act as someone's lover. I see him as being very open and giving in his affections, and the idea of him waxing poetic over the different names he and his lover might share in different ways and places seems exceptionally fitting for him. But Lovesong - oh man. This is EXCEPTIONALLY accurate to how Ceral would perceive magic, specifically his abilities and his role in wielding it. He was older than most when he was taken to the Circle, and so hasn't accepted the teachings of magic being something to fear, particularly given his friendship with Hope. Rather he sees magic as a force woven into life itself, and his ability to manipulate it much like a seamstress manipulates needle and thread to create clothing,. But to the extent that the tools are a piece of himself as well.

#oc meme #revka tabris #ceral tabris #my ocs #oc meta #thank you so much again for the tag! this was a fun one!

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