pokeplumage · 2 years ago
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On that note, I wanna say that pikipek doesn't have a name yet! But since he can understand me quite well now he needs one so if anyone has any name ideas I would love to hear it :)
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beanyboi173thegoober · 11 months ago
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Having assigned myself to a life of memorizing game soundtracks, it is ASTONISHING how many times I've recognised Hollow Knight pieces in completely unrelated works.
Watching Slimecicle's 100 days in the apocalypse video, and at a random point, I just say to myself 'wait a fucking minute-' because WHOOPDEEDOO in the background he's playing Decicive Battle by mothafuckin Cristopher Larkin.
Ooo watching random tiktoks? The type that get dueted by content farmers posting satisfying clips? 'WAIT WTF WAS THAT???' AND I FROZE. Because this guy had not only played an undertale song, but MOTHERFUCKING MANTIS LORDS BY GODDAMNED CRISTOPHER LARKIN.
Now this is not a hate post whatsoever. I adore the hollow knight soundtrack. It is just absolutely baffling how many times I've heard the soundtrack in random ass places. It makes me laugh every time I hear a hint of a note and immediately know the song name and origin, g-note speed for those who get the joke.
However, I've only really seen popular games get that type of soundtrack usage. Popular games earned that, that's the whole reason why they're popular, but I do have some suggestions for really good game soundtracks in the less popular area.
I also suggest that more people play these games. I have either played or seen played all of these, and they're absolutely gorgeous.
My favourite pieces from each soundtrack:
Journey - I Was Born for This
What Remains of Edith Finch - Milton's Tower
Unravel - The Red Thread
Abzu - The Waters Were Mingled Together
I heavily implore people to play these games and listen to their amazing music. And if you already know about these, you have some random internet stranger's approval.
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kollector-of-stims · 3 months ago
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I'm again inviting any of you to give this self care/scheduling/pet app a go and use my code or this link to get a mystery pet and help me get an arctic fox pet!!
As someone that has trouble getting things done and needs reminders but enjoys virtual pets and decorating and being rewarded for tasks, this app has helped me tremendously and I'm considering even buying finch plus (even tho the free version is still SUPER helpful on its own).
Pretty please use my code or this link to give the app a try (or just to help me but I swear it may be worth trying this app) and if you do use it, I'll be sure to send you good vibes through the app!!
Tap this link or use my friend code 7C4V59W23A for a special reward! (Mystery egg that will hatch into a pet for your finch!)
Oh and if you like it, invite your friends too!! Maybe they'll enjoy it!
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felixisfruity · 1 year ago
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i love seeing very specific/silly things (headcanons, thoughts, whatever) from the people i follow. they’re so strange <33 like yes i agree with this i dont know what you’re talking about but i agree
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lil-kozy-kollector · 3 months ago
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Super proud of myself for not napping all day cause it bothers me how sleepy I get! But now I'm sooo tired so early..
But I can sleep well knowing how cozy my room on the finch app has become!!🥰
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🛏🧸✨
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fandoms--fluff · 1 year ago
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Hello I just wanted to ask if you can do one where Hope has a little sister is another daughter of Hylie and Klaus is named Crystal Mikaelson, she is the light of Hope's eyes and she is the key for Hope to turn on her humanity crystal age is 6 months
The Little Key
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Baby female Mikaelson reader x Hope Mikaelson
Warnings: swearing, thats all
A/n: I did change the oc name to just y/n, cause that's what I'm used to writing and the age is a bit bumped up to around almost a year old to fit better with the fic, but she's still female. I hope you like it 💗
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Josie bounces you in her arms with one of her hands on the back of your head while you're crying your eyes out. Your sobs and crying are silent, wanting your big sister and everyone can tell you miss her even if you can't speak coherently yet.
You remember the feeling of another woman but she's been gone a long time. Now it's only Hope, your big sister, you have that same feeling with.
Josie holds you close and stands up from the couch in the living room, trying to quiet and calm you down a bit. Lizzie, Kaleb, MG, Finch, and Cleo are the only other ones in the room. They're all standing or sitting, trying to come up with a plan to get Hope's humanity back.
They hear heels clicking on the hardwood floor, "Hmm, I can help you with that. Stop trying" Hope walks into the Library with her arms crossed.
She glances at you for a moment before quickly moving her vision over to everyone else standing up now. Cleo starts a spell on her, but Hope picks up on it straight away and knocks the witch out with an easy spell. The older witch falls back onto the couch, unconscious.
"Hope, what are you doing here?" Josie asks, hiding your face under her jean jacket so you don't see any other incidents that may come.
"Do I need a reason to come back to my old school?" Hope rhetorically says.
You let out a loud whine, tears subsiding, hearing your sister's voice and wanting to go to her. You manage to escape from under Josie's jacket and make a grabby hand toward Hope while your other hand is holding onto Josie's shirt collar.
"What about your baby sister? The old you would have never been this unthoughtful" Josie exclaims, tightening her grip as hard as she can without hurting you.
Hope laughs with a scoff mixed in, she says, "This is your big plan? Saying some tiny touching thing about my sister and then insulting me? Heh, you can do better".
She started to walk over to the brunette twin. Lizzie moves quickly and stands in front of you both.
"What? You really think I'd hurt my own sister and the girl I had the smallest crush on for a measly week?" Hope chuckles at the taller girl.
She raises her hands and snaps the heretic's neck effortlessly before she could answer. After, she casts an immobilization spell on everyone except you.
Vamping over, Hope takes you into her arms and leaves the school before the spell wares off.
All of your tears immediately subside and your breathing levels out as you cling to the tribid.
She walks into the abandoned Mikaelson mansion that your guys' family used to live in for around two years. She's been staying in the house since a week after she turned her humanity off.
Hope walks up the staircase after locking the door and enters the room which she's taken, which is Klaus', or used to be anyways.
She puts you down on the bed and starts pacing back and forth. A second later you raise your hands up, wanting to be back in your sister's arms.
"What the hell is wrong with you, why'd you take her. There was absolutely no reason to, ughh. No, no way am I turning the damn thing back on. I see what your doing" Hope rambles to herself and her mind trying to get her to flip it back on, ignoring your pleas to be back in her hold.
"Hhh-o,mmhh" you whine, not being able to pronounce it.
You keep trying over and over, not being able to get it right, and Hope paying no mind to your babbling.
She can already feel her switch flittering between off and on, but she pauses as soon as she hears the word that comes out of your mouth.
"Ho...Hop... Hope" you finally pronounce correctly and yell out to your sister.
"What'd you just say?" She walks over and finally picks you up from the made bed.
"...Hope," you say again.
She closes her eyes, trying to fight off her switch, but after some time it was no use. Opening them back up slowly, she looks down at you in her grasp, holding onto a lock of her wavy auburn hair.
"Hey y/n/n, I'm sorry. I'm here now sweetie" Hope holds your tiny frame against her tightly, not wanting to let go.
You lay your head on her collarbone with a hand still in her hair, content and happy being back with your big sister.
"You said your first word" she whispers into your hair and kisses your head.
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roosterbruiser · 2 years ago
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blurb idea: everyone joking and asking Bradley how he's surviving bc he only has daughters but then you see Bradley at home painting nails, having a tea party, pretending to be at a fashion show, engaging in 5 different conversations. All that in one afternoon. And he's just so happy the entire time and can't wait to do it again 🥲
can be read as part of the Landslide universe :)
Rooster is a girl dad. it isn't even just his energy--it's a legitimate fact. first there was Olive, then there was Joni. the two of you thought for sure that the third was going to be a boy, not that it mattered either way--so imagine your surprise when you had Finch; your third daughter. and when the two of you agreed one more baby, not even in hopes of a son but just to complete your family, you were blessed with two more girls: Opal and June.
it was all the buzz around base, when Rooster came back from paternity leave a few months ago, everyone mockingly taking a knee when he entered the room like he was some sort of battle hero.
it's something Rooster is chided about relentlessly, even now. everyone falls you and your daughters the hens, calling all your get-togethers hen parties, asking how he survives the estrogen of it all. it gets especially brutal when his commander or a student points out the leftover glitter in his hair or the tutu someone snuck in his work duffel. there was also that one time he forget to take off his nail polish before work--boy, did the man have a heyday with that one.
Rooster takes it all in stride, though, happily wearing homemade ties to work and presenting scrawled drawings. he has hardly any elbow room on his desk because of all the frames that clog it.
it's a regular Wednesday in the middle of September as Rooster walks up the path to your front door, but it feels like the first day of summer to him. the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming. and inside the house, he can hear the chaos that has been brewing all day: Olive trying to stop Joni from abusing the piano and failing, Finch following you around the house and asking you about caterpillars again, Opal babbling, June crying, your steady voice, the radio playing Born in the U.S.A again (no doubt at Olive's request), the dogs whining for dinner.
it's really music to his ears.
"daddy's home!" he hears you call as he stuffs his key in the lock.
and when he swings the door open, he's knee-deep in all of it. Olive, the oldest and the most coordinated, is dodging everyone to spring over to Rooster. she takes her spot on his left leg, hugging him to her body, immediately trying to tattle on Joni for abusing Grandpa Goose's piano. Finch makes it to him second, less-coordinated and not wearing anything except a diaper and one of his neckties, a toothy grin cutting her face as she reached up for her dad. and once he's holding her, patting Olive's head in greeting as he kisses Finch's ruddy cheeks, Joni has planted herself firmly on his other leg.
you're steadily making your way to him, too, the weight of the world slipping off your shoulders as he kisses all his girls hello.
"daddy said you're not supposed to smash the keys!" Olive insists, incredulous.
Joni screws up her face, sticking her tongue out at Olive.
"I wasn't!" she insists. "daddy, Olive's lying!"
"gotta be careful with the piano," he says, patting Olive's tawny hair, then Joni's. he can hardly hear their bickering above the blasting radio. "how many times has this song played today?" he asks with a grin.
Finch takes it upon herself to answer, having recently learned numbers. she stuffs her sticky hand in Rooster's face, holding up five fingers proudly.
"five?" he asks, eyebrows raised. he kisses her little palms and she giggles at the way his mustache tickles her skin. "you girls torturing your mama when I'm not here?"
"and Opal didn't nap today," you add with a deep heave, bouncing the twins on your hips as they each mouth your sleeves, blinking up at you with their daddy's big, brown eyes. "and June had a blowout, and Finch is a nudist. Joni tried to drink out of the dog's bowl again. and the dog got into your office and found your stash of Reese's, which you were hiding from me."
"sorry, baby," Rooster insists.
"after everything I've given you?" you tease, nodding to his armful of girls and yours. "I'm offended!"
"I think I helped a little," Rooster teases.
standing before him now, you smile despite yourself. Rooster's still grinning, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips before taking the twins from you, holding them both with one arm. he hopes he can always hold all of his girls at once, even though he knows it's not something that will stick around forever.
"just a little," you tell him, stretching your taut body out now that your child-free.
"what about me?" Olive pouts, tugging your pant leg. "what did I do?" she asks.
always wanting to be involved.
"you, little miss, made me play Bruce Springsteen all day!" you tell her, bending at the hips to stroke her cheek.
she grins at that, nodding proudly.
"yeah, I did," she confirms, blinking up at Rooster. "I love Bruce Springsteen!"
"you're a weird little kid," Rooster tells her with a teasing grin. "who raised you?"
she grins up at him, one of her front teeth missing.
"you!" she confirms.
"got me there," Rooster sighs. "I love Bruce Springsteen, too!"
Opal and June are already pressing their gummy little mouths to Rooster's chest, taking fistfuls of his mustache and t-shirt. your arms feel decidedly empty for the first time today, which you always look forward to, but never thoroughly enjoy.
"time's the tea party?" Rooster asks, leaving lingering kisses to the top of the twin's heads as Finch picks through his hair a la baby monkey searching for bugs.
"now!" Joni insists, untying his shoe.
Olive's batting Joni's hands, trying to get her to quit it, and Joni is growling at Olive.
"no being feral," you warn the both of them, pointing an accusing finger at Joni. "let daddy at least get through the door before you growl, huh?"
"but mommy," Joni whines, throwing her head back dramatically. "I'm a puppy dog!"
"you're just Joni," Olive insists, lips pursed. "this is real life."
"hey," Rooster warns, glancing down at Olive. "who made you the pretend police?"
Olive doesn't have an answer, just looking up at her dad with slanted brows and parted lips. ever the most exasperated, serious older sister in the world.
"she's been really into realism today," you tell Rooster, crossing your arms over your chest. "Jake shouldn't have let her watch Life of Pi."
Rooster starts to walk forward with a great effort, grunting as he glides across the foyer with an extra hundred pounds of giggling weight.
as he trudges through the foyer with great effort, his shirt now wet with baby slobber and his curls mussed from grubby fingers and his shoelaces unties, you watch him affectionately. anyone in the world can look at him like this, with that grin splitting his lips and that laugh sitting in his throat, and know that this is what he's meant for.
"c'mon, mama," he calls to you, glancing over his shoulder. "can't be late for the tea party!"
"with real tea," Olive clarifies, shooting you a thumbs up. "but fake cucumber sandwiches!" then she shoots you a thumbs down for affect.
"m'coming," you sigh dreamily, locking the door. "chamomile or jasmine?"
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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 months ago
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The Ladies Whistledown - chapter ten
Pairing: Eloise x Penelope Rating: T Word Count: 3225
read on tumblr: one | two | three | four | five | six seven | eight | nine
As Marina Thompson, Penelope’s cousin had been a dangerous acquaintance for her to have. As the widowed Lady Crane, she was quite safe, quite respectable, and quite welcome back into the bosom of the Featherington family. It had not taken half a minute for Penelope to see this was not a welcome Marina particularly craved. Certainly, she was not needful of it, not now.
They had come in mourning, of course: Penelope, her mama, and Prudence. Philippa and Mr. Finch had joined them for the funeral, but Philippa had never had their mother’s scheming mind, and so lacked the wiles or inclination to hang about the Crane estate, waiting to see if Marina might find a use for her—and what that use might be worth.
Penelope had never felt so ashamed of her mother as in the first days of their stay. It was all too obvious that the woman who had once treated a young lady in precarious circumstances so shabbily was now attempting, sickeningly, to ingratiate herself with the titled, landed widow Marina had become. Penelope did not blame Marina for her coldness, or think her wicked for failing to shed a tear over her husband’s body in their presence. She owed them nothing, to Penelope’s mind. It was not their business whether Marina’s reserve was due to shock, the absence of grief, or simply not wanting Penelope’s mama to see her cry.
Following a week of nearly threadbare civility, Penelope’s mama took their hostess’s hint and departed with Prudence. Finally, Marina warmed a little. Penelope was there to receive it, and to stoke the faintly glowing embers of the girl she remembered as best she could.
“They are beautiful children,” Penelope praised.
They were in the nursery, watching over Marina’s babbling twins. This had been Penelope’s excuse; she would stay to help with Amanda and Oliver. As she was the younger of the unmarried Featherington daughters, her offer had been a logical one. Her mother did not require her for anything. She was easily spared. Still, Penelope had exhaled in relief when Marina accepted. It did not take long for Penelope to recognize that she had not been kept for her assistance with the children but as a companion for their mother. This was perfectly alright with her. She was only too eager—after she had used Whistledown to decimate her cousin’s marriage prospects, almost ruining her life—to make reparations where she could.
“They are caring and sweet. They are their father’s children,” Marina remarked, and Penelope guessed it was not to the late Sir Phillip her cousin referred.
“Do they…” Penelope bit her tongue, holding herself back from asking the impertinent question which had arisen all too quickly in her mind.
“Please just ask,” Marina said. Her voice was tired, her plea honest in its weariness. This was part of what she had hidden from the rest of the family.
Penelope took a breath.
“Do they miss Sir Phillip, do you think? Do they feel his loss?”
They had been standing, but Penelope’s questions compelled Marina to guide her over to the settee. For a moment, they watched the toddlers play.
“They are young, but they are more sensitive than you might imagine,” Marina explained. “Though his memory will grow a little dimmer for them each day, I do hope they retain something of it. Phillip was always most kind to them.”
Penelope eyed her cousin’s profile cautiously.
“…And to you?” she ventured.
Marina turned to gaze at her straight-on. Her expression was proud, challenging. She would not be pitied.
“As kind as I allowed him to be,” Marina said.
Penelope nodded to acknowledge this. She assumed that was to be the end of the conversation. Though Marina had not volunteered much, she had been frank and patient with Penelope. She did not say, Penelope, you could not understand. You have no husband, you have no children. Your ignorant inquiries are a trial. She did not say, Go home to your mama, little girl. She did not say, Penelope Featherington, what could you know of love?
Penelope did not presume love was their subject—except when Marina spoke of her children. She knew her cousin’s marriage had been pure practicality, and could see easily enough that tenderer feelings did not seem to have blossomed during Marina’s two years with Sir Phillip. She was a little surprised when her cousin spoke again, but not at the practical bent of her words.
“We have a comfortable house,” Marina said, gesturing about them, “and Phillip made provisions to ensure our continued residence. My son is a baronet.”
Smiling, Penelope momentarily bent to stroke the small back of this little baronet as he played with his wooden blocks.
“I am so glad you and the children are secure,” Penelope said. She was—more than Marina would ever know.
“We are deeply fortunate. I should not wish for more.”
“But you do.”
“Is it so easily guessed?” Marina wondered.
The question was not asked harshly. Penelope smiled gently in return.
“I knew you before,” she said.
Before—such a word! Every passing moment became a “before,” and even the “before” to which Penelope referred had not been so very long ago. What she meant by the word was the season Marina had passed with her family at Featherington House. When she said “before,” she knew she conjured for them both nights of secret camaraderie, letters passed between them which amounted to a sustaining correspondence, half-comprehended hints regarding the genesis of Marina’s condition. Sitting with Marina now worked to take Penelope back there, to that bedchamber and time. During that brief period, Marina had come to feel more like a sister to Penelope than Prudence or Philippa ever had. She could not help longing for a renewal of the confidence they had once shared. More than that, she wanted to be worthy of it.
“All I wanted then was my great love story,” Marina said.
“And you had it,” Penelope promised her, reaching for her hand and clutching it hard. “You may yet have another.”
“What if Phillip was the only other chance I will get?”
At last, Marina wept. Penelope held her close and felt the silent tears her cousin cried on her shoulder, the swaying rack of her body. Penelope’s eyes were wide with a mix of confusion and sympathy. She marveled at both Marina’s dread and her huge capacity for love—for these tears were surely for George, Sir Phillip, and herself, all at once. Much as she had done with Oliver, Penelope rubbed Marina’s back and tried to understand. Marriage, love, devotion—all of it was so much more complicated than Lady Whistledown ever properly made it out to be. What of the older eligible ladies, like Cressida Cowper? What of the once-engaged, like Prudence? What of the widows who had tasted love (whether in their marriage or elsewhere) and now stared stoically ahead at a future which seemed to promise only loneliness?
“I shall love you,” Penelope avowed fiercely. “Whatever else may happen, you shall have me.”
Though it was likely not enough, it was the truth, and for once, it was a truth that would not do Marina harm.
With one thing and another, and with not being in Mayfair, Penelope and Eloise did not see each other for a while, and in the meantime, summer fell deeper and deeper into autumn until a day came when the breeze no longer bore the heady scent of flowers. The breeze was no longer warm either. The days grew steadily shorter, and more and more often brought rain, October’s purplish-grey clouds swaying across the sky like windswept violets of May.
Penelope did not mind this dark, wet weather in the slightest as it was the perfect weather for writing. Her mama did not make her go out, rather bemoaning the lashing rain herself and shutting herself up with Varley to confront the family accounts instead of sashaying her way to teas and bridge parties, which would only have risked the ruin of her fascinators and silks. Prudence—staying with the Finches for a spell—was likewise occupied, so Penelope felt quite free to sit at her desk and scribble the hours away. There was nothing so pleasant, in her opinion, as the certitude of not being interrupted.
She put to paper idle thoughts and organized bits of gossip about unsavory gentlemen. She was compiling an account on each one; none of it need be published, unless a man should attempt to take in a debutante and her relations—at which point, Lady Whistledown would reveal all. This act of preparation was a satisfaction in itself, and one of the items Penelope made sure to keep Eloise apprised of in their frequent letters. Letters to Eloise were, naturally, Penelope’s very favourite things to write.
However, Eloise’s replies were not always wholly pleasing. There was nothing so awful as a portent of another violent rending of their friendship. No, their friendship was as firm as ever it had been, for which fact Penelope remained grateful every day. Unfortunately, Eloise’s generous and forgiving heart seemed to have lately made room for another—not another best friend, not a rival, but another. Penelope might not have been so troubled by the connection had it not been with Cressida Cowper.
Not unpleasant—that was how Eloise had described an afternoon recently spent in Cressida’s presence. Evidently, they had not come together by design, but found themselves neglected in the same drawing room corner. A conversation that had been struck up for perfunctory politeness had unexpectedly, Eloise had written, become almost delightful after she had made a dry joke which provoked an unexpected laugh from Cressida. Penelope had frowned reading this. Did she want Eloise to be lonely? No. Did she wish for Cressida’s misery? Rarely! But Penelope could not help it, she did not like the thought of Eloise and Cressida becoming friends. It gave her a sick feeling she quickly recognized as jealousy.
But as the letters continued to come, Penelope learned to endure mention of Cressida. It was Penelope Eloise was writing to, Penelope with whom Eloise shared her feelings and impressions. There could be no doubt that they remained first in one another’s thoughts. This cheered Penelope through every thunderstorm, her nib scratching across yet another page of their rich correspondence.
Penelope grew so used to her solitude that she was surprised the day Varley poked her head through the door to announce a visitor. She wondered if it might be Marina, though she could not imagine her cousin returning to this house with much eagerness, or shepherding the twins hither. Perhaps something else had happened and necessity compelled her to come, putting Oliver and Amanda’s wellbeing above her own feelings. Perhaps they were to be turned out of the Crane estate! It had not been terribly long since Featherington House had nearly been snatched from Penelope’s family as easily as a dollhouse from three garishly-dressed dolls; she remembered very well thinking she had been about to lose her home right after losing her papa. She remembered the fear.
Coming out from behind her desk, Penelope hurried to the door of her bedchamber, but Varley blocked her way. She touched Penelope’s arm and spoke softly: “It is Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Colin?”
Varley nodded.
Well, that was… Penelope was glad it was not an emergency. She presumed it was not, though it was odd of Colin to visit her. Here. Alone. For the briefest moment, as Penelope strode to the drawing room, she suspected Eloise must be with him. But no, she knew Varley would have said.
Sure enough, Colin stood alone in the room. Penelope felt deeply relieved that, for once, her mother had ventured out, despite the rain. When she entered, Colin turned and greeted her with a smile. Penelope returned it, then looked back at Varley.
“It is only Colin,” she said.
“Yes, Miss.”
It took no more than that to convince Varley to leave them unchaperoned, even closing the door on her way out. Penelope had never found Varley to be an unkind creature, but the woman certainly thought very much as Penelope’s mama did on most subjects, not excluding the eligibility of a certain youngest daughter. Colin was no danger to her, they clearly believed, and this was because she was not the sort of young lady he would be dangerous with should they find themselves shut in a room together. Penelope would not dwell on it. She received her visitor with pleasure.
“Shall I call for tea?” she offered.
“No, thank you,” Colin said. “I would prefer we remain undisturbed.”
He took a seat on the chaise and looked expectantly at her. As Penelope moved to join him, she felt a soft flutter in her chest. It was not the butterfly sensation she had once experienced when he made her laugh or pressed her hand or caught her eye with a certain mischief in his. It felt more like that sensation’s echo. She had not thought about his words to the other gentlemen about her in some time. When she prodded the memory now, Penelope discovered it did not ache the way it used to, and her image of Colin, while no longer the faultless golden portrait it had been, had not been razed. It was simply more complete.
“I am surprised by your visit,” she confessed once seated. “Your sister mentioned you were to embark on your travels.”
“Eloise does not mislead you.” Colin smiled.
“I imagined you might already be away.”
He tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “I meant to be. My plans… changed.”
“Do you now not intend to go? You once expressed such a desire to see Spain!”
Penelope could recall that particular conversation almost in full; the special affection she had held for Colin previously had seemed to make her memory of each encounter brighter than other memories. And what she had most loved to hear him speak of had been his travels—past and intended. It had not only been his vivid descriptions of places, foods, and peoples she had enjoyed, but how his face lit up when he was speaking of them.
“I do,” Colin assured her eagerly. “I will. It is only a delay—but, I believe, a significant one.”
“Whatever could you mean?” Penelope wondered.
She had spoken slightly woodenly. Between Colin’s words and his look, something alarmed her. If things had been different, if they had retained the closeness Colin might not yet be fully aware they had lost, she might have suspected the next words from her guest would be a proposal.
“May I tell you something, Pen?” he inquired earnestly. At Penelope’s faint nod, Colin revealed, “I mean to see Marina—Lady Crane.”
“Oh.”
She was still digesting this news when he went on, “Needless to say, I will need to allow some more time to pass, for propriety’s sake. Her husband’s death was so sudden—”
“You mean to ask Marina to marry you?” Penelope fairly blurted the question, and it was hardly a question, more a rush of understanding that escaped her brain through her mouth.
If the question was rude, Colin did not show it. He appeared far too caught up in his own plans, anxious and awkward, and yet determined—determined as Penelope felt she had never seen him before.
Indeed, he was blushing as he confirmed, “Yes, I think I do.”
“But why do you speak to me about it?” Penelope cried out.
She could not help her heightened emotional state. Here was Colin, who she had once wanted for herself, who had himself once wanted her cousin, whose chances Penelope had dashed in Whistledown. And now—and now!—Penelope no longer dreamed of being his wife, but she had seen Marina’s loneliness, and now saw before her Colin’s fervour for exactly the second chance for which Marina had seemed to pine. It was almost overwhelming. A feeling rose in Penelope which reminded her of how she had felt when Colin had been on the brink of proposing to Marina before. But it was only a memory of a feeling, and it subsided after a moment, and Penelope was able to avert her eyes from Colin’s face; she feared she may have been regarding him with something like horror.
“I suppose I thought…” Colin trailed off. “I…”
“Please, Colin.” Penelope heard herself, and thought it sounded like a plea for mercy for her younger self.
“I felt I had to come to you to… check it is alright before I proceed. I cannot quite explain, but I feel… I feel I need your blessing.” Penelope looked up at him then. His eyes implored her. “Do you know, I don’t believe I can do this without you.”
Penelope took a deep breath.
When she spoke, she said, “Of course you can.”
“Then perhaps I do not want to.”
“I think your pursuit of Marina would be most natural,” Penelope granted. “Circumstances”—me, she thought—“were against you in the past. If Marina is truly who you want, then you must try for her.”
“I have wanted no other,” Colin said. “Except…”
He looked Penelope in the eye for a moment then. She saw their shared history, and how, for one of them, a childhood of laughter and closeness had matured into dearer feelings. For the other, this had not happened, but the friendship had been rewarding nonetheless, the trust never knowingly breached. There was a flicker in Colin’s eyes that suggested there might have been a time—or even just a moment, a moment like this one—when he had seen what else they might have been to one another. Penelope blinked and Colin smiled at her in nothing more than friendship.
“I wish I knew if I had any chance,” he said. “Nothing is ever sure.”
“No,” Penelope agreed, “but it is not hopeless. Far from it. I think Marina will be most happy to see you.”
“And to receive my suit?”
Penelope smiled.
“I cannot speak for her.”
“If she does not discourage me—and I shall know at once; your cousin can be quite blunt—I will make Marina a promise before I go abroad. Our engagement may begin upon my return, when she is out of her mourning period. Does that seem…?”
“Entirely appropriate,” Penelope promised.
“Good. Thank you, Pen.” He put out his hand to her and they shook. When their hands dropped, Colin gave her a very serious look. “If I can ever do anything for you, you need only ask.”
“I ask only that you write to me during your travels. I do enjoy your letters.”
“That I can readily agree to, as I believe your enjoyment in reading them is surpassed only by my enjoyment in writing.”
Penelope understood this completely. The ink stains between her fingers and on the side of her hand were testaments to her own love of writing. While her pages did not contain adventurous tales of far-flung locales, they probed the human heart and mind, attempting to puzzle out some of their complexities. This study was a great undertaking in its own right.
When Colin departed to speak with Marina, Penelope returned to composing her latest letter to Eloise.
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sgiandubh · 11 months ago
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An intimate lunch
Coming back to this particular C pic, which has sparkled endless comments, today (still very busy days for me & I gave in and binged TCND - this explains the ungodly hour):
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Dots have been connected (there are, after all, alternative Keepers of the Dots, a sobriquet I am therefore relinquishing, thanking again the friend who gifted it to me). And comments -ranging from stan blindness to unreasonable conspiracy theories - have been written too.
Tellingly enough, the wording of the Finch and Partners IG post was quite suggesting: 'an intimate lunch' means more than promo, almost a personal get together with, at the very least, carefully selected people.
Was she coat-tailing? Very probably, to the extent she is understandably interested in getting more acting (directing?) projects after OL. And to make it clear: there is nothing bad to it.
Did she know Cooper before? There is no way in hell to confirm it with 100% accuracy, but my guess is no. Someone, as it has been pointed out, obliged. These are the simple, expected minimum benefits of a PR agent, a Rolodex and of networking. And it is true: she has been consistently on Finch's list and invited at many of their events since at least 2016. Which is to say, since IFH? Oh. OK. No further questions, Your Honor.
Was it a reward for dragging along McIdiot at that Netflix gala, the day before? Even taking into account her visible lack of enthusiasm, I am afraid things are not as simple and mechanic as alternatively dangling the proverbial carrot and stick. It's a quid pro quo, not a reward. A part in a movie would be a reward - not a lunch in town: that would be selling herself very cheaply.
But of course, we are all idiots, as this reaction from a particularly ungifted Mordor pundit would like us to think:
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This post is not about S, of course. And the posited question is a superb logical fallacy: S is 'never invited to any of these events', because his side projects are different and his social media communication strategy is different, too. She was not there because of S and no one on this side of the fandom seriously suggested it.
Also, let's not show more idiocy than you are naturally able of, denizens of Mordor: Cooper did not really need her 1 (one) Academy Awards vote. And do you know why? Well, her vote would not make any serious difference among the 7,999 others, this is why:
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Yes, the Britannica: I know it pisses you, and many other people, mightily off.
But perhaps she was there also because of this?
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Enlighten me, please, since I am such a forgetful idiot, what on Earth might have happened to The Cut? You know, the project she was shooting just before the SAG-AFTRA strike began?
Crickets. And, which is more alarming...
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If proven correct, this IMDb info is not very good news and I would be bereft for her. Honestly. Check the link: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt26697087/fullcredits/?ref_=tt_cl_sm. It lists the entire crew, up to the last best boy. Whatever happened to C's part? Whatever happened to C? The movie is now announced in post-production. Surely we'll know very soon, one way or another. But if her part has been slashed out, it's only normal to be more active and scout any possible project opportunity.
Ultimately, the core problem remains unchanged: since she did not post this picture on her socials, she is still as uninterested in them as she's always been. Always. And sorry for repeating myself, but spare some scarce mention about make-up and attire (presumably to be nice to personal friends), she does not engage with this fandom. At all. That does not leave her stans with many options but to write their own fanfic, while accusing us (who may know a bit more than them, at any rate) of doing the same.
Smart girl, C. I am sure S&C divided their respective roles in the 'Coping with the Narrative' in-house production for a very long time and this is the most important thing of them all. The rest is babble, including this post.
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pokeplumage · 2 years ago
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Alright everyone!!! I understand I've been inactive for quite some time... So I'd like to say the reason for this is that I've moved back to Unova!!!
A short explanation under the cut :D
So the last few months have been quite busy as we've been wrapping up the project in Alola and it was a rush to get everything sorted before our time there was up, but we collected some amazing data and I have to say it was an amazing experience!
However, I'm now back in Unova and after taking some time to settle, I figured I'd say hi again.
For those of you wondering, pikipek decided to come back with me! It's been authorised and he is doing well, as well as growing fast and getting closer to my other pokémon :)
Thank you for sticking with me and hopefully I'll have posts more frequently from now on
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burgundy-twice · 4 months ago
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‘CAUSE IVORY TOWERS SHATTER WHEN YOU SHOW THEM AS THEY ARE!
[PT: Cause ivory towers shatter when you show them as they are! End PT]
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BURGUNDY
HE/THEY/XE . (Honestly any but she/her or it/its! :0)
Twice Johto Champion! Almost galar champion but they hate me sooo much </3
Retired from the competitive scene, working on my bachelor’s in physics! I’m currently working in Kalos under Professor Sycamore for some internship shit but I keep being called his assistant so it’s just an honorary title now :3c still have my same Ol’ team (aside from new guy mr pawniard) who are my emotional support which comes from the fact I am, in fact, doing physics. You can ask for pictures I adore them with ALL MY HEART!
I AM SO LOUD!
EEK!!!
The baby in the background is my beloved schmooboo blooboo aka ACICULA! My starter…my ace is my Glalie though.
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ooc info under cut:
HI! I’m finch! Burgundy is kinda but not really a self insert I’m using for shits and giggles but I promise he’s got a lot of character teehee. Like Burgundy I’m a physics major so I’m protecting HARD /lh
Burgundy is also an awkward overly excited late teen who loves having fun and being kinda annoying. /silly xe babbles on ab off topic shit and his emotions are very volatile .
My main account is @axe-cution !!!
Info about tags, not including main rotomblr tags:
#flamegrilled - main posts, anything that’s not a reblog or an ask, pretty much
#rb - reblog, self explanatory
#lab hell - anything pertaining to sycamore’s lab .
#pkmn: acicula- anything about burgundy’s cyndaquil
#pkmn: wires - glalie
#pkmn: beans - clefable
#pkmn: clint - Scizor
#pkmn: zircon - metagross
#pkmn: pawniard - pawniard
Anything else is self explanatory, hopefully!
Also here’s the prior burgundy ref it’s prolly useful or smtgn:
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aquadestinyswriting · 8 months ago
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Hour of Denial
Summary: The Anvil of Souls has, presumably been mended and sent back to the heavens. But what of the Shaper responsible for this miracle?
Words: 941
Tags: @druidx @flashfictionfridayofficial, @blind-the-winds, @thesorcerersapprentice, @sparrow-orion-writes, @ashirisu, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch
Warnings: Major character death. And Grief, a lot of grief.
Notes: This is going to be part of a series telling the alternate story of mending the Anvil of Moradin. This section was written for the Flash Fiction Friday prompt 'Hour of Denial'. Please note the warnings, this one's pretty heavy.
Elowyn blinked back her vision and shook out the ringing in her ears. She took stock of her surroundings, trying to make sense of what had happened. Slowly, the memory came back to her. Meredith had been using her ability to Shape the Anvil, but something was going wrong. Elowyn and Yoruk had moved up to see how they could help, and then…
Elowyn’s eyes snapped wide open and she jerked her head up. The Anvil was gone and Meredith was –
“Merri!” Elowyn yelped, scrambling to her feet and rushing over next to the crumpled form of her best friend. Aurianna’s claws dug into her shoulder at the sudden movement, but the young dragon-turned-kitten managed to stay put. Yoruk was already at Meredith’s side, his hands shaking as he laid one of them on his wife’s shoulder,
“M– Merri?” he called softly, his voice quavering. “Come on, love. Now’s not the time –” he broke off as his voice cracked. He looked up at Elowyn, his face white under his beard, tears brimming but not yet falling from disbelieving eyes.
Elowyn swallowed down the lump in her throat, staring at the unnaturally still form that was her best friend as she kneeled. There was no movement, not even the slightest of breaths. The memory of Meredith lying in a pool of blood at the door to Watchhouse Eight flashed into her head. The woodling touched her badge, set her face into a determined grimace and yelled over her shoulder,
“‘Grut! Get the High Priestess in here!” she snapped, knowing full well that the goblin sneak was sitting right on the other side of the door, despite being told to go to the refectory to wait with the rest of their party. She then turned her attention to Yoruk, taking his face into her hands and forcing the dwarven paladin to look at her,
“Hey, come on, it’ll be alright.” she said, trying to keep her own voice from shaking, “We’ll have her back in no time. Then we can yell at her for being a damn idiot for thinking she was even close to being done.” she babbled. Aurianna leapt from her shoulder and rubbed against the dwarven man, purring. The Emerald Dragon rumbled sympathetically,
“My Lady Elowyn –” she began, but Elowyn shook her head and glared up at the crystalline being,
“We are getting her back.” The woodling snarled, before recalling herself and hanging her head, “My apologies, my Lady, but I – I can’t –” she broke off, sucked in a breath, looked back up into those amethyst eyes and continued, “I need to at least try.” 
Smaragh heaved a sigh and nodded,
“Very well.” She rumbled, gesturing to the door. The slab slid silently to one side, revealing the High Priestess and the shadowed form of a goblin waiting in the shadows behind her. Snotgrut took one look at Elowyn’s face, nodded, and stayed in the shadows, leaving only the high priestess to walk into the cavern. Elowyn was grateful that Snotgrut was a goblin of discretion. There wasn’t any need to alarm the others. Elowyn was getting their dwarven friend back, even if she had to march up to the heavens to drag the damn woman back herself!
It didn’t take long for all the preparations for a Resurrection ritual to be made. Yoruk had insisted on helping, clearly hoping that the sooner this was done, the sooner he would have his wife back. As soon as all the preparations were complete, the Emerald dragon spread her wings, while the high priestess took out her holy symbol and began intoning a prayer in what Elowyn assumed was some dialect of old dwarven. The woodling held Aurianna securely in her arms and bowed her head as a gentle emerald light lit up the cavern.
The thunder above them rumbled ever louder as the high priestess continued her prayer. Elowyn’s face pinched into a frown as several long moments passed with nothing happening. She felt Aurianna tense and clutched the kitten closer, her heart beginning to race. What was taking so long? The last time the dwarf was Resurrected, she’d woken up fairly quickly.
I’m sorry. I love you.
Meredith’s last words echoed disconcertingly in Elowyn’s head, even as a faint smell of forge smoke, damp earth and salt air hit her nose. Her heart squeezed painfully, even as she tried to shove the bubble of grief that rose in her stomach back down. No. This was going to work! It had to. 
Eventually, the emerald light dimmed and the high priestess’ prayer slowed to a stop. There was no rasping gasp for air, only the continuous thunder of the storm outside. The high priestess huffed a weary sigh,
“That’s that. I’m sorry.” she said, her voice hoarse. Yoruk sighed shakily,
“Ye – Ye did what ye could.” he said, his voice tight. 
As soon as Yoruk had spoken, Elowyn felt her heart shatter and her determined resolve fail entirely. She swallowed down her sob as she opened her eyes, let Aurianna go and stumbled to kneel next to Meredith’s body,
“Why?” she sobbed, “After everything – You promised!” she yelled, curling into herself with another sob. Aurianna was quick to attend to her soul-bonded, mewling quietly as she rubbed up against Elowyn as hard as she could. Elowyn picked the kitten up and hugged her tightly, burying her face into the soft, golden fur. As much as she wanted to pretend this was all just some twisted dream and deny it was even happening, the evidence lying in front of her was impossible to refute. Meredith was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.
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littlemissagere · 1 year ago
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Xiao Agere Headxanons!
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
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Xiao as a regressor !
🕊️ Xiao would regress from 0-12 months, a newborn regressor !!
🖤 He is an emotional little
🕊️ Babbles and coos when he wants to be held or picked up
🖤 Qiqi occasionally plays with him, lending him some of the toys that Baizhu bought for her, even giving him a Finch stuffed animal that’s very soft..
🕊️ He usually seems like he doesn’t want touch, but when hugged, tickled, anything, he’s giggly and babbly
🖤 Far more talkative… all be it through babbles, when regressed
🕊️ His carers are Baizhu, Zhongli, Venti, and Traveler!
🖤 Picky eater
🕊️ Makes flower crowns with Ganyu
🖤 Cried when he woke up from a nap and didn’t see anyone around right away… he ended up getting lots of uppies :3
🕊️ Tummy issues from stress is common. Sometimes he’ll want to be held because of a tummy ache
🖤 Zhongli reads him stories!
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
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Caregiver Xiao!
🍙 Xiao is a very quiet yet blunt guy. With his little one, he eases a bit.
🖤 Doesn’t mind what you call him, does prefer “Baba” (i headcanon non-binary Xiao ngl)
🍙 Will always be by his little one's side
🖤 Kisses you on the forehead and cheeks, to comfort you
🍙 Carries you as much as you want
🖤 It’s alright if you are hyper, he may not seem high energy, but he is still going to Ty and keep up
🍙 Fussy and Clingy times/moments are okay, he'll accommodate your needs
🖤 Has all your drawings in a special place at Wangshu Inn.
🍙 You can call for him by just his nickname you give him, and he'll be there instantly
🖤 Smiles only for his kiddo, so they know he isn’t mad
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Please read !!
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kellyscowboy · 1 year ago
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“You’re so cute when you start babbling without realizing."
Javey 👀
sorry for the late response!! been a wee bit busy & am still struggling w/ writers block lol || the prompt list
Mouth. That was David's nickname. One he had earned from sassing off to other newsboys one too many times. Contrary to what his nickname suggests, David doesn't like talking. Really, if Jack would let him, he would try—and probably fail—to keep his big mouth shut.
He was truly scared of his words, of what he could instigate by the simple act of speaking. Honestly, the last thing he wanted to do was say something, off-handedly, and land himself in another stressful situation. While the strike wasn't something he regretted (anymore), while it was happening he couldn't help but think about all of the bruises he wouldn't have gotten if he could've just kept his mouth shut.
And, to add onto everything else, he knew he talked too much. It was a miracle, really, that the other's haven't yelled sewed his mouth shut. Button's had probably suggested it before, though he figured no-one took his offer seriously.
David had made it a point to stop talking as much. For the greater good, he said. But he really couldn't help himself around certain people. Mostly his family, and Medda. And sometimes particular newsboys, one's who understood his struggle and eagerly blabbered with him. Like Mike, and sometimes Finch, on certain topics.
Even then, he could hold himself back. He never let the conversations get too far and he never fully let himself go.
But then there was Jack. And there was something about the boy that made him far too easy to talk to. Something about him let David let his guard down, without even thinking about it.
"And so when the air get's like that- Oh." David stopped in the middle of his rant. He turned to look at Jack, who looked back at him like he was the whole universe. It made David uneasy. "Sorry, Jack. I didn't realize I was talking so long. I've probably made you miss something important."
Jack snorted. "Somethin' important? Yeah, I gotta meeting with the mayor. Can't believe you've kept me this long." The boy looked down at his wrist, pretending like he had a watch.
"Jack-"
"Dave." Jack mocked. "You ain't even been talkin' longer than 10 minutes. Besides. You're really cute when ya start babbling without realizing."
David went red. "You don't have to lie to me, Jack. I know I can get annoying and boring. Especially when I start talking about stuff you don't know."
"I don't know half the stuff ya talk to me about. Don't bother me none. I just like listenin' to ya talk." Jack paused. "I know ya try 'n hold ya-self back with the others. Makes me feel sorta special when ya start rambling to me."
"Oh-'
"And ya words ain't nothing, Dave. Even when ya use big words and nothin' you're sayin' makes any sense. They mean everything to me, really."
David wanted to curl up and die, because Jack was stripping back every layer of him and placing him out for everyone to see.
"Go on, Dave. Tell me 'bout the air and clouds."
The boy smiled, his walls slowly cracking. "Okay, well-"
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witchcraftandburialdirt · 1 month ago
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The blacksmith knocks on Robin's door, hoping he finds him home.
"Rooobiiin. It's Ferenir, I was by the area, thought to come see you. Are you insiiide?"
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── 𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ── 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝙶𝚄𝙴 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴
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"I am not."
Robin's wispy voice carried from behind Ferenir, as though he had stepped out of the air itself and manifested behind the smith; in his hands there was a basket brimming with freshly plucked herbs. His voice was crisp and airy, like a silver bell that matched his beautiful wintry locks cascading like a waterfall of snow, and mirroring the shimmering moons set in the deep abyss of his pupils. Today, he seemed remarkably well-rested - for once - and his ever wide eyes, usually stagnant in their forward staring, glimmered with a rare vibrancy; flitting curiously to the side, with his head to follow. The magnus knelt low to cup the velvety petals of one of his budding tulips, everything fell rather calm then, the air between them perfumed by damp soil and wildflowers. With a soft sigh, Robin stood and his head darted to Ferenir with a playful, yet earnest, intensity.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Ferenir. For what do I owe the visit?" He offered a welcoming nod of his head and gestured for Ferenir to follow him. Robin heaved a small linen sac of birdseed into his arms, the fabric soft against his skin. With a lightness in his step, he made his way toward the riverside, where the gentle babble of water harmonized with the chirps of nearby birds, "You've caught me at a curious time," he began, "Miss Sivir ( @nameaprice ) was actually just here not too long ago." Robin's expression shifted to one of playful regret, as he sprinkled the seed onto the ground, where flurries of finches and sparrows descended eagerly in a kaleidoscope of hues against the muted backdrop of the forest floor.
"It was a pity you didn't come then, she's a wonderful conversational partner, I'm sure she would turn your own tongue upon you, Ferenir. Hm ... how did the two of you meet? At port?" Once he reached the riverside, he tossed the seed across the soft earth to reach the ducks perched downstream, a teasing glint in his eye as he imagined the lively exchange between the two. "I would have loved to watch the two of you spat," he hesitated momentarily, "Err — engage in heated yet respectable debate in regards to whatever topic you ... both wish to discuss at … said time." Nodding to himself, pleased with the imagery he'd conjured in his mind, before he paused in his task and turned to Ferenir with a curious cant of his head.
"Oh! Speaking of curious times, that it is indeed - actually, now that you're here, I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you in which you would help me procure a boat. I will be soon sailing to Bilgewater to visit a beloved friend of mine for the Harrowing and ... " He trailed off, glancing away as if caught in a moment of introspection, a fleeting thought grappling for attention but ultimately held back, restrained by the thin veil of caution. Still, Robin chuckled, turning to the smith with a hand pressed to his chest in a gesture of feigned formality.
"Mm! Perhaps you should come along; I think you'd be quite fond of Akio's ( @aquatic-hybrid ) … rambunctious proclivities, plus what fun there is in slaughtering bloodthirsty curs and corpses," spilling from his lips with an unsettling delight. Yet, nestled within his eccentricities was an undeniable warmth— "Well … hahaha! all but yours truly, of course." There was an odd charm in his eccentricities, a whimsical magnetism that held no malice within his penetrating stare:
"But we can discuss all of that once I brew some tea for the two of us."
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thepastisalreadywritten · 1 year ago
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The sight of chubby baby cheeks is often enough to transform even the most committed curmudgeon into a babbling softie.
Sentences become shorter, sounds are exaggerated, and the overall pattern of speech is more singsong and musical.
Researchers have dubbed this “motherese,” or, more formally, “infant-directed speech.”
“We’re not changing the words that we’re saying, we’re changing the way that we’re saying them,” says Laela Sayigh, a marine biologist at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution and Hampshire College in Massachusetts.
Only a handful of other species have been shown to change their calls when addressing young, including zebra finches, rhesus macaques, and squirrel monkeys.
Now, Sayigh’s new study, based on three decades of data in Florida, reveals common bottlenose dolphins use motherese — one of the first times it’s been documented in a species other than humans.
It's a major discovery, agrees Rindy Anderson, a behavioral ecologist at Florida Atlantic University who was not involved with the research.
The study, published today in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, "suggests that using these modifications when communicating with young assists them in learning how to produce these calls themselves,” she says.
Talk to me
Learning language is hard. Yet infants, incredibly, sop up the verbal soup around them and learn how to construct sentences with the appropriate structure.
How? The answer has to do with how we intuitively talk to babies.
Making our sentences shorter strips away unnecessary words. Emphasizing sounds makes words clearer. And — importantly — we increase the pitch of our speech.
Studies have shown these vocal characteristics grab and hold the attention of children far better than normal adult-directed speech.
And when parents are coached on how to use motherese, their child babbles more and has a bigger vocabulary as a toddler.
Language scientists make an important distinction between motherese and what is commonly referred to as baby talk.
The latter, they say, consists of largely made-up words with inconsistent and incorrect grammar and syntax:
It’s the difference between telling a baby, “Look at that DOGGY!” and “Wook at dat widdle puppy-wuppy!”
That’s why the list of species that use the more accurate motherese has so far been limited.
“Vocal learning is actually very rare. Out of the millions of species that use sound to communicate, there’s just a few groups that must learn their vocal communication systems,” Anderson says.
Signature sounds
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When Sayigh began working with a pod of wild bottlenose dolphins in Florida’s Sarasota Bay in the late 1980s, she observed that these marine mammals shared many characteristics with humans.
For instance, mothers and their offspring live within intricate social groups held together by a complex language of songs and whistles.
Over time, the biologist began to wonder whether females use motherese to communicate with their calves.
Bottlenose mothers nurse their young for two years, and the animals generally stay with her until they’re between three to six years old, learning how to hunt, navigate, and stay safe in the ocean.
Father dolphins generally aren’t involved in rearing their young.
Dolphin communication is profoundly different from how humans talk.
The most common dolphin vocalization is their signature whistle, a sound unique to each dolphin that serves as the cetacean equivalent of a “Hello, My Name is…” sticker.
Dolphins, however, don’t use another animal’s signature whistle to direct communication.
Instead, they repeat their own signature whistle and listen for another dolphin to respond with their own.
It’s analogous to your mother standing on your front porch and yelling her own name to summon her kids, says Kelly Jaakkola, a cognitive psychologist and marine mammal biologist at the nonprofit Dolphin Research Center in Grassy Key, Florida.
As part of their ongoing research, the Sarasota Dolphin Research Program performs regular veterinary exams on the wild dolphins, which have gotten used to the scientists’ presence.
During these exams, Sayigh and colleagues would sometimes attach a small recording device called a hydrophone to a mother dolphin’s forehead with a fist-size suction cup that the researchers later removed.
By analyzing recordings of 19 different female dolphins over 34 years, Sayigh found that the signature whistles of dolphin mothers had a greater range of frequencies — the high pitches were higher and the lows were lower — when their calves were nearby.
The high-pitched sounds are out of the range of human hearing.
Endless questions
To Jaakkola, who wasn’t part of the study, this work was “a fantastic first step.”
“The data here are beautiful,” she says. “The trick comes in possible interpretations of what’s happening.”
The work only looks at dolphin communication in one specific context, which means scientists can’t say definitively that the dolphins are speaking to their calves in motherese, Jaakkola says.
For instance, the results could be due to vocal changes in caused by lactation, or some other unknown variable.
However, in a 2017 study, researchers noticed an identical change in mother dolphins’ signature whistles while examining the effects of human-made noise, which lends support to the authors’ conclusions that the dolphins change their pitch as needed.
For Sayigh, the questions are endless — and fascinating.
“I just can't even articulate what an amazing project it is. I could spend three lifetimes there,” she says.
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