#Fulsome

[mumblelard]

with arms akimbo

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 22. Fulsome Characters: Zoissette Vauban Rating: Teen Summary: Sometimes you just need another perspective Notes: None

Zoissette wandered the streets of Ul'dah as the Rising remembrance ceremonies occurred around her, as lost as ever. It had been over a moon since she had returned from her unfortunate voyage through the rift, and it was only now that she felt up for travel alone. She wanted to visit the merchants, browse the shops, and remind herself of where she had once been.

The Rising seemed an oddly apt time to do so. The time when the realm came together, to remember. Now a time for her to pull herself together and try to do the same.

Everything seemed so distant, now. She was no longer certain she had a place to belong.

Everyone had been helpful since she had come back. More than she deserved.

And these days it seemed she could not help but be open with them, emotions spilling out of the cracks of her soul, free flowing and beyond her control. It scared her, a bit. She did not know how to be like that. But everyone had been kind and understanding of their newly awkward friend. Letting her stumble over her words and stammer her apologies and they were all pretending to be understanding.

How could they though. She did not understand herself.

She stared up into the sky as the fireworks went off loud overhead, showing spectacular shapes in the sky, their light flickering along the walls. She watched, transfixed for a while, before she wandered to someplace away from the noise.

The place she found herself had been decorated in a most unusual way. Strings zig zagged back and forth from pillar to fountain, along the walls, from every high point. And on those strings dangled envelopes like leaves, each marked in a unique manner.

Zoissette frowned and was studying the envelopes intently when a Miqo'te dressed in a manner that suggested they were one of the attendants of the celebration came up to her.

"Can I help you?" asked Zoissette, and the Miqo'te smiled up at them, and Zoissette could look straight into her purple eyes and see the cataracts there. An older woman, then.

Something tugged at her memory but did not quite come forward.

"Why, I think that's what I'm supposed to ask you. Are you lost, adventurer?"

"I think I am. I mean. Uhm. Sorry. I am sure I meant to say, I am lost in thought."

It seemed she could not keep herself from blurting the dumbest things these days.

The Miqo'te turned slightly, and gestured all around.

"This is the letter forest. Letters from around the realm. Gratitude. Encouragement. Sympathy. I think you should read a few. They'll help you find your way."

Zoissette looked at her curiously, but after a moment, she looked up at one of the letters, and reached up, and gently removed it from its line, and flipped it over in her hands.

It was just an envelope. Nothing remarkable. None of the usual stamps or addresses on it, just a single picture, drawn by an experienced hand, of lamp posts of all things.

She opened it. A message, from someone unknown, as they had not signed it. But they were apparently someone who had a hand in the design and placement of lighting posts throughout the realm. A job they found joy in, knowing they were helping light the way for their fellow citizens. In the letter, they hoped that in particular, that adventurers might see the lights that would help guide them home.

Zoissette smiled. It was a sweet sentiment, clearly felt, honestly expressed. She tucked the letter back into the envelope and put it back where it came from, and looked around to ask the attendant a question, but they had vanished.

Odd. She was usually more observant than that.

She looked around to try to seek them out, but it seemed they had well and truly left the area. There was another attendant not so far away, standing more central to the area, but they were talking to others, and anyroad, Zoissette did not wish to be a nuisance.

She was curious, though. And apparently the purpose of the letter forest was that anyone could read any letter they liked. Reading them all would take too long, but curiosity compelled her to at least read one more.

This one had a picture of a chocobo. Judging from its contents, it was a porter, pleased to take care of their birds, and pleased to be a help to the realm. A lower cost alternative to aetherytes, and an imminently more accessible one as well, for those who could not well dip into deep anima wells. In particular, the porter expressed joy at meeting adventurers just starting their journeys, knowing that by providing them with such an easy start, they would have the opportunity to do great things.

She stared at the letter for a bit, and read it again before putting it back. Almost without thinking, she reached for another one, with a picture of a bill board. They spoke of how the first ones had been placed out almost on a whim, but the locals took to them with vim, as adventurers stopped to read them. They recounted how they had become a lodestone of sorts, a way for people to find and speak with one another, to reach out, connections made and carried forward. Connections made between strangers. And now the practice had spread through the realm, and they tended their most diligently, seeing what good had come of the practice.

Connections. Just like the letters in this letter forest. Connections between strangers. Well wishes sent out into a seeming uncaring void, but found by those who did and could care.

Eagerly now, Zoissette found others, and she found the story always much the same. Fulsome praise and joy and just plain hope were full on display. She had always treated praise with light suspicion, always felt that anyone expressing gratitude to her was just being polite. After all, that was what one was supposed to do. If someone did something nice, and you benefitted from it, you thanked them. Even if it was their job, even if it was expected due to a difference in station.

It was a lesson her mother had instilled in her. Always be polite. Even if she had always felt genuine when she did the same, it was difficult for her to read it in others when she received it. After all, why would they be? She was a noble woman, then an officer, then an assessor, then an adventurer. She was just doing what was expected of her, nothing more, nothing less, and kind words given to her were as empty expectations, even as her care for the star always compelled her to act.

But here.

None of these people knew her, but they all knew her. Here, these were all strangers, but they were so full of love and care for their fellow, that they sat and wrote and drew and delivered a message they would never see received. Messages spun out, leaves in a tree, adrift in the serendipitous wheel, certain to be lost to history.

Every message sent in the hope it would be read, and nothing more.

Every message sent, meaning to deliver hope to those who read it.

Every message said what Zoissette had always felt, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Zoissette had always believed in her heart of hearts that the inherent state of person was good. That each strove for it, in their own way. Peaceful lives, tomorrow to be much like today, but maybe just a little brighter if they had a say. And that was what the letter forest was trying to say, in every picture, in every pen whorl.

She hung one last letter up delicately, and became aware that her breathing had become shaky and unsteady. She put her hand in her mouth to stop from making noise, and wiped her face with the back of her other hand, and it came away wet, with tears.

How had she not seen it, all of these years?

They were not strangers. They were her friends. They were her family. They had always been right there, all around.

Weakly, she stumbled her way back out, to sit heavily on the stairs. High in the sky above, the fireworks continued, exploding, leaving their mark in the heavens and spreading their light to whoever could see.

Zoissette looked up and watched them, a smile on her face, as her tears continued to flow, free.

[chocoblep]

#22: Truer Words

Lydi and Arivel sat eating lunch, talking and laughing and teasing each other, when Kellen came to straddle the bench on Arivel’s other side. Lydi’s work partner froze, ducking his head with a pretty blush to his cheeks as Lydi continued talking.

“... And then he told me that I was cute!”

“You are cute, Lydi,” Arivel said, and Kellen leaned his elbow on the table to look at her, nodding in agreement before resting his chin in his meaty hand.

“I–I mean,” she spluttered, looking between the two men with a bit of pink in her cheeks as well. “I think he was just being overly complimentary, but you know me, I can’t ever tell if someone is genuinely interested in me!”

“Well,” the new arrival said, running his free hand through his black hair and fixing her with a look. “Maybe it’s time for someone with a keen interest in your happiness to suss that out, eh?” The Highlander reached out with the hand he wasn’t leaning on and snaked that arm around Arivel’s waist, pulling him in toward his chest. “After all, you did do me a solid all those moons ago.”

Arivel spluttered, almost dropping his apple, but he snuggled into Kellen’s warmth all the same, and Lydi smiled at the pair. “Wait, what’d she do?” he asked, looking between Lydi and Kellen.

“Well, I have a theory that when she bumped into me on the lift the day my comm broke, she kicked it through the grate on purpose,” Kellen said, and Arivel lost a bit of color in his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lydi retorted, turning to straddle the bench and face them fully. She had this look on her face, though… Lydi was a terrible liar, and Arivel saw through it immediately.

“You set us up!?” he asked, and Kellen just laughed, leaning in to kiss the crown of Arivel’s head.

“Well, you were in a shitty relationship and you needed a push, and Kellen had been looking at you like a love struck puppy for like, two moons, and–oh, tell me I was wrong!” She looked at Kellen, whose face had also lost a bit of color.

Arivel shifted against the highlander, looking up at his face. “Really? Wait, how long did you…”

“Half a turn,” Kellen interrupted, and then cleared his throat. “But we’re talking about Lydi and this guy who definitely likes her, not us.”

“Wait, half a turn before we got together?” Arivel questioned. “That would have been when you first got here–”

“Yes,” he said, and Lydi smirked. She had successfully turned the conversation away from herself once more.

“But that would mean that you…”

“He had a crush on you since the moment he saw you, Ari,” Lydi said, and that had Kellen clearing his throat.

“Anyway, this guy of yours. Did he use any strange body language? Try to stand close? Smile at you a lot? Laugh at stupid shite he had no business laughing at just because you said it?” The Highlander was like a dog with a bone, and Lydi couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips.

“No, he–well, wait, he did seem to always be stepping into my space. And he did laugh at a stupid joke I made about ice cream flavors…”

“Definitely likes you,” Kellen said with a solemn nod. “You should talk to him again.”

“Why?” she asked, and it was Arivel that perked up to reply.

“Why? Because you’re always making everyone else happy, and it’s the ones who put so much effort into making others happy who are the most unhappy!”

“But making others happy makes me happy,” she protested, and Kellen just smiled.

“Not going to force anything on you, obviously, but when you go home today, take a few moments to think about what happiness really means to you, independent of your desire to see those around you happy. And if that personal happiness includes a companion? Then talk to the guy again.” he shrugged, as if it were really that simple.

She thought about it for the rest of the day, and when she finally got home, she walked into her sparse little apartment and looked around. Everything was in its place. It wasn’t put away, exactly; Lydi lived in a state of organized chaos, something that only really worked for her and lost its meaning to anyone else. It was something that was hers, and hers alone.

Alone.

There was no mystery of some little thing having been moved, no sign that anyone but herself was ever here. No little sounds to alert her to another’s presence, no easy companion to tell all her worries to, or muse about the things that had happened to her over the course of the day.

It’s the ones who put so much effort into making others happy who are the most unhappy.

Arivel’s words rang through her mind, and as she looked in the mirror and brushed her teeth, her ears wilted against her head and she took on a sullen expression. She hated that statement, but not because it was objectively true.

She hated it because it was true for her, too.

[grimble787878]

[mybuddyjimmy]

Fulsome

Fulsome [FUL-səm]  Part of speech: adjective Origin: Middle English, unknown  1. Complimentary or flattering to an excessive degree. 2. Of large size or quantity; generous or abundant.  Examples of fulsome in a sentence  “Her fulsome words made Jimmy both embarrassed and grateful.”  “They brought home a fulsome supply of apples from the orchard.”  #wordoftheday

[trukadjmux]

[googledocsdyke]

saw the brokeback mountain 20th anniversary re-release and to be honest? everyone clapped

[trukadjm]

[magazinewankersworld]

Fiesta, Volume 33, Number 4

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

which midnights song do you think is importantly to TTPD but not often in the conversation? (From your recent ask)

lol i hesitated answering this because it’s touchy but fuck it

With the caveat that I am NOT saying anything about its origin or inspiration so please don’t come after me for it because I am not platforming that conversation on main: BTTWS. The event or person that inspired it does not matter for the purposes of this answer or discussion, it’s the expression of grief that does, because grief is what drives TTPD.

The hollowed-out, desperate, all-consuming sadness of that song, the feeling of isolation and feeling alone in your pain, of wondering if there is something you could have done differently to change the timeline, is also the underpinning of TTPD.

I’ve said it several times on this blog, but no matter what inspired the song, the reason I think it’s on Midnights is because of the theme of grief and how it consumes you, and how it can leave you racked with guilt and rumination. (Tying in to all the other what-ifs on the album about sleepless nights.)

So no matter what triggers the grief, a sense of loss is what drives the decisions she makes in the stories in TTPD.

Obviously there are a lot of other songs that apply, and like I said in the post I linked earlier, all of Midnights feels like questions that TTPD answers, and all the songs figure on TTPD in some way.

[starrysnowdrop]

FFXIVWrite 2023 #22: Fulsome

Adjective: offensive to good taste, especially as being excessive; overdone or gross; excessively or insincerely lavish.

Set between 5.55 and 6.0; Lord Aymeric is getting increasingly aggravated by the Ishgardian nobles and their empty flattery.

Another letter… always another letter. This time it was from House Lenoir, a minor noble house, but respectable enough, though that was certainly not the issue at hand.

Aymeric sighed as he opened the letter and began to read the flowery words filled with fulsome praise. Though he might be the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights and the Lord Speaker of the House of Lords now, that was not always the case. Before he rose through the ranks in the Temple Knights, he never received such accolades from the populace, and certainly not in excess such as this. Quite the opposite, in fact, due to being born the bastard of Archbishop Thordan and all.

Even a couple of years ago, the Lord Commander would’ve expected that many of the members of these noble houses would have rather had him assassinated, and now they sing his praises every chance they get, and their words always seem to ring hollow. All of this is quite exhausting, especially when it is always for the same reason.

Aymeric’s eyes roamed over the words until he spotted it, the dreaded phrase that spelled out their intent:

It is for strengthening these ties of our two great houses that I proffer my eldest daughter’s hand in marriage.

With a deep sigh and a roll of his eyes, Aymeric folded the letter back up and set it on to the side of his desk, another marriage proposal that he must formally write a rejection letter for.

How many more of these rejections must he write? Just how many times must he explain that he has no intention to marry any time soon? No, the proposals will continue until he formally announces a courtship.

But that cannot happen… not when he must remain silent. He must not reveal that his heart has already been stolen, though even she knows nothing of it.

Therefore, he must make even more excuses for refusing yet another marriage proposal. How tiresome.

[dirtylowdown2]

LOWELL FULSOM - BLUE SHADOWS

CHECKER 959 this is the flip side

[princetonarchives]

“There was but one George Washington; was but one Abraham Lincoln; there shall be but one Grover Cleveland.”

--Frances Fulsom Cleveland, as quoted in the Nashville Banner, February 8, 1906, in response to Princeton students being disappointed that they did not name their son Grover Cleveland, Jr.

[emilianadarling]

I love fandom big bangs, they're so joyous and wild and collaborative to participate in!

The first chapter of Heart Beats Slow is now available to read on AO3. 🥰 Thank you to @cam-elot for being the guiding star and @lovey-dovey-and-sad for her unreal-inspiring story art. Hope you all enjoy!!!

[trukadjmux]

Etichetta Contenuti......😂

È una rivista venduta in Edicola.

[ozkar-krapo]

V/A

"Texas Blues"

(LP. Musidisc. 1978 / rec. ?) [US]