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homomenhommes · 4 months

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … February 18

二月食吧

1907 – Billy De Wolfe, American actor, born William Jones (d.1974); A character actor, he was active in films from the mid-1940s until his death and was a good friend of Doris Day. He was never married, and is generally believed to have been a homosexual.

He signed with Paramount Pictures in 1943 and became a reliable comedian. His pencil-mustached and often pompous character contrasted humorously with the films' romantic leads. His best-known role of his Paramount tenure is probably the ham actor turned silent-movie villain in the 1947 fictionalized Pearl White biography The Perils of Pauline.

De Wolfe became known for his portrayal of fussy, petty men ("Never touch!," he would say imperiously whenever someone accosted him physically). A New York Times review of his 1948 film Isn't It Romantic? strongly criticized the way the other actors' material limited their performances, contrasting their performances with his: "But Mr. De Wolfe is nothing daunted. He rips up the place with great delight. The material is at his mercy. Likewise the scenery. And he chews it to bits."

He appeared regularly in guest roles on television, including the first two episodes of NBC's The Imogene Coca Show. He reappeared as Mr. Jarvis on CBS's The Doris Day Show, and co-starred with Larry Storch in a short-lived TV sitcom, The Queen and I. He often appeared on talk shows and in TV commercials, doing his "Mrs. Murgatroyd" drag routine. Wearing a hat and a shawl (but still sporting his mustache!), DeWolfe (as old maid "Phoebe Murgatroyd") would claim to be an expert on romance, and answered questions from the lovelorn.

Generations of TV viewers know Billy DeWolfe only by his voice: his is the voice of the frustrated magician in the Christmas perennial Frosty the Snowman. DeWolfe gave the role his usual fussy diction: "Mess-y, mess-y, mess-y! Bus-y, bus-y, bus-y!"

1931 – Charles Higham (d.2012) was an English author, editor and poet. Higham was a recipient of the Prix des Créateurs in 1978 and of the Académie Française and the Poetry Society of London Prize.He is best remembered as the writer of sensationalist biographies, especially Errol Flynn: The Untold Story.

Born in London, Higham was the son of MP and advertising mogul Sir Charles Higham. The younger Higham published two early books of verse in England, before moving to Sydney, Australia in 1954, where at 23 he became a prominent book and film critic. He became literary editor of The Bulletin, the country's leading weekly, in 1964, and published three more collections of verse.

Higham was named Regents Professor by the University of California, an honor accorded to leading literary figures in foreign countries, and while at UC Santa Cruz he discovered the lost footage of It's All True, Orson Welles's uncompleted Latin American triptych. In The Films of Orson Welles (1970) and in Orson Welles: The Rise and Fall of an American Genius (1985), he argued that Welles suffered from a "fear of completion" that led him to abandon projects when they were nearly finished because he could not bear to complete them. Friends of Welles, in particular Peter Bogdanovich, criticised this thesis. Newsweek devoted a full-page spread to Higham as a film detective and The New York Times engaged him as its Hollywood feature writer for the Sunday theatre Section.

Higham's first best seller was Kate (1975), the first authorised biography of Katharine Hepburn. This success was followed by Bette, the Life of Bette Davis, a biography of Lucille Ball, and The Duchess of Windsor (1988, 2005). His book Howard Hughes became the basis of Martin Scorsese's film The Aviator (2004). In this work "his assertions that Hughes had a romance with Cary Grant, was centrally involved in Watergate, offering material assistance to some of the conspirators, and quite possibly died of AIDS all raised eyebrows in the news media."

In 1980, Higham's "most sensational work", Errol Flynn: The Untold Story appeared. In this work he alleged that Errol Flynn was a bisexual fascist sympathiser who spied for the Nazis before and during World War II and had affairs with Tyrone Power, Howard Hughes, and Truman Capote. Tony Thomas, in Errol Flynn: The Spy Who Never Was (1990) and Buster Wiles in My Days With Errol Flynn: The Autobiography of a Stuntman (1988) attacked Higham's claims as fabrications, a claim substantiated by viewing the F.B.I. documents, which were altered - rather than quoted verbatim - by Higham.

In his autobiography Higham wrote of his molestation by his stepmother and reveals his 1952 marriage despite his growing awareness of his homosexuality. He and his wife Norine Lillian Cecil stayed great friends although she later adopted a lesbian lifestyle. Higham lived with his partner Richard V. Palafox, a nurse, until Palafox's death in 2010, in Los Angeles. Higham died on 21 April 2012 in Los Angeles.

1932 – Duane Michals is an American photographer. Largely self-taught, his work is noted for its innovation and artistry. Michals' style often features photo-sequences and the incorporation of text to examine emotion and philosophy, resulting in a unique body of work.

In 1958 while on a holiday in the USSR he discovered an interest in photography. The photographs he made during this trip became his first exhibition held in 1963 at the Underground Gallery in New York City. Duane Michals settled in New York in the late 1950s and became known as a commercial and fashion photographer.

For a number of years, Michals worked in commercial photography, working for Esquire and Mademoiselle, and he covered the filming of The Great Gatsby for Vogue (1974). He did not have a studio. Instead, he took portraits of people in their environment, which was a contrast to the method of other photographers at the time, such as Avedon and Irving Penn. In 1968 Michals was hired by the government of Mexico to photograph the 1968 Olympic Games. In 1970 his works were shown at the Museum of Modern Art, New York.

His early work became well known for its insistent, and often humorous, use of the narrative series. Many such works actually incorporated handwritten text onto the images. Thematically, Michals has a recurrent fascination with making tangible the intangible realm of love, death, dreams, and wishes. His works deal with human sexuality, both straight and gay, but always in a charmingly moving and innocent manner.

Though he has not been involved in gay civil rights, his photography has addressed gay themes. As early as 1970, Michals plotted the psychic terrain of urban gay life with his series Chance Meeting, in which two men are seen to cruise each other within the sharply receding space of an alley that communicates both the encounter's intensity and also its potential for alienation.

"Chance Meeting"

The Unfortunate Man (1978) allegorizes the crippling personal effects of gay criminalization, combining photographic image and coarsely handwritten text in what would become Michals's distinctive style.

His frequent incorporation of textual elements is not only Michals's accounting for reality beyond the visible world, but also his unassuming participation in the gay literary tradition that occasioned two books of photographic homages: Homage to Cavafy (1978) and Salute, Walt Whitman (1996). (Among Michals's two dozen books and catalogues, there is also a tribute to René Magritte, with whom Michals shared a fondness for sophisticated visual humor.)

With the publication of his illustrations of ten homoerotic poems by Constantine Cavafy, Michals identified himself publicly as gay, and thereafter one finds in his works images of tremendous tenderness between men, for example, Just to Light His Cigarette Was a Pleasure (1978) and How Nice to Watch You Take a Bath (1986).

In 1976 Michals received a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. Michals also produced the art for The Police album Synchronicity in 1983, and Richard Barone's Clouds Over Eden album in 1993.

Michals has been in a relationship with his partner for 50 years. Though he has not been involved in gay civil rights, his photography has regularly addressed gay themes and quietly added to the storehouse of twentieth-century gay imagery.

1952 – Daniel David Moses is a First Nations poet and playwright from Canada.

Moses, of Delaware descent on his father's side and Tuscarora descent on his mother's, was born in Ohsweken, Ontario, and raised on a farm on the Six Nations of the Grand River near Brantford, Ontario, Canada. In 2003, Moses joined the department of drama at Queen's University as an assistant professor. In 2019, he was appointed Professor Emeritus by Queen's University, Kingston, Canada.

He has worked as an independent artist since 1979 as a poet, playwright, dramaturge, editor, essayist, teacher, and writer-in-residence with institutions as varied as Theatre Passe Muraille, the Banff Centre for the Arts, Theatre Kingston, the University of British Columbia, the University of Western Ontario, the University of Windsor, the University of Toronto, the Sage Hill Writing Experience, McMaster University and Concordia University.

He is openly gay, and also claims "brothers and sisters among Two-Spirit people." Some of his works, therefore, reflect upon and explore the complexities of Native Two-Spirit or Queer identities

1954 – John Travolta is an American actor, dancer, and singer. There have been continuous claims that he is gay, some of these claims even leading to lawsuits.

Travolta first became known in the 1970s, after appearing on the television series Welcome Back, Kotter and starring in the box office successes Saturday Night Fever and Grease. Travolta's acting career declined through the 1980s.His career enjoyed a resurgence in the 1990s with his role in Pulp Fiction, and he has since continued starring in more recent films such as Face/Off, Swordfish, and Wild Hogs. Travolta was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor for Saturday Night Fever and Pulp Fiction. He won the Golden Globe Award for Best Actor - Motion Picture Musical or Comedy for his performance in Get Shorty. In 2014, he has received the IIFA Award for Outstanding Achievement in International Cinema at the 15th IIFA Awards held at the Raymond James Stadium in Tampa, Florida, in the United States.

Travolta married actress Kelly Preston in 1991. The couple had a son, Jett. In 2009, Jett died while on a Christmas vacation in The Bahamas. Their daughter, Ella Bleu, was born in 2000 and a third child, a son named Benjamin, was born in 2010 in Florida. Travolta and Preston have regularly attended marriage counseling; Travolta has stated that therapy has helped the marriage.

Travolta has been a practitioner of Scientology since 1975 when he was given the book Dianetics while filming the movie The Devil's Rain in Durango, Mexico. After the 2010 Haiti earthquake, he joining other celebrities in helping with the relief efforts, Travolta flew his 707 full of supplies, doctors, and Scientologist Volunteer Ministers into the disaster area.

In 2012, Fabian Zanzi, a former employee of Royal Caribbean Cruises, accused the "Grease" star of coming onto him aboard a ship in 2009. "Travolta forced his naked person and his erect penis against plaintiff's person causing plaintiff to experience pain, shock, embarrassment, distress and fear," the complaint filed in federal court in Los Angeles said. Later, lawyers for Zanzi and Travolta signed documents dismissing the action, which prevented Zanzi from refiling.

In May 2012, an anonymous masseur filed a lawsuit against Travolta citing claims of sexual assault and battery. A lawyer for Travolta said that the allegations were "complete fiction and fabrication" and someone wanting their 15 minutes of fame. Travolta's counsel also stated that his client would be able to prove that he was not in California on the day in question and asserted that Travolta would "sue the attorney and Plaintiff for malicious prosecution" after getting the case thrown out. A second masseur later joined the lawsuit making similar claims. Both lawsuits were subsequently dropped by the complainants and dismissed without prejudice.

In September 2014, Travolta denied claims made in January 2014 by his former pilot, Douglas Gotterba, that they had shared a sexual relationship while working for Travolta's aircraft company, Alto, for six years before leaving voluntarily in 1987. Gotterba argued that he was not bound by any confidentiality agreement during his term in the position.

1956 – John R. Stowe, a spiritual teacher, cofounder of Gay Spirit Visions, and founder of EarthFriends, was born. He lived a closeted gay existence until 1979, when he began a quest to discover what it meant to live as a gay man. As with many gay men, much of that struggle meant dealing with negative self images acquired from growing up in a world that does not accept homosexuality.

John began his studies of the living world rather traditionally, majoring in biological sciences and earning an M.S. degree in Biology/Ecology that led to a teaching position in a small university near Atlanta.

After several years of teaching - and a couple more spent traveling through Mexico, Central America, and Europe - he embarked on a study of natural healing. In 1981, John received certification from the Atlanta School of Massage as a Licensed Massage Therapist - having taught there concurrently.

After coming out, he found employment as a bodyworker/ masseur and pursued his spiritual and self-understanding quest through a spectrum of alternative spiritual options from the gay-informed Christianity of Episcopal priest Malcolm Boyd to channeller Andrew Ramer. He found bodywork as one tool that assisted the exploration of the inner self. He soon emerged as a spiritual teacher serving the gay community primarily in the Atlanta, Georgia, area.

In 1990, Stowe joined with a small group of friends who had pursued similar spiritual journeys, including Ramer, to found Gay Spirit Visions. The primary program of Gay Spirit Visions is an annual conference where gay men gather to explore alternative spiritual options. The work of the group provided the atmosphere for him to develop his book, Gay Spirit Warrior (1999). Gay Spirit Warrior was written to assist men begin an inner journey and start to experience the reality of the self, both positive and negative.

In 1984, Stowe had discovered flower essences, substances distilled from flowers and other plants by a particular method first discovered by Edward Bach, a British physician. Stowe began to make his own flower essences from flowers found in the Southeastern United States and use them in his bodywork sessions. In the mid-1980s he founded EarthFriends to manufacture and sell the essences he had developed. One line of products, Exploring Gayspirit Oils, is marketed primarily to gay men.

1969 – Christopher Sieber is an American actor. He is best known for his roles as Kevin Burke in Two of a Kind starring Mary-Kate Olsen and Ashley Olsen, and Lord Farquaad in Shrek the Musical. Christopher studied acting and musical comedy at The American Musical and Dramatic Academy in New York City. Sieber has appeared in Broadway musicals, including Into the Woods, Monty Python's Spamalot and Shrek The Musical. He is a two-time Tony Award nominee for his work in Spamalot and Shrek The Musical.

Sieber has starred in two television series: Two of a Kind with the Olsen twins and It's All Relative with John Benjamin Hickey and Harriet Sansom Harris.

While It's All Relative was being produced, Sieber came out as gay and said that he was happily partnered to actor and chef Kevin Burrows. They married on November 24, 2011, in New York City.

Sieber is involved with Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS (BC/EFA) and has appeared in several of its Broadway Cares revues, among other events the charity produces.

Today's Gay Wisdom:

Audre Lorde

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When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.~ Audre Lorde, The Cancer Journals

Each time you love, love as deeply as if it were forever / Only, nothing is eternal. ~ Audre Lorde, Undersong

I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood. That the speaking profits me, beyond any other effect. ~ Audre Lorde, from the essay "The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action", in Sister Outsider

Your silence will not protect you. ~ Audre Lorde from the essay "The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action", in Sister Outsider

I am who I am, doing what I came to do, acting upon you like a drug or chisel or remind you of your me-ness as I discover you in myself. ~ Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider

Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives. ~ Audre Lorde

I have always wanted to be both man and woman, to incorporate the strongest and richest parts of my mother and father within/into me -- to share valleys and mountains upon my body the way the earth does in hills and peaks. ~ Audre Lorde, Zami: A New Spelling of My Name

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masterqwertster · 5 months

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🏴‍☠️ and/or 🫂 for the au tidbits

Evergreen AU Prompt

🏴‍☠️ Orym keeps a sharp eye on Liliana. Mother of his captain she may be, but he doesn't trust her.

It's not that she hired them for a smuggling job. Mostly. Orym's learned in his time on The Hellion that some things need to be smuggled for the good of others. He's also pretty sure Liliana's cargo is not that kind of job. Not with the imperious way she treats anyone not Imogen (and even Imogen is talked down to, though in the manner of a child rather than an inferior person not worth the time). The good kind of smuggling tends to come from worn-down but well-meaning and kindly folk.

No, the main reason Orym doesn't trust her is the way Liliana is trying to force herself into the role of a mother to Imogen without acknowledging her nearly lifelong absence in Imogen's life, or even seeming to notice that Imogen is her own grown woman, not a helpless child.

So when Orym notices Liliana's brow furrow in that same way Imogen's does when she's actively listening to thoughts, as the interloper stands on the deck over the Green Cabin, he heads on over to put an end to that mess in the making.

"She won't appreciate that," Orym says as he draws close, placing himself between her and Dorian at the helm, and crossing his arms over his chest.

"She ain't gonna find out, now, is she?" Liliana retorts with a threatening look in her eye.

Orym can't help but think it's the kind of look befitting of a cutthroat. Dangerous, if you aren't a dangerous fighter yourself. It's not nearly so terrifying, so cowing, as a sharp look from one of his mothers. More proof, really, that Liliana may have birthed Imogen, but she's not much of an actual mother.

"Maybe Imogen isn't as good at this telepath-psychic stuff as you, but I'm pretty sure she can tell when someone's poking at her brain all on her own," Orym evenly replies.

He doesn't mention that Imogen also wears an enchanted circlet under her captain's hat that prevents mental intrusion, so what Liliana's trying won't work anyways. Nor does he mention that the other mind Liliana will find in the cabin could potentially eat her alive. The galaxy depths of Ashton's mind have already nearly taken Imogen and FCG and Prism, and Ashton likes them.

"I'm just tryin' to get to know my daughter," Liliana wheedles.

"Then talk to her," like a normal person, he doesn't say.

And maybe that's just a Thing with psychic telepaths: they'd much rather take unfiltered information straight out of your head than attempt to articulate anything in words or let you consider your answer. Because honestly? Imogen pulls this shit too. If people don't answer her questions, if they're not fast enough to reply, if she feels their answer is lacking details, she dives right in to search for what she wants to know.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but she won't talk to me," Liliana scathingly says.

Right. Because the other problem is that–

"You don't listen to what she's saying. So is it really any surprise she doesn't want to talk to you when you just ignore what she tells you anyways?" Orym pointedly replies.

He watches the woman flinch back, thinks he feels the flutter of another mind brushing his own.

"I do listen," she insists. "Imogen just don't listen to me."

Orym huffs a sigh. Stubborn as her daughter, this one. It's going to take someone better at people than him to straighten this mess out.

🫂 "I can't believe you were living with an earth genasi," Cyrus says as they sit tucked away on Eshteross's airship.

"It's not like I ended up there on purpose," Dorian defends himself. "Ashton helped me out of a tight spot early on, took me in."

"And you didn't leave," Cyrus points out the obvious, brows furrowed.

"Well, I..."

Dorian trails off. It's difficult to describe the deeply buried elemental instincts that sticking around Ashton stirs. Yes, there's that disconnect of Earth and Air that makes his previous living situation so unbelievable to his brother. But there was also a sense of safety in the immensity of the power sleeping in Ashton's veins. Great wings to shelter under from the storm outside, if he's being poetic. A sense of belonging when Ashton checked-in with Dorian, asked him to help them.

"Well, what?" Cyrus impatiently asks as Dorian's silence stretches.

"Well, I– You know how we were taught as kids to sense the strength of another's elemental bloodline?" Dorian asks, completely changing tracks.

"...Yeah?" Cyrus warily answers.

"I don't think I've ever sensed anyone with a bloodline as strong as Ashton's. It's... I don't even really know how to quantify it besides immense. And it's scary. I won't deny that. A bit off-putting too because he's Earth and I'm Air. But also incredibly comforting when you know they're on your side," Dorian explains.

Cyrus gives him a blank look.

"I– It's– Look, I know it was unconventional. I went in thinking I'd take their hospitality for a few days, maybe a week, and be on my way. But it felt like a slightly off-kilter sort of right to be in Ashton's care. Like– like the stories mom would tell, about how the greater Elementals, the greater bloodlines and families of the genasi, are supposed to care for and protect those under them. That's how strong Ashton's bloodline is, strong enough to overcome the divide of elements," Dorian desperately tries to explain.

Cyrus gives his little brother a searching look.

"...Okay. I believe you," he softly says. "But I also think that's kind of terrifying, and it makes me worried for you."

"I'm alright. I promise," Dorian gently murmurs, pulling Cyrus in to press their foreheads together. "Ashton's rough around the edges, but good. I'm just going to miss them."

Cyrus doesn't say that that's what worries him. All genies, all greater Elementals, are collectors. And he's terrified by what may have collected his little brother.

#MQ&A #MQ AU machine #MQfic #high seas hells au #orym of the air ashari #liliana temult #partner swap au #dorian storm #cyrus wyvernwind #ashton greymoore

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arclundarchivist · 5 months

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Spoilers for C3E82!

MOON LANDING!!!

Almost a fucking year since the Bridge fucking opened!

Genuinely excited to see what awaits them on Ruidus, what’s the deal with the evident rebel Reilorans, and this Imperium that has allied with the Vanguard and the Unseelie, curious to know what Ira has been up to, and whatever else could be discovered.

Otohan is likely gonna be the next “boss” they fight since she’s gonna learn someone breached the Bridge after she came back down.

There were already fractures within the Vanguard and with them in the Unseelie, so I’m curious to learn if the Imperium is in on Ludinus’s plans at all.

Wondering if Imogen’s dreams will get worse/if this place will start to change her faster/if the Storm Lord will reach out to her again.

Curious if any sign of Raven Queen/the Dead Gods will be up there.

Noticed the “Imperial Reilorans” have a lot of chain motifs on top of moon motifs which of course could totally tie into Predathos, but I’m wondering if Tharizdun is again tied into this somehow.

I wonder if we’re gonna get a Ruidus map?

Genuinely excited, and a bit annoyed because next episode is the last episode of the month, but hey Candela is honestly engaging as all hell, though Campaign 2 is the best so far.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr imogen #cr fearne #cr laudna #cr orym #cr ashton #cr chetney #cr fcg #ruidus #ludinus da'leth #otohan thull #ira wendagoth #reilora #predathos

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blorbologist · 2 years

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Be my echo

(TW - discussion of Laudna’s death in Whitestone and some graphic violence/body horror standard for Laudna. And C3 episode 33 spoilers. ahaha. aha.)

“Laudna? Where are you?”

She can’t reply, and she wants to cry and scream or coo and soothe that she’s right here, she’s okay, it’s fine, Imogen run, Imogen run. But she can’t do anything but be a discarded dolly on the ground as the object of Imogen’s nightmares smiles and moves to her next target.

She’s dead, not deaf, silly. Can’t quite turn off the seeing, or the feeling, or the hearing, even if she’s a puppet with her strings cut.

Laudna would never leave her without an answer.

It was really the most childish thing, but the first time, after (what, do you want her to say it? After, you know. Oh, it sounds like something dirty, when she avoids saying it. Maybe it is.)

Where was she? Oh, yes! Blablabla, Laudna had called out for her mother.

It wasn’t anything ruinous. She’d just fled Whitestone - they hadn’t bothered to give her shoes, but Laudna was used to gamboling along without them, so really no harm done, comparatively - and had hunkered down in something with four walls and half a roof. And in trying to curl up, and bring together her lovely dress for some warmth and pillows and maybe a little comfort too, she’d torn the hem.

It squalled, a cry as the most beautiful thing she had ever held sheared under her bloodied nails (when had they become bloodied?), and Laudna had - she just - she had sobbed, at this tiny little scrap of terrible upon a terrible day, and something that could have been “mom? Mom, fix it, please?” had stumbled out between her perfect teeth.

Which was stupid. Mother was terrible with a needle and thread. She wouldn’t have fixed it, that would have been for Laudna to do.

But mother would have sighed, gently exasperated, and kissed her forehead when she insisted she wasn’t crying over a silly dress, see, and helped her out of this soggy and gorgeous funeral gown and gotten her into some jammies, and maybe sat by her bedside and pet her hair and oh Pelor, oh Eraths the dress is even worse, now, because she’s crying and it’s not tears it’s black - and oh gods, oh both of you and all of you, because mother’s not here she’s dead and it’s only Laudna who came back.

It kept happening. She’d be cold and ask the shadow in the doorway for some soup, please, mother? Feeling lost, she’d whistle and expect one of the farm dogs to find her and bring her home. Her run would end in a tumble into a ditch and she’d glance up, expecting father’s broad, sturdy hand to help her up.

She just kept looking for them, which was silly, because she knew they were dead and gone, or gone and dead, or gone, or dead, and why did this reflex live longer than she had?

Laudna grew out of it. She thinks? Funny, so funny, that she became a strong, independent young woman after death. Took the better part of a year, which she thinks is excellent time given everything she was dealing with.

But it was a reflex. Like pulling your hand from an open flame, or blinking, or holding your breath. And she kept some of those, so, really, how strange to think she’d kept that one?

What little she’d been unable to get rid of (had kept, tight to her chest, which was easy enough to do when she could kinda slide her hand under her skin in some places), Delilah took care of. She was very good at housekeeping, for a noble! Very imperious - this stays, that goes, clean this up, I live here too, now and I will not live in a pigsty of a mind.

(Well, a little part of Laudna had sneered, maybe you shouldn’t have shacked up with little ol’ me. A little skinny stray cat, a street dog, you have no clue what sort of living I was up to. When I was alive, I mean. Could be a pigsty is where I slept. You never asked.)

Delilah was still someone, though. And Laudna looked to her, sometimes.

When she was especially tired, or sad, or lonely. When she either forgot in the moment (it was just a day, one day, and this stretched on years, you’ve forgotten the details of so many days, right? Right?) or her despair was so great she didn’t care, anyone was someone, she’d talk to her.

Delilah rarely responded. Sometimes she sent a feeling, you know? Equivalent to a ‘get well soon’ card - can’t be bothered, socially obligated to try. And sometimes she preyed on it, used the moment to twist at Laudna in ways she didn’t like, but she also liked it because she reached out and someone reached back. Even if they were reaching to grab her, hold her chin in her hand and go ah yes, she’ll do quite nicely - thank you, dear.

Where was she going with this? Hm. Pâté, a little help?

Oh. Oh, where is he?

(Had she dropped him, or can’t he hear her, either, when she’s closer to being dead-dead?)

Ah. Yes, oh! Point of all that rambling: Laudna is used to finding silence where she should find people.

Or. She had been used to this, until she found Imogen. Or Imogen found her. Or Delilah found her. Or Imogen found the absence of a person that was her. You know, it’s really complicated.

And when she said her name, Imogen responded.

With a hum, a twang in the air, precursor to a whole jaunty tune, just getting warmed up, or maybe winding down after being strung too tight all day long.

With a ‘yea?’, an opening, a start, a beginning directed at this manifestation of so many ends, loose ends dead ends end of the story, this end of a woman she kept going.

With her name, Laudna, Laud, Laud’na, Loudna, a thousand different tones and pitches and emotions to them she collected like pretty bones on her windowsill.

Imogen always, always responded. Even when she was asleep, which was funny, because she was still alive and slept normally, and she shouldn’t but she did.

Laudna would be pressed close to her, at night, feeling like a thief for taking her body heat, like the luckiest woman alive (hah!) for being granted it. And she would just say it, for fun. Imogen? Iiiimogen? Im’gen? Out loud, as soft as she dared, and she would shift to her. Laudna never did it much, she would never disrupt her already fitful sleep, but it brought something warm to the space where her dead heart sat.

And of course Laudna always responded. Because Imogen had known what it was like, to reach and receive nothing in return, too, and she would never impose that on her. Never, never - she’d endured it for decades and decades, she’d be damned if Imogen endured it a day more.

It was normal. It was two years.

“Imogen!” “Yeah”

“Ooooh, Laudna!” “Mmm, yes?”

“Hm?” “Huh.”

“Fuck-” “Oh, dear.”

“Oh, Imogen?” “Hey, Laudna?”

“Imogen, darling?” “Yes, Laud?”

It was constant. Where are you? I’m here! I can’t see you? But you can hear me! What if I still can’t? I can feel you, in my head, in my heart, in me like you’re part of me.

Oh, oh that was a nice way of thinking of it. Part of eachother, yes! Like Imogen carried around a piece of Laudna in her harness satchel, or always clutched in her hand, and Laudna had bits of Imogen in every pocket, so no matter which she’d stick her spindly hands in she’d find her.

Or maybe something a little more morbid, you know - like that piece was an extra organ in their ribcages, a graft. More romantic, because morbid and romantic were truly quite the pair. They made quite the pair. She hadn’t thought about it, before, and it was a little dirty, like a fresh corpse, a little hard to look at, it was so new, not bleached and comfortable bones yet. But it was theirs and her’s and her’s and she cherished knowing it was there, sprouting daisies. Maybe it was a little confusing, a little messy, but everything about Laudna was and it made sense to her.

Two little songbirds, trilling to eachother, trilling to her mate that here were worms for you and here’s a feathered nest for you and how may I preen you? And now one was quiet and one was flying in a storm, and could she not, please don’t, Imogen - Imogen!

She can’t leave her without an answer, she can’t, she can’t leave her with this quiet with this noise with the absence of her -

So the slow, sluggish, sloughing sparkings of the back of her mind ask for Delilah.

And Delilah delights in answering, this time, because she’d been so good, so well behaved, and so well rewarded for it.

She’d take up a thousand deals with this devil if it meant their dialog was never interrupted, if Laudna never went unanswered again.

“Imogen,” Laudna rasps.

She’s pretty sure she tries to add in some other things:

Imogen, I’m here. Imogen, run, please, I’m good at running, I’ll join you. Imogen, don’t run, don’t leave me.

Imogen, I’m damaged, so badly damaged, not in this way but in other ways and oh you know.

Imogen, darling.

Imogen, please. Imogen, I don’t even know what I’m asking. Imogen, I know what I’m asking, and I’m scared.

Imogen, love me? Please? Because I love you, I love you, Imogen I love you and I’m sorry I scared you, I’ll always answer you, I’ll always say yes, because it’s you and I love you, and don’t-

But it’s hard to fit that into six seconds, and it would be a waste of time because she always replies and they’ll have time for this later, so instead she bargains like Delilah would. Ruthless, half-truths, too-much-lies apparently because Otohan hurts Imogen for it and no, no, she didn’t want this.

It’s Whitestone in Bassuras.

If she squints, the sandstorm could be a snowstorm.

The houses could be old stone and cedar.

Those - those things, they could be vampires.

This woman, she could be Delilah.

(Delilah is very indignant at that comparison.)

And guess that makes the rest of the Hells her fellow dinner guests.

Because they’d all replied, too.

“Ooooh Orym!” “Yep?” “If you could turn into any animal, what would it be?” “Why are you like this, mom?”

“Fearne?” She didn’t respond verbally, but something chittered, and she was back to herself and had grinned, bright and devious and the same sort of other as her, and it was still like seeing like.

Laudna wants to die again. Which is silly, very silly, because she’s already dead, and Delilah just so kindly stopped her from being the boring sort of dead, but please -

“Is she your favorite?”

- don’t -

She’s right there, and Laudna’s stared down a bitch thrice as cruel before and smiled, but now she knows what stillness is, she knows what quiet is, and she can’t leave Imogen, she can’t let Imogen leave -

- leave her.

It’s with that same dim awareness that she’s stabbed, and stabbed again and held aloft, and Laudna is so very unlucky, to have her eyes open and taking in the scene even if she can’t process it.

Oh, she thinks, this’ll be so terrible to cover up. Last time she’d had rope burn and bruises, but this would ruin her dress, too. She’d start leaking.

It was more bearable, the first time.

(Mom, fix it, please, please- )

#critical role #critical role fic #critical role fanfiction #cr fanfic #critical role spoilers #critrole spoilers #cr spoilers #imodna #imogen temult #cr imogen #laudna #cr laudna #laudna cr #southerngothic #cr3

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einsteinsugly · 1 year

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2007. Ringing a Stupid Little Bell.

Eric: Okay, Leah taught me how to get ringtones for my phone, so there's now a song for each of you. *Lovingly, to Donna* "I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing", by the wonderful Aerosmith.

Donna groans.

Eric: Hyde, "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap. *Proudly* Leah showed me that one.

Hyde (groaning): You fuckin' dork.

Eric (with wild gestures): Don't make me change it to "What a Fool Believes" by The Doobie Brothers. *To Jackie* The one, the only, the Imperial freaking March! I know it holds a lot of memories...

Jackie (groaning): Uh huh.

Eric: Fez, in a similar vein, "Fame" by Irene Cara.

Fez (clapping his hands): Ooh.

Eric: And Kelso. "American Idiot" by Green Day.

The gang, minus Kelso, bursts into laughter.

Kelso: Uh!

Eric (proudly): I was inspired by my wonderful daughter, whose taste is often impeccable...

Jackie: Her ringtone for you is "White and Nerdy."

Eric (hand on his heart): I take that as a badge of honor.

#that 70s show #that 90s show #eric and donna #jackie and hyde #eric forman #jackie burkhart #donna pinciotti #steven hyde #michael kelso #fez #my ficlets

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chacegraves · 2 years

Photo

My second attack and first revenge! Fowllyn drew my Imperial dragon Venus so I drew their Guardian dragon Imogen. Loved the swampy vibes and chonky horns of this one!

Fowllyn's Artfight: artfight.net/~fowllyn

#flightrising #flight_rising #artfight #art_fight #artfight2022 #art_fight_wither

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tangent101 · 11 months

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Possibilities, Chapter 2

The Briarwoods had thrown together a feast like nothing I’d ever seen before, with a mushroom and chestnut soup, lobster, fine liquors, and more. Yet somehow the memory of that feast was nothing compared to the scent of Angel’s soup. Even with Angel’s warning that the soup was getting cool, I almost burned my mouth on it, though I barely noticed with how famished I was.

I paused for a moment, trying to piece things together, but it got fuzzy, the later into the feast we got. At some point... the guards just descended on all of us and they pulled me away from my parents. I remember a guard smacking my father and his falling to his knees as I was pulled from the room. They beat me... and Lady Briarwood’s imperious voice stating my ears were too round and to... shape them... and blades cutting into my flesh. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, my hand moving away from the bowl of soup and gently rubbing my ears. They were whole. Was it a nightmare? What really happened to me?

Imogen’s hand rubbed my back and I opened my eyes gratefully to glance at her and then froze. A strange man sat across from me, his eyes on me, and I quietly moved my hand back to the spoon and the soup. “Um... hello? I’m sorry I was being so rude. I’m Matilda,” I said to him, taking in his dirty blonde hair and a short beard.

“Daddy, don’t be rude,” Imogen chided the man... her father. Chided her father. I should have known. This was his house. It had to be.

He glanced at his daughter, his expression remaining devoid of emotion. “Relvin Temult. It’s a... pleasure to make your acquaintance. You look... better than when your companion first brought you in....”

#critical role fanfiction #matilda bradbury #laudna #imogen temult #relvin temult #delilah briarwood

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intravenousgnostic · 1 year

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New year, new list of books I've read.

January

Under My Thumb: Songs that Hate Women and the Women Who Love Them - ed. Rhian E. Jones and Eli Davies

Faith, Hope and Carnage - Nick Cave and Seán O'Hagan

February

Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism - Vladimir Ilyich Lenin

The Pallbearers Club - Paul Tremblay

Life Ceremony - Sayaka Murata

March

Entangled Life - Merlin Sheldrake

They Shall Not Pass: The Spanish people at war 1936~9 - Richard Kisch

The Devil Takes You Home - Gabino Iglesias

April

Confessions of a Mask - Mishima Yukio

Leatherfolk: Radical Sex, People, Politics, and Practice - ed. Mark Thompson

Female Masculinities and the Gender Wars - Finn Mackay

May

Games Without Frontiers - Joe Kennedy

Disco Bloodbath - James St James

How to Wean Your Baby - Charlotte Stirling-Reed

June

Get in the Van - Henry Rollins

Butch is a Noun - S. Bear Bergman

July

The Republic of Pirates - Colin Woodward

Transformer: a Story of Glitter, Glam Rock, and Loving Lou Reed - Simon Doonan

Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981-1991 - Michael Azerrad

August

Becoming a Visible Man - Jamison Green

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror - ed. Joe Vallese

Things Have Gotten Worse Since Last We Spoke - Eric LaRocca

September

Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society, and Neurosexisn Create Difference - Cordelia Fine

October

Nevada - Imogen Binnie

Brainwyrms - Alison Rumfitt

November

Becoming the Iceman - Wim Hof and Justin Rosales

Conflict Is Not Abuse - Sarah Schulman

Mycelium Running - Paul Stamets

The Natural Mother Of The Child: A memoir of nonbinary parenthood - Krys Malcolm Belc

December

Resisting AI: An Anti-Facist Approach to Artificial Intelligence - Dan McQuillan

Glitter Up the Dark: How pop music broke the binary - Sasha Geffen

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imogenkol · 5 months

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— WIP/MUSIC MONDAY WEDNESDAY

tagged by @cassietrn thank you lovely 💕

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @inafieldofdaisies @statichvm @socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @jackiesarch @gwynbleidd @shellibisshe @loriane-elmuerto @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042

You only feel it when it's lost // Gettin' through still has a cost // Quietly, it slips through your fingers, love // Falling from you, drop by drop // What I had left here // I just held it tight // So someone with your eyes // Might come in time // To hold me like water // Or Christ, hold me like a knife

Note: feeling very unhinged about this song for very specific reasons and I will confirm that it is a Bix/Imogen song

—

And here is a flashback I've been working on of Inquisitor Imogen!

Imogen surveyed the crowd of civilians that her troopers rounded up, pacing like a patient, yet hungry beast. The small Mid Rim moon harbored an eclectic collection of beings with humble lifestyles. Some were farmers, others were traders, tavern owners, local law enforcement that quickly withdrew their control of the community once they saw Imperial ships land. To Imogen, it was the perfect stack for a needle to hide in.

Through the Force, she felt their fear – their anticipation for what she might do. The Inquisitor took the time to meet every single face with her focused gaze, searching for a connection or even a hint of a power greater than common rabble. She lightly prodded their minds with her own abilities and caught glimpses of memories, frightening images conjured by the imagination, and the barest conceptualizations of words left unspoken so as to not provoke her.

Nothing stood out. At least, not here. But Imogen intended to turn over every stone.

The quiet had been her ally. It helped fear to brew within those vivid imaginations at a steady rate, which could cause even the strongest nerves to buckle once the correct amount of pressure was applied. She only broke silence when necessary.

“I find it disturbing that not one of you has stepped forward willingly to offer us any information,” Imogen said, shaking her head with her hands behind her back like a disappointed school teacher. “You know what we seek. You know that we root out any remaining Jedi traitors for your own protection. Where is your dedication to the Empire? Your loyalty?”

The entire crowd seemed to hold its breath as Imogen stopped before them and went utterly still, her intense gaze piercing through what felt like all of them at once. The very wind seemed to cease.

“You should know that I do not leave my assignments empty handed,” The Inquisitor continued. Her voice grew gentle, almost as if she pitied these people. Inside, her heart pounded with the rush of power she held over them. “If I cannot have loyalty, very well. I shall accept subjugation. If I cannot have subjugation…” In a very casual manner, Imogen held her hand out at her side. The hilt that rested on her hip flew off of her belt clip and into her open palm. With a screech loud enough to make some of the civilians flinch, she ignited her lightsaber and became half bathed in the crimson glow of its plasma blade. The low hum vibrated in her veins, turning her blood to fire. “Then I will settle for taking your lives. The choice is yours.”

#oc insp: imogen kol #ship insp: if i had a heart #i need to write more Inquisitor Imogen tbh #also regret to inform I have started to read the high republic series and created a couple new jedi for it #so the sw hyperfixation is not stopping any time soon......

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taergalive · 5 years

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Here have some screenshots, some I almost died to get

Edit: I’m annoyed because twice I’ve tried to caption these photos with my wit and charm and twice Tumblr has failed me.

#Abnur Tharn #Imogen the Imperial #Elsweyr dlc #got a lot of feels with some for obvious reasons

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senadimell · 4 years

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#k love imogen heap #but xizi she knows #gives me really uncomfortable vibes #even though my brain likes the sounds #idk just comes off as weirdly orientalist #can't shake the fact that it's a british songwriter #saying stuff like #*friend of mine #in a terrible hurry for change #as you unravel your marvels from evergreen gardens #remember we loved you this way*#like huh #guess imperialism wasn't a thing?#who's the friend #who's the we #where's the love #wonder WHY there's a hurry for change #i mean it's super cool almost all of the sounds come from hangzhou #but um...#there's kinda a history there?#and a reason for change?#don't need a british dreamer saying preserve your marvels because i like them #idk who am i to say #i'm a white american #i'm just conflicted because the sounds are still really cool #also the child counting the whole time is super cool but um #there's enough fetishizing and infantilizing that's happened in the past #ach this is what happens when political brain is on at 3:00am

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shimmersing · 6 years

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Romance asks 1-3

1. What drew your character to their LI and vice versa?

SW Imogen Sree started out just thinking that SI Isme was hot while they were acolytes on Korriban and literally followed her around for a month to see if she was receptive. Isme liked Imogen’s tenacity in her pursuit; it made her feel valuable. They were also both pretty impressed with their accomplishments in their respective paths. Like the head cheerleader and the quarterback (omg I actually just did that). It was all very mutual, that appreciation of accomplishment and power.

2. What was the first moment that they knew they were in love with their LI?

JC Aitahea realized she was in love with Trooper Erithon as they and the rest of the Luminous OC team were prepping to go on their last mission in Corellia. It’d definitely been kind of lingering around in her head, but that whole “we might die” motivated her to admit it to herself. So she gave him a big ol’ surprise smooch, and that’s when Erithon ALSO realized he loved her. He definitely liked her before that but figured since she was a Jedi and all that he didn’t have a real chance, and just kept his little unrequited adoration to himself. So when she kissed him it was an absolute AH-HA moment. It’s completely adorable. They’re so gross. (This is also really different from current Luminous storyline because the entire legacy demanded a rewrite. Jerks.)

3. When they are having a fight, what is it about and how do they deal with it?

Agents Alis and Abraxis don’t fight. They disagree, usually about completely mundane things like toilet paper direction; very rarely about their actions as agents. Alis gets all passive-aggressive until Abraxis gets utterly fed up with her bullshit and corners her. And then they discuss. Once they’re communicating they can usually resolve their differences, but in the rare case they don’t, Abraxis stays a little confused about being unable to reach concord.

#asks #romance asks #love interest #imogen #sith warrior #isme #sith inquisitor #aitahea #jedi consular #erithon #trooper #swtor #alis #abraxis #imperial agent #my ocs #obsessed with pairing OCs

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standbyyourmantis · 2 years

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Kiss Me and Smile For Me - Chapter 1/?

When famous singer Dorian Storm catches his fiance in the arms of another on the sofa of his dressing room minutes before they're supposed to go on stage to get married, he maybe doesn't handle it as well as he could. Orym is only at this concert to keep his friends company and it's just a coincidence he happens to be holding a sign offering to marry Dorian. The two men must then navigate their "marriage" in the public eye as well as the very public breakup Dorian just went through, a lot of emotional baggage, and - worst of all - a budding attraction that neither one was really looking for.

(Just FYI, I am taking prompts on this fic if you have anything you’d like to see happen!)

Please note, there is a trigger warning on this chapter for Dorian basically having a full blown panic attack for a solid portion of it.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: CALL ME IF IT DOESN’T WORK OUT 🍆💦

Orym didn’t know that he’d ever get used to the desert heat, or that he wanted to. It was an intense sort of heat that baked everything all day only to have the ground return the heat once the sun had set, leaving the air around him nearly as warm as it was during the day. The scorching intensity of the sun was nothing like home - nothing like Zephrah with its trees and rivers and abundant greenery - but then, that had been the point. He had been looking for a place to start over, and the fourth floor walk-up in the middle of the desert city was as far from his old life (both geographically and tonally) as he’d been able to find.

Really, it had been a good change. He liked the city, as much as the weather sometimes got to him (as well as the insistence of the locals that it was a dry heat, as though that made it any more pleasant to walk across a parking lot in the middle of summer), life in Marquet was an odd sort of freedom. Freedom from memories, from a life that he was moving farther away from each day. Or, more accurately, from a life that was continuing even as he was stuck in place. He had a job here, and friends - including his roommate Fearne, a kindergarten teacher who he had met after answering her ad. The faun had been a little intimidating at first; she was extremely forward and more than a little chaotic, and Orym was pretty sure that she’d stolen every plate and piece of silverware in their small kitchen from various restaurants and diners one piece at a time, but they got on well and she’d been the first thing anchoring him to this new life in this new place.

Fearne had been the one to insist he make other friends, and was also the one currently waiting for him outside the Imperial Ank’Harel Amphitheater ahead of the Dorian Storm concert she’d gotten tickets for. Originally, the three tickets were for her, her friend and coworker Imogen, and Laudna, who Orym was pretty sure was Imogen’s girlfriend, but at this point he was too afraid to ask. Laudna, though, had something come up and couldn’t make the concert, and both women had insisted Orym come along so that the ticket didn’t go to waste. He’d tried to beg off; he wasn’t actually a big fan of most pop music and Dorian Storm had a reputation for having a slightly unhinged fanbase. However, every other option of their friend group had already been ruled out - Ashton had refused even more strongly than Orym had tried, Fresh Cut Grass had to work at the hospital, and Imogen flatly refused to be in any social situation that had both Fearne and Chetney without anyone else there to distract her from the constant and frankly unsettling flirting that tended to happen.

And so, Orym was the one pressing through the crush of bodies trying to catch a glimpse of sage green hair and antlers that tended to stick out above the tops of heads. Unfortunately, between his halfling stature and the sheer volume of people trying to get into the building, unless he bumped into her accidentally, he couldn’t get enough space to actually see anything except a sea of asses. Finally, he gave the exercise up as futile, instead quickly scaling a lamppost to allow him enough of a view to finally - finally - catch sight of not only Fearne, but also Imogen’s distinctive lavender hair. Imogen was turned away from him and seemed agitated, but Fearne quickly caught sight of him and started waving broadly as he hopped down off the lamp (apologizing to the tabaxi he almost tripped in the process) and nimbly worked his way through the crowd towards his friends.

“Hey!” he exclaimed in greeting as soon as he was within earshot of the women. “How are my two favorite - oh my gods, Fearne.”

“What?” the faun said with an innocence that could be put-on or could be sincere, but the large, brightly colored CALL ME IF IT DOESN’T WORK OUT sign complete with a hand-drawn eggplant and water droplets emoji tended to point towards the former.

“Orym, tell her she can’t take that thing inside,” Imogen said to him with a world-weary sigh that told him he’d walked in at the tail end of this particular conversation.

“It’s encouraging, though,” Fearne said sweetly. “It’s good to know you have options.”

“Fearne, you can’t proposition one of the grooms.”

“Okay first of all, there’s no confirmation that it will actually be a wedding today, it may just be a publicity stunt. And who said I was only interested in one of them?”

“Wait,” Orym said as the gears in his head processed the conversation. “Wedding? Grooms?”

“It’s probably just a publicity stunt,” Fearne insisted. “But yeah, that’s why these tickets were so hard to get. There’s a theory that Dorian Storm and Jaylan Hartfury are going to get married live on stage today.”

“It’s basically been confirmed,” Imogen continued patiently, still eyeing Fearne’s sign as though she were worried it was going to grow fangs and attack her. “There was a blind item on Exandria Unlimited about a celebrity couple planning a surprise wedding at a concert in Marquet this week. There are only a handful of singers touring the country this month and not only is Dorian Storm the most famous of the bunch, he also got very publicly engaged to Jaylan Hartfury three months ago.”

“And neither one of them denied it when people asked on social media,” Fearne added. “That’s good confirmation.”

Orym made a noncommittal hum as he put together this information while Imogen and Fearne continued bickering about the sign (“maybe if you just took off the emojis?”). He only really knew anything about Dorian Storm from Fearne, but he also wasn’t much of a music person beyond the stuff they used in the classes he taught at the gym, which tended to be instrumental dance music. Jaylan Hartfury, however, was a name he did recognize. The half-elf was fairly handsome with big blue eyes and dark brown hair, and had won several awards for his performances in the sorts of art films that Will had always enjoyed and that Orym had dutifully gone to see with him. The man wasn’t a bad actor by any means, but it wasn’t any secret that he was incredibly pretentious and made the lives of his co-stars miserable with his extreme method acting on set. Orym had never been a huge fan, and what little he knew of Dorian Storm as a person, the knowledge he was apparently marrying Jaylan Hartfury at a concert didn’t give him a particularly favorable image.

Orym was brought back out of his thoughts when Fearne let out a huff before dumping the large tote bag she used as a purse onto the sidewalk and plopping down onto the ground next to the pile of keys, loose cutlery, and various art supplies.

“Thank you, Fearne.” The relief in Imogen’s voice meant she had won the argument over the sign, and Orym watched as Fearne folded her original sign in half to hide the first set of text and began writing out MARRY ME INSTEAD in her neat block letters before surrounding the words in little hearts. It still wasn’t ideal, but from the look of things she wouldn’t be the only one holding a sign in that vein, so he figured it would be alright to let it slide.

With the sign drama settled and Fearne’s possessions back in her bag, the women decided it was time to head inside. Orym made sure to stick close to his friends, not wanting to risk getting separated from them again since they had the tickets and the ability to see at eye level with most everyone here. Orym wasn’t the only halfling in attendance (there were also a smattering of gnomes and even a goblin or two), and since it was a larger venue there were ordinances requiring various accommodations on request, but the ability to get a raised seat if he wanted one didn’t make maneuvering through the crowds any easier when they were packed as densely as this one was.

“So how did you get these seats again?” he asked Imogen as they made their way to the front of the audience, and Orym realized that they were third row dead center. These were amazing seats. Orym wasn’t even a fan of this singer and was excited at their proximity to the stage. There were any number of people in the audience who would have committed a number of criminal offenses to be where he was.

“The manager’s daughter was in my class last year. She was having some issues with reading and I got her a referral for some extra testing.”

“And he gave you these tickets as a thank you?”

“Orym, I’m shocked. That would be a complete conflict of interest. He gave me the tickets after she wasn’t in my class anymore because he knew Laudna and I were fans. That’s all.”

“Speaking of Laudna, where is she?”

Laudna was Imogen’s spooky shadow, and so far all he’d been able to discern of their relationship was that they lived together. There were two bedrooms, with the one that was Laudna’s clearly being used as a craft room with a dedicated work table and piles of marionettes and embroidery projects scattered around on the comfortable looking daybed, but the other room had a master bedroom with two hairbrushes on the vanity that he’d seen the few times he’d been to gatherings at their house and someone else was using the other bathroom. Making matters worse, nobody else in their small group seemed to be sure whether the two were a couple or not. Ashton swore up and down that they’d seen Imogen in a shirt that Laudna wore later that evening, and Fearne said that they danced together while chaperoning a 5th grade dance the year before Orym moved to town, but there were also perfectly innocent explanations for all those things as well. At this point nobody felt comfortable asking because they’d all known each other so long, and while it wasn’t necessarily his business, Orym had to admit that the mystery of it intrigued him. He didn’t need to know, but damned if he didn’t want to know.

“Oh, she had to work.”

“I thought one of the benefits of being an independent artisan was making your own hours?”

“Usually it is, but there was a convention in Jrusar this weekend and well, you can’t pay the bills with fun experiences.”

There was a wistfulness to her voice that Orym mentally added to his list of evidence they were dating, but then again they were also at a concert to watch an objectively attractive man singing pop songs and gyrating. Deciding to table the issue for the time being, he nodded sympathetically and then turned towards his phone, letting the ambient noise of the people surrounding him fade into the background as he looked up information on Dorian Storm so at least he could pretend to know what was going on during this thing.

It was a pretty standard pop star bio from a cursory glance - the first big hits all surrounded the engagement to Jaylan Hartfury, but even scrolling down, it was hard to find pictures of Dorian that weren’t either with Jaylan or else an album cover. The two were photographed together constantly in coordinating outfits, even when going to the gym or picking up coffee. Dorian at least had a nice smile, but Jaylan somehow never managed more than a smirk. And now Orym was apparently going to be watching their wedding.

“Doesn’t it seem a little strange to be at the wedding of strangers?” he said before he could stop himself. “Like, we don’t even know these people, but we’re here instead of their friends and family?”

“It is a little weird,” Imogen replied. “But they’re celebrities, things are different.”

“It’s probably not even a legal wedding,” Fearne added. “These kinds of things there’s usually a pre-nup and everything. I bet they take care of all the paperwork and the legal aspect ahead of time and this is just for cameras.”

“Yeah, probably.” Orym still couldn’t get past the wave of discomfort that had hit him since finding out he was attending a wedding, but instead he turned his attention back to his phone to wait for the concert to begin.

“I am happy for you, Bron. You know I’d be there if I could be.”

Dorian Storm was losing his mind. That was the only explanation for why nobody else was making any sense right now, and for why he’d decided it was a good idea to talk to his brother, of all people, ahead of the biggest moment of his life.

“Cyrus, can’t you at least try to be happy for me?” he said into his phone.

“We’re literally in Ank’Harel. It’s not that far.”

There was a deep sigh on the other end, and Dorian could hear his brother moving to another room and shutting the door before speaking again. “It’s not that simple. Mom and Dad are…”

“I know, I know.” Dorian had made his choice on whether or not to be a part of the Wyvernwind family years ago, and he didn’t regret that decision, really. He’d had the misfortune of being born into a family that he could never be happy in, and leaving had been the right choice. He’d found a family in Ank’Harel playing music in shitty bars and now he was back here to get married in front of the only people who’d ever accepted him. Still, it didn’t necessarily make his brother not being there any easier.

“You know I’d come if I could,” Cyrus said.

“Are they still pretending I’m dead?” Dorian said as lightly as he could, hoping to disguise the bitterness he felt.

“Nobody pretends you’re dead.”

“No? What’s the story, then? Studying in Emon? Married a Xhorhasian baron?”

“They…stopped telling people about you,” Cyrus said in a quiet voice. “I’ve never gone along with it,” he added quickly. “Like, if someone asks I tell them you’re a singer.”

Somehow, that actually hurt worse than the Xhorhasian baron story would have. There was a time in his life when running off to Rosohna would have been an absolute dream.

“I have to go, Cyrus. I have a concert to perform and a wedding to be in.”

“Right. Right. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you. Make sure to check the news for pictures, I’m sure they’ll be up later tonight.” Dorian set the phone down on his vanity and took a deep breath to steady himself. He could do this. When Jaylan had first broached the idea of a big surprise wedding, he’d been hesitant for exactly this reason. But the more they’d discussed it, the better the idea had seemed. After all, Ank’Harel had been there for Dorian when he first ran away. It had led him to this life that he loved. And now he was getting married for the people who actually loved and supported him, not the ones who had always tried to force him to be something he had never wanted to be. This was going to be fantastic, and he was going to have a fantastic story to tell his grandchildren someday.

The door to the dressing room swung open and Dorian had a brief moment of tension before Jaylan sauntered through the door. He was already wearing half of his wedding suit: a pair of black trousers with a high collared shirt over top. There was a long black robe and a delicate series of silver chains that Dorian knew were supposed to go over his shoulders later, but they'd clearly been left off for now.

"There's my beautiful fiance!" Jaylan exclaimed with a grin. He bounded over and pressed a kiss to the top of Dorian's head before pulling back and looking at him, putting a hand under Dorian's chin and tilting his head back to get a better look at his face. Dorian let himself be adjusted, meeting the half-elf's grey-blue eyes. "Uh-oh, something's wrong."

"It's nothing," Dorian said reflexively, before adding, "I was just talking to my brother."

Jaylan tutted a little, bending down to press a quick kiss to Dorian's lips. "I don't know why you bother with that. It always upsets you."

"I know, but he's my brother."

"And today is your wedding day." Jaylan reached with the hand not on Dorian's chin to pry the cellphone from blue fingers and set it on the other side of the vanity table. Dorian hadn't even noticed how tightly he was clutching it until it was out of his hand. "You shouldn't let people upset you like this "

Dorian turned away from the hand on his chin, glancing into the mirror to fix his face into a more relaxed expression before looking back towards Jaylan.

"Of course, you're right. This is the biggest day of my life, I should be focusing on that."

"There's my best guy," Jaylan said with an exuberant voice that could almost be comforting before spinning back across the small space and flopping down onto the small couch, reclining with one leg resting on the arm and the other still on the floor. He was most attractive like that, Dorian thought, care-free and languid like nothing else in the world could possibly be more important. It was a nice reprieve from his intensity while working. He liked it when Jaylan turned to him, grinning broadly. "You're almost there, Blue. Just another 90 minutes of performing and it'll be time. The show of a lifetime, yeah?"

"The show of a lifetime," Dorian echoed in agreement.

He turned to face himself in the mirror, one final check to make sure all was well before tucking his phone into the pocket of his jacket and getting up. He was always so full of nervous energy before going on stage, he couldn't help shaking his hands out and bouncing on the balls of his feet for a brief moment before leaning down to kiss Jaylan properly, neither one touching his hair for fear of ruining it.

And then Dorian was out the door with a wink, bounding past Dariax, his bodyguard and friend, to the backstage area as the lights began to go down.

"Thank you, Ank'Harel!" Dorian shouted towards the end of the show. He'd done it, it was time to go get changed, and the next time he'd be out on this stage would be the wedding and then a new song he'd done for Jaylan and then it would be done. "Make sure you stay in your seats for the next number, I have a very special surprise!"

So far it had been going well. He'd done mostly his newer, more upbeat songs, but he always liked to sprinkle in a few of the slower, folkier songs he'd written when he first started singing. They were still favorites of his and he liked to reward his early fans with those little moments throughout the night, especially here where so many of them had been written.

Dorian jogged off the stage to the roaring applause, grabbing his phone out of his coat and tucking it under his chin as he scrambled through the costume change. His wedding outfit would be mostly the same as his show outfit, but with the addition of a long white robe with an asymmetric hem that fluttered to the floor in the back. The color was beautiful on his skin, and the high collar with a lace ruff had been his favorite part. The long bell sleeves were cut off the shoulder and covered his hands when he held his arms to his side but fell away when he had his hands up with a microphone. There wasn't a lot of jewelry like Jaylan had, instead it let the fabric and his skin do all the work. He looked stunning and he knew it.

"Gorgeous," the wardrobe assistant said as soon as the last buttons were done up. "He's so lucky to have you."

"We're both lucky," he demurred, but silently hoped for the best. He looked the furthest thing he ever had from the person he'd been before, from Brontë. This, the man in the looking glass in front of him, was the person he'd always dreamed of being. His whole future was ahead of him.

Looking around, Dorian didn't see Jaylan. He pulled his phone out and unlocked it, intending to text his fiance, but instead a text from his social media manager caught his attention.

Opal 💎: call me as soon as you see this!!!!!!!

The urgency gave him pause, as did the request to call her. Opal could be a little (a lot) extra, but she didn't usually send that many exclamation marks or request an urgent call. Without thinking, he opened her contact and hit the call button, wandering farther backstage looking for privacy and his fiance and not necessarily in that order.

"Have you checked the EXU blog?" Her voice was nervous and upset as soon as she answered, and that just made him more anxious.

"What? No, I've been on stage. Opal, what's going on?"

"Are you with Jaylan?"

"Not - not right now, no. Can you speed this up? I'm about to go back on stage as soon as I find him."

Dorian smiled apologetically to Dariax as he approached his dressing room, mouthing the word Opal to the dwarf in the hopes he wouldn't be too upset at being ignored. Dariax had a blank expression on his face and wouldn't meet Dorian's eye. He would have to make it up to his friend later once he dealt with everything else.

"There was a special report on their blog." Opal sounded nearly frantic now as Dorian swung the door open, revealing Jaylan still on the couch with another person on top of him. Dorian froze as Opal's voice continued. "He was seen out on the town last night getting cozy with some rando at a restaurant in Ank'Harel. They have pictures. I know it doesn't necessarily mean anything but-"

"Opal." Dorian's voice sounded distant even to his own ears, as though it was coming from somewhere outside his body - or, more likely, he's completely left his body and was now experiencing the whole scene from somewhere above and behind himself. "I'm going to have to call you back."

He ended the call without waiting for a response or even looking away from the scene in front of him. The Yuan-Ti who had been grinding in Jaylan's lap pulled back like they'd been shocked, covering their chest (oh they were also half naked, fantastic) and fishing around on the floor for a shirt.

"Oh, there you are!" Jaylan said cheerfully as though Dorian hadn't just walked in on what he'd walked in on. "This is -" he gestured to the stranger, but Dorian wasn't about to stand here and be introduced to this person who he'd just walked in on with his fiance.

"Don't!" Dorian snapped. "I don't even want to hear anything you could have to say, either of you."

"Oh come on, Blue," Jaylan said calmly, using his pet name for Dorian as though he had the right, as though none of this changed anything. "Don't overreact."

"Don't overreact? I'm sorry, how am I supposed to react to this? We are literally seconds away from getting married. Was I supposed to ask to join?"

Jaylan grimaced, looking a little bit abashed for the first time today. "This isn't how I meant for you to find out. Where's that dwarf? He was supposed to knock when you got off stage."

"So it's Dariax's fault I walked in on this." Dorian couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You are incredible. Absolutely incredible. You know what? No, I'm not going to deal with this right now. I have a show to finish. Without you."

Jaylan jumped to his feet as Dorian stormed out, following closely.

"Come on, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you about this. I knew you'd react this way. Come on, Blue. You know how this works."

"How this- how what works, Jaylan? Affairs? Weddings? What am I missing?"

"You can't be that old fashioned. This is the life you wanted, travel and celebrity - and groupies."

"First of all, you can't pretend like it's an open relationship if you're the only one who knew about it. Second, what part of this situation makes me old fashioned? Actually, no. I don't want an answer. I want you gone. I have to get through the rest of this show."

"Think about this, Dorian." Jaylan's voice was serious, now. Not threatening exactly, but there was a definite warning being given as the half-elf grabbed Dorian's upper arm. "Really think about it. Do you really want to go out there by yourself? Everyone knows what's supposed to be going on, your last album cover had you in a wedding dress, for gods' sake. The secret song you're supposed to debut is about a wedding. Right now, this is all rumor and innuendo. The second you go out there alone, it's all confirmed. And then where will you be? We both know the only reason anyone cares about you is because of me. Don't do anything stupid."

Dorian felt the blood rush to his face with anger and he was sure he was flushed a brilliant purple, but it was all he could do not to haul off and punch this man he had thought loved him as he said these terrible things as though they justified the betrayal.

"Look out there, Jaylan," he finally said with a calmness he didn't know he possessed, gesturing to the sliver of crowd just barely visible around the curtains. "See all those people? They're cheering for me. That's my name on all the signs. You may have helped boost my profile, but I made Dorian Storm and that's who they're here to see. I don't need you." Dorian jerked his arm free. "You better not be here anymore when I get off that stage."

And with that, he marched out on stage with as much determination as he could muster, closing his eyes and just basking in the love and validation as the roar of the crowd enveloped him in the fact that these people loved him, these people wanted him. He'd be alright. He had no idea what to do or say, but he would be okay as long as he had that.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, still trying to formulate a solution to this problem, but none was forthcoming. And so he did the one thing he knew he could do - he sang. He did a brief medley of a few different songs that he sometimes did at dinner parties if he wanted to show off, and they cheered. He felt himself reaching that space he loved so much where nothing else mattered except the love of the crowd. Nothing from his real life mattered, not Cyrus or his parents or stupid fucking Jaylan - or even Brontë, the life he'd given up so that he could become Dorian. There was a shrill feeling to his elation now, a desperate, self-destructive edge he'd never felt before. Of course, nothing else mattered. He had his fans. His fans loved him. This was the love that mattered, wasn't it?

"I heard you were here for a wedding," he said at last, just barely keeping the hysterical edge out of his voice through sheer will alone. The crowd roared. "Well, who am I to disappoint all of you…you wonderful, beautiful people?"

They cheered harder.

"Unfortunately, Jaylan won't be joining us this evening," that earned a disappointed sound he was quick to quell. "I know, I know. Unfortunately, we've gone our separate ways. I'm sure the tabloids will keep you all informed of any upcoming developments. But, you good people came for a wedding, didn't you?"

"You." The voice from the stage snapped Orym out of his distraction. He'd been watching Imogen's phone as she texted a live play-by-play of the scene unfolding before them to Laudna. When his focus returned to the stage, he saw none other than Dorian Storm himself holding a hand towards the crowd, and it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize the singer was speaking directly to him.

They erupted in applause again, and he glanced around the front of the crowd desperately. Looking for someone - anyone - any familiar face in this sea of strangers who adored him more than his own family did. But no luck, nobody was there to save him and so he would save himself.

"What's your name?" the genasi continued, smiling when Orym looked around again, still completely convinced that there was somebody else he must have meant. "Yes, you. The handsome halfling with the sign. What's your name?"

"Orym!" Imogen and Fearne shouted in unison when he found himself unable to answer.

His eyes fluttered across the crowd, panic and bile and the knowledge that he would regret this while being completely unable to stop it rising up on him. Finally, his eyes lit upon a sign in the crowd - MARRY ME INSTEAD in big colorful letters, held by a halfling man. Dorian didn't let himself think twice as he stepped across the stage and reached out a hand.

"Orym?" Dorian repeated the name, and Orym couldn't help but like the way it sounded in his melodious voice. No matter what Orym may think of the man’s music, there was no denying the genasi had an absolutely beautiful voice. “That’s a great sign you have there, Orym.”

Dorian’s voice was low and sexy now, and so clearly meant to be seductive that it took Orym more than a few seconds to realize - the sign! Fearne’s stupid, ridiculous sign that she’d asked him to hold while she got a snack and hadn’t taken back after Dorian had started again. The sign offering to marry Dorian that he was still holding. Orym felt his mouth moving up and down as he tried to think of a response without actually being able to form words - some way to tell this strange man, oh no, I’m not the one who wants to marry you, it’s my large friend here, but Orym was only able to nod mutely.

“Why don’t you come up here?” Dorian asked, and, again, words failed Orym as his friends shoved him forward and the crowd parted - dozens of strange hands pushing him up and onto the stage as Dorian held a hand out to help him up. “Well, Orym,” Dorian continued. “I saw your sign and I thought I’d make your wish come true, how’s that sound?”

The crowd roared again, and Orym knew he had to say something to make this stop.

“Uh,” he forced out as eloquently as he could manage.

“Don’t be shy,” Dorian replied, taking Orym’s hand and guiding him towards the back of the stage where a curtain was lifting to reveal an arch and an officiant. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Orym was completely stunned, helpless to do anything but follow.

Everything was moving in slow motion around him, but it still somehow felt too fast for Orym to keep up with. The officiant was saying words to his right, but his eyes were locked on the man in front of him. Dorian was beautiful, there was no getting around it; with his pale blue skin and black-blue hair fading to white at the ends, everything about him was stunning with not a hair out of place. But Orym had known that from the posters outside the building on their way in, what Orym actually found himself lost in was Dorian's eyes - his crystal blue eyes brimming with hurt and hope and some other emotions that Orym couldn't place roiling beneath that carefully crafted exterior.

He should say no. He should say no! This was insane, he'd let this go on too far already and he'd only known Dorian Storm for the last few minutes. There was no way this was even a legal marriage, there was no reason to repeat after the cleric as he was led through the wedding vows (the same ones you said to Will, a very unhelpful little voice in his head provided). All Orym had to do was let go of Dorian's hand and walk off this stage and it would be over. He wouldn't have to have anything further to do with Dorian Storm or whatever celebrity tabloid drama was going on. And yet…Dorian was still looking at him with those sea-colored eyes and for a split second the mask slipped and he looked like nothing so much as a fairy tale prince hoping Orym was the knight come to save him from the dragon.

And damn it all, but Orym had always had a weakness for pretty men and had never known how to say no to someone who needed help.

"I...I do."

#dorym #dorym fic #critical role campaign 3 #bell's hells #cr fanfic #mantis writes #what the hell am i doing this thing is ridiculous and i kind of love that it exists

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