#tortoise shell movement

[pforestsims]

Platasp 4t2 EP16 Curly Bun TF-AF

animated mesh edit & a few recolors

Download: SFS | BOX Polycount: 3186

EP16 Curly Bun hair was converted by @platinumaspiration . I added a bit of movement to front strands.

Check out these naturals by @goatskickin /I used Goat's texture as base for mine.

*This is for The Sims 2

Greying recolor as usual is binned as natural grey for elders (so it triggers grey hair TO) and as custom for YF - AF. Other colors are for TF - EF.

Natural black shows next to Goat's black in the catalogue, mine is darker and has tortoise shell clip.

This hair wasn't as horrible to work with as some other s4 hair meshes but still a PIA. There's a reason why I don't share psd files with layers for my ombre 4t2 hair recolors - it's always a mess, and textures require a lot of touching-up :/

[drewsbuzzcut]

That’s That Me, Espresso

Mat Barzal x model!fem!reader

A visceral in doses fic

Warnings: alcohol consumption, smut and mentions exhibitionism🤭 (bolded italics are flashbacks)

Takes place this summer

Mat has the perfect view from his floating in the pool. You’re on the chaise lounge, soaking up the vibrant sun rays. Your tortoise shell sunglasses sit perfectly on the bridge of your nose and you’re donned in the tiniest, pale yellow bikini. The cups of your top do the bare minimum at keeping you covered, but Mat has no complaints about it. He loves being able to see the sheen of sweat painting your skin, making it look extremely soft and silky. Don’t even get him started with the way your boobs rise and fall with every breath of air you take.

It’s like you know he’s watching when you adjust your form. His eyes follow the way your hips softly jut up so you can be more comfortable. Mat gulps down and leans his head back into the water, needing to cool down from your heated allure. But even with his eyes closed, he’s still taunted by the images of you behind his eyelids.

“Fuck, Maty. You feel so good,” you moan, hands pressed into his chest and your body straddling your boyfriend’s. His cock deep inside of you.

“Yeah, baby? You’re taking me so well,” he whispers, teeth nipping on your earlobe to make you lean into him.

Your boobs push up into his face and his mouth takes advantage of your nipples. He tugs and sucks at your stiffened peaks, drowning in the music that is your whimpers.

Mat’s hands go to your hips to guide you, but your body takes over. You bounce up and down, his leaking tip dragging along your wet walls. You grind into him and he hits your spongy spot. Your arousal increases and drips down his shaft. The squelching sounds intensifying your impending orgasm. After pleasure filled moments of taking him deeper and deeper, you start to swirl your hips from left to right and right to left. The movement lets you feel just how much he truly stretches you out. He fills you up in all the right ways; you swear you can feel him fuck into areas you didn’t even know existed.

“I’m gonna cum,” you announce, a finger circling your clit in tandem with your lower half.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” your boyfriend encourages, hands glued to the cheeks of your ass.

The knot inside of your stomach snaps, throwing you into a dizzying, burning haze. Your back arches as your tight walls collapse around his cock. Mat’s finger takes over massaging your clit and that makes you go blind with ecstasy. Everything goes black as your body trembles furiously and you gush around his length. You fist his hair and pull his lips flush against yours, tongue thrusting into his mouth. He easily takes it into his mouth and sucks on it, tasting the remnants of his previous orgasm that you expertly sucked out of him.

Your sexy hockey player boyfriend shifts his hips, cock spreading you open all over again. You whimper and spasm against the muscles of his body. You’re so sensitive, any subtle movement of his has your cock-drunk pussy spiraling into another powerful orgasm. You clench down around him, keeping him tight and warm and making him see stars as he spills into you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Your Pussy was made for me,” Mat’s groans rattle though your spent body as you continue to flutter around him, milking him for every single drop of his release.

A large hand wraps around your throat and pulls your face to his. His lips take yours and he steals whatever breath you have left.

Even in a relaxed state, Mat can’t escape the sight of your swiveling hips and the flush it creates on his neck down to his chest. It wouldn’t be a problem- the way you awaken his lust and cause his length to stir awake, but the fact that he has to wait until you’re done tanning is the problem.

It’s almost laughable the way Mat is so transparent. From your spot out of the water you can clearly tell he wants to take you exactly where you are. Impatience burns at his skin and you know that he wants nothing but to indulge in his lust.

You peer over at him from over the lens of your shades, catching a perfect glance at his hungry eyes. The usual hazel irises now mirror the espresso you had this morning. You flash him a knowing smirk, biting onto your bottom lip. The thought of his godlike body over yours sounds way too appealing.

God, you’re so lucky. You’re the one he craves; you’re the love of his life. All of his ex girlfriends and ex flings are nothing compared to you. You’re his living, breathing, dream. You feel nothing but pride, knowing that you’ve made him unattainable. You know, without a doubt, that one day you’ll be his wife and eventually have his babies. You shrug in nonchalance, happily accepting your fate while taking a sip of your sloshy margarita. The watermelon crush drips down your chin and you wipe it up with a single finger before popping it into your mouth, lapping up the liquid. Your action grabs Mat’s attention and pulls him out of the pool. You’re just too hard to resist.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Mat grins, droplets of water slipping down the defined ridges of his body as he exits the pool.

“Hey, hotshot,” you hum, taking another drink of the frozen goodness. The tequila burns your throat just right- almost like when you take your boyfriend’s cock into your mouth.

Mat pauses where he’s at, taking in the sight of you. You teasingly spread your legs open, your bikini covered heat begging him to come over. You silently call him to you with your pointer finger making a come hither motion.

“Hi, baby, can you put some tanning lotion on me?” You simply ask, holding out the bottle towards him.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He takes the bottle and squeezes the substance onto his palm.

Before he can start you flip over onto your stomach. You sport a cocky grin when you notice Mat’s eyes dip down to the curves of your ass. Now he knows why you had that familiar sultry lilt to your question; you were being a tease. With a deep breath he moves to start massaging the lotion into your legs.

His big hands take up so much space on your body and it drives you wild. Your core starts to drip and flutter, too bad you have to wait.

Moving onto your back, he takes his time and gives you a gentle massage. You practically melt into the lounger beneath you, especially when he starts tracing the letters of your tattoo. The feeling of his rough hands on your smooth skin is so enticing, because despite the roughness, he treats your body like you’re a goddess.

“That feels so good,” you moan and stretch out your limbs. Mat is instantly transported to his previous thoughts of you coming undone on top of him. Those moans are the exact same.

Without a word, your boyfriend delivers a hard smack to your ass. Your skin simmers under his palms and he grows hotter after hearing your whimper. The sting sends a jolt of pulsing desire to your pussy.

“You little shit,” you huff out, blowing some of your hair out of your face after Mat flipped you over by your hips. You throw a playful glare at him, but he just gives you a sassy smirk in return.

“You love me,” he says with a shrug and boy is he right.

You clench your thighs together as you’re desperate for friction. The way he easily manhandles you is one of the hottest things ever.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you sigh, hands moving behind your back and pulling at the strings that hold your top up.

Your eyes lock onto your boyfriend’s, tension rising into the already humid air, and pull your top away from your chest. Your breasts fall free and every rational thought flees Mat’s head. He’s spent the entire time at the pool wanting you moaning and fucked out; he’s not waiting any longer.

Before he can make his next move, you place your foot on torso. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question. You hold the bottle of lotion out to him, humming in satisfaction when he reluctantly takes it.

This time his movements are with haste and he makes sure not to rub any on your exposed boobs. Not even your protest could get him to comply, but you quickly drop it in hopes of his perfect tongue swirling around your nipples.

After he’s done and the sun tan lotion is put away, he crawls over you. His hulking body looms over your smaller frame. To anyone else it’d look daunting, but it fills you with a carnal urge. Your hands ghost over his muscled chest and faint goosebumps appear on his skin. He leans down over your chest and takes a nipple into his mouth. You arch off the lounger and enjoy the way he nips at you. You card your fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands every time he sucks on you harder.

“Kiss me,” you whine, guiding his mouth away from your nipple and onto your mouth.

His tongue snakes between your lips, getting a taste of your margarita. The kiss is bruising and makes your body tingle; your heart accelerating with each caress. You pull Mat down on top of you, arms and legs wrapping around him. Your whine is swallowed by him as he grinds his clothed cock into your covered pussy. Pulling away, Mat takes a look at your glossy and plump lips, then he nibbles at them while you lay flaccid under him. His hands roam down your sides, painting you in a darkened flush that isn’t your tan. He fiddles with the ties of your bikini bottoms and slowly pulls them undone.

“I want you,” his voice is heavy with lust and it makes the hairs on your body stand.

Not feeling like replying, you rip off the bottoms to your bathing suit and then pull off his swim trunks. His member is thick and waiting for you. You give it a momentary fist until he knocks your hands away.

He grabs your waist and drags you closer to him. You let go of all control as he starts to roll your hips into him. Mat squeezes his cock between your folds, and each time you move, his angry, red tip massages your swollen clit. His length stiffens even more than it already is and it makes you want him even more.

“Please, baby. Please fuck me. Ruin me,” you beg, hands trying to put him inside of you.

“I got you, baby,” he shushes you.

He pushes into you with a gasp, making one fall from your lips at the delicious stretch. You’ll never get over the way his thick cock opens you up.

Mat holds himself up over you with his forearms pressing into the cushion. His thrusts are lazy, but you don’t care. Not when you can feel each of his veins rub against your tight walls. Even the vibration of his moans can be felt deep in your core, sparking up a fire within you. You move your hands to his back, falling more in love with the way his muscles stretch under his skin. You hold him tight because you need something grounding, something so you won’t quickly evaporate into the abyss.

“You feel so good, pretty girl,” Mat moans, his voice sickly sweet.

Your boyfriend tries to fasten his pace, but your slick walls won’t let him fully pull out. Looking down, Mat watches the way you suck him in and how your arousal collects at the base of his cock. The sight is erotic and Mat can feel his release start to bubble up.

You cup his cheeks, lips encasing his. The moment he sticks his tongue in your mouth you’re sucking on it like it’s the last thing you’ll get to feast on. You’re just about to tug on his bottom lip when your head falls back and a raspy moan claws its way up your throat. He nudged your g-spot with purpose; he wants to see you lost in rapture. He wants to see the way your chest heaves and your toes curl as you attempt to hold yourself together. Your nails dig into his skin and leave behind a trail of blistering red streaks. Those will have to be kissed on at a later time.

His hips bear down and snap into you, your breasts bouncing with every thrust. You can feel him bulge in your abdomen every time he lifts your lower half up to meet his movements.

“Oh my god! Yes, baby,” you shout, body running on nothing but margaritas and lust.

Your pussy starts to flutter around him, you’re slick dripping down his balls just as your tanning lotion now coats Mat’s skin. You wish so badly that you weren’t in the privacy of your own vacation home, so people can see and be jealous of the way your boyfriend tears you apart with his rock hard length. Something similar to feral grips at you, turning your rational mind upside down. You’d be called insane if people knew that you want the sound of the afternoon breeze to turn into moans of other people getting off on you and your man.

“Baby, you’re so wet. Is it all for me?” Mat asks as if he doesn’t already know.

“Yes! All for you,” you say with an affirmative nod.

Your core melts around him as he pushes deeper inside of you. You press your feet into the small of his back to keep him flush to you. His mouth is right next to your ear and his salacious moans set off your release. A soft hand goes to the nape of his neck and grips his grown out hair. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm surges through your body. Your twitching walls create a ripple effect and push his orgasm into motion. His hot cum shoots thick ropes inside of you as you quake underneath him.

With a low, husky grunt Mat slumps into your body. Your boobs become squished into his sweaty chest, but the feeling of his rapidly beating heart distracts you from the feel of the tackiness dressing your skin. He noses at the pulse point on your neck; his lips leaving delicate kisses and fresh bruises you’ll have to cover with makeup.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your collarbone before resting his cheek over your heart. His breath is heavy and his eyes are lidded, Luke he’s ready to fall asleep.

He slowly rearranges himself, his cock still keeping his release inside of you, making sure to softly drag out your orgasm.

“I love you,” you moan. His weight keeps you anchored down, so your overstimulation doesn’t sweep you away.

You gently card your fingers through his hair, each other’s bodies slipping into a state of tranquility. You eventually fall asleep wrapped up in Mat as the sun washes over the both of you in your throne of bliss.

a/n: So this is the first piece in a while that I enjoyed writing for visceral in doses. I hope you all enjoy it🫶

[quinngefail]

Me picking what bug Lawrence would be: Okay so if it works, I'd like him to be a beetle for my headcanon around him being a big fan of The Beatles :) and it has to be a pretty bug, too :) beetles are round, too, which would fit with him being chubby :) and this golden tortoise beetle here is a great candidate, since gold is associated with wealth; and it is indeed very pretty, and just gives a rather classy vibe. But in movement, it can look a little silly, too- like how he has his little moments of silliness with Diana in the movie, and the og script :) And this translucent shell around it could almost read like a mask, but one that you can see right through- just like the mask he puts on to hide his unhappiness. It's perfect :)

Me picking what bug Adam would be: He's A Stick Bug Coz He's A Brunette Twink

[monikatouhou]

Ran Yakumo Simulator 2023

[CORE_SOUL: On]

You are nowhere. There is nothing.

In truth, you are likely in your body, hopefully where you last left it, but you cannot tell at this time.

[DIVINATION_MODULE_v3.5: On] - It will take eight minutes to gain visual input in the right eye. It will take an hour and five minutes for [AUX_AUDIT_PROC_v9] to come online. Heat a tortoise shell and observe the cracks for more information.

You are glad Lady Yukari made it so that this is what typically comes online first. It usually gives you something to look forward to. Though it would perhaps be nicer to be able to see or move first. However, you know from experience that these are some of the more difficult parts of a shikigami to make work.

[CHEN_CONNECTION_v12: On] - She is fast asleep. No further information.

This is the only part of yourself that you made largely on your own. Naturally, it is the least functional. It was worse in the past though.

[...]

[ROCK_GAP_SIMULACRUM: On]

In place of this there used to be a gap connection to the outside world. Lady Yukari called it a "Load Bearing Coconut", even though it was clearly connected to a rock. However, it apparently shattered last year, which of course caused practically everything to either malfunction or break completely. This is a replacement she made. This increased loading time, as did all the previous band-aid fixes over the last several centuries.

[...]

[OLD_REPURPOSED_MODULE_(REPLACE_THIS): On]

[SENSE_INPUT_BUS: On]

[SMELL: On]

[VISION_R: On]

The left eye for some reason always takes at least a few more minutes to come online. Lady Yukari has not been able to explain why that is to you.

You know that you are in fact in your room, and you know that eight minutes have passed. Little you can do with this information for now, since you still cannot move.

You should change your duvet cover later today. This one needs to be washed.

[PROPRIOCEPTION: On]

[TASTE: On]

[SOMATOSENSORY: On]

Your eyes are very dry, much like every morning. They open automatically when you first awake, but you can only blink voluntarily. Not an urgent fix, since this cannot cause you any damage, it's just unpleasant.

[FIXUPS_v3: On]

For the time being, you are stuck staring at the ceiling. Yukari told you once that body motion and eye motion are controlled largely separately in humans, but this is not the case in your body. You cannot move your eyes until the bodily output bus comes online.

[...]

[FIXUPS_B_v5.5: On]

[MOTOR_CONTROL_CORE_v4: On]

This part will help you coordinate your movements once you are able to move.

[FIXUPS_C_v4: On]

[MOTORICS_STABILISER_v2: On]

[...]

[BODILY_OUTPUT_BUS: On]

[GAP: On]

At long last. You blink and rub your eyes in an attempt to get rid of the dryness. You finally sit up. You get up from your bed.

What is this gap for, in any case?

You should probably start going about your day.

You look around your room for what might be your hairbrush. None of your visual processing modules are on yet, and so identifying objects is difficult. Also, your left eye is taking a while to start working. Nevertheless you find what you figure is a brush - it is about the correct lenght, has one thinner part that may be a handle, and a wider part bearing what might be the hairs. Using the same memorized motions you've used for centuries, you brush your hair.

Maybe you should leave your room. Might be good to try to cook something, or if your object identification processing module isn't on yet by then, maybe get a drink.

You walk towards what seems like a door. You look over it to make sure it is not your closet door. The shape of the handle seems right for the one you are looking for, so you start walking towards it.

[FIXUP_OVERHAUL_v0.99: On]

Suffering a momentary lapse of consciousness, you crash right into the door, and fall onto the floor.

This was an attempt of Lady Yukari's to eventually replace all the overly big "fixup" modules with some more streamlined implementation. This giant module, currently attached somewhere around the other fixup and motorics modules, is the result. Frankly, you would be better off without it.

You get back up and open the door.

[VISION_L: On]

[SPEECH_MOTORICS_v2: On]

Took a while. You walk out of your room and head to the kitchen, using your mental map of the house, walking carefully, since your ability to notice obstacles by sight is still impaired.

You enter what you're fairly sure is the kitchen. Probably best you do not cook just yet. You remember Yukari recently purchased some outside world drink. You could try that, to pass the time.

It is bottled, so you look for a bottle, and a glass to pour the drink into. You find objects identifiable as such.

You pour yourself a glass. Isn't this smell strange? You take a sip..

You spit it out. This is vinegar. This was not the right bottle.

[AUX_VISUAL_PROC_OBJECTS_IDENT_v4: On]

This would have been very useful a few seconds ago.

[STAR_MAP_HD: On]

[CLOCK: On] - It is 7:21:30.2912 am

You are unsure what the star chart is for, and every time you asked Yukari, she just chuckled and refused to answer.

You hear a sound behind you in the kitchen. Laughter?

You look in the direction of the sound. The source of it is some sort of person. You cannot tell apart faces yet, but they are wearing one of Yukari's dresses and have blond hair, and so you easily conclude this is probably Lady Yukari.

YAKUMO YUKARI - [Unintelligible]

You cannot yet process speech, so you don't know what she is saying.

YOU - "I'm sorry, Lady Yukari. My auditory processor is not on yet, and so I cannot understand you."

The person you presumed is Lady Yukari laughs again.

You sigh.

You used to be able to do a lot of this processing with the core soul alone, didn't you? Has your core just lost its functions, as it could rely on all the auxiliary processors?

Not that it matters.

You come back to the stove to cook breakfast for yourself, Lady Yukari and Chen. By the time you are done, most modules should be on.

[arthistoryanimalia]

Rene Lalique (France, 1860-1945)

Tiger Necklace, c.1903

Gold, enamel, horn, tortoise shell, agate

H: 1 9/16 × Outside diam: 8 1/2 in. (4 × 21.6 cm); H: 1 9/16 × Inside diam: 4 3/4 in. (4 × 12 cm)

Exhibited at the World's Fair, St. Louis, MO, USA, 1904; purchased by Henry Walters, 1904

On display at The Walters Art Museum (57.938)

“René Lalique revolutionized jewelry design by combining precious and non-precious materials selected according to their aesthetic appeal. By 1904, the year that he exhibited this necklace at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis, Missouri, Lalique had progressed beyond Art Nouveau, the movement with which he was originally associated. He began emphasizing compositions with symmetrical components and the use of animal motifs in a style that would become fully manifested in the designs he created for molded glass several years later.”

https://art.thewalters.org/object/57.938/

[sag-dab-sar]

Managed to snag this when it was posted on amazon again (I had it saved and it became "unavailable" for months)

"This book explores the veiling of women in the ancient Greek world from the period between roughly 900 BC and AD 200. It covers a wide geographical area that ranges from mainland Greece to Asia Minor, Egypt, and South Italy. The study argues that the veiling of the female head or face was part of a male ideology that required women to be silent and invisible creatures, like mute tortoises contained and hidden within their shells. This book suggests that veiling was so routine a practice that it seldom receives a mention in the ancient male sources, although, as the quotation from Menander cited at the top of this page suggests, the habitual practice of veiling does receive an occasional sideward glance in the texts. Despite (or perhaps because of) its brevity, Menander's statement, that 'that's what women do', speaks volumes about the routine nature of veiling. Women, the daughters of Aphrodite - sexualized, polluted and dangerous - subscribed to this male ideology (perhaps willingly, but perhaps not). While working within the confines of this philosophy though, the veiled woman was granted some independence and was allowed a degree of freedom of movement and self-expression since the veil enabled the woman to comment on her social standing, on her emotions (such as anger and grief and shame) and on her own sexuality. Just as the silent tortoise had the liberty to wander about underneath her all-covering shell, as long as she stayed silently unobtrusive, so too could the woman of ancient Greece." page 1

Google Books Link

318 pages, no clue where it should go on my reading list.

Also the pages have a weird smell its not too bad but its also not "book smell" granted the pages are like those laminated ones like those in textbooks not "normal" paper

[praetendant]

Now consider the tortoise and the eagle.

The tortoise is a ground-living creature. It is impossible to live nearer the ground without being under it. Its horizons are a few inches away. It has about as good a turn of speed as you need to hunt down a lettuce. It has survived while the rest of evolution flowed past it by being, on the whole, no threat to anyone and too much trouble to eat.

And then there is the eagle. A creature of the air and high places, whose horizons go all the way to the edge of the world. Eyesight keen enough to spot the rustle of some small and squeaky creature half a mile away. All power, all control. Lightning death on wings. Talons and claws enough to make a meal of anything smaller than it is and at least take a hurried snack out of anything bigger.

And yet the eagle will sit for hours on the crag and survey the kingdoms of the world until it spots a distant movement and then it will focus, focus, focus on the small shell wobbling among the bushes down there on the desert. And it will leap…

And a minute later the tortoise finds the world dropping away from it. And it sees the world for the first time, no longer one inch from the ground but five hundred feet above it, and it thinks: what a great friend I have in the eagle.

And then the eagle lets go.

And almost always the tortoise plunges to its death. Everyone knows why the tortoise does this. Gravity is a habit that is hard to shake off. No one knows why the eagle does this. There’s good eating on a tortoise but, considering the effort involved, there’s much better eating on practically anything else. It’s simply the delight of eagles to torment tortoises.

But of course, what the eagle does not realize is that it is participating in a very crude form of natural selection.

One day a tortoise will learn how to fly.

Terry Peatchett, Small Gods.

[royal-chandler]

okay luv i gots a ficlet friday prompt for ya 🥰 Dear for henry/firstprince whichever feels more fun 💚

wayyyy late but here you go lovely 🤍

—

It’s with a schoolboy-shyness that Henry loiters outside of Alex’s trailer, screwing up the courage to just fucking knock and not drown under mean river-rambling thoughts of how this could go wrong. There’s something here, he’s certain of it.

He huffs out a breath, stiffens his chin and raps his knuckles on the door. All with his heart loud in his ears and demolition-ready behind his ribs. He hears Alex move on the other side, yelling out ‘one sec’ and taking about eleven to actually unlatch the lock and appear.

Dressed down in a faded t-shirt and cotton joggers that barely reach his ankles, Alex is no less stunning. Without backdrops, reflectors, and softboxes, the lights still arrange themselves perfectly for him—the sun bright in his warm eyes, picking up on the sweet suggestion of laugh lines as his smile curls wide. He’s got glasses on, broad frames with the legs tucked into his hair and that undoes Henry more than anything else.

It’s such a spectacularly soft image that Henry’s fingers ache with emptiness—ache with want for his camera, for the clearance to come in closer and closer, brush his nose against the plastic tortoise shell that bridges over a small and charming spread of freckles.

Instead of a proper greeting, Henry starts, “I didn’t know you wore—” and finishes by gesturing to his own face.

“Yeah, can’t get away with what I used to,” Alex says, a warm and self-deprecating rumble of a laugh following. “Had to upgrade to near full-time once the law texts started swimming in front of me.”

Beyond him, a coffee table is camouflaged by a laptop, thick tomes, and too many paper cups from craft services. An absurd, large canister of Red Vines.

“Oh.” Henry blinks, asks, “Am I interrupting your studies?”

“You’re a welcomed distraction, don’t worry,” Alex answers and it sounds honest. The rest sounds hopeful. “Did you need something?”

And it’s that stirring something again. That’s been there from the beginning, like the making of a new universe—a spark between their palms pressed in a handshake in the morning, his slow appreciation after a wardrobe change caught by Alex’s knowing gaze, their shared hesitation to part ways.

“Right. I don’t do this. Ever.” Henry shares, “But I have this feeling, one that refuses to be shaken loose, that you’re not meant to be a stranger to me. That you and I are not simply today-and-done. That if I leave now or let you go without trying, we’ll be missing out on something truly wonderful.”

“I already put the number from your card in my phone. The first moment that I could. My thumb hovered on the heart emojis before I knew what I was doing,” Alex tells him and his hands are no better off, flickering at his sides. Henry is smitten with the movement. Every revealed inch of him and what’s left to find. “It’s insane but I missed you and I’ve spent, like, the last hour thinking of every excuse to call you or text you.”

“Dear.” The endearment spills easily from Henry’s mouth, bespoke for Alex, “you won’t ever require an excuse.”

—

[mbtiinteractions]

Pets for each MBTI type

INTJ : Praying Mantis

With its unmistakable death stare, cautious predatory immobility and elegant, solitary behaviour, added to its cold, robotic movements, mantis perfectly match with INTJ’s personality.

Pros : needs a few space, doesn’t eat a lot (like two insects twice a week), temperature and humidity conditions easy to maintain, fun to watch hunting (if you've got three hours to kill)

Cons : lives only 1 year, can’t be kept in group (unless you want to cause a massacre), needs live preys

INTP : Pacman Frog

Lazy, often nocturnal (but often with weird sleep schedule), usually half-buried in the soil, unmoving, and hating the company of other frogs, this is the perfect pet for INTPs.

Pros : does not require a great deal of care or a lot of space, is quiet (unless you annoy it), doesn’t need to be fed often (once a week when it’s adult), wouldn't try to socialize with you

Cons : sometimes try to eat your fingers, has some temperature/hygrometry requirements, needs live preys

INFJ : Leaf Insect

Discreet, blending in with the background, moving only slightly to avoid being noticed – yet mysterious and beautiful, stick or leaf insects could be the strange and silent companions of INFJ.

Pros : eats leafs (easy to find), is quiet, does not require a lot of space, temperature and humidity conditions easy to maintain, is cheap, very easy to breed (by parthenogenesis)

Cons : lives only 1 year, sometimes hard to be found in its terrarium, doesn't understand metaphysical discussions

INFP : Tortoise

Slow, shy, a little clumsy but absolutely adorable and surprisingly endearing, tortoises are somehow similar to INFP ; just like them, they can get easily scared and sometimes hide into their shells.

Pros : is very calm, lives for many years, eats fresh vegetables, is really cute (I mean, look at it, isn’t it one of the cutest things you’ve ever seen ?)

Cons : needs a lot of space, a lighting and a heating system (it’s very sensitive to temperature variations), is solitary, can enter into hibernation, can easily get health issues

ENTP : Rats

Because no sane person would ever think of adopting rats, this is the best choice for ENTPs. Actually, rats are really smart, playful, sociable and affectionate, capable of learning some funny tricks !

Pros : are easy to keep, would adapt their sleep schedule to stay as long as possible with their human, are cheap, omnivorous, will terrify people who are scared of rats, eat their own faeces (I mean, now that’s taking recycling seriously !)

Cons : live only 3 years, too gregarious to be kept alone (but beware of adopting a male/female couple, they would have too many babies), must have toys in their cage or they'd get bored

ENFP : Cockatoo

Weird, funny, incredibly curious and gifted, cockatoos can be both the most cute and the most annoying pets - ENFPs, what are you waiting for ? Adopt cockatoos !

Pros : has a long lifespan (several decades), is really smart and endearing, can learn human speaking, is funny, affectionate and friendly with humans

Cons : expensive, needs a lot of space, needs a diverse and varied diet (fruits, seeds, vegetables...), needs constant attention, is LOUD (but I don't think this one is actually a con for ENFPs...)

ENTJ : Ants

Have you always dreamed of being a ruler, a god ? Of having an army, a whole people entirely depending on your wise decisions ? With an ants colony, that dream will come true : you'll finally become the absolute master of many living beings !

Pros : reasonably affordable (highly depending on the spieces), do not need a lot of space (only an appropriate terrarium) and a lot of food, won't discuss your orders

Cons : can escape and invade home, won't necessarily understand all of your war strategy commands

ENFJ : Mini Pig

Smart, cute, empathetic and endearing, pigs living with their ENFJ human friend won't have to fear ending up as sausages !

Pros : original pet, is really friendly with humans, can eat the same food as you, contrary to popular belief is clean and intelligent, affordable price

Cons : needs enough space to live happily (a garden), often needs to be adopted in pairs, needs to be educated (as dogs for example)

ISTJ : Hamster

Meticulous, quiet and mostly odour-free : hamsters have many qualities that certainly may arouse ISTJs' interrest. Plus, they are extremely cute and some of them are even cuddly !

Pros : cheap, won't need a lot of space (1.5 m² at least), enjoy repetitive tasks such as organising their piles of food, tidying their nest, running in their wheel...

Cons : live only 3 years, can't be kept together (because they would fight for their territory), are nocturnal, eat their own faeces

ISTP : Cat

Do I need to explain ?

Pros : won't give a single fuck

Cons : won't give a single fuck

ISFJ : Rabbit

Cuddly, cute, cuddly, did I already say cute ? Rabbits are very expressive and need to be cared for, to be cocooned in gentleness so that they don't get anxious !

Pros : live about 10 years, are cuddly, soft, will communicate with you (body language + sounds)

Cons : need space (a garden), reproduce very quickly, can be easily stressed

ISFP : Canary Bird

These little artists spend their time singing, and often display bright, varied and enjoyable colours !

Pros : relatively cheap, easy to take care of, can live up to 10 years, pretty colours and sing nicely

Cons : need company (adopt 2 birds if you can’t spend time with them) but can display an agressive behaviour if two males are set together, don’t like to be touched a lot

ESFP : Budgies

Loud and incredibly gregarious, these little parrots can actually learn several words and will always keep you company. Their whole life is a party !

Pros : cheap, live about 8 years, easy to take care of, all but boring, very friendly with any living being (sometimes even with cats and dogs), will play with anything and nibble everything in sight (mostly your hair and earrings).... both smart and dumb little birds

Cons : need company (if you don’t have time for them, adopt at least 2 budgies), can get really, REALLY noisy and sometimes chaotically mischievous

ESTP : Ferret

A little hyperactive, annoying brat who’ll never miss a chance to make a mess of your personal things !

Pros : funny, friendly and playful, smart and can be potty-trained – plus really cute !

Cons : not the easiest pet to be taken care of, subject to illnesses if kept in bad conditions, males can be agressive, will quickly degrade your personal property if you don’t watch them

ESTJ : Goldfish

You’re busy with your work and don’t have time to put pressure on take care of a pet ? Then, an aquarium with some fancy goldfishes is the best option to display your love of animals without taking up too much of your precious time !

Pros : silent, won’t disrespectfully discuss your orders kind advices, actually pretty smart (contrary to the popular belief), great as an office decoration (but need enough space : chose an appropriately-sized aquarium, or they’ll get sick and you’ll have to pay for sick leave see a vet)

Cons : are often misunderstood : goldfishes aren’t dumb memoryless animals, they need enough space, not a small circular aquarium (their normal lifespan is about 15 years, but they often live much less because of bad keeping conditions), have some specific temperature, pH and sanitation requirements (and therefore appropriate equipments)

ESFJ : Dog

Are all ESFJs dogs, or are all dogs ESFJs ? That’s really a good question.

Pros and Cons : pretty much the same as an ESFJ child

(nah, seriously : inform yourself before adopting a dog, or any other animal for that matter!)

[mirellabruno]

EMILIE FLÖGE (1874-1952) First liberated Viennese woman, Austrian Coco Chanel immortalized in Klimt’s phenomenal Kiss. (re)ascending the social ladder Emilie Flöge was born into a Viennese artisan family that had only recently ascended the ladder of social respectability. Her father Hermann was a master turner who had founded a firm that exported Meerschaum pipes, mostly to the British market. between silk and lace Always passionate about fashion, Emilie quickly started working as a seamstress, and when her elder sister, Pauline, opened a dressmaking school in Vienna, Emilie willingly agreed to help. Two years later, in 1895, the two of them won a prestigious dressmaking competition. In 1904 Flöge sisters opened the couture house Schwestern Flöge in Vienna, with interiors designed by Josef Hoffmann. It quickly became a successful enterprise luring wealthy clients committed to modernity in all its forms. At its prime, the company employed nearly 80 workers. reforming the dress In addition to heading the Schwestern Flöge, Emilie also maintained a direct, hands-on role in production, often pinning fabric to a dummy (custom-made to a client’s proportions) before directing fabric-cutters to reassemble it. She traveled to Paris twice a year to source fabric, belts and buttons. But what really fascinated her, was an idea to rethink women’s dress. Using her familiarity with Wiener Werkstätte projects, folk costumes and Japanese textiles, she soon created her very own Reform Dress. revolutionizing fashion stores By the time Chanel opened her first salon in Paris, Flöge had been producing cutting-edge designs in Vienna for several years. Her loose, flowing and bold dresses rejected the tight-laced style of historicist Vienna already carving out new roles for women in the industry. Flöge’s fashion celebrated physical freedom, self-expression, closeness to nature, and the vitality of other ethnicities from within the Austro-Hungarian Empire itself to the Far East. Unlike other retail stores, the Flöge sisters displayed alluring art objects that were not for sale. The store was decorated with beauticians, tortoise shell combs, marbled paper notebooks, silver chalices and hand-carved wooden dolls. Instead of copying popular design trends of the time, Schwestern Flöge was furnished with sleek, adjustable mirrors; geometric, carved wood chairs; and black-and-white chequered tables. relationship with Klimt In 1892 Emilie was introduced to Ernst Klimt, who recently got engaged with her sister - Helene. He was a talented painter gaining recognition for his work alongside his younger brother - Gustav. After Ernst’s death in December 1892, Gustav was made Helene's guardian. At that time Emilie was eighteen years old and Gustav became a frequent guest at the home of her parents, spending the summers with the Flöge family at Lake Attersee. By 1897, Emilie Flöge and Gustav Klimt had become inseparable, and most Viennese close to the couple assumed that she had in fact become his mistress. While there can be no doubt that the couple were passionately attached emotionally, and would spend countless hours in each other's company over the next two decades, some scholars have raised the possibility that their relationship always remained platonic. After 1891, Klimt portrayed her in many of his works. Experts believe that his painting The Kiss (1907–08) shows the artist and Emilie Flöge as lovers. Klimt also drew some garments for the Flöge salon in the rational dress style - a style promoted by the feminist movement - and from 1898, other clothes designed by the Vienna Secession. fin de siècle By the time Nazis invaded Austria in 1938, many of Schwestern Flöge’s clientele, who were Jewish, had fled the country or were deported to concentration camps. Like neighboring businesses — both established and burgeoning — they were forced to close. Emilie Flöge never wrote her memoirs, but despite the paucity of sources historians have been able to reconstruct the story of her powerful influence as the muse of one of fin-de-siècle Vienna's greatest artists. Among the last survivors from an utterly vanished world, she died in Vienna on May 26, 1952. KNOW MORE: https://www.harpersbazaar.com/culture/art-books-music/a12241915/klimt-muse-emilie-floge-forgotten-fashion-designer/ https://www.crfashionbook.com/culture/a22835087/emilie-floge-art-fashion-cr-muse/ https://www.encyclopedia.com/women/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/floge-emilie-1874-1952

[1five1two]

The farzāna (“wise man”) Hurmuz (i.e., Hermes) once went up a mountain to worship God and saw a tortoise (Persian sang-pušt, lit. “rocky-back”) with dried sinews. He hung it up and the wind blew through the sinews, making music. Hurmuz wanted then to fashion an instrument he might play by himself, but all his attempts were unsuccessful. He went for a walk down the road feeling bad, and came upon an old man who just happened to be sitting there.

The old man, whose name was Hažrahman, arranged the tortoise shell with strings “in the likeness of the disposition of animate nature” (āmīzeš-i gōhar-i ǰānvar): “a stroke on the strings is like a movement in our body,” he explained. And that was the lyre. The Greek romance was evidently widely popular in the early Islamic period: Ibn al-Nadīm mentions in his Fihrist (the “List” (of the books in his father’s Baghdād book shop) an Arabic translation; and Birūnī knew a Persian prose version. The Persian rendering here of Hermes— Hurmuz— coincides with one form of the name of the good Creator God of Zoroastrianism, Ahura Mazdā, Middle Persian Ohrmazd. This can scarcely have been mere happenstance, and the Iranist Bo Utas suggested reasonably that at some point the coincidence offered an opportunity to make a point. The old man’s unusual name, Hazhraman, might be a scribal corruption or, better, an otherwise unattested form of the name Ahreman, the Middle Persian form of Avestan Angra Mainyu— the name of the Evil Spirit, Ahura Mazda’s co-eternal cosmic enemy. And Utas remarks, “even if sung for the highest purposes, poetry and music will need something devilish.” Hägg noted that Longus and Achilles Tatius attributed to Pan— the god of the “panic”, whom Christians early equated with the devil— the invention of the syrinx, a flute. Though the woodland god did this in a grief-stricken attempt to reconstruct the sundered limbs of his beloved, might the association of Pan and instrument also have perhaps inspired a transmitter of the tale along the way to ‘Unsuri to take up the theme of music as potentially demonic.

James Russell

The Lyre of King David and the Greeks

[helianskies]

russpa and 3!! 💗

okay so 1) love this ship ughh it's been a while; and 2) an idea immediately came to mind that is only vaguely winter related but i hope you enjoy nevertheless :')

Saviour

Antonio waits at a bus stop. Snow is gently falling down from the dark sky, and he is stepping steadily from side to side, hoping the slight movement will be enough to keep him warm enough that he will still be able to walk when his bus eventually arrives. 

His hands are shielded by thick gloves. His coat is thick, layered over a jumper. What he needs to invest in is a scarf, he’s come to realise quickly; he has to shrink his head down, like a tortoise hiding in its shell, to try and keep warm. A hat isn’t enough!

As he stands and waits—a wait that has persisted, so far, for ten minutes longer than he’d like—the lone traveller soon gains a peer. Someone else waiting for a bus to carry them off into the wintery night. 

Antonio spares them a glance and a polite smile. The gesture is returned. He looks back away to check if his bus is anywhere in sight. And then his brain, shunted by the cold, seems to catch up with what his eyes actually saw, and he turns his gaze back to the stranger. 

Unlike the Spaniard, who is wrapped up in multiple layers yet still cold, the stranger appears to wear nothing more than a simple jumper (perhaps hiding a thermal layer beneath), simple trousers, and simple shoes. A jacket hangs unwanted over his arm as he checks something on his phone. A scarf is all that protects him from the season’s icy greetings.

Antonio cannot fathom it. 

“How are you not freezing?” he remarks, astonished. 

The other looks away from his phone and down the distance to the brunet, a somewhat confused expression on his face, as though unsure if he is the subject of Antonio’s question. 

Of course, Antonio realises fast that this man is a stranger, and that the question he has asked is perhaps a bit of a rude thing to say to a stranger, but… it’s too late to retract his question. Instead, he yaps on:

“Sorry,” he begins. “I don’t mean to interrupt your day or be nosy or anything. I just— It’s so cold!” A nervous laugh falls with the delicate snow. “I feel like my fingers are about to drop off!”

In spite of the ramblings coming from a complete stranger, the other smiles. He engages. “I am used to it,” he responds in kind. “It is a bit cold, but not uncomfortable. I’ve been in much colder climates.”

“Oh?”

“I come from Russia, so…”

“Oh!” Antonio is intrigued. “Winter must be a piece of cake for you, then!”

The other gives a nod, his smile still fine and standing. He may even have been close to a laugh. Yet, rather than further entertaining the conversation on seasons and weather, he instead asks Antonio, “How much longer until your bus is here?”

The Spaniard worries for a moment. Is that a hint? Has his conversation not actually been appreciated? He knows that not everyone likes to chat away with strangers but— Ah, well. Perhaps he is getting ahead of himself…

He glances just past the stranger’s head at the board. Two bus services run past this stop, the 5 and the 20. His is the 20. It’s not a very frequent service, much to his dismay.

“Not sure,” is his honest answer. “One was meant to be here about ten minutes ago, but there’s no sign of it yet.”

“Mmmh… So you may be waiting a while longer yet,” the other muses for a moment.

There's a pensiveness in his face, a faint sparkle of passing headlights in his eyes. Then, without saying anything more, he raises his hands to the scarf around his neck. Antonio assumes at first he is simply adjusting it, but seconds later, the scarf is being placed ceremoniously around his own neck, and Antonio is feeling more than one kind of warmth. 

His face no doubt betrays such a thing.

“I can’t have your scarf,” he protests, trying to reason with the other, who only smiles and fixes the scarf as he speaks. “You’ll be cold yourself! It’s a— a very kind gesture, but I can’t let you—”

“Do you have a walk after you catch your bus?” 

“…well, yes, but—!”

“Then it is simple: you need it more than I do,” the other reasons. He then returns to his phone, retrieved from his pocket, and goes about whatever he needs to. 

Antonio is so stunned, he’s left silent. He doesn’t know what to do. This has so suddenly become an unusual encounter, but it doesn’t sit well with him, the fact that someone he doesn’t know has surrendered their scarf to him so… willingly. It’s not something that people do. Not as far as he’s aware. 

“Here.” 

His attention is stolen back by his peer. A phone screen is aimed at him, the words ‘New Contact’ at the top of the screen. 

Antonio blinks and meets the other’s gaze. The warmth only seems to bloom. 

“If you give me your number, we can arrange a time and place to return the scarf,” the man says, though he is still smiling that gentle, brilliant smile. “I mean, if that… works for you, we can do that.”

It almost makes Antonio laugh, tickled and somewhat incredulous—maybe even delirious! We can arrange a time and place. Way to make it sound like a date!

Nevertheless, he is quick to agree: it’s not his property, after all. So he takes the phone, expressing his gratitude at the gesture as a whole, and puts in his mobile number along with his name. Then he returns the phone, and thanks him again.

“No trouble…” The man glances at his phone screen—at the new contact he’s gained. “Antonio.” His smile renews and he looks at the Spaniard. “I am Ivan. By the way.”

“Ah! The name of my saviour,” the brunet jests (well, sort of!). “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Ivan repeats. His eyes dart down the road, before he returns to Antonio and tells him, “My bus is here, so I will have to go now. But I will text you. I really will want that scarf back. It's my favourite one.”

“Then I’ll take extra good care of it for you,” Antonio promises him with a smile of his own. 

Ivan nods. "I'm sure you will."

That is the sealing of their agreement. 

His bus pulls up moments later, and the Russian leaves Antonio alone at the bus stop. He watches as Ivan takes a seat, and watches still as the bus pulls away and slowly disappears into the young, bleak night. 

Antonio carefully wraps the scarf around his neck one more time. Its warmth might just save him. As may the kindness of a stranger—a stranger-soon-not-to-be, he hopes.

[ winter prompts here! ] [ ao3 ficlet collection here! ]

[gigagendergt]

Bleak Drought, Part 1

The result of a poll committed a long time ago.

The ground under Cornwall’s feet was red and stained the air with dust.

He was used to the clouds his movements produced— being fifty or so feet tall— but the drought had brought an exceptionally horrific water-squeeze over his land and his people, and even the ground wasn’t immune. Where there used to be desert flowers and sagebrush and small stunted Joshua trees, there was nothing now but an open expanse of dust.

A vulture flew past his temple, stopping to rest on his shoulder. It sagged and almost fell. He stopped— he had no water to give it.

Cornwall was heading south, towards the edge of his land-territory, where he knew a convoy of merchants had been passing. They were expected over the last few days but hadn’t arrived. The caravan had been carrying vital supplies for the three towns and ten villages he looked after— medicine, seeds, potatoes, corn, and water. Even greater, his townsfolk had been weaving clothing in hopes to trade it for enough money to buy condensation machines: machines that could save their lives.

Summer was coming, and the brutal heat was harder to bear by the day.

Cornwall himself needed no water, and heat didn’t phase him. He didn’t eat or have bodily needs. He was part natural machine, part ahuman avatar— he was an entity rarely found and rarely understood. The exact words for what he was didn’t exist in any human language. Because of this, and his size and strength, humans were afraid of him.

Cornwall didn’t resent this. Instinct was instinct. They sensed that he was dangerous and he was.

The people residing in his territory understood that Cornwall came with the land. He helped them live and protected their villages, and in return, they practiced sustainable agriculture and respected his animals and his territory.

Cornwall lifted his hand and caught the vulture with two fingers. It lay still in his grasp. Bringing it towards his face, he blew on the feathers and they ruffled. The vulture was dying of thirst.

Droughts were part of the environment and the environment was his, but this was no natural drought.

The vulture’s body changed and shifted as it rotted away in an instant. Instead, a tortoise slowly untucked from its shell, adjusting to the new life it’d been given. It waved stiff, lethargic legs. Cornwall lowered it to the ground and gently placed it out of his path.

He did what he could, when he had the means. Not everything could be saved.

As he carried on, he returned to a peaceful state of mind, and nothing existed behind the strides of his footsteps and the leagues of desert he passed and left behind.

…..

Mad Jack was a hardy man, but this night was threatening to take him.

He’d been traveling with a merchant caravan into Construct territory— stupid even by his estimation. He knew better than anyone not to go where the roaming giants lived. But Jack was a frontiersman and he’d spent his life facing various forms of extremes. He craved them. Pushing further and further into the wilderness was his way of trying to reconnect with his heritage.

It was also a dare. If he died, perhaps that would atone for some of it.

The caravan had been attacked some ten miles from the border by weirding-wolves. Strange electrical fusions that resembled animals, the wolves had appeared out of the dark with a crackle-hum and set their business, which was the business of death.

Jack, however, was no stranger to it.

The first wolf crackled through the body of a merchant and left him convulsing in death-throes. Jack reacted before the merchant hit the ground. He drew his electric crossbow and sent it careening through the wolf’s sparkling core.

Secret machinery crunched and fizzled, and the wolf brushed out of existence as quickly as it had come.

“This is why I hate bureaucracy,” he said to the merchant, who lay still.

Jack had corralled the survivors into one of the remaining caravans and spent the night outside, holding off the wolves. They’d recognized him as a frontiersman and changed tactics, attacking in waves, flashing in and out of existence, trying to catch him off guard. His skills had been tested to the limit. Even now he sat, muscles shaking in exhaustion, against the caravan and waited. The wolves had ceased their onslaught and retreated somewhere in the immediate vicinity. They were watching, no doubt. The second he fell asleep, or let his guard down, or stopped to eat or drink, they would roll in again.

When they did, he was dead.

His tongue stuck dry to the roof of his mouth and he swallowed. Hours and hours without water. How many died out here in the wastes from thirst? Too many. He might join them.

The weirding-wolf came from his right faster than he could react. His hands were sluggish, tired, muscles twitching. It tore the crossbow out of his hand before he could blink and was at his throat.

The wolf crackled out of existence just as the teeth were closing, the blade of his electric knife embedded in its core. He swore.

Two others already at his left, midair, leaping. He bodied one and pierced the other. The latter dissolved in a crunch: the former bounced off his pulse armor. No time to rest: they were rushing him, all of them at once: coming in waves and bounds and ethereal charges. He knew he was dead by the taste of ozone alone. Too many.

There was a huge noise, a great booming sound, and the wolves vanished. Electricity crackled this way and that above the ground. The hair on his neck stood straight up. Goosebumps broke over his skin, and he looked up and saw the construct, saw the massive silhouette and the weight of it, and collapsed on the dust in front of him.

The ground shook, then shook again. A shadow fell over the moonlight and engulfed Jack in deep darkness. He hissed in a breath, hissed it out. His heart was pounding in fading adrenaline. The exhaustion was setting in— How long had it been? Four hours? Five? His body could only support panic for so long— and he tried to push himself up but couldn’t, arms shaking.

The great foot of the monster came down in front of him, and it squatted low, a huge hulking shape in the darkness. A hand loomed out above and he flinched, cowering.

“Easy,” a voice said. It was a voice of wind and rain and dry-desert crackling. It was unstoppable nature: ultimate power. It was the weight of the world.

It touched him, a curious press of a finger, and its touch was like god. He curled into a ball with what remained of his strength and stayed there. He barely felt the bruises closing, the thirst ebbing, the broken ankle that healed wrong snapping back into place with a jolt. Everything was numb in comparison to the touch of that finger. His pulse armor dampened, extinguished in an instant. He saw the electric knife short out.

“A frontiersman,” the voice said. “Interesting.”

[likely-dog]

A few tidbits abt Odile~

(Otherwise things that aren’t super important to her lore but are little facets of her person. Art is Sweet Thoughts by Alexaj Harlamoff)

Odile learns her world mostly through imitation, and as such, will occasionally copy the movements and mannerisms of those around her. While natural to her and considered harmless by the Albinaurics who raised her, Odile eventually learned most folk would consider it rude or mocking. She mostly keeps the habits to herself now.

She spends a lot of time with the tortoises, feeding them treats or napping near them when tired. She will even add harmless paints to their shells to differentiate certain ones.

She collects different types of plants, pressing them into a book so she knows which are poisonous and which are not when foraging.

Odile has a guilty pleasure for silk dresses. While more comfortable in armor or rough hewn clothes, she will occasionally indulge in wearing a dress for a brief time, amusing herself with watching the hem flare out when spinning.

She has perfect pitch. Unfortunately this is functionally useless in her daily life

Basically goes thru the Lands Between with this philosophy:

[gyrrakavian]

"Roper… Sometimes I dream that I'm sleeping on the back of a tortoise. She waddles along the lakeshore, or through the woods, searching for dandelion greens and berries to eat. Her shell isn't comfortable, exactly, but I enjoy the feeling of movement. It soothes me."

— The Deadsuit, Ghost Song

[jaimebluesq]

Writing patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern! (Thank you @dual-domination for the tag! This sounds fun!)

Yu Ziyuan strode through the halls of Koi Tower as if they belonged to her, her two maids in tow, glaring at anyone who dared to cross their paths. (From "I'll Drown in my Desire for You, CQL/MDZS Madame Jin/YZY)

The ride back to the house had been more quiet than Jiang Cheng was used to – probably because the man in the passenger seat was Meng Yao rather than Nie Huaisang. (From "They love us, Without a Doubt", CQL/MDZS SangCheng & NieYao)

“Thank you for coming.” Jin Guangyao escorted the doctor out of the suite of rooms he had rented at the inn, his cheeks aching from putting on a false face for the man. (From "Unblemished", CQL/MDZS XiYao)

Jin Zixuan tried to focus on the book in his hands, but the ache in his face had him unconsciously wincing every few minutes. (From "Friends in Cloudy Places", CQL/MDZS JZXuan & NHS friendship)

A knock at the door interrupted Jiang Cheng’s evening reading of letters and reports he had brought with him from Lotus Pier. (From "Did I Wait Too Long", CQL/MDZS SangCheng)

Nie Huaisang bit his lip in thought, and a little frustration. (From "Everybody's Didi", CQL/MDZS Reverse Nie Bros)

The Unclean Realm on an average night when Nie Mingjue’s ‘sworn brothers’ come for a visit: (From "One average Night, Two interpretations", 3zun & NHS)

Nie Mingjue had been in the laundry room when his brother came through the front door – without knocking, as usual – and the first he heard from his brother’s new boyfriend was a string of curse words whispered sharply. (From "This One's All Right", CQL/MDZS SangCheng & NMJ)

Nie Huaisang stood outside his brother’s office, his hands twisting upon his closed fan. (From "The One Thing he Couldn't Give", CQL/MDZS Nie bros)

Nie Huaisang was having a very good day. (From "Tortoise Shells and Wedding Bells Pt 1", CQL/MDZS Murder tortoise & SangYao)

Patterns: I tend to write in 3rd person limited, so it's not surprising that the POV character is named in the first line of almost every fic I write (the top 3 characters whose POV I wrote: NHS, NMJ, & JC - not very surprising lol). I also notice that almost every first line establishes the character's location and/or suggests movement/activity.

I shall tag @roseclaw @angie-s-g @tavina-writes @fortune-maiden @ibijau and anyone else who wants to participate! :D