ARCHIVE

Archive for the very first iteration of this blog. Old Threads & Posts can still be accessed through here. Threads are tagged by username, with any dashes taken out. (e.g. my-awesome-blog -> myawesomeblog)

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

((This is the final notice that I have moved. This account will be making no further posts.

Please unfollow this blog and go refollow the new blog.))

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

((This is the final notice that I have moved. This account will be making no further posts.

Please unfollow this blog and go refollow the new blog.))

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

Archived Blog.

((This blog has been archived. Please unfollow this blog and refollow HERE (same url as before!).))

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

((I think I’m going to archive this blog. I’m not leaving tumblr or stopping playing this muse, don’t worry. I feel like a fresh start (and tags that make sense) would be good for me.

I’ll make a post once it’s all done.))

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

@1000liveslived​

All kinds of things were running through Emma’s mind as she embraced her daughter, the flowers and apologizing for her daughter picking them definitely one of them. Though she was sure any person wouldn’t be upset over such a thing, but that wasn’t the point. Breathing out a heavy breath of relief, Emma quickly became aware of her daughter squirming in her arms to get away. Shifting to let her child take a step back, it was the moment that Aubrey was free that the child with dark hair and equally dark eyes trotted over to the giant of a man, a pure and innocent smile on her lips. 

“Ingar! I got you these!” She exclaimed happily, thrusting the fistful of flowers she had picked from his own garden. Not that she really put two and two together just yet that these were his anyways, nor did she seem to have any real sense of fear being around a complete stranger. Emma, meanwhile, watched with a somewhat amused expression, mingled together with lingering worry and exasperation. She never could keep Aubrey still for very long… 

“Ingvar… thank you for offering your help,” Emma spoke, standing from where she had been kneeling. “I’m Emma… this is my daughter Aubrey.” “MHMM!! Maman calls me Brei sometimes,” she informed Ingvar with a happy smile, bouncing in place. 

Ingvar at first watched with a bit of curious confusion as the little one quickly waddled on over to him. Even now, after all this time, and regardless of the fact he was no longer a proper giant thanks to the aid of magic that had made him small, it was still incredibly strange to experience people willingly approaching him rather than shouting, screaming, running away, trying to hurt him, or a combination of those possibilities. Instead, the child seemed to smile at the sight of him. It was.. strange, but not in a bad way. He knelt, hoping to get a bit closer to her level.

Perhaps his height was what she had been ‘wooooooooah!’ing about, he thought.

Ingar. Ingvar chuckled, both with the mispronunciation of his name (of course the child couldn’t pronounce it properly yet, probably, so he understood) and the gift of his own flowers. He accepted them with a grin. “Thank you for the very nice gift. How did you know I like flowers?”

He stood back up, flowers and grasses in hand, to again meet (rather, go way above) Emma’s gaze. “Emma and Aubrey.” he repeated, then nodded. “It is a pleasure.”

[bulletsandbunnies-deleted-deact]

Open RP

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

bulletsandbunnies:

Morry closed the door behind the stranger, tending to the locks again, and grumbling as he did so. He didn’t have a whole lot in his small house at the edge of town- one bed, only a few spare blankets he’d have to dig out, and he didn’t know what he was going to do for food- most of what was in the fridge was for his rabbits.

He flipped the switch on, the house having previously been immersed in darkness, revealing to the man a rather messy living space. There was a single recliner in front of the TV with a coffee table in front of it, and a small kitchen. Past the kitchen was a small hallway with a small bathroom and two small bedrooms. Most of the furniture in the house barely reached halfway up the walls, save for a few paintings, and the mounted shotgun. Papers littered nearly every surface.

Hearing the stranger’s observation- it being cold outside- he turned to him, brows furrowed. “It’s snowin’ pretty heavily out there, I’d hope it were cold! You’d turn into some giant popsicle if you’d’ve stayed out there too long!”

He paused, observing the stranger in the light. He was an intimidating figure, on top of being unusually tall, he had a hairy face with a nasty scar- it was hard to believe such a soft voice could belong to a man like him. “Ya got a name, Fuzzy?”

“.... A giant popsicle...?” the joke seemed lost on him. He was going to ask what he meant, but he didn’t get the chance to.

Ingvar flinched as suddenly light lit up the home, though there was no fire lit that might cause it. He didn’t have much time to wonder how that was possible, though, because he was too busy looking around curiously, quietly. He could now much more clearly see the generous stranger. He still wondered as he gingerly wandered the room, observing what was in it, if humans were normally so short as this one.

“My name not... ‘Fuzzy’; it-”

He caught sight of something. The shotgun on the wall. The little giant’s breath was taken away, and time seemed to slow a moment as he forgot that he was, in fact, in no danger. Therefore he shielded himself with his arms, and squeezed his eyes shut, and grit his teeth, and awaited the deafening bang of the gun firing. No such thing came, however, thus, Ingvar reluctantly lowered his guard. His heart still hammered in his chest and his jaw dropped as he couldn’t stop staring at the rifle. At last he was able to rip his gaze from it and look back politely to the man who he recalled had asked his name. 

“... Ingvar.” he mumbled, at last seeming to return from what fear had overtaken him yet still looking rather spooked. “T.... that my name, sir.”

[digg]

[afaerytalelife]

Swedish artist and singer Jonna Jinton demonstrates kulning, an ancient Swedish herding call, on a bright summer evening.

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

@fintindeorai

[witchdaily]

Valais Blacknose Sheep

CUTEST GODDAMN SHEEP IN THE WORLD.

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

@fintindeorai

[freshmoviequotes]

Monsieur Verdoux (1947)

[krivicudo-archive-blog]

justin-ripley:

WHEN PERSON A GENTLY TOUCHES PERSON B’S SCARS  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[bulletsandbunnies-deleted-deact]

Open RP

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

bulletsandbunnies:

Morry had heard the too-quiet voice through the door, though just barely. He gave out a huff, thinking on weather he should let the stranger in or not. His brain was foggy though, with all the inactivity and lack of sleep. The quiet voice seemed fine enough, and some human interaction ought to do him some good, as much as he hated the idea at the moment.

His door was lined with several different kinds of locks, and the stranger would hear various clicking noises as he unlocked every single one. With one final click, he pulled the door open and looked at the stranger, wide-eyed. He gave it his all not to let his jaw drop at the stranger’s unusual height- he was by far the tallest person he’s ever met, exceeding his own height by nearly 2 whole feet.

Suddenly he felt defensive- there was an urge to hide, to run, but he stood his ground. The stranger was covered in snow, and looked like he genuinely needed help.

“Come on, watch yer head on the door frame.” Morry gestured to him to come in, trying to keep his lips sealed to avoid any rude comments. He tried to make things easier by imagining himself in the stranger’s position- though it was hard because he was so dang tall.

The eternal wait for the man to open the door- if he would open the door- dragged on. A number of strange sounds happened before he did, but when he did, relief washed over the little giant rather quickly. He was a bit surprised by how short the man was- had he needed to look down so much with the witch? he could barely see the man’s face; the height difference made for such an odd viewing angle that he was more or less stuck staring at the top of the other’s head. It was then he recalled that he was abnormally tall, even for a human. No wonder he would need to watch his head when going through doors. They weren’t built for people as tall as them.

“Right.” Ingvar mumbled, nodding slowly. “Right away, sir.” He ducked to get in; some snow fell off his head and landed at his feet (which luckily at that point weren’t in the house at that point) before he stepped inside. A wave of warmth hit him like a ton of bricks, and his jaw dropped a bit. Were he more of the verbose sort, he probably would have exclaimed, ‘it’s so warm in here!’ but he did not. 

“Thank you very much for letting me in, sir. It... it very cold outside.” he said, and felt like a fool immediately after saying so. He was stating the obvious in saying that! 

[xsugarandicex]

!!

Send ‘!!’ for a description of your muse as mine sees them: x

Isabelle, observing Ingvar from her tower window as he slept on the ground below, was struck by how human he appeared. Unkempt and perhaps even barbaric with that scar on his face, but from distance and the right perspective, just another man.

Isabelle tried to imagine Ingvar as one of the humans she knew, the members of her father’s “court”. Ingvar in fine clothes, perhaps using makeup to cover his scars the way she usually covered hers, with that earth-brown hair tied back and that shaggy beard shorn. It suited nothing she knew about him. Perhaps that was the difference—not something in his mind or body, but something in his past. He had grown with few or no trappings of civilization. Isabelle wondered if, among his own kind before they were all lost, he had ever had to hide his thoughts. 

Evil is the nature of mankind. An old thought of her father’s, and one she often took to be true. She and her father were the only ones above it all, and she slipped lower more often than she cared to admit. But perhaps the giants were different. In small numbers, was there less evil? Were wars only begun when there was enough of a sentient group that they could kill each other without fear of extinction of their species?

This was all rather beyond her. Isabelle shook her head to knock the crowded thoughts lose and returned to her bed. She didn’t believe there was really any evil in Ingvar. Inferiority, yes, but that was a given. But among the lesser, he was the best man she knew.

[johnwikk-blog1]

The vampire stared at Ingvar and he could just hear the cogs turning. But John was patient, and he felt he owed his unfortunate giant companion. No matter how hungry, John vividly recalled the taste of giants; too earthy, kind of like dirt. Then again, John wasn’t a vegetarian like those people tended to be, and a life of vegetation tended to make everything taste similar.

John nodded slowly. “Nobody’s ever thanked me…for not killing them before.” Yeah, that was certainly a new one. “But I understand the appreciation. Likewise, I must thank you for not leaving me in the snow,” John said carefully, gaze lowering to his own half frozen body.

“Tell you what,” the hitman said, expression showing his distaste for whatever he was about to say. “When the snow and wind subside, you move. Move further north, away from Lom; they want you…dead, anyway. I can advise some areas where you’ll be left a-alone,” he explained, still trying to flex his fingers.

“In return, I’ll spare your life…for good. Can’t promise nobody else won’t come to do it in the future, but you won’t see me again. I’ll pay off your life with gold, and my…employers…will look the other way. If you can find me something to eat, I can even leave sooner than later.”

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

“Really? No one has?” Ingvar asked. that was surprising, to say the least, but then again, Ingvar now wondered with a bit of dread if that was because he didn’t not kill people like this. He nervously looked around a moment. “It was nothing.” he downplayed his deed, “... Anyone would have been helping you, Sir Jonathan, Sir.” Again, he’d reverted to politeness in hopes it might help his case.

While Jonathan made his suggested, Ingvar looked southward, in the direction he knew said village was. Were both his hands not occupied by the vampire, the giant would have stroked his beard. “That is idea I was already thinking of.” he admitted. “I thought I should be waiting until the snow melting, though; then no one from village can be following my footsteps to wherever I going.”

He fell silent, and that silence remained as he was stunned by John’s proposition. “You would....” he repeated, “Y-you would be sparing my life.... for moving away from heres?”he questioned. “I... I very thankful for that, Sir Jonathan,” Ingvar gave a small bow of his head, “...b-but I must be asking why you are making that offer. How... How would it be helping you if I going away? Why would that be making you spare me forever?” It was a wonderful offer, yes, but it didn’t make much sense to him. He had been tempted to add, ‘won’t you spare me forever for the reason that I spared you?’, but that would be taking advantage of his own personality. He’d spared him knowing full well the potential consequences. 

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

((I’m gonna be over here on the new blog for a while, I think. I might poke my head in here for a reply or two tonight if muse returns. I’ll still be around on dis///cord and IMs and such here if you need me.))

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

(( I was showing art I like a lot to a friend and this happened))

Keep reading

[moretrashyrpmemes]

Reblog if you're okay with people just sending in random asks. Mutual or someone you've never interacted with!

[gentlegiantingvar-archive]

⚓ Are there any small details you tend to like in roleplays? ☺ What tends to bring out your muse the most? What inspires you?

[ the hella sweet munday meme | Accepting! ]

⚓ Are there any small details you tend to like in roleplays? 

((Gosh, yeah. I think I said this last week, but I really like when the other mun incorporates things like physical descriptions of my muse that I haven’t yet had the chance to mention on my end! Like, when they describe their muse as, for example, wondering where the hell his scar came from even though I haven’t mentioned it in that thread yet. it shows a lot of effort (and that my muse is memorable? I hope? Or at absolute least that the other mun reread his about page or glanced to the right side of the blog) and little things like that really help make an RP go from good to great. I’m trying to do this more in my replies, but I’m never quite sure how to go about it. Everybody else always seems to do a great job with it, though!!))

☺ What tends to bring out your muse the most? What inspires you?

((I always tend to give non-answers to these kinds of questions because I never really know what to point to. I just tend to be fairly self-motivated (or, self-inspired, in this case) if that makes sense? I suppose music can help, along with reading other muns’ great threads and thinking, ‘I want to write a cool thread like that, too!’ or, ‘I want my writing to be great like theirs!’))