Sea

I'VE BEEN MCYT PILLED FOR 5 YEARS SOMEONE HELP | she/her | adult

[vampostingtime]

tbh while I'm thinking about it I do think doc's dynamics with most other characters are severely underrated. like martyn, drift, apo, pearl, etc all have interesting stuff with him (and more that I just didn't mention). the most egregious one is how underrated his dynamic with cleo is proportionally considering she's just as important to his storyline as owen

[molabuddy]

really specific trope i like that i feel like can only be explained in a diagram

[transjudas]

never take for granted the moments when you’re not nauseous

[spin-the-wheel-polls]

You are an adventurer in a generic fantasy world and you use this weapon!

Do you like it?

YES!!!!!

yes

Eh it's okay

No

NO!!!!!!!

Remaining time: 1 day 4 hours

[keplercryptids]

I spent the afternoon arranging our books by size and color (and it’s so satisfying and looks amazing) and my partner came home and stared in shock at the bookcase and then said “i’m a librarian, you can’t do this.”

[keplercryptids]

him: you split up all the song of ice and fire books

me: yeah i know, they’re all primary colors, it’s perfect

him: [self-destructs]

[operativesurprise]

You’re a monster

[thetumblrofrassilon]

As a former bookstore employee, this hurts my soul. I mean, sure it looks nice, but how do you find anything?

[keplercryptids]

it has occurred me during this process that apparently not everyone thinks about books by what color they are? like, literally when i’m looking for a book, i picture it in my mind. i have a very…tactile experience with the books i read and idk! i thought everyone did that lol.

my partner was like “how will i find [this book] for instance” and i replied “easy, it’s purple” and he looked at me like i was a witch.

[holdmecloseandfast]

OP your brain is neat and I love you for it you funky little color-coded cupcake. But you’re still a monster.

[krsonmar]

This actually is interesting in terms of information-seeking behavior, which is a thing librarians think about a lot and often actually study (some library jobs require you to publish, and academic librarians, for instance, will often use the students at the college they work at to study how they search for information in order to figure out how to best provide them services).

When you go for an MLS (Master’s of Library Science, which is a thing, and which is usually required for “professional-level” library work [which is also a weird and contentious concept that I won’t go into here]), one of the things you study is the organization of information. This deals with how to determine what a book or other material is “about"—a concept we tongue-in-cheek call “aboutness"—and how to convey that to a potential user of the item and make it easy for them to find. Things like keywords and subject headings, do I put this book about how often wild birds attack aerial drones in with books about birds or with books about technology, if its a fictional novel do I put fantasy in it’s own section or mix it in with all of the other fiction, so on and so on.

OP is organizing books by how they would look for them. OP’s partner is thinking in terms of aboutness. This is a system that works for OP because it’s their personal library: they know basically what books they own and they only own books that are relevant to them, and if they know what the book looks like, that can be a quick way to find it.

In a library that assumes the public (or people who do not own that particular collection of books) are using the collection, that doesn’t work. Books are often re-issued in multiple covers, or re-bound in new covers when they get worn out, and if the user doesn’t know what the book looks like or is expecting a different cover, they’re lost. That’s why non-personal libraries used standardized cataloging systems like the Dewey Decimal System or Library of Congress System to organize a book by what it’s “about”, and then put books about the same or similar topics together, marked with labels and signage so a person unfamiliar with the book or collection can find their way to it.

Basically, OP’s system works for their own personal library, because it’s best suited to how the primary user—OP themselves—looks for books. OP’s librarian partner is coming from a background of thinking in terms of a public-facing collection, where aboutness is the key criteria and communicating it to a user unfamiliar with the collection is the priority.

And also, OP is a monster.

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Nom and 4c sharing a sleep schedule

4c: (reading chat) "How long did you end up staying up for?" Well I, when I went to bed I saw Nom was still awake, in a call with two people, or three people. (Nom laughs) So I know you were (4c laughs) I know you were, you were up quite late. Nom: Yeah. Yeah. I think I was up until. At the very least, seven AM. 4c: Oh... Nom: At the very least it was like, seven AM. 4c: Oh, oh Nom. Nom: I, I ended up just having like a really lovely conversation with Rusty and Shauna, am I not allowed to hang out and yap with my friends? (4c laughs) It was definitely later than seven. 4c: (overlapping) Everyone's so disappointed in you. (realizing what Nom said) It was def-(4c laughs) it was— Nom: It was def-like, it's like, it-it's comin' back to me, it was definitely later than seven. 4c: Aw. Nom: It was like, closer to eight, maybe? 4c: (overlapping) No, I understand that though, I understand the late night yaps, cause I do that more often than I'd like to admit. So, I can't— Nom: Yeah. 4c: —I can't really, I can't really get on you for that. I can just be like, "oh, dude, that sucks." (4c laughs) (reading chat) "Nom being up when 4c's gone to bed is an interesting plot twist." Nom: (overlapping, reading Katie's comment) "No actually, you're never allowed to talk to them ever." 4c: Okay guys, okay, that's, that's— Nom: No, it--here's the thing. Me and 4c actually just have the same sleep schedule, but we just, like, swap it back and forth. So there are times where 4c sleeps really really well for a couple weeks, (4c laughs) and then I don't sleep? And there's times where I fix my sleep schedule and 4c doesn't sleep. That's just how it works. 4c: Ahhh— Nom: It's been like this for years.

[floweroflaurelin]

Here is my piece to commemorate the Empires finale! I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for ages and I’m excited to finally show you 😄 I loved all of season one, so hype to see what the next has in store! I can’t wait to get painting 💪🏼✨

[floweroflaurelin]

Five years ago today, Empires SMP premiered!

[theforsakenprince]

I know we like to joke about characters who are fake idgafers (people who pretend not to care but actually care Very Much) but I think Abolish Veylocke is one of the rare actual idgafers. The only things he cares about is his job and his own convenience despite his moments of understanding and empathy and we should talk about that more

[rainydaydecaf]

Wait hear me out

Vsmp Martyn is an army deserter

[jackdaw-sprite]

Oh helloooooooooooo

This puts his episode 2 conversation with Doc in a different light, tooooo

[blockcat-safari]

A/N: Heyo! So, unexpected inspiration struck from this post by @grithogirl and got me writing What Morcant Did while waiting for Abolish to return, from the POV of the locals :) I wrote most of this on my commute to & from work, so this is fairly short, and plenty silly.

.

The King's Arms was an inn which didn't see much in the way of wayfaring patronage.

Oh, there was nothing inherently wrong with the village. It was simply that 'nothing inherently wrong' extended into 'nothing at all'. There was no through road to necessitate a rest stop, and no festivals to draw in a tourist trade, nor historical repute to attract the academic kind.

All it possessed were fields carved out of the forest, and that damn cursed village to the west.

And so, travellers who found the village were usually very lost, or just realising how lost they were, and went back the way they'd came as soon as the innkeeper marked them on a map.

Nobody stayed at the King's Arms.

"He's been here a week now," said the butcher.

The butcher, the baker, and the candlemaker watched the elderly gentleman take a lone seat in the corner of the inn.

"Do you think he's turned around?" asked the candlemaker. He tapped his head. "Some old folk, you know, they forget where they've been."

"Old Martha still thinks she's running the mill some days," the baker said by way of idle agreement.

"Do you let her?"

"I don't dare stop her."

"John says he seems all there," said the butcher, bringing their conversation back to the stranger.

The baker snorted. "John's making a pretty penny off his stay. He'd make an argument for a cow if it paid its coin on time."

They communally watched him order the steak and ale pie, and – again communally – winced. Locally, that option was known as the stank and stale, and was best served up far, far away.

"What do you think he's doing?" the candlemaker asked.

"Making poor dinner choices," the baker replied.

"I thought John used your pastry for the pie," the butcher said.

"He uses your cows."

"I mean, staying here," the candlemaker said.

The baker shrugged. "Sarah's boy says he's hired out every third day to drive the man's carriage down into the woods to the west."

The candlemaker and butcher consider this.

"Last third day was a Sunday," said the butcher.

"To the west?" the candlemaker asked. "You mean, towards the abandoned village?"

"Cursed," chorused the butcher and baker both.

"Sarah's lad says they drive down to the same spot each time and just wait for hours," the baker continued. "Then when the light goes, they ride back to the inn."

"Maybe he lost someone," the butcher said.

"Oakhurst fell 200 year ago."

"He's an old man."

"Not that old."

Regardless, the three stared at the stranger, just to assure themselves.

The man glanced over their way and offered a wrinkled smile.

They decided their drinks were far more interesting.

.

"Do you think he's dangerous?"

It had been a fortnight since, and the stranger – a Lord Morcant Thornvale, or so the rumours went – was still at the King's Arms.

More to the point, he was still ordering the stank and stale.

At the butcher's question, the candlemaker appraised the alleged lord behind the safety of his stein. "I doubt it. I mean, he's just an old man. What could he do?"

"How old was Maurice when they caught him?" the baker asked.

"Who's–" the candlemaker began.

"Maurice, Maurice, he catches the mice and fleas," said the baker in a sing-song tune, "and if you please, he'll take your face and knees."

"Ratcatcher," the butcher supplied sympathetically. "He was 73 when he bludgeoned a neighbour to death over a fence dispute."

The baker added, "Before your time."

"I'm older than you," said the candlemaker.

"You've only lived here 20 years."

"23."

"Point is," said the butcher, "there's no age limit on murder."

They glanced over to the man who was, inexplicably, eating the pie without immediate and sudden bowel regret.

"I can't imagine him bludgeoning a man to death," the candlemaker said after a long, dubious moment. The pie seemed to be shaking that resolve a little. "It'd get all over his nice shoes."

"He could have a second pair."

The butcher snorted. "Sure. Secret murder shoes. Do you hear yourself? Anyway, no one's died."

"Yet," the baker added unhelpfully. "Anyway, you've got to wonder what he's waiting for, going to the outskirts of Oakhurst."

"Or a who," the butcher said.

"It's Oakhurst. It'll be a what."

.

A month passed, and there had been no sudden deaths.

Well, apart from Samual the wheelwright, but if he'd wanted to stay alive, he shouldn't have clambered up a tree in a thunderstorm, even if his best hat had blown up there.

A month gone, and Lord Morcant Thornvale (the locals had accepted the name, if not the veracity of the title) had moved from notable oddity to background curiosity. He was still hiring out Sarah's lad to drive down to the westward boundary, and still eating at the King's Arms without incident, and after a certain point, people ran out of things to say.

Mostly.

"John's Daisy's is getting married next week," said the candlemaker.

"And you know he'll still charge for drinks, the stingy bastard," grumbled the baker.

"When your Kate got married, you charged twice the usual for pastries at the wedding," the butcher said.

"Pastries ain't the same as ale. People need their drink."

"Do you think he should be invited?"

Both butcher and baker paused in their budding argument. They didn't ask who, for there was only really one option in question. "Why?" asked the baker.

"Well... the whole village'll be there."

"He's only been here a couple of months."

"It took two years before you were invited to anything," added the baker to the candlemaker.

"I turned up anyway within a month of moving."

"Yes, but you weren't invited," stressed the baker, not maliciously, but honestly.

"You're only local once you can trace your family back three generations here," the butcher said, grinning, but there was more truth in it than was probably comfortable.

"It just seems rude, if the whole village's going."

"He can show, if he likes," the butcher said. "He won't, though. It's on a third day."

.

"He's waiting for his grandson."

"What?"

The baker slid onto the bench, three steins of the King's Arm's finest hal'penny ale balanced between his hands. Only a little was spilled in the attempt. "Thornvale," he said. "Sarah's boy asked what he thought he'd find, and he said he was waiting for his grandson."

This information was digested with all due gravitas. For good measure, ale was also digested in the proceedings.

"No one's lived in Oakhurst in 200 years," the butcher said eventually.

"Maybe he's living in the woods," the candlemaker suggested.

"Not if he's got any sense." The baker took a long draught of his ale. "Everyone knows the wolves are migrating eastward this time of year."

"Wasn't there that old mansion in the woods?"

"Sure, but that's been abandoned for well over a decade."

The butcher was quiet. Then, "The family had a little boy. What happened to him?"

"They all died, didn't they?"

A silence settled across the table as everyone came to the same deeply uncomfortable conclusion, but didn't want to be the one to voice it.

"Sometimes Old Martha thinks her Gus is still alive," the candlemaker said, after a long pause. He was finding his drink extremely fascinating. "She came down here last week, looking for him."

"It happens, sometimes," the baker said, but even he sounded morose.

"Do you think he knows? That he's been here for months. Or do you think he's still in that first week?"

"Someone should tell John," said the butcher. "It's not right for him to keep taking the old man's coin, even if he does have plenty."

"Where else is the old man meant to go?" the baker asked. "Who knows if he's even still a lord? Lords shouldn't be turning up without the proper entourage."

"What exactly did Thornvale say to Sarah's lad?" the candlemaker asked.

"Only that his grandson would be back any day now."

That failed to put any minds at ease.

"Do we tell him?"

"You can't tell folk like that that kind of news," the butcher said. "It'll be gone by tomorrow, and then what'll you do? Break his heart all over again?"

"We can't just–"

What they couldn't just was rudely interrupted by the inn doors opening, and a young man making an immediate approach at the bar.

The man couldn't have been more than mid-twenties, but he carried enough of a military air that the King's Arms' patrons did their best to look busy. He tapped at the counter. "I'm here to settle up Lord Morcant Thornvale's tab," he said.

John the innkeeper startled, which was just as well, since the rest of the room had fallen silent. "Old Thornvale?" he asked. "Is he leaving?"

"Yeah. Business here's all finished."

John made an admirable attempt at sounding casual. "You must be the grandson, then."

The stranger paused. "Sure." He didn't sound like he was lying, but he did make it sound like there were several caveats and asterisks affixed to the relationship. "Do you have the bill?"

The innkeeper passed a much-scribbled paper. He hadn't expected the old man to stay so long, and his bookkeeping looked accordingly.

"Oh, for goodness–" Thornvale's grandson cut himself off. "Dinner," he said. "Every evening?"

"Finest steak and ale in the village," the innkeeper said, and his patrons worked even harder to stay interested in their drinks. A few chokes rasped from those unlucky enough to have been imbibing at the time.

"He doesn't even–" Again, he cut himself off, and left half the village to forever wonder what Old Thornvale didn’t even. "And breakfast?"

"He complimented our chef on the bacon."

Which was another wonder, because the King's Arm's chef cooked the bacon so briefly, it could probably be put back on the pig.

"Of course he did."

As the man passed over the payment and headed for the door, John paused in his counting. "He's going to be fine, right?" he called. "Old Thornvale? Only, he's been here a while, and the whole village's gotten fond of him."

"Damn," said the butcher. "Guess even John's got a heart."

"He wouldn't have if the bill hadn't been paid," muttered the baker.

The stranger – the maybe-grandson – lingered by the door a moment, and so the entire room saw the disbelieving grin and eye-roll. "I don't think you need to worry about Morcant."

[fr3sh-c0rn-2]

Martyn answering rens "did we get married" with "well I did chop your head off" in wild life makes me want to raise several questions about the kinds of weddings hes been to. in what world is that a qualifier

[fursasaida]

adult life is truly just thinking “I NEED TO CLEAN” while dealing with the 17 other things that have a hard deadline

[liminal-x-wave]

[sunflower-eddiediaz]

boobs should have a toggle on/off feature

[screenshotsofdespair]

[alexaloraetheris]

Yet another unrealistic beauty standard for women

[jackdaw-sprite]

Crack headcanon: The reason Owen is Like That is because he's the type of person to get hangry. And with the way vampiric hunger is...

He's hangry. All the time. If he could be sated he'd stop with the dramatic monologue and the 'everyone hates me' and 'everyone needs to die' but he can't. He can't.

[jupitersghostt]

AU where thralling someone causes them to act as whatever you want most out of them, instead of just whatever you command. And obviously, OBVIOUSLY Scott tells Owen to thrall Legundo, using the lie that it could make turning him easier, when really he just wants to stir the pot.

Owen only really wants Legundo to be Louis.

So after blood is traded, Legs begins to act exactly as Owen remembers Louis. Gentle. Soft. He doesn’t raise his voice. He invites Owen to his house, and they share tea.

Owen’s mind is constantly whirring between i) Legundo found out more about Louis and is doing this to mock me, ii) Louis is possessing Legundo, and iii) Legundo is the living reincarnation of Louis.

But eventually, Owen asks to turn Legundo again. And he says yes, of course, I would love to live eternally with you, my dove. And when he’s turned, the thrall is gone. And he’s just the Doc again.