Mostly Harmless.

terminally shy with big moods. blm. intersectional feminist. fat-positive. queer as fuck.

[pocket-panda]

Updated Blog Roll/Carrd

The Many Faces of Jess

FFXIV RPer | Crystal Data Center | Character Roster

This carrd has my personal OOC RP guidelines listed as well as carrd links to all of my active characters. Please enjoy and let me know if you'd like to interact!

[kakushusband]

Robot characters who are given names like SL-308-62 but instead of their human friend going Well let's call you Sally for short, they instead ask the other if they Like their current name.

"Do you like your serial number?" they ask. "Yes, quite. It reminds me of who I am" the robot replies. "I have heard others like me go by different names after some time, and maybe one day I'll choose one for myself, too. But right now that is my full name, yes" they continue.

Because it's not your decision to make whether or not the robot will receive a new name. It should be theirs only. What's the difference? One is more complex and the other is simplified. They were both given by strangers instead of themselves.

"62 will do," they conclude. "It's my model number - there will be no other 62 after me."

[quasi-normalcy]

Robots who instead start assigning numbers to their human friends

[dragonkidalumnus]

“Not that I mind,” I tell SL-308-62 one afternoon as we enjoy our shared lunch break (I have my packed lunch, and 62 has connected themself to their portable power bank) “but why do your call me ‘four’?”

The LEDs along 62’s appendages twinkle- a tell that they’re mulling over an answer.

“It’s a nickname,” they explain, “you are my fourth acquaintance aboard the station, and I’ve assigned you a serial number. Your full designation is F-001-04.”

“What does the ‘F’ stand for?” I ask, curious and charmed.

“Friend,” SL-308-62 says, their tone fond. “It stands for friend.”

[kleefkruid]

My dad was dealing with some mixed feelings so I told him "In therapy when something is too complicated to do a simple 'pro and contra list' we sometimes do an excercise where you imagine all these mixed feelings around a table in some kind of conference, letting each tell their bit and you leading the debate."

and my dad didn't really respond and just stared ahead so I kept preparing lunch. Until a few minutes later when he suddenly piped up: "I am having a bad time at the conference"

[humandisastersquad]

[kinsey-the-saiyan-deactivated20]

I too am having a bad time at the conference

[sensiblereblogifposts]

Reblog if you too are having a bad time at the conference

[jaded-stag]

I keep seeing people making fun of using growled, hissed, roared, snarled etc in writing and it’s like.

have you never heard someone speak with the gravel in their voice when they get angry? Because that’s what a growl is.

Have you never heard someone sharply whisper something through the thin space of their teeth? Or when your mother sharply told you to stop it in public as a kid when you were acting up/being too loud? Because that’s what a hiss is.

Have you never heard a man get so blackout angry that their voice BOOMS through the house? Because that’s what a roar is.

Have you never seen someone bare their teeth while talking to accentuate their frustration or anger while speaking with a vicious tone? Because that’s what snarling is.

It’s not meant to be a literal animal noise. For the love of god, not every description is literal. I get some people are genuinely confused, but also some of these people are genuinely unimaginative as fuck.

[merlwyb-moved-deactivated202503]

you get two angles again because i'm indecisive. i'm completely normal about these two

[merlwyb-moved-deactivated202503]

(i wasn't originally going to post this) (but i never post my writing, so have something quickly done that i did this morning to attempt to sate my brain worms) (i know this won't make too much sense without context but you can probably put the pieces together)

It had been with an exhale did Josephine make her quiet self back into the Moineau estate. She hadn't even been dressed-- just in a sleeping gown and a heavy house coat-- whispering outside with a maid, who soon went on her way. No sooner did she shut the door, soft as she might, did her father's voice ring out a calm: "tea?" He was standing at the ready, it seemed, with one cup pulling to his lips to hide a glint of a smile, proffering the other out to Josephine. It has her gasping, and immediately standing up tall. "Calm now, dear. Be fortunate it was I who spotted you, and that your mother is still asleep, hm?" He chuckles, hoisting the tea a little closer. "Chamomile, honey, and lemon. For the nerves, dear."

With a huff, Josie accepts the tea, but merely opts to hold it in her grasp. She looks between the steaming brew and her father, worrying her lower lip. "It's obvious, then?"

"Without a doubt, Josie. Did you even sleep? Poor girl. Let's sit, hm? I have a feeling much is on your mind, and since your dearest Louis is away for another few days…" He takes his free hand and places it upon her shoulder, giving it a squeeze, before curling it about her arm. Thusly escorting a sighing Josie to the nearest fireplace. He doesn't even release her to take a seat, a silent demand for her to take up the space beside him on the couch. "Now, are you going to tell me why you're sending letters at this hour?"

This earns a bit of a guilty look, as her head droops; long, untamely hair sliding from behind her shoulders. "Last night, too late for it to be any proper, Ser Courcelle had a letter delivered. I hardly mind, truly-- well, not the fact that it was sent, at least."

"Oh?" He quirks a brow, sipping from his tea.

"I'm… worried, Papa…" She pauses. "Do you remember the time I threw hot tea at that one… pallid looking Lord? The one who wore that nasty shade of green?"

Here, he snorts. "Oh, yes."

"Well, Ser Courcelle's handwriting-- it had a certain… crudeness that was very similar to the letter that Lord had sent me thereafter."

"You suspect he was angry, then?" He questions in response.

"I do. I haven't any honest idea as to why, but, our plans for today were altered," she pauses, motioning as though to drink from her cup, but lowers her arms once more. "Furthermore, he mentioned a dinner he had with his family… I can't help but to think it's all related."

"Mm… well, it's always possible. You know how your sweet mother can often anger you, after all." He chuckles. "But, why does this concern you? So what if it did? Tell me plain, what are your fears?"

"Papa… I did not lie to you when I explained our evening, but…" she frowns.

"But…?"

Again, she sighs. A sort of indignant gruntish-poutish sound escapes her.

"Were you alone with him?" When Josie looks to him now, wide-eyed, he, too, sighs. "I had suspected, given your lack of insistence that you weren't." Here, he settles down his cup. "I can see why that could prove for a stressful dinner conversation, but… do you suppose anyone recognized you, dear?"

"That's the thing-- I hardly know. Surely if everyone was content to believe I was no one of worth, there would be no issue. How can such specific scandal be reported otherwise?" She wilts. "But… we got quite a few stares at the infirmary. I cannot rule out that one of the pairs of eyes that saw us recognized me, and the fact we arrived by ourselves."

"Oh, Josie, that doesn't seem like the sort of thing to trouble you," he looses a little laugh of disbelief, however short.

"I'm serious, Papa! Such a thing could cast a hideous shade on him-- his family!" She insists, her voice raising sharply.

"Shh! Shh, lest you have to explain to the whole house," he quickly soothes her, placing a hand upon her knee. Here, he leans in. "I do have to repeat myself, though, you realize… that doesn't seem like the sort of thing to trouble you."

Finally, her tea is drawn to her lips-- taking a long gulp, surely meant to busy herself from replying right away. Even when the cup returns to settling in her lap, holding it still for its warmth, she is silent.

"Josephine Moineau! Do you like this man?" His tone is playful, narrowing the distance between them all the more.

"I-I…" she can feel the slightest heat in her face. Thankfully, perhaps, her cheeks were already reddened from the cold. "He is… tolerable." She decides.

"Josie…"

"Acceptable," she begrudgingly adds.

"Oh, my heart be still--" he seems unable to help but to tease.

"Papa!" She bursts.

"Shh! Shh!" He shushes her, a bit of laughter still in his voice. "So then. Even if you suspect this to have been the case at yesterday's dinner… the man didn't rescind his invitation, did he?"

"Well… no, I suppose not…" she murmurs.

"Then…?" he raises his brows, looking at her expectantly. "What are you afraid of?"

"Perhaps I don't rightly know," she droops again, yet another exhale parting her lips.

"Relax, girl," he chuckles, patting her knee. "It's… all right to feel as though you've messed up something you wish you hadn't, Josie. But, you haven't been so erroneous to apparently warrant cutting off. That must mean something, don't you think?"

At this, she scoffs. "As to what I cannot claim to know, nor understand."

"Perhaps you ought to ask your mother," he smiles, "she seems to have an idea or two." At this, Josie merely sticks out her lower lip once more. "Or, you can simply wait and find out on your own, I suppose." Once again patting her knee, he relinquishes his spot upon the couch and comes to a stand. "Drink your tea, all will be well, hm?"

Just as he nears the exit of the room, however, he looks over his shoulder to add a: "maybe wear a dress today."

"Oh, certainly not!" she laughs.

"There's my darling girl."

[st-just]

Knight by Z.W. Gu

[merlwyb-moved-deactivated202503]

seeking USD gpose commissions!

tl;dr- we rent out my grandma's house to my bro & his fiance, but he has a life-threatening hernia and cannot work until he gets surgery. due to this, my family is out $1600 a month atm.

reblogs appreciated!

GPOSE Commission

Commissions

[merlwyb-moved-deactivated202503]

[pocket-panda]

Stalking into his bedroom, Dauvaunt slammed the door closed, but the loud BANG gave him no satisfaction. He could have pummeled his younger brother's smug face until that fucking smirk was gone - but imagining Ivaurault bloodied and hurt gave him no satisfaction, either. Worse, it stirred guilt. He was just jealous - and perhaps reasonably so, being the spare heir. He had to hate being called that. Dove certainly would have. Slumping back against the door, Dove ran his hands over his face in frustration.

His family had acted like Josephine had committed some heinous crime, when all she had really done was dress below her station in order to aid the poor and downtrodden. What would they have had her do, serve that poor excuse for soup while dripping in emeralds and satin?

Pushing off the door, Dauvaunt walked over to his bed, stripping out of his clothing. Why did it bother him so, to have her character lashed by the sharp tongues of his siblings? He barely knew her. True, he knew he shouldn't have been alone with her, but he'd been caught up in her cause and... well, to be honest, he hadn't exactly been thinking straight. Like as like not, the woman had a certain charm to her, even when she was chastising him. A small laugh huffed from him. She was utterly fearless, rebuking a Knight-Captain of the Temple Knights as if he were no more than a boy. Mother would have liked her, had she been alive to meet her. She was feisty and altruistic, kind-hearted and with a tender soul. So unlike the wilting lilies or snobbish, spoiled princesses his father had introduced to him thus far. She had spirit - perhaps too much spirit, admittedly - but she was determined to do what was right and that, to him, was admirable. Then again, he had always been an idealist, so that wasn't surprising to him.

Left only in his smallclothes in the dim room, Dove sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the mirror. He didn't even know what she thought about him and that bothered him, too. Though... she had given him a very succinct 'yes' in regards to accompanying him to the joust the next day, so she had to have found him at least mildly appealing. Or at least not overly onerous. That brought a small smile to his face. He was looking forward to seeing her again and idly, he wondered how she'd be dressed this time. Certainly not in the patched and poor clothing he'd found her in last time.

Conjuring an image of her, he swapped out her clothing for a dress, perhaps. Yellow, to compliment her hair and the ribbon he still wore on his nicked finger. Unbidden, his thoughts strayed dangerously to what she might wear underneath it, perhaps a bit of lace or satin. He could picture her face and the wide-eyed scandalized look she'd had when he had suggested he carry her. She'd blushed then, dusky rose rising in her cheeks, and he'd been momentarily caught, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin had been so soft when he'd brushed the blood from her cheek and they'd been so close. He could have just tipped his head forward and-

-no. He couldn't have. Not then. But here, in the solitude of his bedroom? Settling back on the bed, one rough, calloused hand slipped under his smalls, grazing over his half-hard shaft. It came as no surprise to find that he was already aroused. Their first kiss would be a delicate thing, he decided, soft and sweet. He wanted to taste her lips, to savor her. His cloak had smelled like her when he'd put it back on, and he could still bring the notes of her perfume to mind, subtle though it was, with notes of spicy clove, smooth cedarwood and warm vanilla.

Lazily stroking himself, he imagined the soft little sigh she would give, settled against him, smiling up at him in the way her eyes had lit up when he'd made his offer to escort her to and from the Brume to the soup kitchen whenever she chose to go. Happy. Happy to be with him. He'd kiss and nibble down the slender column of her throat and across her bare shoulder... He exhaled heavily, swallowing hard as his hand moved faster now, gripping himself more firmly. He could picture dragging his fingers down over her supple skin, palming her breast, eyes on her face while he toyed with a pert nipple. Her eyes would widen, perhaps, then sink half-closed with pleasure as she yielded to him, maybe even arching her back to press herself against his hand. She would whisper his name and he groaned quietly, aching to hear it. His other hand could stray lower, between her thighs, teasingly stroking the cleft there while she gasped and clung to him, her hands tight on his own shoulders. He'd be the first to touch her there, surely, the first to grant her those initial brushes with trembling excitement, and that made him ache. Harder now, and faster, both in his mind and in his body until ragged gasps broke from him and slick heat spilled into his hand. Shuddering, he opened his eyes and stared at the arched ceiling while the last pulses of ecstasy rode through him.

Hell. What kind of spell had she cast over him already? With a muffled groan, he rolled to his feet and padded over to the bathtub, yanking the towel from the rung and cleaning himself up with it. Walking back to the bed, he flopped down on it, belly-first. He was exhausted from the emotional toll of the evening, followed by... well, that. It wasn't long before he drifted off, thinking of fiery hair and a sweet smile...

[afallowmoon]

I don’t think there’s a word to describe the level of thrilled I get when someone refers to one of my characters in their own writing. When one of their characters interacts with mine or thinks about mine or even when mine has a bit part in their story for a minute. It’s like being seen. It’s like suddenly your little personal brain gremlin has life outside of you and it’s confirmed and that’s so wild and amazing and I don’t know if people get how awesome that feels. It’s rad.

[pocket-panda]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Prompt #21: Grave

Snow crunched under Dauvaunt's boots as he paced slowly, but deliberately along the long-familiar path through the gravestones in the churchyard. There were so many, too many, fallen in the Calamity, the war, the aftermath of both leaving the unfortunates to clog Ishgard's streets... their nation had known so much tragedy. It didn't serve him to linger on such thoughts when he came here with a purpose, he reminded himself. Putting those ruminations aside, his gaze set upon one headstone in particular as he closed in. Made out of marble, it was a simple marker. Viscountess Adorinna de Courcelle. Loving wife, devoted mother. She wouldn't have wanted anything too overdone, like some of the grander ones here boasting statuary or great deeds. Mentions of her husband and children would have been enough, as they were her entire heart in life.

Brushing off the snow that had built up atop it with one gloved hand, Dauvant stood to the side of the grave, gazing down at the stone. He'd long run out of boyish tears for her, but sorrow still etched over his face. He missed her. He'd only been fourteen summers when she'd passed giving birth to Ara, old enough to understand what had happened and young enough to rage against the unfairness of it all. He didn't hold Ara to blame. He adored his youngest sister, even when she exasperated the family with her antics. Leaning a hip against the stone, he lifted his gaze to the distant skies.

"Hello, mother," he murmured, the chill of the unfeeling stone creeping through his glove, but he didn't lift it. "I wish you were here still. I could use your advice on a number of subjects. You always knew just what to say - and the cup of warm cocoa afterwards never hurt, either." He smiled slightly without any humor to it. "Ivaurault has become ever more jealous. It's starting to cause a rift, I feel, and I am at a loss as to how to mend it. You know I was always more graceful with a sword than I was with my words. I miss the times when we were just boys, playing with wooden weapons, laughing and playing without a care in the world. Would that we could go back to that relationship but I fear it shall never be that way between us again." He shook his head and moved on to the next sibling. "Osmont's returned to us. With all of his limbs intact, even. I remember teasing him about returning with a peg leg and an eyepatch when he first ran off to the sea. He nearly married a mermaid - a sea lion, I believe, in truth. You should see Ara's painting of the creature. It is certainly something to behold, but of course Father's hung it up in the gallery with all the rest of them. Uly is... as odd as he ever was, but well-meaning. He's to make a good-luck charm for Ara's debut soon. I look forward with morbid curiosity what it's to be this time. Merle is... Merle. He and a few of us took Father to a club recently to try to find him a companion. It's been long enough and I know you wouldn't want him to be lonely forever. You are ever foremost in his heart, though. You always will be, you know. Sophi scandalized the lot of us by showing up to the club, determined to root out who took her weights. Tis a mystery gone unsolved, I'm afraid. Euphrasie is still with us, thank the Fury. Ill even as she is, her antics rival Ara's occasionally. I cannot say that I blame her. If I knew I was to die young, I would want to live as vociferously as I could as well. Violetta is well. Still coming into her own as a Lady now, I think, but she'll get there. I have faith in her. As for Ara..." He sighed quietly. "She's chopped her hair off and pierced her nose. Doing everything she can to put off or rebel against her coming debut. I think it frightens her, but I cannot be certain and she would never admit to it. She's yet to grow into her ears yet and she's still so small... One wonders if she is destined to remain that way, poor thing." Dauvant paused, looking to the sky as a light snow began to fall. It was no surprise, they were common enough. His hand was nearly frozen stiff and aching by now as it rested upon the gravestone and yet still, he refused to lift it and break the only contact he had with her.

"Father is applying ever more pressure for me to marry. I am trying, but... in my heart, I yearn for a love match such as you and father were lucky enough to have. I'm... lonely. Funny thing, in a house with nine siblings, but... I feel set apart from them. There's a barrier spelled h-e-i-r, and try as hard as I might to tear it down, the older we all get, the more solidified it becomes. I suppose it's just the way of things, but it makes me... sad. Would that I could have your council, mother. The cocoa I'm old enough to get for myself now, should I need it, but it's not the same." Kneeling in the snow, he set down the bucket he'd carried in his other hand, with the scrub-brush inside of it. Reaching in to grasp it, he began the task of cleaning the accumulated dust and dirt from the surface, scrubbing away at it until it was pristine again, practically sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Leaning his forehead against the cold, unfeeling stone for a moment, he was surprised to feel tears prickling at his eyes. Perhaps he wasn't too old to cry for his mother after all. Clearing his throat and wiping them away on his sleeve, he stood tall again, taking up the bucket. "I'll visit again soon. Find your rest in the Fury's halls, mother. I love you, now and ever." With that, he turned and trudged from the churchyard, leaving behind the newly cleaned headstone, his heart heavier somehow than when he'd arrived. Perhaps a cup of warm cocoa with warm the stony pit in his belly, but somehow, he doubted it.

[pocket-panda]

Ugh I've fallen so far behind in the FFXIV Writes x.x Oh, depression, how do I love thee.... /s

[pocket-panda]

Another Apology

A small, flat wooden box appears on the floor outside of Ivaurault's room sometime during the evening. Upon being opened, the rich, sweet scent of ten expensive, Ul'dahn Cohiba Behike cigars would greet the nose, topped by a small white card. It reads the following:

Ivaurault,

My apologies for omitting your title in my haste to get introductions out last night. I flubbed it in a spectacular fashion and I'm sorry. I hope this makes up for it.

With love,

Dove

(@roses-and-grimoires)

[pocket-panda]

A Letter of Apology

(A letter is delivered by courier to the Priarch house, addressed to Rainimont Griseaux. The courier wears colors of red and black, with a fenrir patch upon his lapel, the colors and sigil of House Courcelle. The letter itself is upon heavy, expensive vellum, sealed with the selfsame sigil in crimson wax. It is accompanied by a wooden box, which upon being opened, reveals a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild, a rare and expensive red wine.) Viscount Griseaux,

It is only upon addressing this very letter to you did I finally key in to how I may have offended you last eve. I had been pondering the matter since I departed and for the life of me, I could not imagine what I had done. In my harried haste to get all the introductions out in a timely fashion, I realize that I had omitted your proper title, for which I sincerely apologize. You are a valued friend of my family and I would hate for there to be any ill will between us. Please accept this gift as a token of my regret and a pledge to do better next time.

Yours Truly,

Dauvaunt de Courcelle

(@zoetic-tome)

[pocket-panda]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Prompt #13: Check

"We'll have the check, please."

Ruu jerked her head up and stared in bewilderment at her dining companion. The words had been said with exasperation to the waitress who had come by to see how they were enjoying their meal. They weren't even through the second course, yet! - and here he was, requesting the check? "Is there- Did I offend you in some way?" she ventured hesitantly. She knew she was out of her depth here at the Bismarck, one of the more upscale, swanky restaurants in La Noscea, but... she couldn't have embarrassed him that badly.

Her client gave her a withering look. "Yes. Your manners are atrocious. You don't even know a soup spoon from a-" He held up a hand. "It doesn't matter. I bought you for the evening. We'll go back to my estate and you can satisfy me in - clearly - the only way you are good for, and that will be that."

Stunned at the cruel words, Ruu yanked the cloth napkin from her lap and threw it on the table, rising. Shaking with humiliation and fury, and struggling to hold back tears, she straightened her shoulders. "I won't be going anywhere with you," she spat venomously. Tossing the gil pouch on the table that had been given to her earlier, she stalked away, the folds of her pretty dress swishing softly around her.

Only when she was around the corner did she finally give in to the tears, hiding her face in her hands, his cruel words echoing in her ears.

[memewhore]

[thefingerfuckingfemalefury]

(Soundwave voice) LAKE SUPERIOR

REPUBLICANS INFERIOR

[qqueenofhades]

Can't believe nobody has added the thrilling sequel:

[imsopopfly]

Hello 911 I just witnessed two entire murders

[findingfeather]

Also let's not beat around the bush here, Lake Superior is not exactly AGAINST killing human beings.