she's platonic about it but in my opinion, stratt 100% treats grace as her dead wife. she keeps a tacky fox trinket in her coat pocket. there's a framed photo of him in her study . he's grinning goofily in it (bc he's a dork). new guy like: is that her husband? / no, dumbass, it's dr. ryland grace, 1/3 of the hail mary mission. / oh, fuck. were they... ? / yeah, it's unclear. black-and-white montages of grace messing around in high-level meetings play every time stratt contemplates committing more environmental crimes. she looks up at the night sky and vaguely wonders if he's enjoying his space ramen. that's her dead wife. she killed him.
I keep refusing to engage with popular media that seems perfectly catered to me, but....a friend has been streaming bg3 for me so. Beautiful idiot man, my beloved
Warning- implied violence, some corpses of loved ones, blood but it doesn't really look like it, non-consensual choking
Started animatic/animation (?) of an npc from our campaign, this is also just an excuse to try and learn how to use krita. The horrible thing???? All my players from this campaign are my dear friends. Which is horrible when it means i can't post shit on my usual socials that would spoil tHE PLOT. am mad. My lobster is indeed too buttery.
Pretty pretty girl kicking ass while pushing down the trauma of all of her friends dying. And then getting her ass kicked..... it will be deviously TERRIBLE when I can finally unleash this on the players. Especially one. But now I sit. And fume.
It's thinking about Darcy desperately yearning running into Elizabeth at Pemberley hours.
Like, you fell in love with this woman, but rationally (pridefully) you though it wasn't something you should pursue. But you can't forget her, and then she's at Rosings... and the more you see her - with her wit, her eyes, the liveliness of her mind - the more she undoes every expectation of who you should marry that you'd ever had. You prolong your trip to see more of her, you start imagining what it will be like married to her and unwisely after only seeing her again for a week begin asking how she'd feel living far away from Longbourn, and even hint things like she'd be staying at Rosings next time she visits Kent.
It's too much. You're feeling too much.
She's due to visit for tea the night before you take leave, and an evening gives far more opportunity for privacy and conversation than sitting in Mrs Collins' drawing room for half an hour the next day.
But she doesn't come, she's feeling ill, and you won't see her. If you don't make an effort, you might never see her again. It's not like Bingley will be going back to Netherfield anytime soon, after all.
You bail on the evening and go check if she's ok.
It's late, but you have to see her.
She's not super friendly when answering your questions about whether she's feeling better, yet that's to be expected when someone has a headache. But she's there, sitting with you quietly, and then you're so agitated that you begin pacing.
It's inescapable. You love her too much.
You'll marry her, and deal with all the impropriety of her family's connections and behaviour. She's worth it.
Because of course she'll say yes. You've been so open that she must be expecting your addresses. It doesn't occur to you that you're wrong to assume she's wishing for it.
Then she rejects you.
And she doesn't only reject you: she shatters your entire perception of self. Not immediately - oh, she creates a large crack, but it takes some time for you to do justice to her words. But they linger, inescapably.
"Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."
You're bitter, and angry, and hurt, and offended, and the sense of doubt isn't going away. But there is one thing you can do, that you have to do.
You write her a letter to explain yourself against the accusations she levied your way - some unjust, but others will eventually gnaw at you until you're forced to face them and stare directly at all the faults you didn't know you had.
You know it won't make her accept you.
The turn of her countenance you'll never forget, as she said that you could not have addressed her in any possible way that would induce her to accept you.
But you need to write the letter: to explain, to warn, and maybe - just maybe - make her think a little better of you.
If she even gives credit to anything you say.
She thinks so little of you she might dismiss your arguments and only hate you more for what you said of her family.
God, you basically insulted her family again in the letter. With an apology, yes, and as an explanation, but you knew at the time that those comments and what you divulged of Wickham would give her pain. But it's necessary. You still believe that, even as time goes on and you begin to wonder if all it achieved was making her hate you more.
The last time you saw her was as you handed her that letter.
She hadn't spoken.
You weren't yet master of your emotions enough to see her and be friendly, the best you could do was try be composed.
If only you'd been truly as calm and composed as you thought you were when you wrote that letter. You can see now that you wrote in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. There were some expressions you used, the opening of it, which alone would be enough to justify her hate. Though, despite your emotions, you never doubted for a moment in her goodness - never doubted that she won't spread around what you divulged of your sister.
She hates you, but all the reasons you love her are still there.
That's something that doesn't change as you slowly unravel the flaws her reproofs revealed to you and you try to become the person you always thought you were. So many behaviours, and the emotions that governed them, were not what they ought to be. Your principles were always good but you followed them in pride and conceit.
You were blind until she cut you to the quick. Opened your eyes to yourself and taught you such a hard lesson - but it was for the best. She properly humbled you and taught you how insufficient all your pretensions were to please a woman worthy of being pleased. Even if you never see her again you will be worthy of the title gentleman.
You will work to become the person you want to be.
Her rejection doesn't hurt so much as the knowledge that she was right and you failed yourself and so many others. Any anger or blame you felt for her words when refusing your hand are long since passed. If she had been able to overlook those flaws she wouldn't have been the woman you love.
The more you reflect and seek to rectify your behaviour the clearer it all becomes. In trying to understand yourself you realise that so many of these flaws have existed almost your whole life. And yet, despite how obvious it now seems, you had no idea.
Though your parents were good themselves they spoilt you - first as an only child, then as an only son - and you grew selfish and overbearing, caring only for your small family circle. Thinking meanly of the rest of the world, wanting to think meanly of their sense and worth compared to your own.
You owe the world so much better.
Your position, far from giving you leave to treat others as inconsequential, means you have a duty to think of others and ensure they are not wronged. Yes, you've done that broadly - especially on your estate, and always with servants and the poor - but what of in smaller ways, to those closer to your own rank? Have you directly treated them with civility and respect?
You know the answer now, but you're doing your best to fix it.
For almost four months, you ruminate on her words and turn yourself into a gentleman you can respect. Someone worthy of the respect you've so rarely had to actually earn. Someone who might've been worthy of her respect from the beginning.
You've never stopped loving her.
Almost four months, and you're not sure if you'll ever see her again.
You certainly weren't expecting to leave the stables after arriving at Pemberley and find her standing in front of your house.
Your eyes meet.
You freeze in place.
Four months of distance and then twenty yards away from each other.
She's blushing (so are you).
Your brain is too surprised to work.
She's here.
She's here and you're just standing there.
You have to go to her. Even if you didn't still love her, it's the polite and friendly thing to. (But you do still love her, and so her presence is a physical weight in your chest that you could scarce resist).
She had turned away briefly, but turns back when you approach.
You hardly know what you say, she hardly raises her eyes to meet yours, but you hear her voice, and she doesn't sound annoyed when she answers that her family is well.
Honestly, despite how discomposed you are by seeing her without time to prepare, your instinct is to stay by her. Even if it means speaking like a fool. You're pretty sure you ask her when she started travelling and how long she's been in Derbyshire at least thrice. But you start to recollect yourself, breathing a little more evenly, and run out of things to say. Remembering that she's here with friends and you've just come from the road, you take your leave.
Your thoughts stay with her though.
She was still just as lovely as ever. More civil to you than you have any claim to.
Your housekeeper says a gentleman and two ladies were taking a tour of the house, and have now gone with the gardener to see the accustomed part of the park. You know the place.
As your valet helps you change your thoughts solidify: you can meet them, and, through every civility in your power, show her that you aren't resentful of the past.
She's so close, and you can't lose this chance to perhaps obtain her forgiveness, lessen her ill opinion, by showing that her reproofs have been attended to.
And, maybe, you're just desperate for any excuse to see her.
By now, you've been in love with her for more than eight months, despite trying, really trying, to forget her both when you left Hertfordshire and Kent. It's pointless, either you'll recover in time or you'll spend the rest of your life in love with her. At this point you don't even want to fight it. Despite the pain of her not feeling the same way, she did you the greatest good anyone could, by showing you who you really were. You improved yourself because you should, without any expectation of seeing her again, but one thing that you can't alter about yourself is your love for her.
Right now, what matters is being near her and showing her you can be a real gentleman.
So, you follow her and her companions to the stream.
She speaks first this time. Putting herself forward to be friendly and polite. Proof, surely, that she doesn't hate you so much anymore? She's almost her usual smiling self, though she goes red and silent while admiring Pemberley's beauty.
You can understand why - you had determined to not ask whether she liked your home in case it sounded like you were wondering whether she regretted rejecting you and thus Pemberley. You know she didn't mean anything by her praise (and she'd known you were rich when she turned you down) but you understand her sudden embarrassment.
Although... when did she start caring that you might misunderstand her and think badly of her? She didn't care the last time you met.
But that's not important now. It's for you to ease the conversation and prove yourself. So you change the subject, and ask her to do the honour of introducing you to her friends.
Her surprise is obvious, and fair. Seeking the acquaintance of strangers, even respectable-looking ones, just wasn't something you used to do regardless of what the well-bred and civil action was.
And what does it say about you - with all your newfound respect and civility - that you're still surprised when the fashionable couple she's with turn out to be the very aunt and uncle you'd previously declared would be a disgraceful connection. You recognised you were wrong to be so dismissive, so rude, but the core assumption that the tradesman brother of Mrs Bennet and his wife must be noticeably vulgar had clearly remained. Yet here they were, everything elegant and well-bred.
How right Elizabeth had been about you.
But now you can show her that was the past, and your manners are improved and prejudices lessened.
You walk back with them, talking to the uncle, who has intelligence, taste, and sense. You like him a surprising amount. He points out trout in the water, and you're glad to invite him to fish here while they stay in the area. You have all the supplies he might need, and know the best spots. As you speak with him your attention is only half distracted by who walks behind you at a short distance.
Hopefully her uncle's happiness makes her happy also.
You have the chance to see, when the walking arrangements change and then she's the one walking beside you.
Honestly, you're not immediately sure what to say, but again, she speaks first.
Yes, she almost certainly doesn't hate you anymore.
Her explanation that she'd been assured of your absence before visiting sounds more like she doesn't want you to think her rude, than expressing disappointment that you are here.
Yes, whatever her past insults, she definitely cares that you don't think badly of her...
As though you ever could.
In mentioning why you returned a day early you mention who you're with, and too late saying Bingley's name reminds you that the last time you two spoke of him was when she (rightfully) blamed you for separating Bingley and her sister.
That silences you for a moment - but she doesn't respond with anger.
Composing yourself, you ask if your sister might be introduced to her. You've spoken of Elizabeth so highly to Georgiana, and so often, that your sister would love to meet her. You don't need to ask - your sister is the social superior, her wishing for the acquaintance is strictly enough for the introduction to be made - but you want to. You mean it, when you ask Elizabeth whether you're asking too much by facilitating the introduction. You want her to have the chance to say no.
But she says yes.
(Even sounding pleased about it, though surprised.)
Which is also a yes to seeing you again during her stay at Lambton. Renewing your acquaintance, despite everything.
The happiness, however irrational, this creates cannot be quelled.
You love her too dearly to not appreciate every fragile overture and sign that she must no longer think you so bad. The letter - your own improved civility - one or both has done away with her dislike.
Replaced it with... well, anything other than dislike is a place to begin.
This time the silence stretches as you walk; she, perhaps, just as lost in thought as yourself.
You could get used to walking around Pemberley with her.
A dangerous thought.
You scarce know what to say as you wait by the carriage for her aunt and uncle to catch up, after she declared herself not tired when you asked if she wanted to come into the house. But, again, she makes the effort to talk to you. You've never spoken of Matlock or Dovedale so persistently, but you want to keep talking to her - hearing her voice - receiving her smiles - for every moment that you can steal.
Four months apart and then the first day seeing her again your heart loves her more than ever before.
And she no longer hates you.
You would have them all come inside, take refreshment, stay, please stay a little longer, but they felt it was time to return to the inn. They're leaving, but you've already organised to bring your sister to see her the day after tomorrow, so it's only a short parting.
Not another four months.
You hand her aunt up into the carriage - and then Elizabeth.
Who is dearest and loveliest to you still, though you might never be able to say those words to her.
You're so aware of feeling her hand in yours, though gloved; the weight and warmth of it. The brief tightening of her fingers on yours as she takes the step up, leaving you bereft when she lets go.
You don't watch them drive away, though you feel her absence palpably as you slowly walk back to the house.
But it's only two days - two days before you'll see her again.
And they're staying for a little while.
All of it is more chances to show her the person you are now. Both the good qualities you never properly revealed before, and the newer ones deliberately acquired to remedy the errors she revealed. Show her you're a man she might admire.
Perhaps a man she might one day be able to love.
It's almost embarrassing, to admit how quickly that wish introduced itself after seeing Elizabeth again.
It probably took under half an hour after you saw her again.
Fuck, we’re surrounded.. take the pirate pill. I know I said I packed us cyanide pills but the pirate pills are way better they’re gonna turn us into swashbuckling pirates & that’s how we’re gonna get outta this one
They infiltrated a brothel, stole some soap, one of em kicked some ass, slapped around another PC we used to have, they all saw a man get stabbed in broad daylight, chased after the criminal, caught said criminal, brought her to elf ladies basement, interrogated criminal, had tea with said criminal and someone started chatting up a minor god.
We had a session where everyone had nightmares in my dnd party! The players did not expect it and it brought me great joy:) don't worry they enjoyed it, after they all went through stressful situations related to the biggest fears of their characters:)
Umbra (the pale ass tiefling) and his mother figure madam Salana, in a dream where in a moment he needs her most, as a crowd of faceless pricks start getting handsy and suffocating, Salana neither hears or notices him. Leaving our poor sad rogue to fend for himself... It did lead to some more distant memories of his parents who of course did not raise him. The usual.
Something like this would be so colossally helpful. I'm sick and tired of trying to research specific clothing from any given culture and being met with either racist stereotypical costumes worn by yt people or ai generated garbage nonsense, and trying to be hyper specific with searches yields fuck all. Like I generally just cannot trust the legitimacy of most search results at this point. It's extremely frustrating. If there are good resources for this then they're buried deep under all the other bullshit, and idk where to start looking.
I know this is talking about creators and more original works, but the ATLA fandom has @atlaculture. They're very helpful and give as much information as they possibly can on references to real life cultures in the ATLA universe.
hey so anyone else just, feel thin. sort of stretched. like butter scraped over too much bread. like you need a holiday. a very long holiday. and you don't expect you shall return? or is that just me and bilbo baggins
being anti ai is making me feel like in going insane. "you asked for thoughts about your characters backstory and i put it into chat gpt for ideas". studies have proven its making people dumber. "i asked ai to generate this meal plan". its causing water shortages where its data centers are built. "ill generate some pictures for the dnd campaign". its spreading misinformation. "meta, generate an image of this guy doing something stupid". its trained off stolen images, writing, video, audio. "i was talking with my snapchat ai-" theres no way to verify what its doing with the information it collects. "youtube is impletmenting ai based age verification". my work has an entire graphics media department and has still put ai generated motivational posters up everywhere. ai playlists. ai facial verification. google ai microsoft ai meta ai snapchat ai. everyone treats it as a novelty. every treats it as a mandatory part of life. am i the only one who sees it? am i paranoid? am i going insane? jesus fucking christ. if i have to hear one more "well at least-" "but it does-" "but you can-" im about to lose it. i shouldnt have to jump through hoops to avoid the evil machine. have you no principles? no goddamn spine? am i the weird one here?
andulkaphoto
blakekathryn
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
jacobvanloon
dailybridgerton
ellievsbear
pixelskylines
