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Loveanddeepspice - Love And Deepspice - Tumblr Blog
Please help me and my family escape hurricane Milton.
Hurricane Milton is on a warpath right towards where I live.
This is a fairly new blog, but to give you some insight on my and my situation: I moved in with my BF in Florida (not my first choice) to help him and his family (his parents are disabled). Because of inflation and just general shitty Florida things, affording things has not been easy and the past four years we have been financially struggling. Plus I have been diagnosed with a chronic condition that causes frequent kidney infections and requires frequent doctors appointments for antibiotics. I work full time, but my line of work has been slow and I've been made to leave early several days due to the lack of incoming work.
The upcoming hurricane has my father in law freaking out and wanting to evacuate down south, and my boyfriend and I don't have the money to do this, but don't really want to stick around and find out if we are going to be spared for this one.
I hate asking for stuff, but the link to my ko-fi is attached to this post. Any little bit helps, and if you can't donate please please please reblog to spread it around.
To everyone in the hurricanes path, please stay safe.
Centaur Sylus Grassland Romance
Please help me and my family escape hurricane Milton.
Hurricane Milton is on a warpath right towards where I live.
This is a fairly new blog, but to give you some insight on me and my situation: I moved in with my BF in Florida (not my first choice) to help him and his family (his parents are disabled). Because of inflation and just general shitty Florida things, affording things has not been easy and the past four years we have been financially struggling. Plus I have been diagnosed with a chronic condition that causes frequent kidney infections and requires frequent doctors appointments for antibiotics. I work full time, but my line of work has been slow and I've been made to leave early several days due to the lack of incoming work.
The upcoming hurricane has my father in law freaking out and wanting to evacuate down south, and my boyfriend and I don't have the money to do this, but don't really want to stick around and find out if we are going to be spared for this one.
I hate asking for stuff, but the link to my ko-fi is attached to this post. Any little bit helps, and if you can't donate please please please reblog to spread it around.
To everyone in the hurricanes path, please stay safe.
UPDATE 10/9/2024
I know I made another post about this update, but I am adding to this post.
We have made it to northern FL. At this time Milton is projected to be between a category 3 and 5 hurricane with expected storm surge of up to 15ft or more.
I am desperately afraid I am going to lose everything after starting over, but when native Floridians say to GO, you GO. If we had waited there would have been no time.
I don't know if I will have a job to go back to, let alone a home to go back to.
Donations have been very much appreciated. I am in such a state of 'i just drove 24 hours with 4 hours of sleep' that I can't even begin to process anything.
Please continue to share this post.
thE ARM
THE AAAAAAAAAARMMMMMM
woof woof BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK
official nicknames from the boys ❤︎
which one is your favorite? (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)
After a decade has passed.
"Look, our tree."
(FYI on his wrist was the cat's-eye lucky charm MC gives him when affinity reaches level 64. it doesn't show in the game but this is one in many forms of Chinese lucky charms.)
sylus always answers your calls. always. no exceptions.
he could be in the middle of a gun fight or a messy interrogation but when he hears the inside joke of a ringtone he set for you, he uses his evol to shackle everyone in place while he answers, calm and collected as can be.
“kitten, it’s late in linkon — you should be sleeping. no, i’m not busy at the moment.” a cold glare is the only warning his enemies get to stay quiet. “what do you need?”
some of the world’s most powerful and feared men have had their final agonizing moments prolonged by listening to the leader of onychinus sweet-talk you.
sylus and his constant wrist gripping
𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖
✞ synopsis: you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.
✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader
✞ rating: 18+ (minors do not engage)
✞ cw: religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)
✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.
✞ chapter: 1 / ?
✞ co-authors: redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)
✞ ao3 link: here Please respond to this post if you want to be added to the tag list for upates!
The crisp smell of autumn was something you missed about the small neighborhood you grew up in. Pieces of golden yellow, burnt orange, and honey-brown leaves scattered over the gray cobblestone walk, making it look like a beautiful quilt. The street felt warm as afternoon crept up to greet you after a whole morning of heavy grocery shopping and last-minute errands.
And…your dad needed to go to confession.
You didn't have an understanding relationship with religion. You felt tense as you stood in front of the church from your childhood, a relatively small building with arched windows that probably had more than one glass shard smashed by a local kid.
"How is Father Thomas anyway?" You found yourself asking. The memory of your mother on her deathbed flooded your head. Your mom had her problems, and she was stricken with her faith even in her dying moments. And when you had asked the priest if she could be saved, he had reassured you that she was already in the arms of God.
"Why is he taking her?" You had asked, feeling powerless and exhausted, hugging yourself tightly in an attempt to hold back all of the anxiety and sadness.
Father Thomas had given you, at the time, the most religious bull crap you've ever heard in your frustration. "God never condemns the innocent to suffer. Even if God seems to have turned His back on her...He was actually just loving her enough not to let her get away with it."
That didn't answer your question. It sounded like comfort. But how many people found peace after drunkenly crashing her car and injuring another man in the process?
You should've kept your mouth shut.
"Father Thomas left." Your father told you, yanking you out of your memories and into the chilling Fall breeze. "Father Sylus took over a year ago."
You frowned and took a deep breath, nodding. "Have fun, then. If you need anything, I'll be in the car."
"You coming in?" Your dad pushed his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker.
"No," You replied firmly. "I don't have anything to confess." You had plenty of secrets, none of which you ever intended to discuss, especially not with some out-of-touch priest whose homilies preached forgiveness even as he judged his parishioners - another Father Thomas clone. "Besides, what do you have to confess? Piss off the neighbors again?"
He ignored your sarcasm. "You can come if you want."
After your mother's death, it had become clear that all she ever had was religious guilt. And when you thought about it now, nothing made sense. What part of God's divine plan included drunk driving, death, divorce, depression, drugs, or illness?
But you couldn't ignore that pull, the way those ornate doors called to you from an insatiable hunger inside yourself. Like the secrets only whispered within the walls of the church. The whisper of your mother telling you just to suck it up and go in.
"Yeah, sure," you forced a smile. You could glimpse something you have missed in the structure before , maybe . For the past few years, you had been trying to spot miracles and tried to find an explanation as to why your mother had died before your eyes that wasn't backwashed with the usual sentiment.
When you walked through the doors, you paused. It was like time and life had stopped. This chapel gave off an eerily peaceful feeling. With thick wooden pillars reaching up and gently hugging the ceiling, you remembered what it felt like to truly be a child of God—just for a moment, anyway.
Your eyes fell on the apse hosting the Marian shrine, surrounded by candles, many already lit. You recall every candle you lit for your mother, first praying to let her be well, to let her set down the bottle. Then, you prayed harder as she lay in the hospital. You lit a piece of your soul afire with every wick.
And all of it amounted to nothing. Ashes only. Like your mother, sitting in an urn on top of the mantle of your childhood home.
Along the back wall trailed the line of bored parishioners waiting for their turn to confess. You take your spot at the back of the line with your father, settling into the familiar routines of the sacraments.
As the line moves, crawling slowly along the back wall of the nave, you scroll through your phone, or at least start to.
So much of this place reminds you of Father Thomas — the smell of incense, the sound of muffled coughs echoing off the vaulted ceiling, the tinkling sound of the baptismal font in the entryway.
But there is a presence here that feels nothing like Father Thomas.
Was it appropriate to compare the new priest to the old one?
This new person sat behind the wooden barrier, shrouded in darkness. Something about him arrested your attention. Your phone sits, ignored, in your hand.
You know he is the person who would wait for the words you speak in confession, without judgment, and to whom you had no obligation until the moment you would open your mouth.
"Forgive me Father , for I have sinned. It's been three years since my last confession," you spoke in a quiet, solemn tone. You didn't believe that much had changed since you moved away. Well, except for the one thing that happened - but there was no way you were going to tell him that.
Unbidden memories came to mind. Memories of steamy nights tucked away in hotels, illicit meetings that you knew were wrong because he belonged to someone else already, but you just couldn't resist…
No. You couldn't tell him about that. You were far too ashamed. No, you had to think of something else to say. Anything else to say.
Tilting your head towards the floor, you lowered your eyes, fighting back any self-loathing emotions in your mind. For a long time, you told yourself that life happened, and in the meantime, there were other things to experience besides faith.
You had almost forgotten how this all worked and what was supposed to happen next. You heard a shift, the sound of wood creaking.
"Tell me your sins." The voice of the new priest was soft and smooth, in a way that made the hairs on your arms stand. Father Thomas had never sounded like him, ever reminded anyone what they were supposed to do during confession. In the deep recesses of your mind, you felt there was something unsettlingly familiar about that tone, that cadence.
Closing your eyes, you tried to bring up literally anything else that could be considered a sin. "I - I told my dad he was an asshole this week."
Was there really nothing else you could tell him? It felt like a lost cause. He would most likely repeat some bible verse you already knew and admonish you for 'sinning' as much as you had while also claiming the salvation of heaven was all yours for the taking. But that was your burden to shoulder and not his.
"Why did you call him an asshole?"
"Sorry?" You weren't sure what was happening. Confession was a place of absolution, a place to listen, not encourage further action or rationale. At least that's how Father Thomas always -
"Why did you call your father an asshole?" The question was asked again, a little louder as if you hadn't heard it. The more you thought about the question, the less you could discern its intent. Was he looking for something you didn't know?
"Uh, he forgot to pick me up from the airport." You sighed, but the conversation didn't end there. When you paused, you heard him shift again. If you had to guess, he nodded in that kind of stiff way priests do. He probably did it every time you stopped talking, even when there wasn't any vocal confirmation or cue.
"How long did you wait?"
"Two hours." You quickly said, trying to imagine a face to match the voice, failing to identify even a bit of the man behind the screen. "I almost got hit by some guy's truck." Another pause made you think back to that moment at the airport when you had gotten so frustrated at your father on the phone. "When Dad finally showed up, he said the fees for the parking garage were too high and made me walk to his car."
Perhaps this Father Sylus was a lunatic, clearly used to the rich and holy roller types that confessed to him daily. Perhaps his interest in your story would wane. Instead of offering any indication that he cared, he only shifted again.
When he finally spoke again, his voice soothed any anger brewing. "The Lord teaches us that before we judge others, we should measure ourselves - Proverbs 28:13. 'Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.' Three Hail Marys and 1 Our Father. And apologize to your father."
You found yourself unsure of how to respond before bowing your head again, "Thank you, Father."
*Benny Hill theme intensifies* Bonus:
dick from a man who has waited lifetimes to meet me again in my reincarnated form
song recommendation: you are my light by zhao lusi
happy national boyfriend(s) day °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
wait i'm laughing jdnsjdj shut up rafayel 😭😭😭
RAFAYEL_RIDABLE…
WHAT???? 👁️👄👁️
Imagine Sylus who was raised alongside you in the laboratory. Who lashed out at the scientists because they hurt you, but he's a kid, and they have ways to restrain him. Who cuddles you to sleep because it's terrifying, even if he can't sleep himself because he has to keep guard. Who tells you everyday that he's there for you, that he won't leave you, so please don't give up. Who tells you to hide behind him if they try to get you, who tells you to use him. Who holds your hand through everything. Who looks at you softly no matter how much pain he's in.
I THINK ABOUT THIS EVERY DAY
One thought keeps spinning in my head over and over again:
Rafayel is the most talented artist of the century according to the ingame resources.
And in his card where we escorting him to an exhibition he‘s actually besieged by people who want to talk to him.
And in the main story his car is surrounded by people admiring it.
So…
Why are there no paparazzis or fans on him when he takes us out on dates or just strolling along the beach?
He‘s literally the most famous person in Linkon, his face in magazines etc.
But he isn’t hunted by flocks of people that want pictures, signature cards and so on?
Isn’t that weird? 😂
He can even sit at square, painting even and nobody recognize him?
rafayel & xavier met before and gazed gayly into each other's eyes. and other places. they still do. infold told me so themselves
Obviously the only Sylus theory that matters is the one where I had a dream where he told me he was DB Cooper over text.
Nlg Infold is so dirty to give us a smiling, happy Zayne before they dragged him through misery that is his story update. Bruh....
Who is in the team being a sadist?! I hope his story has a, no pun intended; happy end.
Where are all my Rafayel Girlies at?! 🐠💜💦
Asked myself the only real question; What if Rafayel - but MULLET?!?!
Still a tiny bit obsessed with the “Love and Deepspace” game in general - and this grumpy fishie in particular🙂↕️
what did Carter mean by this...?
