altijdjouwnaantje

[altijdjouwnaantje]

[altijdjouwnaantje]

A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands.

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hi! is there any chance of you writing a series/more snippets around the cinderella telling you posted a bit ago? i really loved it!

Continuing from this post.

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The prince is sitting on the steps, his eyes aren't quite focused and he's turning over the glass slipper in his hands. What the hell was that? He's trying to place her face in his memory but everything’s just... fffft. Gone. Blank. He remembers what she said. But even the pitch is weird--it could be any voice.

“Your highness?”

The prince glances over his shoulder at the Captain of the Royal Guard.

“Oh--hey---” the prince blinks a few times.

“...awfully odd, that girl,” the Captain folds his arms.

“I--” the prince draws a breath in through his teeth, “ I need to find her.” 

“Understood,”  the captain of the guard nods, “I’ll send guard details on every road leading out of the palace.”

“What?! No--that’s insane! She’s going to think I’m--No, I can’t approve of that...” the Prince is pressing his fingertips to his forehead, his other hand still gripping the slipper.

“I gotcha,” the guard captain says with a wink, “’Don’t’ send horsemen after her.”

“Did you just--Brad--don’t--no. I said no. No winks. Don’t send any guards after her, I’ll look psychotic.”

“Eh. Little late for that.” Brad the guard captain shrugs.

“What?”

“Well she and her whole carriage slipped past security somehow, and she got into the ball without even being announced by the Master of Ceremonies. That’s a security risk. And she seemed suspiciously chummy with the waitstaff. And if she ditched the party in this much of a hurry, she might’ve taken state secrets or something. So, obviously, I sent the horsemen...” he checks his pocket watch, “3 minutes ago.”

The prince pales. “She just--she said she needed to get home before midnight. I think she has a messed-up family situation, if I make things worse for her...”

“Or maybe she needs to reach a drop off point for whatever she’s stolen.”

 “You don’t know if anything’s missing!”

“Not yet, we don’t.”

“Brad!”

“It’s protocol.”

“Protocol!? I’m the goddamned crown prince! And you’re sending armed guards after the love of my life!”

Brad blinks at him, not really sure how to process that. “Uh...”

“Ig-ignore that. Don’t tell my dad I said that,” the prince pinches the bridge of his nose, “Brad I swear to god, don’t tell my dad I said that. I was panicking and--and--You know how weird he gets about this stuff.”

“Yeah--no--totally, your highness,” Brad looks out over the palace gardens, “Look, we can just say we wanted to make sure she got home safely.... when we catch up with her, I mean.” 

“Send a messenger pigeon telling them to hang back from her actual house--but get her address--maybe I can find a way to--to explain things... figure out what’s going on...” He’s wrapped both hands around the shoe again. 

“That hers?” Brad nods at the slipper.

“...yeah...”

“Love of your life, huh?”

“I dunno... she makes clothes for rats. She’s funny. I like her.”

“..Your Highness, did she slip anything into your drink?”

“No! She’s--look, if you talked to her, you’d know. She’s amazing.”

---

Several miles away a massive pumpkin hurtles forward in a stream of sparkles at roughly 25 miles an hour, smacks against the dirt road, once in a burst of sparkles, twice in a smaller burst of sparkles, then three times (no sparkles), and explodes, sending a girl in rags, a dog, and a handful of rats and lizards painfully bouncing across the dirt road in the woods, sticky shards of pumpkin shell tumbling along with them. Cinderella rolls to a stop and moans on the ground, curled protectively around her one remaining slipper. 

“Woah!! Woah--woah! Coming in hot!” the fairy godmother zips in in a flash of sparkles, she looks around, “Everyone okay? No one dead?

Several of the lizards are already slinking into the bush, and the dog and rats are now gently nosing at Cinderella, still curled up, stringy bits of pumpkin and seeds hanging off of her, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Kiddo--” the Fairy godmother drops to one knee and touches her shoulder, “Anything broken?”

Cinderella opens one eye, then glances up, “Godmother?”

“You know you’re really not supposed to be moving at full speed when the spell comes undone...” the fairy godmother bites her thumbnail.

Cinderella just looks at the slipper in her hands. “...I lost one of the slippers,” she whimpers, “I’m sorry.”

“Look--don’t worry about that,” the fairy godmother picks a piece of pumpkin out of Cindy’s hair, “Do you have a concussion?” 

“I... I don’t think so? How would I know?”

“Oh boy--Okay--You know what? We’re just gonna get a good look at you. we’re sitting up--sitting up--”  the fairy godmother helps her to a seated-up position, “Okay--anything broken? Feeling dizzy at all?”

A spackling of dirt and pumpkin juice is sticking all over one side of Cinderella’s face, but she looks down at herself, “N-no--I’m a little bruised but--” she suddenly gags hard, “Oh god--” she slaps her free hand over her mouth and stumbles up to her feet, rushing over to the side of the road and bracing her free hand against a tree to puke.

“Oh shit concussion--” the fairy godmother rushes up next to her and holds her hair back as she keeps puking. The rats and dog trot over, almost as if to offer emotional support as well.

“It’s not--” Cinderella pukes again, “It’s not a con--” she pukes again. “I just--” she pukes again.

“...too much champagne?” the fairy godmother guesses.

 “Oh GOD why did I eat so much?!” Cinderella manages before puking again, now entering that point of puking where you’re half-crying on reflex.

“...no champagne?” the Fairy godmother blinks. Cinderella pukes again. “Woof. Okay that is a lot.”

Cinderella is panting when she finally brings herself up to her full height again, her godmother withdrawing her hands from her hair. “I’m--” She gags and swallows thickly, “I’m good.” She sniffles a little.

“...your body’s not used to that kind of food if you’ve been living on porridge and table scraps, kid,” 

Cinderella sniffles again. “Yeah--I just--It tasted so good and--”she scoffs, ripping off a piece of her skirt to wipe off her mouth and try and smear some of the pumpkin juice-dirt mixture off of her face, “It’s stupid but...” she sighs, “I think I was scared of them taking it away.”

“Kiddo--that’s not stupid. You’re not stupid. I should have been more responsible but I wanted you to have a good night and I was overcompensating for not getting to you sooner, and I ended up kicking you into the deep end and--” The fairy godmother catches herself at the sound of hoofbeats. “Oh shit--hide!”

Cinderella rushes into the road, scoops up her rats in her arms, and whistles to the dog to call him to her side. They all slip into the brush on the side of the road and crouch in the shadows, staying deathly silent as moonlit dapple grays rush past. They wait a minute or two, and another couple horses rush past, their hoofbeats carelessly knocking the pumpkin chunks in the road away. They wait in silence another two minutes. 

“Welp. I guess it’s not a magical night unless you run from the cops at least once,” the Fairy Godmother shrugs.

“The prince...” Cinderella says under her breath.

“The prince--? As in the prince-prince?” the Fairy Godmother perks up.

“I didn’t know he was the prince! I can’t believe how stupid I was! I--” she runs a hand through her hair with distress, “He doesn’t look like his portrait! He doesn’t have a chin in his portrait! And--and now I’ve caused an international incident?? Or something??”

“Nah, he’s in your country, so it’s just a national incident,” the fairy godmother kicks away a broken bit of pumpkin, “Ooh! Did you slap him? Throw your drink on him?”

“What? No--He’s wonderful. He’s kind of shy but he like... tries to play it off, you know? And he’s such a good dancer--like, he made me look like I knew what I was doing, and I really didn’t-- And when he laughs he--” she notices the way her Fairy Godmother is beaming and the way the rats are gently nuzzling against her neck, occasionally picking pumpkin seeds out of her hair to nibble on. Even the dog is staring up at her with those big wet eyes. The night is almost over, she’s covered in rags and bits of pumpkin, and hope is dangerous again. She catches herself and forces a laugh, “I--um...We should get home.” 

“Yeah, looks like the coast is clear,” says the Fairy Godmother.

They walk, briskly and silently at first. There don’t seem to be many other carriages on the road--they must be questioning the guests back at the ball.

“Why don’t you fly?” Cinderella asks.

“I told you, I used up a lot of juice on the dress and the carriage--and making the shoes---shoe--corporeal. I could fly to get myself back, but I don’t have enough juice to get you back. And someone’s gotta get you home safe.”

“Thank you,” Cindy smiles. She pauses. “You said something about... overcompensating, earlier?”

“I just.. wish I helped you sooner,” the fairy godmother fidgets with one of the catkins in her hair.

“...is there a reason why you didn’t?” Cinderella asks, but then she catches herself, “Sorry--I mean, I really am grateful for--”

The fairy godmother flails her hand with a, ‘don’t worry about that’ motion. “Well.. to be honest it took me a long time to... uh... be? Like don’t get me wrong, a hazel tree fed by the tears of a pure-hearted orphan? That’s good magic--that’s powerful magic. But tree magic is... slow. And once I was enough of a ‘me’ to able to see what was going on--I--I wanted to hurt them. The tree was to protect you, you know? So I used to do all the wicked fairy stuff--I’d turn their butter rancid and tie knots in their hair and turn into moths to eat their clothes--but that would just make them treat you worse and give you more work. And I couldn’t do that to you... not when it was your tears that made me. I asked some other fairies for help but and that’s how I got to godmother status but uh... there were some misunderstandings and technically I’m still on probation and--yeah--don’t worry about that--Anyway, after tonight I have to go back into the tree and” she makes a raspberry sound, “Recharge.” She sighs. “And I don’t know how long it’s going to take. I’ve never used this much magic before.”

“Should-should I cry on the tree more? Would that help?’ Cinderella asks a little blankly as they walk. Two of the rats are perched on either shoulder and she’s holding the third almost like an infant. The fourth is on her head, contentedly nibbling a pumpkin seed.

“Oh, no--kid, you can’t force it--Those tears came from grief--from a form of true love--if you did it just for me, that would be transactional and--it’s complicated. Tear magic is very specific.” the fairy godmother huffs a little, “Nah. The tree is strong enough on its own. But bless your heart. I mean you can cry on it if you need to. That’s what it’s there for--but be sure you’re doing it for you and for your mom, okay?”

The lights of Cinderella’s family estate are coming into view.

“Thank you,” Cinderella says again, still turning the glass slipper over in her hands, “This really was the best night of my life.”

“Even with the crash and the puking and the cops coming after us?”

“Mm-hmm.” Cinderella stoops and kisses her fairy godmother on the cheek.

“I knew I liked you,” The fairy godmother smiles, rubbing her cheek. “You hang in there, okay, kid? You’re gonna make it out of this. I just know it.” She gives Cindy a loving little punch on the arm.

“Nngh!” Cinderella’s hand goes over one of her bruises.

“Oh shit, right, the crash.” 

[altijdjouwnaantje]

Lord of the rings

I present to you: this blessed group.

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!👏

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if house md were running in 2024 there would be an episode with a patient who identifies as an ‘online content creator’ (cagily) where house agrees to take the case primarily because when he offhandedly refers to her as an onlyfans model both cameron and cuddy get really offended and say it’s a sexist assumption so he doubles down and becomes committed to finding the patient’s onlyfans and proving it. at some point it would be revealed that chase actually is an onlyfans model and started doing it as a stopgap after his dad died and he suddenly got disinherited but he makes so much money off it that now medicine is basically just a hobby. cameron and foreman both disagree with the concept online sex work but it turns out they disagree for different reasons (cameron thinks it’s exploitative and not-feminist, foreman finds it distasteful and thinks people should get ‘real jobs’) and spend most of their scenes together arguing about this while chase gets continually more shifty. they break into the patient’s house and there’s a full ringlight and camera setup which seems to confirm house’s suspicions. while trying to find the patient’s onlyfans house accidentally finds chase’s onlyfans instead and considers publicly embarrassing him about it like he did with wilson’s sex tape but soon realises that most of the staff at the hospital are already subscribed to chase’s onlyfans so makes fun of him for that instead. it then transpires that the reason why the patient is so cagey about being a content creator is that she’s an ASMR artist and all the soap she’s been shaving on camera has irritated her lungs. cuddy is about to make house give her 20 extra hours of clinic duty as recompense but at last minute it’s revealed that the website the patient uses for some of her bonus commissions is, drumroll…onlyfans, because she’s been banned from patreon. how does house know this? wilson is subscribed to her because the soap videos sometimes soothe him to sleep. something by cigarettes after sex plays. roll end credits.

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"Some twelve thousand muskets were double-loaded, and half of those more than triple. One rifle even had twenty-three balls in the barrel — which is absurd. These soldiers had been thoroughly drilled by their officers. Muskets, they all knew, were designed to discharge one ball at a time. So what were they doing? Only much later did historians figure it out: loading a gun is the perfect excuse not to shoot it. And if it happened to be loaded already, well, you just loaded it again. And again.

— Humankind: A Hopeful History by Rutger Bregman

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If as you're reading this post you're in a sufficiently private and relaxed situation that you feel comfortable doing so, why not go ahead and make a weird noise with your mouth and/or voice. Maybe try to find one you've never done before in your life, to have the satisfaction of expanding your palette of possible physical actions a tiny bit. You may surprise yourself, you may be inspired to new curiosity towards the peculiar and unique machinery of your body. Only if you want to though.

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I knew poinsettias "faked" having big flowers by just turning some leaves red but I didn't know the real tiny flowers in the middle looked like such idiots

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MY GOD WHAT HAVE I FOUND XD

I'm not sorry for having you know this exists XD

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There’s a regular at the fabric superstore. She’s at least 80 years old, and she just got back into sewing after giving it up for 40 years. We’ll call her Irma.

I love Irma.

Irma is constantly surprised by the newfangled sewing gadgets our store sells. Today she bought some extra-fine glass-head pins and a magnetic pincushion. As I’m ringing her purchases up, she tells me very seriously, “did you know, if you’re careful, you can sew RIGHT OVER those pins? You don’t need to take them out!”

I told her that I liked that you can’t accidentally melt the head of the glass pins with your iron, and she nodded. “They used to all be like that, but times changed.”

I love old sewing machines and asked what kind of machine she has, and she goes, “Oh, it’s an old Singer Featherweight that my husband bought me when we were first married. It’s probably not worth anything anymore, but the thing sews fine. Have you seen the ones those girls over there–” indicating the sewing machine sub-store in my location “–have? Those things go in every direction and the needle always comes to the top when you stop sewing! Imagine how handy that is!”

I mention that I used to sew on my grandmother’s Featherweight but now there’s a intra-family war about who owns Grandma’s Featherweight and so no one gets to use it. It’s genuinely the best portable straight-stitch machine I’ve ever used.

I warn her to never let anyone tell her that Featherweight isn’t worth something. “I know, I miss my husband and it’s always going to have a place in my heart, just like your grandma’s.”

“I mean, Irma, there’s that, but they’re also worth a really notable amount of money. The Singer Featherweight is really financially valuable. I almost never see them for sale around here for less than about $400, and that’s in bad condition.”

“It’s a good thing my husband’s dead, honey, because if you told him that he managed to buy a sewing machine that’s worth more in 2021 than he bought it for in 1950, well, he’d be so smug that I just wouldn’t be able to tolerate driving home with him.”

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then it's like oh you think you have just one hobby? think again. also count again.

fiber crafts is like oh you think you know how to count? think again. also count again.

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twenty years across the sea

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And on my birthday too...

wheres seasons greasons