#'come on you useless turnip'

[0ccuria]

low approval/annoyed Halsin is so funny he's just

"I can NOT be assed to help you useless twats but FINE... I will anyway for FUCK'S sake"

[alittlebitofmuse]

did you just ??? sigh at me ???

Mistakes were made. Oak Father save him.

[soracities]

"Persephone Writes a Letter to Her Mother", by A.E. Stallings

First – hell is not so far underground – My hair gets tangled in the roots of trees & I can just make out the crunch of footsteps, The pop of acorns falling, or the chime Of a shovel squaring a fresh grave or turning Up the tulip bulbs for separation. Day & night, creatures with no legs Or too many, journey to hell and back. Alas, the burrowing animals have dim eyesight. They are useless for news of the upper world. They say the light is “loud” (their figures of speech All come from sound; their hearing is acute).

The dead are just as dull as you would imagine. They evolve like the burrowing animals – losing their sight. They may roam abroad sometimes – but just at night – They can only tell me if there was a moon. Again and again, moth-like, they are duped By any beckoning flame – lamps and candles. They come back startled & singed, sucking their fingers, Happy the dirt is cool and dense and blind. They are silly & grateful and don’t remember anything. I have tried to tell them stories, but they cannot attend. They pester you like children for the wrong details – How long were his fingernails? Did she wear shoes? How much did they eat for breakfast? What is snow? And then they pay no attention to the answers.

My husband, bored with their babbling, neither listens nor speaks. But here there is no fodder for small talk. The weather is always the same. Nothing happens. (Though at times I feel the trees, rocking in place Like grief, clenching the dirt with torturous toes.) There is nothing to eat here but raw beets & turnips. There is nothing to drink but mud-filtered rain. Of course, no one goes hungry or toils, however many – (The dead breed like the bulbs of daffodils – Without sex or seed – all underground – Yet no race has such increase. Worse than insects!)

I miss you and think about you often. Please send flowers. I am forgetting them. If I yank them down by the roots, they lose their petals And smell of compost. Though I try to describe Their color and fragrance, no one here believes me. They think they are the same thing as mushrooms. Yet no dog is so loyal as the dead, Who have no wives or children and no lives, No motives, secret or bare, to disobey. Plus, my husband is a kind, kind master; He asks nothing of us, nothing at all – Thus fall changes to winter, winter to fall, While we learn idleness, a difficult lesson.

He does not fully understand why I write letters. He says that you will never get them. True – Mulched-leaf paper sticks together, then rots; No ink but blood, and it turns brown like the leaves. He found my stash of letters, for I had hid it, Thinking he’d be angry. But he never angers. He took my hands in his hands, my shredded fingers Which I have sliced for ink, thin paper cuts. My effort is futile, he says, and doesn’t forbid it.

[cyberphuck]

ASSASSIN’S APPRENTICE ABRIDGED: PART FOUR

My friend Razz wants to understand my shitposting about the Farseer Trilogy, but doesn’t want to have to read the books, so I’m summarizing it for them!

 EDIT: Halfway through Jhaampe I start calling “The Big Turnip” the “Big Onion” instead and I can’t be arsed to fix it.

Read Previous Entries!

 Alright Bastards and Old Bloods, this is it: the final entry and JUMBO-LENGTH conclusion to Assassin’s Apprentice Abridged!

 - Excerpt from Chade Fallstar's private writings, Grune 28th, 1497:

Dear Diary, the other day we caught a little zombie-Forged girl and I've been keeping her in a jar with a stick and a leaf. If I shake the jar, she talks. She knows who she is and who her family is, and she also knows a lot of swear words. I gave her some bread when she wasn't hungry and she said "shove it up your ugly ass." I tried to teach her a trick and she bit me. I decided to send her to live on a farm upstate along with Chivalry and Prince Regal's mom.

 Love, Chadey.

 While Chade has been playing Jane Goodall with Forged people, Fitz has been very busy being an alcoholic. One evening, Chade calls Fitz up into his wall-hole and says "It's time for you to stop being a drunk and for the readers to remember who Prince Verity is."

 "Why is there a hay bale in the corner of your--"

 "Prince Verity is Chivalry's younger brother and currently King-in-Waiting for the throne," the Fool says, lounging underneath the hay bale. "That makes Prince Regal next in line after Verity. Just so you know."

 "Right," Chade nods. "Fitz, your job from now on is to hang out with Verity in his Fortress of Solitude and do whatever he wants you to do."

 "I'm fourteen," Fitz says.

 "Don't argue with me, boy, I've got a wedding to plan. By the way, did you ever figure out who tried to kill Burrich?"

 Fitz shrugs. "I figured somebody tried to kill him because he's Burrich."

 "Ah yes, the age-old solution of 'things just happen, what the hell," Chade rolls his eyes. "Well, go on, shoo. Go bother Verity."

 Sighing, Fitz climbs thirty-nine flights of stairs to where Verity is sitting in his empty tower room and staring out the window. "Breakfast, your highness," Fitz announces.

 "Ew," Verity moans.

 "There's also a cup of tea with enough caffeine in it to kill some sort of very big gray trumpet animal," Fitz offers.

 "Yeah, okay, I'll take that."

 "So, uh," Fitz says, standing there awkwardly as Verity drinks an amount of stimulant that should make his heart explode, "watcha doin up here?"

 "Defending the kingdom."

 Fitz looks out the window at the ocean. He looks back at Verity. "Like... with a gun?"

 Verity smiles softly. "Oh, you're stupid. I like that in a person I'm going to use as a tool for the rest of my life."

 "I like you, too," Fitz says, tail wagging.

 "I'm using the Skill to confuse the Vikings so they won't raid our shit and turn our people into zombies," Verity explains. "I'd ask Galen's Skill students to help but they're pretty useless. Hey, didn't Galen teach YOU how to Skill?"

 "Oh, he tried but I'm bad at it, it's because I'm a basta-- HHHHGGGHHGHGHHGHHHHHH KEPPET.EXE HAS ENCOUNTERED A PROBLEM AND NEEDS TO GHHHGH TROJAN DETECTED TAKE ACTION TO PREVENT GHHGGHHHH HOT SINGLES IN YOUR AREA CLICK HERE TO CHAT GHHGHGGGHHHHHH"

 "Huh," Verity says after thoroughly mentally assaulting Fitz without warning or permission. "Looks like someone used the Skill to convince you you were bad at Skilling. That’s just one of the many things the Skill can do that I will reveal to you whenever I feel like it, which will usually be AFTER you need to know.”

 "I think I need an adult," Fitz whimpers from the floor.

 Verity chuckles fondly. "I am an adult. Too bad I don't really have time to teach you to Skill properly. That probably won't come back to bite us. Run along now, stop crying. Oh, and see if Chade can get you to murder that gross noble two counties over."

 A few weeks later, at breakfast, Fitz tries to eat Coco Puffs as quietly as possible while Verity and Shrewd argue.

 "I don't WANT to get married," Verity says for the eighteenth time. "I've gotta keep sitting in the Martyr Tower and keeping Vikings from attacking us!"

 "Well guess what, bucko, I'm your father AND your king and if I say you're getting married then you fucking are!" Shrewd rage-butters a scone. "And I swear to Eda if you pull a Malicious Compliance like your older brother and marry the absolute worst candidate for queen you can find then I'll look the other way when YOU'RE assassinated too!"

 Fitz slowly reaches for the cereal box, eyes wide.

 "It'll be good for morale, Verity," Shrewd goes on. "Everybody'll be like, 'oh, if the Prince is getting married and pumping babies into some foreign woman then being murdered by Vikings really isn't that bad!'"

 "And who did Regal choose for me to be married to?" Verity asks.

 Shrewd looks at the smudged writing on his hand. "The Kraken," he announces.

 "You mean Kettricken?" Verity says. "The mountain princess? I'm like twice her age. And I don't have time to go to the mountains to grab her, Vikings will totally Vike you all while I'm gone!"

 "Well SOMEBODY'S gotta go up there and grab her," Shrewd insists.

 "Figure it out," Verity snaps as he storms out of the room. "And by the way, Fitz has been sitting there eating six bowls of sugar cereal because he has no adult supervision!"

 He slams the door.

 "Hi Grandpa Shrewd," Fitz says into the silence.

 "Hello, Lil Accident. Just so you know, Kettricken is only second in line to the mountain throne. First is her brother Rurisk, who took an arrow to the chest a couple years back and now is about to die from Being Poisoned to Get Him Out of the Way."

 "Yes Grandpa Shrewd.”

 Chade Spidermans down from the ceiling. "You're sending him and not me? Why?"

 "Plot reasons," Shrewd says, taking the cereal box away from Fitz.

 "Oh boy," Fitz says, jumping up. "I'm gonna go tell my friend the Fool!"

 The Fool's not in his room, but a bunch of other cool stuff is: every Lego set from 1973 onward, a bunch of those neon-colored ponchos from the 90's, Sudoku puzzles completed in ballpoint pen, and A BABY????

 Oh wait, that's a doll. Looks like a baby though. Weird.

 Next Fitz goes to visit Patience. Patience is sifting through an old jewelry box; she sits Fitz down so she can hold different things up to him and see how they look.

 "Hmm. No, too subtle... this one's too gaudy. Ah, yes, this one." Patience pulls out a black collar with the word DADDY on it in gold letters. "Yes, this is perfect. Put it on, Fitz."

 It's eventually decided that since Verity can't go to the mountains, Regal is going to be a stand-in at the wedding and then they'll have another wedding later when the Kraken comes down to Buckkeep. Fitz is loading up the horse-van for the journey when the Fool cartwheels up to him.

 "I have something for you," the Fool jingles.

 "I didn't go in your room and touch your doll or accidentally drop your seven thousand five hundred and forty one piece Millenium Falcon Lego set," Fitz blurts.

 "Take this Pepto Bismol," the Fool says, "and don't eat anything weird in the mountains."

 "Don't worry about me, Fool," Fitz laughs. "I'm sure nothing bad'll happen."

 Fitz goes on a road trip. August, Fitz's cousin and current member of the Skill Gang, is going with them to help Verity Skill-connect to the wedding when it's time. Hands the stableboy is also there, which is nice, because they're taking the I-5 to Jhaampe, the mountain capital, and there's not a lot to look at on the way. They travel through a lot of places that Fitz is just going to have to travel through again in two books while being chased by Regal, so all he really notices is that there's a shitton of grass, a bigass lake, and only one set of hot girls who want to give him and hands their first sexual experience (the girls' mom shows up and hits them with a sandal until they go home).

 The wedding party climbs into the foothills of the mountain kingdom, and there waiting for them are... the Vikings?

 Okay, so the group of seafaring raiders that I've been referring to as "The Vikings" are culturally sort of more like Mongol raiders. It's not really a one-to-one comparison but the important point here is that the mountain people are what we in the real world would typically imagine Vikings to be, except that here in the Six Duchies the Vikings are the Vikings and the mountain people only LOOK like Vikings, Fitz is Simba, Regal is Scar and I think the Fool is Horatio.

 Are we clear? Alright moving on.

 Fitz and co. are greeted by a welcoming party of mountain people, who are tall and pale and blond. They're super friendly and cheerful, singing the Songs of Their People and totally confusing Hands, who doesn't speak Mountain. Fitz doesn't speak Mountain either, probably. Maybe.

 They arrive in Jhaampe, where the buildings look like if you cut off the tops of the towers in Red Square or planted a bunch of turnips upside down. A second welcoming party pops up, and when August and his cronies complain that their feet are tired and they don't feel like walking anymore, the mountain peeps carry them into the city on planks. Fitz is extremely embarrassed by this and is trying not to cringe all the way down into his tights.

 To seem less like a lazy dick who makes strangers carry him places for no reason, Fitz strikes up a conversation with one of the old ladies carrying his plank. Her name is Jonqui and she knows a lot about the city, and slows the plank down so she can point out interesting landmarks and gardens.

 "Pull-Out Fail speaks good Mountain," she remarks, grinning. "Maybe he learned as a tadpole?"

 "I'm just super good with languages I probably grew up speaking," Fitz shrugs.

 They arrive at the biggest turnip, which serves as Jhaampe's royal palace. Jonqui escorts Fitz inside and he finds that it's not really a palace, it's more like a tent made out of a tree, with a lot of open space in the middle, and there's not a whole lot of private spaces that he might use to murder their prince.

 Whatever, he'll figure it out.

 "Come, Pull-Out Fail," Jonqui says, herding Fitz to a center stage. "We will watch our Shift Manager present his Shift Manager to be your Shift Manager."

 "Shift Manager?"

 "Yes, that is what we call our royalty. When someone comes to demand to speak to the person in charge, the Shift Manager is the one we have chosen to throw under the bus," Jonqui explains. "It is a very important duty."

 Besides King Eyod, who is an old person, there are two random mountain folk in white dresses. Fitz eyeballs them and wonders where the rest of the royal family is. "The girl one," Jonqui says, elbowing Fitz, "she is my niece."

 "Neat," Fitz yawns, still looking around for someone wearing a crown. "That other guy looks like He-Man."

 "Yes, he is my nephew."

 Gifts are exchanged.

 "This isn't going to be like that one scene in Midsommar, is it?" Fitz asks warily. "You're not going to like, set these people on fire?"

 "This," King Eyod announces, taking He-Man by the shoulder, "is my son, Shift Manager Rurisk, first in line to the throne of the mountain kingdom. And here is Shift Manager Kettricken, who shall marry the Shift Manager of the Six Duchies and become their General Manager, She Who Sets the Schedule."

 There is general oohing and ahhing and applause. Fitz realizes he's been chatting boredly with the King's sister this entire time. Why hadn't Regal sent any kind of message to the wedding party ahead of time to warn them that the mountain people liked to play Undercover Boss? No, Regal had just texted to remind them to bring his Gucci underwear, the dick.

 Jonqui drags Fitz over to meet Kettricken and Rurisk. "Kids, this is Pull-Out Fail Farseer," she says. "Now you go run along and play, and be back when the streetlights come on."

 "Yes, in our language we call him 'The Bastard' because he sucks," August chimes in helpfully. Rurisk glares at him.

 "Pull-Out Fail," Rurisk says. "I knew your father. And I spoke with him, on the day that he'd learned that he'd knocked up one of our people. He was a good man."

 "This joke is getting kind of old," Fitz says. "Listen, my name is Fitzchivalry--"

 "Oh, Fitzchivalry Farseer?" Kettricken brightens. "You poison people, right? Regal told me all about you and how you run around with Lady Thyme murdering people in the Six Duchies. It's so good to finally meet you!"

 "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Fitz replies articulately.

 "Come on," Kettricken says excitedly, "let's go to the herb garden. I heard you like herbs."

 On the way out to the herb garden, Fitz forgets that Kettricken knows he's an assassin and notices she has boobs, because he's fourteen. Together they get enthused about plants and shit, and they take a stroll around the herbs.

 "Taste this one, it's really weird," Kettricken says. "... What's that thudding noise? With a jingle? It sounds like someone's court jester is banging their head against a wall."

 "I hear that a lot," Fitz shrugs. "I usually just ignore it. You said to eat this plant I've never heard of? Mm, spicy!"

 "So," Kettricken asks as she stops a speeding train with one muscular arm, "what's my future husband like? Shift Manager Regal told me that he's really old and nasty and that he just sits in a recliner watching Fox News all day."

 "He's thirty two," Fitz tells her, mentally adding a dick to the big ol' bag that he wishes Regal would eat. "Verity is super nice, and funny, and he has fun hobbies and he likes animals. He's really handsome, too, he has gorgeous black hair and shining eyes and big broad shoulders and a really nice ass--"

 "So Shift Manager Regal lied to me." Kettricken frowns, biting her lip. "Does he lie about a lot of things?"

 "They hang people in my country for having an opinion on that," Fitz says.

 "Regal was six Jagerbombs deep one night and told me all about how you loved sneaking around and killing people," Kettricken confesses. "He said that if you showed up with the wedding party, it meant that you were here to poison my brother to get him out of the way and make me the heir to the mountains."

 "What haha that's weird what a weird thing to say haha," Fitz stammers, foaming at the mouth.

 Rurisk and Jonqui come running down the path to fetch Kettricken, telling her that there's a thing at the thing she has to do, remember that thing? And Fitz smiles and waves bye to them and then walks happily back to his room in the tree-palace and starts frantically digging through his stuff for the Pepto Bismol the Fool gave him.

 Rurisk bursts into the room at five the next morning, waving a bottle of Mountain Bismol. "Pull-Out Fail, are you still alive?!"

 "I wish I wasn't," Fitz moans, face pressed against the rug. "Get away from me with that."

 "He's not dead, no thanks to you," Rurisk says, glaring at Kettricken as she peeks into the doorway wearing footie pajamas. "Go get us some breakfast, and don't fucking poison it!"

 Fitz tries to stand up and faceplants on the bed. "Stop making the floor move."

 "Someone told Kettricken you were here to kill me," Rurisk explains. "I told her not to worry about it, but she thought it'd be a good idea to trick you into eating what we call Fentanyl Flowers and then not tell me about it until fifteen minutes ago."

 Kettricken comes back into the room with donuts and coffee. Rurisk breaks a donut into three pieces, giving each of them a piece. "And if this is poisoned, you've killed us all," he warns.

 "Oh my god, that was one time," Kettricken whines.

 "Listen, Pull-Out Fail," Rurisk says earnestly. "My little dinky mountain kingdom needs the space for farmland down on your big prairies. We need cool stuff from the town that the Liveship Traders books take place in. We need a beach for our college students to go to on Spring Break. So I'm willing to give you ethically sourced furs, good lumber for warships, and my hot little sister as trade."

 Fitz pauses with a donut halfway to his mouth. "What do you mean, 'ethically sourced furs'?"

 "We shave bears. It's not important right now. What is important is that you don't have to kill me to get me out of the way, because I'm on YOUR side. Do you get me?"

 "I get you," Fitz nods.

 "Good. Now I'm going the fuck back to bed. Kettricken, don't poison anybody on the way back to your room."

 "If you don't stop I'm gonna tell DAD--"

 Fitz lays back on the bed. He closes his eyes and wonders if communism should be a thing. Then he thinks, no, having a monarchy is definitely a good idea. What could go wrong with having a ruling class of divine-right royalty who are constantly murdering each other for the throne? And surely there's no drawback to having a Prince that's an evil little shit who commits crimes against humanity with no fear of punishment or reprisal.

 Yeah. Kings are the best.

 The next day Rurisk invites Fitz out to the dog kennels. Fitz loves dogs! Then they turn a corner to find a very old hound dog whose jowls, ears, belly and tail are all dragging on the ground as he waddles up to them, and the music swells as Fitz cries "Nosy!!" and kneels down to hug him.

 "That's my loyal old hound dog," Rurisk says. "Burrich the stablemaster sent him to me in a little basket with a bow on it years ago."

 "I had a socially unnacceptable soul-bond with this dog," Fitz explains.

 "Gross," Rurisk smiles. "Anyway, I gotta go do Prince stuff. Smell you later."

 Fitz immediately goes to find Burrich, who is in the Big Turnip presenting a horse to Kettricken as a wedding present. Cob--

 Wait, there's a note here. It says, "Cob is the stable boy that Fitz and Nosy met when they first came to Buckkeep." There's a piece of straw taped to it.

 Cob is there too, and he makes sure to give Fitz the middle finger as he approaches.

 "Burrich, I need to talk to you," Fitz says. "I just found out you didn't kill Nosy when I was little."

 Burrich stops what he's doing and turns slowly to stare at him. "I'm sorry, you thought I killed a puppy? Jesus, no wonder you were so twitchy as a kid."

 "But you didn't kill a puppy," Fitz says. "And we can still be friends."

 "You thought I was a monster who would [BUILD A ROCKET SHIP SO THAT AN ANIMAL COULD RETURN TO ITS HOME PLANET] if I'd found out you'd bonded with it, but you turned around and bonded with another fucking puppy," Burrich growls. "Which I told you is nasty, so no, we can't be friends."

 Fitz drags himself sadly back to the Big Turnip.

 That night, Fitz is getting ready for bed when Regal's servant turns up at his door. "Hey fuckwad, Prince Regal wants to talk to you," he says, and drags Fitz by the wrist up to Regal's royal Regal room.

 Regal is chilling in his chambers doing epic bong rips out of the skull of a dead orphan, like not a dirty street urchin, but specifically an adorable little ragamuffin with soot on their little tophat that flew off comically when Regal took them out from five hundred yards away with a sniper rifle. "What's up, DICKchivalry," he sneers, then high-fives one of his minions.

 "Hi," Fitz says, forcing a smile.

 "Have you gotten around to murdering Prince Rurisk yet?" Regal coughs.

 "Uh."

 "Uh," Regal says mockingly. "God, you're stupid. Isn't he stupid, minion who has no business hearing any of this?"

 "Absolutely idiotic, my Prince."

 "Prince Rurisk said he's on our side," Fitz says, "and that he wants us to have the lumber we need and his sister and everything. I figured maybe it'd be better to like, not kill him."

 "Alright, since you're too dumb to plan an assassination, I'll figure it out for you," Regal says as his minion loads another bowl. "I want him graveyard dead before the wedding so he doesn't stand next to me and make me look short. Now fuck off."

 Fitz fucks off with many a backward glance, wondering what the fuck he's supposed to do now. There's no signal in the mountains so he can't send a message to Chade or King Shrewd to tell him that Rurisk is cool actually, and even though Regal sucks, like, REALLY sucks, he IS a Prince and Fitz is a tool of the Crown so he does technically have to follow orders.

 What the fuck is Regal's problem? Fitz thinks while brushing his teeth the next morning. Why did he tell Kettricken that I'm an assassin? Why does he want Rurisk dead so bad when Ru-Dawg is on our side? Gosh, I wish I could talk to Chade or Verity or Grandpa Shrewd or literally anyone, but they're so far away, and--

 Oh right, the Skill.

 "AUGUST," Fitz pants, sneakers squeaking as he skids to a halt in front of his cousin. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Look: do you see this silver pin, with the ruby in it? King Shrewd gave this to me when I was nine and sitting under a table eating leftover pies. The Fool and Regal were there too, and there were some puppies, and King Shrewd knelt down and gave me the pin and told me that if I ever needed to talk to him, I could just show this pin at his door and he'd let me talk to him, no matter what, and there's something really important going on so I need you to send a Skill message to him right now."

 August looks at him for a minute. "No," he says finally, and turns to leave.

 Fitz grabs his sleeve. "August you HAVE to let me talk to Shrewd, there are LIVES at stake!"

 "Okay fine, jeez," August says, shaking him off. "I'll get Shrewd on the line."

 "Great! Great. Okay. Tell him, uh." Fitz takes a deep breath. "Tell him Prince Rurisk is doing great and I don't think we should kill hi-- uhhhhhhhhh, I mean GIVE him the PRESENT that we were going to POISON him with."

 "You're such a fucking spaz," August mutters, closing his eyes to make a Skill Call. Then he shrugs. "It went straight to voicemail."

 "Redial," Fitz says desperately.

 "No, I've got important cousin shit to do, including telling Regal that you just tried to get me to dial long distance to talk to the King." August walks across the palace to talk to Regal, but the Prince is high as fuck and doesn't care.

 Fitz leans against the wall and makes a thinky face. "Maybe I could kill Regal," he says for what will be the first of several hundred times. "Eh, probably not worth it."

 That night, Regal's minion gives Fitz a little secret packet of horrible deadly poison. "Regal gave me this to give to you to give to Prince Rurisk," he says. "Put it in his drink and make it look like an accident."

 "Did King Shrewd send me here as some kind of complicated political maneuver where I would kill Rurisk and then be publicly hanged for murder so no one would find out that we killed Rurisk for political gain?" Fitz asks.

 "Take the fucking accident powder," the minion snaps.

 Fitz walks through the Big Onion to Kettricken's door, where he knocks and tells her that he's going to kill her brother. Then he goes to Rurisk's room, with Kettricken following behind. He sits down at Rurisk's table and dumps the accident powder into a glass of wine while Rurisk watches. Then they both drink from a different glass.

 "Kind of sucks that Shift Manager Regal told everyone you're an assassin, Pull-Out Fail," Rurisk says. "You wanna hang out here in the mountain kingdom so you don't end up at the bottom of a lake with your feet encased in concrete?"

 "Maybe," Fitz says. "I think somebody's supposed to catch me in the act of killing you just now, will you let them in?"

 Cob bursts in the door. "Caught you red handed poisoning the Prin-- OH FUCK KETTRICKEN YOU DIDN'T DRINK THAT WINE DID YOU??"

 "No, why?"

 Rurisk falls over dead.

 "Wait, why is he dead, we both drank from the same gl-- wow, I do NOT feel so great," Fitz says, foaming at the mouth again.

 Cob grabs him. "I sent Smithy to space," he grins.

 "Yeah, well I have a poisoned knife," Fitz replies, stabbing him with it.

 "Sweet mountain Jesus, someone stop him, he's killing everyone!" Kettricken yells, then realizes she's holding a heavy metal object and beans Fitz in the head with it.

 Fitz wakes up in the stables outside the Big Onion with Regal already monologuing over him. "I wanted you dead because you and Lady Thyme poisoned my mother!"

 "Queen Desire, Shrewd's second queen who died at some point in this book but Fitz literally cared so little that he didn't even mention it," says a nearby hay bale.

 "Thank you, hay bale," Regal says. "You thought I didn't know you poisoned her, but I DID know! I also know that you were using Burrich to Skill, but as soon as I had Cob stab him you were forced to stop. I knew ALL of these things!"

 "Glag," Fitz says, concussed. Then he closes his eyes, and suddenly he can Skill.

 "Hi, Prince Regal," Galen the Skillmaster says. "Are you ready for me to Skill-Kill Prince Verity during the wedding so you can marry Kettricken and be King-in-Waiting?"

 "Ugh, but she looks like a Soviet Union propaganda poster," Regal moans.

 "Suck it up," Galen says, hitting 'end call.'

 Fitz is still laying on his face in the stables. Nosy noses in and ambles over to drool on him, then bites through the ropes Fitz is tied up with. Burrich shows up next.

 "You have the Wit," Fitz tries to say, but he's still suffering poison damage and the 'hit in the head' debuff, so it comes out as "Glaggaglah."

 "I'm in the closet," Burrich says. "Did King Shrewd turn you into a baby assassin?"

 "Glag," Fitz confirms sadly.

 Burrich looks back at him, then does a double-take. "Where the fuck did you get that collar that says 'DADDY' on it?" he demands.

 "Patience glave it to me."

 "I cannot fucking believe this," Burrich mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's the collar that I gave to your dad."

 Fitz looks at him.

 "You gave it to Prince Chivalry when he found out about me," Fitz says. "That's why it says 'DADDY,' because that's when he found out he was a father."

 "Sure, we'll go with that," Burrich says queerly.

 Jonqui, King Eyod's sister, clips through the wall while T-posing. "Come back to the Big Onion," she says. "Kettricken has forgiven you for poisoning her brother. Which I know you didn't do."

 They drag Fitz back to his rooms at the Big Onion. While Fitz is trying to remember how to drink water, August shows up at the door. "Verity called," he says boredly. "He said, uh, be loyal to who's loyal to you, or something. Also all of Regal's servants died mysteriously and he wants you to go to the hot springs to help him bathe."

 "I do not want to see Regal naked," Fi tz protests, but goes anyway.

 Regal's sitting in a hot tub drinking an evil martini when Fitz and Burrich arrive. "Ah, there you are," Regal says. "Hulking Manservant, bang Burrich over the head."

 Burrich goes down. Fitz yells timber. Regal drags Fitz over to another hot tub, ignoring the sign that says 'WARNING: DO NOT USE THIS HOT TUB IF YOU HAVE BEEN RECENTLY BETRAYED BY YOUR EVIL UNCLE' and throws him in.

 "And that's that," Regal says happily, dusting off his hands, and leaves.

 Fitz, flailing around in the water being hot tubbed to death, can suddenly Skill (again). This is great! He Skills joyously. Skilling is rad! I'm gonna call everyone! Hey Verity! VERITY! ... Verity?

 "Dearly Beloved..."

 The Fool looks up from his Adult Coloring Book. "Hm?"

 "We are gathered here today to join these two second bananas in holy matrimony. Do you, Prince Verity..."

 Verity! Fitz Skill-yells. Look out!! Skillmaster Galen is standing behind you about to pull a Skill Dracula on you and suck out all your, uh, Skill! That's a thing that can happen apparently!

 I am actually Queen Desire's bastard son and Prince Regal's half brother! Galen Skills evilly. I'm pretty sure there's no member of the Farseer reign that HASN'T either sired or given birth to a bastard! Like seriously, as a family we legit just cannot keep our pants on. ANYWAY! I have been conspiring to kill Verity and put Regal on the thro-- oh okay apparently you can just straight kill someone with the Skill too, who knew.

 Galen collapses, Skill-dead.

 AUGUST, Verity Skill-megaphones into August the Skill-cousin's ear. PUT THE KRAKEN ON THE LINE SO I CAN TELL HER IT WASN'T ME WHO PLOTTED TO KILL PRINCE RURISK. AND ALSO THAT I RESPECT HER AS A PERSON AND WILL GREET HER WHEN SHE ARRIVES AT BUCKKEEP WITH A FIRM HANDSHAKE AND A MANLY NOD.

 August's head explodes.

 ~epilogue~

 Fitz and Burrich are later found in a wet, unconscious pile in the steams. Fitz has puncture marks in his wrist from where Nosy pulled him out of his hot tub tomb before climbing into his rocketship and flying back to his home planet.

 Though neither of them are dead, Burrich has conveniently forgotten that Fitz is a baby assassin, and Fitz probably can't be a baby assassin anymore because he has about thirty seizures a day due to being poisoned and then poisoned again and then blugeoned and kicked and drowned all in the space of like thirty minutes.

 They spend a long time recovering in Jhaampe, even after Kettricken and Regal (remember him? he's still alive) go down to Buckkeep. Burrich tells Fitz that they're friends again and that he'll go wherever Fitz goes because he's wearing the 'DADDY' collar. Fitz says, "Because you... view me as a parental figure? I guess?"

 Burrich replies, "Sure. We'll go with that." NEXT TIME, ON DRAGON BOOK Z: Fitz has his Hot Girl Summer, immediately followed by his Shit’s Wack Winter, in ROYAL ASSASSIN ABRIDGED! 

[altocat]

(headbutts hojo) go uncrystalize lucrecia you uglyass. or i'll turn you into a turnip

Honestly, is uncrystalizing Lucrecia even possible at this point? I'm not entirely sure. Pretty sure it was Lucrecia essentially trapping herself as an act of...well, something not very nice, to put it lightly. She can't die, but she doesn't really seem to have a sense of conscious mobility outside of people directly coming to visit her. So she's kinda-sorta become something akin to the living dead at this point. Preserved, semi-aware of her immediate surroundings, but pretty dormant and functionally useless.

Not sure how anyone, even a crazy fuck like Hojo, would be able to undo that. You might as well turnip him because I don't think she's coming back.

[rjalker]

---

Every village in France is under the influence of some protecting saint, modelled according to the characteristics of the inhabitants.

Saint Michael watches over Lower Normandy, Saint Michael, the radiant and victorious angel, the sword-carrier, the hero of Heaven, the victorious, the conqueror of Satan.

But this is how the Lower Normandy peasant, cunning, deceitful and tricky, understands and tells of the struggle between the great saint and the devil.

To escape from the malice of his neighbor, the devil, Saint Michael built himself, in the open ocean, this habitation worthy of an archangel; and only such a saint could build a residence of such magnificence.

But as he still feared the approaches of the wicked one, he surrounded his domains by quicksands, more treacherous even than the sea.

The devil lived in a humble cottage on the hill, but he owned all the salt marshes, the rich lands where grow the finest crops, the wooded valleys and all the fertile hills of the country, while the saint ruled only over the sands. Therefore Satan was rich, whereas Saint Michael was as poor as a church mouse.

After a few years of fasting the saint grew tired of this state of affairs and began to think of some compromise with the devil, but the matter was by no means easy, as Satan kept a good hold on his crops.

He thought the thing over for about six months; then one morning he walked across to the shore. The demon was eating his soup in front of his door when he saw the saint. He immediately rushed toward him, kissed the hem of his sleeve, invited him in and offered him refreshments.

Saint Michael drank a bowl of milk and then began: “I have come here to propose to you a good bargain.”

The devil, candid and trustful, answered: “That will suit me.”

“Here it is. Give me all your lands.”

Satan, growing alarmed, wished to speak “But—”

The saint continued: “Listen first. Give me all your lands. I will take care of all the work, the ploughing, the sowing, the fertilizing, everything, and we will share the crops equally. How does that suit you?”

The devil, who was naturally lazy, accepted. He only demanded in addition a few of those delicious gray mullet which are caught around the solitary mount. Saint Michael promised the fish.

They grasped hands and spat on the ground to show that it was a bargain, and the saint continued: “See here, so that you will have nothing to complain of, choose that part of the crops which you prefer: the part that grows above ground or the part that stays in the ground.” Satan cried out: “I will take all that will be above ground.”

“It's a bargain!” said the saint. And he went away.

Six months later, all over the immense domain of the devil, one could see nothing but carrots, turnips, onions, salsify, all the plants whose juicy roots are good and savory and whose useless leaves are good for nothing but for feeding animals.

Satan wished to break the contract, calling Saint Michael a swindler.

But the saint, who had developed quite a taste for agriculture, went back to see the devil and said:

“Really, I hadn't thought of that at all; it was just an accident, no fault of mine. And to make things fair with you, this year I'll let you take everything that is under the ground.”

“Very well,” answered Satan.

The following spring all the evil spirit's lands were covered with golden wheat, oats as big as beans, flax, magnificent colza, red clover, peas, cabbage, artichokes, everything that develops into grains or fruit in the sunlight.

Once more Satan received nothing, and this time he completely lost his temper. He took back his fields and remained deaf to all the fresh propositions of his neighbor.

A whole year rolled by. From the top of his lonely manor Saint Michael looked at the distant and fertile lands and watched the devil direct the work, take in his crops and thresh the wheat. And he grew angry, exasperated at his powerlessness.

As he was no longer able to deceive Satan, he decided to wreak vengeance on him, and he went out to invite him to dinner for the following Monday.

“You have been very unfortunate in your dealings with me,” he said; “I know it, but I don't want any ill feeling between us, and I expect you to dine with me. I'll give you some good things to eat.”

Satan, who was as greedy as he was lazy, accepted eagerly. On the day appointed he donned his finest clothes and set out for the castle.

Saint Michael sat him down to a magnificent meal. First there was a 'vol-au-vent', full of cocks' crests and kidneys, with meat-balls, then two big gray mullet with cream sauce, a turkey stuffed with chestnuts soaked in wine, some salt-marsh lamb as tender as cake, vegetables which melted in the mouth and nice hot pancake which was brought on smoking and spreading a delicious odor of butter.

They drank new, sweet, sparkling cider and heady red wine, and after each course they whetted their appetites with some old apple brandy.

The devil drank and ate to his heart's content; in fact he took so much that he was very uncomfortable, and began to retch.

Then Saint Michael arose in anger and cried in a voice like thunder: “What! before me, rascal! You dare—before me—”

Satan, terrified, ran away, and the saint, seizing a stick, pursued him. They ran through the halls, turning round the pillars, running up the staircases, galloping along the cornices, jumping from gargoyle to gargoyle. The poor devil, who was woefully ill, was running about madly and trying hard to escape. At last he found himself at the top of the last terrace, right at the top, from which could be seen the immense bay, with its distant towns, sands and pastures. He could no longer escape, and the saint came up behind him and gave him a furious kick, which shot him through space like a cannonball.

He shot through the air like a javelin and fell heavily before the town of Mortain. His horns and claws stuck deep into the rock, which keeps through eternity the traces of this fall of Satan.

He stood up again, limping, crippled until the end of time, and as he looked at this fatal castle in the distance, standing out against the setting sun, he understood well that he would always be vanquished in this unequal struggle, and he went away limping, heading for distant countries, leaving to his enemy his fields, his hills, his valleys and his marshes.

And this is how Saint Michael, the patron saint of Normandy, vanquished the devil.

Another people would have dreamed of this battle in an entirely different manner.

[theravenanarchy]

Not that anyone on Tumblr needs to be told this but it's worth saying.

Your value as a human also doesn't just come from your creativity or scientific knowledge or what you can give in the name of "progress". What a concept that there are more skills that are equally important to your communities. Literally some as simple as being a really good cook, being able to have deep poetic conversations about the human condition, somehow being able to grow a turnip the size of a tire. You don't have to be one kind of genius to be important.

I very frequently feel useless and like I'm burdening my partner cause I'm not very good at playing the "capitalism game". When I tell him I'm feeling this way he's very quick to remind me that what I give to our home is immensely important. I cook good food, I take care of our home organise projects and manage finances, I give him somewhere safe to return to. All that while being interested in creative endeavors and learning about chemistry and philosophy in my spare time simply because they interest me.

You are valuable not in how much money you can make for somebody else with your genius, but because of how much of you there is to share with the people you love.

[chosonore]

summary: scaramouche would never share his turnip commission fees with anybody, let alone let anybody touch his island but for you he would make an exception. hell, if you'd only asked, he would give you the world and all the stars because he loved you so. companion piece to this drabble

a/n: i return with a very self-indulgent piece because i love and miss scaramouche and life is not daijoubu right now and i was thinking of it while playing animal crossing. i hope you enjoy!

"you're taking such a hefty fee for turnip sales on your island?" you questioned with a frown, peeking over his shoulder to look at the screen. "isn't that like… i don't know, exploitative? i wouldn't go through the hassle of going to your island, only to be robbed half of my earnings-"

"are you calling me a scammer?" scaramouche interrupted you, narrowing his eyes at you. "i'm just making profit, people choose to come here knowing that. not my fault if you're too stupid to read."

when you'd first gotten yourself a copy of animal crossing, your boyfriend had haughtily exclaimed he would never even touch the game. deeming it as a waste of time and a "stupid little" game, he'd only watched you while you played - that was until you started to bicker about the state of your island. competitive and determined to make his island infinitely better than yours, scaramouche picked up another copy for himself. and so, you'd found yourself snuggling to his side every night as you sat in bed and played together. in a way, it was a nice and soothing routine. it felt comforting to be able to share this passion of yours with him, knowing that animal crossing was not his type of game. and though he might have started playing for a rather petty reason, a part of you knew that it was his pride that wouldn't let him admit that he wanted to do this with and for you. still, you appreciated it.

"the s in scaramouche stands for scammer, baby," you snickered and giggled upon seeing his glare as he nudged your side. "honestly, who would even fall for this? you'll earn the money either way so there's no rush."

"childe did."

"he what?"

"he didn't even blink. he might be annoying but he knows how to make deals, i've got to give him that," scaramouche shrugged, smirking at your shocked face. you wanted to wipe the smugness off his face - why did he always have to have the last word? you've always liked his tenacity and sheer determination, traits that were so prominent and strong that they were akin to a double-edged sword. traits that got the best of him when you got in heated arguments as he was never one to back down, too prideful and stubborn to admit his wrongdoings out loud. despite this, you could tell that scaramouche often swallowed his pride for you. he tried and adjusted to you and that was enough for you.

scaramouche saved and closed the game before turning off the console, placing it on his bedside table. pulling you closer to him, he wrapped his arms around your waist and laid his head on your stomach. he blinked at your screen, watching as you collected wood from your island. "said something about wanting to get that crown for zhongli. that ridiculously expensive one from the store? don't see the point in it, it's ugly."

you rolled your eyes. no matter what childe did, scaramouche would always have some kind of snarky comment ready. you didn't understand their friendly rivalry, it was childish and petty at times but never malicious. in his own weird way, he cared about the younger male. "childe has enough money to do whatever he wants, if he wants to gift zhongli that crown instead of paying off the loan then good for him. you have the money but you're stingy like mr crabs and that's why you're scamming people out of their turnip earnings."

scaramouche grumbled. "why would you even want that crown? it's a useless item, i could give you something far more useful," he retorted with a snide tone, burying his face in the fabric of your, or rather his, sweater. in times like these, he reminded you of a disgruntled kitten throwing a fit. 

"and what would that be?" you asked teasingly, knowing that he didn't have a reply. another annoyed huff confirmed your hunch, making you smile. subconsciously, your hand found its way to his hair, gently combing through the purple strands. he moved closer, arms tightening around you ever so slightly as if he was a dragon guarding its stash of precious gems. the silence remained for a while, though not uncomfortable. it was never awkward with him, both of you having worked hard on communication to make the relationship work as he was rather curt and to-the-point while you held back more and could be passive aggressive. through the cracks of a hardened and cold fassade, there was a warm-hearted person yearning for the feelings of love and home that they always missed growing up. and you hoped that you could provide him at least a semblance of the comfort he was seeking.

muffled by the sweater, you couldn't hear what your boyfriend was mumbling when he finally spoke up. you made a confused noise, halting in your movements. disgruntled, scaramouche leaned back. he glared at you and you couldn't help but crack a smile - he looked ridiculous with the messed up hear and the indents on his face from smushing his face in the sweater. "you know i'd give you the world if you just asked, right? just say it and it's yours. doesn't matter what it is, i'll find a way," scaramouche's face turned serious, hands grasping yours as he intertwined your fingers. 

"i know," you reassured him, squeezing his hands. "and i appreciate it. but you don't have to go that far for me, i just want to have you here, with me. by my side."

"mhmm. bold of you to assume i'd let you leave my side to begin with," he muttered under his breath. "you're mine and i'm yours, hm?"

"always."

"i'll get you that stupid crown if you want it," scaramouche scowled again as he saw childe's name appearing on the screen, annoyed at the thought of the cursed item. meaningful, my ass. childe just wanted to show off like he always did, he was sure of it. but as you tried to come up with a remark, you followed his gaze. your words died in your throat as you watched him eye your fingers. "i'll get you something better, something that you can actually show off in real life." 

scaramouche leaned his head against yours, briefly pecking your lips. your heart swelled at the thought, just knowing that he felt the same way about you made you feel all kinds of warm. it was the warmth that only he could provide you, one that was was inconspicuous but still felt. like a low, simmering heat that always accompanied you but was never overbearing - it always reminded you of its existence, of its gentle and warming strength just for you. one that could also turn into a sweltering fire if he let it, but it was never directed at you. its purpose was to protect you and there was nothing more that he wanted to do. when scaramouche said that he would give you the world, he meant it. hell, he would even let you delete his entire island if you wanted to.

"oh, is that a promise? i'm holding you to it. it better be something mind blowing, never seen before, showstopping and brilliant-"

"don't make me silence you."

"with your lips? aha you're so sexy, don't do that-"

"oh my god, i hate you," scaramouche groaned, moving to push you off of him. 

"liar, you love me," you laughed as you struggled against his grip, wiggling in his arms until you found your way to his side and snuggled into him.

he sighed, wrapping his arms around you. "i do, very much so. you deserve the world and all the stars."

[artsy-alice]

TremonTEAM Challenge Three

School’s out! Let’s help Rafe plan! Share your ideas for the best Rafe school ever!

You were walking in the streets of the Middle City when someone handed you this piece of parchment. A new school... for everyone, even those who couldn’t afford tutors? Funded by Duchess Tremontaine? Interesting...

You can check out Tremontaine here!

.

I really wanted to make a poster/flyer like this but I was having trouble coming up with content and putting my ideas into words, but the wonderful @bedannibal-lectaurier and @bedeliainwonderland had the perfect concepts for me to play around with! Thank you guys for letting me use your entries! I tweaked around a bit, I hope you don’t mind.

School crest: Concept credit goes to @bedannibal-lectaurier​ with her post here I only added some stuff in the crest, like the book which represents knowledge and learning, and swords which are used to symbolize honor in the Tremontaine universe. The swan has its wings spread now, because our Duchess is about to bring Tremontaine house into new heights...

Courses: Credit to @bedeliainwonderland​ here! I only expanded Kinwiinik Studies into Foreign Cultures to cover more interesting foreign lands out there.

Diane Duchess Tremontaine signs this off for approval of course, and she has to admit that yes, it’s not so bad... Rafe Fenton knows useful people after all and- What are those in the borders?

“They’re turnips.” Micah tells her.

“Ah.” Diane only nods. “Of course they are.”

It’s amazing how we’re all in agreement, really. The school mascot is a turnip, duh. Turnips make everything better. #TeamTurnip

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Jon IV (Chapter 17)

I apologize, it's a battle strategy chapter. Tedious, and difficult to summarize.

"Careful of the rats, my lord." Dolorous Edd led Jon down the steps, a lantern in one hand. "They make an awful squeal if you step on them. My mother used to make a similar sound when I was a boy. She must have had some rat in her, now that I think of it. Brown hair, beady little eyes, liked cheese. Might be she had a tail too, I never looked to see."

<- Daenerys III

We all have a little rat in us. Especially Arya.

For anyone keeping score, that's the second time in a row a Daenerys chapter has ended, and the opening line on the next page is rats.

Dany could hear sounds within the walls, a faint scurrying and scrabbling that made her think of rats. Drogon heard them too. His head moved as he followed the sounds, and when they stopped he gave an angry scream. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

hehehe.

+.+.+

All of Castle Black was connected underground by a maze of tunnels that the brothers called the wormways.

<- Daenerys III

Speaking of Arya. . .

+.+.+

As they did their count, Jon peeled the glove off his left hand and touched the nearest haunch of venison. He could feel his fingers sticking, and when he pulled them back he lost a bit of skin. His fingertips were numb.

<- Daenerys III

"What is this?" Skahaz demanded. "A bloody glove …"

"… means war," said the queen.

+.+.+

"It was a long summer. The harvests were bountiful, the lords generous. We had enough laid by to see us through three years of winter. Four, with a bit of scrimping. Now, though, if we must go on feeding all these king's men and queen's men and wildlings … Mole's Town alone has a thousand useless mouths, and still they come. Three more turned up yesterday at the gates, a dozen the day before. It cannot go on. Settling them on the Gift, that's well and good, but it is too late to plant crops. We'll be down to turnips and pease porridge before the year is out. After that we'll be drinking the blood of our own horses."

[...]

In winters past, food could be brought up the kingsroad from the south, but with the war … it is still autumn, I know, but I would advise we go on winter rations nonetheless, if it please my lord."

The men will love that. "If we must. We'll cut each man's portion by a quarter." If my brothers are complaining of me now, what will they say when they're eating snow and acorn paste?

Update: pomegranate still unhappy.

Why is Stannis not travelling with his own food? I'm irritated by his entire existence.

+.+.+

We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. As a boy, he often felt as if the lady grudged him every bite.

Anyway,

Two storylines appear to be aligning in more ways than one.

"Post guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale." - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

Devan was a skinny lad of some twelve years, brown of hair and eye. They found him frozen by the forge, hardly daring to move as Ghost sniffed him up and down. "He won't hurt you," Jon said, but the boy flinched at the sound of his voice, and that sudden motion made the direwolf bare his teeth. "No!" Jon said. "Ghost, leave him be. Away." The wolf slunk back to his ox bone, silence on four feet.

x

He followed the young squire back across the yard. Ghost padded after them until Jon said, "No. Stay!" Instead the direwolf ran off.

Lady would never.

Ghost appears to be a little agitated, and out of sync with Jon.

+.+.+

Devan looked as pale as Ghost, his face damp with perspiration. "M-my lord. His Grace c-commands your presence." The boy was clad in Baratheon gold and black, with the flaming heart of a queen's man sewn above his own.

"You mean requests," said Dolorous Edd. "His Grace requests the presence of the lord commander. That's how I'd say it."

"Leave it be, Edd." Jon was in no mood for such squabbles.

I agree with Edd.

+.+.+

In the King's Tower, Jon was stripped of his weapons and admitted to the royal presence.

I love when the author repeats inconsequential things.

+.+.+

"Not me. I'm done with those bloody fools." Rattleshirt tapped the ruby on his wrist. "Ask your red witch, bastard."

Rattleshirt is not Rattleshirt, he's glamorized Mance Rayder.

We'll cover it in more detail later, but I should point out now that Mance frequently referring to Jon as 'bastard' is cited as evidence that he wrote the Pink Letter.

Your false king is dead, bastard. He and all his host were smashed in seven days of battle. I have his magic sword. Tell his red whore. - Jon XIII, ADWD

Small problem, that's exactly how Ramsay would provoke Jon.

His lordship was not a bastard anymore. Bolton, not Snow. The boy king on the Iron Throne had made Lord Ramsay legitimate, giving him the right to use his lord father's name. Calling him Snow reminded him of his bastardy and sent him into a black rage. - Reek I, ADWD

+.+.+

Melisandre spoke softly in a strange tongue. The ruby at her throat throbbed slowly, and Jon saw that the smaller stone on Rattleshirt's wrist was brightening and darkening as well. "So long as he wears the gem he is bound to me, blood and soul," the red priestess said. "This man will serve you faithfully. The flames do not lie, Lord Snow."

Perhaps not, Jon thought, but you do.

Both their rubies glow red. Is that confirming Melisandre is a glamorized 92-year-old? Probably.

He thinks Melisandre lies?

+.+.+

"I'll range for you, bastard," Rattleshirt declared. "I'll give you sage counsel or sing you pretty songs, as you prefer. I'll even fight for you. Just don't ask me to wear your cloak."

Clues!

He'll range or he'll sing, but don't ask him to wear a Night's Watch cloak. Mance.

+.+.+

King Stannis said, "Lord Snow, tell me of Mors Umber."

The Night's Watch takes no part, Jon thought, but another voice within him said, Words are not swords. 

Jon's committed to breaking every single vow until he leaves. Lol

I give him a hard time over assisting Stannis, but truthfully I'd be so much worse.

+.+.+

The elder of the Greatjon's uncles. Crowfood, they call him. A crow once took him for dead and pecked out his eye. He caught the bird in his fist and bit its head off. 

I'm choosing to believe this is about Bran and Bloodraven.

+.+.+

Godry the Giantslayer guffawed. "I had forgotten that you northmen worship trees."

"What sort of god lets himself be pissed upon by dogs?" asked Farring's crony Clayton Suggs.

What sort of god trembles in the presence of sand?

+.+.+

Jon chose to ignore them. "Your Grace, might I know if the Umbers have declared for you?"

"Half of them, and only if I meet this Crowfood's price," said Stannis, in an irritated tone. "He wants Mance Rayder's skull for a drinking cup, and he wants a pardon for his brother, who has ridden south to join Bolton. Whoresbane, he's called."

They've already killed someone disguised as Mance, so that's a pretty low price. Naturally Stannis is still annoyed.

We can only assume Mors (Crowfood) Umber wants a pardon for Hother (Whoresbane) Umber, because he knows Whoresbane is not actually loyal to House Bolton. Greatjon Umber remains a prisoner at the Twins, so House Umber has to play nice.

In case you forgot, Jaime has ordered all prisoners being held at the Twins to be delivered to King's Landing. Let's see if that happens.

+.+.+

"Have other lords declared for Bolton too?"

The red priestess slid closer to the king. "I saw a town with wooden walls and wooden streets, filled with men. Banners flew above its walls: a moose, a battle-axe, three pine trees, longaxes crossed beneath a crown, a horse's head with fiery eyes."

"Hornwood, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Ryswell, and Dustin," supplied Ser Clayton Suggs. "Traitors, all. Lapdogs of the Lannisters."

"The Ryswells and Dustins are tied to House Bolton by marriage," Jon informed him. "These others have lost their lords in the fighting. I do not know who leads them now. Crowfood is no lapdog, though. Your Grace would do well to accept his terms."

She's seeing a vision of the northern houses gathered at Barrowton for Jeyne and Ramsay's wedding.

House Dustin grouped with House Ryswell. Not ideal if you're wanting Queen in the North Barbrey Dustin to flip.

+.+.+

Stannis ground his teeth. "He informs me that Umber will not fight Umber, for any cause."

Jon was not surprised. "If it comes to swords, see where Hother's banner flies and put Mors on the other end of the line."

That's odd. I can't see House Umber being split in any battle, so this must be about House Karstark.

+.+.+

The Giantslayer disagreed. "You would make His Grace look weak. I say, show our strength. Burn Last Hearth to the ground and ride to war with Crowfood's head mounted on a spear, as a lesson to the next lord who presumes to offer half his homage."

"A fine plan if what you want is every hand in the north raised against you. Half is more than none. The Umbers have no love for the Boltons. If Whoresbane has joined the Bastard, it can only be because the Lannisters hold the Greatjon captive."

Let me tell you, Stannis Baratheon is surrounded by the best people.

Jon figures out the Umber plot rather quickly.

+.+.+

"That is his pretext, not his reason," declared Ser Godry. "If the nephew dies in chains, these uncles can claim his lands and lordship for themselves."

"The Greatjon has sons and daughters both. In the north the children of a man's body still come before his uncles, ser."

"Unless they die. Dead children come last everywhere."

They're discussing House Umber, but once again it's pointing to House Karstark.

Of course there's many other examples of uncles and aunts stealing birthrights. :)

+.+.+

"I know all about your vows. Spare me your rectitude, Lord Snow, I have strength enough without you. I have a mind to march against the Dreadfort." When he saw the shock on Jon's face, he smiled. "Does that surprise you? Good. What surprises one Snow may yet surprise another. The Bastard of Bolton has gone south, taking Hother Umber with him. On that Mors Umber and Arnolf Karstark are agreed. That can only mean a strike at Moat Cailin, to open the way for his lord father to return to the north. The bastard must think I am too busy with the wildlings to trouble him. Well and good. The boy has shown me his throat. I mean to rip it out. Roose Bolton may regain the north, but when he does he will find that his castle, herds, and harvest all belong to me. If I take the Dreadfort unawares—"

"You won't," Jon blurted.

Lol, shut down.

+.+.+

Where to begin? Jon moved to the map. Candles had been placed at its corners to keep the hide from rolling up. A finger of warm wax was puddling out across the Bay of Seals, slow as a glacier. "To reach the Dreadfort, Your Grace must travel down the kingsroad past the Last River, turn south by east and cross the Lonely Hills." He pointed. "Those are Umber lands, where they know every tree and every rock. The kingsroad runs along their western marches for a hundred leagues. Mors will cut your host to pieces unless you meet his terms and win him to your cause."

I don't know about you guys, but if I was trying to win back Winterfell, I'd want this guy calling the shots.

+.+.+

"Siege towers can be raised if need be," Stannis said. "Trees can be felled for rams if rams are required. Arnolf Karstark writes that fewer than fifty men remain at the Dreadfort, half of them servants. A strong castle weakly held is weak."

In case you're unaware, Arnolf Karstark is feigning loyalty to Stannis.

+.+.+

He means to plunder our armory, Jon realized. Food and clothing, land and castles, now weapons. He draws me in deeper every day. Words might not be swords, but swords were swords. "I could find three hundred spears," he said, reluctantly. "Helms as well, if you'll take them old and dinted and red with rust."

Enough, Jon.

+.+.+

"Drinking from Mance Rayder's skull may give Mors Umber pleasure, but seeing wildlings cross his lands will not. The free folk have been raiding the Umbers since the Dawn of Days, crossing the Bay of Seals for gold and sheep and women. One of those carried off was Crowfood's daughter. Your Grace, leave the wildlings here. Taking them will only serve to turn my lord father's bannermen against you."

Who's the daughter?

He brings up a good point. Hard to envision the wildlings and House Umber / House Mormont fighting on the same team.

+.+.+

"Horpe and Massey aspire to your father's seat. Massey wants the wildling princess too. He once served my brother Robert as squire and acquired his appetite for female flesh. Horpe will take Val to wife if I command it, but it is battle he lusts for. As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing. Which would you have as Lord of Winterfell, Snow? The smiler or the slayer?"

Theon or Ramsay?

+.+.+

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa."

+.+.+

"I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim." 

There's so many deaths to look forward to, and this guy is right up there.

+.+.+

"You could bring the north to me. Your father's bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

I desperately want to live in a world where Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse has Eddard Stark's son to rally behind.

Osha pls.

+.+.+

Stannis looked disgusted. "Your father was a stubborn man as well. Honor, he called it. Well, honor has its costs, as Lord Eddard learned to his sorrow. If it gives you any solace, Horpe and Massey are doomed to disappointment. I am more inclined to bestow Winterfell upon Arnolf Karstark. A good northman."

"A northman." Better a Karstark than a Bolton or a Greyjoy, Jon told himself, but the thought gave him little solace. "The Karstarks abandoned my brother amongst his enemies."

Doesn't this guy pride himself on being the most honourable person in the world? (He's not.)

Again, full credit to Jon, if these were my options I would have abandoned the Night's Watch in a second.

+.+.+

"Then you mean to go ahead with this attack?"

"Despite the counsel of the great Lord Snow? Aye. Horpe and Massey may be ambitious, but they are not wrong. I dare not sit idle whilst Roose Bolton's star waxes and mine wanes. I must strike and show the north that I am still a man to fear."

Isn't this guy supposed to be a great battle commander?

+.+.+

"The merman of Manderly was not amongst those banners Lady Melisandre saw in her fires," Jon said. "If you had White Harbor and Lord Wyman's knights …"

He won't, but you will.

+.+.+

"Some of your own Sworn Brothers would have me believe that you are half a wildling yourself. Is it true?"

"To you they are only arrow fodder. I can make better use of them upon the Wall. Give them to me to do with as I will, and I'll show you where to find your victory … and men as well."

[...]

"This had best not be some bastard's trick. Will I trade three hundred fighters for three thousand? Aye, I will. I am not an utter fool. If I leave the girl with you as well, do I have your word that you will keep our princess closely?"

She is not a princess. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Lying liar.

Update: the treadmill is no longer a princess. What a wild ride this will be.

+.+.+

The clans have not seen a king since Torrhen Stark bent his knee. Your coming does them honor. Command them to fight for you, and they will look at one another and say, 'Who is this man? He is no king of mine.' "

"How many clans are you speaking of?"

"Two score, small and large. Flint, Wull, Norrey, Liddle … win Old Flint and Big Bucket, the rest will follow."

Let's pray the clans are savvy enough to abandon Stannis before they all die.

If they do survive, safe to say they'll be Team Stark in the battle for Winterfell.

+.+.+

"When the Young Dragon conquered Dorne, he used a goat track to bypass the Dornish watchtowers on the Boneway."

"I know that tale as well, but Daeron made too much of it in that vainglorious book of his. Ships won that war, not goat tracks. Oakenfist broke the Planky Town and swept halfway up the Greenblood whilst the main Dornish strength was engaged in the Prince's Pass." Stannis drummed his fingers on the map. "These mountain lords will not hinder my passage?"

Why does this feel like relevant information?

+.+.+

That was the last thing Jon Snow would have wanted, but before he could object, the king said, "Where would you have me lead these stalwarts if not against the Dreadfort?"

Jon glanced down at the map. "Deepwood Motte." He tapped it with a finger. "If Bolton means to fight the ironmen, so must you. Deepwood is a motte-and-bailey castle in the midst of thick forest, easy to creep up on unawares. A wooden castle, defended by an earthen dike and a palisade of logs. The going will be slower through the mountains, admittedly, but up there your host can move unseen, to emerge almost at the gates of Deepwood."

Stannis rubbed his jaw. "When Balon Greyjoy rose the first time, I beat the ironmen at sea, where they are fiercest. On land, taken unawares … aye. I have won a victory over the wildlings and their King-Beyond-the-Wall. If I can smash the ironmen as well, the north will know it has a king again."

And I will have a thousand wildlings, thought Jon, and no way to feed even half that number.

Someone wake up Asha Greyjoy.

To summarize this chapter, Stannis was prepared to march to his death until Jon stepped in and crafted his entire battle plan.

Why would anyone expect Stannis to be successful when he doesn't have Jon guiding him?

Final thoughts:

It will never be clear to me how Shireen burns when half the north separates Stannis and Shireen.

Obviously it happens, I just don't know how. Why does he retreat to the Wall instead of Deepwood Motte?

-> return to menu <-

[kirbee-hd]

what a cute little guy :] (I'm also not gonna lie and say I've also never given a sona too much lore and turned them into an OC)

so recently I've been kinda obsessed with some OCs from Beetle and Ant's universe (you remember them)

This is Spring Heeled Jack (or just Jack). He's based on a prominent figure from European folklore of the same name. He's also based on a fun fact I heard that stated all Jacks from folklore are believed to be derived from the same Jack, so I incorporated the Folktale of Stingy Jack.

his backstory is basically the same as Stingy Jack's (look it up, it's where jack o lanterns come from) with two main differences. First, when Hack cheats death with the devil for the first time he also asks for "cool super powers" and much like a monkey's paw the devil gives him a seemingly useless power, the power to jump really high. Of course Jack is very resourceful and used this power along with some other tricks to become "Spring Heeled Jack, The Terror of London". Second, unlike the Stingy Jack story Jack is not cursed to eternally rot guided by nothing but a will o wisp in a turnip, he's just got normal immortality. After years of being Spring Heeled Jack he decided to fake his death in order to make his big triumphant return when the time is right. He does eventually do that, much to the shock of everyone.

Jack is just the silliest little guy, he's obsessed with trickery and the path of mischief. He's just a silly little prankster. Also he's based on the Lemon Demon song Spring Heeled Jack

ok for the next OC TW for knives, some minor gore descriptions, and mentions of cannibalism (is it canabalism if he's not human?)

Next if F.B (also known as Fake Beetle or just Fake) who I have yet to come up with a good design for, so take this picrew

F.B's backstory is kinda complicated. Basically he is a shapeshifting Shoggoth (your garden variety eldritch horror with many eyes, mouths, and tentacles) who was part of the court of an eldritch God. Because of plot reasons this God needed F.B to impersonate Beetle for a bit while Beetle was off doing plot. F.B didn't actually do a hod job because after a few days Ant realized that Beetle wasn't wearing his trademarked funky ties anymore (also because this Beetle was eating people, which the old one didn't do). So after a standoff between F.B, Ant, and a third character Nichole, F.B was defeated. In actuality F.B escaped to take his revenge. F.B's plan was to kill Beetle and permanently take on Beetle's life. Unfortunately he kinda sucked at this, always getting thwarted by Beetle and his friends.

Eventually he ran into Jack who agreed to help him return to his old plain of existence so that he can get backup from his dark God. This worked but unfortunately F.B's god was mad at him for straying too far from the original plan, and doing a terrible job at said plan. So F.B was banished from his old life, stuck on earth.

After reconnecting with Jack F.B decided to help him reclaim his title as a famous cryptid and in return Jack will help him take down Beetle. While hanging out together F.B realizes that he's fallen in love with Jack. This of course causes an existential crisis for F.B, but he later decides to try and fix himself so that he can be someone worthy of dating Jack (that's right! Jack doesn't fix him, he fixes himself!!). After a while Jack admits that he always knew about F.B's crush and that the feelings were mutual. Now F.B no longer seeks revenge, he would much rather dedicate himself to mischief and tomfoolery much like Jack.

F.B is VERY passionate, if he has his kind set on something he will get it done no matter what. However he is also very short tempered and willing to put up a fight. These qualities still persist after his reformation, but he's no longer using them to murder people. Speaking of which, F.B is absolutely fascinated by knives, he finds them to be the most interesting tool humans have come up with. For years his kind used claws and teeth to attack their victims, but this device can do all the work with less of a mess, and it can even chop down bodies into manageable sizes. This fascination also exists after he is reformed, but again, he doesn't murder anymore. I also wanna talk briefly about his appearance, he looks almost identical to Beetle aside from his plain black tie and his heterochromia being the inverse of Beetle's. However, as mentioned before he is a shapeshifter and uses his powers quite liberally. His true form, as mentioned earlier, looks like a lovecraftian shoggoth, a being with many eyes, moths, and tentacles. F.B is also inspired by the Lemon Demon song Knife Fight

so yah these guys have been on my mind

Trade offer

I receive: letting me talk to you about my ocs

You receive: me asking you about your ocs

trade offer happily accepted >:DDDD

[eldritch-spouse]

Morell loves his little piglet~ she's become so much more compliment and she even asks to be held. However, some family matters came up and he has to return home for a short while. While Morell loves piglet, there's no way his family would be comfortable with her, especially at a time like this... So who does he give her to? The Brat would mean her no harm, He's cheerful ,hard-working, and could protect her if the time came. But Grimly has no idea how the human diet works so there's a 100% guarantee that Piglet is going to become sick from only eating sweets.

While he doesn't mind the bobbles on a personal level, they tend to fuck up pretty often. Hell, he can barely trust pepper with a knife so there's no way they could take care of piglet without messing something up. He always shudders when he thinks of the time Turnip almost spilled boiling soup all over piglet.

there's no fucking way he's giving his piglet to the fucking clown.

Patches is alright. He's never wronged Morell and he could definitely keep her safe while he's away. But as it is, Patches is swamped with work, trying to create a new line of bobbles. Apparently, Someone ate some pink bobbles and then fled the scene, leaving behind no evidence.

With the only sane choices gone, and everyone else swamped with work, He has no choice but to turn to an old friend with whom he's recently reconnected with. Morell makes it extremely clear that if the Ink cap tries anything, a swift chop of a clever is sure to put him out of commission. Nonetheless, the lanky monster accepts the piglet with grace. Sending the skeptical mushroom away with much reassurance.

You look so adorable! Morell put you in this charming pink sweater with tiny pig embroidery and a skirt to match! Shags just adores you, but his ideas of bonding activities are a little strange... He insists that every night you spend with him must be spent to its fullest.

Every night, he drags you to his bed and makes you sit on his lap while he reads you one of his favorite horror novels. The unique vibrato of his voice shakes you to your core and he narrates the tension-filled scenes, making sure to stroke your neck as an act of useless comfort...

The days arn't much better either. When you tried to wash yourself he insisted that you didn't know how to work the bath. He thought it was so cute when you trembled in the cold water as he scrubbed down your body. Why are you so scared? he even brought out those 'rubbery ducky' things you thought were cute.

When you finally settle into bed Shag doesn't fail to notice how you squeeze together your thighs after the bath. He did promise Morell he would take care of ALL your needs.

As for when Morell comes back...

Adorable scenario. 😳👏👏 Thank you.

That would just be a death sentence however, Shags is crazy, but he's not clueless. You're going to squeal to Morell, one way or another, because you trust him more than the ink cap. Shags may be taller than Morell, but trying to take him in a fight is a horrid mistake.

Putting aside that Morell would probably want to put Piglet in Admin's hands sooner than he'd turn to Shags, as opportunistic as the ink cap is, I don't think he'd chance direct lewd acts.

If Shags wanted to do something gross to you, he'd come to Morell about it first, wording it in a way that would enable Morell's desires and tilt him into agreeing.

[another-silly-mixels-blog]

What’s your ranking of all of the tribes from least to most in terms of favorites?

Ok time to rate every single fucking tribe from Mixels, starting with the worst and working my way down to the best.

24, Munchos: this tribe always just felt kinda pointless to me, they’re basically just the Fang Gang but purple and with none of the aspects that made the Fang Gang cool. in my eyes the Munchos are the only tribe where they basically wasted a tribe slot on a stupid idea.

23, MCFD: Turnip before you come to my house and hold me at gunpoint for putting the MCFD this low, please allow me to explain myself. It’s not that I hate the idea of a firefighter tribe, in theory that does sound kinda cool, my problem with the tribe is that in practice, the MCFD are actually a very limited tribe to come up with design ideas for.

22, Nindjas: not that I hate the concept of a tribe based on ninjas/Japanese mythology and culture, but to me at least this tribe feels more like Lego simping over Ninjago than actually making a tribe that represents what are basically the Japan Mixels in any meaningful way. not to mention that their color palette is basically identical to the Flexers, they should’ve been white with red and/or pink accents smh.

21, Trashoz: ok so you guys may be wondering, ”Golly gee Mod Niksput, why the fuck did you rank the literal fucking GARBAGE TRIBE higher than the ninja tribe?” and to that I say, I honestly don’t know. I guess I’m just that salty about how the ninja tribe was executed. at least the garbage tribe is a bit more accurate to it’s inspiration? granted I constantly forget which Trashoz are which and sometimes even forget that the tribe even exists, but still at least they have a color palette that isn’t basically identical to another tribe.

20, MCPD: wow I must really not be a big fan of the 2016 tribes, but anyway for what they are, the MCPD are actually pretty alright. the main reason why they’re so low is because, well, they’re basically cops. and nowadays cops aren’t exactly seen in the most, positive light, and seeing how Lego decided to stop making Police-themed sets in the Lego City line around the time police brutality became an issue, I wouldn’t really be surprised if the MCPD was erased from the canon in a potential Mixels reboot/revival.

19, Lixers: I’m mostly just kinda neutral on the Lixers, I honestly don’t have much to say on them. on a semi-related sidenote, did you know that Turg caused a controversy and was actually temporarily banned in another country because his Lego description contained an offensive word? granted he was shortly unbanned after his Lego description got changed and it was the UK that got offended so does it really matter that much?

18, Fang Gang: oh hey it’s the tribe that Lego made useless lean-coloured ripoffs of! I also don’t have much to say about them, I do like jawg though.

17, Medix: the medical theme these guys have is pretty neat, that’s about it really.

16, Flexers: I don’t have much to say about these guys, but I do sometimes like to think that these guys were secretly the air tribe this whole time because they live in these floating sky houses.

15, Mixies: if it wasn’t for how cool Jamzy was in EKHID, this tribe would probably be way lower, they do get some points docked however for Trumpsy basically just being a background character and Tapsy not even showing up in the episode outside of the intro.

14, Newzers: Screeno has basically become a meme in the Mixels Wiki Discord server, so I’ve kinda warmed up to the tribe because of that. the Max looks fucking awful though.

13, Spikels: this tribe is actually pretty good, it mostly places so low because of Scorpi’s dead weight.

12, Pyrratz: ok first of all, love the pirate theme, it’s a really fun idea and a more interesting and less creatively limiting concept for a water tribe. second, the Max is easily one of if not the best one that Mixels has to offer. unfortunately this tribe suffers from the same problem as the Mixies, where one of the members of the tribe, Lewt in this case, doesn’t even show up in the episode besides the intro.

11, Medivals: here it is, my favorite 2016 tribe, it mostly ranks this high because of EKHID, but also because Mixadel has the same VA as Kaos from Skylanders and I love it. I’m also one of Camillot’s surrogate dads now (even though I’m a female) so I’m kinda obligated to rank his tribe higher up.

10, Weldos: chainsaws are cool, what can I say? they also have a pretty cool max too, a shame that they barely did anything in Mixamajig and literally only showed up at the end.

9, Klinkers: steampunk is cool, what can I say? too bad that Gox seems to be basically Mr Krabs but a Mixel.

8, Cragsters: I just think they’re neat

7, Glorp Corp: they’re G R E E N . also I like the idea of them being a poison tribe.

6, Frosticons: ice tribe, admittedly it’s mostly Flurr and I guess also Krog and Lunk carrying the tribe, because admittedly the others have kinda meh designs and the only other one with an interesting design, Snoof, is an asshole. overall they’re a pretty solid tribe though.

5, Electroids: this is a really good tribe, a perfect electricity tribe, they also have easily the best Max of series 1.

4, Wiztastics: good ol’ magic tribe! fantastic tribe concept, wonderful execution of said concept, great personalities among the individual members, just A+ scores across the board.

3, Glowkies: can I just say that I’m so glad that they didn’t make this tribe all evil and edgy and stuff like how other franchises do with darkness and bat-themed creatures/characters? in fact they went out of their way to make the Glowkies the exact opposite of that, highly social party animals that live for the art of performance and probably only live in the moon caves because its basically the only place that’s fully habitable. all that aside I love these guys, the way they completely subverted expectations with a tribe like this is absolutely amazing in my eyes and I love the glow-in-the-dark eyes that the lego sets have.

2, infernites: fire is cool, what can I say? this is easily the best of the 6-member tribes, and I think that all 6 of them are all really great Mixels in their own right. these guys are easily the franchise’s most iconic tribe, with Flain basically being the Agumon of the series. Burnard was even in Lego Worlds! despite all this, there’s still one more tribe that ranks even higher than them…

1, Orbitons: yeah, you guys probably saw this one coming from a continent away, but what can I say? the Orbitons are just such an amazing tribe. amazing concept, a tribe based on astronauts and aliens that live on an isolated colony on the moon. they’re G R E E N . the fact that one of them is literally my all-time favorite character. but the one thing that I think the Orbitons have above all the others is one simple thing: mystery. think about it, in M3, the Orbitons do explain why they abduct the Infernite cousins, and we even get to see the highly advanced technology they have access to. but we never get an explanation as to WHY the Orbitons live on the moon, and more importantly, HOW they even got there in the first place. were they just kinda always there like the Glowkies are? were they artificially created through secret government experimentation on a secret lab on the moon for some unknown purpose but then were just abandoned there for equally unknown reasons? and a little observation about Niksput, but he seems to possess a lot more black on his body than the other 2, he also seems to be much less mechanical than the others as well, is this a sign that Niksput is actually an Orbiton/Glowkie hybrid? and I can go on and on all day about theories and speculation on the Orbitons, of course this kind of speculation can be done with the other tribes too, but there’s just something about the Orbitons specifically that makes theories about them extra juicy and intriguing.

So there you have it, my ranking of every mixel tribe from worst to best, hope this gives you an accurate look at my preferences in terms of mixel tribes because hoo boy this took alot of time to write!

~ Mod Niksput

[urban-homesteading]

I live in a poorly lit area, how useful or useless would it be to put up mirrors or tinfoil to try to redirect the sunbeams to help my poorly growing garden?

This is a great question and I've definitely used mirrors to encourage sunlight in my garden. I would recommend mirrors over tin foil because they're going to be more durable, more stable, and easier to move.

So one, you want to get a general feel for how much sunlight your garden gets at its brightest. If you live somewhere where the sun is intense (say Florida), you'll want to place your mirror(s) on the north or south side of you garden. This keeps the most intense rays from burning your plants. Meanwhile, if you live somewhere the sun doesn't wish to kill you (such as New York), then you can place your mirror on the east or west side of your garden to redirect the strongest rays.

Next, consider what it is aiming at. Black absorbs light while white reflects it, so you have a white shed or white garden wall, it's going to make your garden much brighter than a dark colored shed. So you might want to direct the mirror towards the white shed to more broadly spread the light around.

You'll want to set your mirrors so that they reflect towards the dark area. For even better coverage, add a second mirror in the dark area to catch the light from the first mirror and reflect it toward the backs of plants.

Ponds and pools of water are natural mirrors and can be used to bounce sunlight around themselves, or be used to reflect the stronger light from a east/west facing mirror.

Next comes my favorite part. Mirrors not only reflect light, but they enhance our perception of a space. By making a mirror look like a window, you can easily "increase" the size of your garden.

Cool illusion right? They even make specialty mirrors that you can buy to further increase the illusion.

You can further this illusion by adding a stone path up to this mirror, making it truly look like a pathway to more garden. If your mirror touches the ground, cut a stepping stone in half and place against the mirror so a full stone is reflected back.

And if all of this fails, there's still hope. There are shade loving plants. If searching for flowers, here are two separate lists. If you get partial shade (3-6 hours of direct sunlight), then leafy greens like arugula, lettuce, and kale, carrots, broccoli (including all of its family like bok choy, cauliflower, and brussels sprouts), celery, and turnips will grow there. Potatoes can also tolerate partial shade, but expect the harvest to be smaller and sweeter compared to full sun.

[peaktotheocean]

limone

Pairing: Jaskier/Lambert Notes: Written for FlashFic #38 Summary:

This is all Geralt’s fault.

Everything wrong with Lambert’s life at the present moment can be traced back to his ass of a big brother.

If Geralt hadn’t gone to a college a whole state away, he would have never met Jaskier.

And then Lambert would have not had to give up his bed when Geralt begged for Jaskier to come home with him over the holidays.

And Lambert certainly wouldn’t have argued about it, like a brat, so much so that Jaskier just winked at him and offered to share the bed, much to Geralt’s groaning.

Anyway, fast forward ten years and Lambert is laid up with a broken ankle.

Which means he can’t get to the front door fast enough to politely tell the neighbor down the street that no, they don’t need any of her extra vegetables or fruits or whatever the fuck she has in her reusable tote today.

There are perfectly good community fridges in their town that would love the extra zucchini, Mrs. Marshall. Jaskier usually ends up taking most of the gifted crop there anyway seeing as even though Lambert is built like a brick house, he and Jaskier cannot and do not need two dozen turnips every week. Lambert hates turnips.

Lambert and Aiden run a respectable brewery and small bar kitchen where they do not take produce from strangers. They purchase it wholesome from local farmers, thank you very much.

But no.

Lambert is being good which means his broken ankle is elevated on a pile of colorful mismatched blankets that Jaskier coerced into a tower— and he’s too far from the front door.

It also means that when the doorbell rings, he’s helpless to wave his husband off from answering it.

Even yelping a “Jaskier!” doesn’t work.

His husband [tall, handsome, trouble [both in trouble and troublemaker]] just brushes Lambert off with a laugh and “Just a moment, love. Have you checked between the cushions?”

Lambert, television remote firmly in his hand, excuse you, gives up on shouting in favor of eavesdropping.

And regrets it immediately.

Mrs. Marshall.

Lambert’s nemesis ever since he and Jaskier went from sharing his bed over Christmas a decade earlier, to a shoebox apartment, to a respectable Cape Cod-style house in the same neighborhood as his brothers.

He knew it just had to be that witch.

Lambert could sense her presence the moment she stepped through their useless picket fence that Lambert needs to replace before they can get whatever large breed of dog Jaskier is eyeing up in the local shelter this week.

Lambert hears his husband cooing at the eighty year old built from brimstone and rose thorns.

"Lambert would love the lemons!”

Lambert most certainly would not love the lemons.

Where is she getting so many lemons in this climate, anyway? They live in the climate hardness belt of five and Lambert knows this only because of Vesemir’s grumbling every time he insists all three of his grown sons come over and help him cover his fig trees for the winter.

“You're such a dear,” Jaskier says sweetly from the other side of the wall that’s blocking Lambert from both the foyer and the devil incarnate.

Thanks to years of training from both Vesemir and Jaskier, Lambert at least waits til the door swings shut to let out an exaggerated groan.  

Jaskier, sure enough, kitted out in a cardigan and soft house pants, comes back into their front room, struggling with what seems to be a full bushel of lemons.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with that many lemons?" Lambert hisses.

Jaskier waits to set the basket of lemons down next to the couch before rolling his eyes, hands on his hips.

“She always hints at me using them at the brewery. What kind of small-ass batches of beer does she think I’m making!“ Lambert carries on, tossing his hands into the air and increasing his volume each time he sees Jaskier’s smirk grow.

“I know,” Jaskier says, trying to soothe him but it comes off more like teasing.

Lambert glares at the lemons, as if waiting for a mouse to make itself known within the large basket.

“We’re not that small of an operation anymore! And I don’t know what kind of pesticides she uses!”

“I know,” Jaskier says again, patiently.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“You look very handsome today,” Jaskier changes gears and Lambert laughs at that before catching himself and remembering that he’s meant to grumpy.

“Hmph.”

Jaskier comes closer, never one to avoid danger signs from any of the Morhen boys, let alone his partner. Lambert shifts almost instinctually. Like a flower opening to meet the sun or a recalcitrant husband realizing that he’s going to get to hold his lover if he cooperates.

The reward is worth it.

Lambert’s ankle is still managing some elevation on the ottoman but more importantly, Jaskier is in his lap. He wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist and breathes as his husband sticks his face into his neck, leeching some warmth to make up for the fact that the front door was open to the winter elements for a whole thirty seconds.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lambert watches the lemons. “You don’t have scurvy right?”

“Nor am I in danger of it, love.” Jaskier shifts again so he’s holding Lambert and they’re both looking at their newest fruit problem.

“How am I supposed to know?” Lambert growls and enjoys the shiver it draws from Jaskier. He nuzzles Jaskier’s ear and teases, “When we first met, you were living off of dining hall bagels.”

“Don’t believe everything your brother says about me, please.”

“Hmm. You’re the one who chooses to be best friends with him. I didn’t have a choice in the family.”

“Liar.” Lambert feels the kiss on top of his head. “And you’re forgetting that we’re family now too. Chosen family, at that.”

There isn’t any arguing that, not that Lambert would want to.

Geralt might, but after ten years, he’s mostly gotten over calling Lambert a “dirty best friend stealer."

The middle Morhen son was a bit mollified by the fact that Eskel ended up dating Aiden, at least. Though, it didn’t last long once Geralt realized that none of Eskel’s friends were available for him to steal.

“Eskel doesn’t have a best friend for me to marry,” Geralt had complained. “He’s already taken your Aiden.”

“There’s the goat,” Lambert offered before immediately ducking to avoid a boot.

Lambert takes advantage of their new position to kiss Jaskier's neck a bit. His husband had the right idea of snuggling and Lambert tucks his face in the little nook before speaking up again.

“I’ll figure something out. I’m just grumpy," he admits against Jaskier's skin.

There's no sarcastic remarks, just well-manicured nails comfortingly scratching through the short hair on back of his head. So close to his neck that Lambert shivers, and moves impossibly closer, feeling not unlike a cat. Jaskier's hands just do these things to him.

“I want to walk on my two feet into my own brewery," he ends with a huff. He resists the urge to bite at Jaskier's cardigan only because he knows his husband really loves that one.

“Aiden is holding down the fort. This is why you’re co-partners," Jaskier reminds him, graciously not pausing in his husband-skritches.

“You’re right," Lambert sighs. "I know you are.”

That doesn’t mean Lambert has to like it. He moves so he can breathe fresh air instead of just Jaskier's scent. The downside is that he can see the lemons again now. He knows that Jaskier is looking at them too.

After a few quiet moments of Lambert toying with the buttonholes on Jaskier’s cardigan, Jaskier pulls his fingers away and kisses the tips of each of them, one by one. He gives Lambert his hand back easily but not before saying, “Limoncello.”

“What?” Lambert raises his head out of his almost-doze. Jaskier smiles at him and kisses his nose.

“Lemon booze.”

“I know what limoncello is.”

“I bet you do.”

“I won’t sell it at the brewery.”

“No, of course not. But I’d prefer something else to drink besides Vesemir’s Rumtopf next New Year’s Eve.”

Lambert sighs.

Fuck it.

Limoncello it is.

“Fair enough." He stretches but both arms go out on either side of Jaskier, effectively trapping him. Judging by his soft smile and the way he busses another kiss over Lambert's head, Jaskier doesn't seem to mind. "I’ll have Aiden drop off some empty growlers later tonight.”

Once Lambert comes back to himself, Jaskier does nod towards the lemon basket and raises an eyebrow. “Want me to grab you a cutting board and a knife?”

Lambert doesn't answer but he pulls Jaskier back against him. He tips them back both further onto the couch, Jaskier cradled against his chest for all his long limbs. In this position, Lambert manages to elevate his ankle back on the ottoman's blanket tower.

He reaches out a hand and cups Jaskier's cheek, turning his husband towards him for a kiss. Jaskier hums into it, lips vibrating as his hands sneak back around Lambert's neck to stroke again at the short hair there.

“Nah, not yet. Stay here a little longer.”

ao3 here

[thegreymoon]

Monarch Industry

LMAO, Xiao Qi made him apologise to the dead soldiers in person.

***

HIs power 🔥🔥

***

Ever since he grew the villain beard and moustache, he’s done nothing but make bad decisions. 

***

Aww, they adopted them 🤗🤗

***

And, in her madness, she reveals the truth.

***

Ah, so it’s finally been confirmed that evil nanny was trying to kill baby Potato on Zitan’s orders.

***

Ah. So it’s confirmed that Jin-er is not pregnant with Zitan, but with the guy who raped her. 

***

Oh, shut the hell up. 

1. After the disastrous mess you made of his first marriage, one would think you’d have the decency to shut up about it now.

2. Gu Caiwei is leaps and bounds better than your turnip son. She is out of his league and the only reason he can even hope to get together with someone like her is because he’s rich and titled. 

***

The story of her life.

And what stupid lies she tells, too. 

***

LMAO, pathetic 😒😒

***

This is hilarious.

How does a piece of (easily forged, I might add) rock entitle him to be an emperor? Especially since the damn rock seems to have a propensity for getting lost. 

Anyway, as always, Wang Lin remains a bastard and Wang Su a moron. 

***

LMAOOO, she thinks he’s talking about the stolen seal. 

He didn’t even notice that it’s missing, as useless as he is. He’s just mad about his mediocre painting. 

***

Oi, I did not see this coming! 😅

I’m sure there is an entire essay to be written how her essentially being killed by Wang Lin makes for narrative balance of some sort but I really couldn’t care less. I am pleased by this turn of events as I can’t stand her meddlesome, nosy ass. Bye-bye, you interfering nuisance, you will not be missed!