#Arthur barrow

[myvinylplaylist]

Billy Idol: Charmed Life (1990)

Cover Illustration by AWest

Chrysalis Records

[nervoussystemmusicreverence]

Frank Zappa - Five-Five-Five

Artist

Frank Zappa

Composer

Frank Zappa

Produced

Frank Zappa

Credit

Frank Zappa - lead guitar Warren Cuccurullo - rhythm guitar Denny Walley - rhythm guitar Ike Willis - rhythm guitar Tommy Mars - keyboards Peter Wolf - keyboards Ed Mann - percussion Arthur Barrow - bass Vinnie Colaiuta - drums

Released

May 11 1981

Streaming

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway - Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

[namedvesta]

Bonnie and Clyde, directed by Arthur Penn (𝟣𝟫𝟨𝟩).

[helmstone]

Shardlake — trailer for new Tudor murder mystery series

Shardlake — trailer for new Tudor murder mystery series

Disney+ has released the official trailer for new murder mystery series, Shardlake, based on the Tudor murder mystery novels by CJ Sansom. The four-part drama, based on the first novel in Sansom’s series, is set in 16th century England during the dissolution of the monasteries. Shardlake’s sheltered life as a lawyer is turned upside down when Cromwell instructs him to investigate the murder of…

[ardate]

Just finished playing The Excavation of Hob's Barrow and holy shit, what an excellent game. It was so nicely written, loved the setting and characters and I miss it already.

If you like narratively driven point & click horror/mystery games you gotta check it out

[schlock-luster-video]

On August 25, 1973, Bonnie and Clyde was re-released in Japan.

[smolcrow465]

Day 10 (2023): Fortune

"You know, you are very lucky that I found you. A spirit such as yourself would have been guaranteed to drop down into Hell."

"...Right. So now I get to work for you."

"Correct. How fortunate."

[ghostcatcherire]

Whispers of the Ancient: An Autumn Expedition to the Enigmatic White Horse of Uffington, the Ridgeway, and Wayland's Smithy

(White Horse of Uffington. Image Source: superdove CC BY-NC-SA) As the days grow cooler and the nights draw in, and early winter rolls out over the land, please come with me on a journey back in time and an autumn ramble through the ancient landscape of Uffington in Oxfordshire. On this journey over chalk hills and across ancient trackways, I am joined by my husband and also by Emma, from Weird…

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Adding The Gilded Age to this!

Oscar van Rhijn: (The Gilded Age) DeterminedlyShallow!Queer. If this man has ever had a deep thought in his life, he is desperately trying to forget it. If he has any deep motivations, he doesn't want anyone to know, including himself.

John Adams: (The Gilded Age) Moralistic!Queer: Saw Hamlet and took "This above all to thine own self be true" to heart. Thinks everyone else should too. May be right about that.

Oscar Wilde: (The Gilded Age) FamilyCameo!Queer: Guaranteed to show up the second they told Julian Fellowes they were doing a season in the same year his cousin's husband was going to be in New York. Pity that play flopped.

A Cast of Queers

This burst of NANOWRIMO procrastination showed up last night and still hasn’t shown itself the door, so I figured maybe if I fed it, it would go away. A list of the queer characters from Gosford Park and Downton Abbey, all labeled for posterity.

Morris Weisseman: (Gosford Park) Mercenary!Queer. Want a great role in one of his films? An all expenses paid trip to England? A stay at one of those English manor houses you’re always hearing about? He can make it happen, you just need to agree to be his Boy Toy for the duration.

Henry Denton: (Gosford Park) Fake!Queer. Actually straight, just desperate enough for a good role to do anyone.*

Ivor Novello: (Gosford Park) RealLife!Queer. According to the film he’s talented, charming, and one of the nicest people upstairs. According to the history books the film got it pretty much right.**

Arthur: (Gosford Park) Fluffmallow!Queer. The purest of the cinnamon rolls! He will induce cavities with his adorably desperate crushing! Give him hugs!

Thomas Barrow: (Downton Abbey) Spiky!Queer. Occasionally willing to try new things, but when strategies like “be kind” fail, tends to revert back to the tried and true “if they can’t get close enough to make me care about them, they can’t hurt me.” Needs hugs, but no one’s figure out how to manage it yet.

Duke of Crowborough: (Downton Abbey) Asshat!Queer. Difficult to judge how queer he is through the overwhelming desire to break his nose.

Peter Pelham: (Downton Abbey) Ex!Queer. Formerly a lovely sounding man. Presently dead of malaria. R.I.P.

Chris Webster: (Downton Abbey) Flirty!Queer. Unfailing gaydar. Amazingly adept at picking up guys at the pub without getting caught. Good dancer.

Richard Ellis: (Downton Abbey) Stealth!Queer. Flying under Parliament’s gaydar.Cue the “Mission Impossible” theme.

* To be fair, this one is highly debatable. It can not be denied, however, that he spends most of the film getting it on…………with women. Vigorously.

** Adding to the list of fanfics I want to see, I really want to see one of the Novello enthusiasts in the audience write a story about him getting back to boyfriend Bobby Andrews after the whole thing and going “Oh lord, Bobby, you won’t believe what happened to me!”

[vintagegeekculture]

The Evil Little Hairy Cave People of Europe in Pulp Fiction

From the 1900s to the 1940s, there was a trendy theme in occult and horror stories that the explanation for widespread European legends of fairies, brownies, pixies, leprechauns and other malicious little people, was that they were a hereditary racial memory of the extremely small non-human, hairy stone age original inhabitants of Europe, who still survive well into modern times in caves and barrows below the earth. Envious of being displaced on the surface, these weird creatures, adapted to the darkness of living underground and unable to withstand the sun, still mean mischief and occasionally go out at night to capture someone.... usually an attractive woman....to take to their dark caves for human sacrifice.

Displaced by the arrival of Indo-European language speakers at the dawn of the Bronze Age, these original, not quite human stone age people of Europe were driven deep underground into caves and barrows below the earth, where they went mad, adapted to the darkness and acquired a fear of daylight, became extremely inbred, in some cases acquired widespread albinism. It is these strange little people who gave the descendants of Europeans a haunting racial dread of places below the earth like mines and caves, and it also is these strange, hairy troglodytes who originally built the uncanny and mysterious menhir, fairy rings, and stone age structures of England, Scotland, and Ireland that predate the coming of the Celts and Romans.

In some cases, these evil troglodytes are usually identified with the mysterious Picts, the pre-Celtic stone age inhabitants of the British Isles. In some cases, they are identified with the Basque people of Spain, best known as the inventors of Jai Alai, and the oldest people in Europe who speak a unique language unrelated to any in the world.

The original codifier of this trend was Arthur Machen, a horror writer who is less remembered than his contemporary, Henry James, but who may be the best horror writer in the generations between Poe on the one end and Lovecraft/CL Moore/Clark Ashton Smith on the other. His story, "the White People" from 1904 (a reference to their strange cave albinism) was a twisted Alice in Wonderland with a girl who is irresistibly attracted to dark pre-Roman stone age ruins and who is eventually pulled underground.

In addition to being a great horror writer, Arthur Machen was a member of the Hermetic Society of the Golden Dawn, an occult organization, and was often seen at the Isis-Urania Temple in London. Many of his works have secretive occult knowledge.

H.P. Lovecraft in particular always pointed out Arthur Machen as his single biggest inspiration, though he combined Machen's dread and occultism with Abraham Merritt's sense of fear of the cosmic unknown, seen in "Dwellers in the Mirage" and "People of the Pit."

Another and scarier example of this trend would be "No Man's Land," a story by John Buchan, a Scotsman fascinated by paganism and horror, who often wrote stories of horrific discoveries and evil rites on the Scottish moors. He is often reduced to being described as a "Scottish Ghost Story" writer, a painfully reductivist description as in his career, Buchan wrote a lot of thrillers, detective, and adventure stories as well. In later life, he was appointed Governor General of Canada, meaning he may be the first head of state to be a horror writer.

It was Buchan who first identified the cave creatures with the Picts, something that another Weird Tales writer decades later, Robert E. Howard, would roll with in the 1920s.

Howard is a very identifiable kind of modern person you often see on the internet: a guy who talks tough, but who was terrified to leave his small town. He created manly man, tough guy heroes like Conan the Barbarian, Kull, and El Borak, but he himself never left his mother's house. It's no wonder he got along well with his fellow Weird Tales writer and weird shut in, HP Lovecraft. With 1920s Weird Tales writers, despite your admiration for their incredible talent, you also can't help but laugh at them a little, a feeling you also apply to a lot of Victorians, who achieved incredible things, but who are often closet cases and cranks who died virgins ("Chinese" Gordon comes to mind, as does Immelmann).

With Howard, his obsession with the Picts and the stone age cave dwelling people of Europe started with an unpublished manuscript where at a dinner party, a man gets knocked out and regresses to his past life in the Bronze Age, where he remembers the earliest contact between modern humans and the original inhabitants of the British Isles, the evil darkskinned Picts. This is a mix of both the "little cave people" story and another cliche at the time, "the stone age past life regression novel," another turn of the century cliche.

Still with the Picts on his mind, Howard would later create Bran Mak Morn, a Pict chieftain, who predated Kull and Conan as his Celtic caveman muscle hero. Howard was of Irish descent and proudly anti-Colonial and anti-British, with his Roman Empire and Civilized Kingdoms as a stand in for the British and other Empires, which he viewed as rapacious and humbug, a view shared by his greatest inspiration, Talbot Mundy. His "Worms of the Earth" gets to the heart of why these little cave people scare us so much: they remind us that we live on land that is impossibly ancient and we don't fully understand at all.

It was another Weird Tales Writer a decade later who wrote one of the last stories about the little hairy cave people of Europe, though, Manly Wade Wellman in 1942. Wellman was mainly known for creating the blond beefcake caveman hero Hok the Mighty set in stone age times, and for his supernatural ghost stories of Silver John the Balladeer set in modern, ghostly Appalachia (like many ex-Weird Tales writers, he made a turn to being a regional author in his later career, in the same way Hugh B. Cave became a Caribbean writer), but Wellman also had a regular character known as John Thunstone, a muscular and wealthy playboy known for his moustache who used his great wealth to investigate the supernatural and the occult. Thunstone had a silver sword made by St. Dunstan, patron of Silversmiths, well known for his confrontations with the Devil.

Most John Thunstone stories featured familiar stories, like a demon possessed seance and so on, but one in particular featured a unique enemy, the Shonokins.

The Shonokins were the original rulers of North America, descendants of Neanderthal man displaced by American Indians. This fear that the land we live is ancient and unknowable and we just arrived on it and don't know any of its secrets is common to settler societies, who often hold the landscape with dread, as in Patricia Wrightson's fantasies of the Australian Outback. It was easy enough to transport the hairy cave people from the Scottish Moors to North America. I suspect that's what they are, a personification of a fear shared in the middle class, that in the back of their minds, that everything they have supposedly earned is merely an accident of history, built by rapacity and the crimes of history, and that someday a bill will come due.

A text page in the May 1942 issue of Weird Tales gives strange additional information on the Shonokins not found elsewhere:

Since then, there have been too many examples of evil cave people who predate Europeans. Philip Jose Farmer's "The All White Elf" features the last survivor of a pre-European people who live in caves. A lot of other fiction of course has featured the Picts, but according to our modern scientific understanding, which describes them as much, much less exotically, as a blue tattooed people not too different and practically indistinguishable from the Celtic tribes that surrounded them, and which they eventually blended into.

[twola]

Hiya! Lemme start of by saying, I’m a HUGE fan of you and your commitment to bringing our sad cowboy infinite orgasms. Out here doing the lords work. I was just wondering, if you’re still doing requests, could we get some cock warming? Idk why the idea of that makes me so feral. I just need it. Do what you wish with it, should it strike your muse. I do prefer HH Arthur… 👀. I jus love your writing and hope you are doing well!

Snowbound

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

“I d-don’t know w-why you thought this was good idea.”

A gruff snort is your response, and you can do nothing more than bury your wind-chapped face into the back of his heavy coat, your arms around his waist as the horse beneath you struggles through the snowdrift. The scarf wrapped around your head barely takes the edge off the biting chill.

Follow up on a lead about some abandoned riches in the mountains, it couldn’t still be snowing up there, he said. So goddamn sure of himself.

“Th-this is de-decidedly the m-most unromantic t-thing ever, Arthur M-Morgan.” Your muffled voice cracks against the fabric of his coat.

“Alrigh’, alright. Arthur huffs, his breath visible in the cold air, “There’s a place round the other side of the lake we can get outta the wind.”

An icy gust blows across the frozen Barrow Lagoon and you squeal miserably as you tuck yourself in behind Arthur once again. He curses as he leads the horse over to that abandoned cabin.

The mare slogs around the lagoon’s shoreline, finally reaching the cabin as Arthur extends his arm to help you slide off from her rump. He follows, landing heavily in the snow. You slowly make your way into the cabin as Arthur leads his horse to a covered area on the side of the small abode.

By the time he has the horse settled, you’ve started a small fire in the cast iron stove, long abandoned. You stand in front of it, rubbing your hands furiously.

“I’m so c-cold…” you whine, your voice cracking as you huddle into yourself. This abandoned cabin on the lake’s shore did little to stave off the cold outside.

He shrugs the coat off and wraps it around your shoulders; it dwarves you as you frown, looking up at him.

“Arthur -“ You scold, trying to bat off the coat.

He frowns, “C’mon, sweetheart. You ain’t got enough meat on your bones to keep warm, ‘m fine.”

You succeed in pulling the coat off, and shove it back at his chest. Before he can respond, you point toward the floor a few feet away from the stove he had gotten lit. “Sit down. We can share the coat.”

Arthur grumbles under his breath, but acquiesces. He grunts as he lowers himself to the floor, crossing his legs as he pulls the heavy coat around his shoulders, holding it open for you to crawl into his lap.

“Well, ain’t we sharin?”

You nod, taking the two steps closer to him, but to his surprise, you don’t turn to sit in his lap with your back toward him. In one fluid motion, you hitch your skirt up and spread your legs on either side of him before lowering yourself down, facing him.

You situate yourself, your legs winding around his hips, your chests pressed together, your skirts parted around him. It takes him a flustered moment to settle his hands at your waist, looking up at you with a blush blazed across his cheekbones. You give him a sly smile back as you wind your arms around his neck, sitting fully in his lap, a head above him as you settle down.

His eyes blaze even wider as you roll your core against his rapidly filling cock. Before he can say anything, you press your lips hard against his, his hat falling down the floor. It takes him several surprised seconds before he returns the kiss and tightens his grip around you.

You cannot help but to grind yourself against him, and his hands move down your back to cup your rear, holding you tighter into his embrace. It seems that he has finally gained his confidence as he squeezes the globes of your rear hard.

He pulls away from your lips and pants slightly, frowning, “As much as I want to, don't think its a good idea to take our clothes off.”

You roll your hips over his again and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from groaning, “D-don’t need to -” you trail off as you start to pull at the hem of your skirt, bunching it up at your waist.

Arthur gets your drift immediately, leaning backward and unbuttoning his pants and union suit as you lean up on to your knees above his lap. You grasp at your bloomers, pulling one leg open as Arthur draws his hard cock out from where he had unbuttoned his clothing. One of his hands reaches to your hip to brace you, as one of your hands rests on his shoulder to do the same.

He grasps the base of his cock as you hold your bloomers to the side, and you slowly lower down onto him, sucking in a breath as the hard column of his flesh pierces you - stretches you. After a few moments, you are able to take him fully, and the backs of your thighs rest in his lap.

“J-just stay there,” you breathe, one of your hands gently moving from his his back to softly trace his jaw, “Let me keep you warm.”

Arthur’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. His large arms wound around you tighten as he leans his forehead against yours.

There's an odd sort of pride you have in this moment - where he had been wrapping you in his coat, in his arms, trying to keep you warm - you can at least do this for him. For all the time his strength and size had been used for you - protecting you, providing for you, keeping you warm - you cannot help to smile as you note the tenseness of his jaw subside. You can give him this.

Wound so tightly between each other, you press your lips against his before playfully clenching the muscles of your core. Arthur’s eyes shoot open and he cannot stifle the groan that escapes from his chest, deep and low.

“D-do that again.” He pants, nuzzling his cheek against yours, his arms pulling you against him tighter.

He squirms against you, his hips bucking up a little as you clench against him. He draws his arms around you tighter - you're smothered in him - and groans aloud as he buries his face into your bosom.

“God, darlin’, you’re so warm-”

You tighten your legs around him, pressing your face into the curve of his shoulder. He jolts against you as you clench down on him again.

“Could you come like this?” You breathe into his ear.

He pulls back, his pupils blown wide and rimmed only slightly blue. He nods, almost dumbly, pleasure-addled and unable to speak.

The two of you drown in the intimacy. At his silent answer, you swear you gush a little, your cunt so full of him that you swear you'd never feel so complete again. You thread your fingers through his hair, his hands sweep lovingly around your back.

“Come for me.” You whisper, cupping his cheeks in your hands, tilting his head back slightly recenter his gaze into your eyes.

Arthur breathes out heavily, squeezing his eyes shut as he shudders beneath you, and you feel warmth blossom between you - he fills you with his need, his devotion, he fills you with himself.

Overwhelmed by it all, you tuck your head into his shoulder as he pants against your collarbone. You whine softly as you come also, a soft, gentle tipping over the edge, shuddering around him for a moment. The two of you come down from your highs, wrapped tightly around each other.

Arthur pulls that blue coat tighter around the both of you - and as the snow falls outside, you are warm and content in each other’s embrace.

[opwolfe]

Bro ngl I need to write this but I got ZERO motivation rn (getting burnt out from classes :( it sucks) ((some slight spoilers in here, skip if you haven't gotten to like, idk, rank 4~5))

But like, the hex with a/b/o dynamics, I'm going insane over it rn so

Arthur - TBHHHH he gives me alpha vibes but I know for a fact he's more beta, like he's obviously the leader but he's also sooo like, NORMAL, like he's just a dude, there's nothing really "macho man" about him and I love that so much, definitely a beta but with some skills on the alpha tree barrowed

Eleanor - alpha 100000% you cannot fight me on this, that lady is the real leader of the pack there's absolutely nothing to doubt about that sentence, she's just sooo UGH y'know??? She brings the stability to the pack and takes care of them in a lot of ways

Lettie - she's a beta, ngl I don't pay too much attention to her but just based on the conversations we've had she gives me beta, MAYBE just MAYBE some slight omega vibes with her ferality on healing and taking care of people

Amir - you might question me on this, but he's an alpha, DEFINITELY more of a baby alpha (if we look at how young he is compared to the others) and is definitely more subservient to the others in the pack, he's just a little guy but is so very protective over the people he loves

Aoi - she's an omega, the only omega honestly, but she's more of a beta omega then an omega omega, she's such a complex character once you really know her, she rounds out the cast so well with how she's so serious but also really funny to be around, she brings them together in ways I can't even begin to describe, she also helps amir with feeling like he belongs and I love that

Quincy - beta/omega honestly, DONT HATE ME FOR THIS TAKE PLEASE 😭😭😭 it's just the way I perceived his backstory and how he got into the hex, he went into the military to support his family like [subtle crying] I LOVE HIMMM 😭😭😭 he just wanted to take care of his family and ended up getting turned into a protoframe because of it, while yeahh that COULD make him seem like an alpha, he cares so much about the people around him despite feeling like he shouldn't (see; make me hate u conversation), he goes out of his way to give amir the ability to do things non-violently and to help other people even though before they had their whole "ur like a brother to me" moment, he flat out thought amir wasn't supposed to be with them because he could get hurt or get them hurt, he's just so fucking complex and [braincell explodes] I can't even put it into words

This is just how I see them, someone else might have a COMPLETELY different look at them, but GAAADDD DAAMMMMMMNNNM I need to write this out or like, draw it idk, I need opinions on this pleeeeeassseee tell me what you think I BEG!!!!!

[gellavonhamster]

They passed through valleys among surrounding heights and they saw the turf-crusted ramparts of hill forts that had crumbled before the world was born. On a great level meadow they saw rings of giant stones set up possibly by ancient peoples but more likely by present goblins, and since these things were outside the quest, they looked away and circled widely. Then, within sight of a forest, they drew near to a small conical hill crowned with dark pines, and their horses stopped and trembled with ears laid back and eyes showing white with fear. Sir Ewain and Sir Gawain recognized the signs and turned aside to avoid the barrow. It was not their business or their world. Their own was full enough of wonders.

— The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights by John Steinbeck

[inposterumcumgaudio]

I was rewatching some old Letsplays on We Happy Few, and I noticed that a few commented on how the Protagonist only take Strawberry (I'm pretty sure the Wellies take all three). And I realize this is hinted at in the first act where Arthur goes to the Labs for Cod Liver Oil, there's a couple notes before the fight with the Bobby that states Sally created Strawberry. In the game, Sally is the better Chemist, compared to Verloc who is hyperfocused on a Permanent Solution. In the 'We All Fall Down' DLC, the workers at the Labs start a riot over wanting Sally back, which implies she was a better boss and more efficient. Anyways, I'm like 98% sure this is Canon, but I am curious to read your take on it if you have one, I know it's just a small thing but the grip We Happy Few on me is iron strong. Anyways, I've always been curious on Victoria and Sally's relationship. Does Victoria know her dad is taking advantage of the local chemist? I can't imagine she would know, I feel like she'd be repulsed by that.

You don't have to answer any of this, I just like to rant about this underrated game.

Not only will I answer this, I'm gonna do so in parts so I can cover all the topics you're asking about in some detail, starting with the prevalence of preference for Strawberry.

Functionally, this is because they made one first-person animation for using the Joy Booth that all protagonist characters share between them and that animation always draws from the third canister. If you play the Night Watch mode, you'll note that the Strawberry canister has been replaced by a Blackberry one. It's much easier and cheaper to change the texture on the Joy Booth model than it is to make two additional animations for the other two flavors.

But you also only ever find Strawberry Joy out in the world, indicating that most Wellies share this preference for Strawberry.

This is, I think, a result of a concerted effort on the part of the Executive Committee to push the populace to switch flavors. I also think this is the start, or at least the exacerbation, of a lot of the problems in Wellington Wells.

'Cause see, the original Joy formula used for the Chocolate and Vanilla flavors was invented in 1953. That means that by '64, the town has been on Joy for nine years now. But the problems with food production couldn't possibly have started then or the town would have starved ages ago. That change, the preference for growing pretty flowers in their leftover victory gardens over ruddy little vegetables that aren't much to look at? That's gotta be more recent or the effects would have been felt sooner. But, it also can't have been too recent (as recent as Sally's departure from Haworth Labs) or there would still be enough stores and active gardens started earlier in the current year to keep the town going. Strawberry was developed in 1962, available two years thus far, which makes its introduction the much more likely culprit for the change in Wellie gardening priorities.

I also think the integration of Strawberry into the choices available resulted in more frequent cases of Joy rejection, such that the town had to further relinquish Eel Pie Holm to the increased Downer population (having already designated Barrow Holm as the dump for troublesome members of society at Joy's initial introduction before the problem really started getting out of hand). Mixing flavors is not recommended, due to the difference in compound and interactions between them. Most people were probably able to switch relatively well, but there's always some for whom side effects are most severe.

Despite the problems Strawberry introduced (which they probably couldn't have forseen anyway), the Executive Committee had to push the new flavor because the raw materials for making the original formula - leftover German "goodies" - have a finite supply without any trade over the bridge. Eventually, they will simply not have the ingredients to make Chocolate or Vanilla.

Unfortunately, due to the toxic bi-product of Strawberry Joy production that causes food to rot on the stem, fungus to mutate, and the resultant plague from exposure to its spores, they'll not have poppies, bufotoxin, or liberty caps - the key ingredients in Strawberry - for much longer either.

It's a lot of kicking the can down the road.

Anyway, I'm getting away from the point. Why is Strawberry preferred?

Because it was marketed to be.

You will note in the game that you only ever see posters and other marketing materials for two flavors of Joy: Strawberry and the upcoming Coconut.

Sally mentions that there was an annoying jingle for Chocolate in the past, so that tells us there was marketing for the original flavors when Joy was first introduced. Even here though, you can see that the shift is already beginning, that the Executive Committee is building hype for Coconut and will stop promoting Strawberry once it's available.

(As a side tangent, since I don't know when else I'll get to mention it, I also believe that the original formula was given two flavors - that is, there is no appreciable difference between Chocolate and Vanilla - as a psychological trick to make early adoption more complete. With only one flavor, the question is if you will take it or not? With two flavors, the question becomes which one are you?)

Since the problem of Joy is always limited materials, shifting promotion is done with the knowledge that the old flavors will need to remain in production for people with genuine preference, but that most Wellies (since the culture is very conformist) can be convinced to switch to the hip new thing to preserve those older flavors for as long as possible.

And I expect that Strawberry was promoted as the flavor to take if you want to be a cool kid. It's the preferred flavor of Nick Lightbearer, even described as his muse. It's the only flavor you'll find all the town's most beautiful people taking at the Design Centre. You don't need color television to know when Uncle Jack pops his Joy on screen, his pills are pink.

But beyond that, I think it was also implied to be a patriotic duty to at least try the new flavor. Victoria takes Strawberry Joy, often and publicly, as a signal of leadership to the townspeople. It is a gesture of civic pride, particularly pride in Wellington Wells' spirit of scientific advancement, to immediately adopt the latest innovations with complete trust.

However, it should come to no surprise that trust is not well placed...

[sailtomarina]

A Mother Always Knows

🌟 Fred/Hermione | Rated T | Fluff and humor | WC 1956

The owl arrived that morning while they took their breakfast. Fred watched as delight stole over his mum’s entire body–face lifting and stretching into a grin, back visibly straightening, and hands trembling with excitement.

“What is it, Mum?”

There was nobody else in the kitchen to witness the scene, another boon in his favour. George still hadn’t returned from Angie’s, both of them taking their time enjoying time off from the joke shop. Fred would have been with Hermione, too, were she not called off on one of her work emergencies. Dad was outside in the garden.

“Andromeda and the girls want to try on the new spring selection at Madam Maulkins! There’s also apparently a beauty demonstration at Perfectly Pansy. They’re even offering in-person makeovers.”

This was it. The chance he’d been waiting for.

“You should probably get ready. I’ll let Dad know where you’ve gone. When do you think you’ll be back?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“I dare say I’ll be out for most of the day. The girls always want to grab a bite at the end.”

He had to suppress a giggle at the observation that, while accurate, was especially true given that Fred had requested they take as much of his mother’s time as possible.

“Give them my love, would you?”

“You are such a darling! Of course.” Pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, she rushed off.

Fred waited for the woosh of the Floo–nursing the last bit of tea, then washing up–before heading outside to find his dad.

He’d never met anyone more passionate, aside from Neville, about the Burrow’s gardens and orchards. Together with Mum, they ensured that the family never went hungry, no matter how tight the purse strings became. That was in the past, though. Ever since the change within the Ministry, his dad had received one promotion after another, all of his diligence finally recognised.

“Dad!” he called.

Silence.

The garden shed came into sight as he walked around the corner. Not the workshop, which was once a garden shed and had long ago been converted into his dad’s personal space for tinkering on his many projects, but the actual garden shed that housed supplies, tools, and seedlings. 

Based on the wheel barrow parked just outside the door, from which a warning sign hung, Fred made sure to snag a set of earmuffs sitting on the window sill before entering.

His dad stood at the centre table surrounded by pots of all sizes, elbow deep in one as he transferred a juvenile Mandrake that was clearly screaming at the top of its lungs.

Ugly buggers. Fred grinned, remembering how he and George had tested Bubotuber paste on the pimpled plants. They’d been assigned detention with Hagrid for a month when Sprout had found out.

Reformed in his adulthood, he jumped in to help his dad transfer the rest of the Mandrakes into larger containers.

“Thanks, son.”

“Welcome, Dad.”

But, Arthur Weasley knew better than to expect assistance from his most mischievous son for nothing. “Did you need something?”

Feeling sheepish, Fred nonetheless set his plan into motion. “Mum’s out for the day to shop with her girlfriends, and I was hoping you’d have time to take a trip to Gringotts.”

His dad’s eyebrows jumped, his curiosity obviously peaked. Fred hurried on to explain.

“You know how Mum is about secrets; she can’t keep one if it has anything to do with...” He paused, struggling to word things better so he didn’t sound like such an ungrateful son.

“Go on.” Humor twinkled in Dad’s eyes, and Fred remembered that this was a man who’d known Molly Weasley for more years than any of had and his siblings had been alive.

“I’m ready to take the next step with Hermione.”

There. He’d said it.

It felt like there was something stuck in his throat, and he swallowed in an attempt to rid himself of the uncomfortable sensation. When that didn’t help, he tugged at his collar, wishing he’d chosen to have this conversation outside where it was a bit cooler.

He needn’t have worried.

His entire body jolted forward at the force of his father’s slap to his back. The man wore a smile wide enough to nearly split his face in half.

“Congratulations, son. Let me get changed, and we’ll head out.”

The entire affair was more straightforward than Fred could have hoped for.

He wasn’t a stranger to the wizarding bank, dealing with the goblins regularly enough both for his personal account and Wizard Wheezes, but somehow Fred was still surprised at how quickly they arrived at the Weasley vault.

His father knew exactly where to go, leading them over to a wooden cabinet along the back wall.

“Take your time. Let me know if you have any questions.” He squeezed Fred’s shoulder, then wandered off towards a filing cabinet on the opposite side of the room.

Holding his breath, he hooked his thumbs beneath the lid to pull it open. This wasn’t Fred’s first time to look in at their family heirlooms, but now that he did so with intention, he saw everything in a new light.

A decent selection of jewelry met his eyes, the cumulation of generations of Weasleys. A snort escaped him as he noted the prominence of rubies over any other gem. Their family name went hand-in-hand with red, but it felt too obvious, and that was even before considering Hermione’s own inescapable association with her Hogwarts house years after graduation.

No rubies. No diamonds, either. She’d made clear her distaste for the gemstone, and he’d noted it along with every other detail about her.

Then, his eyes snagged on a stone the colour of a clear summer sky. Fred was drawn to it like a Seeker to a Snitch, or, in his case, a lovesick wizard to the woman who filled his every dream and thought day in and day out. 

“Is that the one, then?”

He jumped at his dad’s voice, hand hanging mid-air above the delicate silver bracelet upon which were strung five small stones.

“It is.”

The other man waited until Fred had plucked up the piece before continuing.

“That belonged to my great, great, grandmother. It’s part of a set.”

“A set?” he repeated.

“Here, allow me–” Fred stepped aside to give his dad room to open the lower drawers. “–ah, yes. Here we are.”

Just as described, a matching necklace, drop earrings, and, most importantly, ring, lay in a row, waiting for their time. For Hermione.

It wasn’t until the following day that Fred saw his mother. He hadn’t planned on visiting home again so soon, but her owl made it clear in no uncertain terms that she needed his help. For what, exactly, she didn’t say.

He’d no sooner taken two steps from the Floo before she pounced.

“Frederic Gideon Weasley!” she squealed, surrounding him in a painfully tight hug.

“Mum! I can’t breathe!”

“Oh, tosh. You complained just now, didn’t you?” Nevertheless, she pulled back, eyes crinkled at the corners and smiling in a way that had him terrified.

“What’s going on? I thought you needed help with something.”

“I do, I do!” 

She ushered him towards the stairs, giving no hints as to what the fuss was about. He wasn’t sure what he could do that Dad couldn’t. Maybe it was a surprise for the old man, or something else along those lines.

It wasn’t until they drew up to a familiar door that he noticed the change.

There was the door bathroom across his childhood bedroom, one he’d shared with George for as long as he could remember. And, there was Ginny’s room next to the bathroom. His parents claimed the room closest to the stairs, Bill and Charlie on the opposite end, while Ron’s sat directly below the ghoul’s attic.

There was an extra door.

“Mum, what’s this?” He stared at the two doors facing the bathroom where there used to only be one.

“This, my dear, is a change that’s been long-overdue.”

Having said that, she entered the closer door ahead of him, Fred close behind.

For years, they’d begged her for another room–not because they wanted to sleep separately, but because of the amount of space their projects took up on the floor, every table surface, and even the window sill! She’d finally done just that, the reason for doing so immediately clear.

A double bed sat where there used to be two twins, and the walls that had once been a cheery yellow had been repainted a calming sage green.

“Wh-What in the–”

“I’ll have to check with Hermione, of course, to see if she likes the colour or would prefer something else, but now you lovebirds have a room of your own whenever you visit! I’ve set up the other similarly for George and Angie, once they’re properly courting, of course, so–”

He didn’t hear much after that, the first phrase ringing in his ears.

She knew.

Wholly unapologetic and a tad indignant, he interrupted her mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, but how did you know?”

“Oh, darling,” she warbled, hand fluttering at her bosom and not even attempting to suppress her amusement, “if you had wanted to keep this a secret, you wouldn’t have enlisted your father. Plus, your little prank to get me out of the house was not as well planned as you might have thought.”

Fred’s mind reeled at that–Dad, he could forgive, being as the man buckled at the slightest pressure from his wife like Fang at the sight of a harmless Faerie–but Fred’s own planning being anything less than genius was a reality he could not fathom.

“What do you mean ‘not well planned’?” he squawked, thankful that Hermione wasn’t there to hear him just then.

“Please.” This woman, his mum, rolled her eyes at him as if he were some Firstie. “Andromeda isn’t the sort of witch to chase fashion trends, preferring more timeless pieces. That was my first hint that someone had convinced her into leaving her grandson for the day.”

He could feel heat prickling along his neck. A slightly uncomfortable perspiration began to build at his pits.

“The second hint was how long Miss Parkinson spent on our makeovers. Everyone else was in and out in no time at all. I would have thought she’d want to usher us out of there as soon as possible given her ‘secret’ relationship with Ronald–” How does she know about Ron and Pansy? “–but she took every possible opportunity to prolong our time there. She even went so far as to help get us reservations at that popular new restaurant–”

“Zabini’s?” he asked incredulously. He’d been trying to get in there for months!

“Yes, that’s the one. Lovely establishment. The young man himself came out to chat with us during dinner.” Her gaze turned calculating, then. “Do you think he might be Ginvera’s type?”

“Mum!”

“What? He’s fit!” She pulled her head back, surprised at his outburst.

“So, you had a perfect day that somehow convinced you that I’m courting Hermione for marriage.” He said it more as a statement, certain of her answer and choosing to ignore her question about Ginny. The last thing he needed were two Weasley women on his case.

“Well, I’m sure you aren’t quite yet, but that young woman loves you too much to say no.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Now I know where Gin gets it from.”

His mother beamed at him, drawing close to wrap him up in the sort of hug that suffocated as much as it nourished. Then, she relaxed enough to catch his eye with a smile of encouragement.

“Now, tell me everything.”

So, he did.

Written for Lauren’s Kitchen’s Wheel of Chaos with the following prompts: prank gone right, Gringotts Wizarding bank, Arthur Weasley, and Mandrake

I like to think I can work with random prompts from the chaos wheel as well as anyone, but this definitely put me back on my heels. 

Cross-posted on Tumblr, IG, & AO3 (eventually)