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sneakyboymerlin · 3 years ago

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Hi! Dark Tower Merlin AU anon here, and. And I’m laughing because a scene where Gwaine, who is so SURE Merlin is enchanted but Arthur is no help, takes too following Merlin around, and stumbles upon a Merlin and Morgana meeting in the woods. Morgana is ready to send him flying but Merlin is like, Gwaine!!!! Gwaine looking back and forth like. Everything okay? Merlin nodding bc yeah everything is GREAT actually, and now Gwaine is here to join the Dark Side so everything is better than great really. He says as much, and tells Gwaine straight up that he’s going to kill Arthur. Morgana hissing, “Merlin!” Mildly panicked bc is her enchantment on Merlin waning? Why else would he confess to a knight of Camelot? But Merlin is looking at her like- “but it’s GWAINE” and now there are two Pendragons who have to deal with Merlin’s blatant Gwaine favoritism.

I’m assuming Gwaine get out with his life because Merlin’s vehemence that Gwaine will be a wonderful ally, or maybe Merlin’s magic instinctively saves him from Morgana. Maybe Mordred had followed too and saved Gwaine. Either way, Gwaine now has confirmation. And Arthur is thinking this is one of Gwaine’s stories or jokes or that Merlin is recovering from his imprisonment at Morgana’s hands. Gwen believes Gwaine though. Merlin was acting strange. (Would Tyr Steward still die?)

But THE POSSIBILITIES of enchanted Merlin being aware of his magic and therefore so is morgana. Maybe she hasn’t figured out he is Emrys and Merlin simply hasn’t mentioned it yet because it hasn’t come up. MORDRED FOILING MERLIN’S MAGIC ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. Is this the reveal??? Is this how Gwaine finds out Merlin has magic? I think that would be interesting considering he doesn’t have a positive opinion on magic and the first magic he sees Merlin using is threatening. But at the same time is Merlin and Gwaine will deadass always take his side, will always hear him out. And he knows that Merlin is enchanted too.

Merlin being buried somewhere deep? While at the same time NOT. He’s still in there, but is it as a bystander? Or does he try to wrest control. He’s powerful so maybe he occasionally briefly manages it. Maybe HE alerts Mordred in the first place.

I have a few things to start with.

Tyr lives. There is no debate. Tyr for the win.

Mordred having to save Arthur from Merlin, when their entire rivalry is based on the opposite dynamic of Merlin saving Arthur from him? Excellent.

Gwaine having to work through the real Merlin’s motives and this enchanted version’s simultaneously would be so complicated lol.

Gwaine is at first jealous that Morgana seems to have Merlin’s full devotion, then he realizes wait that means Merlin is evil, then he realizes wait Merlin must be enchanted, then he feels bad for feeling jealous in the first place. Oh, Gwaine.

Merlin suffering the entire time, especially when the threat against Arthur worsens, is my jam jar. No I will not explain.

So, even enchanted, Merlin knows just how deep Gwaine’s love and loyalty to him runs. He trusts Gwaine implicitly, even after everything Morgana did to hurt him. He knows that Gwaine cares more about what happens to him than what happens to himself. So he’s able to convince Morgana to give Gwaine a chance. But is Gwaine as obedient as he says he is?

I need you now to consider this: Merlin knows that Mordred is Arthur’s bane. So if he’s enchanted to want Arthur dead, then naturally, wouldn’t he try to persuade Mordred to join them? Maybe that’s how Mordred finds out. Merlin thinks he can get Mordred on their side through their shared goal of freeing magic, and he can get Gwaine because they’re close.

Think about it: Mordred deliberately sabotaging the assassination attempts that he and Merlin planned out together. Gwaine covering for them to keep them safe, all the while plotting with Gaius on how to save Merlin. Gwen knowing something is wrong, finding out on her own that Merlin’s enchanted again.

And of course, Arthur in the middle of it all, oblivious. Merlin’s magic gets revealed to just about everyone, except for Arthur who never noticed that half of his closest friends have been aiding and/or deflecting the most recent attempts on his life. How is he alive.

#merlin emrys #sir gwaine #sir mordred #mergwaine #merwaine #bbc merlin #dark tower au #mine #long post for ts #ish #I think

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a-deadly-serenade · 4 years ago

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overall this season was pretty decent. i have some thots whats new so im gonna share them below the cut if anyone’s interested :)

so!! first off i’ll say that there were a lot of things i did really enjoy from season 4!

the action was super fun as always!! i loved all the crazy enemies and callbacks! the skeleton fight and all those little goblins they kept killing throughout were a nice touch ;) sypha’s use of her powers is INSANE her ice-chainsaw?? her WALL of fire?? electric balls?? come on. and the animation was NICE. i really wanna know who did most of the fight scenes bcuz the style is so different and it just POPS but in a really good way?

my favorite fight has to be ofc when everyone is REUNITED yes im basic. but the THEME song going off and well, im a whore for sotn references and i CAME when i saw the leap stone ref w the winged cape or when alucard turned into a hoard of batss AND THEN HIS WOLF FORM OOOOHH BABY!!! actually episode 9 is just a straight banger.

STRIGAAA. STRIGA. oh mama i was sweating during that fight. mad kudos to her va for them growlsss

carmilla vs isaac was a lot of fun and i loved the visuals but my hype was instantly ruined when i saw her kill herself 😭but thats smth i’ll complain about later.

not all the lines were bangers, some of sypha’s swearing seemed even a bit too much at times, and it was especially jarring to be having a face-to-face death-math with literal Death and hes acting like a naughty little 5 year old thats just learnt to swear. maybe cut back on the fuck-isms? just a bit? BUT when they hit they did GOOD. “the fuck what now?” yes

ISAAC. you weren’t in this season as much but man do u still shine through. i loved his introduction back in the town where he has his night creatures digging graves and rebuilding the city 😭 and then the conversation he shares w his flyman?? obsessed.

Hector chopping his finger off and giving lenore and carmilla a good ol FUCK YOU!! as he helps isaac. we love to see it

Trevor and Sypha’s “I love you!” “I know.” <3

DEATHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

oh! alucard actually having a story & purpose in the plot? :) luv it love to see it. that being said... the Plot.

its... ok? it’s kind of split up into 3/4 parts, as the story progresses, one eventually merges with several of the others kind of? cohesively? while leaving the other to sort itself out.

now, i didnt have too many qualms with it, it was pretty straight forward. dracula is going to be resurrected and we have sypha and trevor looking in on it, while alucard helps the nearby village and hector and isaac go on about bringing on their inevitable showdown. however, the way the story was paced and some of the decisions they made... werent so great.

st. germain for example, brought the ENTIRE momentum from the last few episodes to a halt. you have sypha and trevor fighting through heaps and heaps of monsters only to find themselves back in Targoviste where they meet the mysterious Zamfir!! and Alucard!! he’s been asked to help save this village!! all jam-packed with crazy action and animation that leaves you fired up!! and then episode 5 comes to a screeching halt and we spend nearly the entire thing on st. germain’s backstory and explaining his motives for the rest of the season

like. imma be real with you chief: he didnt need to be here lol. you could have just left varney as the main vamp in charge of bringing back big daddy drac and he could reveal to his.. idk henchmen or something that he’s death. but u gotta fill them ten 20 minute slots somehow!! he just fell so flat and unfortunately, a lot of the side-characters suffer from this this season.

i enjoyed great and zamfir, i love their desgins esp, but they really could have been fleshed out more. zamfir is shown as nothing but a spoiled brat the majority of the time she’s on screen but they wait till she’s about to die to try and turn her character around? huh? greta is given a bit more screentime but this sudden confession of feelings in the last episode felt so... huh?? why couldnt she just be dedicated to her people and show that u can love someone w/out necessarily being their partnr? i thot that was her whole thing; taking care of her people. it’s like. where did this come from. they cant have known each other more than a week at most dog 😭

it sucks they dedicated to much time to scenes that didnt really need to be there where we could have gotten this proper development, like maybe have a scene zamfir and sypha connect over struggles they’ve dealt with in the past and that has her open up about how traumatizing dracula’s attack on her city was. u could have expanded upon her role in the court and WHY she worshipped the monarchy so much instead of making it a throwaway gag about her being “crazy”. but why have that when we could instead spend the first 5 minutes of said episode watching a monotonous back-and-forth b/w varney and that big burly russian vampire who’s name im sure mor than 98% of the audience cant even remember?

just a lot of fat that needed to be trimmed so that the actual MEAT of the story could be slow cooked to perfection. people really arent kidding when they say less is more.

another big problem i had was there... i dont even know what to call it, re-humanization? redemption? of Lenore. like lmk if im wrong but she manipulated hector, yeah? coerced sex to slip on that ring that binds him to her?? orr whatever weird shit warren’s into. but the way they interacted, ESPECIALLY in their first major scene together was sooo uncomfortable to watch lol at first i thought perhaps hector was only playing along because well. hes enslaved to do her and carmilla’s bidding. but no, he actually LIKES her. he spares her when isaac comes around, he says that he wants to keep her as his own. and in the meantime, lenore finds time to complain to a man that’s been beaten and enslaved how upset it makes her that carmilla got angry at her 😭 or says thats she tired of isaac keeping tabs on her and wants to escape this ‘cage’. to aman thats literally been imprisoned since youve known him 😭her death is seen as peaceful, calm, they even try and tug at ur heartstrings by swelling this sad, dramatic music as the sun rises. really? LENORE?

and carmilla’s death happened WAYY too early imo. she was the villain for practically 3 seasons and this is how she goes? isaac couldnt get more than a stab at her? his night creatures couldnt take a nibble? HECTOR couldnt even be given a chance to do somethng like come on

the resolution was... strange? it was cute!! and happy!! but i dunno if they really needed to have lisa and vlad coming back, but, like i said; it was cute! definitely not the ending i was expecting.

i’m glad that they put their focus back on what made the show so much fun and that was the FIGHTS. they definitely helped add some much needed spice to things when scenes started to drag, but im a gal that really luvs a good story and even though reviews were raving that this season helped closed the lid on all the themes theyd been exploring, i just didnt really see that. which isnt necessarily a BAD thing, i knew i wasnt gonna find some deep introspective themes in this hack n slash horror-fantasy, its just what can turn somethng like this from an ok show to a GREAT one.

in the end, im glad they stopped at this one and im curious to see if they really DO go ahead on making spin-offs. bcuz unfortunately, i will always be down for som new castlevania content

#cv4 #this is REALLY long #and BRIMMING with spoilers #so read at ur own discretion #otherwise ty for spending ur valuable time to hear what a random sob like me has to say <3

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prettywordsyouleft · 7 years ago

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Accidents Happen

Summary: You had always been clumsy and now you had really done it, and broken your leg. Losing your independence was crushing you, but what you didn’t realise was how much your pain was causing Mark as well.

Characters: Mark Tuan x reader

Genre: a bit of depressive behaviour, angst, and then fluff lol

Warnings: if you’re a little squeamish over basic medical terms, or the idea of breaking a bone, don’t read this.

A/N: So this is a collaboration with my dearest friend Tiger over @thewritingtrashcan … we decided to use the same prompt but not tell each other who we’d write about or the context. This is what I came up with. It’s actually based on a lot of factual stuff from my life, I am actually this clumsy and I did shattered my leg back in university in a freak accident with my horse. I’m 90% okay now though! All the same, sometimes I feel I need to revisit this moment of darkness in my life through fiction, as an act of healing. I chose to do it with Mark because he was the first person I thought of when reading the prompt. And it worked really well with him. Funny how I’ve biased him this long and I’ve never written him before. This piece has been a little interesting to write, but I’m so glad I chose to base it off past experience.

Prompt: "You make me so mad right now, you know that?"

Word count: 3295

To read what Tiger wrote for the same prompt, click HERE.

You groaned inwardly when you looked up at the large letters on the building in front of you, barely capturing them all before you were transferred inside. The bright lights, beeping noises and multiple voices around you were hard to register with any clarity, but that could very well be due to the heavy set of drugs the paramedic had given you on the ride in.

You sure had done a good job this time.

Your whole life you were known as the clumsy one, able to sprain your own ankle by tripping over yourself. You knew the Orthopaedics department of the local hospital inside out; you had visited it so many times over the years. The treatment R.I.C.E* was embedded in your brain, and yet despite your efforts to prevent yourself from another injury, you’d always be back. It was tiresome to be this ridiculously clumsy.

And despite regular attempts, you had always heard the words; “it’s just a nasty sprain” whenever you were done with being prodded, x-rayed and bandaged up.

But this was different.

You knew your leg was broken as soon as you landed, falling off the back of your horse in a freak accident. You had been surprisingly calm, but your friend with you was a lost cause, more stressed than you were in that moment. You were still worried about her as they wheeled your bed towards a slot in the emergency department, a doctor soon joining the team around you.

You were scared.

With all those years of experience and always being able to leave after a couple of hours, today you knew that wouldn’t be the case. You waited for your family to turn up, knowing your friend had managed to ring your Mum in the midst of sorting an ambulance and catching the horses. Even though you were an adult, you craved her maternal smothering, to tell you it was going to be alright.

She didn’t arrive first, though the person who came rushing to your side was enough to make you burst into tears of relief. He leaned down to cradle your head in his hand and kiss your forehead gently, as if you’d break further if he wasn’t so light with his touch. His dark eyes were then scanning you all over, trying to decipher how bad this was.

“What happened?!” Mark asked finally, blinking away the tears he’d so far held back ever since he’d gotten a call from your mother telling him you’d been taken to the hospital. He’d never left work so fast in his life, uncaring of the consequences he may face later on. You were more important.

“Honey got frightened and bolted on me. I knew as soon as I fell my leg was broken, they reckon it’s a clean break too.”

“Clean how?” he wondered, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “What does that even mean?”

You didn’t get to answer, a radiologist coming for you then and taking you off to be x-rayed. Your eyes were glued to Mark’s, much like his hand was firmly in yours until he was asked to wait outside. You knew the procedure would be different this time round, unable to do anything but shake due to the shock now making it’s way through your tired body.

And finally you were taken back to your little section of the emergency department, your Mum and younger brother both standing there waiting for you.

Tears continued to fall seeing everyone that was there, and you gripped onto Mark’s hand as much as you could then, the pain picking up again.

It was going to be a much longer visit to the hospital indeed.

You had snapped both bones in your right leg which required surgery, and a mere five days later you were discharged with the expectation that you would find it easier to be at home. You lived with Mark as you were engaged, and he had managed to get time off to assist you in the transition. It was anything but easy; the cast on your leg wasn’t what you had expected to receive. Over the years people had joked about being able to write on your coloured cast one day when you actually succeeded in breaking something. Now that you had, you got a half cast instead that weighed a tonne to protect and cope with all the swelling. You couldn’t lift your leg due to the weight of it and the complete lack of strength, which meant you couldn’t move at all.

You felt entirely useless, Mark’s comfort only reaching your ears so far before you blocked it out.

And after eight weeks of this, you were depressed, especially when Mark had gone back to work after the first three. Your mother had come to look after you most days, or Mark’s parents, and whilst you were thankful, they had enabled you to feel like you couldn’t do a thing.

You had lived a very active lifestyle of studying, working and owning your horse Honey, that it was mentally far more crippling being unable to do any of those things now. The doctors had delayed your healing further, conflicting information given to you about your rehabilitation. You were stopped from even walking at one point in the journey, relying completely on your wheelchair to get about. Whenever you had imagined this scenario, you thought you’d be cute on a pair of crutches, still able to get around, and look after yourself.

You should’ve known that you do a good job at everything, even when breaking a bone.

Once given the all clear to attempt walking again a month later, you were determined to get your life back. You did everything asked of you at your rehab sessions, and soon you were able to walk with your crutches or walking frame. To you this was rewarding, no longer did you have to burden everyone around you.

To Mark however, this was far worse.

“Go sit down, I can make your toast,” he told you with a sigh, watching you struggle to balance on one leg and open the jam jar. You merely glared at the taller boy before focussing back on your task. “Y/N!”

“I want to do it, I can do it!”

“You’re shaking so much,” he complained softly, coming over to your side. You refused to give up, but inwardly you were thankful when his arms wrapped around your waist to support you. Now utilising his grip on you, you were able to relax against your fiancé and place the jam onto your toasted bread. A smile crossed your lips at your success, and you hobbled around to bury into the brunette for a moment.

“Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome I guess. I wish you wouldn’t be so stubborn right now whilst you’re healing though, Y/N.”

It wasn’t long until you were trying to get back some normalcy, despite everyone around you wanting you to rest. It annoyed you, knowing that you felt strength returning to your damaged leg, even though most days it still hurt a lot. You were done with sitting around wasting your life on Korean dramas and writing though. You had started studying again from home thanks to the kindness of your lecturers supplying you with all you needed, and this only fuelled your desire to improve.

You started pushing through and doing more in your day whenever Mark or your Mum wasn’t there to imprison you to your bed, and even though you were exhausted easily, it was exhilarating to feel your success when you managed to do something you had easily taken for granted in the past.

The one thing everyone refused to let you do was shower when no one was there, afraid that you would slip and hurt yourself further. You were frustrated by this notion, aware that your shower cubicle was still decked out with the chair you needed to rest on, and you had never felt that unstable in there. For weeks you slowly planned it, your stubborn nature ignoring the negatives. And finally you timed it one afternoon, knowing Mark would be back soon, wanting to prove to yourself, and him, that you could tick another thing off your list of tasks you could do again without being supervised. You craved independence. Showering alone somehow screamed that to you.

At first it was going alright, singing one of Mark’s songs to yourself as you washed your body well. You looked at your now ill-formed leg with distaste, the unsightly scar from where the metal rod that stabilised your leg had been inserted being the one thing you hated the most. You were thankful it hadn’t been any worse than it was, but seeing your leg like that was a reminder of all the months of being incapacitated.

You sighed heavily with your deep thoughts, only realising you had let go of your soap then. Looking at it on the ground of the shower, you groaned loudly for a moment, before determination kicked in. Sitting slowly on your shower seat you reached down for the soap bar, stretching your arm as far as you could whilst gripping onto the seat.

And then it all happened too fast, your leaning throwing the chair off balance and suddenly you were on the ground, screaming in pain at your leg hitting the floor heavily, and the chair toppling on top of you. To top it off, the shower continued to rain down on you, pelting you with the severe water bullets of regret. As you laid there strewn on the floor of the bathroom, you were reminded greatly of just how incapable you truly were right now. You couldn’t even get yourself up from this position.

Tears pooled from your eyes, never feeling so miserable in your life.

Mark found you as soon as he arrived home, the sound of water running being a telltale sign that you had broken your promise to him. He had rushed through the apartment, telling himself to support you even though he had feared this day happening when he wasn’t home. But what he found when he opened the door was anything but encouraging.

You were shivering on the floor of the shower, and as he reached to turn the water off, he realised it was cold. His eyes flashed with concern then, wondering how long you had been like this for. He yanked the chair off of you, his anger surging and being misplaced into the item obstructing you. And then he hoisted you up from the crumbled mess on the floor, your sobs filling his ears as he quietly wrapped your towels around you and then lifted you up into his arms.

He didn’t dare utter a word, knowing if he did; it would only crush you further. But it was hard to hold back, you had already scared him enough earlier in the year when the accident had happened. You were Mark’s world, and if he lost you, it would destroy him.

And whilst a broken leg wasn’t exactly life threatening, it had been enough to unhinge your relationship into troubled waters, Mark worrying that soon you’d leave him because of how low you were feeling. He craved for the happier times to return, but perhaps they wouldn’t, not until you were fully healed.

As he placed you down on the edge of your bed and looked you over, he sadly realised you might not want them to either.

“Don’t give me a lecture,” you managed to stutter, still shaking away. He didn’t answer, gently rubbing the towel over your body. Your hand came up and gripped his, and he stopped, your eyes hard, with a tinge of embarrassment within them. It made him close his own, unable to understand how after all these years together that you could still feel embarrassed in front of him.

And so he recomposed himself and tried to help dry off your body again, your hand preventing him again. “Stop!”

“Why!” he cried exasperatedly, staring back at you. “You’re cold; I’m trying to warm you up.”

“I’m not incapable!”

“No one said you were!”

You heaved with the exertion of your emotions, your jaw quivering. “I can dry myself; I still have hands, Mark Tuan.”

He stepped back but stared at you as you fumbled to dry yourself off. He tried to steady out his emotions. Shaking his head when he knew he couldn’t, he then turned on his heel and stepped out of the room, closing the door with a bang and then sinking to the floor on the other side as the tears fell.

He didn’t know how to help you anymore.

After drying and dressing yourself slowly, you hobbled slowly across the room, wincing with each step on your now re-injured leg. You were worried, realising in that moment that your depression had gotten so bad that you had stopped focussing on the one person who mattered the most to you.

Mark.

You had both grown up together, your families always joking that you’d end up married one day ever since you were six. It was ironic how it had played out so far, you had always loved him. As a child you wanted nothing more than to play with him, as soon as you were teenagers with a grasp on your emotions, you both explored deepening your friendship, and here you were now as adults, living together, and engaged. You had been through a lot together, both happy and hard times, and you had always thought the loss of your Father would have been the hardest thing you’d ever face at his side.

You had never realised it was the fact that you were shutting away from everyone that could hurt him the most.

Opening the door, you found the brooding brunette sitting on the floor across from your bedroom, his eyes barely lifting up to look at you long enough to make sure you were okay before dropping back down. It made you tear up, even when hurting from your actions; he always was making sure you were safe.

You hobbled over to his side and then looked around you for something to help you sit down beside him, biting your lip in frustration when nothing jumped forward to assist you.

And then his hand lifted up, more tears falling from your eyes as he wordlessly offered his help to achieve what you wanted to. Like he had been doing all this time. Once next to Mark, you instantly buried yourself into him, crying on his shoulder until you couldn’t anymore. He made no real effort to hold you, and you knew he couldn’t, not right now. All the same just knowing he let you cry on him, and cling to him was enough.

Eventually you looked up at him, realising just how exhausted he was.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish and not listening to you.”

He started with a soft sigh. "You make me so mad right now, you know that?”

“Mm.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he then asked hesitantly, his hand finding yours, and his thumb was soon rubbing gentle circles over your skin. You smiled; you always liked it when he did that mindlessly.

“Well, I guess we need to find a way to compromise? I need to stop being so selfish and wanting to do it all. I just miss being me. I don’t feel like myself at all.”

Mark nodded slowly. “You are you, just a broken version. I’ll try harder to support you stretching forward to your freedom. Just, try to do more of that goal reaching when I’m around okay? I think I’m going to have a mental breakdown about leaving you alone for sometime now.”

“I’ll ask my Mum to come back so you don’t stress,” you assured, Mark looking over at you and searching your eyes to see if you meant it. You pulled a face, even though you knew he had every right to doubt you currently.

“We’re both a mess, huh? You want to do everything, and I’m tired from holding you captive in fear of losing you completely.”

You sat up, your eyes widening a little. “Where would I go?! I thought you’d leave me because I’m being so unreasonable.”

“Well, if I didn’t know how stubborn you were all this time, I would have been a blind fool.”

“I’m not that stubborn,” you retorted, shrinking back at the look Mark shot you immediately. “Okay so maybe I am. But you can be pretty controlling when you want to be too.”

“Let’s not find our faults, but look towards helping each other like we used to, okay?” You nodded slowly, wincing a little as the pain was becoming unbearable. Mark noticed. “What?”

“Do you think maybe we should go to the doctor?” you enquired quietly, diverting your eyes away from him.

Mark sighed. “Hurts, huh?”

“Accidents happen.”

“With you always,” he teased, getting to his feet and then helping you up. You instantly wrapped your arms around him then, resting your head over his chest. Mark soon enveloped you as well, and for a moment your leg was forgotten as you both made sure to let each other know just how needed you were.

And then you hissed in pain. Mark chuckled and picked you up. “Always carrying you around these days.”

“Practice for our wedding night?” you attempted, and the look he gave you then was one that you instantly imprinted into your mind, giggling a little at how the glint of life returned to his eyes. You didn’t realise it had been gone for so long, and how much you had missed it. You kissed him then, and Mark stopped moving, trying to balance you and his emotions at your sudden attack. You smiled happily when you pulled away. “Missed you.”

“Missed you more.”

“If that’s even possible, I missed you far more,” you continued and Mark rolled his eyes.

“Always a battle for who can end an argument huh? Weren’t we just angry with each other?”

“No, were we?” you feigned innocence and Mark smirked, grabbing his wallet and keys from the bench and then stepping out to lock the door.

“Maybe you’re not so broken after all.”

“Who even said I was?” you said with a laugh as he glanced down at you in his arms and then placed you in the car he had just opened.

“Life sure is interesting with you, Y/N. Can you promise me one thing?”

“Depends.”

Mark got into the car and then looked over at you, and then down at you leg. “No more breaking bones, okay?”

“I can’t make a promise to that, given how clumsy I am,” you admitted, but smiled anyway. “I hope to never do it again though, this is horrible.”

“But not the end of the earth, right?”

You shook your head, reaching over to pat his thigh lightly. “No, but it could be, if you don’t start driving soon.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a chuckle and soon a dramatic yelp left your mouth from the pain.

You were a funny type of person you thought in that moment. Lately you had faced so much pain and sorrow that you didn’t even know what laughter was, until you started again. Now you realised just how easy it had been to lift yourself out of your funk when you did. Accidents were always bound to happen in your life, but as long as you kept laughing and spending as much time as you could smiling at Mark, you were certain you could endure it all.

_________________

[GOT7 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

*R.I.C.E is an at-home treatment used to recover from a sprain injury.

#Mark Tuan #got7 mark #got7 #got7 fiction #got7 scenario #got7 imagine #mark tuan fiction #mark tuan scenario #mark tuan imagine #prettywordsyouleft writes

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sam-i-am-27 · 6 years ago

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Dive Right In

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Summary: Roman wants to know what in the hell happened last night with that strange half-mer, half-human. Fortunately, so does Patton. As does the halfling and his human friend. Unfortunately, one uninvited person wants to know more as well.

Word Count: 2550

Thank you to @pastel-and-gore for being a loverly editor as always and making this 100% better than it was when I first spewed it out onto a Google Doc!

Roman didn’t know what he should do but sit there in the cave. He didn’t know what was coming out of his mouth, random incoherent sounds or the actual Song. That was… impossible. He had just watched a mer save another human and then become one himself?! The scales literally melted off of him and he had legs! That didn’t just happen! It couldn’t have happened!

“AGH!” he yelled randomly, his voice echoing around the cave, the enchanting magic in his voice making his own mind go fuzzy with lust.

So he came in contact with… one and a half humans? One was unconscious, the other half was a mer a majority of the time Roman had been talking to him… so was it illegal? Nah, it wasn’t illegal. He was fine… but there was still that nagging at his subconsciousness. It wasn’t worry or fear, it was curiosity. He wanted to know more about that half-mer. How did a half-mer even exist if mers weren’t even allowed to talk to humans?! How was he able to resist the Song when neither mers nor humans could?!

There were so many questions that Roman wished he had a quill, some ink, and a few hundred feet of parchment. He could ask them to Thomas-

No, he couldn’t know. If Thomas knew, no matter how close the two of them were, he’d be forced to uphold the law and imprison Roman. Then he and the royal Alchemist would go hunting for Virgil to wipe his memory of the experience.

He had to talk to someone who could keep a secret for reasons like protecting him and someone else from the King’s laws.

The instant the sun rose over the horizon and Roman no longer felt the pull of the moon’s magic, he shot towards the kingdom as fast as his tail would carry him. The sea turned into a white blur of bubbles and sea foam as he sped past coral reefs, over deep trenches until he reached the entrance of the kingdom. He sped through the dark and once through the tunnel, sped through the kingdom as fast as possible without completely speeding.

Roman reached the front gate and slowed down in front of his father. He saw eyes with a burning rage and hate of a thousands suns shining through the helmet.

“Roman. What brings you here again so soon?” his father asked. “I hoped you’d be gone-”

“Save me the insults, father. I need to see Patton,” Roman croaked. Instantly, Roman knew he had come back just a bit too early. Although the moon had stopped its spell almost an hour ago, he could feel his vocal cords vibrating with the magic that drew that human to him. Not enough to be deadly, but definitely enough that his father’s eyes lost all sense of hatred and his body slackened.

“Go right ahead, don’t let me stop you, Jules,” he said in a dream-like voice. Roman grit his teeth at the name but swam on inside without second thought. Of course his father would call him that; the only Siren voice he had known was his mothers and since she passed, he hadn’t heard any others.

He swam through the castle silently, giving only nods to the guards who greeted him before he reached Patton’s room and knocked on the door.

“Mmm… who’s there?” Patton mumbled from the inside. Roman just continued to knock, unable to say anything without entrancing every mer in the very echoey hallway for the next ten minutes.

“Coming, coming.” The sound of shuffling came through the door and when it opened, Roman had to muffle any sound he made at the sight of Patton. A blanket haphazardly slung over his shoulders, his glasses on upside-down, and his hair floating around at odd angles. He smacked his lips and looked at Roman through bleary eyes.

“Oh hi, Roman. You’re home early,” he muttered, turning around when Roman was half-way in the room. He rummaged around the messy desk, around all of the toys from their childhood before finding an old scroll and pen. As he scribbled down his note, Patton groaned. “Aw, I liked that scroll.”

Roman shoved the scroll into Patton’s arms and quickly swam to close the door so Patton didn’t read the news to the entire castle. Patton sighed and pushed his glasses down and off his nose. He sighed, grabbed them and put them back on to read the scroll.

“I met a hu-” Suddenly Patton was wide awake, looking at Roman with wide, excited eyes. “Is it okay?!”

Roman nodded and took the scroll back, scribbling down another note.

Patton read it and scowled slightly. “He… he grew a… how did he grow a tail… what?!”

Roman nodded in agreement, pointing to his throat and mimicking singing.

“He survived your singing?! But even we can’t do that!” Patton exclaimed. “Oh, I wanna meet him!”

Roman mimed in a way that hopefully said, ‘I think we can!’

“We need to go back up there… tomorrow night. You need to rest but we NEED to see him!” Patton said, pacing the room slowly. Roman noticed that his face suddenly fell and he became a bit serious, the excited twinkle in his eyes dimming. “He can become a mer in the water but has legs out… I wonder if he’s like those illegal half-mers? If he is, you didn’t technically break the law since half-mers haven’t been seen in, what, hundred years or so?”

Roman shook his head, but then thought about the situation and shrugged. It was possible but they couldn’t be sure unless they went back up and talked to him.

“So we go back up there tonight and see if he’s there?” Patton asked, looking Roman in the eyes, the excited look returning again. Roman gave a cocky grin and gave his friend a thumbs up.

“I really wish we had a fire,” Logan said, wrapping his blanket around him even tighter.

“Well it’s illegal to burn at the moment and you wanted to come. I don’t blame you for being curious,” Virgil argued, fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie.

“Yes, I am curious, Virgil. You grew fins in my bathtub. Your legs fused together and you grew gills, a tail, and fins,” Logan retorted. “If you had almost drowned and got mild hypothermia, you’d want to know the reason why. Plus on top of that, you’d want to know the reason why your best friend keeps saying that while he was saving you, he grew a tail and met a merman who spoke clear English. I’d say I came out of more than a little curiosity.”

“Alright, alright, just teasing,” Virgil said, inching towards the water slightly. “Want some jam?”

“Of course,” Logan said, reaching into the cooler and pulling out a jar of Crofters and spoon.

“Still don’t know how you eat that plain,” Virgil said, reaching over with a cracker and scooping some onto it.

“Ish delicioush,” Logan said through a mouthful of jam.

“You don’t say,” Virgil said, wiping cracker crumbs and jam off his face. He looked out at the ocean and sighed. The sun was nearly set, making the water turn a beautiful purple-blue-orange color. The waves were rolling up onto the sand slowly and the foam was lapping up closer and closer as the tide rose.

“I’m going to stick my feet in,” Virgil said. “I kinda wanna see how far in I have to go for there to be a reaction.”

Logan finished his last bite of jam and nodded. “Great idea.”

The two stripped down to their swim trunks, Virgil keeping his tank top on, and scooted to the water’s edge, not really wanting to walk the five feet.

“Alright… these are just my feet in the salt water.” Virgil took a breath and stuck his feet into the water, shivering at the low temperature. Instantly tingles shot through his toes and up to his ankles. The slime that had formed his tail last time formed around his feet, shaping into a large colorless mass of a half-formed fin. The tingles were still there, as if they knew he was in salt water and wanted to expand outwards and form the entire tail, but they stopped just below the ankle where the fin melded into skin.

“Fascinating. It seems that if you have the saltwater in one place, that’s the place that gets transformed. It’s like a sponge that’s absorbing water for the first time,” Logan said and splashed a little on Virgil’s upper thigh. A new set of tingles appeared there and wherever the water droplets hit, slim began to envelop his skin.

“I really don’t like the look of that,” he said. “I’m just gonna get in a bit more. Slowly though, it’s really cold.”

He crept in until the water was just below his knees. By this point, the slime had fused his calves together, formed the shape of his tail completely and created the outline of where his scales would appear. He could feel a slight pain in his neck as his gills began to open up.

“Do you think I have to be all the way in for color to appear?” he asked Logan.

“We have to test to find out for sure, but I say most likely,” Logan said, not taking his eyes off what was left of his legs.

Virgil nodded, took a deep breath, and slid his entire body under the next wave. The tingles shot up his legs faster than he could blink, the slime enveloping and fusing his legs instantly, tearing through his shorts and forming every individual scale. His gills opened up and took in as much salt water as they could, extracting the oxygen so Virgil could breathe. By the time the wave had passed over him, his tail had formed and he looked like a regular merman, color and all.

“Okay… so yeah. Figured out how all that works,” he muttered, flicking his tail fin and splashing Logan in the face.

“It appears that a single drop of water will not inconvenience you but diving in will,” Logan muttered, cleaning off his glasses with one hand and pulling out yet another one of his scales with the other.

“Ow! Dammit, Lo!” he complained, rubbing the spot. Logan ignored him and blew on the scale until it was dry, groaning a little as a small amount of slime fell off it, leaving only a bit of Virgil’s skin.

“Gross,” his friend muttered but than dunked the skin into the water. Instantly, the slime reformed and he was holding a purple scale again.

“It doesn't matter what part of you touches the water as long as it’s you,” Logan muttered. “Absolutely fascinating.”

Virgil shrugged and looked out at the water again. The sun had completely set, leaving only a dark ocean reflecting the few stars that had been revealed without sunlight. He sighed and scooted sand.

“Hey, Lo, I'll be right back, I'm going to go check something out,” Virgil said.

“Uh huh,” Logan said, drying off the scale again and sinking it into the water. Virgil smirked and dove in. The water froze his bones for a second before his body warmed up at an impossible speed. Probably another mer thing… better tell Logan when he got back.

Breathing was such a strange experience. He did it involuntarily but it was so… forced. He felt like there was a pillow over his face but he could breathe. His gills allowed him to take oxygen from the water and let him live but still… it felt strange, like breathing after eating a piece of minty gum. But more salty.

Virgil’s tail was a miracle of nature. Powerful and lithe, it sped him through the water faster than any boat could ever hope to go. Virgil felt like a living boat, the way he could turn and twist however he wanted without losing speed or sight of where he was. But he tried to not be theatrical and focused on finding the spot where Logan had swam to the night before.

He slowed down near the cliff and surfaced, his gills flapping uselessly in the air.

“Weird,” he muttered and looked around. Definitely the place where Logan had dove. He looked around him, not seeing anything interesting on the surface of the water, so he ducked under and swam deepe, keeping close to the cliff face. He must have been few dozen feet underwater but he didn’t feel a thing on his ears or his body. He could see clearer down here than he could on land… Even more mer stuff to jot down when he had a piece of dry paper.

The sandy bottom of the ocean appeared below him and with it a large cave. He swam in and asked, “Hello?” the words coming with a small stream of bubbles. There was no response though so he swam a little farther into the cave. “Roman? You there?”

“Over here.”

He turned and saw Roman sitting near the entrance of the cave with another mer, this one with a bright blue coloring with black stripes going up and down his tail. At the sight of Virgil, he squealed and swam forward. His blue eyes gleamed behind a pair of slightly cracked glasses that he had to constantly push up his nose as he smiled at Virgil. Although Virgil was slightly creeped out by the fact that a random mer was smiling at him, he was a little comforted by the fact that he was keeping himself at a comfortable distance and watching his body carefully for any signs of uncomfort.

“You’re Virgil! Oh, I’ve heard so much about you! You’re half-human, right? Oh, the human world must be amazing and-”

“Patton, calm down,” Roman said, putting a hand on the other mer’s shoulder.

“What does he mean he knows a lot about me?” Virgil asked. “I said five words to you.”

“Well we may have done a little reading between the lines and figured out how your existence may be possible and all that,” Roman said with a shrug. “Half-mers are illegal to us, so you’re a criminal so we just-”

“You know what, I’d love to hear this story, but so would my friend on the beach,” Virgil interrupted. “Besides, I don’t like the feeling of breathing water.”

“Your friend is a human, isn’t he?” Patton asked.

“No, he’s a unicorn,” Virgil said in a monotone. “Come on. He’ll be thrilled to meet you guys.”

Deep below the sea, a figure stood floating around a single golden orb, watching as the two-and-a-half mers swam out of the cave towards the human on the beach. The mer smiled maliciously and held up a single glowing finger, tracing it around the orb. The one with the purple tail stopped for a moment, shook his head and continued towards the beach.

“Perfect…”

They swam away from the orb and began to pull ingredients off the shelf, preparing a potion. There wasn’t any doubt that he would need it. Now that the halfling had the idea, he’d be down here with one of the others soon… it was only a matter of time…

Yes, it’s been a while. Just lost motivation but it came running back at the speed of sound just two days ago and I got this chapter finished! So yeah, you guys can probably guess a few things now but I really hope that you don’t know what’s going to happen because this is a great story that I am really excited to finish.

But yeah, I’m continuing this!

Reblogs are amazing.

Taglist for general and Dive Right In are both open, so all you need to do is ask!

Have a great day!

Taglist: @octopushugs @ryuity @fandergecko @rileyfirstname @spectacled-renegade @ijustreallylovesanderssides @redqueen29 @fire-flies-and-pattons-eyes @teaspoonfulofpatton @beneath-the-ash @thesynysterunknown @nightmarejasmine @i-like-cookiez @savemefrompainfulagony @randomfanderfriend @kingbumbles @spaceacesam @anxietywolf @enderperson43 @collie7700 @sassyshoulderangel319 @abigail-kaulitz

#Sanders Sides #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Deceit Sanders #Thomas Sanders #Fan Fiction #AU #Mermaid AU #Dive Right In #Rogue Writes

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dzmoot · 4 years ago

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Igginsworth?

Siobhan leaped onto the large dome and squeezed it tightly. Igginsworth gave a delighted grin.

Yes, your Iggy man is back, but not for very long I'm afraid.

The Tuun smiles morphed into surprised grin-frown hybrids. Zappy peeled Siobhan off the dome.

What do you mean, man? And why on the moon are you a floating head in a jar?

Igginsworth explained.

There is little time before the crystal's connection gives out and I have a lot to explain. I take it you've been acquainted with our dear friend Mr. Munders, right?

Kruonch hissed.

That virus headed buffoon tore a hole in our refurbished house. And then he conjured up a bunch of rock varmints and I sprained my sniffer!

Igginsworth gave a slight snicker as he continued.

Yeh, he's a handful and he's nearly as old as Ippicus itself. You see, my home realm was created by a being called Zantu the Great. Little did we know that he had a half brother called Croni'Munndoors from the world of Divoc who was determined to bring his brother's world to a horrific end. Munders tried for centuries to infect the Zarrians with a deadly plague to wipe them out but he was stopped by a group of great warriors wielding extraordinary powers, the Zarrangers!

Everyone was confused.

Zarrangers?

Yes, Zarrian superheroes harnessing the power of the ancient Lizardsaurs. They were able to defeat Munders and imprison him within a cosmic dumpster capsule but the capsule has broken and he was freed. He was hellbent on infecting Ippicus once more but he somehow found out about my adventures on the moon and decided it was better to conquer that and possibly Earth. I tried wielding one of the Zarranger power rings to stop him from breaking through the snow globe but he used his dark magic to imprison me in a time warp. Now, the only way I can interact with anyone is through this tube.

Zappy chimed in.

How do we stop him?

The bottom of Igginsworth's capsule opened like a drawer and as each Tuun looked inside, they saw 4 glowing, colorful rings.

I have chosen you, my dear friends to wield the ancient powers of the Lizardsaurs. Zappy, clever and fearless, you shall control the Horned Rhinotops Lizardsaur. Siobhan, agile and quick, the fanged Tyrannogecko is yours to command. Kruonch, wise and headstrong, the flying Pteroparrot is at your disposal. And Hampire, smart and swift, you shall wield the power of the Fang Toothed Panther. Together, all four of you shall become a fighting force like none ever before! You shall be known forever more as the TUUNY RANGERS!

Zappy, Siobhan, Hampire and Kruonch were all ecstatic at the prospect of becoming supernatural superpowered lizard inspired heroes and snagged up their respective power rings, placing them on their hands. Of course, as Hampire's fingers were thick like sausages, it took a few minutes before he could jam it down on his pinky. Igginsworth was also happy and was hopeful his friends could once again come through to give evil a knock out.

Now my friends, you must raise your rings to the sky, shout the name of your respective animals and Tuuny Rangers, you shall be!

Each Tuun raised their rings to the sky. Hampire was the first to shout his animal

Panther with Sharp Teeth!

and.....

ARGH! I've got teeth coming out of my eyes!

Okay, so maybe the first time's not a charm!

0 notes

peacefulheartfarm · 5 years ago

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The Blueberry Jam Journey

Blackberry jam. That’s today’s topic. Seedless blackberry jam of course. I can’t abide those tiny seeds between my teeth. I’m also starting to preserve veggies from the garden. So much to talk about today.

But first, a shout out to you all. Thank you and welcome new listeners. I hope you’ll stick around, subscribe and share my podcasts. Welcome back veteran homestead-loving regulars. I truly appreciate you taking time out of your day to listen to me.

There are tons of things going on at the farm this week. Let’s get to it.

Our Virginia Homestead Life Updates

Scott is still having to do so many other things. The creamery work is creeping along. After tomorrow that will change. Part of the reason he has less time on the creamery is the twice daily caring for the steer and bull that are going to processing.

Cows and Calves

Training the steer and bull to be comfortable with the trailer has been quite the job for Scott. I talked about the small corral he built to enclose them in close proximity with the trailer. They had to go into the trailer to get their hay. Twice a day Scott has been feeding them hay and filling their water. The space is quite small so they ate their ration and were ready for more when he showed up. He has been doing this for two weeks now. It was quite time consuming but it worked. They got very comfortable with the setup and would willingly go into the trailer to eat their hay within a short period of time. Cattle are such creatures of habit. They don’t like things that are different or new, but once they get used to things being a certain way, they just go on about their business.

As far as the girls go, I think we have finally completed the AI breeding. At least I hope so.

Fly control is working. Even the ag tech asked what we were doing and commented on how well it is working. It does have to be done twice a day, but that is easy for us because we are milking twice a day. Scott does it while the milking machine is running. Well, except for Cloud. She is so touchy about anything from her underbelly down. He can spray her back and sides easily enough, but as soon as he tries to spray lower, she starts kicking if the milking machine is hooked up to her.

Recently he tried it again while the milker was running. He had been spraying her either before or after the machine and she was okay with that. Something about being hooked up to the machine combined with the spray was upsetting to her. But he thought surely by now, she must have gotten used to the spraying and would tolerate it while the milking machine was running. Nope. She kicked and kicked and kicked. Of course, she kicked the inflations off. Scott was able to get the equipment out from under her feet before she destroyed it but it was a close call. So back to square one with her. Use the fly spray either before or after, but not during, the time that the machine is running.

Goats

Let’s talk about the intelligence of goats. Do they have any? They do actually. They are quite adept at escaping captivity – except for one specific circumstance. They can get their heads caught in the fence over and over again. Some have a hard time figuring out that it is unwise to put your head through there because your horns are going to get in the way of pulling your head back out. This morning, not one, not two, but three had to be rescued from their self-imposed imprisonment.

Sheep and Donkeys

Not much to say about the sheep. The lambs are healthy and growing. Moms are also doing well. The donkeys are doing their job well and keeping the predators away. We couldn’t ask for more.

Quail

There are 53 quail chicks in the brooder. They are a week and a half old and nearly fully feathered. They are doing great. This week I figured out how to save money and time cleaning up their mess with the food. When eating, they fling the food around. They literally put their head in the opening and start shaking it back and forth and spreading the grain all over the place. What I discovered quite by accident was that once the feeders got down to a certain level, the shape of the container prevented them from slinging it outside of the feeder.

The feeders are half gallon jars screwed onto a base. Ideally, you fill up the jar, screw on the lid, turn it over so the jar is upside down and the feed empties into the feeder tray. As they eat the food, more drops from the jar into the feeder tray. What I found out was that once the jar is empty, the feeder tray starts to get emptied. And as I said, the level is low enough that they can no longer strew the food all over the place. They still sling their heads back and forth but the food stays inside the feeder tray. It means I have to keep a closer check on their food, but the amount that is being wasted is nearing zero.

Before the change, I would fill up that half gallon jar and in a couple of days it would be nearly empty so I would refill it. That’s a lot of feed. The problem was that most of it was on the floor of the brooder being trampled and pooped on. It was quite a mess. Now, with my new system, they still make a mess because they are birds and they poop a lot and there are a lot of them. However, there is no longer a whole bunch of wasted feed mixed in with the poop. The jars are still there but they are empty. Instead of filling them up, I only put a little feed in the tray. It works. Yay. They were literally wasting at least four times what they were eating. Now the brooder doesn’t require as much changing of bedding and we don’t have to buy as much feed. It’s a great solution.

The previous batch of chicks can be considered grown at this point. They are a little over seven weeks old and I am getting 15 to 18 eggs daily from the penthouse. There are 50 birds up there and it is likely that 25 or so are hens. We could easily see those 15 to 18 eggs daily reach 25.

Garden

The garden is still going great guns. I have to water a lot. Sometimes we get afternoon thunderstorms but most days I have to get out there and give them some water.

A few of the tomatoes are starting to turn yellow. There are so many out there. It won’t be long now and they will start ripening by the gallons.

The sunflowers are blooming. Just in the last week or so, some of them have shot up to about 12 feet. It is interesting. For most of the time they were all relative close in height. But now there are lots of varying heights. But almost all are blooming. I’ll keep you posted on how that goes. I hope to have lots and lots of seeds from these flowers.

The peppers are coming on strong as well. They need to be fertilized to make bigger peppers but I’m okay with them being a little smaller. There are just so many. I’m trying to figure out where to set up the dehydrator. The one I have is pretty big. Last year I had it on my countertop in the kitchen. This year my countertops are full of milk cans and butter churn stuff. I may end up just putting it on the dining room table.

Some of the peppers I’m going to use in making pickled peppers. You know those great peppers that they have at Subway? I think those are pepperoncini. They are similar to the banana peppers that I have. I actually like banana peppers better than pepperoncini. Both peppers are mild and sweet, but the banana peppers are tangy where the pepperoncini are slightly bitter. So I’ll be slicing and canning some of those. I also plan on canning some of the jalapenos. I may even try my hand at a mixed hot pepper batch. The serrano peppers are coming along more slowly but there are a ton of them out there. I’m going to have so much fun with peppers.

Blackberry Patch

Now for the main topic of today. Blackberry jam. In order to have blackberry jam, I need to have some blackberries. Therein lies the problem. You know I’m always saying how much there is to do and so little time to do it. The blackberries canes have been neglected over the past couple of years. I already had too much blackberry jam and syrup that I didn’t worry about it. The birds and other animals were getting them all. I was okay with that. Unfortunately, the canes and vines need to be trimmed and cut back regularly because blackberries are very prolific.

The berries grow on the new growth and the old canes need to be removed regularly. Then there is the fact that the vines grow very fast and spread all over the place. We have the original plants all in nice rows and a trellis erected to keep them trained to the row. Well, that doesn’t work out so well if you don’t go out there and actually train them to the trellis.

There are vines out there that shot up from the ground and arched into the air well over my head. They are thumb thick. And you know they are not going to arch over the trellis just because it is there. They will do that sometimes, but they are just as likely to arch across to the next row. And not just on one side. No, no, no. This cane arches this way and that cane arches that way. Not only do the vines go across from one row to the next, but they also touched down in the middle of the rows. Rooting blackberry canes is really easy. Just stick them in the dirt. So everywhere they arched over and touched the ground, a new cane was born. It has become quite a jungle out there.

I was going to go out there with a pair of hedge trimmers and a couple of different pruning tools and work my way through the mess. However, Scott offered to use the chainsaw instead. I immediately took him up on that offer. We had already decided not to worry too much about making it pretty. We just needed to cut through the jungle so I could get to the berries. There are so many berries out there. But it was impossible to get to them. There were no actual rows left. So that was the first task. Re-establish the rows.

Scott took the chainsaw out there and cut a path between the rows. Well, he did most of the rows. There are still a few rows to go. But it was enough for me to get in there with a couple of buckets. I think I got enough for a batch of jelly. And now that the path is clear, I will be able to get more. There are still lots of red ones out there that will be ripening over the next couple of weeks. I think by mid-August they will have played out.

We will still need to get in there and clean it up. As I said, the old canes need to be removed. The ones that grew into the middle of the paths need to be cut all the way to the ground. Hopefully, we will keep those trimmed back from now on. Another issue that arose was the encroachment of wild blackberries. Wild blackberries have wicked thorns. Well some domestic ones do too. But we planted thornless blackberries. Now there are a bunch of wild blackberries mixed in with our thornless varieties. They are easy to spot. They will rip your clothes off. As I said, wicked thorns. Some of them are pretty big too.

In general, blackberries grow really well in our area. We use the goats to keep them under control in the pastures, but we can’t use the goats in the orchard. Goats won’t care whether they have thorns or not. They will simply eat them all.

So long story short, I was able to harvest some blackberries. Folks at the farmer’s market have been asking for jam and I’m going to make some tomorrow. It’s quite the task. As I mentioned earlier, I can’t stand seeds in my blackberry jam. Fortunately, I’ve come up with a system for getting those seeds out that is not onerous. I used to watch my mom using a food mill. Back in the day, it was all done by hand. Today, we have tools that make that task much easier.

I have a food mill attachment for my Kitchen Aid mixer. It is quite simple to use. Hook it up. Turn it on. Put the blackberries in the hopper and the fruit and pulp are separated from the seeds. I use it for tomatoes also. There is quite a bit of cleanup afterwards, but for me it is still worth the effort. The end product is out of this world. I love blackberry jam.

I have a stainless-steel pot made specifically for making jams and jellies. The bottom is weighted. It has pint increments embossed on the side. There is even a pour spout in one edge. I usually dip, but it is nice to have the pour spout there when I want it. The biggest advantage of this particular pot is the shape. It is perhaps eight or nine inches in diameter at the bottom and maybe 12 or so inches at the top. What that does is provide a greater surface area for evaporation. And this is important to me as I like to make my jams without added pectin. Instead of jelling after a couple of minutes at a boil when using pectin from a box, it takes 30 minutes or so to reach the proper temperature for jelling without it. Again, the extra time is worth it to me.

The ingredients are simple. Blackberries and sugar. I use the recipe in the Ball canning book. It takes nine cups of berries and six cups of sugar. Thirty minutes of cook time and it’s ready to go in the jar. Jams and jellies are sealed by using the water bath canning method. Basically, covering the jars with boiling water for 10 to 15 minutes. Perhaps 20 for our elevation. Whatever the recipe indicates is what I do.

Canning used to be a task that I put off as long as I could. It seemed quite complicated. Now, having done it many times over many years, it seems quite simple. It’s amazing how that happens. In the beginning, reading the recipe over and over to make sure I have everything just right. Now, more often than not, I only pull out the book to refresh my memory on how long it needs to boil.

What do you think? Would you like to learn how to can jams and jellies? Once the creamery is completed, the commercial kitchen will come next. How about a few classes in cooking and preserving food?

Final Thoughts

That’s it for today’s podcast. Life is full here and the craziness of the world seems far away. We are blessed with this life that we have built over the last 17 years. It feeds us physically, emotionally and spiritually. There is always purposeful activity and a sense of connection with our Lord in every moment. I know you all have that too. But for me, this environment makes it so much easier. God’s creation is always there at our fingertips.

I hope you enjoyed the trip around the homestead and through the blackberry brambles. And if you did, please hop over to Apple Podcasts, SUBSCRIBE and give me a 5-star rating and review. Also, please share it with any friends or family who might be interested in this type of content.

Thank you so much for stopping by the homestead and until next time, may God fill your life with grace and peace.

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gyrlversion · 6 years ago

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How four fearless young women exposed the Nazis horrific experiments

At the height of Hitler’s Holocaust, as millions were being murdered in the death camps, four daring young women risked their lives to expose the twisted experiments Nazi scientists were conducting on camp inmates.

The German SS carried out this medical torture in secret and news of them using human subjects was never supposed to leave the confines of the evil physicians’ laboratories.

However, the sordid details of the experiments were broadcast to the world after the women sent coded letters to their families in which they described their horrific treatment in invisible ink concocted from their own urine.

And more than 70 years later, the story of these women has been told in a series of interviews which form part of Dr. David Gil’s forthcoming book, The Art of Hiding.

Krystyna Czyz was one of the women imprisoned in Ravensbrück who filtered out details of the experiments in coded letters during the Second World War

The daring young women sent letters from the camp written in ‘invisible ink’ concocted from their own urine

In 1941, after torturous interrogation from Gestapo officers who suspected her family of disobedience, Krystyna was taken to the Ravensbrück (pictured)

One of these Second World War heroines was a Polish woman called Krystyna Czyz whose hometown of Lublin was invaded by German troops in September 1939 when she was just 15 years old.

In 1941, after torturous interrogation from Gestapo officers who suspected her family of disobedience, she was taken to the Ravensbrück concentration camp in northern Germany, according to Haaretz which has seen an advanced copy of the book.

The following year and under the supervision of Karl Gebhardt, the personal doctor to SS leader Heinrich Himmler, Nazi doctors began dragging inmates into their laboratories to conduct sick medical tests.

Among the 74 human subjects – dubbed as ‘rabbits’ – was Krystyna and three other women called Wanda Wijtasik, Janina Iwaska and her sister Krystyna Iwaska.

All four of them suffered excruciating pain at the hands of the camp’s physicians who punctured their flesh with shards of unwashed broken glass to deliberately cause them infection.

Janina Iwaska (right) and her sister Krystyna (left) met Krystyna Czyz and Wanda Wijtasik at the camp and were among 74 women to be experimented on by Nazi doctors

Under the supervision of SS general Karl Gebhardt (pictured), the personal doctor to SS leader Heinrich Himmler, Nazi doctors began dragging inmates into their laboratories to conduct sick medical tests

Although their own personal trauma was unbearable, the women resolved to find a way to filter the sordid details of the camp’s experiments out into the world.

Yet they were only allowed to send one letter to their families each month and the content would be heavily censored so that only messages reporting a good camp life would be permitted to pass from the compound.

But the women hatched an ingenious plan to write hidden messages into their letters which would not be spotted by the camp guards.

They realised that if they dipped their scribing stick in urine, the words would quickly vanish from the page as the liquid loses its colour.

However, when the urine is heated up it reappears and thus reveals the words on the page.

Between 1943 and 1944, the women risked their lives to send 27 of these letters in the hope of highlighting the sick abuse of camp inmates to the world.

But their plan relied on their families figuring out the dull letters contained a coded message and discovering how to decipher the true meaning.

Inmates were only allowed to send one letter to their families each month and the content would be heavily censored so that only messages reporting a good camp life would be permitted to pass from the compound (pictured: Barbara Oratowska presents one of 27 letters)

The women realised that if they dipped their scribing stick in urine, the words would quickly vanish from the page as the liquid loses its colour

In one of her letters, Krystyna name-dropped a specific book which the siblings had read as children that plots the story of a boy who sends secret messages to tip off her brother to the hidden code

Luckily, Krystyna had left a clue in one of the letters which she sent to her brother, who she believed would detect the hint.

In the note, she name-dropped a specific book which the siblings had read as children that plots the story of a boy who sends secret messages.

At first, her brother was puzzled by the peculiar mention of the book, but suddenly realised that Krystyna was telling him that she too had sent a coded message.

Now that he was alert to the letter’s true purpose, he began scanning the page for clues and found an acrostic pattern of letters which formed the words ‘list moczem’, which translates as ‘letter in ink’.

After heating up the paper, the chilling words ‘we have decided to tell you the whole truth’ appeared in the margins of the page followed by the details of the horrific experiments.

And in May 1943, Janina’s father received a letter, which he decoded, that asked for help plotting the women’s escape.

According to historians from Lund University, it said: ‘Five female Polish political inmates have escaped. We are preparing a new escape.

On May 1944, an English radio bulletin said: ‘In the concentration camp for women in Ravensbrück (inmates pictured after the liberation) , the announcer said the Germans are committing new crimes

Some 40,000 Polish women were imprisoned in Ravensbrück camp during the Second Wold War

An estimated 50,000 people perished in Ravensbrück while only 15,000 were rescued in the liberation in 1945

‘Send in a parcel: a compass, an accurate map of Germany, two false identification documents with photographs that are not especially characteristic.

It added: ‘You have to do it very skillfully, carefully and invisible … underneath a jar of jam, a secret message tucked in a tube of toothpaste.’

On May 1944, more than a year after the first coded letter was sent, the contents of the women’s messages were broadcast to the world.

An English radio bulletin said: ‘In the concentration camp for women in Ravensbrück, the announcer said the Germans are committing new crimes.

‘The women in this camp are being submitted to vivisection experiments and are being operated on like rabbits.’

Having exposed the gross medical tests being conducted by the Nazis, the heroic women also all survived the closing stages of the war.

Krystyna went on to become an academic, Wanda became a psychiatrist, Janina became a journalist and her younger sister Krystyna became a doctor.

Karl Gebhardt was convicted of war crimes at the Nuremberg trials and hanged in June 1948.

The post How four fearless young women exposed the Nazis horrific experiments appeared first on Gyrlversion.

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caveartfair · 8 years ago

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The Overlooked Black Women Who Altered the Course of Feminist Art

Lorna Simpson, candid. Courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum.

In 1977, the Combahee River Collective, a black feminist organization, gathered in New Jersey for their second retreat, where they worked together to formulate a collaborative letter.

The Heresies Collective, whose membership consisted predominately of white women, had just published its third feminist art journal, titled “Lesbian Art and Artists,” but had neglected to feature a single woman of color. The Combahee River Collective, which was formed to raise consciousness about race and gender issues, had assembled to craft a response.

“We find it appalling,” they wrote, “that a hundred years from now it will be possible for women to conclude that in 1977 there were no practicing Black and other Third World lesbian artists.”

The critical debate that it provoked was an expression of the complex and often tumultuous relationship between mainstream feminism and the black women who were so often excluded from it—a tension that continues today. The activities undertaken by black women to push back against their erasure, in the late ’60s through the early ’80s, effectively amounted to a desire for a revolution.

It is from this fervor that a current exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum gets its title: “We Wanted A Revolution: Black Radical Women, 1965-85.”

The show, which is one part of the museum’s year-long initiative to reimagine feminist art, “A Year of Yes,” highlights the work of black women artists during the height of second-wave feminism and serves as a record of their stories—to be remembered for the next hundred years and beyond.

Emma Amos, Sandy and her Husband, 1973. Courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum.

At the exhibition’s core are the many artist-run organizations that were developed during this time.

Among those represented is Emma Amos, the only woman and youngest member of the Spiral collective, one of the earlier groups included in the show. Spiral was conceived in 1963 against the backdrop of the Civil Rights movement. Its founding members, Romare Bearden, Norman Lewis, Charles Alston, and Hale Woodruff, met weekly to discuss the evolving role of black artists in the midst of social and political change.

The group would eventually invite Amos to join them after requesting to see examples of her work, a procedure that, she observed, other (male) members were not subjected to.

Amos’s work reflects the isolation she experienced in Spiral, as well as in the art world at large. In Sandy and Her Husband (1973), for instance, Amos painted her self-portrait, Flower Sniffer (1966), so that it appeared to hang on a living-room wall—her body is hunched over and her eyes pivoted in a fixed gaze at a couple embracing in the middle of the room. Amos is inside the painting, within the scene, and yet she is still found on the periphery.

Another figure featured prominently in the exhibition, Dindga McCannon, had invited a group of black women artists to her home in Brooklyn in 1971. Kay Brown and Faith Ringgold were among those who attended. The meeting, and the many that followed, would eventually lead to the formation of the Where We At (WWA) collective and one of the first professional exhibitions of black women artists. That June, the self-titled group show opened at Acts of Art Gallery in New York’s West Village.

Where we at, Cookin & Smokin Poster, 1972. Courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum.

Betye Saar, The Liberation of Aunt Jemima: Cocktail, 1973. Courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum.

“We Wanted A Revolution” features a rich collection of works and texts by the artists of WWA. McCannon’s three-dimensional collaged painting of a female warrior, Revolutionary Sister (1971), and Elizabeth Catlett’s jarring bronze bust of a black man staring blankly through the crosshairs of a target are both on view.

Elsewhere in the show, Betye Saar offers an emblem of the Black Power Movement with Liberation of Aunt Jemima: Cocktail (1973)—a rendition of a molotov cocktail that highlights the violent clashes between activists and law enforcement, as well as the aggressive, commercialized stereotyping of black femininity.

Crucially, many of the artists and activists featured in this exhibition had their hands in both the black feminist and black power movements of the ’60s through the ’80s. But their contributions were often overlooked.

One such figure is Ringgold, whose voice in this show displays just how intertwined the issues of gender and race were and still are. Ringgold, who was a key early member of WWA, appears in many forms throughout this history.

Moved by her concerns about the activist and former Black Panther party member Angela Davis’s imprisonment in late 1970, for instance, Ringgold set out to create a mural for the inmates at the Women’s House of Detention on Rikers Island. She conducted a series of interviews with the female inmates, in which many explained that they wanted to see narratives of women outside of typical domestic roles.

Faith Ringgold, For the Women’s House, 1971. Courtesy of Rose M. Singer Center, Rikers Island Correctional Center. © 2017 Faith Ringgold / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum.

Ringgold would ultimately create the large-scale painting For the Women’s House (1971) to be hung in the lobby of the facility. The mural, which is featured in the exhibition—only the second time it’s been shown since its removal from the island in 1999—is sliced into eight triangular scenes, with each one imagining different futures for these women, from shooting hoops on a basketball court to addressing the nation as the president of the United States.

The work represents a hopeful, revisionist view of the world—one in which women share the same mobility as their male counterparts.

The show spotlights not only groups and collectives, but also the protests and activities of community-run spaces that became the nexus for black art at the time.

Linda Goode Bryant’s Just Above Midtown (JAM), founded in 1974 and dedicated to showcasing artists of color, is one such example. Bryant and many other artists connected to JAM wrote critical letters in response to the outrage of an exhibition titled “The Nigger Drawings,” at Artists Space in 1979, which appear in this show.

In the later ’70s and ’80s, political expressions about the intersection of race and gender were seen more and more through the lens of personal narrative and performance. Senga Nengudi created anthropomorphous renderings of flesh-toned panty hose that were evocative of the female form, such as Inside/Outside (1977). Her works were often used as props in public performances.

Later works by Carrie Mae Weems and Lorna Simpson display a careful examination of the narratives around black identity. Weems’s Family Pictures and Stories (1978–84), for instance, aimed to challenge common perceptions of the black family as being broken and destructive, while Lorna Simpson’s iconic captioned images—the first of which, Gestures/Reenactments (1985), is displayed here—offer a complex reading of a black man’s experience as both victimizing and empowering.

Installation view of Elizabeth Catlett, Target, 1970, in “We Wanted A Revolution.” © Jonathan Dorado. Courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum.

By capturing this history, the exhibition hopes not only to revise the feminist canon, but also to fill in the backstory behind feminist and civil rights movements today. And it does not shy away from institutional critique—an article on display recounts an open hearing of women artists held at the Brooklyn Museum in 1971 and titled, “Are Museums Relevant to Women?” Nor does it try to overshadow the individual stories and perspectives of the artists it includes.

“One of the most important things that feminist art history has brought to the world is significant contributions to this idea of revisionism, of revising history, rewriting history, and writing people back into history,” says the exhibition’s co-curator Catherine Morris, senior curator of the Sackler Center for Feminist Art.

Including a show about black women within “A Year of Yes” emphasizes the dangers of a single narrative and the importance of engaging in more nuanced discussions about racial and gender inequality. “In order to effectively envision our future, we need to be able to talk honestly about our past,” Anne Pasternak, the museum’s first woman director, notes in the catalogue.

This transparent and self-critical approach shaped the way that the institution brought the exhibition together. A year and a half ago, in the early stages of its preparation, the museum invited a group of artists—who would eventually be featured in the show—to have a discussion with curators about the exhibition.

Jan van Raay, Faith Ringgold (right) and Michele Wallace (middle) at Art Workers Coalition Protest, Whitney Museum, 1971. Courtesy of Jan van Raay. © Jan van Raay.

Courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum.

“It became clear that these artists wanted to tell this story themselves,” says Morris, who curated the exhibition alongside Rujeko Hockley, now an assistant curator at the Whitney. The two “became concerned about not wanting [the exhibition] to be written like it was a history that [they] were discovering,” and so made it a priority to privilege the voices and opinions of the artists over their own.

It’s accompanied by a robust catalogue featuring a carefully curated selection of historical texts that provide an additional opportunity to engage with these women’s voices. Together, the exhibition and catalogue form a kind of pseudo-curriculum, a comprehensive (and long-overdue) excavation of these women’s histories over 20 years.

Indeed this show is a grand achievement for the artists, curators, and historians involved, and is a welcome resource for the many young women who have long been taught that feminist art, political art, and art in general didn’t include faces like theirs.

While the show raises timely questions about intersectional feminism, female representation, and gender inequalities—all urgent themes in Trump’s America—perhaps most pertinent is the show’s insistence on reminding us that black women have long faced the perils of a world in which their voices are silenced.

In this sense, “We Wanted A Revolution” is the realization of a dream—for us all to finally sit back and listen.

—Yelena Keller

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

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trilliamlou · 8 years ago

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Shouldn’t you be doing something?

You stumble home after a long day to a sprawling stranger stretching in your living room watching cartoons.

At first there is shock. You forgot you were entertaining guests, although the guest was already quite entertained without you. Nevertheless you’re struck with a pang of misplaced pride - you were a bad host that left out dirty dishes, the rug is dotted with cat fur and assorted food stuffs, and there’s always that lingering odor you become deaf to except for the very moment you step inside the house. The pungent aroma of home is one part cat urine, stale weed, a full garbage bag and on this occasion, a plume of sweaty stranger saying hello.

You fill your lungs with a deep whiff and spring from the door, through the gap, rushing past your yoga practitioner, into the endzone of the kitchen counter. Your muscles outmuscled your brain on that one. Stuck sticky without a shower following a half-hour of weights, coupled with a chatty couple who insisted on displacing your bag to sit only to drone endlessly about mundane weekend plans amid a jam-packed streetcar, after eight hours of an endlessly boring shift balancing ping pong and politics, having woke up too early to an alarm clock as the sun rose to a mason jar of cold coffee settled overnight into a partitioned black sludge, left your backpack of groceries too heavy to carry for even a second longer. Nothing else mattered in that moment other than a sweet relief of erasing the weight off your back. Deal with that first then deal with the consequences of stepping into your sudden trap.

Making small talk is always difficult, especially with a woman. You’re either completely inert or completely smitten. There isn’t a compromise to be struck where you’re comfortable with presenting yourself, coming as you were, this panting figure shouldering a Foodora bag to your own home, with a life wholly outside of the moment you were in. No, you morph into slick joker, something like a cheap McConaughey figure on SNL, a sloppy mix of societal conditioning oozing unbearably from your every unrinsed pore. As a stereotypical cis-gendered, heterosexual man (a manly man) you must exert your dominance over every situation - especially this one - especially since your unruly dominion was the stage to a stranger you must impress in order to be impressive. And so you open your mouth:

“I’m disappointed that you’re not shirtless.”

Pressure makes diamonds. Even as your physical form lunged involuntarily towards the counter, your powerhouse brain was equally desperate for a counter. How can I show off my wit, the supposed superiority you have at all times to justify an otherwise crummy existence. Where is this joke that trumps the scummy scent, that ignores my shabby shape, that puts you back on top?

All things considered this wasn’t so bad. Being crude was the Trojan Horse containing within the para-trooping force of flattery. Throw in a callback to this time last week before a discuss of the social civilities of overpriced fried chicken, and the only thing you needed was a moment of understanding. Your proffer didn’t need to be understood immediately, but so long as it could be explained within the context of the past, you were in the clear with this clever quip. There was your in.

It worked! Your guest unplugs from the screen before her and cracks a giggle. Then comes the unthinkable - she flirts back, as if you weren’t a non-entity imprisoning her to a dirty, cramped cell of limited space upon which she feign the ordinance of ordinary life. Perhaps it’s only a show of kindness, but it wasn’t the immediate rejection you deserved.

“To be honest, I considered it.”

The ball is back in your court. But instead of parrying you apologize, which is your default move to a fault. As you unload a strange haul of frozen fish, sweet crackers, soba noodles, seedless grapes and a cheap, half-eaten, over-greased bun that you needlessly paid in physical health rather than financial savings, you start to duck. Between the whirling dervish of stowing away dried pots, to wiping the counter, to sweeping away the loose food scraps littering the kitchen, you apologize for the cat-worn rug upon which she parked a plank.

“I don’t care. I just needed a space to workout because I couldn’t get to the gym,” she says as her gaze mercifully returns back to her monitor. Her figure was her alibi - she really didn’t mind her situation and she hardly even minded you.

Relieved that you were in the clear, you plotted your escape. You lunged over the unforeseen hurdle and now it’s back to your neat docket: more shit. A mindless exchange of small talk “what show is that? what is it about? cool!” gave you just enough time to whip together a cup of bai kai shui before you collected your bag and bid adieu for the moment down the corridor to your bedroom.

At last your journey is complete when your traveling pack is emptied. The spent gym clothes strewn into the foot of your room, your empty journal returned to its decorative spot on your desk, your keys and wallet back in its dock and after being apart for a dozen grueling hours, your body and your bed are reunited. The cold sheets covering your hard cot instantly relieves your aching back twisted from bad posture and the creeping vice grip of old age putting a pin to your youth. You let out a long exhale and your body stretches a hearty yawn. You shut your eyes from the world as another compression of cool air fills your lungs.

That split second seems to last an eternity because the world ceases to exist. Your joints aren’t wrenched by lactic acid and your haggled house isn’t being judged by an unfortunately top-covered stranger (she really is quite busty, to the point where curiosity outweighs perversion). That moment belongs to you without any pretext and you savor that feeling of control. It’s yours and you feel most alive sinking into that emptiness before the screaming alarm of responsibility yanks you from your fantasy.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

The answer always seems to be yes no matter how much you want it otherwise. Cue round two.

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