#Doctor hendrik

[muffy-official]

Woe, editing abominations be upon ye

And a veryyy belated easter thing I forgot about

You're welcome mwuah

[lesbicosmos]

jesper: you've got that face on again

wylan: what face?

jesper: the "he's hot when he's clever" face

wylan: this is my normal face

jesper: yes it is

wylan: oh shut up

jesper: not a chance

[sprnklersplashes]

step 1: come across audio of jack wolfe singing aftershocks in next to normal

step 1.5: froth at the mouth at the idea of never getting to see jack in n2n

step 2: get marya hendricks feelings

step 3: channel said feelings into fic

step 4: profit

[teamthunderdome]

TEAM THUNDERDOME.

TWO TEAMS ENTER. TUMBLR VOTES. ONE TEAM LEAVES. TRIAL BY COMBAT. TO THE DEATH. VICTORY OR SOVNGARDE.

The Rules:

Fights will occur over the course of ONE WEEK, quarter 1 begins JUNE 1ST, 2024 at 12:00 AM MIDNIGHT EDT (UTC-04:00).

Multiple fights happen across one week.

ONLY 3 to 4 team members per team. 2 is too few, 5 is almost cheating. If a team has more than 4 members, some will have to wait in the stands (looking at you, Scooby-Doo and Tally Hall).

Tumblr poll will determine the winner of an individual fight via emotional support and gracious cookie donations.

Majority Wins. Whether or not a team would canonically win or lose the fight does not matter, only the number of votes.

Single Elimination.

Outside of the rules listed above, anything goes. Reblog a fight to get your friends on your side.

Propaganda is fair game. If you know perhaps a little too much about one of the teams and want to explain why your team should win, please submit an in-depth propaganda post to the blog homepage.

Spread the word! Your favorite might win! (Or not! I just run this thing!)

Lasko Wind Machine

All 64 Teams Competing (In random order - will NOT reflect the final bracket):

Team WINCHESTER (Sam, Dean, Castiel, Crowley)

Team FORTRESS (Heavy, Medic, Engineer, Soldier)

Team AIONIOS (Noah, Lanz, Eunie, Riku)

Team GONDOR (Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf)

Team TWILIGHT (Jacob, Edward, Bella)

Team STAR WARS (Han, Luke, Leia, Chewbacca)

Team NARUTO (Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura)

Team SHREK (Shrek, Fiona, Donkey, Puss In Boots) (As portrayed at the end of Shrek 2)

Team OF LIGHT (Jonathan Harker, Jack Seward, Quincey Morris, Abraham Van Helsing)

Team PERSONA (Makoto Yuki, Kotone Shiomi, Yu Narukami, Ren Mamamiya)

Team HOMESTUCK (John, Jade, Rose, Dave)

Team MUSKETEERS (Athos, Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnan)

Team HERCULES (Hercules, Iolaus, Salmoneus, Autolycus) (The Legendary Journeys, Hercules as portrayed by Kevin Sorbo)

Team PUYO PUYO (Ringo, Arle, Amitie, Lemres)

Team BAKUGO (Bakugo, Mina, Denki, Eijirou)

Team WIGGLES (Jeff, Anthony, Murray, Greg) (as originally formed)

Team GRYFFINDOR (Harry, Ron, Hermione)

Team COOL RUNNINGS (Derice Bannock, Junior Bevil, Sanka Coffie, Yul Brenner)

Team AEGIS (Rex, Pyra, Mythra) (all other party members excluded due to Blades and their pesky "friendships" binding them to their users)

Team RHYTHM THIEF (Raphael, Fondue, Marie, Charlie) (what a cute doggy :3)

Team MYSTERY INC (Fred, Shaggy, Velma, Daphne) (sorry no pets allowed)

Team DEKU (Izuku, Tsuyu, Ochako, Shouto)

Team KRISPIES (Snap, Crackle, Pop)

Team ELITE BEAT (Agent Spin, Agent J, Agent Chieftain, Agent Starr)

Team JIGSAW (Kramer, Young, Hoffman, Gordon)

Team UMIZOOMI (Milli, Geo, Bot)

Team TRIFORCE (Link, Zelda, Groose) (Skyward Sword variants)

Team LAYTON (Layton, Luke, Emmy) (Pre-Azran Legacy)

Team SONIC (Sonic, Knuckles, Tails)

Team ASKR (Alfonse, Anna, Sharena)

Team TARDIS (The Doctor, Amy, Rory, River)

Team WOOHP (Sam, Alex, Clover)

Team KEYBLADE (Sora, Donald, Goofy)

Team 1908 THOMAS FLYER (Montague Roberts, George Schuster, Hans Hendrik Hansen, George MacAdam)

Team BIONIS (Shulk, Reyn, Dunban, Sharla)

Team DARK (Shadow, Rouge, Omega) (Ultimate Life Form status tenuous)

Team OOO (Finn, Jake, Princess Bubblegum, BMO)

Team TALLY HALL (Rob, Zubin, Andrew, Joe) (Ross excluded - he's just a drummer)

Team DOODLEBOPS (Deedee, Rooney, Moe)

Team SCIENCE (Gordon, Tommy, Bubby, Dr. Coomer)

Team POWERPUFF (Blossom, Buttercup, Bubbles)

Team INCONCEIVABLE (Inigo, Fezzik, Vizzini)

Team METROCITY (Megamind, Metro Man, Roxanne, Minion)

Team WONDER PETS (Linny, Tuck, Ming Ming)

Team REGULAR (Mordecai, Rigby, Muscle Man, Skips)

Team PILLAR MEN (Santana, Wham, ACDC, Kars) (Ultimate Life Form status tenuous)

Team BEATLES (John, Paul, George, Ringo)

Team SMILING FRIENDS (Pim, Charlie, Glep, Alan)

Team ROTTEN (Robbie, Tobby, Bobby, Flobby) (Ultimate Life Form status confirmed)

Team KRUSTY KRAB (SpongeBob, Patrick, Squidward, Mr. Krabs)

Team VOCALOID (Hatsune Miku, Kagamine Len, Kagamine Rin)

Team GARFIELD (Garfield, Jon, Odie, Liz)

Team POOH (Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore, Christopher Robin)

Team AVALANCHE (Cloud, Tifa, Aerith, Barret)

Team LOONEY (Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Michael Jordan)

Team GHOSTS (Blinky, Pinky, Inky, Clyde) (freshly dead)

Team ROCKMAN (Rock, Roll, Blues, Bass)

Team MARIO (Mario, Luigi, Wario, Waluigi)

Team WRIGHT (Phoenix, Apollo, Athena, Trucy) (as seen in Dual Destinies)

Team SHERLOCK (Sherlock, John, Mycroft) (Brigandorf Crimplesnart's depiction of Sherlock)

Team MASH (Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, BJ Hunnicutt, Charles Emerson Winchester III)

Team RWBY (Ruby, Weiss, Yang, Blake)

Team CHANNEL 5 (Ulala, Space Michael, Jaguar, Pudding)

Team FANBOY (Fanboy, Chum Chum, Kyle)

GOOD LUCK!!!

(you're gonna need it)

[onyondump]

Just a Touch : Too Fucking Close

Arthur x M!Reader/OC!Karsa Hendriks

CW : NSFW🚨 , Internalized Homophobia, Harsh Language, Violence (a bit) 

Synopsis : Trying to avoid his new closest friend, Arthur found himself even more closer to him tending to his bullet wounds from protecting him in a gang riot 

Note : Apologize in advance if this is insensitive or anything 🙏. I abandoned this one for a while cause I lost my brainrot for these babies but I found it after rolling in bed.

Masterlist | Moodboard | First | Second

GRAMMER NOT GOOD, PLEASE DON'T EAT ME

The smell of sanitized alcohol stings Arthur's nose. He's been sitting on a creaking chair for god knows how long with beaded sweat running down his forehead and back. 

Curse the wounded man in front of him, why does he have to be at his fucking club when a riot started? Why does he have to join the fight he wasn't even a part of? Why does he have to bother him all the time? Why did he have to be so...close?

The truth is Arthur has been avoiding Karsa for a couple of days now. He found himself a comfortable place in the man's company more than he ever felt then with his brothers after the war. He couldn’t help but think of him even when he went to work, finding himself smiling and longing for the moon to come faster so he could once again relax in the foggy jasmine room. 

However a great shame rise within him. A shame was instilled in him by his father when he showed him a drawing of the pretty horse running through the vast  field under the colorful rainbow. It made itself known in the knots in his stomach, the shivers down his back and the the loud vicious shouting in his head. It becomes unbearable to ignore the longer his mind spirals out of control with no one to comfort him except the glistening bottle of alcohol. 

Two days of silence was enough for Karsa to worry for him and seek him out to the place he worked, Eden's Club. Karsa have heard of the place, particularly from his coworkers and artist friends but the noise wasn't his cup of tea. As luck would have it the day he decided to visit was also the day a small rival gang decided to play big shot and ambush the club.

The small gang has no mercy, blinders and party goers alike were subject to the attack, Karsa was no exception. Thankfully Karsa was once a fighter and was able to take down some of them. As he was about to dispose of one of them his eyes caught the glint of a gun pointed at Arthur's back and like clockwork his body moved in between him and the death sentence.

It was only when the riot ended that Arthur realized Karsa's body was lying on the ground, he panicked, but he managed to transport him back to his apartment after a doctor confirmed his safety. He hasn't woken up though and the thought of Karsa dying seems more painful then what ever shame was piercing his chest before.

The rustle of the sheets pulls Arthur out of his daydream  greeted by a half seated Karsa looking worried at him.

"You look like shit! Are you alright?" his hand extend to Arthur whipping the bead of sweat falling from his creased forehead but instead perceiving it as a friendly gesture, Arthur's chest burned hotter then it should be

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!!!" his hoarse voice echoes in Karsa's small apartment. "YOU ALMOST GOT YOURSELF FUCKING KILLED!!! WHY WERE YOU AT MY CLUB??"

The booming shouts pierce to Karsa's head, "Ouch what the hell? Is that a way to speak to a waking patient?"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION!! What were you doing there? You got a date there huh?"

"What? No!! Lower your voice down the neighbors are going to kill me more then this bullet"

With a puff "Why were you at my club Karsa?"

"You were avoiding me, I just wanted to know if you're okay" Arthur’s eyes widens and avoids Karsa's as he feels the deep guilt suffocating him once again.

Silence fell upon them. Arthur’s head spinning trying to find a way to explain his feelings. Men don’t fucking talk about their feelings with one another except this man looking at him was one that heard almost all of his sensitive feelings.

"Did I do something?" Karsa tries to make contact with him again, trying to establish eye contact 

Arthur didn't need to say anything, it was clear to Karsa that the man in front of him was uncomfortable with the question. Interpreting it as hatred towards him. 

"I'm sorry I got too close last time, i just thought ..." Arthur snapped his head at him finally making eye contact but like a deer in headlights clearly still in thought 

Karsa  stands up as the blanket keeping his wound hidden slips away from his body exposing his bandaged torso. His figure towers over Arthur, "I understand Arthur, thank you for nursing me back to health, if there isn't anything else you need from me I think you should leave"

"What?" his face snapped once again, as he feel his lungs collapsing hearing those words

"You don't have to tend to me anymore, I can take care of myself" He tries to move to the night stand only for his scar to sting once more "ahh"

"What the bloody hell are you doing you shithead?" Arthur's cursing filled with nothing but worried and as he cradle the injured man, which the man slapped his hand in rejection 

"Why did you even save me, if you hate me Arthur?" Karsa cradled himself, not wanting to look at his savior

"Hate?? I don't hate you? "

"If you were mad at me for being too close you can tell me but you ignored me for more then two days? And it doesn't look like you were any busier than any couple of days, so why? I know you're avoiding me "

Rage starts to build inside him, all these emotions staking brick by brick inside him is starting to make him irritated, he would have already wreck the entire apartment. if not for his tired eyes and Karsa's limping body, reminding him of  he was always the one that needed his help.

Breathing in the comforting smell of an oil lamp, the stinging smell sanitizing alcohol and the familiar smell of tobacco and jasmine, it somehow cools his nerves. He stepped forward and carefully cradled the injured man from the back to lead him back to his bed, sitting him down from the edge.

Face to face but sight not met, they sit in silence for a while not wanting to face each other or escaping their own head.

"I’m ashamed" Arthur was the first to break the silence, with his hands clutching on itself for dear life into a fist

"Ashamed that I relied on you too much on the shit in my head. Me brother always told me to shut the door on it and here I am every other night telling you all my monsters"

Karsa's hands reach out to him, untangling his fingers and re-tangling them with his. His thumbs rubbed the burnt spot from the cigar a couple of days ago like it just burned today. His head moved forward meeting Arthur's forehead this time neither of them backed away as they matched their breathing with each other.

"sorry, but when you call your feelings monsters its kinda funny"

'oh fuck off" instead of blowing up like usual, Arthur sinks his forehead further leaning on to the man.

"Your tired more then usual.. the bar fight really wore you out?"

"You were too fucking close to dying" Arthur tightens his grip on Karsa's hands "It fucking scared me, if I slept even a second and woken up to you dead I don't think I can take it"

With a chuckle Karsa responded, "That's an intense feeling for a just a friend"

Arthur's body tensed, his grip further tightened. The feeling of suffocating comes back into his lungs. It's a feeling he's accustomed to in the battlefield but there is no war, only a man and somehow worse. On the other hand Karsa cursed himself for even mentioning it, always saying the wrong thing. 

"Arthur" Karsa paused, thinking if he could try again it might break the mended bonds but his desire is stronger than his sense. "Do you trust me?"

Arthur could only respond with a low hum, he trusts him.

Forehead slipping away from the other as Karsa’s thick lips pressed against Arthur’s cold cheek. It feels like walking in a tight rope pumped up by adrenaline but afraid of the fall. Karsa's movement was light and slow trying to balance with him. 

A jolt was the only reaction Arthur gave, he didn't move and Karsa took it as a sign to continue, kissing the tense man's ear lobes then further down to his sweet neck. Arthur  sighs, holding his voice fearing if he gave in to his touch he'd lose all sense of control but it felt too good to pull away.

His hands untangled from Arthur’s, cupping his cheeks, holding his head up gently, meeting his cool colored eyes with his own warm dark ones. Without a word they stay in the safety of  Karsa’s apartment with only the light from the oil lamp as lumination. Syncing their breathing,calming their nerves. Under Karsa’s touch he relaxed his tense shoulder, the need for the man’s comforting hums overtaking his shame like the tide finally receded and the knots in his stomach untangled.

Their noses touched, feeling the cool air and appreciating each other's features.  Arthur’s eyes soften something he takes as a chance to finally do what he’s been dreaming of doing from the very first time they met. As their lips met their heart stopped a beat, Arthur’s rough stubble graze Karsa’s clean shaven chin. Arthur’s chest burned with desire, wanting more to touch. His own hand slithers to Karsa’s injured  torso, rubbing it gently. He deepens the kiss making his mustache rubbed on the dark haired man's nose which he will soon find amusing.

“Achooo! Shit!” Karsa’s sneeze broke their kiss and started Arthur’s familiar booming laughter, much missed from the past two days he was gone “Do you even wash your own mustache?”

“How fookin dare you, I clean them everytime I take a shower. Your just got a sensitive nose” 

“Then I guess we should stop this huh?” in turn with the teasing, he stood up pretending to walk out before Arthur stood up facing him

“Maybe we should eh? You kiss like a virgin” 

His warm eyes stared at the man, “I am a virgin and I was the one who started the kissing thing since your too scared”. Karsa pushed Arthur to his back on the bed and proceed to climb on top of him continuing their kiss that had been rudely interrupted by his own nose.

All the nerves finally left them leaving them with complete and utter desire for each other. Appreciating every freckles, scars, bumps, skin, bones and flesh. Their hands roam each others bodies like a the coil of mating snake in the wild, untamed ; a hand on a chest, a hand on the hair, lips on neck, lips on lips, a knee on groin. 

Soon they starts to grind against each other clinging to any sort of friction to satisfy each other. Grunts and moans exchanged through sloppy kisses as their tongue dance with each other. Releasing themselves of their cloth prison they pump each other’s members with a need, with want. Up and down continuously warming each other to the brink until they release their lust as it stain the cotton duvet.

Heavy breathing echoes in the room with laughter and smiles. The scary waves and booming shouts are seas away from where they are now. Karsa envelopes his arms around Arthurs lanky figure giving security. Arthurs wasn’t used to be the one that’s close to the chest but he’s accepting anything Karsa has to offer. 

Peppers of kisses run through the freckled ones shoulders. “So how was that for  a virgin?” 

Arthur chuckled, “Not the best, i prefer to hire women down at bar for a better hand job” 

“Awh what the fook! I thought you liked me” a pout was felt on his neck

Arthur turns his head just a bit go give the younger man a kiss on the forehead. “I do, that's why I’m excusing your horrendous job” They laughed and try to one up each other till Arthur felt a warm sensation down his back. 

“Shit! I think I opened my wound Art” 

[nightmaretist]

PARTIES: Ingeborg and Sanne LOCATION: Ingeborg and Hendrik’s home. TIMING: 1979, approximately two weeks after unwell SUMMARY: Inge is hungry

She hadn't felt like this in years — starving. The last time she had really felt like she was hunkering for something was when she'd been carrying Vera and had scarfed down pickles and cheese like there was no tomorrow. But even that was incomparable to the thing she felt now, that ache in not just her stomach but her entire being. And it could not be satiated with any of the food in her kitchen, none of the meals she made or snacks she tried. 

Something had changed within her, since that one night where she'd become as stiff as a board and Hendrik was thought she'd died. Inge no longer slept, though this time the insomnia did not make her exhausted. It seemed she was simply above sleep now, which was both a comfort and a discomfort. Sleep had been such a plague over the past years and there was no need for it any more, and thus no more room for nightmares. The sleeplessness left a gap to be filled, though.

There was an explanation, but it was ludicrous. A woman had come to her house in the middle of the night, a week ago. It was like she knew Inge would be awake while her husband was not, like she knew that there was no need to turn on the lights. She had introduced herself as Sanne and spoken plainly and easily.

Inge had recognized her from her dreams. Sanne was the doctor in her nightmares, the firewoman who couldn't put out the housefire, the midwife, the murderer, the witness, the monster. Sanne was a woman, sitting in her living room and telling her this: “I know you. Your fears and wants. The things you hate, when you pretend not to. The things you crave above all else.”

And then she'd told her more. She'd told her something about walking nightmares, also known as merries in their native tongues. About how they were both creatures of the night now. About the way she had to sustain herself going forward, how human food would do little for her but it was dreams in stead that she had to feast on. She'd suggested they go out now, so she could show her all the things she'd given Inge. She disappeared and reappeared and promised to teach her about this, too.

Inge had called her a demon and asked her to leave, shaking like a leaf at the sight of this intruder and the nonsense she spat. What logic was there, in the notion that she was now a nightmare herself? Something else must have happened. Some strange disease must have taken hold of her. And Inge would have thought all of it were in her head if it wasn't for the way Hendrik looked at her now, still remembering her corpse in his bed.

Time had passed since the intruder had come into her home, and now Inge was aching. Normal food did not fill her, it was true. Her eyes glowed red in the dark. Her skin shone in the watery March sunlight in a way that seemed above natural. She had not slept in over a week, not even for a minute. She was cold to the touch but did not feel cold herself.

Sanne had left her phone number behind, that day. Inge picked up the phone at 2am and rang the number. 

After four rings: “Sanne speaking.”

“It's … me. Ingeborg.”

“Ah.” She wasn't sure if the other sounded triumphant or impatient with that singular ah. “I suppose … you figured it out, hm?”

“I don't know if I believe you. But ...” She pressed two fingers between her brows, pushing up. “I'm so hungry.” There were some strange sounds on the other side of the phone, like someone gathering some of their things. “Sanne?” More rummaging, and then a click and the dial tone.

Tears of frustration jumped into her eyes, the phone stuck in her hand and pressed against her face. She was about to gather the courage to redial the number when there was an apparition in the room, Sanne's equally red eyes staring her down. 

“Let's go out to eat, then.”

Inge remembered what she'd said, about knowing her. It was startling, to be told you were seen like that. And though the other could be bluffing, there was a chance she was not — and if this was really the woman who had been in all those dreams, all those years, perhaps she did know her. She wondered if she should resent the semi stranger in her living room, if she should smack that extended hand away and scream at her. Maybe she would have, had she not been so hungry. Had her child and husband not been in the house with her, asleep soundly. 

If it was true, what this woman said, that she really did know her and that she was a walking nightmare, that they were both dead and alive at the same time, then what choice did Inge have but to take her hand? She was starving. She needed to be fed. She took Sanne’s hand and let herself be guided towards fulfillment.

[its-all-ineffable]

This looks fun, here we go! Thanks for the tag @fandomsmeantheworldtome!

My top ten characters of 2023 (2023 Character Wrap)

Alex Claremont-Diaz, Red, White & Royal Blue: Listen, who couldn't love Alex? Both book and movie him are treasures but I'm mainly focusing on movie Alex. Like...who said he was allowed to be that pretty?! He's so aesthetically pleasing it's almost annoying. I love him very much.

Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor(Hanover-Stuart-Fox), Red, White & Royal Blue: You can't have one without the other! Henry is just so precious to me, book and movie Henry both. But movie Henry's pathetic wet cat energy has capitivated me. What can I say, I love big sad eyes. He's babygirl.

Nick Nelson, Heartstopper: Listen...listen. I love 'em all. I do! The main group of this show are all my children, and I adore them. Charlie and Tara a lil' bit more. But Nick has a special place in my heart that I can't explain. I love him so much.

Jesper Fahey, Shadow & Bone/Six of Crows: I only got into the show and books this year (yes I'm devastated it's gone), but they're both soooo good! And Jesper is just the best, like, he's so funny and complex and badass. I love him very much.

Wylan Hendriks, Shadow & Bone/Six of Crows: They're cutie pies, book and show Wylan. They're also dangerous badasses and sassy to boot. I love them both, but I fell in love with show Wylan first and honestly, I'll never look back. How can I.

15th Doctor, Doctor Who: So far we have had about 20 minutes of the 15th Doctor, and I am already in love with them. IN LOVE. I just...I am so ready for their series, and I can't WAIT for the Christmas special!

Muriel, Good Omens: How could anyone hate this bean?! Honestly a fantastic addition to the cast of characters in this show, and definitely a breakout star to me! I hope Muriel returns for season 3 because they truly were a delight, anytime they were on screen.

Jaskier, The Witcher: In it's last season (to me), The Witcher finally decided to give Jaskier the respect he deserves. As always, his songs were fantastic and his character being in it prompted me to watch spin-off Blood Origin (which I loved!). Jaskier has been my character since I began watching The Witcher, and he remains my character.

Eddie Kaspbrak, IT franchise: Fell deep back into my IT hyperfixation and actaully managed to write loads of my fix-it fic I started back in 2019. Both young Eddie from 2017 IT and adult Eddie from the 1990 movie are my babies, I adore them both. Eddie Kaspbrak is just such a fun and interesting character, especially to write!

Inej Ghafa, Shadow & Bone/Six of Crows: Yes I know, the 3rd character from this show/book series. But I can't help it, I only discovered it this year! Inej is a wonderfully complex, tragic yet strong character, and I wish the show had time to explore her and her story more. She's fabulous, and brought to life so wonderfully by Amita Suman.

Tagging (no pressure): @peacockfeatherbookmarks @mxliv-oftheendless @lunarmultishine @lonelygodsmuse @sunshinereddie @fanboy-sloth @sparklespirit @gobblegang @every-aj-needs-an-angel @hcarshipper @theredrenard @xstick-noodlesx @virginiaisforvampires @thefairylights and anyone else who wants too!

[cigarettesandcoffee1904]

Robert & Charlotte.

 

In 1922 a young German woman named Charlotte Riefenstahl started studying natural sciences and mathematics in Georg-August University of Göttingen after two years of teaching in a private school in Lauenförde, Charlotte was a bright young woman often referred to by her peers as the most attractive woman on campus. On the 20th of November 1927 at the age of 28, she obtained her PhD under Gustav Tammann Thesis about the rolling process and recrystallization of silver and gold. The change in electrical resistance in the self-hardening lead-mercury and lead-sodium alloys.

University of Göttingen.

That same year she met Robert, they had met on a student overnight trip to Hamburg standing at a train platform Charlotte noticed a unique beautiful suitcase made of pigskin not the usual cardboard cheap suitcases that you would normally come across, She pointed at the suitcase saying “What a beautiful thing, whose is it?” to which Professor Franck replied “Who else but Oppenheimer’s” he shrugged. Charlotte then got on the train back to Göttingen asking where this Oppenheimer was she then sat down beside him clearly interested to know more about the man with the beautiful suitcase, on the train Robert was sitting down reading a novel by the French author André Gide known for (the counterfeiters) Charlotte aware of the author began to speak to Robert about his work, Robert was impressed this woman knew about the work of André Gide he sat with her talking about the author throughout the train ride back to Göttingen, as they arrived to their destination Charlotte complimented his luggage and expressed how she admired how nice the bag was.

A pigskin suitcase from the 1920s similar to the description of Robert's.

Later, speaking to another student about her encounter with Robert, they predicted that Robert would try to give over this suitcase of his to her as Robert was known for giving away his possessions to anyone who admired them, Robert was very smitten with Riefenstahl he tried to court her the best he could but so did Friedrich Georg “fritz" Houtermans a Dutch-Austrian-German 24 year old, A fellow physics student who had already made a name for himself writing a paper on the energy production of stars, Houtermans was known for his quite self-assured attitude being the son of a Dutch banker and would make cocky comments like “When your ancestors were still living in trees, mine were already forging checks!” both Robert and Friedrich received their doctorates that year in 1927.

Friedrich Georg Houtermans 1927 at the University of Göttingen.

At the end of Robert’s year at Göttingen University Charlotte came to say her goodbyes at his leaving party,  Robert as the student that conversed with Charlotte earlier that year predicted made a point by giving her his pigskin bag which Riefenstahl kept for the next 3 decades calling it “the Oppenheimer”

Max Born (seated) at his home in Göttingen. Paul Dirac is in the front row, second from right. Yoshikatsu Sugiura is sitting to the right of Born on the ground. J. Robert Oppenheimer is third from left. 1927. (Image courtesy of Florida State University Library)

Later when Robert was back in the states he had word that miss Riefenstahl had accepted a teaching post at Vassar College, pleased in September he went to the dockside to meet her she was accompanied by fellow physicists Samuel Goudsmit and George Uhlenbeck and Uhlenbeck's new wife, Samuel recalled “We all got the real Oppenheimer treatment—but it was for Charlottes benefit really. He met us in this great chauffeur-driven limousine, and took us downtown to a hotel he had selected in Greenwich Village.”

George Uhlenbeck, Hendrik Kramers and Samuel Goudsmit. circa 1928 at the University of Michigan.

Robert was infatuated with Charlotte taking her around New York and all different places he had been such as art galleries to taking her on dates to the most expensive restaurants, he even went to the extent of introducing her to his parents showing how committed he was to her however although Charlotte admired his attention and care he gave to her she also felt that Robert was emotionally unavailable, When she asked about his past he would often dismiss any attempts to talk about it, She also felt that the Oppenheimer household was too “overprotective” unfortunately their love affair didn’t last and they drifted apart, Later Charlotte would leave her job at Vassar returning home to Göttingen in 1930 and she would marry Roberts former classmate Friedrich Georg Houtermans in August of 1931 with Wolfgang Pauli a Austrian-born Theoretical physicist and Rudolf Peierls a German-born physicist (A future key player in Tube alloys as well as the Manhattan Project) being witnesses to the ceremony, they later went on to have two children Giovanna and Jan.

 Friedrich, Charlotte and Giovanna in Berlin, 1932.

[mybeingthere]

Hendrik Werkman (Netherlands ,1882-1945),  The Doctor’s Visit (Kafka’s House),  1938.

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Ingeborg Endeman Species: Mare Occupation: Fine Arts Professor / Sculptor Age: 77 Years Old (Looks about 33) Played By: Marin Face Claim: Olivia Cooke

"No live organism can continue to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream."

TW: Domestic abuse (implied), terminal illness

Life for Ingeborg started in a small town in the north of the Netherlands, where she was born third of five. Inge brought a loudness to a house so very quiet. Above the fireplace were pictures of a sister who hadn’t made it through the months of famine that had happened prior to her birth, at the dinner table sat a mother with wringing hands and next, in the shed a father who didn’t talk. Growing up was not much to boast about. It was dull, a sober protestant existence in a town where everyone was always looking in but never really bothering to look further. And yet Inge fit in the mold made for her. Life followed the trajectory laid out by the church and her parents, marrying a boy with a sweet smile at twenty three and giving him a babe less than two years later. Vera was a screeching child, a daughter that roared with laughter and weeping and Ingeborg loved her completely. Hendrik less so, as he was a man of little passion and even shorter temper, with stark and traditional opinion of where a woman belonged. He was a right fit, on paper, but that was where it ended.

The nightmares started not soon after Vera’s birth. Dark circles started deepening around Ingeborg’s eyes as the nights were full of terror, harrowing scenes of furious husbands and housefires where nothing could be saved. The nightmares came and went but always came again, like furious waves polluting her mind. A doctor asked her if, perhaps, she did not love her child enough — that they saw this often, with new mothers: a depressive attitude, a struggle with motherhood, the longing for pregnancy once more. These were years of paranoia and fear, of a wedge growing between herself and Hendrik, of asking her pastor if perhaps God was punishing her. It was seven years of cycling through periods of heavy fatigue and dreamless sleep and periods of nightmares and insomnia. For a period, she spent her days and nights in an institution where her nightmares ceased, only to continue when home. The only solution would come in the form of death, when the mare who had been feeding off her finally went too far. 

Sanne, she was called, the mare who’d crept into her mind seven years ago and had taken until there was nothing left to take. Ingeborg was pulled in by apology, by her promises of what the future could hold and how she seemed to know her. The first nightmares she gave others were repetitive. Ingeborg replayed the horrors from her own dreams and handed them to others while feeding. It was a way to cope, albeit a twisted one — but she was just glad to be rid of them, to have the tables turned. She remained in Wanneperveen for a few more years, filling the minds of familiar people with nightmares until she turned her back. The divorce was a scandal, but it mattered not: life was to be larger than whatever the town had to offer. 

With Sanne and her daughter, she moved to the big city. No more smell of manure. Art, culture, a better school for her daughter. A nightlife that allowed her to roam endlessly, that filled her life with interesting people but brought plenty to feed on. The shock of her nature had, by then, worn off, and instead Ingeborg found herself hooked on the rush of delivering nightmares, of growing innovative with it. Motherly duties stood on a backburner and her relationship with Vera withered. She moved out the second she turned eighteen and Ingeborg admittedly felt freed of motherly shackles, though it wasn’t something she easily admitted. 

Sanne she loved, in her own way. Sanne had shown her, had transformed her, had made her. The years are a whirlwind, the only constant red thread Inge’s enrolment in art school and her getting the education she was robbed of in her former life. Maybe they were pushing it though, the pair of them, and soon enough there were hunters on their heels. Sanne screamed for her help and Ingeborg ran, taking the opportunity the other’s murder offered to get out. The image of her friend beheaded would repeat in other forms in the dreams of future victims.

She was alone, for the first time in her life. Mid-nineties and Ingeborg was running, crossing a pond and then plenty of rivers, delving into another city, and then another, another, another — she filled her portfolio with sketches and paintings of nightmarish things, of her daughter as an angry teen, of Sanne’s death, of the world at its end and springflowers blooming violently. The 00s marked a period of sculptures, that were shown under a pseudonym at the Biennale, Ingeborg representing a country that was not her own. The Netherlands was too small, the way her town had once been.

But one call would bring her back, and it was Hendrik’s canny voice. Vera was dying before she could even turn forty. Inge returned, looking younger than her decaying daughter, all skin and bones under her hospital gown. Human illness, something she considered boring nightmare material, turned out to be terrifying after all. While Ingeborg had reveled in her state of immortal stasis, her daughter had been consumed by an illness and grown physically older than her. 

The years after these were ones of indulgence and denial. Inge’s ventures into other’s dreams became more plentiful, more creative and uglier. The horrors she created were distractions, made to divert her thoughts from grief and loneliness — but she grew sloppy. Hunters, once more, ended on her trail and she made it out of every corner she was backed in, though never with inspiration for future nightmares. The details of being hunted were offered to her victims and poured into her art, a cycle kickstarting that she had no intention of ending.

About one and a half year ago, Ingeborg settled in Wicked’s Rest. Scoring a job as a fine arts professor at the local university (her surname brand-spanking new and only the dates on her CV a lie), she found a kind of routine in the odd town that felt pleasurable enough. Her cycle continued, with new challenges and new inspirations.

Character Facts:

Personality: Creative, outgoing, warm, direct, knowledgeable, delusional, aimless, selfish, callous, extravagant

Inge teaches fine arts at UMWR and prefers to work with sculptures herself. While she enjoys painting and photography, it’s with three dimensional installments that she has the most fun. She’s especially fond of very large pieces of art that can be touched, walked on or interacted with. Her more private way of creating art is something she only does with her victims, by giving them nightmares beyond their imaginations. She considers it something of a gift. 

Though indulgent in plenty of ways, Inge tends to be somewhat stingy and is very good at saving money. Generally speaking, she is very good at taking good care of her possessions — some of her clothes are decades old and still in good condition. The thing she mostly splurges on is rent: Inge always wants to live in a place that is aesthetically pleasing and offers her plenty of room. She rents a lofty apartment in Deersprings.

Her birth name is Ingeborg, though her original maiden and married name are different. She chose Endeman for its dutchness and because it has a little edge, she thinks. She has gone by a multitude of names over the decades, though.

Has little qualms about giving people nightmares and has a few delusions about the function of fear in the first place. At the end of the day, though, Inge has little regard when it comes to mortals and sometimes thinks all she does is give them something. Fear is a form of hurt and through hurt art is made, after all. 

Wicked’s Rest is a fun place to live in, Inge thinks: the hunters bring a challenge, but there are also so many meals around. The people here often have plenty of scary memories to build on. She treats living here as being an artist-in-residence, a place to give her inspiration and to keep her fed while her art takes a new and exciting direction.

[frostandflamesfanfic]

FRIEND! I come with some asks just for you 💕

Movie of the year?

Album of the year?

Favorite book you read this year?

Talk about a new friend you made this year

FRIENDDDD! Thank you for the askssss (even those these are super hard 😂)

Movie of the Year: (New) Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness; (Old) The Prestige

Album of the Year: Oh that is a tough one. I’ve found myself going back and listening to Uncommentary by Alec Benjamin a lot more now. Butttttt, I really want to promote The Mad Ones album by Lowdermilk, I think? I got addicted to that album thanks to a friend of mine.

Favorite Book: SIX. OF. CROWS. by Leigh Bardugo. Yes, I binged the first five Grishaverse books this year. SOC duology was my favorite hands down. Love love LOVE it.

New real friend?? It’s gotta be everyone here on Tumblr. Although you, my dear, have been the first person I’ve talked to consistently. It’s honestly amazing to me that I have the chance to meet some amazing writers and content creators online who share a lot of my interests and hobbies. I wish everyone was closer so you could get a nice hug because you deserve it for being so wonderful 💙

Fictional friends……we have a list. Robin Buckley, Nina Zenik, Wylan Hendriks/Van Eck, Rafal and Rhian Mistral, Steve Harrington, Jesper Fahey…I’m going to shut up now. You get the point 😅

[lesbicosmos]

Kaz: That's why we needed to get an expert

Wylan: Oh really? Who did you get?

Kaz: ...

Wylan: Oh! Right, that’s me... Yes.

[jobtendr]

Fully funded PhD in Plant Biophysics and Biochemistry at the Biology Centre of the Academy of Science in Czech Republic

Fully funded PhD in Plant Biophysics and Biochemistry at the Biology Centre of the Academy of Science in Czech Republic PhD Funded Position in Plant Biophysics and Biochemistry at the Biology Centre of the Academy of Science in Czech Republic The Laboratory of Plant Biophysics and Biochemistry in the Biology Centre of the Academy of Science (BC CAS), České Budějovice, Czech Republic, is looking for excellent, innovative & highly motivated candidates for the position of 1 doctoral (PhD) student. Research project: The project is titled ‘Mechanisms of beneficial and sublethally toxic effects of chromium and nickel in plants’ and the work will be done under supervision of Prof. Dr. Hendrik Küpper and Dr. Filis Morina. Trace elements are essential for plant growth Read the full article

[finlands-beret]

Erik: An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Eleven, Serena, Sylv, Rab and Hendrik: ...

[akaewriter]

To Those We Lost (Hollandse Circus 3/4)

One late summer night in 1860, there was a mysterious fire on the grounds of De Fantastische Meester Mankarij's Hollandse Circus. The circus tent burnt to the ground, and so did several caravans, but most of the performers came out of it with minor injuries at worst.

There was one performer who was not accounted for, however, and that was the scarred young boy who had become the circus’ main moneymaker.

The funny part was, Messenblok’s great escape plan had really been quite easy. 

Every now and then, very rarely, he was let out of his cage in order to stretch his legs. It was one of these nights when suddenly, he just happened to knock a torch over as he was walking by. It had not been an accident, but he had definitely made it look that way. He’d cried out “fire, fire,” and then ran for the circus tent, as if he meant to hide from the fire in there, but at the very last minute, he’d turned for the stables, grabbed the reins of one of the horses, and ridden for the docks.

And so, Siebren Csokas was free.

He got on the first boat bound for England. There - he ended up in a lousy little place with a name that ended with Thorpe - he hung around in the markets and listened to conversations between the merchants, listening for any word of anyone bound for further away, away from the coast. After a lifetime in Haag, Siebren was sick of coasts.

He hid in an Irish merchant’s cargo wagon, and after a few weeks of bumpy riding, he ended up in Birmingham.

An ugly place indeed, but heaven on earth for a hard bastard of a boy, like Siebren had become. And from there on, all the only remaining Csokas brother had to do, was find someplace to live, get a job, and work his way upward.

He’d wander the streets during the daytime, entering anything that looked like a business and asking - in fairly broken English - if there was any work for him. And again and again and again, he was turned away.

After a whole month of disappointment, scouring the streets for buildings he had yet to have entered, he was just about to give up. But then, he spotted a sign he did not think he had seen before, a sign that read “DR. CONSTANTINESCU’S PSYCHIATRIC CLINIC.”

And so, with nothing to lose, he entered, and that night, Siebren won bigger than he’d ever won before. 

It turned out that Dr. Constantinescu actually needed an assistant to help him keep order in his patient files. 

Csokas was a Romanian surname, which was something Dr. Constantinescu pointed out. Siebren explained the situation, omitting as many details as possible; he was abandoned as a little child along with his late brother Hendrik, and all he knew about his mother, was that she was from the city of Gheorgheni, Romania. He took care to greatly express his distress over not having been able to reconnect with his Romanian roots. Dr. Constantinescu, born and raised in Gheorgheni, Romania himself, was won over immediately.

Siebren had started the day homeless, jobless, broke and freezing, and ended it with a job, a bed to sleep in - an old guest bed in the doctor’s apartment on the floor above his clinic - and some hope that his life might finally become something good.

Dr. Constantinescu was an old widower with no children save for a daughter he regretted having lost touch with, which meant his life, now, was devoted to no more than two things: his work, and teaching his apprentice well, perhaps even well enough to inherit the little clinic someday. 

He reminded Siebren of Douwe Dijkgraaf, and there was something lovely and safe about that. 

The doctor taught his young apprentice everything he could teach about the science of psychology, he taught him to speak both English and Romanian like a native. But most importantly, he taught him to adjust and become an almost normal teenage boy in the Birmingham society, without asking questions about Siebren’s past. The young boy who was once a freak, though he might never stop feeling as if he was morbidly out of place, was turned into a sophisticated gentleman, well versed in the workings of a society he had never before been a part of.

Dr. Constantinescu’s teachings kindled a fascination in Siebren, a fascination with the inner workings of the human mind. He would “borrow” patient files from the cabinets to read at night, guess at a prognosis and possible details that might arise in later sessions, and then check back later to see whether or not he was right. And most of the time, he was.

He would dissect the way people looked and acted and spoke on the street; their body languages, the tones of their voices, the looks in their eyes, their choices of words. The boy learned to pick people apart. Not because his calling was to help them. Just because he wanted to understand them, because he felt he might never be quite like them.

When Siebren eventually decided he wanted to pursue the study of psychology at Birmingham University, Dr. Constantinescu made sure his young apprentice would ace the entrance exam like no other student.

Thanks to the fact Siebren had, in the doctor’s fond Romanian words, “a shining and brilliant mind,” and probably also as a result of the doctor’s good help, he passed with flying colors.

After his studies were finished and Siebren Csokas received a doctorate in psychology, he and Dr. Constantinescu ran the clinic together for a good few years, until the old man passed away, peacefully, in his sleep.

That could have broken Siebren’s spirit. He’d grown very close to this old man, he’d even thought of him as some kind of father, - it was strange, the old doctor always said Siebren was the spitting image of him in his younger days, - and to have him gone like that, for Siebren to be alone once again, it felt unbearably heavy.

But he reminded himself that now, he had another person dear to him, a new someone to make proud. He had not come this far for nothing. Now that he had inherited an entire clinic, a roof under his head, a business to keep in check, and a job that meant he could do some semblance of good. And now that he had something handfast right in front of him, it was easier for him than ever to make all of them proud; Hendrik, his mother, Douwe Dijkgraaf, Dr. Constantinescu… He’d pull through for them, and whatever he’d done until then to earn himself a doctorate, he’d keep doing it even better.

Though Siebren Csokas wasn’t bright-spirited in any way as a person, he was adored as a psychologist. Sometimes it was good for broken people to be faced with someone who could bring the truth down upon them, even if it was not a truth they liked, and Siebren, cynical as he was, was excellent at that. 

On a good day, he had eight hour-long sessions back to back, and a good week consisted of six good days and Sunday to rest. The past few months had been nothing but good weeks, and by the looks of it, the following months were going to be just the same.

One day, as Siebren was dusting off the front in his waiting room, arranging the files behind it, he heard the shopkeeper’s bell ring, and then he heard the door close.

“Tijd niet gezien, Messenblok,” said an all too familiar voice.

Siebren felt something drain from him as he turned around, but it was not courage. No, he felt calm and still and ready, for whatever was about to happen.

“Good evening, van Manker,” he said politely, smiling as his visitor took off his hat, and Siebren registered immediately that van Manker’s manner was far from aloof; on the contrary, he seemed almost relaxed and friendly. This was a man visiting an old friend, it seemed. It was obvious that he was under the impression there was no bad blood at all between them, and that Siebren had no reason at all to want to see van Manker’s brains splattered across the floor.

“I saw the sign, kid, and I recognized your name,” said van Manker, grinning as he looked around. “I figured it was too good to be true, but by my beard, it’s you!” 

He laughed, spinning his hat around in his hands, and Siebren smiled with him.

“Indeed it is me,” said the younger man. “I bet you thought you’d never see me again, huh? I certainly thought I’d seen the last of you,” he added, and there was nothing friendly in his voice, but van Manker did not seem at all fazed.

“Some place you’ve got yourself here, isn’t it?” van Manker said, and if Siebren was any self control poorer, he would have decked the man on the spot. But Siebren was smart, far smarter than he’d been when he was little Messenblok, and far, far smarter than van Manker.

“Want to see where the magic happens?” Siebren asked, smiling crookedly as if he was offering a treat to a dumb dog. “As a special treat for an old friend.”

“Boy, do I!” van Manker laughed heartily, and at Siebren’s gesture, he followed the younger man into the main office.

The main office would have been a cozy little room, but the large reclined hardwood chair in the middle sort of ruined the atmosphere. It was a prototype that an old friend of Dr. Constantinescu had developed; a nice and comfortable chair, with wrist and ankle shackles that could be activated at the press of a pedal, in order for the doctor to be able to restrain a possible violent patient.

It wasn’t a contraption he’d ever used before, mostly because he didn’t believe violence or physical restraint had anything to do within a psychologist’s office.

Today, the chair was not a trap to be used against an innocent, troubled person. Today, it was an excellent, symbolic opportunity to bring vengeance down upon the man that broke him all those years ago, using the second chance he’d been granted through the kindness of a complete stranger.

“You can sit down in the chair if you want,” Siebren said, feigning sheepishness, as if he was a shy newlywed young woman showing off her grand new home to all of her friends. And van Manker, ever the idiot, took the bait.

Siebren pressed the pedal down immediately, and so, van Manker was locked in place. The younger man smiled at his old ringmaster, and then he stepped away to lock the door.

“Kiddo,” van Manker laughed quietly, all humor gone from his voice now, “what are you doing?”

Siebren didn’t see fit to answer that question.

“Do you ever think about vengeance, van Manker?” he asked, calmly, watching the ringmaster as he crossed the room to open a drawer. “What a pretty thing it is,” he hummed as he pulled a knife out of the mess of tools in there. Van Manker seized up immediately, his face going white.

“Messenblok, you don’t have to-”

“That’s not my name,” Siebren said, eyes wide and patient as he walked back to the reclining chair, holding the knife in his steady, scarred hand. “Go on, mister ringmaster. You know what my name is.”

“Siebren,” van Manker gasped. “Siebren Csokas. You don’t have to do this, you- I did you a favor, you know. I didn’t want you leaving us, you know that,” he said, rambling panickedly as if he knew exactly what the star of his freakshow was going to do to him.

“Oh, van Manker,” Siebren chuckled, placing the knife down in the ringmaster’s lap, well aware he would not be able to reach it. He had to manually fasten the belt around van Manker’s skull, to keep his head dead still, but that allowed him a little demonstration of strength as he held the ringmaster’s head in place, as if to say, careful, you old fucker, I could break your neck if I wanted to. Siebren took the knife again. “Look at me, why don’t you?” he said patiently, stepping back. “I mean, really look at me. Look what you did to me, look what you turned me into. Does it not haunt you? It doesn’t haunt me, not in the way you think. I think it suits me, you see. But oh, if you only knew, the nights I’ve lain awake, thinking of all the things I’m going to do to get back at you for it.” He laughed, and when he really listened to himself, he sounded just a little insane. Even if that were the case, it was well justified.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, kiddo,” van Manker tried, edging away from the knife, even though it was far, far from his face. “You can- you can be nice about this. See it from the good side. Yeah?”

Siebren smiled again, taking a step closer, resting the cold blade on van Manker’s cheekbone. “You know, I’m not really surprised that you’re making it sound like this here, what I’m doing now, is me choosing bad when I could’ve chosen good,” he hummed, voice calm, almost sweet. “No, no, it’s not that simple. You see, this was me, all those years ago, choosing to survive when you fucked up my face and locked me in a steel cage. Because a soft child wouldn’t have lived through that, would he, Martin?”

Van Manker swallowed, sweat forming in beads at his temples. “No.”

“No, that’s right. I had to become the hard, terrible bastard I am today in order to make it through that shit in one piece. This is him, the bastard, repaying your oh-so-kind favor,” Siebren grinned, dragging the knife across van Manker’s cheek.

The ringmaster said nothing. A good choice.

“Do you still think I am being cruel? Fine. I don’t care. I will not pretend to be a saint, van Manker,” he said, and his voice turned steelier and steelier, and it was freezing cold when he hissed, “I have done my share of performing for you.”

Van Manker croaked out a “please.” Siebren did not know, nor did he care, what he was asking for, and so he ignored it.

“You took everything from me,” Siebren said, raising his eyebrows. “Hendrik is dead because of you. Dijkgraaf is dead because of you. If I am a monster, then it is because you created me that way.” He was almost out of breath, lightheaded, his hands shaking as adrenaline washed over him in bursts. This was what he’d been waiting for. “Look at me. Is it the scars, Martin? Is it the deep rifts in my poor, poor face that blinds you from seeing the earthly good in me? Am I condemned to be seen as a demon for the rest of my life, because of what you did to me in order to earn your precious coin?” he asked, tilting his head, the knife shaking. “Do you really not see, ringmaster, what an angel I am compared to you? Because I could have sunk to your level, but I did not?”

“If you kill me now,” van Manker panted, because somehow, he must have known, “you will have sunk to my level. Beneath it, in fact.”

“No,” Siebren said, and it sounded as if he was at the gates of peace. “If I kill you know, I will simply break even.”

He waited for the ringmaster to interject, and when he did not, Siebren kept talking. “I will have avenged my brother and Dijkgraaf, and that has been my life’s mission since I burnt your tent down in ‘59. I will have repaid my debts. My wretched soul will at last be redeemed.” 

The light behind van Manker’s eyes was draining, even before Siebren had lifted the knife, and when he angled the tip in right under the ringmaster’s chin and jabbed it upward into the man’s brain, it gave off an odd sensation, like an empty bottle, sinking and hitting the ocean floor.

“I’ll mention your name in my nightly prayers, van Manker.” Siebren hissed, hair disordered and sweaty and falling into his wild eyes as he watched the ringmaster die. “Come any gods, I hope they rip you apart. I hope they make you ugly.”