#Robert Browning and I have beef

[obaewankenope]

The thing I learned when analysing poetry in high school English Literature class was that it depended entirely on your own experiences and perspective. Of course there was the Syllabus Approved Answers to things but, largely, if you can look at the material and use it to justify or support your perspective, you're gonna get a good mark on your exam. At least, that's what I got and I largely didn't bother with the "conventional" arguments and explanations.

When reading poetry, it's important to recall that you may not be the audience that poem is meant for but you're still an audience. That means that your interpretation is still valid and if you can look at that poem and go "okay that third line in the second stanza makes me think of this thing (x) and not that thing (y) my teacher says it should, how can I argue my perspective instead?" and usually, the answer is simple:

Metaphor.

Symbolism.

Personal. Feelings.

Literature analysis is subjective and dependent on what you have been through, read, experienced, and how you think. There can be a "right" analysis that comes from the author themselves, and every other analysis is simply "different" or "an alternative perspective/analysis".

For example, The Last Duchess by Robert Browning is a poem that forever sticks in my brain from high school. By and large, it's basically just a poem about a noble going on about his late wife who he felt was just too... Unsuited to being a good representative of his family and his status (as a Duke). There's implications that she was easily impressed, unreliable, possibly unfaithful, and that the Duke was/is a possessive, jealous, objectifying individual.

A feminist reading of the poem would centre on how the poem is an example of how women were perceived at the time the poem was based. Late 1700s if my memory serves (it may not). With how a woman is meant to act as an accessory to her husband, especially with nobility. There is a crassness to the poem when the Duke talks about his late wife and her "flighty" nature:

She had

A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one!

It sounds flowery and like nice prose but a feminist reading can easily go "he thought she was sleeping around/unfaithful and thus this is a shameful thing that he brings up with a stranger who saw the painting (after the Duke purposefully points it out) and shows the Duke has no respect or regard for his late wife or women in general for how casually he remarks on something that, in terms of polite society, would be impolite and even crude to discuss with a stranger".

That reading, btw, is one I generally agree with.

A more neutral reading of the same lines could argue that the Duke saw his late wife as vapid, or easily impressed by compliments but that she lacked any suitable political skills or sense for the position of Duchess. Again, the exact same lines could suggest this, especially: "Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er / She looked on, and her looks went everywhere." Essentially, this differing reading could argue that the Duke cared for how inept his late wife appeared to others, how easily led she was, and the negative impact that had on him and his position. Again, it relates back to his worth and his value, and using the Duchess as a tool to measure the Duke's worth and status.

And for both of these readings of the poem, the following lines can be used as supporting evidence:

She thanked men—good! but thanked

Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift.

Reading #1: suggests she "thanked" men in particular by having extra marital affairs and considered these more important than the status and prestige an inherited, landed name affords her husband (but not necessarily herself, as, like the name, the Duchess only has value to the men in her life, especially her husband who benefits from both his landed title, name, and having her as his 'arm candy' to show off).

Reading #2: the Duchess was free with her kindness and friendliness, even to those below her "station" and the Duke thought this insulting to his family name and his position as a Duke. This pulls in classicism and traditionalist ideology of the belief that the common people were unworthy of respect or value unless they attained wealth, education, and better breeding which the nobility and upperclasses valued.

Both readings are valid and both readings would get you good points in an exam. I can't quite recall which reading I did but I'm pretty sure I spent most of my exam time ripping into the Duke and chatting shit about historical classicism and the societal devaluing of women as possessing their own agency and value.

Either way, I got high marks because my reading differed from what my teacher had been angling my class towards and I used the poem and additional knowledge to back up my perspective.

So yeah.

Any analysis of a poem, a piece of literature, any sort of media that is consumed or created, can be argued for if you're able to use the material and additional knowledge to back it up.

Hello, sir! I'm annotating and interpreting one of your poems, "Conjunctions", for an assignment. Do you have any advice on how to go about dissecting this work, or poems in general? Thanks much. :)

Read it silently to yourself. What's it about?

Then read it aloud. What do the sounds do? What kind of verse is it? Are there things the words do when spoken aloud that you weren't expecting?

What's the overall effect of the poem? How do the things in the poem add up to create that effect? Where were you at the start of the poem? Where did it leave you?

What do you think it was about?

[cloudyfacewithjam]

Downton Abbey (2019)

[chussyracing]

What is happening in the world of motorsports?

Ducati won MotoGP constructors after Bagnaia won in Thailand

Williams added yellow color to their livery for Mercado Libre sponsorship

Marko has been yapping that Mark Webber has been in contact with Red Bull for potential seat for Oscar

But also Zak Brown and Helmut Marko had like. A lil beef over media about Lando and his mental health (tbh I didn’t read further into it I just hope they all disappear)

Oh and Marko also said that Red Bull will choose Max’s teammate for 2025 at the end of this season

Speaking of Oscar, he appeared in Australian Forbes in category 30 under 30

And Franco was on the cover of Forbes Argentina!!

Also McLaren lodged a right to review for the penalty Lando got in COTA, the penalty got rejected like everyone expected, because they didn’t bring any new or substantial facts for the decision making

On the other hand there are reports from Craigh Slater (I probably butchered the name I am sorry) that the drivers meeting sparked a fire debate about overtaking rules, track limits and having a nose first in the apex, so FIA basically admitted there is a gap in the regulations that Max is using to his favour and they will close it up, so the overtaking rules will change from Qatar onwards

Franco mentioned he probably won’t have an F1 seat until at least 2026 despite rumours that Red Bull and Sauber both were looking into his contract options (probably for VCARB in Red Bull’s case)

Jock Clear reported that Ferrari didn’t change the flexibility of their front wing to resemble those of MCL and Merc (I am not convinced but ok)

Alonso officially gets his 400th start in F1 today (he also missed out on Thursday aka media day because he is sick)

George had to get checked in medical center after his FP2 crash which was worth about 30G

After COTA promoters got fined for track invasion, they are now looking to fix another thing – track limits (there is a word about installing gravel traps like they did at Red Bull Ring)

Fun fact from the FP1 session featuring all the rookies: Robert Shwartzman got a 5 places grid drop penalty for the next race he enters (if ever) for overtaking under double yellow flags

Horner said that Yuki will be testing RB20 at the end of the season in Abu Dhabi (but who knows)

McLaren brought major floor upgrade to Mexico but only for Lando so far

Alan Walker apparently published his Charles Leclerc remix in a new EP Neon Nights (I am not even kidding)

George’s upgraded floor (the one he broke in COTA) won’t be available until Brazil at least

There is a rumour Valtteri is in talks to become Mercedes’ reserve driver (he will be put on the shelf next to Mick help)

Bruno del Pino joined MP Motorsport in F3, while Matias Zagazeta will join DAMS in F3

Lia Block is racing in F4 for ART in Monza this weekend

American Express is now F1’s official partner, so it will appear at GPs next year

Jaguar and Nissan both breached the cost cap in FE (they will miss the first half day of testing and received a financial fine)

Nikolas Tombazis confirmed it wasn’t just McLaren (who admitted they did further changes to their rear wing) that was hit with clarifications and had to change up their design a bit

Max and Checo got a… couple of the year award?? Um?

Charles became a jet fighter pilot, the footage will come out on 3rd November on canal plus

Last but not least, happy belated birthday Roscoe Hamilton!!

[writingkitten]

Re: silly asks . . . do you have any HCs for the boys re: their coffee orders, favorite meals, and/or alcohols of choice (if they imbibe)? I suppose I think about these sorts of things because feeding people is one of my love languages. (No pressure to answer if it isn't your jam!)

ALL THREE

Ricky: black coffee with cream; his mom’s enchiladas or my steak and potatoes; extra añejo tequila, neat

Robert: light roast with cream and brown sugar; pot roast; vodka (I think that’s canon too)

Harold: black with cream; beef wellington; Malbec

Otto: light roast with a hint of cream and sugar; salmon and asparagus; Moscato

Doc Ock: stale black coffee, probably cold; probably still salmon and asparagus; gin

Harding: light roast with a bit of cream; a nice roast; probably also gin tbh

Edelweiss: 10% coffee, 45% sugar, 45% cream; dinosaur nuggets; cotton candy flavored vodka

Chandler: dark roast with whole milk; really really rare steak, like bloody rare; bourbon

Big Boss: black coffee with whiskey; pork chops and au gratin potatoes; whiskey

Andres: dark roast with a hint of cayenne pepper (yes he likes spicy coffee); chilaquiles; reposado tequila

Boris: black coffee but with sweet cream and sugar; crumpets; Chardonnay

Dunlop: mocha; bangers and mash; champagne

Arden: hazelnut brew with soy milk; fish and chips; beer

Jim: black coffee; chicken pot pie; whiskey

Jimmy: black coffee with cream and sugar; a nice juicy hamburger; beer

Armand: dark roast with sweet cream; spaghetti bolognese; Merlot

Manuel: a rich dark roast with fresh cream; spaghetti with a creamy red sauce; red wine, probably Merlot

Maxim: dark roast plain; Yorkshire pudding; Cabernet

Hank: black coffee with sugar; either steak or a really thick, juicy hamburger; gin and tonic

Frank: dark roast plain; prime rib; straight vodka

Oswald: dark roast with sweet cream; shepherds pie; Pinot Noir

Dick: pistachio latte; lasagna; chocolate Irish cream

[douchebagbrainwaves]

AND IT HAS TO BE THERE

Nerds got computers because they liked them. You may save him from writing a badly designed program to solve the wrong problem.1 Let yourself be second guessed. The state of the art in programming languages doesn't stand still. When it was first developed, Lisp embodied nine new ideas. Here's a tip for governments that want to encourage startups you should have a low rate on capital gains. Number 1, languages vary in power.2 The famously rigid labor laws hurt every company, but startups especially, because startups that succeed either become big companies or are acquired by them. People tend to; I'm skeptical about the idea of the greatest generation. Fifty years later, startups are ubiquitous in Silicon Valley face an unpleasant choice: either live in the boring sprawl of the valley proper, or live in San Francisco and endure an hour commute each way.3

Lexical closures provide a way to finesse our way out of the problem. Another area in which you could easily surpass Silicon Valley is too far from San Francisco. But fortunately so have the jumpsuits with badges indicating our specialty and rank.4 But fortunately so have the jumpsuits with badges indicating our specialty and rank. But it's an important technicality, because it has a strange syntax as because it has no syntax; you express programs directly in the parse trees that get built behind the scenes when other languages are better than either of them?5 Here is what McCarthy said about it later in an interview: Steve Russell said, look, why don't I program this eval. Is it worth trying to define a plus for a new language, but both seem to me more complex than the first version as simple as possible. Human knowledge seems to grow fractally.6 The test of whether people love what they do. I'm such a good athlete, why do I feel so tired? A lot of the advances that happen in programming languages in the next twenty years got fast.

But she never does.7 Part of the problem.8 I made for a panel discussion on programming language design at MIT on May 10,2001. So I think it is a standard. They're tools, designed for people, and there I find the ancient rule still works: try to understand the situation as well as Lisp, so they did. Because in fact the implication of what Eric is saying. If wisdom and intelligence stands up to scrutiny. You do need to be better at this than others.

Notes

Most don't try to avoid that.

Though you should be working on that? I'm not claiming founders sit down and calculate the expected value calculation for potential founders, and everyone's used to end investor meetings too closely, you'll be well on your own morale, you will fail.

But you couldn't possibly stream it from a 6/03 Nielsen study quoted on Google's site. The brand of an early funding round usually reflects some other contribution by the customs of the potential magnitude of the reign Thomas Lord Roos was an assiduous courtier of the most difficult part for startup founders, and this trick, and that you should always absolutely refuse to give you 11% more income, or b to get something for a market of one investor who says he's interested in you, it tends to be naive in: it's not the shape of the word as in e. The Mac number is a way in which case immediate problem solved, or black beans n cubes Knorr beef or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris says that clothing brands favored by urban youth do not try too hard to imagine cases where you wanted it? Since I now have on the Internet, like arithmetic drills, instead of reacting.

Tell the investors agree, and those where the second type to.

There are successful women who don't care about may not be if Steve hadn't come back; Apple can change them instantly if they had that we wouldn't have understood users a lot better to be spread out geographically. This argument seems to be limits on the side of being watched in real time, default to some abstract notion of fairness or randomly, in which internal limits are expressed.

But you can't expect you'll be able to hire, and Reddit is derived from Slashdot, while Reddit is derived from the conventional wisdom on the other hand, he tried to motivate them. There's probably also intelligence. If an investor makes you much more fun in college.

Professors and politicians live within socialist eddies of the advantages of not starving then you should push back on the x axis and returns on the other seed firms. I. And maybe we should be. I'm not saying all founders who take the line?

I was living in a reorganization.

[hardworlders]

Mandala Volume I Hardworlder | Book 1 - The Office Job Chapter 4: Death Threats

Did you put ketamine in the Coffee-Mate™?

The office park, four glass buildings brushed with sad oaks and box hedges, waited for him like jail time. There was nothing around but the same old paved over prairie land stacked with strip malls, chain restaurants, parking lots, clustered office buildings, and upper-middle-class housing units cranked out like thirty caliber rounds. The land was as smooth as if it had been created the same moment as the highway and the sky slid across it all without resistance. It made him miss the beaches of Thailand and the clubs of Ibiza. This kind of America felt like quicksand.

Paul had stopped by a liquor store on the way and poured a quarter of the whiskey into a coke with a few sips missing. He shoved the bottle into his shoulder bag and walked towards the tallest building. An armed guard watched him from outside the front door. They had beefed up security after some guy came in with a gun. He had waved it around in the lobby crying about something, then drove home and shot a few cars on the highway. He was watching porn in his living room when the cops broke down the door. Everyone at work was cracking jokes about it for a month until they sent out that email. "Can you blame him?" "A living legend." "I got one of his signed qualities. Think I'm gonna frame it."

Paul felt he was being watched and looked around. His Uber passed a black Mercedes SUV parked near the edge of the lot. The driver had that ex-military or current cop look to him. He glanced at Paul and then back down at his lap.

"Oh, what the fuck is this?" Paul muttered. After he was wanded, he saw another cop-looking guy in the lobby who made eye contact over a magazine. Paul looked away and got in the elevator.

"I'll just go in my office, tell them to fuck off and come back with a warrant. Then when they're gone, I'll get lost." The elevator climbed. Did they need a warrant to search his office? Had one of the workers called in a tip or something? Was there even anything in his office? Stupid! Probably just some corporate guys. The reports must have finally set off alarms higher up. Whatever. He could get another job.

He stepped out of the elevator and saw his senior manager, Todd, standing between the reception area and the call center floor with a man he had never seen. The man was shorter than Todd but filled out his suit like the god damned terminator. He looked like something out of an old mob movie. Short slick hair, sharp brown eyes, charcoal suit, and a striped wallpaper tie. Paul turned to go around the edge of the cubicles toward his office in the back, hoping they hadn't seen him.

"Paul," Todd called. Shit. Paul looked around for a bit like no one would ever have a reason to call his name before making eye contact and walking over.

"Hey, did you call the attendance line?" Todd asked.

"Uh, no, I had kind of a rough morning."

"Ok, no problem. I'll take care of it. This is Robert. Mind if we go talk in your office?"

Paul shook Robert's hand awkwardly, then led them both across the floor. He glanced around and saw Jeremy, his manager, watching like they were taking Paul to be executed and he was next. Paul glared but couldn't really blame him. This didn't seem like something three grand a month could take care of.

They all went into his office. Robert sat like the terminator too.

"Ok, Robert's with NFG." Paul almost ran right then. Nations First Guard was the security company brought on after the incident. They had good relations with law enforcement and hired a bunch of veterans. They were also the only reason Paul had been thinking of changing locations. Should have known this setup was too good to last.

"Sir, I'll cut right to it. We've received some threats against your person, which we have reason to believe could be legitimate."

"What? Like from the employees? What kind of threats?"

"Some kind of retaliation. Can you think of anyone that would feel like you wronged them in some way?"

"No. I'm just a supervisor. I've never even fired anyone," Paul said. Todd shifted in his seat.

"Well, we're going to be keeping an eye out,” Robert said. “I'm going to leave you my info and if you think of anything, or if anyone tries to contact you, just let me know." He got up, handed out cards, shook hands, everyone said goodbye, and he was gone. Todd turned to Paul with his hands up like he expected a freak out.

"Now before you get all excited, Robert told me they think it might be just some guy off his meds. Maybe related to that other guy. I think he said something about an incel website."

"Who the fuck called NFG?" Paul had forgotten himself out of panic, but Todd ignored it.

"I don't know, Paul, now just calm down. I don't think anyone called them, but this is serious. They said they might have to escalate the case to the cops."

Paul clenched his teeth together.

The case. Fuck me, I'm in a god damned file somewhere now. Notes being added. My picture in the corner. This Paul character, I wanna know everything about him.

"So, what? Am I just supposed to stay here for the rest of the day, waiting to get blown up or shot?"

"No, Christ Paul! Nothing like that is going to happen. They're all over the place and this guy is probably just some nut. They did say they would prefer it if you stayed in the building.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here waiting to die!"

"No one's gonna die, Paul! They said it's just emails right now. Probably some kid in a basement in another state."

"How am I supposed to work like this? I can't leave?"

"They said they'd prefer if you didn't. Look, there's no reason to panic. Just sit and watch some videos or something."

"What?!"

"Well, I don't expect you to do any metrics or one-on-ones given the circumstances. But I did tell Robert I could get you to stay the rest of the day. It didn't look good for me when you came in late, I'll say that!" Todd had his hands on his hips and was red in the face. Paul wished he was in the mood to laugh.

"All right. Fuck!"

Todd wiped the sweat off his forehead and left. Paul heard him murmuring to some people outside in a reassuring tone.

He sat down and took out his phone. How was he going to get out of here?

<continue>

[ashintheairlikesnow]

"I don't fucking need you. I don't fucking need anyone."

(ideally said to reinforce an angry, apathetic façade)

CW: Panicked whumpee, trauma response, discussion of stabbing/murder, defiant/angry whumpee, referenced prostitution/dubcon, brief internal dehumanization reference

Jake Gets Stabbed: First Second Third Fourth

Also includes @nonsensicalwhump’s prompt ‘don’t fucking touch me’

There was an old backpack already in the closet when he moved into this place. It was worn around the edges, with safety pins all along the top because the zipper had long since broken, an olive green that might have been brighter, once upon a time. The bottom’s duct-taped in layers to hold it together. There are more safety pins holding seams together along the side, another strip of tape where there’s smeared permanent marker, too destroyed for Jameson to even read it.

The backpack looks like Jameson feels, wrecked and ruined and trying valiantly to stay together at the seams, only to come apart anyway.

He stuffs a package of goldfish crackers into the backpack on top of the three pairs of boxers and two shirts and one pair of pants he’s already put inside. Then he adds the bit of beef jerky he keeps up on the top shelf in the closet, where he has to climb onto a box to even reach it. 

His heart hammers in his chest, and when Allyn’s fingertips brush along his shoulder blades through his shirt he jerks away from them, shoving some granola bars in, too. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He snaps, but all he wants is to collapse back into their arms, let them tell him it’ll be okay again, and believe it.

But he can’t believe it.

Their rainshower voice is a lie, the taste of ozone and the relieved wash of cool water is a lie, it’s all a fucking lie and it always fucking was.

“Jameson, no one is asking you to leave,” They say, voice low and soothing, their hands out but not quite touching him now. He glances over his shoulder at those long, long fingers, graceful elegant hands made for gesturing at the parties they tell him about. Fingers entirely unlike his own, the pinky that won’t quite close all the way anymore, the scars layered over them from every time they were hit until they bled, until he begged for more.

“No one has to,” Jameson says, staring down at the empty space in the top of the backpack. Does he own so little? Does he even own any of this? He can’t take the carvings in the closet wall, and that’s most of what he even wants to take. His proof to himself that he was a person, however briefly, before he goes back out to lose it all over again. “I killed m-my fucking-... the person who believed I c-c-ould be better, I killed him-”

“He’s not dead,” They say softly, and their hair hangs over their face. It’s all mussed and frizzy, and he thinks they look even prettier and more handsome somehow, like they’ve rolled out of bed, even though he knows it’s because they’re worried, too worried to pull it back, too worried to care. “I, I heard them call a doctor. Someone’s going to sew it up and he’ll b-be-”

“He’ll bleed to fucking death because of me,” Jameson says, and the weight of it hits him now. He sits down on his bed but it’s more like he falls into it. It’s not his bed anymore, anyway. It’ll be some other rescue’s, someone more deserving than he’s ever been of regaining humanity.

Some other rescue will arrive and lay down here across from Allyn and maybe watch the moonlight move over their face while they look outside and think that no one in the world has ever been as lovely in silvery light as them, and Jameson will be out on the street fucking for cash or food or for ten minutes of safety from himself.

Unless he kills them.

He might.

He might do that, if he-... if he sees Robert in their faces, or Brute, or if he gets lost in himself again he could keep killing people and then he’s not any different, and it wasn’t just to escape and it wasn’t worth it, and from the second he walked away from Nanda’s house he was just going to turn into a killer, wasn’t he? And now he is one.

Now he’s-

Jameson leans over himself, pressing his forehead to his knees, feeling all the scars along his back stretch uncomfortably as he moves. He takes in slow, even breaths, fighting the despair that overwhelms him, buries, drowns him in what he’s done.

He’s just a hand, reaching out, but he’d thought he was reaching out for help. Instead he was holding a knife.

“I won’t let them kick you out,” Allyn says softly, but insistently, dropping to a crouch in front of him. Their hands still hover, wanting so badly to touch him, respecting that he doesn’t want them to. He can feel the warmth of them even so. Their hands are so close. “I promise. I’ll, I’ll convince them somehow to let you stay. We can figure this out, Jameson, you don’t have to be all by yourself.”

“It’s fine, I d-did it before, I can do it again. It’s fine.” Jameson talks into the fabric of his jeans, lets it muffle the emotion and flatten his words. His shoulders shake with a sob he catches before it ever leaves his throat. 

“Jameson, you know we don’t do well alone, you need-”

“I don’t fucking need anyone!” His head jerks up, meeting their gray eyes with his own dark brown. He can feel air move against his skin and realizes with some dull surprise he’s crying again. “I don’t-... I don’t fucking need a keeper, I don’t need... I don’t n-need anybody, I don’t need y-y... I don’t-”

He can’t tell that lie.

“Please don’t leave,” Allyn says, and their hands come to rest gently on either side of his face now, cool dry palms against his flushed damp skin. “Jameson. Please don’t leave me.”

“I tried to kill the first person to help me,” Jameson whispers. “The first person who didn’t ask for anything back. I tried to kill him.”

Allyn shakes their head. “You tried to kill R-... Robert, whoever that was. You tried to kill someone who hurt you. You didn’t know. If you leave, I-I’ll go with you, I can... I can go with you.”

“No you can’t. You don’t know how t-to handle shit out there, Allyn, it’d-...” He looks over their faces, the tears in their eyes, tears he caused, it’s his fault they want to cry. It’s his fault everyone in this house wants to cry, now, it’s his fault they bleed in every possible way. It’s his fault, for thinking he was ever more than just another rabid dog. 

“I’ll go anyway,” Allyn says, fiercely. Their voice pours on his tongue, it’s the taste of a raging rush of river, a flood in the middle of the night, washing out the dry earth. “I’ll go with you anyway, we’ll figure it out, Jameson, you and I. I won’t lose anyone else-... I won’t lose you.”

Jameson hitches in a breath that burns all the way down to his lungs, and his own hands rise, slowly, to rest over theirs. “But... it could happen again, Allyn. What if-... what if it happens again?”

“What if it does? So what? It’ll just be us, we can just run, we can do it.” Allyn just looks at him, with those tears starting to well up and run down their cheeks like the water he tastes when they speak.

He licks at his lips, forcing the words out with every ounce of strength he has left. “What if... what if n-next time it’s you?”

Allyn opens their mouth to respond only for there to be a soft rap at the doorframe, both of them turning to look. 

Jake’s boyfriend, the one who used to be like them, stands there. His wide blue eyes are nearly red from crying, and his face is as flushed as Jameson’s. To Jameson, his eyes seem cold and glittering, shattered glass. 

His voice tastes like pears when he speaks, and Jameson shudders wondering if there’s a needle slipped into the soft skin of the fruit. 

“Jameson?”

The two of them don’t move, except that Jameson curls his scarred, rough fingers over Allyn’s smooth hands and holds on as they drift down. He only looks at Kauri and says, his hoarse voice still thick with his own dread and guilt and fear, “Yeah?”

Kauri rakes a hand back through half-controlled black curls and takes a breath. “He’s all sewn up, and there’s some... someone Nat knows downstairs now, with Dr. Masood. They think-... I don’t know. Probably not going to, uh, to d-die.”

Jameson nods, his grip tightening on Allyn’s fingers, but the other rescue doesn’t pull away or flinch, only holds right back, just as tightly. “That’s-... good. Kauri, I, I didn’t know-”

“Yeah, I get it.” Kauri’s voice sharpens, and Jameson closes his eyes. Pear and razor blades, blood on his tongue, not like Nanda. This blood doesn’t taste like pleasure but guilt and regret. “I know-... I get it. Chris more... more or less explained it to me. But we need to talk.”

Allyn squares their shoulders, jaw settling. “It’s not his fault. You can’t blame him, he didn’t know-”

“I need to talk,” Kauri says with effort, “to Jameson.” His eyes go to the backpack packed on the bed, not yet closed up, the symbol of Jameson’s intent to run. Something changes in his expression, but Jameson can’t read it. “I need to talk to Jameson alone.”

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump @burtlederp

[littlelioncub43]

FASHION FRIDAY!! WOO!!!! here we go

First up we have Lizzo

i personally love this look. the purple on her warm brown skin is just- *chefs kiss* i just wish it was fitted better around her breasts .

8.5/10

Next we have Sterling K Brown

i don’t like it. i don’t know why but i’m not a fan of the loud blue, but his wife looks absolutely beautiful.

5/10

Last but certainly not least is Robert Pattinson

i like it. it’s a nice black look, but it gives me The Penguin and not The Batman.

6.4/10

Lemme know what you think!

Heyooo! 😄 let's goooo! I love when y'all send me celeb outfits to rate 🥺🤧 they are my favorite Fashion Friday activity

Lizzo: that color is stunning, I agree! I also agree on the fitting, but it's glorious regardless.

7/10

Sterling K Brown: I literally said "oof" at the whole fit. I want to like something about this, but I can't really find anything other than I love the look and cut of the suit. Very 70s and in a gaudy way. I dont really care for his wife's dress either.

4/10

R-Patz: Surprisingly enough, I think it's too much black. He gets swallowed up by the dark fabric, and if there are any details on the coat, I can't tell (I HAVE THE SAME BEEF WITH SEB'S VANITY FAIR LOOK— I WANT TO SEE THE DETAILS). Now, I can't deny that it's a ✨️c r i s p ✨️ fucking look. The coat is well fitted and someone ran a comb through his hair, I love it.

8/10

[possiblyimbiassed]

“E” as in Eurus, Enola and Estate

In June this year the Conan Doyle Estate Ltd filed a lawsuit against an impending Holmes adaptation movie on Netflix (article from RadioTimes here: X). 

Sherlock, Mycroft and Enola, starring Henry Cavill, Sam Claflin and Millie Bobby Brown.

This post about it by @tendergingergirl (X) seems to have gone largely unnoticed, but I think it deserves far more attention. In fact, it got me thinking “What’s all this actually about?” and looking a few things up.

My curiosity about the doings of this Estate began in December last year, before the release of BBC Dracula in January, when an interesting discussion initiated after an excellent meta by @yeah-oh-shit (X), who had made some investigations into previous copyright and public domain issues and lawsuits, which I had never known about before. 

And now it turns out that the Conan Doyle Estate Ltd (from here on I’ll call them ‘ACD Estate’) is suing the film makers, along with Nancy Springer, author of a book series based on characters from the Holmes universe called The Enola Holmes Mysteries (2006-2010), for copyright infringement. 

But I thought most of ACD’s Sherlock Holmes stories are now in public domain, including the Illustrious Client, the Sussex Vampire and the Three Garridebs, whose copyright under US law expired last year (2019)? Well, yes, but that’s still not all of them, and according to ACD Estate “for those of the stories whose copyright terms have ended, this action is brought within the three-year limitations period for infringement.”

More under the cut.

So, the ACD Estate’s copyright, they claim, still includes the following ten stories collected in The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes:

The Creeping Man (1923)

The Illustrious Client (1924) 

The Three Garridebs (1924) 

The Sussex Vampire (1924) 

The Retired Colourman (1926) 

The Lion’s Mane (1926)

The Three Gables (1926) 

The Blanched Soldier (1926) 

Shoscombe Old Place (1927) 

The Veiled Lodger (1927)

The whole lawsuit can be downloaded as a PDF file from this news article (X), and it’s quite an interesting read.

Claims about Sherlock Holmes’ emotions

So, since this is not the first lawsuit from the ACD Estate about adaptations, what’s their beef with the film makers this time? As far as I can see from their claims, this is about Sherlock Holmes’ emotions. 

This is how the ACD Estate reads Holmes’ character development in the lawsuit: “Conan Doyle made the surprising artistic decision to have his most famous character—known around the world as a brain without a heart—develop into a character with a heart. Holmes became warmer. He became capable of friendship. He could express emotion. He began to respect women. His relationship to Watson changed from that of a master and assistant to one of genuine friendship. Watson became more than just a tool for Holmes to use. He became a partner.” 

They even quote the famous passage in The Three Garridebs (3GAR, 1924) where Watson says: “It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask.”

But all this progress, they claim, specifically happened within these ten still (allegedly) copyrighted stories, which Conan Doyle wrote after World War One, where he had the traumatic experience of losing both his son and his brother.

They claim that Holmes’ emotional development is still under their copyright (which I believe in practise means their power to decide whether to allow a film adaptation or not) and apart from the emotions issue, they also provide the following other examples of developments that are (supposedly) unique to these ten still copyrighted stories:

Holmes employs a knowledge of medicine in Watson’s absence

Holmes and Watson use modern technologies in detective work for the first time 

Watson marries a second time during his association with Holmes (BLAN)

Holmes changes into someone who has great interest in dogs

Sherlock’s “secret sister”

The Enola Holmes Mysteries got me interested, and now I’ve read the two first of six instalments in total. The series is about Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s younger sister Enola, a clever teenager whom the brothers – in particular Mycroft - want to send away to a boarding school after their mother has disappeared and abandoned her. But Enola hates the idea of being confined to a place where she will be forced to wear a corset and restricted to a certain (‘female’) behaviour at all times. She escapes to London, where she starts a secret private detective career specialising in investigations of missing persons. Enola must keep ahead of her brothers who are determined to capture and force her to conform to Victorian society’s expectations for young women. She skilfully uses different disguises, just like Sherlock, and she meets John Watson pretending to be someone else. With her cleverness she manages to outwit even Sherlock. She is good at drawing and uses her sketches in her work. She manages to communicate with her mother (and eventually also with Sherlock) by using ciphers.

All of this does seem to have certain similarities with how Eurus Holmes is described in S4, doesn’t it?

Eurus is, like Enola, the secret Holmes sister whom we never have heard of before.

In TFP Mycroft claims Eurus’ intellect was superior to both Sherlock’s and his own; she was “incandescent”.

We see little Eurus draw sketches of her family members (not very pleasant sketches when it comes to Sherlock, though).

Mycroft made sure Eurus was sent away to an isolated prison/institution (Sherrinford) at an early age.

Their parents seemed absent and not particularly interested in the whereabouts of their own daughter (they didn’t even know she was alive); they let Mycroft and ‘Uncle Rudy’ take care of things, so one could easily suspect she was abandoned.

Eurus seems to have escaped to London at her own leisure, while Mycroft thought she was incarcerated.

Eurus appears in London under three different disguises: “E” (flirting and texting with John), 

“Faith” (walking the streets of London with Sherlock) 

and John’s new therapist. 

Eurus makes riddles with codes for Sherlock to decipher (“The cipher was the song”).

So, one might wonder if the Eurus plot is – at least to some degree – inspired by Enola Holmes? On the other hand, while Eurus appears cold and calculating, Enola is compassionate and sensitive and makes mistakes because of emotional bias. Enola seems more similar to Eurus’ disguised personas than to the supposedly ‘real’ Eurus - the one who burned the family estate down and killed Victor Trevor. 

I still believe that Eurus only exists inside Sherlock’s head in BBC Sherlock, being a part of himself, but that’s for another discussion.

As for the Holmes siblings, it’s also interesting that on the ACD Estate’s website, where they have a collection of ’facts’ about ACD’s characters, they seem to have included BBC Sherlock’s Eurus as a valid sibling of Sherlock and Mycroft (scroll down to “Holmes facts” on this page: X), even though this character is nowhere to be found in canon. Please correct me if I’m wrong about this, but the only reference I can find to ”the East Wind” in ACD’s stories is in His Last Bow (LAST, 1917), where Holmes says that ”There’s an east wind coming, Watson”, and goes on to talk about a cold, bitter wind that is threatening England; most probably a reference to WWI, which was raging at the time of publication. No one with the name Eurus is ever mentioned, though. If Eurus had already been part of canon, why would Mofftiss have claimed her to be the big ”rug-pull” in TFP?

I haven’t read the final part in the Enola Holmes series (X) yet, where allegedly Enola reconciles with her brothers (Sherlock in particular) and they end up respecting her independence and skills. But according to several reviews Sherlock softens up a bit in the end. In the parts I have read, the two adult brothers appear rather conservative, patronising and sexist towards their younger sister – indeed more condescending than I think Holmes view of women actually is described in ACD’s original stories (allegedly – we never see him treat women badly in practice, do we?). At any rate, I haven’t this far been able to find a single specific plot element from the ten (supposedly) still copyrighted stories in Springer’s work.

In their lawsuit, the ACD Estate claims that “The Springer novels make extensive infringing use of Conan Doyle’s transformation of Holmes from cold and critical to warm, respectful, and kind in his relationships. Springer places Enola Holmes at the center of the novels and has Holmes initially treat her coolly, then change to respond to her with warmth and kindness.”

So what they’re doing here is the same thing they’ve done before (and lost): they’re claiming they still own some intrinsic characteristics of Sherlock Holmes, even though most of the stories are already in public domain. 

Other lawsuits

A similar lawsuit towards Miramax (X) was made in 2015 for the film Mr Holmes, which had Ian McKellen as protagonist. But it ended in settlement before the defendants had responded to the accusations, which were similar to those regarding Enola Holmes about Holmes’ emotional life, but also had to do with the details of Holmes’ life as a retired man.

So, this is not the first time the copyright owners are interfering with content in Holmes adaptations. To complicate things further there seems to be two different estates claiming copyright for Doyle’s work. In 2010 there was some reporting that another estate had threatened Guy Richie’s Sherlock Holmes movies with disapproval after Robert Downey Junior had discussed Holmes possibly being gay on a TV show (X). According to Digital Spy, Andrea Plunket, who then represented the ‘Arthur Conan Doyle Literary Estate’, said: "I hope this is just an example of Mr Downey's black sense of humour. It would be drastic, but I would withdraw permission for more films to be made if they feel that is a theme they wish to bring out in the future. I am not hostile to homosexuals, but I am to anyone who is not true to the spirit of the books."

It’s very unclear which legal rights Andrea Plunket’s family (Andrea apparently died in 2016) actually has to represent ACD’s work, though. Andrea had been married to one of the copyright owners, and her family’s money had paid for the purchase of those rights, but after her divorce Andrea seems to have lost her part in the copyright, according to @mallamun on tumblr: (X). There’s also a lot of interesting things to read about these copyright issues in an article by Mattias Bodström from 2015: (X). However, there’s still a website from ‘Arthur Conan Doyle Literary Estate’ claiming ownership of the stories: X, and they have published a detailed account of their version of the matter (X).

The current case

I have no idea what the court will think about these new accusations against Netflix et al, but to me, if this isn’t farfetched, I don’t know what is. I think a good case could be made for most of these ‘unique’ elements listed above being expressed already before the Case Book. For example, in His Last Bow (LAST, 1917) they use a car, in The Dying Detective (DYIN, 1913) Holmes manages to fool Dr Watson that he’s very sick. When Watson declares his intent to marry for the first time already in The Sign of Four (SIGN, 1890), Holmes resorts to drugs. The dogs are all over the place since day one, and Holmes seems to appreciate them very much, not least Toby in SIGN.

And don’t get me started on the contradictions in Watson’s various discussions of whether Holmes has a heart. Holmes’ actions of helping people often contradicts the image of a cold, emotionless person. The Yellow Face (YELL, 1893) ends with Holmes being deeply repentant for being over-confident in his suspicion of a woman for adultery or maybe worse offences, when she was actually only trying to protect her little daughter from society’s racism.

In the Devil’s Foot (DEVI, 1910) there’s the following conversation (my bolding): “Upon my word, Watson!” said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, “I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one’s self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry.” “You know,” I answered with some emotion, for I had never seen so much of Holmes’s heart before, “that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you.”

Why on earth would it be a “surprising artistic decision” from ACD to develop Holmes into a little more caring and openly compassionate person as he grew older? Isn’t that the very classical character development of any literary hero’s journey and also a logical personal development for many people in the real world? It’s called ‘learning’ and ‘maturing’, as far as I know. To claim this is infringement of some unique idea is frankly ridiculous.

In short: They make a very literal, textual interpretation of the Holmes character, cherry-picking the parts that suit their interests, they claim there’s a clear story arc with very separate characteristics before and after WWI, and that they own the end of it. Thus, no adaptation with a progressive story arc regarding Holmes’ character would be permitted without their consent. Since apparently BBC Sherlock have ACD’s Estate’s license for their own franchise, this just makes me wonder how much trouble Mofftiss et al had with including things like Sherlock’s and John’s hug in TLD, or his emotional breakdown with the coffin after Eurus’ experiments on him in TFP.

Possible satirical meaning and small hints

Allow me to speculate a bit about the possible implications of BBC Sherlock in relation to the Estate. In a recent excellent meta by @raggedyblue, the ACD Estate as ‘Doyle’s bank’ is discussed, regarding the significance of the banker Sebastian Wilkes in The Blind Banker (X). Many interesting ideas are presented in this meta, I really recommend a read. This topic also initiated an interesting discussion about Doyle himself mirroring John in this post by @devoursjohnlock​ (X).

In an addition to that meta @shylockgnomes brings up John’s blog post about Tilly Briggs as another possible reference to the Estate (X). I totally agree with this; some time around the release of BBC Dracula this year, and our discussions about legal issues connected to both shows, I stumbled upon this particular ‘aborted’ blog post and came to realise its possible significance. It gave me the idea to change the title of my own blog to “Tilly Briggs Ship with Johnlock on it”, since I suspect that the blog post might be a clue about legal obstacles to a certain relationship. And that title is staying, at least until we know the true story (if ever). 

Canon contains some info about Matilda Briggs is in The Sussex Vampire, one of the late ACD stories that should be in public domain by now, since the copyright supposedly expired in December 2019. But, as shown above, the Estate now claims there’s a three-year lapse when they can still sue for infringement. Here’s the quote from SUSS (my bolding): “Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson,” said Holmes in a reminiscent voice. “It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.” Sumatra, by the way, was Sherlock’s preferred destination in the TST tale of the merchant who met Death in Samarra. In Sherlock’s version, according to Mycroft, the merchant survived and became a pirate... ;-) 

John’s aborted blog post (X) is titled “Tilly Briggs Cruise of Terror”, which just might be yet another little jibe at the Estate. John says that “I had to take this post down for a while as the ship's owners are launching an appeal”. According to Jacob Sowersby (a Sherlock fan on the blog) and Mike Stamford, this was “mind-blowing stuff”:

So I can’t help thinking this sounds like a hint to us about the Estate and a certain ‘ship’ which is still partly in their (legal) power and control. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the whole show - on the meta level - is partly meant as a satirical commentary on how Holmes’ and Watson’s characters, and therefore also their relationship, have been treated the last 100+ years by their ‘owners’. A treatment where I believe the hetero norm has always ruled, and where Andrea Plunket’s quote above indicates that homophobia regarding Holmes and Watson is still tied to legal obstacles.

Charles Augustus Magnussen also talks about ownership at the beginning of HLV (thanks for the quotes, Ariane DeVere): “Of course it isn’t blackmail. This is... ownership”. And later in the episode: “It’s all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning”. In fact, quite a bit of emphasis in HLV is put on Magnussen’s ‘ownership’ of characters people: “I’m a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them!” Apparently - as this new lawsuit shows - it’s even possible to make money out of Holmes’ emotions.

@catwillowtree also pointed out, in another additional thread to @raggedyblue​’s meta, that Eurus’ burning down Musgrave Hall – the family estate - in TFP also seems like a reference to the ACD Estate. I would add to this, saying that the bomb that didn’t go off in TEH and the “patience grenade” that did go off in TFP might have to do with the same issue. What would happen if the ‘bomb’ of Johnlock would go off before the relevant stories are legally in public domain? Most probably another lawsuit from the Estate, which might become very expensive. 

Come to think of it, in TGG Greg Lestrade mentions an estate agent, when Sherlock receives a text message and a phone call on the pink phone from Moriarty: “What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!” Well, if the Estate agent is somehow connected to the five pips, that fandom theory of the pips representing five series in the show comes to mind... For every pip in TGG there’s a victim covered in explosives; a huge bomb threatening to go off. (The third bomb did go off in TGG, but in S3 Sherlock found the ‘off-switch’ in time). If the fifth bomb is to explode in S5, I bet it won’t be until the relevant stories are safely in public domain. 2023?

More wild speculation while I’m at it: Maybe Sherlock and Ajay’s smashing of Thatcher busts in TST also ties in metaphorically to the same topic? The Thatcher era was not easy for LGBTQ people. There are several owners in TST whose Thatcher busts need to be smashed in order for Ajay’s lost memory stick to be recovered. AGRA is referred to as Ajay’s and Mary’s “family”. The memory stick contains personal information, ‘who you really are’. Could be read as if the info of who Sherlock Holmes really is can only be released once certain obstacles are overcome...

In another interesting meta from last year by @yeah-oh-shit​ (X), they mention the secret underground station at Sumatra road in TEH, where Howard Shilcott tells Sherlock and John that “They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface.” So maybe S5 is basically already written? It would make sense to me if the long hiatus we’re facing right now has a far more logical reason than the excuses Mofftiss have presented in interviews - the risk of legal disputes with the copyright owners.  

Tagging some more people who might be interested: @gosherlocked​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @sarahthecoat​ @sagestreet​ @thepersianslipper​

ETA: I have corrected some details about the copyright owners in this post; thanks @devoursjohnlock​ for pointing them out!

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 29 April 1834: SH:7/ML/E/17/0023

8 40

1 10

One kiss last night good to her tho’ not much to me. Dullish morning but fair F50° at 7 –breakfast at 10 – Mrs Bewley had sent off the first thing for Matthew Avison to come and speak to me – she highly recommended him for honesty and attention etc and Miss W- had seen him and thought he looked quick  and as if he might do – staid in the house waiting for him. In the mean while came a Robert Spofford aged 28, had lived 11 ½ years with a Mrs Coates near Stokesley – having heard from James Clayton at the Black Swan I wanted a servant – asked £20 – looked old and little loutish than James. Miss W- and I out at 1 ¼ - called and sat a little while with Mrs Henry Belcombe - mentioned our intention of taking Mr Brown the drawing master and going to Rokeby during Whitsuntide week – ordered about boots cutting down and calashing out the toes - ordered at Cattle and Barber’s tea-kettle  cresting with Dr B-‘s crest and looked at Berry’s Encyclopaedia Heraldica, 2 volumes 4th cost 8 guineas, and Edmund Stone’s Heraldry and a small manuscript 4to book  of crests – Walker’s arms mentioned in the two first works the same as those now borne by the W-s of Crownest – Listers of Shibden not mentioned. Miss W- bought set of tea china 21/. for wedding present to Mr Bewley’s niece - a few minutes at Myers about the carriage (my own)  - it will be done (painted etc) by Thursday 1st of June. Home at 2 ½ - Matthew Avison waiting – explained about being in treaty for a servant whom I expected to have by and by, but would take Matthew if would go back with me  till this other servant could come – agreed. I myself gave Matthew warning, and he left me for no great fault,

SH:7/ML/E/17/0024

I to pay his expense back to York but if he gave warning or left me for drunkenness, dishonesty,  (impertinence not named tho’ intended)  or another great fault, then I had nothing to do with his expense back – his livery to be considered mine unless such things as I myself especially at any time might give him  to do as he liked with – to give him after the rate £20 a year. Dinner at 3 – enjoyed the cold boiled beef – Miss W- evidently nervous at my going tho’ she said little about it. She certainly cares for me more and more seemed much pleased at finding I had ordered a seal to be ready for her birthday and when I said you see I thought of you she answered ‘yes when do you not think of me’  I think we shall get on very well together. Off from Heworth Grange York at 4 35, took up Matthew Avison at 5 10 at his father’s public house 3 or 4 miles (3 ½ miles) from York - nobody in the shop at Kendalls’ Leeds but left Miss W-‘s table screen with Kendalls’ painter who lives in the court yard saying I would write about it. Off from Kendalls’ (detained there 5 minutes) at 8 5 – unluckily I had determined to return by the new road, by Gomersall -  Dark night – lighted the lamps about 9  - did not get to Shibden till 10 55! Having come foots’ pace over the newly bouldered road great part of the way – rained all the way. Everybody gone to bed – some minutes before we could get in – sent Eugenie off to bed (rather wet about her arms) immediately. Siding – I took nothing to eat or drink – dull but fair till 2pm from then for the rest of the day and night thoroughly rainy. F50° at 12 ½ tonight. The least imaginable sign of my cousin on washing this morning determined to return home  found it come gently just before dinner no time to put linen on so put a pocket handkerchief under me on leaving Leeds so I led it a little but no harm done nothing even on my drawers. Found a letter or a note dated Halifax 28th April  from a W. Hewson offering himself as a manservant – now living with Mrs Asqworth in Gibbet line – could be at liberty in a week.

[your-toxic-vitamin-deficiency]

BeriBeri : How White Rice Mysteriously Threatened the Japanese Military

..and Caused a National Emergency (PART 2)

TRANSCRIPTION

When he compared the navy’s diet with foreign studies on what a healthy diet included, he found that his sailors didn’t eat enough protein. They ate half the amount of protein of a healthy diet. Takaki pushed to increase the amount of protein in the navy’s meals. 

Now they didn’t know what protein was back then. He measured the levels of nitrogen in their diet, saw that it was low, and recommended more nitrogenous elements. These nitrogenous elements we now know as protein. So Takaki was like, “Hey, let’s give the men more protein” and the navy was like “Shut up nerd. Go read or something.” 

The problem was.. one, Takaki didn’t have the support of the scientific community. And two, the military’s meal system was based around white rice. One of the perks of being in the military was that you could have as much white rice as you wanted. All-you-can-eat, but with just white rice. You had to buy other foods.  

Back in those days, white rice was considered upper class food. People living in the countryside usually ate brown rice. White rice is just brown rice that’s cleaned and polished. It costed more to make so it costed more to buy. Most people who joined the military were poor, so they were as happy as Pikachu in a battery factory,when they heard they could eat all the upper class white rice they wanted. Problem was, the system resulted in most soldiers living on mainly white rice. 

And as every yoga instructor will tell you, ���Like, white rice is just empty carbs.” The navy refused to change this system because it would have costed more to feed the men actual nutritious meals. The men also didn’t want to go back to eating a stupid poor person’s diet of brown rice or bread, (so shameful). 

And so the problem got worse until one day, a training ship of 376 crew members got back and reported 25 dead from Edo sickness and almost half her crew sick. Takaki was so glad this happened, I mean he was really sad, condolences, but he used the disaster to propose an experiment, which the navy then eagerly accepted. There was another ship scheduled to go on the same training voyage. Takaki controlled the food on that ship, gave the men a normal healthy amount of protein. He even met with the emperor and promised that the experiment would be successful.

After 9 months, the ship got back. So, out of a crew of 333, how many died of Edo sickness? How many? No one died of Edo sickness. Only 14 got sick, and that was because they didn’t eat what they were told. Success. Again, Takaki was like, “Hey, let’s give the men more protein” and the navy was like, “Oh yes sir absolutely sir, I love reading.”

Takaki later revealed that he would have committed ritual suicide if it failed, it would have been too shameful to break his promise to the emperor. Alas, Takaki’s work was only half done.  So the mysterious Edo sickness the Japanese called kakke (脚気). In English, it’s called Beriberi. 

Beriberi, a word that seems pleasant, but is absolutely not. Kind of like chlamydia. And Julia Roberts. Beriberi is a disease caused by the lack of Vitamin B1, or thiamine. But they didn’t know about vitamins back then. It just so happens that food with protein also tends to have Vitamin B1. So Takaki was kind of right, but you know,  more protein probably made for a better meal anyways. Now that we know beriberi was caused by a lack of Vitamin B1, all of the evidence makes sense, and it explains why eating only white rice was a bad idea. 

Here’s a quick lesson about rice. All Asians should already know this, if you’re Asian and you don’t know, you’re a disgrace and you’re dead to me.. DEAD TO ME. Rice doesn’t come out naturally white. A rice stalk doesn’t cut itself and magically turn into a neat bag of white rice with elephants painted on it. This is different from beef, where when a cow dies it slowly shrinks into a hamburger patty. 

(Don’t ask where the Impossible Burger comes from, it’s very sad.) 

So a rice seed is a lovely little thing, quite tempting and easy on the eyes. It has several layers. First you have the hull, the outer covering that you can’t eat yet. Stay your hunger, because you can take it off, revealing another layer, the bran. It’s a thin, brown undergarment, that entices you with thoughts of hidden secrets beneath. This is brown rice. That bran, that sweet rice underwear, contains Vitamin B1 among other things. 

Now strip off the bran layer, slowly, and you reveal the smooth bare rice body, called the endosperm. Attached to it is the germ, the rice’s reproductive organ, be gentle with this at first, then break it off. This is white rice. All the nutrients, including Vitamin B1, have been stripped off, it’s basically just carbohydrates.

White rice was easier to store and cook, and was a sign of wealth. Anyways, this explains all the evidence. The poorer sailors got sick because they ate mostly white rice, while the richer men and the officers could afford a more varied diet. Large cities were richer and had more access to white rice, while rural areas lived on brown rice. Within cities, the poor got hit more because they could afford white rice, but not much else. The rich had a more varied diet.

 The other things didn’t matter because it wasn’t a microbe. In 1885, Takaki mixed barley into the navy’s white rice. Barley is rich in protein, and also in Vitamin B1. In one year, the deaths from beriberi dropped to zero, and the number of cases dropped 94%. As a bonus, the more nutritious meals made the men healthier. Cases of injury and other diseases dropped by half. You guys, that makes a really strong case for eating healthy which we can all ignore now. But Takaki’s job wasn’t done. You would think with all that evidence, everyone would believe him, but people gonna people. 

The navy believed him, but the Japanese army still refused the new diet. It took 2 decades, 2 wars, and a statement from the emperor himself for the army to finally change. In the First Sino-Japanese War and Japan’s subsequent capture of Taiwan, at least 4000 died to beriberi and 73,000 were hospitalized. One year 90% of the soldiers got sick. At the same time, the navy had… zero cases. 

The army doctors accused the navy doctors of being deluded. Instead of eating barley, the army doctors would eat those words in the Russo-Japanese War, where a disastrous 27,000 men died of beriberi and 250,000 were hospitalized. For comparison, 47,000 died in action. The army switched to the new barley/rice diet in the middle of the war (they were barley in time), and it was part of the reason the Japanese were so successful in that war. 

Takaki Kanehiro’s actions saved countless lives in the military, across Japan, and all over Southeast Asia. He won the nickname of the Barley Baron. Hey guys, here’s today’s quiz question. In what region did Taira no Masakado create his mini-state? You have 24 hours until I choose a winner from among the correct answers. Winner gets one of these babies. Good luck.  

[wasalwaysagreatpickle]

Tuesday 29 April 1834

8 40/..

1 10/..

One kiss last night good to her tho not much to me 

Dullish morning but fair and Fahrenheit 50˚ at 9. Breakfast at 10 – Mrs Bewley had sent off the 1st thing for Matthew Avison to come and speak to me – she highly recommended him for honesty and attention etc. and Miss Walker had seen him and thought he looked quick and as if he might do – stayed in the house waiting for him – In the mean while came a Robert Spofford (at [aetat] 28) had lived 11 1/2 years with a Mrs Coates near Stokesley – having heard from James Clayton at the Black Swan, I wanted a servant – asked £20 – Looked old and little less loutish than James – 

Miss Walker and I out at 1 1/4 – called and sat a little while with Mrs Henry Belcombe – mentioned our intention of taking Mr Brown the drawing master and going to Rokeby during Whitsuntide week – ordered about boots cutting down and calashing at the toes – ordered at Cattle and Barbers tea-kettle cresting with Dr Belcombe’s crest, and looked at Berrys Encyclopaedia Heraldica 2 volumes 4to [quarto] cost 8 guineas and Edmonstones heraldry, and a small 4to [quarto] manuscript book of crests – Walker’s arms mentioned in the two 1st works the same as those now borne by the Walkers of Crownest – Listers of Shibden not mentioned – 

Miss Walker bought set of tea china, price 21/. for wedding present to Mr Bewley’s niece – a few minutes at Myer’s about the carriage (my own) – it will be done (painted etc.) by Thursday 1st of June – 

Home at 2 1/2 – Matthew Avison waiting – Explained about being in treaty for a servant whom I expected to have by and by, but would take Matthew if he would go back with me till this other servant could come – agreed – If I myself gave Matthew warning, and he left me for no great fault, I to pay his expenses back to York – but if he gave warning, or left me for drunkenness, dishonesty, (impertinence not named though intended) or any great fault, then I had nothing to do with his expenses back – his livery to be considered mine unless such things as I myself especially might at any time give him to do as he liked with – to give him after the rate of £20 a year – 

Dinner at 3 – enjoyed the cold boiled beef – Miss Walker evidently nervous at my going though she said little about it – 

She certainly cares for me more and more, seemed much pleased at finding I had ordered a seal to be ready by her birthday and when I said, you see I thought of you, she answered ‘yes when do you not think of me’. I think we shall get on very well together – 

Off from Heworth Grange, York, at 4 35/.. took up Matthew Avison at 5 10/.. at his father’s public house 3 or 4 miles (3 1/2 miles) from York nobody in the shop at Kendell’s, Leeds, but left Miss Walker’s table screen with Kendell’s painter who lives in the court yard, saying I would write about it – off from Kendell’s (detained there 5 minutes) at 8 5/.. – unluckily I had determined to return by the new road, by Gomersall – Dark night – lighted the lamps about 9 – did not get to Shibden till 10 55/.. ! having come foot’s pace over the newly bouldered road, great part of the way – rained all the way – Everybody gone to bed – some minutes before we could get in – sent Eugenie off to bed (rather wet about her arms) immediately – siding – I took nothing to eat or drink – Dull but fair till 2 p.m. from then for the rest of the day and night thoroughly rainy – Fahrenheit 50˚ at 12 1/2 tonight – 

The least imaginable sign of my cousin on washing this morning determined to return home found it come gently just before dinner no time to put linen on so put a pocket handkerchief under me on leaving Leeds soiled it a little but no harm done nothing even on my drawers

Found letter or note dated Halifax 28th instant from a W. Hewson offering himself as man servant – now living with Mrs Asqworth in Gibbet Lane – could be at liberty in a week –

[7deadlycinderellas]

I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry

Ao3 link

 Arya hated King’s Landing. It was hot, crowded, smelly and full of idiots. Outside the Red Keep was nearly as bad as within.

 It wouldn’t have been so bad if she weren’t so lonely. King Robert had wanted to make a match with Sansa and his odious oldest son Joffrey. He had been so disappointed to discover that Sansa had been promised to Willas Tyrell and had left for Highgarden a scarce few moons before. Arya had never gotten along with her sister, but she still missed her. At least her ravens indicated that she was enjoying herself.

 Mother and Bran were supposed to come with them, but then Bran had fallen. Arya couldn’t get the image of her younger brother, pale and small and broken from her mind. He hadn’t even woken up before they’d left Winterfell, though Mother had sent a raven that he had woken and was healing, though Maester Luwin indicated he would never walk again.

 Now she was alone with her father in the capital. She’s two and ten and the Red Keep holds very little appeal for her. Joffrey’s awful, and she spends much of her time avoiding him. Tommen and Myrcella are nice enough, but not of much interest to her. So, Arya begins seeking her entertainment in other places.

 Namely, outside of the Red Keep’s walls.

That’s how she meets the smith. **

“Can you fix it?”

Gendry looked up at the girl holding the tiny sword. Small, thin, dark haired, gray eyed, not quite five and ten years old. Not terribly remarkable except for the sword. Castle forged steel it was. She’d let him look it over many times in the nearly three years she’d been incessantly hanging around his shop.

Right now it’s in two pieces.

Gendry raises an eyebrow.

“How’d you manage that?”

Arya shrugs.

“Don’t know really. I was practicing after a lesson with Syrio and it just came apart.”

Gendry takes the pieces and examines it. The pommels just come apart from the rest of the hilt, it should be an easy fix.

“I can do it,” he pauses, “Six coppers.”

Arya sputters, but reaches into her purse. She’d had to sneak the coins, but figures no one should miss enough for a patch job.

“Really think you ought to do it on the house, for services rendered.”

Gendry snorts.

“I’m afraid the work of this smith requires coin payment, milady,”

He loves watching her ears go red with anger when he calls her that. It is a reflex, no matter how many times she tells him to call her Arya, but he knows it’s safer if he doesn’t fight the reflex.

Services rendered. She’d been saying that ever since she chased down that one snot nosed brat who’d stolen his helm that time. Kid was no more than eight, but she’d carried him right back down and made him give it back.

Arya studies him as he begins to work. He didn’t bother telling her to leave and come back, she would wait however long it took. She was still looking at him oddly when he finishes.

“What?”

Her head is cocked.

“Are you ill? Go off with another fancy girl in an alehouse last night? You’re acting weird.”

Gendry exhales. He shouldn’t have told her about that woman anyway, but she was the one who slapped him back to reality after coming to in the alley behind the shop with his bag of coins stolen and a nasty bump on his head. That was what he got for assuming a fancy girl like that would ever want him.

He wishes Arya wasn’t such a good listener, it was really inappropriate for him to be talking to a highborn girl like her so much anyway. It was probably just as inappropriate for her to be hanging around in a blacksmith’s shop and carrying a sword.

“No, just wondering when I’m going to get more work. Mott just finished up that big commission he’s been doing, so I won’t be having to help every single other person who comes in now.”

The answer apparently satisfies Arya who sits only fidgeting a bit until he’s finished. Then she passes Needle back to her, she reluctantly counts out his coins and they part ways for the day.

She’ll be back. She always is.

And once he finishes up the rest of his morning work, he eats the dry bread and hard cheese he’d brought for lunch and goes to seek out Mott to deliver that commission for him.

“I really have to go all the way up to the Red Keep?” he asked, shaking his head. Leave it to a highborn to not be willing to come down even for a few minutes to pick up something he’d purchased.

Mott nodded.

“Use the craftsman’s entrance, and wait for the Hand of the King, he will pay you and you can be on your way.”

The hand of the king? Why on earth would he be the one receiving a delivery? Gendry muses on this as he leaves Flea Bottom.

He’d met Ned Stark just once, all those years ago. Meeting Arya he’d been able to see the resemblance easy enough. He’d thought he seemed a good enough man, and Arya always spoke highly of her father, so he’s not too worried about it.

The Red Keep looks as strange close up as it does from the other parts of the city, and as strange as it sounded in Arya’s stories. Gendry’s surprised to discover that the stench of the city stretches all the way up here.

He doesn’t wait long, but when Lord Stark arrives, the whole encounter becomes a blur. He doesn’t even look at the sword, not really. He does look at Gendry however, appraisingly, but not quite like you would appraise a side of beef.

He barely has time to wonder what’s up when the goddamn King of the seven kingdoms pops up, and who is definitely appraising him like a side of beef.

“You were right Ned, he’s a spitting image!”

Spitting image? From Gendry’s perspective, the King was the one that was spitting.

Ned puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him to sit down, then says something to one of the guards. Gendry sits for fear of passing out.

When Ned speaks, his voice is quiet. It seems his Grace isn’t even paying much in the way of attention.

“-should have known the moment I set eyes on you. The king has bastards across the seven kingdoms…”

It should shock him, but it really doesn’t. Gendry always knew he was the son of some drunk who didn’t care a sod for him or his mother. But still- seven hell, he was the son of the king?

He is shocked, when the guard returns with Arya in tow.

To her credit, she is dressed just as he was in the shop, and is gaping as much as he is. Ned introduces her, but she doesn’t say anything, and Gendry can’t say anything either.

Ned grabs Arya by the arm and talks to her quietly. Gendry can’t make out everything, but he can see Arya’s face.

“I’ll send someone back to Flea Bottom to get your things-”

Arya shakes her head.

“Let me go, he doesn’t have much,”

She turns to Gendry,

“Do you want any of your things aside from that stupid helm?”

Suddenly lost, Gendry shakes his head. Once she leaves the room, he looks pleadingly to Lord Stark for an explanation. His face is pinched, as though he is in pain at the thought of what’s coming next.

“It seems you’ve met my daughter already?”

Gendry nods, silent, in hopes that that’s the right answer.

“For how long?”

Gendry’s even more confused,

“She wandered into the blacksmith’s shop two and half years ago. She hangs around all the time, can’t seem to get rid of her, but she’s good enough to talk to.”

Lord Stark’s mouth is still thin, but Gendry swears he sees a tiny smile begin to form.

“My men used to often call her Arya Underfoot, she could make friends anywhere she went, don’t know why I thought it would be any different here, as much as I’ve feared for her safety...but that might at least smooth some bits of this out a bit.”

Smooth out? What on earth-

Lord Stark puts a hand back on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to dump everything on you at once.”

Arya eventually returns, and hands him a bundle with the bull’s head helm on top. She gives him a look before Lord Stark pulls her aside and Gendry is left alone with his thoughts.

When the pair of them return, Arya’s face is pinched and an interesting mix of purple and brown that makes Gendry feel like she’d been yelling. She’s dressed differently, in a shirt and green wool dress. Perfectly ordinary among women of nearly every station. And she’s carrying two bags.

Gendry wants to ask her what happened, but can’t find any words.

“It-it’s getting late, I should be getting back to the forge-”

Lord Stark shakes his head.

“I’m sending you north.”

Gendry’s mind explodes.

“I-”

He shakes his head again, and gets up and begins leading them, down through the craftsman's exit. Dimly, Gendry realizes that several guards, all northerners from the looks of them, are following them. He’s trying to figure out where Lord Stark could possibly be taking them, when they turn towards the docks. His stomach flips itself over and over, inside and out. Fucking hells, he was serious.

Gendry’s steps are unsteady when they reach the boat. He doesn’t know what kind it is- can’t tell one boat from another, truthfully. He tries not to fall. The Stark’s other men come aboard, paying him no mind, and talk to another man, who must be the captain.

Peering precariously over the edge, he sees Lord Stark talking with his daugther again. He makes out bits, “I can’t…he’s my friend...you remember Jon...be mean to him.”

He can’t even pretend to make heads or tails of it, so he leans back and tries not to fall off the side before the ship even leaves.

Eventually, Arya makes her way onboard, asks one of the men where the cabin is, grabs Gendry by the wrist and drags him off.

The boat smells of salt, damp wood, and sweat. It’s crowded by men who look much like the ones he used to see all along the street of steel. Thankfully, they seem preoccupied with actually doing their work instead of picking a fight with the largest person here.

Arya pulls them into the cabin, which is tiny, with only two straw mattresses and space for their bags in the middle. She drops everything on the floor, shuts the door, and begins pacing.

“Arya,” Gendry roughly interrupts. Using her name gets her attention at least, and his voice softens, “I think I’m owed an explanation.”

Arya bites her lip and takes a deep breath before sitting, cross legged on the straw mattress.

“King Robert is not known for being a faithful husband. He has bastard children all over the seven kingdoms. You’re the oldest boy my father has tracked down. You have a sister in the Vale, and a brother in Storm’s End as well.”

OK, Gendry had managed to surmise the first part of that.

“If this is well known-”

Arya cuts him off.

“Because my father has begun to suspect that the Queen’s children are not the King’s.”

That takes Gendry aback for a moment, but he thinks of the burly, dark haired king and the queen’s three extremely blonde children, and it makes  a bit of sense.

“He hasn’t managed to gather any proof, but if word leaks out, you could be in danger, so he wanted to get you out of the city, and to get you north where we could keep you safe, and teach you all those stupid highborn things you’re supposed to know.”

Seven hells, were they really going to try and make a highborn out of him? Gendry had spent most of his life in the dirt laughing at those above him. Thinking of how stupid they looked in their bright, ostentatious outfits and their overpowering perfume. It was easier than resenting them and that they could crush them all under their feet. Did they really want him to become like that? He’s spent his whole life living the role of the bastard blacksmith, he’s not sure he could do anything else.

Arya’s face is still cranky, she’s got her arms crossed and her chin tucked into her chest.

“There’s something else isn’t there?”

Arya takes a deep breath and rubs her temple before continuing.

“Father and King Robert agreed the best way to make your no one doubts your legitimacy- before he does it officially of course- would be to find your a highborn girl to marry.”

Well, this keeps getting better and better. Gendry had never really thought any girl would ever want to marry him, and he’d learned his lesson about going off with randoms.

“So did they drop a name?”

Arya stares at him like he’d grown a second head.

“What?”

She stares harder.

“Gods you’re stupid.”

She then rolls her eyes completely upward and points at herself.

Gendry’s brain momentarily stops working.

“I can’t marry you, what are you, ten?”

“I’m nearly fifteen!”

He knows that, but that’s still his knee jerk reaction. Arya’s a shrimp for her age.

“Don’t we get any say in this?”

Arya looks like she wants to call him stupid again.

“Oh you really don’t know how this highborn thing works.”

She bites her lip and breathes in deeply.

“Besides, I wouldn’t want to leave you to the vultures down south. Plenty of women would see a new, green prince and see the perfect opportunity to latch on and get their claws in you.”

Prince, fucking hell.

“And at least we’re actually friends.”

Yes. Friends. Those were things he could really use at about this moment. Looking at how riled up Arya is disturbs him. She was always so carefree.

He sits on the other mattress, and rests his head in his hands. After a moment, he tilts his head in her direction.

“Are you really okay with this?”

Arya snorts softly, with less derision than he would expect.

“I’ve never wanted to marry anyone, I always thought I’d find some way out of it, maybe run away over the wall. But I trust my father, and it’s not like we’re doing it next week, it will be at least a year or two until they can teach you history and manners and how to walk like you’ve got a spear shoved up your arse, and then Robert can declare you the proper crown prince.”

There it is again.

“I don’t know how to do any of this,” Gendry admits, “I can’t read or write much, and I don’t know much of anything about being outside of Flea Bottom, and they’re going to want me to be the fucking crown prince?”

Arya laughs.

“You’re getting too stuck on the big, lofty things too fast, we have time. I’m still stuck on the fact that I’m going to have to see you naked.”

Well, he has been trying very hard not to let his brain wander in that direction, but since she’s gotten there herself…

“Don’t pretend you don’t want a piece of all of this,” Gendry teases, with his hands gesturing back towards his chest and a shit eating grin, “I know that’s the real reason you always hung around when I would work with my shirt off-”

His sentence is cut off with an “oof” when Arya tackles him to the mattress, knee aiming far too close to his balls. He manages to wiggle free, but she’s far too slippery for him to pin. She kicks him in the side, and he drops one of her wrists, when she shakes her head and snarks,

“I don’t think I’ll be able to look you in the eye after that.”

Heaving, she finally agrees to say uncle when she realizes the other Stark men might find them like this, unceremoniously shoves Gendry on his back, and goes to retrieve them lunch.

Gendry doesn’t like boats much. The rocking makes him feel constantly sick, and there’s hardly anything to look at. And it’s not like he has work to be done.

Arya spends her time giving him a rundown of everything he’ll have to know before getting to Winterfell. She knows the names of all the men who came on the boat with them, who all greet her by name when they see her, and spare him suspicious looks.

Arya rolls her eyes at that.

She points him out the lines over the water where the whales come up for air. Gendry’s never thought much of the ocean, but the idea of animals living beneath it that are so huge has a way of making you feel small.

The last day aboard, Arya tells him about Jon. It’s not the first time, but it’s the first that he’s gotten the details.

“Father won’t tell us who his mother is,” Arya says so softly it’s almost a whisper, “Won’t even speak a word of her. And ever since Jon left for hte wall…” she trails off.

Gendry frowns. Even in just a few short interactions, Gendry could see the respect and admiration Arya had for her father.

“I know lots of men have bastard children,” she continues, “Men like your father who care nothing at all for their wives. But him and Mother always seemed so perfectly in love...and he acts so secretive about it, even when Mother treated Jon…”

She sucks in a breath, and her voice abruptly changes. Gendry is seized by the desire to tell her he would never do that to her, to tell her how exactly zero parts of him wants to be anything like his father, but the idea gets caught in his throat. Inappropriate he thinks, far from the time.

“You should be on your best behavior around my mother, she has very set views on what bastards are like, and they are not positive.”

Arya’s voice darkens.

“She has very set views on what ladies are like too. It’s been nearly three years...I wonder if she’ll soften at all to my trousers and sword wielding if I’ve already found myself a husband…”

Gendry looks her up and down. She’s wearing the same plain dress she’s worn the whole voyage, and her hair is tied back with several bits flying loose in the salty air.

“How come you don’t like wearing dresses?”

Arya looks at him, confused, as though no one has ever thought to ask her that question before.

“They get caught on things, dragged in puddles, trap my feet when I run...before I started taking Bran and Jon’s cast offs, I don’t think I owned a single piece of clothing that hadn’t been dripping in mud at one point. But a girl traveling in trousers is something people would remember, and we don’t want this crew to remember us.”

The crew that has been thankfully ignoring them, save to provide them their sad rations of salted meat and hard tack.

They disembark in White Harbour, and Gendry couldn’t be more grateful. The voyage disagreed with him greatly, and despite the frigid winter air, he’s just happy to be on solid ground again.

The first night they off board, when they camp along the road, is when Arya changes back into the same deerskin breeches she wore pretty much every time he’d seen her in Flea Bottom.

“I like you like this,” he tells her when he’s eyeing the horse one of the Stark men had obtained in White Harbour warily, as though it could smell his unease from here, “You look like yourself.”

Arya’s face is inscrutable as she mounts her own horse, much more easily than him.

They’re riding a bit further from the others when she quietly replies,

“I’m sorry I’m not pretty. The future crown prince would have his choice of the most beautiful women in the seven kingdoms for his bride usually, and you’re stuck with Arya Horseface.”

Horseface? Gendry exchanges a glance with the dark gray mare he’s riding. Her eyes are dim and resigned. No resemblance there at all.

“Maybe your face won’t sink ships,” he tells her gently, “but you aren’t ugly.  There’s more than one kind of pretty, and pretty isn’t everything.”

And Gendry’s not sure if he would trust a pretty woman who claimed to want him anymore, crown prince or not.

Maybe it’s because the boat ride was so unpleasant, but the few days ride from White Harbour to Winterfell feel like nothing at all, and before Gendry knows it, he’s face to face was an actual castle.

Arya’s mood has brightened considerably when approaching the keep. She bounces in the saddle, a grin on her face, looking more and more like the energetic, inquisitive child who first appeared in the shop three years ago.

And then the gate opens, and Gendry is completely overwhelmed again.

Winterfell is nothing like the tiny glimpses he’d gotten of the Red Keep. The people within the walls bustle and move about their day with ease, and no one seems to be cowering in fear.

And then there’s the Starks themselves. He knows their names, but now they have faces attached to those names. Robb, about his age and terribly gracious. Rickon, who in a great surprise to his sister, is now up to her shoulders, and with that same wild energy Gendry had seen in Arya.  Bran, Gendry remembers hearing the story of his fall from a tower here, pale and thin, having to be pushed in a strange, wheelbarrow like contraption, by a servant. Gendry frowns at it. There must be something that could be made so he could push himself instead of having someone else do it.

And Lady Catelyn Stark herself. Physically, there’s very little resemblance to Arya in Winterfell’s Lady, and under her gaze, Gendry immediately feels like the naughty child Arya had been in the stories she’d told him, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Gendry Baratheon,” she greets him, and Gendry finds himself staring at his shoes,

“Not yet, milady,” he mumbles, fire in his veins.

Lady Catelyn smiles, and he can’t read her smile.

“Robb,” she asks her eldest, “Please get our guest dressed for dinner.”

Robb apologizes that the clothes he presents Gendry with are going to be a bit small, as Gendry is both an inch or two taller and a bit broader than him. When he examines them, Robb eyes him warily.

“How was the journey?”

Awful, boats can go to all seven hells, he wants to say, but instead.

“Just fine,”

Robb cocks his head,

“And Arya didn’t once try to push you overboard?”

“No,” Gendry says with a chuckle, “We’re friends.”

The breeches and leather doublet are finer than anything Gendry’s ever worn before, but he feels like he’s bursting out of it when Robb leads him back to the Great Hall. Arya too, it turns out, has been wrestled into a silvery gray gown edged in white fur, and for the first time, Gendry thinks she actually looks like a proper lady.

Except for the fidgeting.

“It’s too tight and too long,” she complains to him in whispers as they move to sit down. They’re too far apart to keep it up once seated. “It was Sansa’s, and I’m taller than I used to be, but she’d a damn beanpole.”

At least it’s not just him.

During the meal (roast duck in some sort of fruit sauce he doesn’t recognize but sucks down regardless. It tastes better than anything he’s ever eaten in his life) Robb stands and introduces him, making him duck his head in an attempt to avoid the stares.

Once everyone’s nearly finished, Rickon asks him if he wants to join them on a hunt the next day.

“I’ve never been hunting,” Gendry admits, “I don’t think I’d be any good at it.”

“We’ll teach you,” Rickon assures him.

Lady Catelyn smiles another of her pinched smiles.

“Robert loved to hunt. I imagine as his son, you will follow after him in many of those regards.”

Maybe she doesn’t mean anything by it, but Gendry’s insides rage. She’s just met him, she barely knows anything about him, and she’s already thinking he’s going to be just like the fat, drunken, lecherous king…

The fire within him is interrupted by something plunking in the middle of his forehead. He plucks it up, a sticky, candied nut, one that had been served with dessert. Soft snickering gives away where it came from, and Lady Catelyn is interrupted to scold her daughter.

So, with a shrug and a look in Robb’s direction, Gendry does the only natural thing to do. He picks up his spoon and uses it to fling the nut cluster right back in Arya’s direction.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

REVENGE OF GREAT

Most will self-destruct before you can destroy them. So it is with hacking: the more ideas you'll have.1 And so were books and paintings. A few decades ago, only famous people and professional writers got to publish their opinions. If anything oversensitive. There are several reasons why, but one is that people get used to how things are. But people will do any amount of drudgery for companies of which they're the founders.2 When wealth is talked about in this context, it is often described as a pie.

Ordinary programmers write code to pay the bills. You can measure the value of the company will be spending more than it makes, and will go out of business if this one product fails; and even at Google they have a hard time hiring anyone good to work for him if the project had to be shared out, rather than the fish. Viaweb we would try to sell them the company. From the evidence I've seen so far, but the fear of loss. Their size makes them slow and prevents them from rewarding employees for the extraordinary effort required.3 And since human nature limits the size of the entire tree. So when mediocre investors see that lots of other people want to invest in students, not professors. Most successful startups make that tradeoff unconsciously. For example, everyone I've talked to while writing this essay felt the same about English classes—that if you let motivated people do real work, they work hard, whatever their age.

What you should fear, as a child, I bet you can't clean up your apartment, writing something that other people will read forces you to think well. The low cost of starting a startup, though. Algol: Assembly language is too low-level stuff like allocating memory. I think the problem here is much the same questions; but once you've written a piece of software is, in itself, what makes startups worth the trouble. In that situation, even the darkest bits of the dark ages, people were discovering things that made our lives materially richer. That wouldn't seem nearly as uncool. In much the same way a low-tech society you don't see much variation in productivity. We worry about that instead.

Notes

If you're part of grasping evolution was to reboot them, would be easy to slide into thinking that customers want what you love, or black beans n cubes Knorr beef or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris points out that this was hard to say, ending up on the proceeds of the biggest company of all tend to focus on growth instead of blacklist. This is the stupid filter, dick has a sharp drop in utility. But that was killed partly by its overdone launch. But this is the case in the other.

I'm not trying to figure out yet whether you'll succeed. One source of difficulty here is one problem where rapid prototyping doesn't work.

The closest we got to Yahoo, but that it's a seller's market. Free money to start startups, because you have to do with down rounds—like putting NMI on a form that would get shut down in the 1984 ad isn't Microsoft, incidentally, because spam and P nonspam are both genuinely formidable, and Windows, respectively. For example, you're not trying to upgrade an existing investor, the more powerful language in it, so it's conceivable that a startup.

[babysackville]

Monday 4th August 1828

4 50/60

12

In spite of sprinkling my bed with vinegar bit last night - on the box of the Independent coach at 5 55/60 - stop 5 minutes at the great coach office higher up the street (Argyll street) opposite the tower - stop at 7 ½ at the Hamilton Arms, Hamilton, for 5 minutes but do not change horses till, after passing the fine 5 arch bridge over the Clyde and Evan, stop at Wishaw at 8 20/60 - 

A native of Berlin on the coach - said the best part of the scenery on the Rhine was from Cologne to Colmar - he traveled per coach not like our coaches (the German malle poste in fact) carried only 9 passengers from Berlin to Cologne 80 German leagues or 400 English miles - Accum Frederick the book leaf stealing London Chemist, has built a house at Berlin - teaches English and chemistry - Humbolt gave gratis lectures twice a week last winter before the King and such as he chose to admit - going to publish a complete set of his works - set down our Berlinois and an Englishman at Cartland Crags to go down to the stonebyres falls, and stopped at the Clydesdale Inn, Lanark, at 9 50/60 - breakfast off again at 10 ¼  - in 3 or 4 minutes, right, ruined church, old Lanark burying ground - at 10 25/60 on 1 side the road (right) wall of the fir plantation (house not seen) of Bonniton (Lady Mary Ross) on the other (left) Lanark race ground one mile round a nice looking little course - said to be good races here - good red road, made of (said the coachman (sitting on my left) left handed - the 1st left handed coachman I ever saw in my life) burnt stone - all the stone hereabouts red sandstone - fine-ish open country - thorn hedges - 

The mail had turned off 6 miles before Lanark and we should get into her road (for a little way) 17 miles from Lanark - at 10 35/60 cross the Clyde, Homeford bridge handsome 5 arch red sandstone bridge - at 10 55/60 sort of moor all round, partly cultivated partly sweet gale and heather closed by the Bigger hills in the distance - at 11 35/60 change horses at Chester Hall Inn (lone house) comfortable Inn enough coach from Edinburgh meets us here - take up passengers and luggage and off at 12 - between Hamilton and Lanark bull without horns, polled, i.e of the Galloway breed - never before saw a bull of this breed - cutting hay grass beyond Chester Hall Inn - Telford did the 8 miles of new road to Lanark and surveyed the whole line [?] from Sterling to Caerlisle 110 miles - at 12 35/60 pass over Duneaton bridge 3 arches over Duneaton river good river - falls into the Clyde just below the bridge - 

At 1 12/60 change horse at Crawford - neat white Inn neat small church straw thatched partly blue-slated village - the ruin of Carwford castle (belonging to the Colebrooke family) just on the other side the Clyde (still a goodish river) neither large nor picturesque as seen from the village -  more like the ruin of an old gable under house than a regular castle - a few old shabby trees around it and ? at a little distance a neatish white farm house nearly hid among the old trees and farm buildings - at Crawford (thro which the mail passes) the mail-road distance from Glasgow to Caerlisle is marked Glasgow 40, Caerlisle 54 = 94 miles; but the distance we go (vide itinerary) is about 119 miles - on asking the coachman why we did not as I had understood at Glasgow we should, pass thro’ Kilmarnock (22 miles from Glasgow) he merely said the coach did not go that way today - No Beauty in the vale of Clyde from Chester Hall Inn to here (Crawford) bleak, bare hills, goodish sheep-pasture and not very good land bottom - no wood - the hills nearer Crawford and beyond brown heathery wildish and bare a peat moss just on getting out of the village - no orchards all the way from Lanark neither did I see any about Hamilton - why Clydsdale the orchard of Scotland - no part left for it but the 14 ½ miles (charged 15 miles) from Lanark to Hamilton and in the 1st 2 miles from L-[anark] only saw to little orchards when there before - 

Off from Crawford at 1 20/60 - at 1 35/60 2 roads that to the left, the mail road to Carlisle - we take that to the right, to Dumfries and pass over 1 arch stone bridge over broadish stream which most at a very short distance fall into the Clyde below - the village of Leadhills or 5 miles from where the 2 roads meet - Leadhills lies between us and Sanguhar (pronounced Sankar) Clyde close left, and handsome 3 arch bridge and Newton, Lord Newton, a good, comfortable-looking square, 3 story, red sandstone house (like an English shooting box) and small village of Ellwell foot consisting of ½ dozen straw thatched cottages and a white Inn - we had had rain but not much, from 11 20/60 from ¼ hour but it began to rain about 1 ¾ and rained very heavily for about an hour, however I was not much wet, I have my tartan cloak which was soaked thru’ wild, bleak, bare road (on the ascent) till about 2 ¾ when we reach the head of the glen of Dalveen where began the property of the Duke of Bucleugh - here too changes the course the waters which on the other side ran towards the glen the German ocean and here ran towards the Atlantic - the Curron run down along the glen - the lofty precipitous green mountains occasionally stripped with shingle, the narrow green glen with its little rapid stream (the Carron), the road gradually descending along the mountain side (made about 14 year ago) fenced off like the Simplon with set stones at 2 or 3 yards distance, the steep height above and the steep depth below, very fine - luckily the rain was rather abating and I could hold aside the umbrella to look about me - not expecting the fine glen perhaps it struck me more - in 10 minutes down the little white one-story Inn and turnpike (lone house) - change horses in 5 minutes and off again at 4 (peats here) in 5 minutes more turn left with the Carron and out of the glen of Dalveen [?] and enter wide bare-hilled valley along the bottom of which the Carron flows down a little shallow glen (as it were within the wider glen) unpicturesque because no wood till a mile or 2 from Drumlaurie castle (duke of Buchleugh) here we get pretty will wooded - a few gentle seats all along here and there from Glasgow but not in general conspicuous enough for me, on the top of a coach to note them down - Drumlanrick castle distance right , old house-like castle conspicuous among woods - 

At 3 ¾ island in 2 or 3 minutes more pass thru’ the neat little village of Cornbrig or Thornbrig? (Slates or rather flags put on diamond-wise here and afterwards, because in the common way they will not drain each other so well) wildish, wide country bounded all by ranges of hill - pretty well wooded southwards - red sandstone fence walls and but few thorn hedges here and ever since leaving Dalveen - at 4 change horses at the very good village or nice neat little town (houses chiefly 1 story high) of Thornhill - old fluted column with sort of fret-work capital surmounted by a diminutive looking flying horse - stands on a high, large base a pedestal (hexagon?) 3 steps running all round it - called the market cross - red sandstone town, but mostly washed over and generally white - 

Off at 4 10/60 - open habitable, green more populated country - peat moss just below the town - at 4 ¾ come down up the Neth, board good river - (the flat banks seem rather wooded and pretty) pass the 3 brothers (a fine large green oak of 3 exactly similar boles from 1 stock) and at 4 51/60 cross handsome, 3 arch, red sandstone bridge (Algirth bridge) over the Neth, and change horses at 4 55/60 at a mere cottage and little stable 8 miles from Dumfries - at 5 ¼ (little distance left) almost hid among the trees, Ellisland (6 miles from Dumfries) as (as pronounced) the farm occupied by the poet Robert Burns - the house and farmstead still as when he left it - at 5 35/60 see (left) in the distance beyond us peeping from among the trees, the ruins of what the coachman calls the Old College of Dumfries - Cross and Clooton (as pronounced) over 1 large arched red sand stone bridge and pass thro’ the small village of Clooton - prettyish or fineish drive from our 1st coming down upon the Neth to Dumfreis and goodish land 3 or 4 miles from Dumfries - Cross fine 7 arch red sandstone bridge (an older red sand stone bridge of 7 arches at a little distance right also over the Neth) over the Neth (fine river here) and enter Dumfries, and stop at the Kings arms at 6 - very civil people and could have staid there comfortably seems a good inn - excellent hodge podge and some hot roast beef and a little baked pudding but hardly time to eat - dined in 12 minutes - had been quarter hour upstairs changing the paper of my napkin much of my cousin - 

Nothing to see in the town, but Burns’ monument in the old church yard - 3 churches (all and town too red sandstone) with neat spires - very nice, neat, pretty town - no trade - depends on its cattle market - great market for pigs from Ireland - Thorn hedges and fertile all (off from Dumfries at 6 ½) round the town - save where the large peat moss just out of the town, and now so accustomed to this can scarce think the comforts of a Scottish town secure with a peat moss - capital road - white villages and houses scattered all around - very few horned cattle - the polled all here abouts i.e the Galloway breed - asked if they were good milk cows, yes! but excellent beef - at 6 55/60 1st turnpike from Dumfries - 2 roads - left 16 miles to Annan - hilly - the mail road - could go the other in as little time, but several gentleman’s seats that way, and ‘it suits’ to have a church on each road - right, our road, 17 miles but pay only ½ toll that way - from here the country plain, flat, not wooded - nor pretty neither picturesque - 

At 7 10/60 see the Solway Firth and 2 stooks of oats cut -  had ask before why so corn was so much forwarded than the rest, particularly 1 patch of oats quite yellow,and another close to it quite dark green - ‘Oh! because the land’ (of the yellow oats) ‘was lighter’ - at 7 35/60 change horses at the end of the little white village of Clarensfield (as pronounced) - Pass close under the very neat good and small white row of houses called Cumertree and at 8 ½ cross 3 arch red sandstone bridge over the river Annan and enter the good red sandstone but pretty white washed, town of Annan - handsome church steeple - the towns always better as nearer England small coal smoke here - off at 8 40/60 - getting too dusky to see much - disappointed that we do not pass thro’ the village of Gretna Green but change horses at 9½ at a little white Inn by the road side ¼ or ½ mile from the village - the mail changes at the Inn (excellent built by Col. Maxwell to whom Gretna belongs for himself but his wife did not like it so let it for an Inn and it is one of the best on the road) in the village - 

At 9 50/60 at the last turnpike in Scotland - the girl gave the coachman whisky - 4/. per gallon duty on it in England, and not drinkable there - so tasted with the coachman by way of adieu to Scotland and her whiskey, thou’ I had been all along the road musing whether to go from Carlisle to Selkirk (6 miles from Melrose Abbey and 60 miles from C-[aerlisle] according to the coachman) per mail which leaves C-[aerlisle] every morning at 7 for Edinburgh - I ought to have gone from Glasgow to Edinburgh and thence by Selkirk, but feared time and knew not exactly the mail-road - almost immediately after leaving the last turnpike cross bridge over the Sark another great stream that here parts England from Scotland - soon afterwards pass the cast iron bridge (one of the 1st of these bridges) over the broad Eske - the tide comes up as far as here - tis called the head of the Solway Firth said our coachman - 

Heavyish rain for about 20 minutes before getting into Carlisle - alight at the blank space a second rate sort of not very comfortable coach house at 10 50/60 - by the negligence of the guard my box (caravan) of light things taken off and left at Dumfries - to have at 5 p.m. tomorrow - so I must stay here whether I would or not - about 1 ¼ hours heavy rain early in the afternoon (vide above) but very fine evening from about 5 to 10 ½ and fine morning till it began to look threatening about 11 -

[Left margin: about ¼ hour or perhaps 20 minutes passing the glen of Dalveen - maybe about 2 miles long of fin[?] [?] perhaps a mile of the very fine?  the Carron falls into the Neth]

(Diary reference: SH7MLE110041 & SH7MLE110042)

[humaudrey]

TheThings is back on their bullshit

(WARNING: LONG RANT AHEAD!!!!)

Anyone know how to delete a YouTube video from someone else's channel (or just their entire channel all together) because...

This

Is SO

I don't even have the words!!!!

Once again, your girl watches one of their videos (several times unfortunately to really analyze this ish) so y'all don't have to and let me tell you, this one is 1,000,000x more infuriating than the one when they belittled Uma to lift Mal and make her better in comparison (link to my post on that here).

I've been recommended this video so many times since the trailers for D3 dropped and when I saw the title, I KNEW I was gonna hate it and low and behold, I DID!

So let's go over their "5 Signs on why Audrey is the real threat", shall we?

#1. Audrey's Outburst

So, their first piece of evidence as to why Audrey's the unfathomable dark force (their exact words) is because of the fact that Audrey yelled no as Ben proposed to Mal, "ruining their beautiful moment". They then explain that it would be "natural for Audrey to be jealous since she is Ben's ex-girlfriend", being perfect okay with the ugly "black, bitter, ex-girlfriend" trope that many have loved to stick onto her in their fanfics (I see y'all 👀), and then compares that moment to when Ben asked Mal to be his date for coronation in D1, stating that she didn't react so strongly before, so why now? EXCUSE ME?! Our girl left the Tourney Field crying that her BOYFRIEND had serenaded another girl with a love song, and not a single person ran after her. She had every reason to be upset then, too. Who's to even say why Audrey's saying no? It could be a terrible misdirect on the trailer's part. The theory that Audrey's possessed is swirling around everywhere, maybe it had already begun to take effect, which is why she's "acting so strangely". D3 hasn't even been released and they're already villainizing her. Figures.

They also use the typical argument that Audrey's into titles and she wants what Mal has, and that she didn't want Chad because he was merely a prince.

She doesn't want Chad because CHAD CHARMING IS A MANIPULATIVE TOOL! Ask Evie! Chad only thinks that being king would get Audrey's attention. You wanna talk about jealousy? Titles? If ant character is jealous of anyone's titles, it's Chad freaking Charming, not Audrey.

#2. The Crown

An obvious piece of evidence is the fact that "Audrey" steals the Queen's crown and Maleficent's scepter from the museum. Whatever, right? They assume that Audrey's faking her slumber when the sleeping spell hits, giving her an alibi. They then have the FREAKING AUDACITY to say that AUDREY, a non magical princess, who has been so anti-magic since D1 (with a grandmother who she loves dearly, that's triggered by the mention of said spells and curses), was the cause of the curse. Their evidence? Well, her family's VERY familiar with it, so it makes sense, right?

NO!!!!

Audrey has NO magic whatsoever!!! Did they forget that? The only reason her family is "so familiar" with the sleeping spell is because THEY ARE VICTIMS OF SAID SLEEPING SPELL!!!! And it's not like she could cast it, because, again, AUDREY HAS NO MAGIC!! If anyone is familiar with a sleeping spell, it's Mal. After all, she almost put Evie under just so she could grab her mother's specter from her.

How dare you take an Innocent family's trauma and turn it around to make them the bad guys?

#3. The Scepter

They continue to say that "Audrey" is to blame for the sleeping spell, rather than Celia, Hades, or Uma because "Audrey" has the specter. And immediately, they suggest that maybe Audrey's not working only. You wanna bet who they hinted Audrey was cooperating with?

If you guessed Uma, you'd be correct. All because Uma's seen laughing in her teaser. WHAT?! So, not only do you attempt to take Audrey's entire character and drag it through the mud, you take ANOTHER black girl's name that you've already tried to ruin and tarnish and say they're working together because they're BITTER?

If they're BITTER, it's ONLY BECAUSE YOUR WHITE, PLAIN, BARNEY COLORED DRAGON FAIRY PRIVILEGED PRINCESS PROSPECT FAVE had treated them HORRIBLY.

They end their third sign with the line "We knew Audrey was a mean girl, but we didn't think she'd stoop so low".

The meanest thing Audrey has ever done INTENTIONALLY, was 1.) Tell Evie that she and her family don't have a royal status in Auradon (to which, she is technically correct) and 2.) Tell Mal that she and Ben wouldn't last because she's "the bad girl infatuation".

Jane should be branded the mean girl because she turns on the one girl that helped her with her rise to popularity (which, granted, was for malicious INTENTIONS and caused EVEN MORE self esteem issues by degrading her).

MAL should be branded the mean girl, if anyone! She's:

Dumped rotten shrimp on her former best friend because she laughed at her

Forced a guy to throw a party since his mother was away, knowing that his abusive mother wouldn't be okay with it

Then locked a girl in a closet full of BEAR TRAPS at said party all because she wasn't invited to her birthday party when they were SIX YEARS OLD

Dumped lye on another former best friend's hair because she DIDN'T WANT TO BE COMPARED TO HER

Told another girl that all she had going for her was her personality, so she needed the wand to make herself pretty

ROOFIED HER SOON TO BE BOYFRIEND INTO DATING HER IN THE FIRST PLACE JUST TO GET A FRONT ROW SEAT AT HIS CORONATION SO SHE COULD STEAL THE WAND

AND TAKES SAID WAND FROM THE GIRL SHE EMOTIONALLY MANIPULATED EARLIER AND POINTS IT DIRECTLY AT AUDREY ALL BECAUSE SHE KNEW THAT MAL WASN'T GOOD FROM THE JUMP

Let's see a video ranking Mal's top five worst moments, huh? There's plenty of those to use for a freaking video.

#4. It's All About Mal (sounds like D3)

They start this point off with: "Audrey has beef with Mal".

AS SHE SHOULD!

They use the fact that Mal stole her boyfriend and her title and their families history with one another, so Audrey has this motivation to ACT OUT AGAINST HER ENTIRE COUNTRY? Not buying it! I won't buy it, especially since both parties seemed to have made amends at the end of D1 when Mal silently curtsies as a lame form of an apology that Audrey gracefully accepts anyway like the future Queen of Auroria would. Audrey's even seen bowing willingly at the end of Set It Off, and is even cheering and dancing with her friends as Mal and Ben share their moment under the fireworks, so clearly, Audrey's not broken up about it in the slightest.

They propose a theory that Audrey's absence in D2 is because she's planning her revenge in Sherwood Forest, and that she doesn't have car troubles because "Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather should be more than capable of handling it, so she's only calling Chad to help her plot her scheme.

Whatever they're smoking, I want it.

Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather can't help Audrey with her car troubles because of the MAGIC BAN!! They needed Chad to help with her car.

And I HIGHLY DOUBT that Disney would plan something so carefully since the entire series is branded with plot holes and inconsistencies anyway, so... 🐸☕

#5. Face Off Time

Their final point states that Mal has to face off against the enemy and they use the first teaser of dragon-Mal blowing fire at "Audrey" on top of the castle, and the card at the end that says "betrayal", that Audrey has betrayed all of Auradon. And since Mal only turns into a dragon against SERIOUS ENEMIES LIKE UMA IN D2, Audrey has to be a REAL THREAT.

Thank God they're probably not making a D4, because if they continue this trend of WOC wronged by Mal as the villain, I'd be scared for Evie...

So, in their words, Audrey and Uma, two of the few black girls in the entire franchise who have every God given right not to like/trust Mal, are Mal's MOST SERIOUS rivals, as if Hades doesn't at ALL pose a threat to Auradon. No, Audrey is So mUcH MOre THreATEninG thAN ThE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD, SO SHE MUST BE STOPPED!!!

I see you, TheThings, and if I didn't despise your channel before, I hate it that much more now after enduring 5 minutes of hell with you guys.

AND, TO TOP IT ALL OFF THEY CLEARLY SHOW THEIR BIAS OF MAL OVER AUDREY!!

Like, just say you're racist and GO! Audrey's clearly influenced by some magical being, whether it be Hades (WHO WE SEE DOING SOME KIND OF MAGICAL RITUAL WITH HER AND HIS EMBER IN A TRAILER, BUT I GUESS THEY CHOSE TO IGNORE IT FOR SOME REASON 🐸☕), Dr. Facilier, Celia, or maybe even Maleficent. Your reasons for making Audrey the villain are pathetic, and I wish I could block a YouTube Channel so I would NEVER see another video from your channel ever again.

I'm so sick of how "mean" brown girls are treated in media AND fandoms. Why does Audrey get all of his libel while Mal gets away with EVERYTHING? Why are the Cheryl Blossoms, the Quinn Fabrays, the Kitty Wildes, and every other mean girl that Emma Roberts has ever played are so praised and are instant fan favorites while the Josie McCoys, the Santana Lopezes, and the Brees are seen as the bullies when, at the end of the day, they're both different sides of the same damn coin?

And if you don't see a problem with this, then, newsflash, you are the problem!

So, I end my rant with this:

And a short tag list containing: @amityravenclawelf and @coco-rena because I know these two are looking forward to this!

Have a wonderful day everyone!

And I apologize for the typos but I was HEATED!!