#common uses of brass

[aroaessidhe]

I went to the library sale :) i am a picky bastard and only got hardcovers with the removable dustjacket covers , so they're pristine on the outside! I've read the wayward children books, the others are on my tbr.

[pyrriax]

losing my mind losing my mind losing my mind losing my mind

[dhampling]

the gate girl!dadstarion, 1.5k

He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too. He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail.  - astarion is a school-gate dilf on his first pick-up adventure with you. wc: 1.5k a/n: dadstarion fridays! wooooo! hope you enjoy - love, dal x

“Come on. We’ll be late.”

Your hand meets his with a toothy grin.

Astarion teeters a little.

He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too. 

He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail. 

Weeks spent designing the overcoat now covering his clothes - almost feltish in texture, a deep blue with gentle golden threading. Brass buttons. The smallest red ribbon detailing in the seams. The fit is immaculate, despite the fact he had to take his own measurements. The gloves match beautifully, just as he’d intended.

Shoes polished within an inch of their lives. Shirt and trousers pressed to perfection. Hair neatly coiffed with assistance from your gentle hands.

He grimaces.

“She’s going to think I’m weird.”

“Is this for her, or you?’

He takes a moment. Examines both sides of his glove with a flex. Sniffs pointedly. 

‘She’s not going to think you’re any weirder than she already does. She’s your little freak.” You grab at his sides playfully and he shimmies around your clutches, breaking into a timid laugh. 

The dark skies of Deepwinter are primed to allow Astarion his first ever school pick-up. 

He hasn’t slept, you know that. Bag in hand holding the gift he’d spent the short day hidden away working on. Your matching scarves around your necks. The biting chill beyond the threshold of your hearth.  

Eyes round in a contemplative lax as his hand rests atop the door handle. 

“I’m being stupid, aren’t I?”

Your eyes roll fondly into your skull.

“Yes. Now, get moving.” 

It takes you enclosing your hand in his for the door to open, immediately facing a brutal fracas of ice-cold winds lapping at your face. 

“How in any realm is a child expected to walk home in this? Ridiculous!” He shuffles from foot to foot as he chunters while you lock the door and pocket the key, looking up to the stars.

“With a coat. And gloves. And…’

You point to the bag in his hand as you interlink your arms.

‘A scarf.’

Astarion gives a small smile, pressing a chaste kiss to your head.

‘Come on, now. We might get there in time to see her out the door.”

-

The walk there isn’t the leisurely gander Astarion had dreamt of when he’d thought of this moment. 

In his head it was always late summer. Sunblushed.

And yet as you turn your head to him in your giddy half-canter; cheeks flush and breath clouding the space around your perfect head, he can’t believe he ever imagined it any other way.

The stars overhead are familiar as they always have been. The slightest slippy tread of frost on the cobble. Windows around you lit with candles and the loud taverns you pass en-route seem well hunkered-down.

He finds himself pulling you closer with each corner turned, stumbling to keep with your gait.

And then, there it is.

A huddle of parents waiting out in the cold, hands rubbing together; a low hum of chatter. School gates still closed. When you greet some of them with familiarity - one or two even getting a hug as you make your way to your preferred circle - and introduce him as your husband, his heart swells. 

He didn’t realise you were friends with these people. That these fellow parents could be people to have anything in common with in the first place. Astarion is hardly the enigma he used to be within the city walls and they know of him. They know you’re with him.

But none have ever seen him in the flesh.

There’s a minute where he ponders what they think of him. How you’d described him, how they may have looked at your daughter under the orange gloaming light of Leaffall and wondered which features of hers came first from him as opposed to you. How they’d pieced him together in their minds.

He feels a little out of place as you chatter - hyper aware of each stolen glance in his direction. The whites of new eyes flickering in the darkness. 

It isn’t often he meets new people anymore. Even his client roster is exclusive. 

“Why would I tell you how good-looking he is when he isn’t even here to hear it?”

He tunes back in. They all look, you included.

“Hm?”

“Marta-’ 

A faux accusatory glance on your face as you look over to the human who - Astarion presumes - is Marta. 

‘Asked why I hadn’t told the group just how attractive you are.”

The way the most blinding smile breaks over your ruddied cheeks. He melts behind a scoff.

“Actually darling, Marta has a point. I’m hurt, frankly.”

Gods. They’re all laughing. Your gaggle of school-gate friends and he has them laughing.

“No, it’s just dark. See him by light. Then you’ll change your minds.”

You huddle closer despite the brazen lie and the group laughs away. He throws in a small chuckle for good measure and presses a kiss to your head once more.

They’re all relatively harmless, he decides.

What do school gate friends do? Why have you never invited them over for wine or something? 

“I mean - Astarion, what do you think?”

“Hm?”

“They’re showing a rather keen interest to come over one evening for dinner. Inconspicuous, I’m sure.” 

He looks around warily. Can they read his mind? Is someone here a weird school gate mind reader freak? What the fuck?

Your eyes narrow at Marta in jest.

Oh.

If you’re even showing the slightest hint at wanting the doting husband, the doting husband he will give you. Freely and willingly. Far too easily. Naturally.

“Oh! Whatever you want, my love. Anything.”

Astarion takes your head in his hands and brings you close for a warm kiss, eyes softening as he holds you in place. A gentle smile against the harsh wind.  

“What’s in the bag?” Another asks in a jarring fettle. Your head whips round. He answers softly. 

“I- I made the little one a scarf.” 

A coo arises from those huddled around the two of you. 

“He’s a tailor. A good one, too. Really good.” 

You nod with a smile, looking at him. You’re mid-cycle and the idea of your daughter spotting him with those big eyes makes you a bit weak.

A saccharine voice from somewhere in the mix - “He’s immaculate, honey. I’m a little jealous?” 

If he can blush, Astarion feels one coming on. This feels staged. 

“He can’t take his shoes off without kicking them up the wall. Or catch spiders.”

-

As you resume your quiet chatter amongst the group, Astarion catches the door open in the near distance and a soft amber glow pouring from it from the corner of his eye.

It’s a trance. He looks over the heads obscuring his view, the tips of his toes touching the ends of his pristine shoes. 

And there she is.

Absolutely perfect. Small, searching the crowd for the parent she knows will be here.

Then she sees him.

It’s not difficult from afar, even in the dark - she recognises the shock of white hair anywhere - and the look of sheer confusion painted on her face shifts to unfettered joy in seconds.

Gods. She’s running. Tiny legs, bag flailing in her hand. Shouting-

“DADDY!”

As she hurtles towards him, he realises he’s never seen her run like this. She can’t run like this in the house. It’d be enough to make him sad if he weren’t so wholly elated.

He crouches just in time for her to barrel into his open arms.

The way he cups the back of her head is as if he hasn’t seen her in years, spinning her as he stands and holds her at his hip. She’s babbling something wicked and all of it sounds like utter nonsense and he’s so besotted it doesn’t even matter.

His little girl, out in the world. Being a person. 

And it’s him that she chooses to run to. 

“Charming! Hello love!” You shuffle closer and plant a large kiss on the back of her head, taking the bags from her hand and hoisting them up over your back in a routine twirl.

You take Astarion’s hint of a glance toward his bag and roll your eyes fondly, feeling for the scarf and slipping it back into his hand.

“My little darling! Hello! I have something for you - close your eyes.”

He haphazardly wraps the scarf around her neck with one hand as she bristles against his hip, wiggling her shoulders in some impromptu happy dance.

“Look now! You match us!” He exclaims. 

She opens her eyes and squeals with glee you haven’t seen at the school gate before, ever.

And true to his word, the scarf wholly matches both of yours. Embroidered with small golden stars on navy fabric. Her name in some immaculate loopy hand. Far too big for her at present, but warm on this coldest of evenings.

“I love it daddy. I want another one.” She nods acutely and smatters his face in small kisses. 

As you look to Astarion, he raises both brows in amusement at her request. She tucks her head in under his chin.

“Come along now. Let’s get you warm by the fire.”

✦

[blorbologist]

Y'know, I think I figured out why the Hells still feel like a new low-level party to me, even though they're level 13 and almost 100 episodes in.

I don't quite think it's the lack of conversations, or the fact half the party's plot hooks are big ties to past campaigns - though that definitely plays a part.

... Bell's Hells still primarily rely on quest givers.

Most of their goals are given to them and do not feel organic to the party, and constantly remind us that the Hells are pretty much never the most powerful people in the room. Which is usually something you see with a low-level party.

NPCs offering jobs is not a bad thing; it's a very common plot hook. Matt has been extremely skilled with using NPC quest givers in those two campaigns. Not only do they provide an obvious plot thread, but they can put the party in the path of others (say, the Nein running into the Iron Shepherds while doing a job for the Gentleman and everything that came of that). And the Hells had a solid start with it too - Eshteross was an excellent quest giver!

The problem is that Bell's Hells have never really not had a quest giver.

Maybe it's a byproduct of the more plot-heavy structure of this campaign? But while prior parties have felt like they decided on their course of action and what they prioritized, Bell's Hells feels less like level 13 (13! Level 13!) experienced adventurers and more like an MMO group clicking on the exclamation point over an NPC's head. Where does the plot demand we go next? Who do we report back to?

They're level 13.

At level 13, Vox Machina had just defeated a necromantic city-state to clear their name and Percy's conscience. And, you know, the Conclave just destroyed Emon. No one was explicitly telling the group to gather Vestiges and save the world (though Matt guided them there), and they were usually among the most powerful people in the room. They chose which Vestiges to prioritize, which dragons to tackle when, even if the over-all plot was pretty clear.

At level 13, the Mighty Nein were celebrating Traveler Con (another PC goal, I'll note) after brokering peace between two nations, accidentally becoming pirates and heroes of the Dynasty. The Nein regularly chose what to do based on personal goals, not grand ones. Though definitely smaller fish than Vox Machina at this level, they were very independent and gaining solid political clout.

While we're at it: level 13 is one level lower than the Ring of Brass, who had a huge amount of sway over Avalir. They ended the world, and also saved it, while in the grand scheme of things being only a smidge more powerful than Bell's Hells are now.

Can you really see the Hells wielding that amount of influence, when they're constantly being told what to do next?

The god-eater might be unleashed, so Bell's Hells have no time to do anything but what is asked of them. No time for therapy unless stolen from Feywild time, no travel on foot and late-night watches. They haven't even had time to grieve FCG. Percy was grieved in the middle of the Conclave arc. Molly was grieved when half the party was still in irons.

Matt is in the very unfortunate spot of not being able to give the Hells the same agency as the other two parties. Not only because of the world-ending plot introduced so early on; they are surrounded by characters they know (and the cast knows) are stronger and wiser than them - the familiarity of the past PCs and NPCs is to their disadvantage.

Why would the party reasonably ignore Keyleth's task that will help save the world and go off on a romp? Why would the cast when they know well Keyleth has to be sensible and with the best intentions in mind? The stakes are just too high.

It means that the Hells still feel like they're running errands instead of pursuing their own destiny. Their accomplishments are diminished as just being parts of a to-do list, and any stakes feel padded by several level 20 PCs/NPCs standing 5 steps away ready to catch them.

This isn't Bell's Hell's fault, nor is it Matt's. It could be amended, I think, if the Hells are really left to their own devices for a long period of time without support and shortcuts (like during the party split)... which would be really tricky to pull off at this point in the campaign.

They're level 13. They're big fish, but they're stuck in a pond full of friendly sharks, so they don't feel big at all.

[artistmarchalius]

Cockney Rhyming Slang Phrases Part 1

Part 2

In a previous post I went into Cockney rhyming slang history and gave some tips on how to use it.

In this post I’ll give you some commonly used Cockney rhyming slang phrases, phrases that I find funny, as well as some phrases that I think would be useful for Spider-Verse fic writers specifically.

So let’s get started!

A-B

Adam and Eve - Believe

E.g. “I don’t Adam and Eve it!”

Apples and Pears - Stairs

E.g. “He fell down the apples.”

Aunt Joanna - Piano

E.g. “Play me a song on the old Joanna!” Or “Get on the Joanna and we’ll have a sing song!”

Barnet Fair - Hair

E.g. “How do I fit my barnet under my mask? Wouldn’t you like to know.”

This is a very common Cockney phrase; you’ll hear a lot of true Cockneys talking about getting their barnet done.

Barney Rubble - Trouble

E.g. “Looks like someone’s lookin’ for a Barney!”

Bread and Honey - Money

E.g. “I ain’t got enough bread for that.”

Bird Lime - Time (in prison)

E.g. “He’s doin’ bird.”

Bird lime is a sticky substance you spread on trees to catch birds (now illegal, thankfully). You can understand why people relate it to feeling trapped.

Boat Race - Face

E.g. “He’s got a handsome boat!” Or “Shut your boat!” Or “I’m not just gonna show you my boat race, mate. Secret identity and all that.”

Bottle and Glass

I’m going to let you figure this one out.

E.g. “Look at the bottle on that guy!” Or “I slipped on the steps and went bottle over tit!”

Brass Tacks - Facts

E.g. “Let’s get down to brass tacks!”*

*Some people think that this phrase originates from the Cockney rhyming slang, however others say that it is referring to brass tacks used in upholstery or tacks that were hammered into sales counters to indicate measuring points. I don’t have the answer.

Brown Bread - Dead

E.g. “He’s brown bread!”

This is an example of a Cockney rhyming slang phrase that you don’t abbreviate. You always say “brown bread” and never just “brown”.

Bubble Bath - Laugh

E.g. “Are you having a bubble?”

This is meant more in an irritated sense rather than joyful laughter, like saying “You must be joking!” Or “Are you having a laugh?”

Butchers Hook - Look

E.g. “Let’s have a butchers at that.” Or “Take a quick butchers at this!”

It’s good to keep in mind that there can be multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases for the same word, as well as multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases that start with the same word. For example, ‘Birds Nest” and “Bristol and West” both mean chest, and “Birds Nest” and “Bird Lime” both can be abbreviated to “Bird”. For the latter, context is important for knowing what someone is talking about.

As always, I’m not an expert; a true Cockney would know far more than I do. I just want to share the knowledge that I have. I hope that someone will find this helpful, informative, or entertaining at the very least.

I’ve got more Cockney rhyming slang phrases coming, but if there’s any other areas of British slang you’d like me to go into, let me know and I’ll see what I can do!

Happy writing and happy speaking!

My other British slang posts: Cockney Rhyming Slang, British Police Slang, Terms of Endearment, Innit VS In’t - a PSA

[jazjelspen]

ex-girlfriend

jeff the killer x fem! reader

(you've dated Jeff the Killer since high school and have known him for longer. You stayed even after he became who he is now.. but what if you became stronger than him? what if you became a completely new person entirely? and left your heavy-hearted killer boyfriend to rot?)

(notes: took inspo from fanon Jeff but also tried to write him into his own person of course :) will try to be realistic when it calls for it + took some creative liberties in certain aspects too. I also apologize if the characterization of Jeff and others isn't super fitting.. I'm still getting used to how I want to express them and construct them as characters and the world around them.)

(CAUTION!!!: includes dark/serious themes, mention of murder/death, use of cannab1s, slight implications of s3x, toxic relationships, physical abu$3, possible ooc(?) )

(NOT PROOFREAD)

[part 1/2]

you and jeff are a killer duo.

seriously and figuratively.

you two have always been attracted to each other, a connection you two couldn't see but you both knew it was there.

the older and closer you two got, the more you two realized you had more in common than you two initially assumed..

way, wayyy more in common.

but to skip a long origin story short, let me give you some details on how you and Jeff suddenly got separated in the way that you did.

you see, you and Jeff resided at the Slender Mansion.. mostly just to get Slender off your backs due to you guys finding solidarity and a sense of safety in the deep dark forests, far away from home. it kept you two safe from police, as well as anyone or anything else that could be a threat.

of course, the specific area you went into was territory of the thin and tall boss of the forests.. and you would've been dead meat if you two didn't create a sort of alliance with the deity, not exactly proxies yet you two still had to trade something in return for your lives.. the lives and bodies of others seemed to quell Slenderman's hunger quite well.

nonetheless, tonight was one of those nights in which you and Jeff had to find more lives to take, blood to shed.

this night was different though, as Jeff was currently stuck in your shared room after going through a minor operation at the hands of Eyeless Jack, another being that came and left as he pleased.

"You think he'll recover quick?" You perked up as you watched EJ sew in the last stitch in a cut that reopened earlier as he was helping Jeff into your room, cutting up the thread before standing back as you two stared at your injured boyfriend from beside the bed he laid on.

"Not as quick as you may think," spoke EJ, his calm, raspy, and slightly demonic voice sounding monotone as he isn't intending to comfort you in the slightest but just to inform you. "Slenderman's healing properties can only work so fast, the rest depends on his own body's will to repair itself."

"Makes sense, with how much the victim fought back and the cops almost got him by a hair.. " you let out a huff through your nose before crossing your arms over your chest and shook your head slightly. "It has never gotten this bad before..." You murmured before moving away to open the door for EJ to find his way out. "I know you don't usually accept 'thank you's but, thanks. I owe you one for saving his ass."

"Hm." hummed the blue masked being. He may have the form of a human, and sound like one to a certain extent.. but he doesn't have the feelings of one for all you knew. "I'm sure you know how to stitch him up again if another injury reopens, I won't be here the rest of the week as I'll be doing my own business elsewhere."

"Got it.." You opened the creaky wooden oak door to let him through, and he left just as fast as he came in.

Closing the door behind you and letting go of the rusty brass door knob, you sighed in exhaustion.

"Yknow, you've been awfully quiet--"

"Shut the fuck up or I'm going to slice your throat."

Your shoulders dropped as soon as you heard Jeff's empty threat escape his throat. You walked closer to him, your shoes making small thuds and the wooden floors creaking beneath your feet.

"There you are." you cooed, finally hearing him talk after being silent the entire time.. incredibly out of character for him yet you were sure the shame of getting as injured as he is now and having to be 'taken care of' definitely got to him. "I almost started missing you."

"Get my knife, get the rest of your shit, and let's move.. we have people to kill for fucks sake.." Jeff's hoarse voice cracked even further as he attempted to sit up yet the pain coming from his abdomen only caused his nerves his fire up, making him fall back onto the moldy mattress yelping in pain. "You're absolutely stupid for even thinking you're able to go out tonight Jeff." You proceeded to sit on the empty side of the bed beside him, your hand slowly reaching over to gently caress his brutally cut up cheek yet your lover only harshly smacked it away with the back of his own hand. "So.. you're telling me you're going to ignore what I fucking telling you to do?" Jeff groveled and huffed in irritation, if he wasn't so incapacitated he'd probably be pulling you by your arm or hair to get you to do what he told you. "Since when have you gotten so brave, doll?"

"Since I followed you and helped you kill your own family that night." You pulled your hand away, reminiscing the night when your Jeff turned into who he is now.

You remembered how much your heart swelled when you saw him covered in his family's blood, his fresh cut up smile and red inflamed burns across his body and face. You continued to love him just as much as you did before he became so disfigured.

He was your religion, and you followed him in devotion.

"Now, we still have to keep our deal with the big boss right? I'll do your kills for the night, then when your better tomorrow we'll finish up whatever else we have to do.. or hell we can just kill for fun to make it up to you, " you hopped off the bed as you spoke and walked over to a wooden rotting vanity in the corner of your room, with drawers that were unable to close and doors that were hanging by their hinges. Your hand reached over to get an empty crunched up ziplock bag and continued on to walk back to your boyfriend with the object in your hand. "What do you say? I'll even get you some of the good stuff to make you feel better." you spoke lovingly, your hand with the bag grazing over his misshapen nose as he inhaled it deeply with a faint sense of delight. It still lingered the smell of his favorite thing to smoke and get high off of.. aside from your kisses and affection of course.

"Fuck that smells good.." he mumbled before his beady black eyes then suddenly shot up at you with this look of angry hesitation. "This is the only damn time I'm ever letting you out of my sight, make it quick, come back, and if you take a fucking second too long I'll get up and drag you back by your hair myself, got it gorgeous?.."

"You won't even have to bother Jeff." you bent over slightly to give him a quick peck on the lips, but just as much as he was addicted to the green he was also addicted to your warmth, your lips, your presence and self.

You couldn't help but have to suddenly sustain your own body weight by resting an arm beside Jeff's head as his own uninjured arm went to grab you by the back of your head to pull you closer in a deeper, much more passionate kiss.

Hearts beating aggressively in a dark passion that was just as fiery and scarlet as the blood you two would spill on the daily, the faint smell of dried blood, mud, and rubbing alcohol reeked as you two struggled to inhale air with your noises clashing against each other, his aggressive and hungry kisses tasting of iron but also of old cigarettes and booze.

Normally this would disgust any one else that wasn't you, but you liked the way he smelled, how he tasted.. it reassured you that this was in fact Jeff, your Jeff.

Eventually, he would finally let you go by harshly pushing you away in order to break the kiss. He knew that if you stayed any longer he was gonna want you all to himself for the rest of the night, as close to him as you physically could.

"Get out of here and get back, ______. Don't make me wait longer than I have to."

You smiled at him, a sweet and sinister little smile that would somehow always get him hard every time you did it.

"You've got nothing to worry about."

two weeks.

two weeks passed since you disappeared that night.

Jeff recovered the night after you left, but you could imagine the absolute horror and rage he felt when he realized you never came back later that night.

With other residents also living in the mansion, residents with personalities and have bits of humanity left similar to Jeff, you can also imagine the slight wave of rumors to those that knew or noticed the two of you in your years in the mansion. Some say you made a deal with Slender and got to leave, others say that you got kidnapped, that you got brainwashed, caught by police, sacrificed to another higher being, stuck in an asylum or- simply that you died. There were endless possibilities but they all ended the same:

you hung Jeff dry, left his grasp and simply didn't come back.

Jeff would obviously try to get in contact with Slenderman as to know your condition, since he knew that the deity had the consciousness and psyches of every being or person he's made some kind of contact with in his hands.

Although he had to go through one, two, three of Slender's proxies, just to have a word with him somehow.. He would eventually get a word from the big boss through one of his more well known lackeys.

"She's fine, Jeffery. She isn't dead, she hasn't made any deals with him, and she isn't injured to death or whatever." the annoyed and exasperated voice of Masky would echo in the empty halls that the pair stood in, the arms of the mustard-yellow colored jacket would fold over his chest while also being in a sort of stance that expressed the fact that he simply just didn't want to be there.

"Then why the hell is she not back?? Does he know where she could be? If she was kidnapped? If she got arrested or put in a fucking ward?" Jeff yelled in an almost desperate sort of tone yet he would never admit it openly.

"Look, I don't fucking care whether she's alive, dead, stuck in a fucking hole or hell! if she's sucking some other guy's dick that isn't yours! But all I know that is that if she left on purpose he would've already had me or one of the others to get her back, but he hasn't so maybe she's nearby or some shit like that."

Anyone around could see that Jeff was on the verge of reaching over for his knife and cut Masky in half, yet he knew better than to do that to him of all people. "Does he at least know where she is?? I'll get her myself if I have to just give me a fucking address, some place to know where she could be!.."

If Masky wasn't wearing a mask, he'd probably be rolling his eyes to oblivion, irritated beyond belief at something like this even being a problem. "No. But as I already fucking said, if he isn't asking one of us to chase her down and get her back then you shouldn't have to overreact the way you are right now." the proxy proceeded to brush past him without a care, but said one last small thing before he left Jeff's vicinity completely.

"By the way, stop bothering the other proxies about this as we could care less about your girlfriend, just get a new one and fuck off!"

Jeff stood there, trembling in an anger he hasn't felt since the day he attacked his bullies and his brother took the blame for it.

He wasn't exactly reassured, but he also knew that he was very limited and there wasn't much he could do.

But he was restless, so you bet your ass he was going to go look for you even if it was just stalking the streets and killing anyone in his wake.

luckily for him, his waiting would end soon enough.

the week after that, he'd get the news of his life.

he'd been killing all week, killing innocents as he usually did but at a quicker and animalistic pace, he would almost get caught this time by the cops yet again but before his spree could continue he received some news thanks to that cheeky voice that would speak to him through the screens.

he would come back to the mansion, battered and bruised beyond belief. the calluses on his hands split and bled, cuts everywhere all old and fresh, he was ruthless in his murders as well as he was careless.

he needed you to ground him, you were the reason as to why he has even been alive for as long as he has.

his hand seemed to be superglued to the handle of his sharpened knife even as he was dragging his legs towards EJ's basement, where he was led to believe he would find what he was looking for.

He aggressively banged on the metal door with his fist in anticipation, not being able to wait any longer than how much he's already had to. The one to answer the door would be Eyeless Jack as it is his "resting" place in the mansion so to speak.

Once the door opened Jeff would quickly push past EJ not needing to be accepted in the space for him to go in.

"Where is she??" he shouted, his voice boasting in the cold concrete room. "I was told you found her, where the fuck is she?"

EJ would calmly close the door before slowly leading Jeff towards a corner of the large space, where a long, clean-white room divider seemed to hide something.

well, more like someone.

That was when Jeff finally saw you, your limp body laying there and your face had this gentle expression you'd usually make when you were sleeping. Beside you stood Nurse Ann, who was gently cleaning the countless cuts and lacerations you had around your body with several cotton pads and changing gauzes as well.

Jeff's heart fell down to his stomach, he would've started reeling and throwing up if he didn't rush to take a closer look at you only to see that your chest was still rising and falling.

He sighed in relief.

"As you can see, she's alive." spoke EJ as he took a few steps closer, "Nurse Ann found her as she was coming back to the mansion, she found her body laying on the edge of where Slender's territory ends and the rest of forest. She also claims that ______ wasn't there when she left, so she probably appeared a little later that same day."

Jeff's hand trembled slightly as he reached out to touch your face with the back of his hand, yet hesitated slightly when his hand could almost feel the warmth of your skin.

But that's when he took a minute to really take in the rest of your appearance.

Your entire body even your face was dirtied in dried mud and soil, your fingernails were dirty and chipped, your arms and cheeks were decorated in scratches and cuts of various sizes, and your clothes.. seemed to have been replaced with a clean hospital gown and your missing shoes were replaced by socks.

EJ continued on, "And so you don't go attacking me, Nurse Ann changed her clothes. According to her they were tattered and beyond repair, and that they were completely soiled in blood."

"Blood?" Jeff spoke up in slight concern,

"The blood wasn't hers."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In a Place Like This 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob! Frank Castle

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: your efforts to be left alone find you in bad company.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You live in a bad neighbourhood. A lot of people do. No one would choose to live there. You just sort of end up where life dumps you. All you can do is figure out how to get through it. 

One eye over your shoulder at all time. That’s how. You can’t let your guard down. Not ever. Not even behind the grated windows of your apartment. Not even with the sun out and children playing across the street. 

That day, you’re on alert. The guy was at the diner during your shift. You remember he sent his eggs back for being too cold despite the steam roiling off them. You should’ve known he was one of those. Trying to find any reason to get a free plate. You didn’t bring him a second. If he wanted one, he could pay his bill up front. 

He waited. You didn’t expect that kind of patience from him. He’s more of the instant gratification sort. That’s probably what he thinks going to happen. 

You slip your hand over your purse subtly. You don’t let your gait slow, you don’t quicken. You keep it as it is. You have to let him believe he’s smarter than you. He’s stronger, no doubt, but that doesn’t mean anything. 

You push your hand through the zipper. Your fingers hook through the brass loops and you grip them tight. You’re a scrapper. You can do what needs to be done, even if you hate it. 

He snickers as you turn down the alley that cuts through behind Jack’s Pawn Shop. The old man keeps a bat under his counter and pistol in his belt. He’ll chase away the idiot if you don’t have to first. 

He thinks he has you. Let him. Over-confidence breeds stupidity. You know what never fails. Minding your business. 

You pass the dumpsters and that’s when he breaks into a sprint. You spin out of his way, only for him to crash into the metal crate. You don’t have time to react as you swing without a clear sight. You hit something. Someone. 

The griper from the diner is wrestled down beneath another man. His skull cracks off the pavement as the second stranger straddles him breathlessly and touches his cheek. There’s a split in the flesh from where you caught him. 

“Shit,” he shakes his head. “Got a hell of a left hook.” 

You back away and pull your arm back, “sure do.” 

“Ah, calm down,” he stands and nudges the unsatisfied diner with his boot. “I was following this dipshit, not you.” 

“Mhmm,” you hum doubtfully. 

You back up, keeping your arm cocked. He turns to watch you. He scoffs and tilts his head, looking you up and down. 

“You don’t got surprise on your side now. Won’t be as easy the second time.” 

You arch a brow and and grip the knuckles even tighter. He chuckles. “Told ya, I’m not interested in you.” 

“Never to careful with you lot,” you sneer as you edge away. He doesn’t move. 

“You lot?” He echoes curiously. 

“Criminals. All of ya,” you spit. 

He snorts and puts his hands on his hips. You curl your lip as you continue your retreat. As you get to the end of the alley, you shake your head. You tuck the knuckles back in your purse and keep your fingers hooked in them. 

You can never be too safe. 

💀

Another day at the diner. It’s dead after two in the afternoon. Kids are in school, lunch is over, and pay day is still around the corner. You lazily wipe the counter as you stare at the box TV perched on the old ledge. The news tallies off another casualty count; the anchor recounting the glorified account of a robbery uptown. The one down at Tina Lou’s is conveniently unreported. 

The bell above the door chimes. You sigh. The job pays your bills, the tips are small but money is money, and no one’s in the habit of hiring without a degree and some nepotistic internship down at daddy’s office. Your father didn’t work in an office. Well, you don’t know shit about your father. 

You’re not much for customer service but Alfie didn’t hire you for that. He hires the ones who can keep the diners in check. The one’s that make sure the bill is paid. 

You grab the carafe of stale coffee and approach the table as the man strips off his leather jacket. He’s one of them. You can tell by his shoulders, the way he postures and looks around like he pays for the electricity. 

You flip his cup and as you pour, he looks at you. You meet his gaze, undaunted. You narrow your eyes bluish bruise over his cheek bone and the fresh gash there. What are the odds? 

You don’t believe in coincidences. 

“How’s the hand, sugar?” He glances at your hand as you pour. Your left. They’re still tender. “Put ice on it?” 

You straighten up and hold the coffee urn steady. “Just the coffee?” 

One side of his mouth curls, “I’ll take a grilled cheese and some of those fries. Can you have Vin put on some friend onions too?” 

His mention of the cook isn’t said without weight. He wants you to know what he knows. He knows Vinny, he knows Alfie, and now he knows you. He makes a show of reading your name tag. 

“Grilled cheese, fries, onions,” you recite plainly. 

“And if you can change the channel, that’d be nice. Hate these squawking parrots,” he pushes his shoulders back and spreads his knees wide under the table. 

You turn without another word and set the carafe on the burner. You go to the window and put in the order. Vinny grunts. You swipe the remote and march over to the occupied table. As you do, a pair of diner stops outside, push the door in only and inch before thinking better of it. You watch them flee past the windows as they stare at the man at the table. 

You put the remote in front of him. He tilts his head back to look at you, “Frank Castle.” He introduces himself. “But a woman like you already knows that, don’t ya?” 

Your eyes flick up and down. His features are bullish and thick. His nose shows signs of a break at some point and his brown eyes are as dark as pits.

“Hard to tell one of ya from the next.” 

You spin and go back to the counter, once more dragging the cloth over the surface. He snorts and shakes his head as he laughs to himself. He mutters but you can’t make out his words. You agree. It’s silly that a man like him is trying to intimidate a waitress. Business must be slow. 

[foldingfittedsheets]

One of my favorite DnD things is that my beloved and I have been playing with the same DM since 2017. We’ve had several campaigns within the same setting and our old characters often make appearances.

NPCs are consistent and it’s funny that one party might have a positive relationship with someone only for the next campaigns party to struggle with that person.

Our previous campaign was a party called The Storm Giants: my fighter centaur, my beloved’s drow monk, our cleric luxodon, and a rogue tiefling. But while playing in that setting the DM was also in talks with my beloved and I about our next characters.

See, he had already broached the idea of letting me play a secret dragon, a character who would join the party in their mortal form to spy on my beloveds upcoming character. I was only a little dragon for balance reasons, so I wasn’t OP. I was so excited to play Orion, a gender-fluid tiefling courtesan chock full of secrets.

Together the DM and I were plotting out my characters family and backstory while the current party was stumbling through their adventure. That meant that I got inside information on who we were interacting with who were also dragons in disguise.

My centaur was all for ambushing an NPC giving us trouble, when I secretly knew that we absolutely should not do that because he was in fact an ancient dragon. We also ended up passing a brothel and my centaur went to see a sex worker. The party joked it should be Orion as it was common knowledge my upcoming character was a sex worker. The DM and I made eye contact.

It would be incredibly fitting for Orion to be spying on the Storm Giants for their boss, and my centaur was a huge blabbermouth. So the joke ended up manifesting, Orion got an off screen cameo and the party was jumped shortly afterward for being a nuisance to the blue chroma and couldn’t figure out how the enemy knew so much about them.

But the best was that at one point the party was sailing through the region that the DM and I had established would be where Orion grew up, and where their moms, ancient blue and brass dragons, still lived. It was a beautiful tropical archipelago.

Our cleric, Joe, decided to go swimming. While deep underwater he came eye to eye with an ancient blue dragon who blinked then swam away.

The Storm Giants flipped the fuck out. Why was there an ancient dragon?? Were we supposed to go track down an ancient dragon? What had it been up to?!?!?

The DM gave me a tiny secret smile and I knew he was just foreshadowing Orion’s origin but the Storm Giants were pissing themselves over it. A year and a half later the party screamed when they realized what had happened.

[yourplayersaidwhat]

[Context: We've been splitting the treasure more or less evenly between the five of us for the whole adventure and before and a shit ton of gold just got dropped into the party's laps.]

DM: [evilly] What will you spend it on? You can buy practically anything you want--

Fathomless Warlock : [wicked grin] I already know what I'm doing with my share!

DM: Oh?

Fathomless Warlock: I'm opening a shelter, soup kitchen, and free healer clinic to help the common people of the city. :)

Celestial Warlock: And this will be great as a warchest for my political campaign!

DM: ...Oh its not like you needed that money to complete the game or anything.

Fathomless Warlock: (ooc): What? This is what my character would do? This is clearly a serious societal problem for Waterdeep and it's really not safe for all these folks to be sleeping in the dungeons we're crawling through. I'm friends with a lawyer and a cleric and with help from our allies I sure we could swing this. And I just took my fifth of it, like we previously agreed? But look if it's plot important to have a lot of cash on hand, I can pay some of it back to the party pool from my own funds from what I inherited as a noble and just from the treasure we've accumulated on this adventure. You know I'm also still working for the paper and we've got the tavern and that should cover personal expenses...

DM: No no no it's not important.

[Beat]

DM: How much?

Celestial Warlock: And I'm not spending my fifth all at once. It's just sitting there until I use it. At first it's probably gonna be smaller expenditures like flyers and pins. And it's not like we have to pay for TV ads, just need to use my Book of Shadows to learn Skywrite...

DM: Oh, okay... So what will you all spend it on?

[Collective shrug]

Fathomless Warlock: I think you all should get yourselves a fine set of clothes so you don't have to rent a tux again. I already have one because like, you know...

Wizard: I'll be getting spell scrolls and inks to study my magics.

Fathomless Warlock: Cool!

Monk: I bought brass knuckles!

Paladin: Alright, then I'm buying plate mail.

Monk: They cost 10 silver. :)

Paladin: ...I'm still buying plate mail.

Celestial Warlock: That's cool! (Won't have to spend as many slots healing her.)

Paladin: Is that really all you're buying...?

Monk: [thinks for a moment] Steel toe boots? (Can I wear boots as a dragonborn?) ...A second silvered wakazashi in case I lose the first one?

DM: That's it?

Monk: I'm a monk. I don't really need material things. Though I figured I might buy some bamboo and knick knacks and things for our Tavern. If we need more money for the tavern (or the campaign) for the tavern I won a lot of prize money doing those mixed martial arts competitions that I don't really use or need.

DM: No no no that's okay...

[Beat]

DM: How much?

[echo-bleu]

More concept sketches for Maedhros post-Angband needing skeletal support/correction. I focused more on the spine/neck braces this time, I'll draw some more slings and shoulder braces ideas at some point.

Disabled characters series

Closer look + notes/rambling under the cut

The first sketch is really just a preparatory one for the second. It's based pretty directly on an existing scoliosis brace called the Milwaukee brace, which used to be the most common and is still used sometimes for, I believe, high curvatures, which would be the case for Maedhros after being pulled by the arm for so long. The second sketch is a try at a more ornamented design, as Curufin and whichever other Noldor creating it would strive to make it beautiful.

The brace opens at the back and requires some flexibility to put on, so it wouldn't be a very early brace for Maedhros (that and the healers/smiths would need some time to attain a good design). It's geared toward correction and not immobilization, he can still somewhat turn his head but it's supported enough to lessen the pain. Leather pads can be added in various places to help with correction, so I gave him a shoulder pad, but he'd still wear some kind of sling or brace for his arm with it, I think.

The bottom sketch is a more ornamented brace meant for formal occasions, not everyday wear. It's aimed at support only, not correction, I think Maedhros could/would only wear it on a day where he's going to be sitting around and not really moving, like the Mereth Aderthad (he's in no shape or mood for dancing). And only later on, once his spine is more stable. This one also opens in the back with laces and various clasps and it's a lot lighter both visually and literally. I think brass would be a cool metal for this one to go with the leather (would it be solid enough? I have no idea).

There is a transcription of my little notes in alt, but I've basically said it all in the text.

Help I put too much research into this 😭

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Classical Music Eras

Classical Music - describes orchestral music, chamber music, choral music, and solo performance pieces, yet within this broad genre, several distinct periods exist. Each classical era has its own characteristics that distinguish it from classical music at large.

Eras of Classical Music

Musicologists divide classical music into historical eras and stylistic subgenres. One way to examine classical music history is to divide it into 7 periods:

Medieval period (1150 to 1400): Music has existed since the dawn of human civilization, but most music historians begin cataloging classical music in the Medieval era. Medieval music is known for monophonic chant—sometimes called Gregorian chant due to its use by Gregorian monks. In addition to singing, Medieval musicians played instrumental music on instruments like the lute, the flute, the recorder, and select string instruments.

Renaissance period (1400 to 1600): Renaissance-era music introduced polyphonic music to wide audiences, particularly via choral music, which was performed in liturgical settings. In addition to the lute, Renaissance musicians played viol, rebec, lyre, and guitar among other string instruments. Brass instruments like the sackbut and cornet also emerged during this era. Perhaps the most notable Renaissance composers were Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, John Dowland, and Thomas Tallis.

Baroque period (1600 to 1750): During the Baroque era, classical music surged forward in its complexity. The Baroque era saw a full embrace of tonal music—music based on major scales and minor scales rather than modes—and it maintained the polyphony of the Renaissance era. Many of the instruments used by today's orchestras were common in Baroque music, including violin, viola, cello, contrabass (double bass), bassoon, and oboe. Harpsichord was the dominant keyboard instrument, although the piano first emerged during this era. The most renowned composers of the early Baroque era include Alessandro Scarlatti and Henry Purcell. By the late Baroque period, composers like Antonio Vivaldi, Dominico Scarlatti, George Frideric Handel, and Georg Philipp Telemann achieved massive popularity. The most influential composer to come from the Baroque era is Johann Sebastian Bach, who composed extensive preludes, fugues, cantatas, and organ music.

Classical period (1750 to 1820): Within the broad genre of classical music exists the Classical period. This era of music marked the first time that the symphony, the instrumental concerto (which highlights virtuoso soloists), and the sonata form were brought to wide audiences. Chamber music for trio and string quartet was also popular during the Classical era. The signature classical composer is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, although he was far from the only star of the classical era. Joseph Haydn, Franz Schubert, and J.S. Bach's sons J.C. Bach and C.P.E. Bach were also star composers during this period. Opera composers like Mozart and Christoph Willibald Gluck developed the operatic form into a style that remains recognizable today. Ludwig van Beethoven began his career during the Classical era, but his own innovations helped usher in the next musical era.

Romantic period (1820 to 1900): Exemplified by late-period Beethoven, the Romantic era introduced emotion and drama to the platonic beauty of Classical period music. Early Romantic works like Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 set a template for nearly all nineteenth-century music that followed. Many of the composers who dominate today's symphonic repertoires composed during the Romantic era, including Frederic Chopin, Franz Liszt, Felix Mendelssohn, Hector Berlioz, Robert Schumann, Johannes Brahms, Anton Bruckner, Gustav Mahler, Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Richard Strauss, Jean Sibelius, and Sergei Rachmaninoff. Opera composers like Richard Wagner, Giuseppe Verdi, and Giacomo Puccini used Romanticism's emotional power to create beautiful melodic lines sung in Italian and German. The Romantic era also saw the creation of a new instrument in the woodwind family, the saxophone, which would gain special prominence in the century to come.

Modern period (1900 to 1930): The Modern era of art and music came about in the early twentieth century. Classical composers of the early twentieth century reveled in breaking the harmonic and structural rules that had governed previous forms of classical music. Igor Stravinsky defiantly stretched instruments to their natural limits, embraced mixed meter, and challenged traditional notions of tonality in works like The Rite of Spring. French composers like Claude Debussy and Maurice Ravel led a subgenre of twentieth-century music called Impressionism. Others like Dimitri Shostakovich, Paul Hindemith, and Béla Bartók stuck with classical forms like the piano concerto and the sonata, but challenged harmonic traditions. Perhaps most radical was the German composer Arnold Schoenberg who, along with disciples like Alban Berg and Anton Webern, disposed of tonality altogether and embraced serial (or 12-tone) music.

Postmodern period (1930 to today): The art music of the twentieth century shifted starting in the 1930s and continuing into the post-World War II era, ushering in a style of music that is sometimes called postmodern or contemporary. Early purveyors of postmodern music include Olivier Messiaen, who combined classical forms with new instruments like the ondes martenot. Postmodern and contemporary composers like Pierre Boulez, Witold Lutoslawski, Krzysztof Penderecki, Henryk Górecki, György Ligeti, Philip Glass, Steve Reich, John Adams, and Christopher Rouse have blended the lines between tonal and atonal music, and they’ve blurred the lines between classical music and other forms like rock and jazz.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[luckyreds]

Knives issued in the Airborne

Quick correction since no misinformation will be spread on my blog! but in this post I assumed that Bull was carrying Brass knuckles. However! upon closer inspection, it's probably a Mark 1 trench knife. Made during WW1, they were never issued and remained in stock until the second. Finally getting released to the Marine Raiders, Army Rangers, and Airborne troops in 1942 and early '43.

What is interesting is while the knives were issued to the airborne, they weren't all that common! In March 1943, the Mark 3 trench knife became the standard issue knife for the paratroopers. Bull could've had it issued in the early days or bought it in surplus.

the mark 3 (on the right) was more balanced and versatile than the Mark 1, some GI's even using them as throwing blades, instead of the hand-to-hand combat weapon it was designed to be.

other knives:

Steering away from Bull’s interesting choice of knives. Say you wanted something else instead of the M1 or M3, you could always buy your own personalised knife! Investing in a hunting knife. You could also get other army knives, some examples are; the KA-BAR knife (Mostly known as a Marine knife) and the Fairbairn-Sykes (English army issued knife.)

Now! if you were a Technician Fifth grade, besides the M3, you would have aTL-29 knife in your tool pouch (which also included; 1 set of pliers, 1 pair of scissors, a ruler, tweezers, and a file.)

That was all! GN!💋

[autisticalastor]

Southern Slang Guide

If you're trying to write a character from the Southern USA, look no further! We're from Alabama, and yes, we all talk like this.

General Phrases

Y'all — you all. The apostrophe goes after the Y, not the A.

Like to've — almost. As in "That car like to've hit me!"

(Damn) near (a)bout — almost. As in "It damn near 'bout killed me when he told my mama that!"

Fixin' to — about to. As in "I'm fixin' to make some tea if anybody wants some."

Over yonder — this could be literally anywhere. It is the least helpful answer to "Where is [thing/person/place]?" you could possibly receive. You will hear it a lot.

Ever lovin' — replacement for "damn" and its variants, usually. As in "Have you lost your ever lovin' mind‽"

Sweatin' like a sinner in church — If it's hot out, you can take this one literally. But if something "has you sweatin' like a sinner in church," it makes you nervous.

Hotter'n Satan's [body part (most often ballsack)] — it's extremely hot outside. Southerners have a pretty high heat tolerance, so this usually doesn't come out until 90°F/32°C or higher.

Colder'n a witch's titty in a brass bra — it's extremely cold outside (this is my favorite phrase ever). Southerners have a pretty low tolerance for cold, so this one comes out around 55°F/13°C or lower.

Talk proper — If you talk like a northerner/use formal English/etc., you're said to "talk proper."

Heavens to Betsy (& all her sisters & brothers) — mostly used by older people, just a general exclamation of dissatisfaction akin to "oh my god." Add the bit in parentheses if whatever your character is upset about is a real clusterfuck.

What in the Sam Hill — another exclamation of dissatisfaction, this one more akin to "what the fuck." Most often used as "What in the Sam Hill is going on here?" Who is Sam Hill? The Devil, probably. It's usually the Devil.

Knockin' on/at the Devil's door(step) — asking for trouble.

Grown folks' business — anything the adults don't want the kids asking them about.

Pitch a fit — throw a tantrum.

Fit to be tied — incredibly angry. As in "He was fit to be tied after his dog tore up the couch."

All tore up — messed up/hurting. As in "My stomach's all tore up after eatin' that fish."

Like a bat outta Hell — really fast. As in "She took off down that highway like a bat outta Hell."

Having a come to Jesus meeting — you are in SO MUCH TROUBLE. If someone says you're about to have a come to Jesus meeting, YOU FUCKED UP.

I reckon — I guess/I believe. As in "I reckon we might go on over to Mamaw & Papaw's house later."

Wore slap out — you're tired. As in "She was wore slap out after dealin' with them young'ns all day."

Knee high to a grasshopper — referring to when someone was a little kid. As in "Last I saw you, you was knee high to a grasshopper!"

Piddlin' around — wasting time/dillydallying.

Hug [someone's] neck — give a big hug. The bane of my existence as an autistic child in the South was being told "You go up there & hug their neck!" at family gatherings.

Makes you wanna slap your mama — it's damn good food. There's actually a Slap Ya Mama seasoning blend now, but the phrase came well before that.

Insults/Being Rude

Bless your heart — It's just a condescending phrase we use. No one ever says it because they like you.

Ain't got the sense [you/he/she/they] was born with — You're stupid or you lack common sense. Works either way. Regardless of the pronoun used, it's always "was," never "were."

Ain't got a lick of sense — another way to say someone's stupid or lacks common sense.

The porch light's on, but no one's home — we got a lotta ways to call you an idiot, okay.

Fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down — you're UGLY ugly.

Too big for [your/his/her/their] britches — you're too self-important/think you're better than everyone else.

I can't see through shit/muddy water — move, you're blocking my view.

Your daddy ain't a glass maker — same as previous.

Misc. Terms

Young'n — a child

Meemaw/Mamaw — your grandmother

Peepaw/Papaw — your grandfather

Your parents are almost always "mama" & "daddy," even after you're a grown adult.

Chitlins — this is a food nobody actually likes. Literally, everyone talks about that one family member who makes them, and nobody can stand the smell, much less actually want to eat them. If you want to know more about the food itself, look up "chitterlings."

Cattywampus — messy/askew. A stack of books at odd angles could be referred to as "all cattywampus."

Extra Notes

Yes, we really do leave off syllables and ending G. That's why I have so many words with apostrophes here lol. We do just talk like that.

"Sir" and "ma'am" are not optional when talking to people old enough to be your parents. They WILL pitch a fit if you don't use it.

We say "ain't" a lot, even where it isn't grammatically correct in standard English.

If you're ever speaking out loud (say for a podfic or audiobook), you don't say "have." It's more of an "uh" sound. Should've = shoulda. Would've = woulda. This is why so many people from the South write "would of" instead of "would have;" it's based on how we actually pronounce things.

Likewise, Southerners rarely say "I have." It's usually "I got."

We're big fans of running words together. "Lemme" (let me), "gimme" (give me), "wanna" (want to), "gonna" (going to), etc.

Related to above, sometimes we just say "I'ma" instead of any variant of "I'm going to." Especially if you're threatening someone, as in "I'ma slap that look right off your face."

We rarely say we're going to drive somewhere. Usually, it's "ride on over."

This is by no means exhaustive; I just tried to go with what's most commonly used! Any other Southerners are welcome to add stuff I missed!

《sera/al》

[hallowpen]

Episode Eleven has a lot to unpack... including some cultural nuances that even I wasn't too knowledgeable about (so I had to ask my mom for clarification)

We're heading to Chao Fah Palace (คุ้มเจ้าฟ้า) in the province of Phrae (แพร่) for this episode... which is derivative of the old Lanna Kingdom and its culture. (We spoke a little bit about Lanna traditions when referencing the hairpins in episode five). Lanna territories are now part of modern-day Siam. In Lanna tradition, women were known as ช้างเท้าหลัง (pronounced 'chang tao lahng') which would literally translate into "the hind legs of the elephant". What it meant was that the direction of a woman's life and family were to be guided by the authority of a man, ช้างเท้าหน้า (pronounced 'chang tao nahr') "the front legs of the elephant". The woman must learn to accept her place. Lanna Buddhist tradition would preach that being born as a woman in this life meant you had not earned enough merit to be born a man, and to pray for better karma in the next lifetime. Ironically, before the rise of Buddhism, Lanna was one of the few territories to practice matrilineal succession... where lineage was passed on from mother to daughter.

Both of these beliefs were somewhat knit together for TLP's narrative in regards to Uangfah... which we'll talk about later.

ผ้าซิ่นตีนจก (pronounced 'pa sin tin jok') is a traditional skirt worn by women in Lanna. The skirts are known to have elaborate borders with strips of precious metals woven together, with spun gold or silver threads, by using a traditional loom. This technique emphasizes the beauty and value of the weaving, as well as the social status of the person wearing the skirt. The garment was generally reserved for high-ranking members of society.

Another practice steeped in Lanna tradition, is the art of making ตุง (pronounced 'toong'). In the northern dialect, this refers to a type of flag used in Lanna art and Buddhist ceremonies. The flags, adorned with various patterns and designs, are used to mark the boundaries of sacred sites as a symbol of the pathway toward enlightenment.

The series highlighted the Phra That Cho Hae Temple (พระธาตุช่อแฮ), which has rich history as a spiritual center and the most sacred Buddhism site in Phrae. Its highlight is the brass wrapped pagoda that stands 33 meters tall, which enshrines holy relics of Lord Buddha.

The Peacock Feather Dance (รำฟ้อนหางนกยูง - pronounced 'ram faan haang nohk-yuung') is a cultural piece of entertainment that sees dancers move in a circle and change positions in order to imitate the movements and courtship "dance" of a peacock. The dancers wear traditional northern costumes while holding peacock feathers. Known for its striking appearance, the peacock holds deep cultural and religious significance in Thailand. It is often associated with the ideas of beauty, royalty, prosperity, and spiritual awakening.

We are introduced to Uangfah's mother this episode. Princess Dararai holds the title of หม่อมเจ้าหญิง (mom-jao ying or M.C.) for being married to a descendant of the king. Princess Dararai wishing for her daughter to remain close to her after marriage has inklings of matrilineal customs, where the husband would typically come to live with the wife's family... and not the other way around.

The suitor Princess Dararai has chosen for her daughter to marry is Lord Muang-Rahm. Muang-Rahm holds the tilte of หม่อมราชวงศ์ (mom rat-cha-wong or M.R.) as a child of one "commoner" parent, but whose ancestry can be traced back to the king.

Uangfah has accepted the fact the she must submit to her mother's wishes and marry a man she does not care for (he's truly terrible... lesbi-honest). It's a bittersweet moment where we realize the realities of a woman who cannot openly pursue the love of another woman, given the views of society.

The proceeding conversation Uangfah has with Muang-Rahm is subtlety indicative of Lanna women who were in charge in their own relationships. Uangfah quietly inserts her authority over their future courtship by informing Muang-Rahm of her intentions to not wed straight away AND by addressing him by his nickname in front of Pia. Given his behavior, Muang-Rahm knows he cannot say anything untoward in order to save face... such a fun scene.

SHE KNOWS!!! The facial expressions 😂😂😂... you have to laugh

Anil and Pin have become more reckless the more comfortable they have become in their relationship... and that spells trouble ahead.

[denial-permanente]

Hey thanks for your reply regarding that model. For the guy who asked, it does look like a cobra knockoff but I see it's made in the Netherlands and carries the EU approval stamp on the box, which should make it a cheaper but safe alternative to the cobra. Or at least I hope that's what it means.

Whether it's good in it's design, that's Tom's call!

🔏 Even the OG Cobra may use dyes in their resin that causes allergic reactions for some people.

Even the metal cages can be a problem for some. The Chinese cages generally use 304 stainless which is very common, but has traces of metals that may cause itching. I have even heard of some guys who can't wear the more expensive 316 grade cages.

Years ago, the original CB3000 was made with a hinged cuff ring. The hinge was a shiny, silver colored rivet. Some guys had itching that did not seem to be related to the hinge shape; it turned out that the rivet was brass plated in nickel or chrome - both metals known for skin reactivity.

[magicicephoenix]

I cannot wait to see more this au because I swear I am gobbling it up so hard rn

Can you leave us a few tidbits about this au owo?

i’m glad y’all are excited about it bc i am brainrotting SO HARD over these jokesters rhrhhhh

tidbits! absolutely i'll give you tidbits!!!

to set things straight! the Moon takes the role of the Doctor and the Sun takes the place of the Master. and Y/N is the Moon's companion of course.

Y/N ran into Moon while he was investigating some mystery (still figuring it out it’ll be really cool i prommy) and got tangled up in the danger. as seen in the initial post, Moon abruptly wraps a small blue ribbon with a little brass bell on their wrist, saying it’s “to be safe,” whatever that means. Y/N asks and while Moon does later elaborate (again, i’ll let y’all know that reason when i hammer out the mystery) there is something he leaves out in his explanation. he encourages Y/N to keep it afterwards, for extra safety, so they just end up wearing it permanently.

Y/N is a classic ‘nobody’ character. in their twenties, living alone, somewhat distant from their family, previously working a crappy job… they were in the perfect position to join Moon on his travelling.

the little necklace/collar things around Moon (and Sun)'s neck is a cloaking device! it's for if he goes into a time where cyborgs and animatronics aren't accepted as living beings; it conceals his non-organic-ness so no one notices (yes, this applies to Y/N at the start. they did Not know he wasn't human when they first met. and Moon would not have told them if his cover wasn't forcibly blown). it's kinda like the perception filter in that it doesn't project anything to cover him up, just encourages the mind to ignore anything about him that would cause trouble. and there is a reason that Moon's has a sun on it and Sun's has a moon on it. :)

finally, in the beginning of the au Moon has no idea Sun is alive. he is conflicted about it but mostly very very sad. doesn’t tell Y/N a peep about it though. internalizing! *throws confetti* something he and Sun have had in common.