#fine fettle

[avida-heidia-5]

Okay, here we go! :D

"Fine Fettle Vettel" sounds intriguing! And "The one with the bird", too! Honestly, they all sound fun, but what can you tell me about those two specifically?

Hello hello!!! 👋🏻

Ooooh you’ve chosen some good ones! They are both F1 fics and they both star Sebastian Vettel as the main character. Lucky you! 🤪😂

Okay, “Fine Fettle Vettel” is a one-shot fic about a stubborn RB Seb going on an unusual dietary plan, all because he overheard a mechanic mention that his car was a little heavier than before. It has a sprinkling of Martian in it too as (minor spoilers) Mark Webber ends up looking after him in the end. 😉

“Absolute Honesty”, aka “The one with the bird” as I so lovingly called it on my Google Drive doc, is another one-shot fic based on a true account where Christian Horner tests Seb’s mentality to see if he really has an “all brawn and no care” attitude. The so-called bird is the main subject of the fic and it’s…not pretty. I saw a post someone put on Instagram that was translated into English from German in one of Seb’s autobiographies and Horner recalled the event in his perspective. If you know, you know. 🥺😭

Thanks for the questions! 😊🥰

[literaryvein-reblogs]

character word list request: Josuke

https://jojowiki.com/Josuke_Higashikata

Albatross - something that causes persistent deep concern or anxiety

Amity - friendship

Anchor - to secure firmly; fix

Assuagement - lessening the intensity of (something that pains or distresses); ease

Convalesce - to recover health and strength gradually after sickness or weakness

Dudgeon - a fit or state of indignation—often used in the phrase, "in high dudgeon"

Fervency - intensity of feeling or expression

Fettle - state or condition of health, fitness, wholeness, spirit, or form—often used in the phrase, "in fine fettle"

Forfend - protect, preserve

Heartsease - peace of mind; tranquility

Heliotrope - a variable color averaging a moderate to reddish purple

Impetuous - marked by impulsive vehemence or passion

Inkhorn - ostentatiously learned; marked by or given to showing knowledge in a showy way

Irascibility - marked by hot temper and easily provoked anger

Meliorate - to improve; to make better

Openhearted - outspoken; free in expressing one's true feelings and opinions

Purpleheart - a strong durable purplish wood that is obtained from various leguminous trees (genus Peltogyne) of Central and South America; amaranth

Revivify - to give new life to; revive

Umbrage - a feeling of pique or resentment at some often fancied slight or insult; shadow

Violaceous - of the color violet

Hope this helps with your writing. If it does, do tag me, or send me a link to your work. I would love to read it!

Fan art ⚜ More: Word Lists

[whumpninja]

Anyone remember my moments of peeking round the door into pet whump and yelling a prompt and then scampering away like a horrible gremlin? And how I kept saying that was the extent of my interactions with that genre? Yeah. Me too. I lied. I really wanted to push myself out there with Whumptober, so I promised myself that I would try it. I didn’t go very far in- I used historical instead of full-on BBU, and I toned it way down for this just so my brain didn’t entirely freak out- but my toesies are officially wet!

@painonthebrain here it is!!

Prompts used: Whumptober, nowhere else to go

Featuring: pet whump (have I EVER used that tag before?!), historical whump, alternate history, mentions of abuse, pipe smoking

Whumptober Day 17: A Quiet Evening at No. 14 Fettle Street

The best time of day is that peaceful, gray evening-time when the sun has gone down but it is not quite dark. The time when families are beginning their suppers, when ladies are brushing their hair a careful one hundred times, when the door opens and whoever has been out that day comes home.

It was just that time of night, on a relaxed sort of Saturday, at the red brick flat on Fettle Street whose outer wall bore a plaque that read No. 14. Inside, the fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth, and the parlor of had an air of quiet evening calm to it. The master of the house had draped his lanky frame over a plush red armchair, an empty teacup on the table by his side and his face obscured by the day's newspaper. Mrs. Merry the housekeeper bustled about, fluffing pillows and rearranging knickknacks and poking at the coals. Presently she broke the companionable silence. "Your slippers are all warm now, whenever you're thinking of retiring. Will that be all for the night, Mr. Thorn?"

"Oh, yes, I think that'll do for me, Mrs. Merry," replied the aristocrat from behind his newspaper.

The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and turned towards the kitchen door.

"Oh, Mrs. Merry," said Mr. Thorn. "Just one more thing."

"Of course, sir."

Mr. Thorn set his paper down. One of his eyebrows was arched toward his hairline. "You might tell me why there's an unfamiliar young man asleep on my settee."

Mrs. Merry bit her lip. "So you...noticed."

"He's across from me, Mrs. Merry. If I'd missed him I would be in need of an emergency appointment with the optometrist. Now, do you want to explain who he is and why he's here?"

Mrs. Merry came to the fireplace again, stirring up the embers even though they didn't really need to be stirred. "You've seen him before, sir, though maybe you didn't notice. That traveling tailor fella you had a meeting with a few months ago?"

"Didn't much care for his boasting," remarked Mr. Thorn. "He did have a boy with him, didn't he?"

"His pet, sir."

Mr. Thorn scoffed. "Whoever came up with that particular system of dealing with criminals ought to be institutionalized. But anyway, what's the boy doing here?"

Mrs. Merry had a fine temper when she got it stirred up, and it was good and hot now. "I knew that tailor was a bad 'un," she huffed, mostly to the fireplace. "That poor lad showed up on the kitchen doorstep this afternoon, thrashed within an inch of his life and too frightened to look me in the eyes. Near as I could get out, that tailor beat seven bells out of him and then left him behind on the road when he couldn't keep up." Mrs. Merry snorted. "I'd like a chance to introduce the brute to the handle of my broom, see how he likes it-"

"Mrs. Merry, of course that's all very unfortunate, but what on earth is he doing in my house?" Mr. Thorn broke in.

"Didn't have nowhere else to go, I s'pose." Mrs. Merry stopped her bustling to brush a black curl from the boy's forehead- he really wasn't a boy, exactly, he seemed to be about twenty. It was only that he looked so small and pale that she kept calling him one. "I was kind to him when you had that fitting with the tailor. Must have remembered." She shook her head. "I certainly didn't expect it, but how could I have just left him in the street? Brought him inside and did what I could for his back, and got him a good meal- that's what's put him to sleep so heavy. He looked as if he hadn’t had a bite since last Sunday.”

Mr. Thorn leaned over to light his pipe. His face was complicated, and for several moments he did not speak. “You might have asked me," he said at length. "I don't like strangers in my home."

"I didn't think you would object."

"I certainly don't object to helping someone in need. But, Mrs. Merry, what do you propose to do with him now? Or if the tailor turns back up looking for him? Have you thought about that?"

"That's the sort of thing you work out later, when somebody's in trouble," Mrs. Merry said firmly.

Mr. Thorn took a long drag of his pipe, blowing out a ring of smoke and watching it dissipate. "I'll be the first to admit I don't approve of this whole pet business. I didn't think much of their other proposition- what was it again, sending criminals off to Australia?- but this whole matter of altering the brains of people so that they're hardly able to think for themselves leaves a bad taste in my mouth." He blew another smoke ring. "Still, we can hardly expect to tear it down in one day. If that tailor comes, I suppose we'll have to give the boy back."

"I'd hide him first," Mrs. Merry replied fiercely. "I'd not be responsible for sending him back to that monster, even if I did lose my place for it! Sir," she added, after a moment.

Mr. Thorn sighed, tapping out his pipe. "I couldn't get on without you, Mrs. Merry, never fear. The boy may stay, for a few days, at least. Though I would prefer if you made him up a bed that is not my settee." He took up his newspaper again. "And we may not have to wait long for this whole debate to be over. It's being challenged in Parliament soon." He snorted. "Though of course they've got an excuse all ready. They're saying now that even if they did shut it all down, the way they've altered the brains of those involved, they'd never be able to rejoin "polite society." And they used that term, too."

Mrs. Merry bent down to spread a blanket over the boy, who was still quite dead to the world. "If you don't mind me saying it, sir," she remarked quietly, "you seem to have come out all right."

Mr. Thorn looked up sharply, but the housekeeper had already gone. He glanced over at the settee, and something in his face softened.

Before he went up to bed for the night, Mr. Thorn slipped to the settee and tucked the blanket a little more securely under the young man’s shoulder.

[guerrerense]

The Last Pilgrimage. por Stapleton Road Por Flickr: 61306 makes her last appearance of the year along the sea wall at Sprey Point, Teignmouth. she was bang on time and in fine fettle as her twin cylinders made a rhythmic beat as she progressed. This North British, Glasgow built loco has been a regular performer this year and has always been a pleasure to see her. Today Mayflower was working the 1Z61 0530 Worcester Shrub Hill to Plymouth.

[cliozaur]

Hauteville House: Part 5 – Routine and Intimacy

While on Guernsey, Hugo followed a strict work routine that enabled him to write more than he ever had in Paris. He woke up early (around 6 a.m.), ate three eggs, drank cold coffee, and then worked until eleven. After his morning writing session, he would strip naked in his glass cage, which was quite visible from the street, and sponged himself down with cold water. Following lunch, he walked for two hours before working again until 6 p.m. In the evenings, he had dinner with Juliette Drouet (except when his wife was visiting), and then he played cards.

 Amazing Juliette Drouet, an actress who left her career to become his lover in 1833, was the one who secretly smuggled Hugo out of France and followed him to the Channel Islands. On Guernsey, she lived just a couple of houses down the street and could see Hugo in the mornings as he went about his daily routine. Living so close, they exchanged letters filled with affection. “Good morning, my dear little leap-out-of-bed. You seem in fine fettle this morning, judging by the energy with which you do your physical jerks… I was up before the cannon signal this morning and had already attended to my toilette when I spied you on your balcony.”  (30 October 1863)

And when in 1864 she moved to another house, still closer, she wrote: “I do not want to leave this poor little house—where we have loved for eight years—without kissing the threshold with gratitude… I would like to take away the walls against which you have leant, the floor on which you have walked, right to the dust that you have scorned…” (15 June 1864)

Hugo responded with equally passionate letters. It all seems lovely and sweet, however, he was never a faithful lover. While visiting the house, I asked a guide about the servants without a second thought. She explained that there were almost no servants living there; local people came during the day to cook and clean, and only a maidservant lived upstairs.

“Upstairs” was where Hugo's living space was. Maidservants regularly ended up in his bed. He documented his romantic escapades in his diary, writing about them in French, Latin, and Spanish. “16 November: She will come to my house, provisionally, from Monday 20. She will sleep at the top of the house. 23 November: E. G. Shoulders and knees. 24 November: E. G. This morning, all.”

Not a dream job, for sure. Hugo was a terrible and harassing employer.

[dogfancier]

Illustration of Sir Frederick (english setter) of Seminole Kennels, published 1891

"Sir Frederick is a handsome blue belton in color, has a good head and excellent shoulders, legs and feet. He is not yet in show condition, but when in fine fettle he will take a lot of beating. He is not the objectionable heavy English type, but built more on racing lines of our American dogs."

[savvylittlecoxswain]

“Washington Huskies Owe Title to Syracuse ... Claim of Foul Is Never Pressed”

Syracuse Herald (Syracuse, New York)

Syracuse University’s crew was a victim of an emergency measure by Washington in the 1936 regatta at Poughkeepsie, which might have brought about disqualification of the Huskies, as race winners, if Syracuse had pressed a claim of foul.

The New Yorker tells the story in a tribute to Robert G. "Bob" Moch, Washington coxswain.

…

"He told us the story of how Syracuse helped Washington win the Poughkeepsie race, thus putting Washington in fine fettle for the Olympic trials. Seems that in the No.7 lane at Poughkeepsie there is an eddy along about the three-mile mark, created by a projecting abutment of a bridge. Ulbrickson, the Washington coach, was horrified when his crew drew the seventh lane, and instructed Moch to steer over into the sixta lane, which was Syracuse's, and avold the eddy. Moch gradually began inching over, and before the bridge was reached was right in Syracuse's lage, the Syracuse oars almost ticking Washington's.”

"The Syracuse coxswain bawled at Moch to get over, and so did the referee, but Washington just kept on going, and finally pulled ahead of Syracuse. They went under the bridge in Syracuse's lane, and won the race by a length. 'If you get in that eddy you lose two or three lengths sure, Moch told us. That means we'd have lost the race.' The Syracuse coxswain was all for reporting these goings-on and claiming a foul, but the Syracuse stroke—‘a fine fellow,’ Moch says earnestly—good-naturedly persuaded him not to.”

"So now all the Washingtons think the Syracusans are great."

[allhailthe70shousewife]

I think it is terribly unfair that my husband and I both brought back a cold from our recent trip and he was mildly uncomfortable for three days and is now in fine fettle. Here I am on day six, still feeling rotten, and dragging around the house. Of course it’s turning into a sinus infection which happens every time I get sick now.

[purrplegyuu]

Cold | Choi Beomgyu

Index

Chapter four

Warnings: softie beomgyu, angst, mentions of sex, signs of abuse.

Word count: 1.3k

Taglist: @arianap23e, @haatohwa

OKOKOKOK I know you don't really like soft chapters because oc this is not a soft story, however, I think it was necessary because of the last one being soft and also because of whet do I want to show. Anyways, I promise the next chapter is not gonna be that soft. (I also wanted to say that I didn't like the beggining of this chapter T.T, but I think it gets better like at the middle?)

Let me know if you find any kind of mistake, i'm not a native speaker and this helps me so so so much ^_^

Also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list, if you want to suggest an event to happen on next chapters or if you have any question about any detail. Luv yaa (●'◡'●)

(Reblogs will be appreciated)

The boat glided smoothly over the calm surface of the lake, the rhythmic hum of the engine creating a soothing backdrop to the conversation between dad and Gaeum. As Luna landed on the other side of the lake, I noticed I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

He knows a lot about me, he knows my fears, he knows my blues, he knows at least a bit of my past, but I don’t know anything about him. And everything I think I do know, is just what I think of him, which makes me wonder if I will ever get the opportunity to listen to him talking about his own life.

We all get out of Luna easily, except for Gaeum, who seems to struggle a lot due to her height. Dad takes her hand, helping her, and even lifts her slim body when she acts scared of falling to the lake. 

I see Beomgyu’s hand tensing, his face almost annoyed at his own mother’s acting. He sits on the wood chair my dad and I did eight years ago, and I sit right beside him. 

While dad takes out of Luna all the food they packed, Gaeum fakes many attempts to try to help him, which makes him kiss her sweetly, telling her he can do it by himself. That’s her personality when dad’s around; the princess in distress.

I look at my phone for a few minutes, until all the meat and the vegetables are cooking on the grill. Everything seems so old, however −even though I haven’t come here since seven years ago−, dad kept paying someone to take care of everything, so it’s still clean and in fine fettle.

Dad sits on one of the chairs, talking about how his week went. He makes some jokes, and sometimes, some details from his story makes Gaeum and me laugh highly. He is so funny without even trying to be. 

“Why don't you like him?” I ask Beomgyu low. He turns around to face me, looking back at the grill fastly. I notice he’s ignoring my question, so I talk once again. “I don’t want you to treat him the way you always do” It’s like he's in a good mood today, which just gives me the confidence to talk firmly to him. “I don’t like your mother, and I’m not mean to her”

“I don’t like her either” His voice sounding so deep it sends shivers down my spine. I swallow hardly, turning around to see my dad looking at me.

“Are you eating, honey?”

“I’m not hungry”

When we are finally going on our way back home, I look at dad, wondering if this is a good moment to tell him about my phobia of darkness. I look at the lake in front of me, while the small waves of the water get lost where the lights of Luna ends. 

Dad starts driving Luna like he knows what’s the direction we are supposed to go, and I’d like to think he knows, because this is going to make me feel a bit less scared. 

I feel Beomgyu’s hand taking mine, giving me a comforting look. As I said Before, he knows me, he knows my fears.

Once we are at home, I can feel the anxiety decreasing on my body, finally walking on the stable land. I don’t wait for anyone to get out of Luna as well, I almost run to the house, turning on the most lights I can. It’s nine thirty p. m., and we are in the middle of nowhere—it’s obviously dark as hell, and I know if I look through the window, my fear will increase a lot, so I do not. 

I run upstairs and close my bedroom door, looking for my pyjamas in my bag, finding it fastly and putting it on. That weird but pleasurable feeling of the warm and comfortable fabric against my cold skin making me almost jump to my bed, ready to sleep. 

I always sleep before eight thirty p. m.

I take my phone, answering the messages Jiwoo sent me on the day. Nothing interesting, actually—she’s asking if I’m excited for the school trip we’re going to have next week. She says it’s special for me since it's my first one, however, it’s already getting boring to her since they always go to the same places. 

Someone knocks on my bedroom door, and I go open, thinking it’s dad telling me what time are we leaving tomorrow. However, Beomgyu’s in front of my door, wearing his emo-like pyjama, messy hair and the same weird soft and angsty aura he has since some hours ago. 

He looks at me silently, not asking before entering my room, closing the door, holding my hand and taking me to my bed.

I wait for him to kiss me, touch me, make any move before he makes me know we are going to have sex once again. Instead, he lays on my bed beside me, and rests his head on my chest, closing his eyes and falling asleep quickly. He likes to sleep at eight thirty too. 

When I feel him trembling some minutes after that, my hand goes to his head, caressing his soft hair sweetly until he’s sleeping calmly again.

This kind of softness makes me wonder why can’t we be this way always, why can’t he be this kind always, why can’t I feel like that always. 

My door suddenly opens. I see Gaeum on my door. She looks at me coldly, and I almost can feel her anger. Does it make us look guilty? We have been hiding what we have for so many time, which makes me think we are not that obvious. But our position now… I can always say we are just close enough to be friends and have sleepovers, right?...

However, I can’t even attempt to justify our position as she closes the door so strongly I startle. The silence after that just makes my anxiety increase. Until I fall asleep.

I wake up at two a. m. when Beomgyu’s phone starts ringing. He wakes up also, and I pretend to sleep, not wanting this soft moment to end. The name of his mother on his screen letting me know who is this about. He takes his phone answering the call. 

He listens to her. Then, he answers. “I don’t want to” The call ends. He looks frustrated as he looks at me one more time before getting out of his room, closing the door and walking out quietly.

The next morning, we are all in the car once again. Gaeum looked at me once in a weird way that make me feel a bit awkward. I look at Beomgyu, noticing a purple circle on his arm. Did she hurt him?

I can’t talk to him quietly like many times before because she is looking at me like she is waiting for me to do something. However, I don’t do anything. After some time travelling, she looks at me through the mirror.

“Jeongseo, do you have a boyfriend?” I frown awkwardly, turning to see Beomgyu, who looks at her weirdly. I almost feel like he would yell at her, and tell her to shut up if he wasn’t… scared?

“Am… no?” I answer. My dad looks at Gaeum like she’s doing something kind or something.

“Aw love, are you trying to get along with Jeongseo? That’s so nice!” But I notice this is definitely not her purpose. “I’m sure you’re going to be like real mother and daughter soon” I look Beomgyu one more time, but everything I see now is coldness.

[mariacallous]

What’s fascinating about former U.S. President Donald Trump’s return to the White House is that he is both replicating former President Grover Cleveland’s rare feat of two nonconsecutive terms and is doing so on a tariff policy that would make Cleveland’s final successor, William McKinley, blush. The world may still be getting its bearings after Trump’s landslide victory, but historians of the 19th century are in fine fettle.

Trump, who took tariffs to new depths in his first term, has promised to make them the centerpiece of his second-term economic agenda—alongside tax cuts, a bigger deficit, possible cuts to the safety net, and a reversal of everything outgoing President Joe Biden has done.

The questions about Trump’s tariff plans boil down to: How big, how soon, how, why, and what happens next?

The “how big” is tricky. Trump talked about a 20 percent tariff on all trading partners and 60 percent on China. He also mentioned tariffs as high as 200 percent, and whether that’s for individual firms (such as John Deere’s foreign imports) or countries that cross him, who knows? Economic modelers do not yet have a way to peer into Trump’s mind.

The “how soon” is also hard to answer, because that depends on the why and how. In his first term, Trump was able to levy tariffs—to be clear, those are effectively taxes on imports paid by U.S. consumers and businesses—on everything from Chinese appliances to German steel. There were, and are, statutory means to do so, notably Section 301 of U.S. trade law that allows for tariffs on countries that compete unfairly, as China has manifestly done since it joined the World Trade Organization a quarter century ago. Imports assessed by the U.S. government to undermine national security, such as Turkish rebar used to hold up buildings, can be hit with tariffs under Section 232 of the 1974 National Trade Act.

Not everyone believes that the White House can hijack trade policy, since trade is technically still in the purview of Congress. But there is a lot of leeway for presidential action under numerated sections of old trade policy and the devolved authority that comes from having the courts side with the executive branch. He could do it all again or face lengthy fights in the courts, in which case it would be a while before his tariffs hit full swing. Nobody knows.

The “why” remains puzzling. Trump himself has mooted tariffs as a replacement for income taxes—an homage to McKinley. His supporters, on the other hand, say the proposed tariffs are only negotiating leverage to get trade partners to play ball. Play ball how? Trump’s “greatest deal ever” with China resulted in few U.S. exports and zero change in China’s manipulation of loans, laws, and subsidies to finance its export workshop to the world. U.S. tariff rates are now higher than those of most trading partners. If the United States has a gaping trade deficit—which it does, and it only grew larger under Trump—and if that deficit mattered at all, how would strong-arming trading partners redress that? Nobody knows.

Answering what happens next is perhaps easier: a trade war. Europe has already manned the ramparts; those poor souls in France who ride Harleys and drink Jim Beam will rue the day. China will let the yuan slide until its amphibious ships are ready to restore order. Emerging markets are buying sand for sandbags, only it has all gotten pricier overnight.

Europe, in the form of both European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen and bigwigs such as French President Emmanuel Macron, has already tendered an olive branch, fearing what it knows is in store.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5499

Jalsa, Mumbai                    Mar 7/8,  2023                Tue/Wed  12:26 AM

languishing in the environs of the home and the prevention from all kinds of physical activity .. the inability to partake in the festivities of the day .. and the gaiety of Holi that was celebrated with such vigour and in such fine fettle , has gone amiss .. has been so for years now .. 

The open house .. the celebratory welcome to all .. the hundreds that drenched themselves with music and dance and camaraderie .. starting early in the day and in a never ending mode till the dawn of the next .. 

those times may never come again .. I hope they do .. but it looks difficult .. at least for the present .. 

when in time and in the time of contemplation .. get back to the words of Babuji .. and pick those gems those elements that reflect his mind  .. as in the ☝🏽 above ..

In the response to a letter written to him , there is talk of one of his poems “ jeevan ke pahiye ke neeche “ .. under the wheels of life .. 

he expresses his gratitude to the correspondent for the appreciation he gave for the poem , and then expresses a gem :

‘tell me what the mistakes and dislikes of my work are .. tell others of the ‘khoobiyaan’ खूबियाँ , the brilliance and the good of my work .. ‘

then another comes :

‘they that call me Maha Kavi .. the greatest Poet ..महाकवि , the great the best .. i feel they be sarcastic towards me .. what evil have I done to be given sarcastic reference’ 

And the spirit has ever rubbed off on me too  .. I dislike being referred to in the glorious epithets that are constructed in my introduction or in a reference .. sadi ke mahanayak , the greatest actor of the century .. no .. no such adjectives please .. just a simple name will do .. 

the genes have rubbed off .. on to me .. 

and what else has rubbed off on to me is my immense inadequacy .. on many aspects as a human .. so the references on me are not valid and not appreciated ..

Love and care ❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[avida-heidia-5]

No one asked, but I felt like sharing these little banners I made for all of my current and WIP fanfics using InShot.

Yep, they’re all Seb-centric fics! 😅

I’ve never used InShot before. I’ve used Photoshop numerous times at college, so this was a familiar experience for me. I had so much fun doing these and I loved how some of them came out. 😍🥰

I plan on making more of them in the future. I just need to figure out how to upload them all onto AO3. 🤔 For now, they’re sitting dormant in Google Drive because the storage space on my phone is nearly full and I needed to find a place for them so I could find them again.

[floriansfurryfantasies]

Inside World of Between Bramble & Briar

Here are the main settings of the tale; a glimpse into the world behind closed doors of Between Bramble & Briar.

The Sanctuary:~ A gothic themed nightclub, owned by Florian Voltaire. It makes use of a once derelict Romulan Chapel in the city of Dornbury.

Florian restored some of the religious architectural features, such as the stained glass windows, feeling it would've been a shame for their beauty to be lost. He adores the flamboyant stone work and tiled floors and feels that the space feels most alive and fulfilling of its purpose when people have gathered there. However, now they gather for music and a good time rather than to worship Romulus.

Stanley House:~ A stately home built around 200 years ago–in an age gone by. The lavious property sits on the outskirts of Briarbury, village, nestled in the hills of Dorndale County.

A long gravel driveway twists and winds through a coppice of oak, ash, and alder trees and circles the front of house fountain. The surrounding gardens are kept in fine fettle by a retired vole, Mr Waterdown, from the village. So Florian is never without a pristine and floral view from his sunroom and all the windows of his home.

Stanley House was purchased some 30 years ago by his father when Arthur was an infant and retitled the house in his families name.

Today, Arthur still resides at the property and holds dear the fond memories he has of his childhood there and a time when his mother was happy and well.

Once up in a time, he'd hoped to furnish it with a lady of the house and a litter of kits who could build their own fond memories, but he fears that dream has passed him by.

Downey Cottage:~ A quaint cottage in the middle of the sleepy hamlet; Hedgely Woodhouse. Surrounded by a well planted cottage garden, Mrs Blackthorn grows vegetables and herbs, as well as a hedgerow of berried shrubs. Along the west wall of the garden, she grows flowers in raised beds. The family often enjoys sunny afternoons on the little paito there. The lawn is flanked by a wilf flower meadow and a few established fruit trees that provide shade and their fruit come harvest season.

The inside of the home is just as lovely. The kitchen and heart of the home always smells of homemade delights, and the range keeps the house warm come winter. The cosy living room is host to an open fire, a small television, couch, Mr Blackthorns reading chair, and Mrs Blackthorns rocking chair, where she sits to knit and sew.

Upstairs are four bedrooms that were once shared by the seven Blackthorn children, while Ermine and Ada Blackthorn shared the master bathroom.

The Blackthorns home is the apiteny of what a family home would look and feel like. The walls are adorned with family portraits, and Mrs Blackthorn wouldn't be without her trinkets and Mr Blackthorn without his piano and books.

Tag list:~ @caxycreations

Let me know if you'd like to be on the BBB tag list, too.

[the-littlest-kojin]

The Journal of Shio Shinju: A New World To Explore (Dawntrail, Journal II)

Spoilers through MSQ, "A New World To Explore"

I write presently, sitting in the hold of a Sharlayan ship, bound for Tural. Some weeks have passed since my last entry, in which I have done all I can to prepare for the voyage. Vena is in the hold with a supply of Gysahl Greens to keep him in fine fettle, and Shui, Kit, and Vul are all remaining at home, under the care of my family - I may retrieve them later, but I did not want to risk them on the dangers of a first-time voyage to a new land. Upon reflection upon the rite of succession, I remain reserved about my opinion of Wuk Lamat's honesty - but she at least seems willing to learn, which is a sight better than most in such situations. While ordinarily I would learn the combat art of whatever land I went to while on such journeys, a most auspicious happenstance occured to me in the intervening weeks, in the streets of Ul'dah. I met a stranger in the streets, carrying dual blades. Calling himself a viper, he was willing to teach me the monster-hunting art - and as my katana had been fitting ill in my hands of late, I accepted. Keshkwa, as he called himself, was happy to teach me the style of his home - Tural. His monster-hunting prowess was genuine, able to track and lead prey with practiced ease - and that is to say nothing of his style of combat. I watched the fight, and even in his hands instead of mine, his swords sang to me. Immediately, I knew I had to find out more. Apparently, the viper arts are meant to hunt "tural vidraal" - "those who cling to the earth" - which seem to be… Auspices, given over to their aramitama. I will need to do additional research when the ship makes landfall - I confess a deep curiosity for the respective differences. Vipers, as a whole, are named after snakes, small and venomous, capable of laying low the mightiest of beasts with their relatively small fangs. Holding the swords - twinfangs, he called them - I could feel them sing to me, like nothing else ever had. Even with them currently stowed away in my pack as I write this, I can feel the wrapped leather hilts in my hands, the phantom of the training I went through in the intervening weeks. Even my katana - beloved, a gift from my family, blessed by the lord of storms himself - was only ever a pale imitation of this. I am… Concerned. I worry that my family will feel that I am turning my back on them. That the long hours they spent training me with katana and samurai arts will be tossed aside if I take up these new arts. But I cannot deny the pull that they have on me. Just watching Keshkwa perform his hunt filled me with a sense of belonging, so impossibly profound that I cannot possibly transcribe it fully - I can only hope that my family does understand, as I hope they might. On another topic, it seems that the peoples of Tural go by different names than those I am used to from the Three Great Continents - I was familiar with Xbr'aal from Wuk Lamat, but there are others worth noting. Biologically, what the Three Great Continents call Viera are known as Shetona, Miqo'te are known as Hhetsarro, Hyur as Tonawawta, Vanu Vanu as Hanuhanu, and Goblins as Moblins. (Note: Ask each peoples for their own self-identified names at the earliest opportunity.) Wuk Lamat still seems to reflexively lie in times of stress or duress - including about innucuous things, the deceit around which serving her no purpose at all. I am given to understand that we are pulling into port soon. The idea of a new land makes my blood sing with excitement - I cannot wait to see what there is to see.

[infectiouspiss]

Sorry to say but f***** is a TERF dogwhistle

what word? sorry what word is that ?? you've censored it too much what is it?? how am i meant to understand this?

is it faggot? or is it one of these?

family, future, Friday, Father, forest, Friend, famous, flower, finger, fiesta, faking, flying, figure, fourth, fringe, flange, frozen, forget, Fabian, filter, France, flight, fallen, famine, female, fiscal, fierce, French, feline, fridge, fiance, fetish, finish, Foster, factor, fluffy, fiddle, fusion, follow, farmer, flirty, feeder, facade, felony, fuller, fisher, fright, failed, flavor, falter, finale, fabric, falcon, fedora, fungus, frosty, fumble, feeble, forces, fester, floral, fondle, filthy, fellow, feisty, fetter, floppy, freeze, finder, frying, facing, Fatima, frenzy, finest, finals, fondue, fuming, fibula, fuhrer, frizzy, fruits, fossil, faucet, faster, floozy, folded, fodder, fabled, flossy, footer, fandom, fiasco, furrow, formed, fading, flagon, flurry, firing, frayed, frigga, foible, frappe, frugal, fruity, foodie, frilly, filmed, futile, funnel, frolic, formal, fueler, filled, fluent, Fresno, fibber, feared, fillet, fueled, fickle, Franco, fixing, fascia, fouled, fuzzed, format, fuddle, freely, filing, fraise, facial, fenian, flimsy, fecund, faller, Fijian, folate, ferret, fleece, feeler, foment, fledge, fasten, fennel, fabler, freaky, favism, funded, floats, footed, forced, favour, Fulton, folder, Faisal, frisky, flakey, faille, flawed, flabby, Frisch, froggy, frigid, flitch, farrow, feller, feuder, Fungia, fathom, Freyja, fizzle, frater, foetus, farina, flatus, fatten, flared, facies, fomite, Fields, flaunt, faulty, foully, famish, fipple, feudal, fibrin, forage, fences, filler, fowler, frowzy, fender, fracas, facile, fresco, fixate, folium, friary, fanion, faired, flyers, fidget, Fulica, frowsy, frothy, flinch, fusser, forego, furled, fakery, falsie, fugler, flocks, Fornax, flukey, fitful, fervor, foaled, forint, fusing, fillip, fasces, Frazer, fellah, forged, flinty, Fukien, frieze, fallow, footle, forbid, flacon, fluted, funder, flavin, felled, funest, fungal, fervid, florid, formic, forger, flanch, ferlie, former, filial, flicky, Fatiha, flyboy, Fenrir, fugato, fulfil, Fulani, finely, fatism, fantan, framed, finery, finnan, fornix, fondly, facula, fescue, fanned, foison, firmly, fetich, fulmar, faisan, flatly, Fawkes, funker, faucal, flashy, Fortaz, flyway, Faunus, fealty, frivol, Florio, facund, feebly, frijol, ferine, faerie, fairly, fardel, furred, foeman, foetal, firkin, flexor, firsts, Friuli, formol, fecula, flicks, foetor, fooler, fucoid, faeces, Frisia, fleshy, fundus, foiled, frumpy, festal, furcal, featly, furane, flamen, frumps, framer, Fugard, ferial, floret, Fallot, fusain, fussed, filago, fanged, floury, farcer, Fennic, floaty, furore, frazil, folksy, Ferber, forked, ferule, frills, forrad, finial, felloe, fulgid, flaxen, foozle, Frunze, fawner, ferned, fencer, fettle, feijoa, ferric, faecal, fauces, Flagyl, Faroes, fakeer, fleecy, fibril, filmic, foxily, fogged, funrun, furfur, FinCEN, friesz, flunky, fatwah, fallal, Fermat, fenced, fulgor, forcer, Fergon, Feifer, Finnic, Fenusa, felted, Florey, feodal, feodum, flexed, frypan, Feosol, Franck, fringy, foetid, fugain, fusers, Fafnir, fulham, fylfot, funada, faquir, futons, fumier, fedish, fuerte, fowled, fizgig, fuling, or furors?

[jow99]

Tokyo-London-Barcelona-Girona-L’Escala

What a day! After a 13 and half hour flight we landed in London this morning and enjoyed the lounge for a few hours. Then we flew to Barcelona, a pleasant enough flight.

Next was a shuttle to Terminal 2 to catch the Metro into the city and then the train to Girona. Unfortunately being a Sunday the buses run on a reduced timetable. Having said that the train is way more comfortable.

Happily Martijn and Marjolein picked us up from the train station in Girona and drove us back to L’Escala. It was lovely to see them again and try to catch up on the last 4.5 months on the trip home.

As we approached L’Escala there was this weird thing going on with the sun’s dying rays. It looked like something out of a Monty Python movie (see photo). I think it was L’Escala welcoming us back.

Not only the sky but also the Tramontana was here to welcome us back 🙄. It was nice however arriving at the apartment to find the bed already made, a couple of bottles of our favourite rose and some lavender in a vase from Marjolein’s garden. This was all thanks to Charlie and Cathy our Canadian friends who have spent the last two weeks here and of course Marjolein ❤️

We dived into the clothes cupboard and pulled out some warmer clothing before heading out to dinner. I had felt like a total trooper but now I was starting to fade.

For dinner we went to one of our favourites, Cal Galan. It’s seriously only about a 3 minute walk but with the Tramontana in fine fettle it wasn’t much fun. Thankfully Cal Galan is very cosy and inviting. We love the couple who run the place.

For entree we shared our favourite, melted provolone with chorizo - heaven 😋 Tonight uncharacteristically we said no to the chupitos at the end of the meal. By now we were in serious danger of falling asleep at the table.

I did try to finish this blog before I went to sleep but my eyelids weren’t cooperating. So after a nice, long sleep here it is.