#for the record i have no beef with the german people

[peoplesprincessgeorge]

Alles gute zum Geburtstag! Anscheinend gratulieren wir heute nicht auf englisch!

Danke! But also you could ya know, you guys very much could do it in English.

[nedlittle]

for the ask game: CORAL just for u bestie

[through tears] thank u

coral: an animal you wish hadn't gone extinct

i mean. i get sad thinking about any animal going extinct but i really want to talk about steller's sea cow

steller's sea cow was a sirenian (same family as manatees and dugongs) example of ice age megafauna. it outlived other ice age critters such as sabre-tooth cats and giant sloths, surviving all the way up to the 18th century. unlike its sirenian cousins, steller's sea cows lived in the icy waters of the bering strait; historical record only mentions them around the commander islands, but there is archaeological evidence that they hung out around the aleutian archipelago a thousand years ago, give or take (altho there are maybe some issues with radiocarbon dating and classification? idk i am not a scientist i am an idiot with wikipedia)

(yellow is their prehistoric range, blue is historical, and red is for archaeological evidence)

they were well-evolved for their environment, with 10 cm of thick blubber, dense bones, a transparent third eyelid, and no teeth. they ate exclusively seaweed and were apparently docile. they lived in small family groups and were monogamous. that they managed to survive so long is likely attributed to a lack of human contact*

*contact with white people.

steller's sea cow was first recorded in western science in 1741 by german scientist georg wilhem steller. steller was part of the great northern expedition/second kamchatka expedition, led by vitus bering for whom the bering sea is named. the expedition was shipwrecked for a year on its return journey from alaska, and it was then that steller's sea cow was first discovered, named, and researched by western scientists.

as i said before, they were docile & friendly animals without any real way of defending themselves. they were also positively buoyant, which made them difficult for killer whales to drown, but easy prey for hungry, curious humans. the population had been decreasing in the millennia since the ice age, and by the time steller and the rest of the crew first encountered them, there were only a couple thousand remaining at most.

their meat apparently tasted like corned beef, their fat like almond oil; their milk was turned into butter, and their hide into shoes and belts. in short, they were profitable, easy targets for hunters, fur traders, and nearby sailors.

other environmental factors contributed to their demise, but increased human contact could not have helped. in 1768, 27 years after they were first discovered, steller's sea cow was declared extinct. there were alleged sightings in the years after they were declared extinct, but there are no sea cows in the bering sea today, and there haven't been for over 200 years.

if i think about steller's sea cow--twice the size of a manatee, gentle and loyal with no means of defence, and hunted to extinction within three decades of formal discovery--i become blinded by tears and holy rage. thanks for coming to my ted talk, there's a solid article going more into the science from the atlantic.

[petermorwood]

Soup is made: "Gosh, there's a lot. I'll get containers so we can freeze it."

Soup +1 day, in fridge. "I thought there was more than this. We don't need so many containers."

Soup +2 days, on stove. "Look, what say I just finish what's left and wash up. We'll make more for freezing next time."

It really was that good, and was just the sort of hearty, warming bowlful to counter wintery wind and rain. This one was made with beef; next time we'll try it with (more traditional) lamb.

*****

This Scotch Broth interest started with a German train dining-car menu from 1936 spotted in a documentary here:

The bill of fare, as far as we can read it, includes "Schottisches Gerstensuppe" (Scotch broth); "Kalbsrücken, Rosenkohl, Bratkartoffeln" (saddle of veal with Brussels sprouts and fried potatoes) OR "Heilbutt nach Sellerierot, Salzkartoffel" (halibut with celeriac and boiled potatoes) and "Reis mit Früchten" (rice (pudding?) with fruit).

*****

Now here's funny (peculiar, not ha-ha): despite that screencap, the existence of soup on on a train dining-car menu is downright denied by several on-line foodie sources - or more accurately by one source, then repeated by others.

What's under discussion is actually "Brown Windsor Soup", famous in memory and fiction but which may never have existed in other than its fictional form. However, these comments also include Declarative Pronouncements which are, as the screencap shows, Wrong. (The emphases are mine.)

Glyn Hughes "Foods of England" -

"Then there's the Railways. 'A Taste of Empire' by Cecilia Leong-Salobir (2011) says Brown Windsor was "a soup omnipresent on the train menus of British Railways" and an extraordinary number of people seem to definitely remember it being served on trains, which is very odd, as soup is pretty much never served on trains, for fairly obvious reasons."

Delishably.com -

"References are constantly made to the “fact” that Brown Windsor Soup was served daily in British Railway dining cars. Except that soup, being a substance susceptible to slopping over the sides of a bowl by the slightest lateral movement, is almost never served on trains."

BBC World's Table -

"The Brown Windsor Soup association with train travel runs deep in the British psyche, despite the fact that Hughes found no record of it in British Railways archives, with soups rarely served on bouncing, lurching trains for obvious reasons."

Atlas Obscura -

"Hughes even paid two researchers to go through a century’s worth of archives at the National Railway Museum, since many sources claimed that Brown Windsor soup was once a staple of British rail travel. Given that rail companies tend to avoid serving scalding-hot soups on moving vehicles, that claim already seemed suspect. Sure enough, not a single railway company menu or recipe book featured the soup."

The joke is that the "soup" may actually have been "soap".

Leaving this Brown Windsor question aside, if soup was "rarely served" on trains, then why does it appear on every one of the following on-board menus?

The English-language ones are from famous North American trains of the 1930s-1960s: the 20th Century Limited, the Hiawatha, the City of Los Angeles and the Canadian Streamliner.

The German ones are AFAIK from regular intercity services.

Also adding @dduane's and my personal experience aboard German, Austrian and Swiss dining-cars. There Was Definitely Soup.

Just because the rattly, wobbly Victorian-era British railway system wasn't safe for scalding-hot soup - though apparently just fine for beer, wine and scalding-hot tea - didn't mean there was a universal "No Soup On Trains" rule across the world, and any sweeping statement which claims so is, as with those pics, easily disproved.

Here's a photo from a New York Times article.

Aptly named journalist Evan Rail writes (again, emphasis is mine):

"For lunch, I chose the three-course, prix fixe menu (49 francs) and a glass of Von Salis Heidi-Wii Maienfelder Blanc de Noir (9 francs), an elegantly dry white wine. The service was impeccable, with palpable attention to detail. The buttery potato-leek soup arrived steaming hot. Chicken stroganoff included yellow heirloom carrots, perfectly cooked, a snowball of short-grain rice and a pepper-scented sauce. For dessert, the flaky, caramelized apple pie split the difference between an Old World tarte and the “as American as” recipe."

That article is dated 6th April 2023...

*****

Now I want a bowl of Gulaschsuppe, the first thing I ever tasted in my first ever Continental Speisewagen - and thanks to on-line shopping from the Austrian Supermarket...

...I can have some.

Maybe I'll rattle the table a bit for that proper dining-by-rail experience. Or maybe not.

But I might play a bit of music in the background...

(English version; official video, but not as visual.)

:->

So for those who were asking how the soup came out...

(meaning the Schottische Gerstensuppe or Scotch Broth discussed in this post): Not badly at all.

Here's the recipe. ("Graupen" turns out to be a dialect word for barley.)

It's a nice soup for a chilly night in Ireland with the rain coming down and Storm Ciarán on the way in...

[theminecraftbee]

Whats Beed up to in the magical girl au?

oh good question. i like either making beef an artist of some kind or giving him weird odd jobs. i think i'm gonna take from season seven here - he runs a record store. he also likes doing art on the side. you'd think he'd be some kind of hipster from this but he gives off the most just regular old dad vibes even as he runs this record store a thing that is perhaps the thing people have the most trouble reckoning with about him.

i also like the idea of beef having a minor magical gift. i'm giving him 'can smell people's emotions, kind of, except he has yet to quite figure out what smells go with what emotions so it's just sorta weird'.

i think he's also buddies with etho and doc and bdubs, except i think the joke here is that he knows them all from completely separate things. like they aren't the nho or anything in this au, beef just happens to know them all for different reasons. etho because he's one of two people who actually buys beef's art, doc because his store is the only place in town that sells german heavy metal, and bdubs because they met trying to find people to talk about the sudden onset magic with.

he also has absolutely no idea any of these people have anything weird going on with them right up until doc shows up heavily bandaged with a metal arm like 'dude what's up' and beef is like. uhhhh. hm. okay sure what's up,

[wehavebiggerproblems]

Fallout 4 Random Companion Headcanons

Wrote these a few years ago, too nervous then to share them.

Ada

-Ada was built in 2268. She's about 21 years old.

-Her first memory is of seeing The Mechanist in front of her. Then she watched as The Mechanist removed their head and smiled.

-She's Isabel's first project. 

-Her voice was originally supposed to be more synthesized and robotic, but the more human sound was easier for Isabel to work with.

-Ada prefers to travels in groups with 3-4 people, knowing fully well a robot is a higher target for scavvers.

- Her base body was constructed from many different trial runs of the "ADA" project.

-She's programmed to remain indifferent but the nagging voice in her programming says to do good things in order to to aid other people.

-Ada appreciates the effort Sole goes through to upgrade her body. She doesn't think it's necessary and she's somewhat sentimental about her original form.

-She finds Codsworth's attachment to Sole strange. Almost too human, those Mr. Handy's.

Cait

-Cait loves baths. Bubble baths with bath bombs and even a little rubber ducky. Only Sole knows this.

-The rubber ducky's name is Codsworth. Will not explain why.

-Can fire a rifle over her shoulder behind her. (Annie Oakley style)

-Hates Jazz music. Says it's too slow and calm. Really dislikes it because she's uncomfortable slow dancing with anyone.

-Allergic to feathers. Rad chickens make her sick to be around.

-But once the feathers are removed, the chicken has been cut up, and cooked with some veggies and a loaf of bread, loves it.

-Chicken soup is her favourite dish. Only likes Sole's chicken soup though. Will not eat anyone else’s.

-Shot put would be her favourite sport. Throwing a heavy metal sphere a very long distance is goals.

Codsworth

-Codsworth can speak 8 languages. Including: English, Spanish, French, Japanese, German, Italian, Polish, and Swedish.

-Can recognize almost every written language and translate but lacks the programming to speak every one.

-Nate/Nora got him two years before Shaun was born.

-Sole did minimal repair work on him, and offered to polish him every time he got a dent or scratch.

-He always accepted the polish offer. Very wary of Sole doing factory repairs on him. Would prefer professionals doing the delicate work.

-Always celebrated Nate/Nora and Sole’s respective birthdays. For 200 years.

-When Sole called him "Family", he felt an odd electric pulse through his core processor. He decided to call it a skipped heart beat.

-Calls synth Shaun "Sonny", and "Young Master Shaun".

-Makes Sole's favourite meal when they come back home from Vault 111.

-Will ask to take over if he catches Sole doing chores.

-Hesitates when he has to bring up Sole's spouse knowing it's a touchy subject.

-His favourite friend of Sole's is Nick. Thinks Nick is a good role model for synth Shaun.

Curie

-Curie, like Codsworth can speak 8 languages. However, after becoming a synth, she can only speak about 4.

-Curie loves the feeling of velvet. Collects pieces of velvet clothing. 

-Once wore a velvet cape around because she loved the way it draped over her shoulders and fluttered when she walked.

-Has sensory phases. Music, nice noises, soft materials, different foods, perfumes, etc. Collects whatever makes her senses happy.

-During the "feeling phase" her favourite feeling was holding Sole's hand. Loved running her hand over the surface of water. And velvet.

-Talks out what her feelings are with Piper. Piper explains to her what the "spin spin spin" in her head meant.

-Favourite smell is fresh baked bread. Bakes bread with Mama Murphy every weekend.

-Favourite sweet food is mutfruit pie. Will badger Piper to make it with her.

-Curie's motor functions are still new. Sometimes she misses what she was trying to grab and fumbles.

Danse

-Danse is a horrid mechanic. You'd think spending time in the BoS and dedicating time to auto repair with Ingram. Can't put a toaster together.

-But Power Armor is a piece of cake. Can't do much with pre-war tech, yet fixing power armor is as easy as making breakfast.

-Like all gen 3 synths, he loves Fancy Lad snack cakes. He'd share whatever box he'd find with the squires around the Prydwen.

-Scribe Haylen would volunteer to work alongside Danse on all his scouting missions.

-Danse found out Deacon was the one who stuck the dildo to his power armor. He made sure Deacon's wigs were the same bright purple color the very next day.

-Loves country music. When a traveling courier stops by and shares their western/country music, he actually dances. 

-Has a heart for kids. Even Billy. 

-Leg bouncing habit. Can't bounce his leg in power armor but as soon as he's out, his leg's jittering.

Deacon

-Deacon is in his late 40's. 

-Did not lie about his wife and the University Point Deathclaws.

-Enjoys learning about Pre-war culture, spends free time with ghouls asking them about the past.

-Sole can fool him easily about prewar facts though. 

-Has incredible luck with the pie claw game. Has won 8 times while traveling with Sole.

-Loves making silly bets. "I bet I can skip this plate across the lake at least 1 time." Proceeds to throw the plate at the water horizontally. 

-Doesn't hate Danse. He will pull pranks on him though. Once stuck a dildo on the back of Danse's power armour. 

-His hair grows quickly so he has to shave every day.

-Shaves his head, isn't bald. Shaved head works better with his pompadour wig. 

-Doesn't like mutfruit. Says it's too acidic and hurts his gums.

-Has a rifle-shaped scar on his forearm. Will tell a different story for it every time.

-Once drank a dozen Nuka Cola Quantums on a dare. His pee glowed for a week.

-Tried going vegetarian once. ONCE. Found out being vegetarian means eating no meat or dairy products. Had to have Sole explain that, while gross, radroach could technically be  considered meat.

-Is kinda clumsy. Always bumps into counter edges and stubs his toes on bits of debris.

-Doesn't lie about his family. And when Sole calls him family, promises to never lie about family again.

Gage

-Gage juggled skii balls to entertain the last Overboss, Colter.

-He enjoys small shooting competitions with MacCready, Sole, and X6. All four are sharp shooters.

-Fastest learner. Spent an entire week learning how to cook Sole's old recipes. He can cook them better than anyone with the exception of Codsworth.

-Hums when he works. 

-Had a one night stand with Nisha. Ended so bad, he avoids that area of the park at all costs.

-Hates cats. Had an awful run in with a rad lion. Radiated Mountain Lion that tore a scar deep down his back. 

-Does routine maintenance on the rides in the park. He knows how everything works there. From social hierarchy - to the intricacies of the Vault Tec: Among the Stars ride.

-His favourite flavour of Nuka Cola is Nuka Cola Victory. Rare to find but easily the best.

-Record farthest shot is a bean can from 410 meters. 

-He's a lightweight. Only two beers and he's buzzed enough to sing along with Red-Eye.

-Will tell a different story every time if anyone asks about the eye patch.

Hancock

-Hancock is a history buff. Loves learning about colonial era civilization. 

-Has spent days with Kent Connolly researching Silver Shroud information. He knows more about the Silver Shroud than any other companion.

-Has had a fling with every person in Goodneighbor at least once. Even Kleo. 

-At least in a sexual way, he is extremely open minded. Welcomes new experiences and new information given anywhere anytime.

-Had a decent childhood with his brother. He remembers tending to the mutfruit trees with him and eating every other piece they picked.

-Adores pickles. Would sit and eat an entire jar of pickles just because he loves the cronch so much.

-All time favourite chem is Mentats. Loves making intellectual jokes while high as a kite.

-Does not know what a lot of pre-war expressions mean, but enjoys saying them and hearing them from Sole.

-Is a master at repairing clothing. How else does the frock stay in such good condition? He tends to it every night.

-As far as euphemisms for ghouls go, he likes "beef jerky".

Longfellow

-Longfellow met Hannah while out hunting. She blasted a trapper's head clean off, and he fell harder than the trapper's body.

-He spent his youth training, hoping to become a Brotherhood soldier one day.

-And then he met a vertibird full of them. They called Far Harbor a dump while gathering supplies there. Officially decided to cease all training.

-Managed to take down 17 Mirelurks in 3 minutes. 

-Holds the record in Acadia for alcohol consumption. All records involving alcohol consumption.

-He's really fit? Longfellow could and has bench pressed Sole. 

-He only did so because Hancock and MacCready wouldn't shut up about it.

-Loves singing old shanty songs and dancing with Sole. Only when no one else is around though.

-After the events at Far Harbor, he decides to go sailing along the coast. Wants to see the world more.

MacCready

-MacCready does brush his teeth. He brushes his teeth regularly. He started brushing after he left Little Lamplight. By that point the damage was already done.

-Lucy was the one to convince him to brush his teeth.

-He can't stand the smell of lavender. Lavender candles, lavender lotion, etc...makes him feel  nauseous.

-He named his sniper rifle, "Lucy"

-Won't drink brahmin milk with cereal even to Sole's encouragement.

-Is very well read. Vault 87 had many educational textbooks hidden among the super mutants.

-MacCready was the longest lasting mayor in L.L. He was mayor for 6 years.

-He has no idea what television is and is afraid to ask any pre-wars about it.

-Wary of all ghouls, both feral and normal. He's not bias to non-ferals, but he is a little uncomfortable.

-Had a crush on Lone Wanderer when they first visited L.L. Mac told Joseph and he made fun of him.

Nick

-Nick has an oral fixation. Smokes out of habit and having the familiar feeling of a cigarette between his lips feeds into human nostalgia.

-His right hand is missing skin because he fidgets only his right. Whether it was picking at the fraying plastic or rubbing the fake skin raw.

-He lost the chunk of neck skin after Myrna accused him of working for the Institute. Tore off a chunk to prove he wasn't a perfect person or an infiltrator synth.

-Ellie was the first person in Diamond City to wholly accept Nick as he is. She asked to work with him as soon as he decided to stay.

-Piper and Nick have jam sessions where they have heavy debates about Diamond City law enforcement and criminal misuse of power in the capitalistic society of pre-war USA.

-Met Dogmeat under an overpass. He handed the dog a snack cake and scratched his head. They've been close pals ever since.

-Will "sleep" around Sole. He'll lay down and manually put himself into "sleep mode". Any unnecessary functions will shut down. He lets his thoughts take over. All Sole hears is the faintest fan whir.

Piper

-Piper plans Sole's 211th birthday. She goes all out, collects balloons, bakes several cakes with Codsworth, makes everyone attend and threatens anyone who would act up. "It's Blue's first birthday out here, you WILL behave!"

-Knows how to make mutfruit preserves, mutfruit pie, mutfruit jam and jelly. Makes it for Nat constantly.

-Has a notebook dedicated to little tidbits of info about Sole.

-Nat is exactly 8 years, 5 months, and 25 days younger than Piper. 

-Piper has interviewed every person in Diamond City. Made a game of it with Nat at first, then she just kept going with it.

-Piper has awful shorthand. Almost as bad as Curie's shorthand. Still illegible. 

-Piper's handwriting is so bad, Nat does the writing for the paper. Piper writes the final draft and Nat copies it, and sends it through the printing press.

-Despite bad handwriting, Piper is very eloquent. Can make a super mutant sound like good date idea or convince anyone how the mayor might actually be a synth.

-Her favourite of Sole's friends is Kent Connolly. Would gladly dress up and act out Silver Shroud episodes with him and Sole.

Preston

-Preston has insomnia. Cannot sleep well. Has had insomnia since Quincy. 

-Can sleep well if he's sleeping beside someone.

-Has a box under his bed of little knick-knacks children have given him over the years. Can't bear to get rid of the kid's gifts.

-He actually likes all of Sole's friends. Even Strong.

-Hates coconut. Once found an Almond-Joy while scaving and couldn't finish it to save his life.

-All time favourite candy is Peanut Brittle. Hard to find but gnawing on the hard chunks is somewhat soothing to him.

-Loves back rubs. Giving and receiving but only from close friends or lovers.

-Once accidently drank a bottle of perfume. MacCready told him it was a bottle of fancy expensive wine. 

-Sturges and Preston are the closest of friends, no less maybe more.

Strong

-Strong knows how to jump rope.

-But double dutch is a mystery.

-Before Sole, he only ate meat raw. Sole taught him how to cook it.

-Also lacks patience to cook, but slowly learning.

-Strong was created in Vault 87 after the bombs dropped but remembers nothing from being human.

-Doesn't understand bubblegum. Will always swallow it after a few seconds of chewing.

-Likes having poetry and plays read to him. 

-Sleeps holding Sole or having Sole laying across his stomach. 

-Loves fire. The smell, the feeling of heat against his hardened skin, the taste of charred meat, and watching the embers fly up and turn to ash.

-Strong can read, but chooses not to because super mutants discourage any educational behavior. 

-Likes the sound of clacking keys on a terminal. He'll turn one on and mess around with the keyboard just to hear the different sounds each key makes.

-He can't decide if hand-to-hand combat is better than using guns.

X6-88

-X6 doesn't like using plasma. He thinks the plasma is less accurate. 

-But laser weapons are his jam.

-Spends excessive amount of time augmenting his weapon. 

-If Sole helped, he would be "happy". Would never say it, but a tiny smirk would pop up on his face for half a second.

-Will collect Fancy Lad Snack Cakes. Hoards them in his bedroom in Sanctuary and in the Institute. 

-Sole found his stash and X6 blushed for the first time when they confronted him. 

-He called Sole "Mom" instead of Ma'am once. She won't let him live it down.

-He called Sole "Dad" after hearing Shaun call him "Dad" all day. He won't let him live it down.

-Actually likes kids. Won't show emotions, get down to their level, or speak to kids. But he doesn't hate children. 

-Especially likes synth Shaun. He taught synth Shaun how to use a laser pistol. Shaun found out and put X6 on probation for a month.

Bonus Vault Tec Rep and Kent Connolly under the cut.

Vault Tec Rep

-Rep spent a couple decades learning how to draw. Loves drawing from life. Mostly draws people. Occasionally draws ferals, mutants, and various animals.

-Was engaged before the war, lasted about 2 years before she died of cancer.

-His favorite food was and still is a well grilled medium rare steak.

-A total neat freak. Every space he uses as a homestead has to be thoroughly cleaned of any bacteria, ticks, dust, dirt, radiation residue, etc

-Teased in school for his red hair. "Rusty" was his least favorite nickname.

-He's extremely susceptible to pet names. Doesn't have to be anything sexual or romantic, just pet names. He blushes like a starstruck starlet.

-Loves love. Romance and old-timey corny love stories. He like to woo his partner. Flowers, chocolate, dancing, movie dates, hand written poems, you name it. 

-He misses his old red hair. Years of being a brunette and he's a little bitter about his hair.

-Least favourite part of The Wasteland is amount of bodies he sees on a daily basis. He saw about zero bodies a day on average before the war. Even in Goodneighbor, the average has risen to about 4 bodies a week. 

-Favourite part of The Wasteland is the ability to just go anywhere. After realizing he didn't have any obligation to stay any specific place, he just traveled around for a few decades.

-His father worked for Vault-Tec, and when he graduated high school, he was given a job immediately. 

-Didn't hate it. Didn't love it at first, but he had a real knack for selling.

-He never had an office in Boston HQ. He got the van, and got a sweet bonus for being top salesman, but never his own office. 

-Despite being top salesman, he was only allowed on the first and second floors. He didn't find out till after the bombs dropped that the basement and third floor up had the plans for the various vaults in the area.

-He can't apologize enough to Sole. After thinking on it and checking out vault 111 by himself, he truly feels sorry for what happened.

-Sole gets him a set of steak knives for Christmas. They're homemade by Sole. They tell him he's earned far more than a knife set, but if that's what he's pining for...

-He treasures it so much, he rarely uses them. Just before he leaves for work in the morning, he checks them over and admires them.

-He and Sole have spent days just telling each other pre war stories. He almost knows more about Sole than Piper does. And he's a little proud of that fact.

-He gets along best with, of all people, Deacon. Good sense of humour and always interested in pre-war info.

-Second best is Piper. A nice lady who snoops too much, but does treat everyone with respect and tries to remain unbiased.

Kent Connolly

-Kent was 23 when the bombs dropped.

-He was sleeping in on the Saturday morning when he heard the air raid sirens.

-Hid in his house's basement till the sirens stopped. 

-And then the radiation sickness took over. 

-It took him about 3 months to turn ghoulish. Quicker than most. 

-He dislikes Goodneighbor - the town as a whole. The people are fine, the resources are serviceable, and the safety assured is nice. But he hates how back alley it feels.

-Misses his family the most. They weren't the best, but they made him feel loved and important.

-Speaking of which, Kent had a huge family. I'm talking brothers, sisters, cousins for days, aunts, uncles...he remembers family reunions as huge gatherings chock full of food and kids running amuck.

-Maybe, just maybe, he enjoys seeing Sole all dressed like Shroud a little too much. He's a big fan.

-Once spent 4 grand on a mint condition Issue no. 3 Silver Shroud comic just to find out it was a forgery. Never got that refund. :(

-Writes really well. But only writes Silver Shroud fanfiction. Piper almost convinced him to help write an article about how crime differed before the war and after the war. But he turned her down.

-Nick has agreed to dress up as Shroud if Sole dresses up like Grognak or Mistress of Mystery. But only if Sole dresses up too.

-Irma refers to him as her son. Amari will not say the same, but she also doesn't protest.

-He used to work in comic book shop. (Of course he did.) 

-He writes self insert Silver Shroud fanfiction all the time. After the events at the hospital with Sinjin, the Shroud in his fanfictions suddenly start using Sole's pronouns and is described as physically similar as Sole.

[iwach4n]

haikyuu characters as british sixth form students

i low key hate myself for this but i needed to do it. it’s necessary. also i only did subjects they do at my school

KARASUNO

sawamura daichi - takes history, maths and business, but he only really did business because he didn’t know what else to take; his suit is always like perfectly fitted like he actually tried when he was buying it; probably head boy honestly; follows the rules a bit too strictly but you can’t even be annoyed because he’s too nice; will give you the extra 50p you need to get a diet coke before school even if you don’t know him; is friends with the popular roadmen type and is the only one out of the group that you trust

sugawara koushi - takes english, art, classics and maths AS to feel smarter; says he regrets taking art like 20 times a day but still always has amazing pieces; the one kid that’s sort of in a lot of friend groups but has like two genuine close friends; the go-to if you need to copy homework because he’s always done it and will let you even if its as the teacher is collecting it; the only boy who actually tries on non-uniform day and has really nice outfits; makes you nervous if you don’t know him well because he seems too nice

azumane asahi - takes textiles, english and psychology but textiles was the only one he really wanted to do; the guy you’re scared of before you get sat next to him and it turns out he’s a sweetheart; you can’t remember the last time you saw him wearing a blazer; you ask to copy his homework because he seems smart and sort of put together but it turns out he was about to ask you the same thing; all the teachers love him; probably plays rugby honestly

tanaka ryuunosuke - takes PE, drama and french but he only did french because he liked the teacher he had for GCSE and didn’t fail it; if you’re in the same group as him for drama you have to yell at him to actually act properly but once you do he’s actually good; never has a tie; definitely the guy who yells at girls like “ayo miss! miss!!! miss can i chat to you!!!!!��� even though he always gets ignored; is a roadman and is friends with roadmen but is actually nice to most people, you still don’t trust him tho; acts friendly with teachers even though they hate him

nishinoya yuu - takes PE, biology and psychology because he was told they work well together but is failing all of them; constantly on report and in detention; you don’t trust him because he’s friends with roadmen and is generally popular but when you talk to him he’s actually alright, none of your friends who haven’t talked to him believe you though; always begging to copy your homework and if you say no he’ll offer you like,,, 20p; always gets picked to do the 100m on sports day and holds the school record for it

hinata shoyo - takes PE, geography and psychology, cried when he found out there was maths in all of them; got low-key bullied in years 7-9 but is now generally well liked; mocked for his height and gets offended even though its in good nature; is that one kid who’s friends with all the popular people but unless you’ve had a class with him you literally haven’t heard of him; forgets its non-uniform day every single time; does shitty bike tricks while cycling down the road to school, there’s a video that everyone has seen of him falling off

kageyama tobio - takes PE, french and business, he was going to take maths because he didn’t know what else but his GCSE grade wasn’t high enough; the one quiet kid in class who’s just intimidating and will not speak to you if you sit next to him; is generally considered popular but when you think about it you have no clue if he has any friends; yells at you for not taking the mandatory non a-level PE sessions seriously; always buys a yazoo or capri sun from he school canteen; literally just completely zones out in study periods

tsukishima kei - takes history, classics, german and english, all of them full course coz he’s a dickhead (i say this but i am also taking four full course); you can’t remember the last time you saw him take actual notes in a lesson but he’s still got amazing grades; if there’s ever a debate in lessons he gets annoyed and swears and gets sent out; in detention for using his phone a lot coz he literally doesn’t care; always has beef with the roadmen, one time he got into a physical fight with one of them and won; won’t snitch on you for breaking any rules UNLESS he actively dislikes you

yamaguchi tadashi - takes art, graphic design and english; literally lives in the art and tech building and is best friends with all the teachers; other than tsukishima all his friends are girls; the one guy everyone thinks is gay but he just isn’t; sometimes brings like a whole box of celebrations into school and as long as he sort of recognises your face he will offer you one; he has really neat notes but he owns like one highlighter and its bright orange which ruins it; will let you take pictures of him for your art project

yachi hitoka - takes art, textiles, business and AS maths; always has the cutest outfits with pretty pastel jumpers and subtle necklaces; actively avoids eye contact whenever a teacher is asking a question even though she always knows the answer; is terrified walking past roadmen and football fields (she’s been hit in the head with the ball too many times); will buy you food from the canteen if you don’t have enough; no one knows where she goes at lunch but they never see her around and never see her leave; became a prefect because her teacher said she should; runs a textiles club for KS3

shimizu kiyoko - takes geography, maths, business and AS further maths; everyone thought she’d be like head girl but she didn’t even run for it; she’s too used to ignoring guys trying to talk to her so if you actually need to speak to her about something important good luck; is invited to every party but never goes; had THE biggest glow up from year 7; stays at school over lunch even though sixth formers can leave, can always be found at one specific bench or in her geography teacher’s classroom

NEKOMA

kuroo tetsurou - takes chemistry, physics, german and AS maths even though he was told not to do german coz it didn’t suit his other subjects; is somehow good at everything - gets good grades, really good at sports, you see videos on his instagram of him playing guitar - its genuinely unfair; is friendly with teachers and they love him; if a teacher suggests a movie lesson he will immediately ask for either bee movie, shrek or some shitty one off youtube (killer bean anyone?); is friends with literally everyone; this is a direct description of the one guy at my school who just is kuroo

yaku morisuke - takes french, geography, economics, and AS maths; plays cricket and helps run the club for year 7s, but only because it was required to be a prefect; is friendly with roadmen but the minute they leave he'll have the most disgusted and pained expression; seems really smart and put together but you've seen him swear like a sailor when he misses the bus and get blackout drunk at a party so you really don't know what to think

kenma kozume - takes computer science, maths and business; always in the computer rooms or the tech block because those are the places you can use your phone; you think he has no friends until you see him talking to the popular boys; everyone knows who he is even if like 2% of people have actually spoken to him; skips PE to sit in the toilet on his phone; always has spare everything but you can't tell coz its all just loose in his bag

yamamoto taketora - takes PE, history and english; has played basketball every single lunchtime since year 7 and he's not about to stop now; uses over-the-top compliments to chat up girls and then calls them clapped when they reject him; is trying his best with school work but is struggling, if you sit next to him please help him; is mates with everyone he's ever sat next to and will fist-bump you when you walk past each other; is obsessed with a specific instagram model and everyone calls him a simp for it

lev haiba - takes drama, PE and psychology coz they're the "easy" subjects (he's barely passing any of them); tries to be friendly with teachers but then he says something bad and it backfires; constantly has a massive bag of doritos with him and gets crumbs everywhere; still wears his shirts from year 11 coz he didn't want to buy new ones; talks to girls in younger years and is constantly called a nonce for it even though he never dates any of them; wannabe roadman that the roadmen don't really like

AOBA JOHSAI

oikawa tooru - takes physics, maths, and business and he's Struggling but he won't let anyone see that; the one guy that everyone likes and you had a crush on for like two weeks and then regretted it for the rest of your life; friends with all the roadmen and dresses like one but doesn't act like them (he's worse); talks to and dates year 10 girls but no one calls him a nonce for some reason; when you first see him you think 'damn he's hot' but a week later you're actively avoiding him in the corridors; puts porn on his snapchat story and captions it 'mood'

iwaizumi hajime - takes PE, biology and business; "friends" with all the roadmen but you get the feeling he wants to be literally anywhere else; always yelling and takes every joke too seriously; shoves his PE kit in the same part of his bag as all his books and has to pull out his sweaty shirt to get to his pencilcase; will be nice to you if you sit next to him but it feels forced; always has a cherry pepsi and a pack of wine gums or dolly mix in his bag and he won't share any with you

mattsukawa issei - takes english, biology and german even though they're ridiculously mismatched; he's not a known druggie but you're like 99% sure he's stoned all the time; will talk to you randomly if he recognises you but its intimidating coz he's popular; you can't tell if he's a virgin or if he gets mad bitches; asks uncomfortable questions in sex ed and has a shit-eating grin on his face the whole time; always late to every lesson and form time; gets blackout drunk in a field at least once a week

hanamaki takahiro - takes latin, history, german and AS english; you think he's dumb until you sit next to him in a lesson and he knows all the answers to everything; he's the nicest ever if he's on his own but if he's with his friends you have to avoid him; he came to cricket club once and now he gets put in the matches if they don't have enough people; tries to keep his stupid silver puffer jacket on in lessons; will wolf-whistle at girls to show off to his mates; you'd trust him with your drink at a party but you're too nervous to approach him

kyoutani kentarou - takes english, biology and maths but it barely matters coz he's never in lessons; school cryptid; you don't know if he's in exclusion or just not in school; if a cover teacher calls out his name in the register everyone jokingly says he's dead; will fight a roadman with 0.5% of an excuse; if you're not a roadman or chav he's acc really cool and will be your friend; has a million friends outside of school and if you want some drugs, whether its weed or like, meth, he knows a guy; probably a skater

kunimi akira - takes maths, computing, economics and AS further maths but is miserable about it coz none of his friends took mathsy subjects; just sits quietly and stares at the teacher, he barely takes notes but still gets good grades; asks to copy your homework right before the lesson and then bullies you for making mistakes in it; you see him pouring monster energy in his waterbottle before school; says he's gonna drop further maths every lesson but never does; sleeps in lunchtime detentions

SHIRATORIZAWA

ushijima wakatoshi - takes history, classics, latin and AS english; definitely plays rugby; you wonder if he even has a social life because he's always at a sports club or doing schoolwork every lunch time and after school; never has a fucking coat even if its below freezing; his parents buy him beer and cider that he drinks while just chilling in his room; probably the one guy you know who lives just,,, in the woods; his instagram has one picture and its of him shirtless, it has hundreds of likes but he was last online 20 weeks ago

tendou satori - takes drama, computing and maths; got really bullied in like,,, years 7-9 but now just sticks to his friend group and is fine; his hobby is annoying his teachers and is a bit of a class clown; turns the wifi setting off on the school computers and plays the google dinosaur game in lessons even though he's literally doing computing alevel; somehow always gets away with not doing his homework; the only weeb in the entire school, is angry about that fact constantly; drinks way too much monster energy, he's 50% of the local corner shop's profit

semi eita - takes music, maths, and business; you think he only took music because people think its an easy subject but he's genuinely good at it and is predicted an A*; every girl in younger years has a crush on him and it worries him; he lives in the music block; had a year 8 emo phase and will murder you if you bring it up; drinks the white monster more than he drinks water; sort of tiktok famous for his bass videos and no one believes he's british; also probably a skater

bokuto koutarou - takes PE, english and drama but is Struggling in english; wears a coat every single day, even if its boiling hot; plays subway surfers on his phone in study periods and somehow never gets caught; has popular friends but prefers his other friends; slaps his mates ass in the PE changing rooms (says no homo tho); has to type his exams because his handwriting is too messy; has a love-hate relationship with his teachers; buys custard donuts from the local supermarket every morning

FUKURODANI

akaashi keiji - takes RS, french, classics and english AS; the one guy you've never spoken to but trust more than anyone you know; every teacher wants him for their subject on open evening; really needs a nap. seriously get the boy some sleep; no one thought he was attractive until like year 9 - 10 and is now just The pretty boy; goes to costa every day before school and somehow can afford that; mentors year 10s in english and french and looks like he hates every second of it

OTHER

astumu miya - does PE, business and computing, is still useless at programming; loudly and carelessly discusses his sex life with no shame whatsoever; looks really good in the suit and just in general but makes you hate yourself for thinking that; he would get a perm. he would; on the rugby team and threatens to rugby tackle everyone constantly; does hard drugs at parties; tries to chat up any alt / goth / grunge girl he sees even thought they all immediately hate him

sakusa kiyoomi - takes PE, biology and sociology; got bullied for being a germaphobe but never gave two shits about it; rude as shit to all the roadmen but is generally chill with anyone else; one of very few people who wore a black suit and it looks damn good; somehow got into the popular-but-not-quite-roadmen group by sixth form; brings his own hot lunch in like a thermos because the school food is nasty but he needs hot lunch; just wears like a t shirt, jeans and a leather jacket on non-uniform days but somehow looks like a god

[joemerl]

I debated whether or not to respond to you, since your arguments are becoming increasingly unhinged (and also poorly formatted). But I'll try.

Ok so when Settlers firebombed a child and his family, why wasn't the family compensated and why wasn't the settler organization monetary fined?

Can you provide a credible link so that I can learn about this incident?

So kids in cars who were shot, or children just on their way to school were beaten and taken away, was to protect Israelis.

Can you provide a credible link so that I can learn about this incident?

So you need three checkpoints, to ensure Israelis are safe. So palestinians should lose time to ensure Israelis are safe.

So Israelis should be unsafe so that Palestinians (that word is capitalized, BTW) can save time? Better a Jew gets murdered than a Palestinian inconvenienced?

Also, the checkpoints didn't stop the October 7th pogrom, so y'know. If anything, Israel probably needs to beef up their security.

So in order for Palestinians to be free, they have to kill their jailors.

Serious question: what is your endgame here? Do you honestly believe that Israel is going to be destroyed? Five Arab armies couldn't manage that in 1948; do you actually believe that Hamas are going to manage it now?

Do you think the Israelis are going to just leave, en masse? I know anti-Semites "pro-Palestinians" like to play the "Jews are colonizers" BS, but unlike actual colonists, Jews are not only native to Israel, they don't have a home country to return to. Unless you think that Iraq, Egypt, Iran, etc. are going to take back to descendants of the people they drove out? (None of them will even take in Palestinians!)

Or do you imagine that Israel will just...give up? Like, if Palestinians break through the border and murder enough Israelis, Israelis will decide to open the checkpoints so that Palestinians can murder them more easily? Stop fighting back, maybe crane their necks out so that it's easier for the rabid dogs of Hamas to tear out their throats?

Seriously, what is your plan here? Because the Palestinians have been trying this for decades, putting all their resources into killing Jews instead of actually building themselves a state. I think it might be time to choose a new strategy.

Sorry, but why didn't Jews accept their concentration camps, just for the Germans to feel safe? Surely the Germans were reacting to the Treaty of Versailles and it wasn't their fault. They did all of that of feel safe.

Ah, the old "Israelis are the real Nazis!!!" canard. I do like that you're not even pretending to not be an anti-Semite. It's kind of refreshing. And it's funny, too, how you look at a group that wants to ethnically cleanse 6,000,000+ Jews from their land in order to give themselves more living space...and somehow conclude that yes, this is proof that the Jews who are the Nazis in this situation. When it comes to idiocy, that's just *chef's kiss*

But I have to admit, it's an apt metaphor. After all, during the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, Jews broke out of the ghetto and proceeded to murder, rape and kidnap over 1,400 innocent people, even recording themselves with cell phones to celebrate their barbarity. If it was okay for them, then I guess the Palestinians...

Wait, what's that? That's not what happened during the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising? The Jews didn't attack a peace concert, destroy whole towns full of civilians, and burn babies to death during a holiday weekend? In fact, they never did anything like that during the 1,900+ years that they were oppressed in both Christian and Muslim lands?

That's so weird! After all, according to you, that's the only possible thing that someone could do in that situation!

I'm not entirely sure what you're even getting at with this comparison. I think your little fantasy is that the Palestinians were all peaceful and loving and good, until Teh Ebul Joos came in out of nowhere and started oppressing them for no reason. And then the Palestinians had to start raping women to death! What other choice did they have?!

Which, of course, ignores the fact that Palestinians have been murdering Israelis since before Israel was founded, or before either group had those names. See the 1920 Nebi Musa riots, the 1929 Hebron Massacre, the 1938 Tiberias Massacre...for that matter, how did Israel gain control of the Disputed Territories in the first place? Oh, yeah—they won it in the Six-Day War, i.e., the second time that the surrounding Arab countries tried to genocide them.

So, again: maybe if the Palestinians stop murdering Jews, Jews will stop fighting back? They started this conflict, just like they start every other round of fighting.

But then, what else can they do? The only other option is to make peace. With a country that's mostly Jews! 😱 You're right, this endless, futile dream of Holocaust 2.0 is clearly the better choice.

I guess you will throw another pity party when the next October 7 happens.

If they actually destroy Hamas, that won't be an issue. 😄

"These hostages sure look alive and healthy," you sneer. "Guess Hamas isn't so bad, huh?"

Yeah, uh, can I ask you a question, asshole? Let's say you're at a party, during a weekend holiday. While you're there, a bunch of armed men storm in, murder your friends in front of you, grab you at gunpoint, take you over the border where you're paraded through the streets as a sick trophy for a screaming mob who try to assault you, then lock you in a windowless room where you're barely fed and told that your families have been murdered and that they'll kill you if you so much as talk too loudly.

When someone finally manages to rescue you, after 246 days (one day too late to see your dying father), would you:

a.) thank your rescuers and hopefully kick your tormentor's corpse on the way out, or

b.) scream at your rescuers that those poor terrorists! didn't even hack off any of your limbs!!! so clearly they're poor woobie bunny wabbits and how could your hurt them, you monsters?!

I guess just kidnapping isn't bad enough if they're Jews, huh?

So, uh, yeah. If you're making this argument, you're a fucking idiot and also a horrible person. 🙃

[rubiaryuplays]

Iris Could Get Away with Wearing a "I'm with Stupid" Shirt Anywhere

(Case 5, part 11)

This line from van Zieks feels so much deeper now that I've met and come to adore his German scientist friend. Is this spoilers? Not sure, but it's dang good foreshadowing!

Ha. I may have the camera skills of a bull, alright, but even I got this rather nice-looking screenshot, eh?

...Well, maybe I coulda gotten just a slightly off-beat shot for extra comedic effect, but... Bah! I'm not a camerawoman! I'm a dog that knows how to type!

I feel bad for laughing. He just comes out with this without any context or buildup. Maybe li'l Mousse there got a share of that pirozhki instead.

Btw, here's the Wiki on pirozhki. I've never had any before and I don't know where to get some, but I would like to try it one day. It reminds me of those Chinese meat buns filled with pork or beef and green onion and sometimes other veggies, though the latter also tend to use a different type of bread. Maybe there's some cross-cultural history there too?

This is like a before and after comparison, but featuring illegal entry into court. Sholmes' disguise was so effective that even up close on the stand, Ryu doesn't even see his hair tuft out until he realizes it is Sholmes. Either that's some amazing illusory power at work or Ryu actually can't see properly due to how brilliant this disguise is.

I know Dual Destinies technically did it first, but this is the first time we've had Herlock Sholmes himself at the defense bench. It had to be recorded.

Funny. I was always under the impression that the mighty Herlock Sholmes was absolutely indestructible and that his plot armor was too strong to possibly become injured for long.

Well, in a way, he does have plot armor, but not against his own plot... and I mean that word in more ways than one.

RIP Van Zieks, though. His prayers have henceforth died and gone to heaven themselves, all thanks to this half-dying man. (Disappointingly, he did not make such a quip in the original JP. Glad that was changed.)

"If only these people could recognize the prototypes to scientific investigative tools that will be made the standard 100 years in the future!"

"Alas, my dear Iris, most people rarely see beyond a few days of their own livelihoods."

"I sure hope someone's at least going to build golden statues of us in our honor eventually."

"Oh, I'm sure those will come in due time... and will last far into the centuries beyond."

"(What the heck are these two talking about...?)"

--

Yet more posts incoming. I got a lot to cover here.

[huntertales]

Part Four: Top Of The Food Chain. (Dog Dean Afternoon S09E05)

Episode Summary: While investigating two bizarre murders, Y/N and the boys realize there is an eyewitness to both gruesome deaths–a German Shepard. Anxious to find out what monsters they are dealing with, the three look up a spell that can help communicate with the dog. When Dean decides to be the one to perform the spell, he quickly realizes it comes with side effects no one saw coming. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader  Word Count: 3,629.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

It’s sort of funny how things seem to work out on their own. Chef Leo presumed you and the other man who discovered you only moments later were the only ones here. It took almost no effort at all to drag you both back into the kitchen. You laid on the floor and your friend tied up somewhere in the corner where Leo could keep an eye on him whenever he decided to come back into consciousness. He decided to dispose of the man later. Right now all he cared about was carving you open like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Years of culinary training and working in the restaurant industry taught Leo how to get creative when it came to cooking unusual animal organs. Most of them weren't half bad if he was being honest with himself. Where the trouble came up was trying to find them. What Leo couldn't get in the local shelter or in the scraps of the taxidermist was bought on another source. The internet was a marvelous place to find even the rarest of animal organs he couldn't locally source. However what Leo was about to do was a step he thought he would never take after discovering what he did. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Human flesh wasn't something a sane individual thought about taking a bite of. The thought of it alone should be revolting. But there was a slight morbid curiosity as to what it really tasted like. He heard a few reports from cannibals over the years of what long pig tasted like to them. Every answer was different. Some thought it was similar to beef, others claimed it was exactly like pork. More suggested it was tough and close to veal. Leo was about to find out for himself when he carved your heart out of your chest. Whatever it was going to be, he could get past the taste if it meant he was able to possess the abilities you were capable of. Healing powers? It could solve his problems and more. He could live on. Maybe he could become immortal.

A shift in the smell caused Leo to momentarily stop sharpening his knife and pause. He sniffed a few times only to grimace at the unpleasant stench. "Why does it smell like dog in here?" He asked himself. Turning around, he found the source in another stranger trying to disrupt his plans and yet another loaded gun pointed in his direction. "That smell's coming from you." 

Dean pulled the trigger without thinking twice about it when he had the man in his range, but not taking into conversation what Chef Leo had taken prior. Cheetahs were the fastest animals in the world. The liver he ate was enough to give him the momentum to lean out of fire and grab a meat cleaver that was near him. All though his aim was off, it was enough of a startling distraction for Leo to get the upper hand when Dean was momentarily caught off guard. The gun Dean was holding only seconds ago was knocked out of his hand as he found himself stumbling to his knees after Leo was able to punch him. The man was moving faster than the hunter was able to keep up with.

Leo grabbed a cord he found lying around and grabbed it. He quickly placed it around Dean's neck and pinned him against the pillar, momentarily cutting off his air supply. “All dogs should be leashed.” He mocked the hunter. 

Dean struggled to overpower Leo when he took the cord off his neck and used it to lie his hands behind his back. The older Winchester was able to see his brother had landed himself in the same predicament. But a sense of panic washed over him when he saw that you were across the kitchen lying on your backside and not moving a single inch. For a moment he thought you might already be dead. He could smell the blood in the air, making him fear the worst. 

“What did you do to them?” Dean questioned the man. “What did you do to my brother?

"Your brother? Huh. There's nothing special about him that I could tell, at least. But your friend? I gotta ask, what were your parents smoking when they had you?" Leo asked the man, cracking a smile when Dean answered with a deathly glare. "They're fine. They're just taking a little cat nap before dinner. I've never had human heart before. Heard it's a bit chewy. Good job I'm not a fussy eater."

Dean found something off about the man when we got close enough to him, a smell lingered off that didn't seem right. While Leo got back up to his feet and to sharpen his knife again, the older WInchester told the man about something he might not have known yet. "You're sick."

Leo chuckled to himself at the observation, “Been told that once or twice.”

"No, no. Not in the head. Well, you are that, too." Dean agreed with that part, considering the steps Leo had done in order to gather his unusual ingredients. "But I mean sick like cancer."

"Well, I guess dogs really can sniff it out." Leo muttered to himself. He set down the knife back to the counter and turned around to face the man once more, knowing it was useless to hide his secret from the one person who could simply smell it on him. "Stage four carcinoma." 

"Huh. So that's what you're doing." Dean said. He watched as Leo walked over to a shelf and began inspecting ingredients that might pair well with a human heart. It didn't stop the hunter from pressuring further into the reason behind why the drastic desire to feast on animal organs for their abilities. "What happened? Draw the short straw, decide to break bad?"

"See, when I was diagnosed, I was way past standard treatment. No one could save me." Leo told the story about his discoveries you stumbled upon earlier tonight and the trick to beating cancer, even for a short time. Dean used the opportunity to try and cut through the wires by rubbing them up and down the corner of the wall as Leo continued to stand with his backside to the man. "But then with the help of a Pawnee shaman and a zoo membership, I found a cure, albeit a temporary one. Cancer always comes back."

"You start experimenting with different organs, huh?" Dean took a wild guess at how all of this played out and ended with him here. "Traded in the single serving for a combo platter."

"Well, what can I say? Combination therapy works." Leo said. "I felt stronger, and the effects lasted longer."

"And if you smoke a few innocent people in the process, well, hell, at least you felt better." Dean pretended to agree with the man about his selfish decisions that cost the lives of two people. 

"Well, I didn't mean to kill anyone—at first. But if people got in my way, they became collateral damage." Leo tried to sound innocent, until his own narcissism crept through into his tone at the power he held over others. He’d been too blinded by his own selfishness to stay alive; he dismissed the consequences that might be inflicted on others to get what he wanted. And in that newley large head of his, all of it was perfectly fine at the end of it all if it meant he got what he wanted. "Guess you eat enough predators, you start to become one. You are what you eat, right?”

Leo chuckled to himself at the corny joke and went back to prepping the ingredients. Dean worked faster to try and cut himself free before something bad happened. He continued talking, trying to distract the man so he could make his escape. "And you really think the power you hold over people's lives can make up for what you lack in your own?"

Dean always had a knack for getting under people's skin by saying things exactly what they didn't want to hear. Leo was a selfish bastard who did anything to keep himself alive. The man dropped the knife he was using to the cutting board and turned around to face the hunter. A sour look crossed the chef's face, the kind Dean was all too familiar with. "So, dog boy, what do I need to eat to take you down, huh?"

Leo headed over to his personal stash of animal organs he kept conveniently in a cooler. He crouched down and began searching for the perfect ingredients to end the man’s life. "You don't want to do this." Dean warned him. 

“Oh, but I do want to do this. See, I’m gonna kill you and your brother, work up a nice appetite, and then I’m gonna eat your friend.” Leo said. He laughed quietly to himself when he saw Dean quickly look over at his brother and to you. “I mean, I don’t know what the hell she is, but with healing powers like that, who cares? He could cure me.” Leo examined a few more containers before finding the one that felt perfect. The label on the clear container read wolf heart. “Dog on sort-of dog.”

Dean worked even faster when the man took out the wolf’s heart and began the familiar chant to the spell. He managed to cut through the cord in record time and jumped back up to his feet, grabbing the cleaver that was thrown at him earlier. Dean attempted to attack the man when he was distracted, but Leo managed to dodge, causing the hunter to drop the knife to the ground. Dean roughly shoved the other man to the ground, sparing him a few seconds as he quickly looked around to see if he might be able to find another weapon. Only when he looked to the chef he realized the spell had worked quickly when the man bared sharp canine teeth. 

Dean didn’t waste a second bolting out of the kitchen and through the hall, trying to distance himself from the psychopath before he could get himself or anyone else hurt. He found himself back outside with seconds to figure out how to take Leo down for good. A thought crossed his mind when the back door swung open. 

“Sorry.” Leo taunted the man. “Wolf trumps dog.” 

“Maybe.” Dean said. “But not a whole pack.” 

The good karma Dean had given to the dogs at the shetler was about to be returned in full. He whistled loud enough for the Colonel to come running only seconds later, along with all the others he freed earlier. When Leo realized the mutts were coming towards his direction, a panic set through him as he tried to find an escape. He tried to open the back door in which he came out with no success. The man was cornered with nowhere to go except to suffer the fate of his consequences. Dean watched on for a moment as the man was ripped apart by the mutts, his screams of pain fell on deaf ears. And when he knew for sure all of this was taken care of, Dean rushed back inside the restaurant, wanting to make sure you and his brother were all right. 

Dean tried not to panic when he saw the copious amount of dried blood on your neck and clothing with not a single scratch on your body. He crouched down to your level and tried to get you to wake up when he felt a pulse. You remained unconscious even when he cradled your head into his hands and moved you around slightly. 

“For the love of God, Y/N. Hey, sweetheart.” Dean could hear his voice tremor when you didn’t even flinch. He tried to somehow reach the angel that was quietly possessing your body, but all he got was nothing. You remained as you were. Dean began to softly slap your cheek to try and get you to come back around. “Hey. Come on.” He almost begged for you to snap out of it, not stopping until you opened your eyes. “Don’t make me lick your damn face.” 

Dean started shaking your entire body in a desperate attempt until he finally heard the sweet sound of you gasping for breath. You slowly opened your eyes as you started coming back into consciousness. A blurry sight of a worried Dean was the first thing you were greeted with. In true fashion, you weren’t sure what was going on, but the question that fell out of your mouth was about the well being of Sam when you didn’t see him. Dean couldn’t help the smile that crept on his lips as he helped you up from the ground and the both of you tended to his brother.

+ + + 

You always wanted to have a dog growing up. You even thought about getting one when you lived on your own, it might have made the loneliness a little easier. If the Colonel had somehow landed in your lap years ago before you started hunting you would have jumped on the chance to give him a good home. Dean's ability to read his mind had given him extra points for the attachment you had grown on him. But with the lifestyle you lead it would have been impossible. And you couldn't bear the thought of bringing him back to the pound. So, you thought of the next best thing. A couple of hippies who probably loved animals more than themselves.

“When you called us about adopting him, we couldn’t believe it.” Dylan made no effort to hide the smile on his face at the German Shepherd who was currently being overwhelmed with love from his wife, Olivia. 

“Aren’t you the sweetest?” She cooed at the dog.

“Ugh.” The Colonel grimaced as he tried to turn his head away from the lady. Dean chuckled to himself at the thoughts only he could hear. “Back off, tofu-breath.” 

“Oh, you must be starving.” Olivia said. “Lucky for you, I baked some vegan doggy cupcakes.” 

She jumped to her feet and went with her husband to the back of the kitchen to fetch those treats. You smiled to yourself at how happy they seemed. You looked down in the direction of the Colonel when you decided it was time for you and Dean to say your final goodbyes. All though you might not have been able to speak a single word to the mutt, there was a soft spot in your heart for him. It was those damn puppy dog eyes that won you over. 

“I’m gonna be pooping wheatgrass with these two.” The Colonel said.

“Look, I know they’re hippie freaks, but they’re gonna give you a good home—one that you deserve.” Dean reassured the dog about the future for him. He crouched down so he was at level with him to have one more proper conversation. In a way Dean felt bad himself for not being able to adopt the Colonel from the way you had grown attached to him. He would be lying if he said the mutt didn’t grow on him, too. “Wish we could take you on the road with us, but it’s no life for a dog.”

“Don’t sweat it. I get carsick anyway.” The Colonel responded. He would grow comfortable in his new home with time. You crouched down to the ground with Dean to say your final goodbyes to the dog as well. Before you could even get a word out, you were bombarded with dog kisses that were slobbery and wet. You let out a genuine laugh at how much the Colonel's licks tickled your skin. "I'm gonna miss her the most. No offense, buddy.” 

“None taken.” Dean said. He watched for a moment as you seemed happy in that moment, the smile on your face was enough for him to feel some sort of peace he hadn't felt in weeks. Even if in the back of his mind it would eventually fade once all of you hit the road. 

“I should probably mention this, but I barfed in your backseat.” The Colonel felt the need to slip in some last minute information as you momentarily distracted Dean from the way you were coddling the dog as if he were a small child. “I was afraid to tell you earlier.” 

“You…” Dean’s first reaction was to get angry at hearing the surprise that was waiting for him.

“Come on.” The Colonel managed to speak first when Dean trailed off. He felt the need to remind him of the bonding moment you were having. “Don’t ruin the moment.” 

Dean brushed it off with a chuckle. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy.” 

“I’ll miss you, too.” The Colonel offered his paw for Dean to shake as their final farewell. Along with one more thing. “And by the way, as an honorary dog, there’s something you should know. Dogs aren’t really man’s best friend.” 

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. 

“I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but the real reason we were put here was to…” The Colonel was about to give the man a piece of information that would change his life forever, but all that Dean heard next was a series of barks. None of which he understood. 

“Put here to do what?” Dean asked the dog, suddenly needing to find out the answer. All the Colonel could do was bark in some kind of attempt to communicate with him. But it fell on your untrained ears. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me. Oh, now the spell wears off?!”

Dean let out a frustrated sigh at how things seemed to always work out. Part of him was glad that things would finally get back to normal, but there would always be another part that wondered what kind of information he would never know. Both of you said your final farewells to the Colonel before heading out to the parked Impala where Sam had been waiting for you. 

“How’d it go?” Sam asked.

“Well, bad news is that I’m gonna miss the flea bag. Good news is it looks like the spell is finally wearing off.” Dean informed his brother, catching him up to speed with what the both of you knew. You faintly listened to the conversation as you crossed your arms over your chest and glanced back over to the bakery. A look crossed your face that worried Dean. “You okay? The stetson man got you pretty good.”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. I just…I can’t stop thinking about what he said.” You chuckled to yourself at strange words you remembered him speaking to you before everything went black. You had told the boys when everything settled down. They had brushed it off as nothing, but for some reason you were still thinking about it. The entire situation didn’t make sense. 

“Oh, come on, sweetheart.” Dean said. “Guy was out of his freaking gourd.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, why would he ask that?” You asked the boys, as if they had some sort of explanation to Leo’s strange behavior. “Why did he want to know what I was?” 

“Who the hell knows? He was all jacked up on juice, you know? He was possessed by something he couldn’t control. It was…It was just a matter of time before it completely took over.” Dean tried to find an explanation that would put this conversation to bed once and for all. You didn’t seem all that convinced from the way you kept staring at him. “You can’t reason with crazy, right?” 

You let out a faint sigh. “I don’t know.” 

“Well, I do.” Dean said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Trust me, Y/N. You got nothing to worry about.” 

At the moment all you could do was take Dean's words at face value. You knew in the back of your mind that he was right. You were ordinary as the next person on the street. But you found yourself wondering one particular thing. How did you get covered in blood? Sam was perfectly fine without a scratch, and so was Dean. All of you were okay. Your fingers subconsciously scratched the side of your neck, the same spot you swore you remembered feeling claws dig into the skin and rip open. All that remained was smoothness, not a single scar. Maybe your head was still scrambled from the trials. That was the only thing that made sense to you. 

You loaded yourself up into the backseat of the Impala as the boys took their respectful spots like always. A comfortable routine that helped somewhat put your mind at ease. While Dean turned on the car and got ready to drive off, you found yourself smelling something that was slightly off. You sniffed the air a few more times as you grimaced at the foul smell that was almost coming out of nowhere.

“What’s that smell?” You asked. “It smells like…”

“Vomit?” Dean wondered. You nodded your head as you tried to find the source in the darkness of the night as he kept on driving. “The Colonel got sick. Watch your step.” 

"Oh, God. Ew." You grumbled to yourself. You quickly rolled down the window to let the fresh breeze of the night clear some of the foul smell and help ease your mind. You let out a quiet sigh as you turned your head to watch as the bakery got smaller in the distance. If one positive thing came from this case, it was knowing you had placed a dog in a safe home. "Good thing that mutt is cute." 

[Next Part]

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[milliethekitty27-writing]

Dampfnudel

Gilbert never understood why he baked. Ludwig had gotten loads of comments about how soldiers didn’t cook like that, it was a very Austrian thing to do, bla bla bla. At the time it had bothered Ludwig a little, but now he ignored the snide comments. 

He’d had a hard time making friends when he was younger. He’d been quiet and serious and Gilbert was a handful, but he’d had to move around a lot. He had never been a people-person and despite his many skills and talents, emotions weren’t one of them. He had them, sure, but sometimes he didn’t know how to fix things. 

He’d learned to bake very early on, sitting in Roderich’s kitchen. He’d watched Roderich doing something after a particularly stressful meeting. “Baking is good for the soul.” Roderich had said, kneading dough. “It’s soothing. Every nation should be able to cook. And everyone makes food and needs it. It’s a language everyone speaks. Pass me the flour to your left.” Ludwig had tried it the next day, standing on a step stool next to the older man, and slowly learned to make rolls. 

Ludwig could spend hours in the kitchen. He’d look for the perfect recipe for his mood (a tart? A cake? Or maybe something savory?) before going through his meticulously well stocked kitchen. He’d spend hours getting everything tasting just right and decorating it. 

It was one thing that he and Roderich could do together, honestly. They both worked well (even if Ludwig was much neater) and they could listen to music without a problem. They often did the Christmas baking while Gilbert did the decorating with whoever decided to show up. 

Over the years, Ludwig had learned many recipes. He’d done it out of curiosity (new regions meant new cuisines, and while he wasn’t the worst chef his heart lay in baking with the precise measurements and timing) and for fun, but he’d discovered what his friends and allies liked the most. 

When he’d first met Alfred, many years ago when Alfred was a fresh new nation, Alfred had enthusiastically told him about apple pie. They’d spent a few hours making a mess in the kitchen but the end result had been deliciously flaky. He and Alfred hadn’t made it again, but Ludwig still made it every once in a while. He’d added some to it, and he was planning on making it for Alfred at some point just to see what he thought. More recently, though, Alfred had fallen in love with cheesecake. Ludwig sometimes couldn’t get it to set, but they were going to have a contest for flavors at some point. The apple pie would be the grand test.

He’d learned to make dobos torta when he’d lived with Roderich and Erzsébet years ago. He’d sat in the kitchens and listened to Hungary talk, and she’d shown him how to layer a cake and fill it with buttercream. She had a secret way to prepare walnuts (which she still refused to tell him) and in turn he messed with the flavors. She laughed at him when he did it. Her recipe was still better, but one day he’d be able to beat her. 

Roderich’s lindertorte was a masterpiece. Ludwig didn’t try to make it, because it was Roderich’s thing, but he’d watch Roderich make it so many times that he knew how to do it. He had fond memories at Christmas, during the Cold War when everything else was so far and few people would speak to him, of Roderich showing up carrying half a lindertorte. They’d sat down in his recently rebuilt house, the candles lining the windows, and enjoyed each others company. 

He had learned many French recipes in his travels to France, but Francis was a cook, not a baker. He liked to bake well enough but Francis preferred to cook a mouthwatering, fall off the bone beef with a gorgeous side. Ludwig liked to visit Paris and wander through the cafes. He had taken a cooking class, just for fun, and they’d made eclairs. He enjoyed the rhythmic filling up and the shiny chocolate glaze. He’d sent a box to Francis after soundly kicking his ass in football one year (Gilbert had kindly filmed it). While the outside was decorated in French colors, the inside creams had been meticulously colored as the German flag. Francis had screeched. 

For Belle he made chocolates. They’d spent a few days in a chocolate shop, when they were trying to be a bit more civil following the two wars. Tim had appeared out of nowhere and ended up with a splattering of chocolate on his face, and that had somehow led to all three being covered in chocolate. Belle had laughed so hard that she’d fallen on the ground at the sight of the two serious nations covered in sweets. 

With Arthur he’d learned to do tea time, because Arthur could be a snob, but tiny beautiful cakes with fine details were time consuming and satisfying to finish on the days when the world went crazy. Arthur sent him boxes of teas and recipes when he found interesting ones, and some days they’d sit together and read while eating cakes.

The Italian brothers, ironically enough, both liked cannolis. He’d learned that when he and Feliciano first became allies. Lovino hadn’t been very impressed, declaring it a shitty first attempt, but he’d still cleaned his plate. He’d sent a box of it to Feliciano, after the war, with an apology note, and it had been a first step in talking to him again. Feliciano would spend hours helping him make the recipes, and they’d experiment with all kinds of Italian desserts. 

He and Kiku wandered the streets when he visited, finding interesting restaurants, and they’d bonded over a love of food in the first years of allianceship. Kiku understood his interest and often entertained it (cook books were a common gift, and he spent ages letting Ludwig putter around the kitchen to practice new skills) Kiku’s favorite sweet was okoshi. After the dust of World War II started to clear, Ludwig had gone to visit. He’d brought a pack of okoshi with him, that he’d tried to make himself. Kiku had looked up from where he was sitting at the desk, actually laughed, then told him it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever eaten (so it was terrible) and they’d maybe try to make it later. They had. Ludwig was planning on visiting later this year. They were going to try to make daifuku again. The first time they’d done it, Ludwig had ended up with more covering his hands and he’d gotten Kiku to laugh.

Ludwig was no master baker, that was true, but he knew his way around a kitchen and the tools. He liked to do it. He had sent personal peace offerings to his fellows through food, gotten lost after an in depth conversation with a baker. He went to local bakeries for breakfast and any other meal and he loved few things more than the smell of something in the oven. He’d found a recipe for some type of baked good for nearly every nation, even the ones he didn’t know well.

Gilbert was the enigma, though. 

Gilbert had claimed he didn’t have a sweet tooth, and it was true. For all of Gilbert’s habits, he rarely ate sweets. He drank more than anyone Ludwig knew (except maybe Arthur) and ate pretty much anything, but he often had another plate of mashed potatoes and wurst before a German chocolate cake. (which was Ludwig’s personal favorite, for the record) 

It had taken a bit of work, but eventually Erzsébet had told him that Gilbert hadn’t been able to have many sweets growing up (like many of the nations hadn’t) and that he’d simply never developed the taste for them. He was used to long marches and cold winters - he preferred to eat something good and hearty to get him through the night rather than the “prissy little cakes that Glasses eats.” 

There had been one thing, though, that Ludwig had found his brother liked. He’d discovered it by accident. They’d been at a Christmas market, just exploring, and there had been a few food trucks. Ludwig had bought a dampfnudel just because he could (and it was covered in cherry and vanilla sauce) but his brother was pitching a bit of a fit because they were somehow out of sausages. (they weren’t - there were more being cooked, but hungry Gilbert equals bitchy Gilbert) Ludwig had lost his patience and simple shoved the dampfnudel into Gilbert’s mouth. Gilbert had sputtered a bit, but ended up stealing the rest of it to eat himself. 

Ludwig learned to make dampfnudel from there. He mastered a gorgeous cherry sauce and a heavenly vanilla sauce. He’d tried hundreds of dampfnudel recipes and tried different timings and spices. His recipe was unique and delicious. He didn’t make it often, but on the days when Gilbert looked most down, most quiet, on the days when Gilbert spent hours looking out the window? Ludwig went into the kitchen and made dampfnudel. He’d put the plate next to his brother and sit down next to him. They didn’t need to speak, but Gilbert would finish the plate, nudge him, and things would go back to normal within the hour. 

Ludwig loved to bake for many reasons, but connecting with people through food? That was a language everyone spoke. 

----

Thank you for reading!

This piece can be found on AO3 here

My friends and I are doing a Friendsgiving (I’ve never done it before) and it’s going to be a very interesting affair. They’re making Indian food but I wanted to make Dampfnudel for the first time. (I know I like it, just never made it) I was talking about it on the phone and just saying the word made me feel incredibly German. I like the idea that all the nations have their little quirks for settling down, and a baking Germany sounds like a great time. 

I’ll be posting a little less frequently this month - I’ve been slammed with some school work and am in a bit of a panic, and my motivation is all over the place. I’ll try to make up for it in November! Have a great week. 

[hawthorn-mori]

OH MY FUCKING GOD I CHECKED THEIR BLOG FURTHER THEYRE A FUCKING ENGLISH TOFF WHO THINKS YOU CAN BE RACIST TO WHITE PEOPLE AND THAT WITCHES WERE BURNED IN ENGLAND

They weren’t. They were prosecuted under the rule of James the 2nd, who was very much British. Because he was a Stewart. Y’know, a direct descendant of Robert the Bruce. King of Scotland. Direct descendant of the Kings of Cumbria.

Also most practitioners of witchcraft in Britain were never prosecuted because they were cunning folk, not literally, that was their name.

There was no widespread persecution of people who practiced witchcraft who were considered useful to their communities in Britain, most witch hunts were already based in prior biases. Isobel Gowdie had beef with the local priest and all that.

I’m a little autistic about historical religion in England, uh we really liked Christianity. Syncretism is something the British historically were pretty down for. The spreading of Catholicism was quite frankly one of the least violent things to ever happen in Britain. Surprising really. People went batshit crazy for Insular Christianity.

The Romans actually venerated British deities, there’s a whole cast of Romano-British Deities, Epona, Vinotonus Silvanus, Mars Loucetius, Sulis Minerva, Nemetona, Taranis, all mostly romancised but still preserved.

We actually only have records of many British deities because the Romans worshiped them.

Y’know who the Romans didn’t like though? Christians, famously hated them. There were objectively more Christians killed in Britain by ruling forces than witches ever were.

Also there were so many countries that eventually became England, Northumbria, Cumbria, Mercia, East Anglia, Bernicia, Deira, Essex, Sussex, Kent, Wessex, Lindsey, Dumnonia, etc. Boudicca absolutely wasn’t the only English royal. She weren’t even English, she was Iceni, a Celtic tribe, her names Boudicca for Christ’s sake. She spoke a Brittonic Celtic language, which btw was likely German in origin!

Also the Saxon in Anglo Saxon means Northen German.

Stop calling fuckin English people native English. It’s embarrassing and not useful in describing the cultural lines of the British isles. You fucking weird child.

in retrospect a little pissed off that someone called a British style the Americanized version of a Japanese style.

Don’t have much national pride, but whole different continent there. Ffs Americans do my head in sometimes, and if the lass isn’t American, that’s plain embarrassing.

Also some of their examples were Dolly kei and Boho chic respectively. I don’t know why people go into fashion scenes so gung ho like they own the place, but can’t get their ducks in a row even if prodded. Thinking a ducks a goose.

I could prattle on about post ww2 influence on fashion and how that’s reflected in the evolution of twee music and fashion in contrast to the evolution of styles like pink house kei and how they reflect both global trends and national responses to globalisation and unification of the fashion cycle but I’d just work myself into a stupor.

Just don’t like the willingness not to learn, asking to be challenged and then spluttering when challenged is not constructive behaviour.

Also a good lesson on why you must always use primary sources when learning about a particular topic. Follow links and references in secondary sources and use your noggin to ascertain the validity of a claim. Pinterest ain’t a source, it’s a scrapbook.

Ah god that’s been a ramble

[joftw]

⌠ LANA CONDOR, TWENTY-TWO, SHE/HER, CIS FEMALE ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, JOSEPHINE “JO” TRAN! according to their records, they’re a FOURTH year, specializing in RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT + “MACGUYVER” SURVIVAL SKILLS & NAVIGATION; and they DID go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (black hair flicking off her shoulders, a sardonic smile, and a slightly clenched jaw). when it’s the (virgo)’s birthday on 9/02/1998, they always request their BEEF PHO from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. 

NAME: Josephine Pearl Tran

KNOWN AS: Jo

BIRTHDATE:  September 2, 1998

ASTROLOGY:  Virgo sun / Capricorn moon / Scorpio rising

HOMETOWN: New York, NY

RESIDENCE: Roseville, VA  ( Gallagher Academy )

GENDER:  Cis female  ( she/her )

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  Refuses to label, but she prefers women

HEIGHT:  5'3"

HAIR COLOR:  Black

EYE COLOR:  Dark brown

TATTOOS:  Rose on her inner arm

KNOWN LANGUAGES:  English, German, French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Romanian, Vietnamese & learning Tagalog

IMMEDIATE FAMILY:

Steven Tran:  Father, former spy, current night security guard

Kelly Do  ( formally Tran ) :  Mother, dental hygienist, estranged  

Victor Tran:  Older brother, Blackthorne alum, estranged

BACKGROUND.

Jo had grown up with a seemingly normal childhood, very much middle class. Her father -- her hero -- was a spy, while her mother was merely a dentist hygienist. Her older brother Victor was the first of the two siblings to develop an interest in the espionage career path. He was the one who found the best spy prep school to attend – and two years later, it only made sense for Jo to be in the same school as her brother.

Jo had never been incredibly girly, spending most of her childhood tagging behind her brother’s friends and picking fights with them. When alone, she spent her time building things, using old tech and parts of anything she could get her hands on to make something completely new. At eleven years old, she had single-handedly made a go-kart for one of her brother's friends, earning him a win in a drag race. Her father had always told her how easy she could make a career out of it one day, but Jo had only seen it as a hobby, something she does for fun.

Everything changed in middle school when Jo met Rose Park, who would become her best friend. Rose was from a legacy spy family, and she was everything Jo wasn’t: girly, cool, confident, gorgeous.  The change in Jo was slow: ditching her brother  ( who was now too old and cool to hang out with her anyway ) ,  actually caring about the clothes she wore, and developing an interest in boys and popularity -- if only just for Rose.  By the time prep school came around, the go-kart building, tomboy was gone altogether, replaced with a “popular” girl who pretended she had the riches her friends did, and was welcomed in only because of her ties to Rose. And despite living a facade, Jo was happy.  

It took a few years into their friendship for Jo to realize that she was in love with the other girl, but she'd never get a chance to tell her.

The Tran and Park families grew close with the bond of the girls. So when enemies of the Park began threatening the lives of their daughters, Jo's father offered to help in any way he could. He became one of the spies assigned as Rose's bodyguard.  The threat began the beginning of Jo's senior year ;   a few weeks into it, she had come down with a serious case of pneumonia. Her father had been on Rose duty that night had to leave his station a few minutes early to take Jo to the hospital. He had informed the next guard he had to leave a little sooner than usual -- mere minutes -- but when the next guard arrived at Rose's room, it had already been too late.

Rose's death changed Jo's entire world, starting with her family.  Jo's father had not only lost his job, but became an enemy of the Park family, blacklisting from the rest of the spy world. As a result of this, Jo’s mother left her husband, and Jo's brother Victor made less and less contact with their father, until he stopped calling all together.  Jo chose to stick by her father’s side throughout all of this, but carried the blame for Rose's death heavily on her shoulder for several years. It didn't help that all of her old friends also blamed Jo for Rose's death, and she was quickly outcast among them. Senior year could not have ended fast enough.

After graduating high school, Jo took a year off to get a job and help her father out financially. She had been accepted to Gallagher Academy not long after Rose's death, but Jo couldn't imagine leaving her father's side during such a hard time, nor did she feel like she deserved to go to such a prestigious school. Her dad had convinced her to defer her acceptance for a year. She didn't actually expect things to get better enough for her father to leave him after a year, but he had gotten a job as a security guard in a residential building and refused to let her stay home any longer. So she looked at Gallagher Academy as a fresh start for her and her father, building herself a career that would make them both proud.

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

Despite the fresh start Gallagher provided, going back to school hadn't been a complete walk in the park for Jo, mostly because many ghosts from her past were also at the school. It certainly didn't help that Rose's older sister, Jude Park, enrolled the same year as her, and made it her mission to make Jo miserable.  But after her senior year of high school, nothing would break her spirit or her pride.  Jo was able to make friends in her classes -- even ones who she'd eventually call her best friends, a title she never thought she'd give to someone else -- and despite the initial struggle her first semester, she worked twice as hard to ace her classes.  Jo made a new reputation for herself at Gallagher Academy, and while it may not always be the most positive one, it didn't involve her father or a dead girl.

Jo didn't love the addition of male students to Gallagher her third year, believing that they were a distraction and most of them didn't take the school seriously enough.  ( Honestly, except for a few exceptions, she still thinks that. )  But with her third year came some exciting moments as well.  She had been chosen for her first off-campus mission with three other students -- one old friend, one new friend, one enemy -- that involved a protest led by Georgetown students at what was once Blackthorne Institute. What was supposed to be a one-day event was turned upside down when bombs went off at the site, killing a few people and leaving Jo with a broken arm. The rest of the Georgetown protestors were brought into witness protection and to Gallagher Academy, believing it to be nothing more than a rich kid's school. And Jo, who had been undercover at the time as a fellow Georgetown student, had to continue her spring semester pretending to be one of them.

Though a major headache for her, Jo found herself growing attached to the Georgetown students.  The continued mission throughout the semester was not easy, especially when she had been one of two third years to be assigned to secretly bodyguard the witsec students, after the campus was deemed potentially dangerous  ( two dead bodies would do that ) .   It had been tough once they learned the truth about Gallagher and how Jo had been deceiving them, but most were fairly quick to forgive, given the circumstances.  But her defenses weren't lowered until the threat of the Brotherhood had been eliminated and the witsec students were able to go back home for good. Somehow through all of this, Jo still managed to ace all her classes. 

Her third year also brought some resolution for her and the Park family.  She was able to slowly rebuild a friendship with an ex-friend of hers, and even Jude Park and her managed to find some common ground, wordlessly calling a truce. The arrival of Rose's ex-boyfriend also brought back a lot of memories of her own feelings for Rose, and after spending years allowing herself nothing more than clandestine hookups with girls and refusing to acknowledge that side of her, she came out to her two best friends. Her sexuality is still something she's trying to navigate, especially how her traditional father who means everything to her would react to it, but with Jo's fourth year ahead of her, she has more important things to worry about.

PERSONALITY.

Jo’s incredibly ambitious, always striving for the best and not allowing herself any less. Though her parents had always been strict with grades and fulfilling her potential, her worst critic has always been herself, even at a young age. Jo knows her worth and knows when she's not reaching it, and will do anything to make sure she gets there -- even if it means ruining her sleep schedule or social life in the process. Right now her goal is to graduate from Gallagher and get herself the best possible job she can, so she can support her father and start a new chapter in her life. Though she loves being at Gallagher, Jo's very self-aware that it's only four years of her life, and nothing gold can stay.

She’s a little rough around the edges socially, a thick layer of sarcasm and disinterest surrounding herself that makes it hard to connect with people. This, of course, is intentional, because after the way her friends turned on her in high school, she doesn't have time for fake friends.  Jo's a very private person, even with those closest to her. 

Despite always putting herself first, she loves helping out when she can with other people's studies or career paths, so long as they show her that they actually care about what they're doing.  There's nothing Jo hates more than laziness, and students who aren't at Gallagher for the right reasons. 

MORE INFORMATION / HEADCANONS:

Her career ambitions have always been to pretty much become Shuri from Black Panther, though the witsec mission and staying undercover during her second semester of her third year does have her wondering if she should look into field agent careers as well.

Her only relationship was with some boy her junior year of high school. He was the best friend of Rose's boyfriend, seemed nice enough, and it was easy to get swept up in the excitement of her first relationship, though that giddy feeling didn't last. She only stayed together with him so long because of convenience, and he ended up dumping her once Rose died.

She had kissed Rose once, a few days before her death, though the two had never completely acknowledged it.  The unknown reasoning behind it still kills Jo to this day.

Jo is a very healthy eater, thanks to it being drilled in her head by her mom as a kid.  Her go to treat on cheat days is ice cream, which her favorite flavor is coffee, though she prefers vanilla to chocolate. 

Her mother had sent her a card for her first birthday after leaving the family, which Jo had never opened and thrown it right into the trash.  She told her father that if she were to write to her again, to not let her know. Jo hasn't heard from her brother Victor since he texted her to offer her good luck on her first day at Gallagher.  It's not hearing from him that stings the most, especially now that he's a Blackthorne graduate and could be dead for all she knows.

Though her father’s always been her favorite, they hadn’t been very close until all they had was each other. He’s the one person Jo would put above herself, which says a lot. 

She's left handed.

TL;DR:  Jo is a techie wiz who takes everything seriously and struggles with being the best because of a broken family and ex-spy father who she wants to restore her family name for, after he indirectly killed her best friend that Jo was in love with back in high school. She’s pretty grumpy but means well!

CURRENT & WANTED CONNECTIONS HERE

[impressivepress]

Charlie Chaplin: Jewish Or Goyish?

As nearly as can be determined, Charlie Chaplin is virtually part Jewish almost most of the time. John McCabe, Charlie Chaplin

In March of 1978, Charlie Chaplin’s body was stolen from his tomb in Switzerland and held for ransom. Two months later it was discovered buried in a farmer’s field and returned to his wife Oona, who remarked, dryly, ‘Charlie would have found this ridiculous.’ According to rumour, the Swiss government suspected that his remains had been stolen by anti-Semitic groups, upset that a Jew should be buried in a Christian cemetery. Chaplin’s Jewishness made him an enemy of the FBI and put him on the Nazi’s list of international targets. He is perhaps one of the most famous Jews in American history hence it is all the more surprising to learn that he was not, in fact, Jewish. Since his early days as the Little Tramp, a role he assumed in 1914, Jews had believed Chaplin was secretly Jewish. The fact that his name was not Jewish was irrelevant; it was common practice for Jews to change their names when entering show business (Al Jolson was born Asa Yoelson). In the 1948 edition of a Jewish encyclopedia, Chaplin is listed as a Jewish movie star, and the name ‘Israel Thonstein’ is mentioned alongside the claim that he was from an old Eastern European Jewish family. As proof, the encyclopedia cited a 1931 article from the New York Herald Tribune, which commented upon the way Chaplin’s eyes could convey both sadness and joy in a uniquely Jewish fashion, and a Budapest Jewish paper which claimed to trace his Jewish ancestry (as Thonstein) back to Hungary.

More important than birth records and names was the fact he looked, acted and ‘felt’ Jewish. To Jewish eyes, Chaplin told Jewish stories. Famously, one critic recalled watching The Gold Rush (1925) next to a middle-aged Jewish woman: ‘Oy!’ she wailed, as the Tramp tried to escape from his on-screen tormentors, ‘What do they want with him, the goyim?!! What has he done to them?’ The Tramp, small and powerless, was taunted and hounded by authorities who hated him without reason, in what appeared to American Jews as the enactment of the Jewish condition. Hannah Arendt wrote in 1944 that Chaplin symbolised the ‘effrontery of the poor ‘little Yid’ who does not recognise the class order of the world because he sees in it neither order nor justice for himself ’. Meanwhile, in Sholem Aleichem’s 1916 story, ‘Motl in America’, the hero spends his time watching Chaplin films and extolling the virtues of free America in which a Jew like Chaplin can become rich and famous.

For film scholar Patricia Erens, the Tramp is a variation on ‘dos kleine menshele’ or ‘little man’ of Yiddish literature, the poor and long-suffering antihero, the shlemiel (a little man with no luck), and the luftmensch (the ‘man of air’ who lives on dreams). Erens cites the numerous Jewish references in Chaplin’s oeuvre, in particular the prevalence of skullcaps and Yiddish newspapers as props, and a scene in The Vagabond (1916) in which the Tramp finds a Jewish man eating pork at a buffet and helpfully changes the ‘ham’ sign to ‘beef ’. Many of the characteristics we associate with ‘acting’ Jewish—the nasal voice, the New York accent, and the verbal wit a‘ la Groucho Marx—were unavailable to the makers of silent pictures. Chaplin, however, was a dancer, an acrobat, and a pantomime extraordinaire and able to communicate other, non-verbal cultural indicators to a savvy audience—the comic shrugs, the outdated black coat, the facial pathos combined with frantic body movements, the chaotic presence that mocks the establishment. Above all, Chaplin achieved a subtle gender inversion through the graceful, almost balletic eluding of his macho tormentors. Jewish audiences recognised this physical portrayal from the Yiddish stage and read it as a visual metaphor for the disempowered Jew in a hostile world.

Across the world this misconception raged, gaining him enemies to the left and the right. The German-American Bund helped spread the rumour that Charles Spencer Chaplin was born Israel Thonstein and in the book that accompanied the Nazi propaganda film The Eternal Jew, Thonstein is cited as the maiden name for the mother of ‘The Jew, Chaplin.’ In 1948 the US Navy investigated Chaplin on suspicion of Zionist activity: shipping guns to Palestine, as well as around 36 tanks. But it was the FBI under Hoover that became Chaplin’s greatest political and legal enemy. Chaplin’s FBI file is a comprehensive laboratory for identity construction that began in 1922 and remained open until after his death. The file chronicles Chaplin’s downfall, the suspicion of Communist activities, the Mann Act trial for transporting unmarried women across state lines for deviant purposes, and further rumours and innuendo that led to his expulsion from America in 1952. Chaplin is continually described as ‘of Jewish extraction,’ given the name of ‘Thonstein’ as an alias (though there is no proof that Chaplin ever used this name himself), and assigned attributes such as ‘Jewish accent,’ ‘talks with hands,’ and Russian birth.

Crucially, it was not Jewishness that alarmed Hoover but ambiguity. According to Omer Bartov in his compelling work The Jew in Cinema, Jewish characters are often portrayed as slippery and protean, possessing an insidious ability to obscure their Jewishness and blend in. The emancipation of the Jews from the ghettos of Europe at the turn of the last century had left them free to shave and dress in modern clothing, making them impossible to detect. This new found ambiguity of Jewish identity made them, in many gentile eyes, the most dangerous minority in civilised society. Ambiguity was the dominant paranoia of Cold-War America, which felt itself threatened by the enemy within—the Communists, Jews and homosexuals who were so hard to detect. The insistence on Chaplin’s Jewishness helped reinforce the notion of an ‘authentic American’ by establishing firm conceptual borders through identity construction and categorisation.

Not only did both Jewish and gentile audiences see him as a Jew, but Chaplin himself very nearly became convinced of his own Jewishness. While he did not officially doubt his mother’s version of his parentage, in which her legal husband, Charles Chaplin, Sr., a non-Jewish pop singer, was his biological father, there were times when he clearly wondered if the questions surrounding his lineage were true, and if they were more scandalous than imagined. His step-brother Sydney had a Jewish father and the world’s insistence on Chaplin’s Jewish origins prompted him and many others to wonder whether their birth stories had in fact been reversed.

‘All geniuses,’ Chaplin was heard to remark,‘have some Jewish blood in them.’ Flattered by the widely held misconception about his Jewish identity, his understanding of Jewishness was simplistic and stereotypical: Jews were blessed with superior intellect and financial acumen than non-Jews. Further, he believed that his physical attributes compounded the myth: he was short with curly black hair, ‘Oriental facial features’, and a prominent nose. In footage taken of famed British comedian Harry Lauder’s visit to Chaplin Studios, Lauder draws Chaplin on a chalkboard. Chaplin makes great show of stopping him, pantomimes ‘too Jewish,’ and re-draws the nose. Quite how to interpret this is unclear, but Chaplin either believed himself to be Jewish or was making fun of those who did. In the absence of confirmed roots, Chaplin may have sought to align himself with a group that, although outsiders in mainstream society, seemed to him possessed of an ancient and mystical national bond. When the great cantor Yossele Rosenblatt visited Chaplin’s studios, Chaplin told him that he owned all of the cantor’s recordings and that ‘Whenever I feel a little blue, I take them out and play them. They do something to me. They unite me, oh so closely, with my Jewish ancestors.’

Chaplin was an actor, and he played one role after another all his life. He occasionally told people he was Jewish, which sounded better to his director’s ears than ‘poor English gutter trash.’ But sometimes, including in his interviews with the FBI, he denied it, once commenting, ‘I am afraid I do not have that good fortune.’ Of his anti-Nazi picture The Great Dictator (1940) Chaplin said, ‘I made this film to show my unity with all the Jews of the world’. While American politicians and agents worried about the film’s ‘Communist’ message, the American Jewish establishment feared that an anti-Hitler film made by a Jew might make things worse for Jews in Europe. Chaplin’s own response—‘How can they get worse?’—indicates his own fearlessness. For the Jew in America, it was as if, as Stanley Kauffmann put it, ‘a David had arisen—a comic David—to fight Goliath!’

~

Holly A. Pearse · Oct 19, 2018.

Holly A.Pearse holds a PhD in religion and culture, and specializes in the representation of Jews in art and media. At the moment, her research delves into the portrayals of Jewish-Gentile romance in American film, and she currently teaches at Wilfrid Laurier University in Ontario, Canada.

[austrohungarianwriteblr]

WIP DVD Extra: Andras Kiraly’s Terrible Guide to Hungary

yes lads it’s the celebration that i do when i reach over 40 followers for some reason

So here’s what happened: I was reading Dave Barry’s Only Travel Guide You’ll Ever Need (because apparently I am a fifty-year-old man), and I got an idea, and then I wrote some nonsense.

All of this is based on research I did from that one time I went to Hungary and at a veggie burger that was just fried cheese.

(wip tag list, ask to be +/-:  @writingonesdreams, @booksnotbookies, @ren-c-leyn, @kiesinger, @ella-writes-words, @fields-of-ink, @halleiswriting)

A Guide to Hungary, circa 1873

Hello, and welcome to Hungary, the finest nation in Europe.

I have to be honest: ever since I moved to Vienna for school, I’ve spent a considerable amount of time telling my friends completely incorrect facts about my homeland. This is for two reasons: one, it’s funny, and two, I can usually get away with it. It’s not as though any of my friends from the opera company have ever been to Hungary themselves, much as they keep promising me they’ll visit.

But due to this web of amusing lies I’ve woven, no one I’ve ever interacted with actually knows any true facts about Hungary (I assume), and so I am taking it upon myself to record several genuine facts about where I grew up. Please note that although I am attempting to be truthful, some points may be inaccurate because I did not pay attention in primary school, because I was too busy thinking about arpeggios.

History

Hungary was invented at some point in the past when a group of nomadic warriors from the Far East arrived in Europe, realized there was not yet anywhere to get a good meal, and parked their horses in the Great Plains. They did an assortment of perfectly ordinary things like conquering Bulgaria and wearing pointy hats before King Stephen took over and told everyone to behave themselves and start going to church.

Several more interesting historical things happened after this but none of them were particularly relevant to yours truly until 1811, when Franz Liszt was born.

Recreation

The national sport of Hungary is arguing. My family is excellent at this. As an example, two of my sisters have had an argument going for six straight years about whether that man in the market was really the Prime Minister or not. 

Things to See

Budapest is a beautiful and lively city containing culture, excitement, and rude waiters. Much like Paris. However, unlike Paris, most of our food is fried and therefore much better (more on this later).

The intrepid traveler will find many amusements to fill his time on both sides of the river, including looking at the castle (but probably not being allowed in), climbing up the hill to the observatory for some pleasant views, and sitting in the Turkish baths with a bunch of old men clad in towels. This may sound mildly awkward at best, but my father swears it’s done wonders for his lungs. 

The only other place I have ever been is my grandmother’s house in Siofok. If you enjoy being shouted at by mustachioed old ladies about your haircut and then being fed shocking quantities of sausages, you will have a very good time there. Another benefit of visiting the area is that it’s an opportunity for young children to learn to swim, much like I did when I was five years old and my father threw me in Lake Balaton.

Language

Don’t be fooled by the rumors: Hungarian is actually a logical and very beautiful tongue and not, as my wife puts it, “a nonsense language invented by Attila the Hun to confuse enemy soldiers.” (What does she know about it, anyway? Her first language is German, which was invented by a cat clearing its throat) 

Of course, in the cities, many of the people you meet will speak German and other small, useless languages like English. But learning a few Hungarian phrases will enable you to communicate with many interesting people and, more importantly, earn my father’s respect.

Believe me, if you plan to spend any time on Szerdahelyi Street, the latter is crucial.

Food

I’m going to be completely honest here: Hungary has the best food in Europe if not the entire world. After you’ve eaten just one meal here you will never be able to eat your home country’s food again. When I went to music school in Vienna at the age of sixteen I spent the first month unable to taste any of the food I ate because by my standards it was bland.

Some of the best dishes that you can find in the restaurants or attempt to make in your own home include:

Goulash: The Superior Stew. Is it technically just beef, potatoes, carrots, and spices? Yes. Is it so delicious that when I go a few weeks without having it I cease to function? Also yes. The absolute best recipe for goulash is Pa’s, but unfortunately I cannot give it to you, because it is a secret.

Lángos: Take some flatbread. Fry it. Put sour cream on top. Delicious. In the words of our downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Farkas: “You’ve got to have another serving of lángos, my dear, it’ll put meat on your bones. I swear you get thinner every time you come to visit, don’t they feed you in Vienna? Those Austrians wouldn’t know a good meal if it bit them on the nose.”

Words to live by for all of us.

Halászlé: Also known as Fisherman’s Soup. My gran makes this and while I’m not exactly sure what kinds of fish are in it, I know there are a lot of them. Halászlé follows the usual Hungarian rule of cooking which is: if it’s not bright red, you made it wrong.

Conclusion

I trust this guide has been helpful, and if not, I trust that you will not blame my primary school teacher Mr. Szabo for failing to deliver any information to my memory. He tried his best, he really did.

[cromwxll]

                          “NEVER TRUST A PRETTY SMILE LACED WITH POISON.”

⌠ 𝑮𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑾𝑶𝑶𝑫, 𝟐𝟏, 𝑪𝑰𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬, 𝑯𝑬/𝑯𝑰𝑴 ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, 𝑹𝑯𝒀𝑺 𝑪𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑳! according to their records, they’re a 𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻 year, specializing in 𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑼𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑺, 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬, & 𝑨𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 + 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻 𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵; and they 𝑫𝑰𝑫 go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( 𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑿𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑪𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 𝑬𝑵𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑫 𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺, 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑫 𝑪𝑼𝑭𝑭𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺 𝑶𝑵 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑬 𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮, and 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑽𝑬𝑹-𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑮𝑼𝑬𝑫 𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑺  ). when it’s the 𝑺𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑷𝑰𝑶’s birthday on 𝟏𝟎/𝟑𝟎/𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟖, they always request their 𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑲𝑶𝑻𝑺𝑼 𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵 from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. 

* / CHARACTER INFLUENCES: LOGAN ECHOLLS ( Veronica Mars ) + GINA LINETTI ( Brooklyn 99 ) + BLAIR WALDORF ( Gossip Girl ) + VARYS “THE  SPIDER” ( Game of Thrones ) + OLIVIA POPE ( Scandal ) + LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR ( Lucifer ) + NUCKY THOMPSON ( Boardwalk Empire )

* / VINE REFERENCES: x x x

* / PERSONAL ANTHEM: BEEF FLOMIX - Flo Milli

Hi all, I’m Bri and this is my mess of a child RHYS. Feel free to like this post or hmu on discord if you want to plot :)

TW: Abuse, depressive thoughts, substance abuse, sex. Read with caution.

* / GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Rhysand Salvatore Cromwell.

KNOWN AS: Rhys.

AGE: Twenty-one.

DATE OF BIRTH: October 30, 1998.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Manhattan, New York.

GENDER: Cisgender male.

PRONOUNS: He/him.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual.

RELIGION: Agnostic.

* / PHYSICAL & MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS

HEIGHT: 5'11 ( the last inch escapes him ).

WEIGHT: 168 lbs.

HAIR COLOUR: Black.

EYE COLOUR: Black.

TATTOOS: Gavin’s tattoos.

PIERCINGS: None ( you can see ).

BODY TYPE: Athletic.

PHYSICAL HEALTH: Peak.

NOTABLE PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS: Signature smirk, dark eyes, curly hair.

FACE CLAIM: Gavin Leatherwood.

VOICE CLAIM: Gavin Leatherwood’s speaking voice.

CLOSET / STYLE: Chuck Bass.

ILLNESSES / CONDITIONS: Dyslexic ( kept secret ).

ADDICTIONS: Making people cry.

VICES: Wrath, pride.

* / BACKGROUND, OCCUPATION & EDUCATION

BIRTHPLACE: Manhattan, New York.

RAISED: UES Manhattan, New York.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Gallagher Academy.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, German, learning Japanese.

EDUCATION LEVEL: HS diploma from spy academy.

FINANCIAL STATUS: Upper class / Wealthy.

* / FAMILIAL BACKGROUND

FATHER: Salvatore Cromwell.

MOTHER: Natalia Cromwell ( née ? ).

SIBLINGS: None.

BIRTH ORDER: Only child.

RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMILY: Tense/Estranged.

PATERNAL GRANDPARENTS: Francis Cromwell + Constance Cromwell ( née Delgado ).

MATERNAL GRANDPARENTS: n/a.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None/Rose Park ( deceased ).

* / PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: Intelligent, charming, loyal, and dedicated.

NEGATIVE: Impulsive, cynical, arrogant, and wrathful.

ZODIAC: Scorpio.

MBTI TYPE: ENTJ.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic neutral.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin

AESTHETIC: Bubble baths, whiskey-filled crystal tumblers, penthouse parties, hate fucking until dawn, scarred knuckles, YSL cologne, secret hiding spots, guilt-ridden hues, broken promises, sly smirks with hidden intentions, uncontrollable impulsion, designer scarves, wrathful masochism, rolling blunts in town cars, full passports, lost boy syndrome, knives on tongues, hallowed out chest.

* / BIO: There was no option for Rhys on the night of his birth, he was destined for GREATNESS. Born to Salvatore Cromwell, a high ranking official in the Directorate of Operations of the CIA, and his wife Natalia on a chilly October night ─ the night before Halloween as a matter of fact ─ both saw his arrival as the best thing to happen to their seemingly perfect family. In a sense. And so he had to be the best.

He went to the best schools, only associated with the best families, the best parties and clothes and girlfriends, they were only the best of the best. Growing up, he didn’t recognize the pressure put on him was insurmountable. The lifestyle he lived didn’t expose him to those who had other options and chose their own path. He grew up with kids whose lives were planned out the second they were born. Just like him. Rhys assumed they were all the same. All their mothers were knocking back martinis with the egg white omelet they had for breakfast every morning, didn’t they? And when their dad came home after months of being away and says he was passed up for promotion again, he grabbed their arm so tight that sometimes it felt like it was gonna snap, right? His mother’s tears were normal. Getting hit with a belt any time he scored lower than expected on tests were normal. So why didn’t it feel normal?

Rhys’ home life was the one element he couldn’t control. But his social life he could. At school, he was a legend. With a family name like Cromwell, notorious to have spawned politicians and businessmen and entrepreneurs over the past couple of centuries, all great in their own right, Rhys was known. And he liked it. He had the perfect life at the spy school his father enrolled him in. With a group of friends as close-knit as they could be in a world driven by infamy and lies and a girlfriend he loved more than life itself, Rhys couldn’t imagine anything better. Until it wasn’t.

Rhys loved his girlfriend Rose Park. He knew he did because he treated her the way his father should’ve treated his mother. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, no relationship was, but they always found their way back to one another. For Rhys, she was a shining beacon of light and love and hope that one day, life would be better. That was until he found polaroids of Rose kissing their mutual best friend, Josephine. He was stunned. For a week he avoided her and their friends like the plague. What he felt wasn’t anger or rage, he didn’t turn spiteful, he was just...heartbroken. In the end, all he wanted was Rose’s happiness. While he hoped this was a need for sexual exploration, he knew that if Rose wanted to be with someone else that he would still support her. Because he loved her. And living a life with her in it as his friend was better than one without her at all. He was going to tell her this.

Until she was murdered.

Her death happening because her personal bodyguard, Josephine’s father, left her unprotected to tend to Jo’s sickness, sent him into a spiraling downfall. When his mother left a few weeks later, it only added to his growing pain. Nothing made sense. Not how his mother could just leave, no note, no anything. Not how his father barely flinched when he noticed all of her stuff gone. Not how the world seemed to keep on spinning even though Rose was gone. And especially, not how Josephine got to keep on with her life like nothing had changed. The pain he felt only escalated day by day, echoed on by the empty townhouse he returned to every day and the quiet dinners spent with housekeepers while his dad was away. He needed an outlet. And a target along with it.

His senior year, Rhys directed the anger he felt on the girl who took everything from him. Every spiteful word thrown at her, the influence he inspired on the rest of the student body to do the same, it all helped the throbbing ache that constantly permeated his body. When school was over for the day, he turned to recreational forms of comfort that went beyond his usual party favors. How he was able to graduate top of the class is still something that escapes him to this day. But his father knew of his antics and decided that his son would not go to college and only drown further in his sorrows.

In the CIA it’s called “The Lakehouse”. A remote hideout meant to kick into shape covert specialists by training them in all things brutality. Rhys was only there for two years, off the record, where he excelled in weapons and hand-to-hand combat while his pain was to be used as a driving force. There, his father finally sculpted him into the “perfect” son he always wanted: ruthless, cunning, heartless. It was here that Rhys realized that his father never cared about a family, but rather a legacy. Rhys was his breathing legacy, and he’d continue to be so once enrolled at Gallagher.

Waiting for admittance to Gallagher over the summer left him curious. His skills were now more finely honed, so he actively began to seek out his mother’s whereabouts. He quickly realized that it would be difficult, as the name he knew her by was not real. Her social security, passport, ID, even family photos, were all fake. Part of him wasn’t shocked, as marrying someone who was a complete fraud just for appearance's sake sounds like some his father would do, but in the end, it only left him with more questions. Who was she? Where did she go? Why did she leave?

Rhys hopes to find these answers now that he’s attending one of the top spy universities in the world. Surely, they’ll be able to help him find answers. Otherwise, he’ll take them for himself if he has to. On the plus side, if things ever turn out worse than he imagined and the pain returns tenfold, at least he has little Josephine here with him to keep him company. Two years later, she’s just as small, just as fragile. And Rhys always did enjoy breaking things.

* / PERSONALITY: He’s the stereotypical pretty boy with a side of trauma. Cocky. Sweet talker. Renowned partier. Excels in everything he puts his mind to, for what he’d like to think is for himself, but deep down it’s for the recognition and approval from his father. Though his father tried to mold him into something unfeeling, like a brutal machine, it’s just not in his nature. Rhys feels. A lot. That’s why he’s still hurting over the death of a girl he loved over three years ago. Maybe it’s because it was the only healthy relationship he had in his life, and one of the only events he’s held no control over. A stickler for how he likes things, he’s very particular about who he interacts with. At Gallagher, he will be no different. He’s the best, and he needs to be surrounded by only the best.

* / WANTED RELATIONSHIPS: His bros, competition at the school, someone he trusts enough to tell about locating his mom ( only it won’t be immediate but a relationship that builds up to it ), and the usual ( party friends, lovers, etc...)

[danfanciesphil]

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER FOUR] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. He seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Ao3]

“What are you in detention for, Mister Howell?”

Dan drags his eyes from the graffiti-caked desk to meet Mr Richardson’s disapproving stare. “Sir, I honestly can’t remember.”

Mr Richardson does not look pleased. “Hand me your report card.”

Dan makes a show of looking around himself, patting down his jacket and jeans pockets, then comes back with a shrug. “Guess I forgot it.”

The smug grin is probably a little overkill, but Dan really hates Mr Richardson. There’s a little vein on his neck, a blue, pulsing one. If Dan gets him really worked up, he can sometimes make it go purple.

“Right, that’s it,” Mr Richardson says, slamming his clipboard down over the graffiti. “You’d best like it here, Mr Howell, because you’ll be returning every day for the next two weeks.”

“Sir, I have a job to get to after school,” Dan protests, half-heartedly.

His job doesn’t start until five, sometimes later, so actually he could probably still make it after detention and only be five minutes late. Louise would understand. But Mr Richardson’s vein is approaching indigo.

“You should have thought of that before you rudely ignored whichever member of staff sent you here!”

A girl Dan sees in here sometimes leans over from the next desk. Her wiry, dark hair brushes Dan’s shoulder. “He was listening to music in German, Sir. Frau K caught him.”

Mr Richardson’s tight stance relaxes a little. “Thank you, Megan. That wasn’t so difficult, was it Mr Howell?”

Dan smirks. “No, Sir.”

“So, I suppose you think whatever Goth-rock you blast into your eardrums is more important than language education?”

“I’m never gonna go to Germany, Sir,” Dan sighs. The words ‘die fag’ are carved into the surface of his desk. He thinks he might have written it there himself at some point, just to be ironic.

“That is not the point,” Mr Richardson tells him. At this point, Dan tunes out. He nods along as Mr Richardson waffles on about procedure and rules and discipline and the future, and eventually, he moves on to the next poor soul. Megan aims him a secret eye-roll when he’s not looking. Dan doesn’t respond.

*

The sound of Phil’s warbling voice, singing above Supermassive Black Hole, is audible from the other end of the corridor. The school is pretty much deserted at this time, so he probably thinks nobody can hear him from the art studio. As he makes his way towards the racket, Dan can’t help the smile twitching at his mouth.

Just then, another, louder, more boisterous set of voices ring out from around the corner. Dan thinks nothing of it, but then the owners of said voices come into view. He suppresses an eye roll, and then averts his gaze. Of course, it’s no use. Hardy stops in his tracks, gaze zeroing in on Dan, alone. He holds up a hand to indicate that the three morons tracking along behind him should stop also.

“Hey,” Hardy calls out in his irritating posh-boy accent. “Hey, you. Hold it there. I want a word.”

“No,” Dan replies, not stopping. “That’s a word.”

Predictably, Hardy reaches out and grabs his upper arm. Dan jerks away, practically growling, but Hardy’s buddies surround him, preventing an escape.

“Perhaps you should apply that smart attitude of yours to your school work, dunce,” Hardy says, making his meathead buddies titter.

“Dunce,” Dan repeats. “What an archaic turn of phrase you have. Matches your Neanderthal gait.”

Hardy surges forwards, as if to hit him, but one of his friends grabs him, holding him back. Dan swallows discreetly. That was close. Everyone knows Hardy has a short fuse and every teacher in the school in his back pocket. If Dan wants to get out of this situation with two non-blackened eyes, he needs to dial back the smartass stuff.

“Alright, alright, Dean, I’m cool,” Hardy says, pulling free of Meathead No.1. “Listen, emo, I know you’re bestest buds with that guy Lester.”

Hardy waits, as if Dan will acknowledge this. He doesn’t. Hardy grits his teeth. “I need you to get a message to him.”

“Get fucked,” Dan says.

Something animalistic flashes across Hardy’s eyes, and he lunges, shoving Dan back into the lockers behind him. It hurts like a bitch, but Dan just glares. Hardy is up in his face, his friends dithering around him like nervous pigeons.

“I know who you are,” Hardy says through his clenched jaw. “You’re the fag that works for my father.”

“Got a Sherlock Holmes on my hands,” Dan growls.

He doesn’t try to move, despite being pinned to the lockers. If he broke free of Hardy’s grip, he’d have four angry, beefed up morons to deal with, and he just can’t be bothered.

Hardy sneers at him. “You think I don’t know the rumours about you, dipshit? About where you sneak off to after dark?”

With everything he has, Dan fights to keep his face neutral. He doesn’t say a word.

“My Dad has shares in the Ozone club,” Hardy continues, sneer growing into a smug grin. “I’ve heard all the stories about you. How you throw yourself to your knees in the back rooms for every half-talented drummer that plays, every barman that has a spare twenty quid-”

Dan kicks out, hard, catching Hardy in the shin. He roars in pain, clutching at it, and Dan breaks free. Meathead No. 2 catches him by the arm; Dan is just coming to terms with the idea that he’s actually going to have to fight all of these dicks at once, and then a voice interrupts them.

“Hey, what’s going on here? Mr Howell, I thought I sent you home.”

It’s Mr Richardson. Bizarrely, Dan feels a wash of pure relief at the sight of his bulging vein.

“Apologies, Sir,” Hardy says at once. He’s released his grip on his shin, and now has a shit-eating grin fixed in place of the furious expression he wore moments ago. “Nothing to worry about, we were just making sure Mr Howell here wasn’t skipping out on detention.”

Fuck. Nothing good will come of Hardy learning his name.

Mr Richardson nods suspiciously, turning to Dan. “Is that correct, Mr Howell?”

Dan nods silently.

“Fine. But less commotion please. School might be over for the day, but while you’re on the premises, you treat this place with respect.”

“Understood, Sir,” Hardy says. “Won’t happen again.”

Mr Richardson nods, then walks on, slowly, down the corridor.

Hardy waits until he gets a reasonable distance, and then turns back to Dan, jabbing a finger in his face. “You tell Lester that he needs to back the fuck off of my girlfriend, are we clear?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Meathead No.1 corrects.

Hardy turns to him with a glare. “It’s a temporary misunderstanding. She’s a nutcase. She’s not going to throw our relationship away over some- some- art freak!”

“It looks like she already has,” Dan says, trying not to appear too amused by Hardy’s petulant attitude.

“Just give him the fucking message, Howell,” Hardy snarls. He darts another glance down the corridor, where Mr Richardson is still ambling away. “Don’t forget, I own you.”

Dan can’t help the snort of laughter that bursts out. “Crawl out of your dad’s asshole, Hardy. You own squat.”

Hardy just grins. “Try me, Howell.”

He holds Dan’s gaze for a moment, then spins away, stalking down the corridor. His friends follow hot on his heels. Dan watches them for a moment, then straightens his jacket, rolls his eyes and resumes his journey to the art studio. Phil’s warbling hasn’t stopped the entire time, which proves just how thick-headed those idiots truly are. They wanted to find Phil to relay this ‘message’, yet failed to realise he’s through the door ten feet away.

Dan knocks on the closed studio door, but Phil is singing too loudly to hear, so he pushes it open. There’s an enormous, human-sized canvas in front of Phil, on which he is painting a life-size portrait of Amanda, from her mahogany curls, right down to the pointed shoes on her miniature feet. The work looks painstaking; Dan has no idea how long Phil has been working on it, but he’d guess days. Currently, he’s on his knees, detailing Amanda’s fingers on her right hand, singing along as he does so.

“You really captured her superficiality,” Dan says, loud enough to be heard over the music.

Phil jumps slightly, then turns to Dan with a smile. “You like her?”

Avoiding the question, Dan ambles over to the table where Phil’s paints are scattered. “You sound like a dying cat.”

“Thanks,” Phil says. “I’ve been practicing.”  He stands up and walks to the ancient boombox, spinning a dial to turn Muse down. “What are you doing here, then? Thought you’d already be at work.”

“Mr Richardson owed me a spanking,” Dan replies, picking up a paintbrush and swirling it in a glob of crimson.

“You got detention again? What for?”

Dan shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Dan,” Phil sighs. There’s an admonishment caught on his lip, but he doesn’t verbalise it. Instead, he wanders over to lean on the desk beside Dan. “Did I hear a scuffle outside? That wasn’t you was it?”

Dan shakes his head. “Not me.” He gestures to the portrait in front of them. “So, what’s this for? Entering the race for the Guinness World Record of creepiest stalker?”

Phil nudges him in the shoulder. “I’m gonna give it to her.”

“What the fuck’s she gonna do with it? Display it over her fireplace?”

“I don’t know! People like getting pictures of themselves.”

A hundred further teasing comments swirl around Dan’s brain, but there’s something about the tension in Phil’s shoulders, something about the stripped back expression he wears that halts him.

“It’s really good, you know,” Dan says instead. Phil’s eyebrows travel a short way up his forehead. Dan clears his throat and hops down off the desk before he can reply. “Anyway, just heard your caterwauling and thought I’d see if I could put a stop to it. I’m off to work.”

Phil nods, a faint smile on his lips. “Mind if I stop by later?”

“Yes. Go home and leave me to do my job in peace.”

“Cool. I’ll come in about seven. You can stay at mine after if you want.”

“Whatever,” Dan says.

Inside, the relief of this offer is overwhelming. Tonight is Ricky’s night off, so he’ll be home all evening. Dan wonders briefly if Phil might know this, but it seems unlikely. It’s probably just a random offer. He waves vaguely at Phil, and heads for the door.

“Dan?”

He stops. Turns. “What?”

“Thanks for saying it’s good.”

Awkwardly, Dan holds his gaze for a moment. “Yeah. No worries.”

*

It’s nine fifty-three and Phil still isn’t at the cafe. Dan has to close at ten – should already be closing up, in fact – but Phil said he’d be here. So he waits until the last second. He begins the closing routine slowly, rinsing out the coffee machine piece by piece, taking out the tray and scrubbing it in the kitchen sink, then the grill, then the grinder too. He sweeps and mops the floor, flips the ‘open’ sign to ‘sorry, we’re closed’, but keeps the door unlocked just in case. It gets to ten-thirty, and Dan runs out of tasks to do. He needs to leave.

The nicotine craving burns at his stomach as he locks the door. The local off-licence will be closed now, but if he goes to Ozone, he might be able to snag one off Ben or someone. Maybe he could even wrangle a whole pack. He grimaces at the thought of what he might have to do for a cigarette fix, but swallows down his reservations. Anything is better than going home and facing an angry, likely drunk Ricky.

He pulls his hood up and heads for the bus stop, eyes down. He has just enough change in his pocket for the bus, though it’s mostly in pennies, so the driver isn’t pleased. Dan just avoids his eye, finds a seat near the back and plugs himself into his music. It’s not far to Ozone, maybe fifteen minutes. Halfway through the journey, his phone buzzes.

From: Phil To: Dan 10:44pm hey!!! Sorry I didn’t make it to the cafe – I drove past Amanda at the fountain in town so I risked it and stopped to chat :o her mates left her without a way to get home so we got a coffee and I drove her back. Been debriefing with mum lol I forgot all about coming to see u! Still welcome to come over if u want! Im just chilling at home but gonna go to bed soon. Up to you! hope work wasn’t too killer :P xx

Dan skims the message once, then pockets the phone without replying. His heart aches in an annoying way. All he can see is Phil and Amanda, sipping Costa coffee perched on the lip of the fountain in the town square. In some kind of cruelly ironic cinematic moment, the bus glides past this very fountain. Dan turns his face from the window.

Eventually, his stop comes up, and Dan all but runs the rest of the way. Ozone is the town’s only club, and it’s really more of a large bar. There’s a dancefloor, sort of, and a stage, but mostly it’s high tables with bar stools and hundreds of vaguely menacing drunk people, utilising the one decent place that stays open late every day. Dan slips in with a loaded glance at Ben on the door. It takes him less than five minutes to zero in on the poor sucker he’ll be getting to buy him drinks tonight, and even less time to sidle up, flash a sultry smile, and ask the dude for a JD and coke, no ice.

“Cheeky shit,” the guy says, but turns around and orders it anyway. He’s tall and broad, alone with only his pint. Dan learns his name, then forgets it in the next moment. The dude doesn’t seem to care.

“You got any fags?” Dan asks after he’s listened to whatever dull shite the guy is saying for as long as he can stand. “I’m desperate.”

He loads the last word, hating himself.

The guy grins, exposing a graveyard of yellowing teeth, stained from nicotine and dark beer. “Yeah?” His fingers are scratching underneath the hem of Dan’s shirt. “What’ll I get in return?”

Dan says nothing, just holds his gaze, smiling.

“I’ve got a pack of Djarums,” the dude says, patting his jacket pocket. “Were meant for my missus, but I could be persuaded otherwise.”

“Are Djarums the cherry ones?” Dan asks, wrinkling his nose. He’s already scanning the crowd discreetly, looking for another person he could ask.

“You want ‘em or not, princess?”

Dan hesitates. The guy smells like a brewery, and his hair is thinning. Not to mention, there’s a dull gold ring on his finger. But Dan hasn’t had a smoke in over 24 hours, and there’s no point in pretending he’s about to go home. Phil is asleep by now, probably.

He smiles, holding out his hand. “I want them.”

The guy takes it, downs the dregs of his pint, and follows Dan through the scattered, glassy-eyed people, into the back.

*

It’s 3am, but Phil lets him in anyway. He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and his hair is sticking up, but he doesn’t even ask why Dan is on his doorstep. To avoid waking everyone up, Dan had texted Phil that he was outside. He has no idea how Phil woke up to receive it.

Dan silently follows Phil up the stairs, waits patiently on the edge of his bed as Phil finds him a big t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He changes while Phil is out of the room. When he returns, he has a glass of water in his hand, which he hands to Dan.

“Ready?” Phil asks, then crawls into the indent he’s already left in the mattress.

Dan places the water down on Phil’s bedside table, and slips in beside him. He keeps a few inches between his own limbs and Phil’s at first, but inevitably Phil closes the gap. He’s always been a fidgety sleeper. Dan wonders if that’s the sort of thing best friends are supposed to know about each other.

“You smell like cherries,” Phil mutters. He lays his fingers on Dan’s arm.

There’s a tight, sharp scratching at the back of Dan’s throat. He doesn’t think it’s from the cigarettes. “Yeah. Is it gross?”

“No,” Phil says at once. He takes a deep, long breath in. “Smells nice.”

Maybe that guy from the bar will give him another pack. Maybe, if Dan’s extra nice, and can smile just sweetly enough, he’ll never have to smoke anything but Djarums, and he’ll smell just like this forever, and Phil’s smile will look just like this, like it does right now, every time he breathes it in.