#marmore falls

[khlacnh]

📍Marmore Falls, Umbria, Italy

[lookingforstraymagic]

[lsdkjgdghoth4986t7]

Cascata delle Marmore, Umbria, Italy

Velino River falls onto Nera River

[postcardsfromwanderings]

Cascata delle Marmore, Umbria

[kararadaygum]

..

[drrestlesshate]

James Hakewill - Cascata di Terni, 1816-17

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Stalking, Bathing Together, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Spoilers for HSR 3.0 Main Story

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

I've had some time to sit with 3.0, and so I wanted to just ramble a little bit about Yandere!Phainon! I loved him in-game and definitely hope to write about him as I get to know his character more.

He's not cruel. Far from it, his presence is like the kiss of sunlight on morning dew. Instead, he's protective to the point where he seems to bear down on you at every waking moment. You might simply be going for a walk in Marmoreal Market trying to buy some goods for dinner and you'll find yourself bumping into Phainon, his voice effulgent. But with light comes shadows, and you can feel his more possessive intentions lurking between the letters of his words. He exclaims what a wonderful coincidence this is, but you know better. A coincidence can only live for so long before it sheds its skin and reveals an artificial nature, and you can see right through every single one of Phainon's translucent excuses.

Even though he longs to wake up and fall asleep with you by his side, he does a good job of keeping the compulsion to take you home at bay for some time. His conveniently-timed coincidences allow him the opportunity to escort you from place-to-place and bask in your radiance. If he gets lucky, he can persuade you to let him accompany you to the baths. Even though it's against the rules, he enjoys bringing you to the Hero's Bath and taking his time washing your hair. His hands weave through your hair masterfully, his fingertips occasionally ghosting the skin of your shoulders. You may not let him be close to you, but he always finds a way to claim you as his own in public: a hand wrapped around your shoulders, or tousling your hair, or even reaching for your own hand. In his mind, you are a hero, the savior of a heart shattered beyond repair by countless losses. For that reason, he cannot let you go; no matter how wrong it may be in your eyes, perceptions can be easily changed, and he will do whatever it takes to show you that your life will be perfect with him. Spur, strike, scorn him as you'd like, you cannot escape his presence and power. It'd be a fool's errand to leave Okhema with the state Amphoreus is in, and Phainon isn't just some commoner with no public status who you can simply avoid. On the contrary, he has a multitude of tools at his disposal to help ensnare you in his control. And, if you still somehow fight against him, he can always plead with Aglaea for her to intertwine your fate with his.

No matter what you do, where you go, or how you fight him, Phainon will make himself the sun of your heart, pulling you into his orbit and never letting you go. Ever.

[mikashisus]

❛ ── BETWIXT TIRESOME WAR ❜

⤷ synopsis. it was a poet's job to string tales of heroes, yet you weren't quite expecting for kremnos' crown prince to be your muse.

mydei x gn!reader. 2k. ( contents : silly goobers being silly, that's it ) ╱ taglist. @wystiix @pneumosia @st6rly @luvether @kazuinvocation @pixelcafe-network ( art creds : quinii09 )

The off-key note rang in the hurried air of Marmoreal Market as you sat on a street corner, tuning your lute. The overpopulated holy city was bustling at this time of day. You watched carefully as men and women roamed the streets, carrying baskets of fruits and bread. 

A smile pulled at your lips as you hopped to your feet— your lute now fully tuned and ready to be played —and strummed a chord.

The heads of passersby turned at the sound, their curiosity piqued. You strummed another chord, slowly falling into a familiar rhythm that you’ve played countless times all over the lands. 

“Gather ‘round, for I shall string you the tale of the almighty Huntress— they who tore down the banners of Kremnos and slayed a beast with naught but their own bare hands!” 

The people flocked like birds, gathering around at the sound of your voice and the prospect of a divine tale. Fixing your footing, you let the winds caress your form. Your eyes fell closed and you exhaled softly, letting the music guide you as the lyrics to a song you’ve sung countless times flowed from your mouth. 

“The Dissembled Poet of Okhema” was a title known throughout the entirety of the holy city. You’ve paraded the streets of Marmoreal Market an indefinite amount of times, carrying nothing on your person except for the lute in your hands. 

As far as anyone was concerned, you had always been present in the holy city. There were numerous bards throughout the land. However, those with keen eyes had seen through your innocent act. They knew you showed up one day out of nowhere, acting as if you had always resided in Okhema. 

That was the case with the Crown Prince of Kremnos, Mydeimos. This hadn’t been your first meeting, nor was it the first time he’d seen you lingering on street corners. Bards were flamboyant and harmless, singing the tales of heroes and gods alike. He paid no mind to them, but when it came to you— the Dissembled Poet —he couldn’t help but watch your every move. Like a lion stalking its prey, he watched from afar. 

Twirling a cup of pomegranate juice in his palm, he listened to the tale you were entertaining your crowd with. It was the infamous tale of a Huntress from Kremnos, a warrior who was feared by both the people of Kremnos and the gods alike. With their bare hands, they had slain a gigantic beast— just like the founder of Kremnos had done all those years ago. The Huntress was a renowned figure, worshipped by all Kremnoans before the city fell to the black tide. 

Now, their tale was no more than a legend. Rumors had spread years ago when the Huntress mysteriously disappeared. A few rumors told of how the Huntress was displeased with the royal family and therefore made the choice to leave Kremnos. Another told of how they angered Nikador in some way, and were banished from the city-state. The most popular rumor had been that they had given up living the life of a warrior and fled to a land unknown and untouched, away from mortal eyes. 

They were nothing but brainless rumors, dishonoring the life the warrior had once lived. Why focus so much on something so insignificant instead of focusing on the legacy they left behind? 

All warriors with reasonable hearts and tenacious spirits were respected in Mydei’s eyes. Good warriors were those who upheld their ideals and fought justly instead of blindly. Tarnishing one’s legacy with imprudent rumors was a crime of the highest degree. 

The song ended, and you took a dramatic bow as the crowd roared with praise and applause. Your cheeks burned as the rush of adrenaline fled your body. It dissipated slowly, your heart hammering in your chest as your fingers tingled. You’d never get tired of the thrill that accompanied your performances. 

Performing for others was your passion. The care you put into your songs and your poems was the kind of care a loving mother showed her children. With another, less dramatic bow, you spilled your thanks and eagerly took the money the crowd tossed you. 

With a tip of your hat, you bid them all farewell. Some lingered, singing your praises as they complimented your work. You chatted idly with them, acutely aware of the piercing honey eyes staring at you from afar. 

You noticed his presence a while ago. You’ve sensed it at every one of your performances. It was a weight that pressed down on your shoulders, pushing you towards the earth. A sort of wrath swirled underneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the perfect chance to pounce on its prey. However, you were far from prey. 

The last person left, bidding you farewell with a bright smile. As soon as they left your field of vision, your easygoing smile dropped, and you turned your attention to the prince who had made it his mission to stalk you the last few weeks. 

With a playful smirk, you met him halfway, slipping into an alley. Swinging your lute onto your back with a certain flair you knew he was incapable of, you leaned against the hard stone wall. 

“You know, if you were so impressed by my performances, you could’ve just said so,” you began, gauging his reaction, “a prince so enthralled by my poetic charm is a great honor, Your Highness—” 

You took a bow, and he held up a hand to stop you. His eyes were calculating, never leaving your form for a moment. 

“We both know you’re not a mere bard.” He said coolly. 

“Whatever could you mean? I’m ‘fraid I don’t quite follow.” 

“Don’t play dumb. Your songs are from eons ago. The others may be blind, but I see right through you.” 

A soft laugh escaped your lips. You sent him a tight-lipped smile. “My, do you have a fascination for music, dear Prince. To know all my songs, you must be a connoisseur! Tell you what, I’ll string you your own tale! One that tells of an Undying Prince who’s legacy lies in the blood of his enemies.” 

His eye twitched, and you knew you had successfully gotten under his skin. Whatever it was that irked him, you didn’t know. You grabbed the end of your cape and tossed it in a flourish, leaving the alley before he could say anything else. 

“It’ll be an epic for the ages! Murals painted in honor of my works, a tale passed down generations!” 

You laughed as you ran down the streets, ignoring the yells of shopkeepers as you parkoured over their stalls and made your escape from the fierce lion chasing you down. 

Although writing a song for the infamous Prince of Kremnos had been a joke in the moment, you considered after long hours of deliberation that you had to make it a reality. A song that described the Prince’s feats in war, his loyalty to his homeland, and his deep rooted care for others was going to be a challenge. 

You’ve written countless songs about heroes. You wrote one dedicated to another Chrysos Heir, Phainon. The man himself had found out quite quickly, and you got to chat with him once after performing it in the marketplace. The shine in his eyes as he gushed over the song was comparable to that of a thousand suns. 

How would Kremnos’ Prince react to his own epic? Flattered? Humored, perhaps? Resigned? 

The excitement of seeing his reaction was great, and you got straight to work. You put everything aside, shoving scrolls off your desk and making room for the first draft of your new project. A fire of determination coursed through you. The words seemed to come naturally, as if they had appeared on the parchment themselves. 

Your hand had cramped up, but you paid no mind. You spent days and nights working on the song, tugging at your hair in frustration or smiling subconsciously because of a witty line. 

For hours, you’d stay hunched over the parchment on your desk, fighting the urge to give in to sleep. The marketplace lay uncharacteristically silent those days, mourning the absence of the poet they revered so much. 

It was only when an attack from Nikador’s titankin breached the holy city that you finally finished the song you had spent one long and grueling week over. Usually, it’d take you much longer to write such a tale, but the Prince of Kremnos had given you a burst of inspiration you never knew you needed. 

Scrambling to fix yourself up, you hummed a tune under your breath. You’d return to the marketplace today with your new song ready to be sung and a new thrill coursing through your veins that you’ve never felt before. 

The markets were bustling just like any other day, even though the recent attack on the city had garnered a widespread panic. With purpose in your steps and the desire to rouse the hearts of the people in your veins, you found an empty spot on the street. Without uttering a word to them, people stopped to listen to your magnificent voice. 

You took a deep breath and began to strum the upbeat tune. The music stole you away, drifting you along in the wind to days of yore— a time before you had decided to endlessly wander the world. 

The lyrics took you back to the past when you had been a warrior revered by the people of Kremnos. You had been held in such high regard, you were worshipped among the people. Not only as a warrior, but as a Huntress. 

The familiar sensation of burning in your cheeks returned as your heart thrummed loudly in your chest. Your fingers tingled, on the brink of going numb from your passionate strumming. The ringing in your ears drowned out anything else, trapping you in the feverish memories of a past life you wished you could forget. 

There was a reason you fled Kremnos.

The song ended with a rasp scream. Your shoulders heaved as you huffed. Your whole body felt numb, and you slowly returned to the present— the ringing in your ears ceasing, revealing the tense silence of the square. 

You hesitantly looked up, measuring the expressions of the crowd. In an instant, they bellowed with cheers. Among the piercing yells and tightly packed crowd, you spotted the very person you had written the song for. 

He was watching you carefully, like he always did, except now he was clapping along with the rest of the people around him. Pride welled within you as you took a bow. 

You entertained the citizens who approached you, excitedly telling them the details of your new song. When they all dispersed, you tipped your hat to the Prince, who sauntered up to you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That… wasn’t half bad.” He told you. 

You hummed. “Well, I spent a whole week slumped over my desk working on it. I sure hope I—” 

“I know you’re from Kremnos, you can drop the innocent act.” 

Ah… so he did catch on. You knew your act of innocence would come to an end eventually. You sighed heavily. “Indeed. What gave it away?”

The way you had written his feats in the song were from a glorified standpoint. Only someone from Kremnos would describe battle in such a celebratory way. You might’ve fooled everyone around you, but you couldn’t fool the Crown Prince of Kremnos. 

Your question was left unanswered, though you didn’t mind. He let out a soft sigh. “Thank you… for the glory you brought Kremnos in your words.” 

You certainly weren’t expecting a ‘thank you,’ nor a compliment, but the Prince— although appearing apathetic —was grateful and honored to be your muse. You could see it in the way his expression softened. 

With a smile, you bowed. “Of course, my Prince—”

“Enough with that. It’s Mydei.” 

“Hm. Well then, the honor is mine, Mydei.”

notes. this fic is very dear to me bc it's self indulgent, like the mc is LITERALLY my s/i LMAO. i had sm fun writing the mc cause they're such a goober. also, they're supposed to be pretty masc in appearance, while their title of 'huntress' is feminine! androgynous king <3 i struggled a lot with mydei’s dialogue so im sorry if he sounded off TT also the title of this is the name of the song the mc wrote for mydei !!

© 2025 mikashisus.

[somerandomdudelmao]

Hello! I was thinking about how Ain described levels of intelligence.

The mind link thing they described doesn't seem so much of a higher form of intelligence as it does a skill. A feature of the species, if you will.

Ain acting like this one feature gives them a sort of moral immunity is so silly to me cuz like. What if life forms were qualified by how they see, instead of how they communicate?

i will say that humans are very hypocritical when it comes to this topic, and Ain isn't wrong to point it out, but it also shows how hypocritical the Marmors are, too. Because they are making the distinction that their thought communication makes them superior. But what if another species came along that judged the Marmors on a different scale? Where would they fall then?

Anyways, I think it's really interesting how you've written alien culture I love it so much! I know you answered an ask about Marmor concepts of right and wrong and I found it really intriguing :D

Oh you're right, both humans and Marmors are very hypocritical when it comes to this. By Ain's logic, an abstract dog has the ability to make sounds and show some gestures, which makes it a step below humans, who can structure sounds into speech and have more complex gestures. But neither humans nor dogs can communicate using collective mind, so in his understanding humans and dogs are not too far apart...well, compared to him.

If it were revealed right now that there was another abstract super powerful alien species that had developed collective mind far beyond the Marmors, Ain would quickly panic and reconsider his little speech haha

[marigoldwriter]

Wonderland: Places we haven't seen, Unknown locations and Relating different media.

(I haven't read the book, so if you finish reading this and want to add something that's in the book and I don't know, please comment)

If there's one thing I know we can't do when it comes to the Wonderland of the Descendants universe, it's rely on the description from the 1951 film.

In the official description on the website Fandom in Disney Wiki, Wonderland is described as: "It is an imaginary land created from a dream a young girl named Alice experiences. Wonderland is a world without any form of logic, inhabited by fantastical creatures, anthropomorphic animals, and a slew of colorful characters. The fearsome Queen of Hearts rules the land."

So, originally, Wonderland wasn't even a place of its own, but rather the creation of a little girl's dream.

And it's exactly here that we establish that the Wonderland 1951 film and the Wonderland we know aren't the same. Pretty obvious, right?

But still, some things from the 1951 Wonderland need to be considered. I think we'll come back to that along the way.

Now, all that's left for us is Wonderland from the 2015 film. Oh, I love that film, it was because I rewatched it that I decided to write this, anyway.

In the official description on the website Fandom in Disney Wiki, Wonderland is described as: "It is a nonsensical realm populated by humans, talking animals and plants, and other magical beings. Laws of physics don't always make sense in Underland."

And there's this difference between the Wonderland of 1951 and the one of 2015, the name of Wonderland isn't even Wonderland for the citizens there, "In Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, Underland is true name for the world Alice Kingsleigh once referred to as "Wonderland", but it is revealed that she misheard the name as "Wonderland" when she was a child."

If we focus on the details, the entrance to the Rabbit Hole is in the middle of a huge, healthy tree in the middle of a forest in Descendants, but in the 2015 film, it's on a wealthy family's estate — "This entrance is located on the Ascot family property, in a rabbit hole in the ground by a tree nearby the mansion. If someone falls in the hole, it will lead them to the Round Hall in Underland. The hole is stuffed with furniture of many sizes, from small table lamps, a bed, and even a piano; some furniture is positioned on the walls of the hole, while others are just floating in midair."

So what happened to the Ascot Family? I mean, they were assholes, but anyway, what happened to them? Did they move after Auradon was built? Or, Idk, Bridget uses a different Rabbit Hole, maybe.

In the official page on the website Fandom in Disney Wiki, it's said that: "Underland is a far more nonsensical world than the one Alice remembered, and it has a solid geography, divided between many regions, including Marmoreal (southeast), Crims (center north), Witzend (west), Iplam (center west), Queast (east), Snud (south), and the Outlands (far west). The Crimson Sea is situated directly north of Underland."

The 2015 Wonderland is much richer in information, so let's ask a few questions. The questions here are:

Where's the Castle of Hearts located in Descendants? It's in Crims, It's in Witzend, childhood home of the two Queens, it's near or far from the Crimson Sea?

If Bridget, Queen of Hearts, is referred as "Your Imperial Majesty", it means that all the other regions of Wonderland were conquered at some point and united into a single Empire/Kingdom. How?

What happened to Mirana (the White Queen)? She was killed, she fled to Auradon, what was her fate?

What about Marmoreal, and the White Queen's servants and subjects?

What about all the other regions? We don't hear about them, so what happened?

Did our famous Red Queen, Iracebeth, ever exist? She is an ancient Queen from a bygone era?

How the hell did they manage to unite all the kingdoms? Obviously through brute force but how? That would have taken decades, at most a century, so how do we have the Wonderland Empire/Kingdom perfectly united in 2025?!

What happened to the Red Queen? If two tyrannical forces that have the same objective face each other and one of them loses, we obviously already know who it was.

Where was the Kingdom of Hearts at this time before they simply became the largest and only kingdom in Wonderland?

Since I don't have an answer to these questions yet, I'll delve into some regions of Underland, and at the same time I will make some notes:

First, we have the Marmoreal Region, important places that we have located here are:

The White Queen's Castle

"This castle is where Queen Mirana lives, along with her court and army. Its architecture seems to be inspired by the pieces and the board of a chess game, and it seems to be entirely built of marble, with a predominant white color. The castle is surrounded by tall waterfalls, and large gardens."

I would really like to know what happened to Marmoreal, It was a kingdom completely against the Red Queen, so they were the ones who always fought against these type of tyranny, despite both being related by blood (Mirana and Iracebeth were sisters, so), could the two kingdoms have united against the Kingdom of Hearts at some point? Very unlikely.

And if we take some facts from Lewis Carroll's books, there were three kingdoms: The White, the Red, and the of Hearts. So what happened to the rulers of these two kingdoms? Because one of them definitely survived and emerged victorious.

Tarrant Hightopp's (Mad Hatter) House

"Located near the White Queen's castle, the house of Tarrant Hightopp rests atop a cliff surrounded by waterfalls and green mountains. The entire house is modeled to resemble a top hat."

This just makes me think that Maddox's surename is actually Hightopp. And that he probably really grew up in a house like that.

But now, seriously, Maddox is an adult, while Redell is a teenager, so he and Bridget must be pretty close in age, so I wonder, when does Alice in Wonderland take place in the Descendants universe? It still doesn't make sense, but it's Wonderland anyway.

Next we have the Crims Region, important places that we have located here are:

Salazen Grum

"Salazen Grum is the castle and former home of Queen Iracebeth, who lived there with her court, servants, and army. The castle seems to be entirely built from stone, with red as a predominant color. It had gardens with many red roses and hedges cut into the shape of the Red Queen herself. After the Red Queen's reign ended, she was banished to the Outlands, and the castle fell to ruin."

I would really like to know if all these kingdoms were ruled by people who were related. Mirana and Iracebeth were sisters, but what if the ruler of Hearts was also related by blood to them?

Well, if they were related by blood, they are no longer so, because of the amount of centuries that must have passed (no one can convince me that Iracebeth and Mirana didn't live longer than a normal human being), in any case, they are now extremely distant relatives.

Salazen Grum seems to be the place that the Queen of Hearts would take to renovate and transform into her own castle, although I disagree with that, because it seems that the Castle of Hearts is located in Marmoreal, due to the trees and the abundant nature around.

House of the March Hare

"Located in the Tulgey Wood, the House of the March Hare is a windmill in ruins. This place was once surrounded by lush trees and beautiful flowers, but is now a gloomy wasteland. This is where Tarrant Hightopp, Thackery Earwicket, Mallymkun, and Chessur enjoy each others company by drinking tea and eating cakes. Alice Kingsleigh visited this place when she first came to Underland when she was a child, and again when she was a young adult."

In my defense, I know that the March Hare House is mentioned or referenced in the book "Descendants: Beyond the Isle of the Lost", and it's probably more renovated, but it is worth mentioning anyway.

Gummer Slough/The Chess Board

"On the Frabjous Day, this large chess board served as the battle ground for the final clash between the armies of the White and Red Queens'. It was also here where Alice Kingsleigh slayed the Jabberwocky."

THIS PLACE DEFINITELY EXISTS IN WONDERLAND DESCENDANTS, NOBODY CAN CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE!!

No one can convince me that the War of the Roses were not fought right here. Any beginnings of conflict must be fought in this place, it's a cultural rule of Wonderland and no one can convince me otherwise.

Third, we have the Witzend Region, this region was introduced in the second film.

Witzend Town

"This town was ruled by Iracebeth and Mirana's parents, King Oleron and Queen Elsemere. The region was populated mostly by humans, though some talking animals lived here as well. It was the original home of the Mad hatter himself, Tarrant Hightopp, his family, and their hat shop. The entire town and surrounding forest was burned to the ground by the Jabberwocky during the Horunvendush Day (the day the Red Queen took control of Underland), and is currently abandoned."

Well, for the most part, this city is populated by humans, so many core characters can unfold here. It could be around here that the Castle of Hearts could be located, since many humans are seen in the "Red" music video.

Witzend Castle

"This castle was located in the Witzend Town and the home of King Oleron and Queen Elsemere and the childhood home of the princesses Iracebeth and Mirana."

As I said, this could be where the Castle of Hearts is located, it is similar, but I can't say, the times are different perhaps, but the same place.

♡ ♡ ♡

There are many questions, the geography of Descendants Wonderland is not very explicit, there are some places mentioned in the book, such as:

Rabbit Hole.

The Queen of Heart's Castle and royal plaza.

Maddox Hatter's room and workshop.

Tulgey Wood.

March Hare's Residence.

White Rabbit's House.

Wonderland High.

Bramble Bay.

Looking Glass Mountain.

Vorpal Mountain.

Most of them reference both the 1951 and 2015 films, so we can assume a lot. The real question is how all the kingdoms were united into one, and where the other rulers are, or rather, what happened to them, since they probably either fled or were killed by the ruler of the Kingdom of Hearts.

And also how we can understand this better. If anyone is willing to talk about this for hours, or make a world map of what Wonderland looks like today, with Bridget as the current Queen, I'm available!

Was it long? It was, but I wanted to write something like this because I was really intrigued by what Wonderland looks like from above, and the geography and locales of this peculiar place, since we spend more time in Auradon than anywhere else in all the Descendants movies.

Heart-shaped kisses for those of you who read until the end, thanks my dears ~ 💋

[chopinski-official]

Chopin's Funeral

By Benita Eisler

Funeral at La Madeleine, 1868

On a sparkling Paris morning, Tuesday, October 30, 1849, crowds poured into the square in front of the Church of the Madeleine. The occasion was the funeral of Frédéric Chopin, and for it, the entire facade of the great neoclassical temple had been draped in swags of black velvet centred with a cartouche bearing the silver-embroidered initials FC. 

Admission was by invitation only: Between three thousand and four thousand had received the black-bordered cards. Observing the square with its crush of carriages, the liveried grooms and sleek horses, the throngs converging on the porch, Hector Berlioz reported that "the whole of artistic and aristocratic Paris was there." But another who surveyed the crowd, the music critic for the Times of London, suspected that of the four thousand who filled the pews, a large number had been admitted just before noon, strangers to the dead man, mere bystanders even, "many of whom, perhaps, had never heard of him." 

Facades of La Madeleine, 1840-70

If death is a mirror of life, Chopin's funeral reflected all the disjunctions of his brief existence. The most private of artists, his genius was mourned in a public event worthy of a head of state. Canonized as "angelic," a Shelleyan "poet of the keyboard," Chopin seemed to personify romanticism, and before he was buried, its myths had already embalmed him: a short and tragic life; an heroic role as Polish patriot and exile; doomed lover of the century's most notorious woman; and finally, his death from consumption, that killer of youth, beauty, genius, and of courtesans foolish enough to fall in love. 

Chopin's Last Chords by Józef Męcina-Krzesz

In reality, he was the least romantic of artists. While the generation that had come of age just before his own in France, including the Olympian Victor Hugo, had defined romanticism as a holy war of the "moderns" (themselves) against the "ancients" (their literary elders), setting off riots in theaters to make their point, Chopin clung to the past. His musical touchstones were Haydn, Mozart-but especially Bach. He harbored doubts about Beethoven's lapses of taste, was incurious about the music of Schubert, and generally contemptuous of his other contemporaries: Schumann, Berlioz, and Liszt, towards whom his feelings were further tangled by rivalrous friendship. In art, he preferred the marmoreal neoclassicism of Ingres and his followers to the radical inventions in color and form of his friend Delacroix. Socially and politically, he was still more conservative. 

The same aristocratic circles that had embraced Chopin the child prodigy in Warsaw were waiting to welcome the twenty-one-year-old sensation of Paris. Chopin arrived in France in 1831. One year before, revolution had replaced the Bourbon Restoration with the Orleanists swept in by Louis Philippe and his July monarchy. It was still a world of fixed hierarchies: of titles, birth, and breeding, buoyed by a flood tide of fresh money coined by the financiers and industrialists whose entertainments outshone the Sun King in splendor, if not in style. Chopin made some friends among the professional middle class-a less grand banker or diplomat, a few fellow musicians. He had a horror of "the People" as a force of upheaval or even change (which he dreaded in any form), and he was suspicious of those who championed their cause. He was appalled by that quintessentially romantic belief, whose most ardent proponent was George Sand, that art must serve the cause of social justice-or, indeed, any other cause except itself. 

Like many who have thrived as "exceptions," propelled by talent from modest origins to a place among the privileged, Chopin was repelled by marginality: by poor Poles, by Jews, by the ill-dressed and ill-mannered, by coarseness or slovenliness, in art or life. 

Chopin’s hand and death mask

Most likenesses of the composer suggest that he was far from handsome. He had pale, colorless hair, a thin, hooked nose, a pursey mouth, and rabbity, lashless eyes. In these images, Chopin bears only a glancing resemblance to his famous portrait by Delacroix-the portrait of romantic genius itself, with his tousled chestnut mane and burning inward gaze. Chopin's famous dandyism, then, must be understood as another labor of creation, like his music an imperious quest for perfection. The dandy enlists distinction-in dress, speech, manners-along with distance, to create a masterpiece: himself. 

What appeared to many-then and now-as the snobbery of a provincial, self-invented aristocrat and aesthete, had deeper sources. Chopin needed the reassurance that a fixed social order provides. Dependent and childlike in many ways, he clung to the security of protective institutions-the monarchy, the Church, and the family-which defined themselves proudly as patriarchal, stern but loving fathers keeping watch over children, dedicated to exalting an ideal past and to keeping present chaos at bay. 

Two years and only two public concerts after his arrival in Paris, Chopin ranked among those few artists who moved in every circle that counted. Ignoring protocol, older, established musicians called upon him. He was a fixture at the grandest houses, where, arriving in his own carriage, he was welcomed as a lionized guest who never failed to charm and amuse; if he could be prevailed upon to perform, he hypnotized every listener. The musically knowledgeable drew close to the piano to study the wizardry of his technique and his famous inventions in fingering, third finger crossing the fourth, that made his impossibly difficult compositions appear effortless. Fellow exiles heard laments for a homeland in the languorous rubato of the mazurkas, with their heart-catching drop from major to minor keys, but the mood of elegy was as often shattered by discordant salvos of unleashed rage. Even those guests whose attendance was simply an occasion to wear the new diamonds, to remark casually at the bourse that the reception last evening at Baron James's had been more than usually delightful, stayed well past midnight, straining to hear the final note, when the pianist, pale and exhausted, rose wearily to take his bow. It was uncanny how Chopin's music spoke so intimately to their most private, long-buried thoughts and memories, evoking childhood happiness and lost love; innocent, nobler selves trampled by the harsh rules of life. 

Seventeen years later, he died, destitute, in an apartment paid for by friends at the most fashionable address in the most expensive quarter of Paris.

A drawing by T. Kwiatkowski of Frederic Chopin on his deathbed, 1849

Now, at the funeral, emissaries from the world of music were outnumbered by mourners from the ranks of the rich and titled. The Polish émigré aristocracy and its French counterpart among the old noblesse were in turn outshone by new money: bankers and speculators whose wives and daughters had also been among Chopin's pupils. Certain of the fashionable, one reporter noted, appeared indecorously attired in brilliant colors, glittering with jewels. 

While the crowd filed through the portal, the closed casket was carried from the sanctuary and placed under an elaborate catafalque ("utterly pretentious," in the view of Paris's leading music critic) at the transept. Chopin's embalmed body had lain in the crypt for almost two weeks since his death on October 17, aged thirty-nine. His dying had been long and terrible, the disease that killed him still not diagnosed with certainty: tuberculosis of the larynx, cystic fibrosis, mitral stenosis, or a rare viral infection? 

Interior of La Madeleine, 1845.

With a dandy's discipline, in his final agony of slow suffocation, Chopin had planned the musical program whose principal offering was to be a performance of Mozart's Requiem. Unknown to the dying man, women were not permitted to sing in the city's parish churches; it had taken days of pleading on the part of Chopin's most powerful friends before a special dispensation was issued by the Archbishop of Paris. The decree allowed female participation provided it remained invisible; thus the women singers, including Chopin's friend Pauline Viardot among the featured soloists, were hidden from view behind a black velvet curtain. 

As the mourners took their places, the organist played the funeral march from Chopin's own Sonata in B-flat Minor. Then, the choir of the Paris Conservatory sounded the opening notes of the Requiem's Introitus, followed by the first solo — "Te decet hymnus, Deus," Viardot sang, her glorious mezzo-soprano soaring above the chorus and orchestra. Then, voices and instruments were stilled while the priest chanted the High Mass for the Dead.

Modern day interior of La Madeleine

The pallbearers emerged from their pews. Two princes, Adam and Alexandre Czartoryski, represented the community of Polish exiles. The painter Eugène Delacroix mourned the friend he had both loved and revered, calling him "the truest artist among us." From the world of music, the composer Giacomo Meyerbeer, decorations glinting against his dark mourning attire, appeared the personification of success. He had been the merest acquaintance, but Chopin, passionate for opera, had been a fan, like millions of others who had made Meyerbeer a rich man. In contrast, cellist and composer Auguste Franchomme was known to few. But the modest, scholarly professor at the Conservatory had been the inspiration for the only music Chopin would ever write for an instrument other than the piano. Franchomme was followed by a collaborator of another kind, Camille Pleyel, manufacturer of the pianos that Chopin, more than any other composer who ever lived, had made the instrument of genius. 

Shouldering the massive coffin, the six men moved up the nave to the sounds of the organ playing Chopin's Preludes in E Minor and B Minor. Many of those now leaving had heard the composer play these pieces-his favorites-in their own houses, in the salons of friends, or in Pleyel's concert rooms. The familiar notes on the somber instrument spoke of the voice they would never hear again, and they wept. 

Sick Chopin at Piano. Illustration on postcard by A. Serkowicz

Outside the church, the mourners gathered around the corbillard, the wagon hearse particular to Paris. Drawn by black plumed horses, it aroused shivers of dread, but also of excitement: Parisians loved a funeral. By this time, most of the mourners had dispersed; Chopin had forbidden any graveside ceremony. With the exception of the pallbearers, freed now of their burden, those who remained were women. They surrounded the small figure of the composer's older sister, Ludwika, summoned from Warsaw by the dying man at the end of June. "Please come, if you can," he had begged, even if she had to borrow the money, of which, he, alas, had none to advance. "Apply for a passport immediately," he urged, and lest he should sound like his familiar hypochrondriacal self, he invoked the advice of others close to him and concerned for his health who had agreed that no medicine would help him as much as the sight of his sister. At the same time, he tried to deny the urgency of his condition. "I don't know myself why I yearn to see Ludwika," he wrote, with a wan coyness, to the rest of the family. "It's like those whims of pregnant women." 

Ludwika Chopin

Chopin might have spent the last twenty years in the most emancipated company of Paris, but it was still natural to him to ask permission of his brother-in-law for Ludwika to make the journey: "A wife must obey her husband," he wrote. "Thus, I am asking you as the husband to accompany your spouse." With the intervention of the czar's ambassador to France, whose wife was Polish, the endless passport process was hastened and Ludwika, accompanied by her husband, Józef Kalasanty Jedrzejewciz, and fifteen-year-old daughter, arrived in Paris in August. But the grumpy Kalasanty returned to Poland in September; it was only Chopin's sister and his little niece Louisette who remained with him to the end. 

Another young mourner, Adolf Gutmann, thirty years old, was one of Chopin's few pupils training to be a professional musician. Others, including pianists said to be just as talented, could not have performed by virtue of birth; they were women and aristocrats of title or wealth; indeed, the most gifted of all Chopin's students was a princess, Marcelina Czartoryska, who had walked to the cemetery accompanied by Countess Delfina Potocka. Sumptuously beautiful of face and body, her golden hair as bewitching as her soprano voice, Delfina, long separated from her husband, was so prodigal with her sexual favors that she had been crowned "the Great Sinner"-no small distinction in the Paris of the July Monarchy. Chopin was rumored to have been one of her many lovers. She had rushed to Paris from her villa in Nice at the news that he was dying. With only hours to live, he had begged Delfina to play and sing for him. A piano was moved to the open door of his bedroom. But the sounds of the voice so dear to him or the music she played or sang caused spasms of choking and he motioned for her to stop. 

Death of Chopin by Félix-Joseph Barrias. Showing Potocka singing to Chopin.

Sending their carriages ahead, the Polish noblewomen walked the distance, east along the grand boulevards, skirting the slums of Paris to Père Lachaise Cemetery. Others, arriving earlier in hired cabs, stood waiting by the open grave: a brawny red-haired sculptor, Auguste Clésinger, and his young wife, Solange, daughter of George Sand. Clésinger had been summoned to the dying man's bedside to mold the death mask, but the resulting likeness-bald head, drooping eyes, mouth contorted by agonized efforts to breathe-was rejected by the horrified Ludwika. Working swiftly, the sculptor had applied another layer of wet plaster, which, after removal, he reworked, smoothing away all evidence of struggle and pain until the dead man's features were composed into an expression of Christian peace. Clésinger's reward was the commission for a funerary monument, and he now surveyed the site where his marble tribute, featuring a Muse holding a lyre, would rise above a small oval profile of the composer. 

Chopin’s Grave, All Souls’ Day.

Towering over the Clésingers, Ludwika, the priest, the Polish nobles, and the pallbearers was the angular figure of Miss Jane Stirling, a Scottish heiress, Chopin's pupil and patroness, who had supported the composer in the last year of his life. It was Stirling who had paid the bill for the funeral-five thousand pounds-of which two thousand were spent on the orchestra and chorus alone. 

In the silence ordained by the dead man, his coffin was lowered. The mourners pressed closer together for a last look. But they also seemed to close ranks, filling an empty place among them.

[onenicebugperday]

@thenorthsideofthetrees submitted: Hey there, I was wondering if you might be able to identify this little guy? They're really common in my area it seems, and as such I got curious as to what they might be? Location is [removed] (please remove location)

Ive been following the blog for a while and its been such a cool way to learn about new critters!! thank you for all the work you do!

I had to relocate this lil fella sadly bc he was crawling just by my bed, and I didn't want him falling in there,

Thank you for everything! hope things are well for you =]

Hello! All is well, thank you :) This lil fellow is a brown marmorated stink bug. They are non-native but very well established now. They come into houses when it's chilly outside but aren't harmful.

[rederiswrites]

So it's basic knowledge in beekeeping that as little as fifty years ago you could basically set up your hives, check them maybe twice and add supers for the hive to expand, and then harvest in the fall, rinse and repeat. And now it's a pretty highly skilled occupation, with checks at least every month, more during critical times, multiple different pest treatments, careful management of hive layout, and sometimes you lose an entire hive anyway. And by sometimes I mean, statistically, as much as half the time. Because of introduced diseases and pests, pesticides, habitat reduction, varroa mites but really varroa mites plus all the different strains.

And lately I've been thinking about that as applied to gardening. It's not an exact metaphor, because of course the honey bees themselves are an introduced species in my country. But the basic problem is the same--instead of just having one place's problems, now we have a grand panoply of all the problems the world has come up with to date.

I hope it goes without saying that the last 100 years have seen incredible improvements in agriculture in some ways. Modern fertilizers have been seen by the world as a miracle, and despite their drawbacks they are very valuable tools. Likewise farm automation and machinery has relieved hundreds of thousands of people of backbreaking drudgery and genuinely dangerous jobs. I think most here already realize that all that has come at a cost (insert XKCD geochemists comic here maybe), but that's really not what I'm talking about.

I'm just talking about plain ol gardening. Hand dug and hand planted, and yeah you can afford more tools than your ancestors ever did, and that bag of specially formulated rose fertilizer, and maybe a rototiller. And I do love my silly tool collection.

But I spend so so much of my gardening time pulling invasive weeds--indeed, nearly all my weeds are non-native--and so much of my time trying to compensate for the climate-change driven change of weather patterns. For heat extremes I would never have had to deal with here 75 years ago. I'd be far less likely a hundred years ago to find myself trying to plant foundation plantings in raw fucking subsoil used as fill dirt when the house was built. And the insects! Japanese beetle, emerald ash borer, spotted lanternfly, brown marmorated stink bug, dear sweet fuck. Not to mention the tree diseases! And I just think...what if I only had the problems that started here? Wouldn't that be something?

[minuseyes]

Please stop spreading misinformation on your blog!!!!1!!!!!!!one!! None of the arthropods on your recent “bug” post are, in fact, bugs - save for the brown marmorated stink bug! Only the order Hemiptera, or “true bugs,” consisting of things like bedbugs, kissing bugs, aphids, stink bugs, and wheel bugs; fall under that label. Note the piercing-sucking mouthparts and leathery, angled wings (hemelytra) which are characteristic of the order. Also spiders aren’t even insects - they’re arachnids.

please go fuck yourself. block me.

[reinekes-fox]

Winternight

Because writing isnt going well atm, I am posting one short snippet from patreon a few days earlier than planned! (My plan for all patreon content is that it will be made public one month afterwards, the short snippets like these will also be written in the game at points where they fit!)

What winter in the Divine Flock looks like!

The snow dusts the temple, covering the roofs and the people of Kronschwinge hurry from their homes to the well known familiarity of the giant temple. Brushing the falling snow from their coats.

They are silent, slowly walking up the stairs and a few kids look up at the tall columns that hold the eaves and give the whole front the reminiscence of an ancient temple. Clashing with the spiralling towers resembling old gothic churches. A well known clash of historical eras in the whole city of Kronschwinge.

The Divine Flock isn't old, everyone knows that. Theirs is a new faith, young and strong. Barely two hundred years old has the modern history thrown every hardship at them humanity can come up with.

Showing that the Divine Flock can endure, that they can suffer for their Angel when the being is finally allowed to slumber.

Unser ist die Bürde nun,

sie zu schultern durch Schnee und Eis,

durch dunkle Nächte und kalte Tage,

bis die Flügel wieder gespreizt werden

um uns aufs Neue zu behüten.

Their voices are clear and their minds are at peace. Their Angel gave them a holy order while its feathers moult. The families stand in the cold marmoreal space, over them the glass dome that is covered in snow, bathing everything only in the glow of the indoor lamps. Make it feel like they are cut of from everything. Like they are the only ones in this world, like only their breath will become mist once they step outside on the plastered streets.

Dangerous thinking. Dangerous enough to feel safe. They are never safe. They must always be vigilant, alert of the many Vultures that threaten their holy way of life. Worse than Strays, Vultures are wolfs in sheep clothing.

And they won't be sleeping like their Angel, those wretched beings will work tireless to weaken the Divine Flock from within, they will poison the young minds of the future.

So the fathers hold their sons hands and the mothers the delicate hands of their daughters, to raise them to be steadfast in their faith at all times. Their calloused fingers hold their smooth ones, this so easily manipulated future, those little hands that will one day do the same for their kids.

The warm glow of the lamps and the power of their united song fills the cold hall, echoes thrown around by the high ceilings, caught underneath the stone arches. More things to make the Divine Flock seem older than it actually is. But to them it doesn't matter. The Divine Flock will reign Kronschwinge until the temple falls. Until the last Divine Bird has lost its wings and their song will grow silent.

Wir werden unter den Flügeln des Engels

auch im Tod weiter über euch wachen.

Bis die Welt und die Zeit zerbricht und Gottes Herz wieder schlägt.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Alice 'Allie' Parkington is WonderSpider!

____________________________________

Miguel: One year and four months ago, I devised the formula for inter-dimensional travel, allowing me to open portals across the multiverse. I created an elite stri-

Alice: Oh, Okay! -

[Alice is the result of a 'Adapt-A-Spider' Challenge, where you adapt a pre-existing character into a Spider! You can see more of my fun Spidersona challenges HERE]

(Also HUGE THANKS to @fairytalespider who made the OG SpiderSnow!)

Gwen Stacy isn't the only blonde who knows about miraculously falling through wormholes.

Except Allie got sent to the universe with talking animals, and a maniacal queen with of taste for beheadings. Not that she's complaining. Not when the tea parties are so delightful~

At 7 years old Alice Parkington found a white waist-coated rabbit, on a hurry to who knows where -

And she followed him, fell down a hole, and never came back.

Origins:

[Alice's world is a mix of the book's portrayal, the cartoon's, and Tim Burton's (though I haven't seen the movies). Her story begins at the end of book - a similar ending to the cartoon movie, but instead she doesn't wake up.]

After losing a game of croquet to The Red Queen of Hearts, Alice is sent to the dungeons, awaiting her beheading on the Queen's orders. That is, until she finds an enchanted Spider in her cell, sent by an ally. When she's bitten, it gives her all the power of Wonderland - and binds her there forever. After escaping The Red Queen's Death Row, Alice was adopted by the woman who helped free her - The kind but exiled The White Queen or Marmoreal, aka Her Aunt Mirana.

Now The Blue Princess of Marmoreal, Alice is next in line for the throne, and the web-swinging protector of Tugley Woods, Wonderland. She spends her days fighting against the tyrannical and murderous rule of The Red Queen of Hearts, and The Court of Cards. With The Mad Hatter as her martyred Uncle Ben - Alice calls Wonderland her home, though she's always left questioning what's real and what isn't. At this point, she's accepted she'll never know the answer. So when she's recruited for Spider Society, it's just another rabbit hole to go down, and another adventure to fall into. On campus she's known as WonderSpider, and she's a lot more powerful (and ruthless) than you'd think.

Design and Personality:

Alice is a lot less sugar and a bit more spice, with her personality taking after the book (moreso than the movies).

Alice is bubbly and independent. She's as curious as a cat and as chatty as a bird. And she's all about asking questions and finding her own way in the world.

She's loves tea parties and foraging and making crazy experiements in the Hatter's workshop. And now that he's gone, she still finds herself in there, cooking up another magical sweet or Victorian style gadget. When she's not doing that, she's at The White Queens side, begrudgingly taking (literally) nonsensical etiquette classes. She isn't afraid to speak up for herself and others. And once she makes her mind up, it's settled.

Despite what some may think, she's isn't an entire lunatic. She's hasn't gone Wonderland Mad yet.

Even since a young girl, Alice has always been known for asking questions - trying to find the sense in nonsense before coming to a conclusion. She's great at picking up on details, and thinking outside the box. And she's always the one to keep a level head, no matter what the circumstances. Doom is not assured when reality is subjective. She's as logical as she is loopy, and although some may think there's nothing going on between her ears, they are sorely mistaken.

She always wears her glasses. She needs them to see.

Or rather, she needs them to see correctly. Having a cause of The Mads, taking off her glasses distorts her vision of the room into a psychedelic and disorienting wonderland version itself - which hurts. She keeps them on always. Though they can be knocked off during battle. Like other Spider-people - The lenses squint, blink, and emote. They have a permanent and consistently moving patterns and colors. Between blinks, the design may change, the swirls changing color or direction. Sometimes the words she's saying may flash over them for emphasis, and they can contain anything from exclamation points to tie dye.

Alice is a de facto genius.

An expert chemist, Alice has mastered dozens of recipes and chemistry formulas using the vegetation in Wonderland. She's cracked the code to rabbit holes, and has an amazing affinity for science and theoretical theory. And if she doesn't understand a certain law of physics or something, she can just choose to ignore it. Literally.

Powers & Abilities:

Hobie told Alice that laws are oppressive. She agreed, told him she hates the laws of physics - then started floating to the ceiling like a balloon. Needless to say, reality doesn't really work for Alice. And she cannot control it.

But no matter what her misfortune, though - She'll always say 'Oh, dear.'

Reality Warp:

Wonderland has side effects. Alice can grow and shrink at will, but once she's there, she can't go back. When she wants, she can manifest rabbit holes to Wonderland on any flat surface, but she doesn't know where they are - so she always falls into them. Her tears are huge, and they flood any room. And for some reason, she's obsessed with cookies. It she sees one, she'll eat it. It doesn't matter if it says 'Eat Me' or not. If you hand her something and tell her to drink, she will. It's the one thing she won't question, although she should know better. She'll read the label, and if it's not clearly labeled bleach or poison, she's drinking it. If it's not those two things, it must be safe right?

The Power of Imagination:

Like Spider-Ham has the Super-Slapstick ability, Alice has the Power of Imagination on her side. If she can make logic of it or believe it, then there is a random chance it will happen. If the team is looking for a way past a locked door, Alice may say 'If only there were a mousehole somewhere here. Mice are such scampers, they can get into anywhere!' There will probably be a 1/4 chance of a mouse running by, leading them to a cartoon like mousehole she can shrink and go through. However, Alice can't will it to happen. She can't be asking or hoping for it, and the thought has to be completely innocent and 'wonderous' for it to work. The ability can also be compounded, with multiple unlikely things happening rapid fire - however this is less likely and HIGHLY dangerous if done in other universes, and is likely to cause an anomaly. Plus everyone else involved goes a tad bit 'loopy' for a bit.

This ability only works outside of Wonderland, and it was discovered by Miguel.

When Alice met Miguel, she began to question his interesting suit, and so she asked. Miguel began to explain to her, but confused, Alice said 'Well, that's nonsensical. Surely you can't wear light like fabric. If that were true, I could pull this right off you.' - And then she did. And suddenly she was holding his suit in her hands as if it were made of fabric, and Miguel was there in his underwear.

Alice's response: 'Oh dear.'

Chesire Mode:

When surrounded by enough chaos or kinetic energy, Alice can go Chesire Mode, and really goes off the bend. She experiences full Wonderland Madness - similar to the Hatter, and gains the ability to unravel herself and turn invisible. Her voice begins to echo, creating a disorienting and hallucination-like affect. Doing this is known to cause madness, but it affects everyone in the room.

Equipment:

WebShooters: Alice uses mechanical Web-Shooters created by her and The Mad Hatter. Her webs are silly string and streamers. 'Bow'-nus Arms: Alice's waist ribbon is extendable like Mr.Fantastic's limbs, serving essentially as a second set of arms. However, when it's off of her, it's much more similar to Doctor Strange's cape, having a mind and personality of it's own. She can take it off and ask it do it, and it'll go off and (try it's best) to do it, just like a snake. It's name is David Bowie. She does not know who David Bowie is - it's just a coincidence: it's family name is Bow-ie, and David is a common name.

Random Facts:

Alice hangs out with a lot of the 'Eccentric' and Mini Spiders - She likes others from cartoons or fairytales, or anyone made for whimsy.

And she likes spending her time small.

She has a crush on Lego Spider-Man. She shrinks to be with him lol

He naturally finds her a little offputting, they're NOT a thing but she wishes (sis he's literal plastic)

Alice's best friends are SpiderPetal, SpiderSnow (@fairytalespider), SpiderFairy (@stardust948) and Spider-Ham.

Since they all live in either a woodland area, a cartoon, or both, those are usually who she's with

Though she only goes small around people she trusts - but never someone like Miguel. In fact, with Miguel, she does the opposite.

When Miguel is in the room, Alice prefers to grow 'full size' as in... taking up the whole room giantess style.

She says it helps, because 'It makes Mr.O'hara look like a little toy soldier.'

With the size of his lair, she can often grow taller faster than he can get lower - so he'll stay up there, and she'll grow to meet his eye.

She can decide when to stop growing or shrinking, just not when she'll turn back.

This power is transferable. Alice's wonderland powers still work elsewhere, and so her cookies and drinks do too.

Alice can only keep 1 cookie and 1 drink on her at one time, never more, it'll always be ruined.

She can use these to either extend her state, or have someone shrink or grow along with her.

But once she uses the one of each item, she can't get more until she returns home and makes more.

HOWEVER. HOWEVER - Alice is down for deals.

If you come to her world and ask for some cookies or potions, she'll give it to you. But there's a mandatory tea party involved, and the only payment she asks is that you bring sweets for the guests - Vegan please!!

(Her favorite is angel food cake, after cookies of course)

Those aren't the only ones - she has dozens of sophisticated concoctions for any need - floating and weightlessness, invisibility, even the ability to mimic voices perfectly -

And just the same, she's able to carry one of each when outside of Wonderland.

A frequent customer of hers is Hobie. He puts the potions to work - plus he makes the best vegan coconut macaroons.

Oh - also DO NOT Drink her tea though - it's made with Wonderland Tea Leaves....Great for a good time, horrible for bedtime.

Despite not knowing her specific age - Alice is a young adult - and she works at The Society.

Her Uncle Hatter was a master chemist, alchemist, magician, chef - and dozens of other things. And for years, Alice studied under him.

Originally, Miguel assumed all of this knowledge would be non-transferable nonsense, but - wrong.

Alice is one of the leading scientists at The Society - with a concentration in Multiversal Physics, studying everything from the visual styles of universes, the path between universes, and differences in time.

She'll often say something, only to get dismissed by Miguel.

But Lyla will cut him off, telling him that scientifically, Alice IS making sense.

It's just that because her world is totally backwards, the ideas she has to describe her thoughts are backwards too.

After a while, she becomes one of the main people to write the updates and programs for the watches, working with Miguel as her boss.

She's like a bop-it, full of weird and very useless quirks.

If her feet get wet, they make the duck waddle sound when she walks.

If she hits her head, it makes the TikTok 'Boink' sound. She runs and it makes the Flintstones noise.

If she stubs her toe or gets hurt on something tiny, she'll scream like Tom The Cat.

She burps bubbles (like the soap kind) and her sneezes sound like one of those party straw thingies.

Sometimes her Wonderland powers play tricks on her. She'll be like 'I'm outta here!!' then walk into a looney toons wall. And she's so embarrassed cause the cartoon noises make it so much worse fhgsuigdf

Sometimes when she tries to run she stays in one place for a second before the running kicks in (like a cartoon) - and Miguel just grabs her and she's like 'Dratz, I was trying to get away.'

She enjoys hanging out with Hobie, though she does not understand him at all.

Like, she's British too - did I mention she's British, cause she's from Victorian England -

But she has no opinion on his ideology because it's ???? lost on her

He's like 'This is a metaphor for capitalism' and she'd be like 'I don't know what that is.'

He's like 'count your blessings'.

But Hobie LOVES that Alice doesn't stick to the rules -

and that she gives the middle finger to the laws of physics by just existing

He's like 'That's so cool, what you just did. Real Metal.'

She's like 'I suppose I am just a container, filled with slowly decaying food - so in that way, I am quite like a fridge, which is cool and made of metal-'

And he's like 'what are you talking about-'

And they mainly hangout because they're both lazy.

Alice is tirrreeed of all these weird physics rules and new technology and non talking cutlery.

She'd much prefer to take a nap, or wander off, of have a tea party, or do ANYTHING that isn't work. Same girl same

And that's it! Most of it, I'll probably maybe maybe not write a post about her joining the society and how it completely warps her perception of reality because she's been trying to get home for so long, she doesn't even know if her home exists then there's this new society through ANOTHER wormhole but she still can't get home-

Oh and before I go, her intro art is inspired by Qveen Herby's single Abracadabra!

Yeah. If you made it this far THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME UR TIME! Thank you so so much for entertaining me I MEAN IT THANK YOU I KNOWI POST SO MANY OCS AND IT'S KINDA OVERWHELMING SORRY AAHHH MY BRAIN CANT STOP I CANT FOCUS HELP

Anyway I'm normal

HERE HOBIE

Bye.