#poisonous potatoes for the win | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paperclipped-mongoose · 1 year ago

Text

Convincing Enough For You?

Pairing: Angus Macgyver x F! Reader

Summary: An important mission came up, and during the briefing it became clear that Mac didn't think you were the right fit for the flirtatious role.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Use of Y/N (not excessive), First Person, Fight Flirting, Arguing, A malfunctioning MacGyver, A villain who likes to take advantage of women, Couple Arguments. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hey Guys! This my first MacGyver Fanfiction, I love writing the series and characters so let me know if you guys like it! Comments and messages mean the world to me! If you've got any ideas for future fic's my idea box is open! ENJOY!

“I’m not sure if this is the best idea, Matty. You know how they feel about each other.” Riley trailed after her boss as they made their way down the hall to the war room. She had been let in on the game plan for the next mission early because Matty needed her input.

“They’re adults. They can put their feelings, undefined they are, away in order to do their job professionally.” Matty could hope. Ever since you joined the Phoenix Foundation there had been a certain animosity between you and a certain human encyclopedia. You were never sure if it was flirting or trying to get on each other’s nerves.

Matty could hear the sounds of shouting from the war room down the hall. “Oh, get your head out of the clouds! You know all too well that if it wasn’t for Bozer and Jack you would have blown yourself up, gotten shot, or made some kinda poisonous gas to kill yourself. You think you’re way more aware than you are. But newsflash: you’re not!” You paused to take a breath, you had made sure to choose your words carefully, they were nothing if not the truth. Mac could make a plane out of a recycling bin and some potatoes, but he routinely got his ass saved by Jack in the field, and Bozer in his own home.

Mac stood in front of the coffee table, his arms crossed tight across his chest. “At least I actually do things to save our asses on missions. Or were you the one who made infrared glasses so we could see the cameras when Riley couldn’t access the system?”

Something about Mac’s defensiveness made you want to egg him on continually. Maybe it was because you liked to hear him talk, even when it wasn’t in a positive way. There were days where the two of you were civil and even friendly, but those days were boring. No conversations would be had, and the day inevitably turned into awkward silence and stares.

Neither you nor Mac liked it that way.

So you picked on each other. It was clear there were never any ill intentions, but sometimes it rode the line and, you were sure, made your coworkers wonder if you and Mac were actually mad. To be fair, it was a question that rarely had a simple answer. But that was just the way the two of you were. Complicated. And you wouldn’t have taken it any other way.

“Can we go one meeting without you two saying something distasteful to each other? One meeting. That’s all I’m asking.” Matty pulled up her screen on the wall before shooting a pointed look at those who stood around the room. Jack observed the screens as they came up, and Riley sat on one of the chairs doing her best to ignore you and Mac, knowing how this would go, and something told her Matty wouldn’t get her wish for peace.

“This is Bryan Snyder.” A rather unpleasant-looking man was pulled up on the full screen along with his Phoenix records. “Hacker extraordinaire with a rap sheet a mile long of gambling offenses.” Matty flashed a couple photos across the screen of Bryan surrounded by presumable winnings and women.

Riley finally took a cue from Matty and spoke up. "He's had incidents filed with multiple casinos, all stemming from his pension for picking up women who've just fought with their partners, while the partner is around."

Jack scoffed as he found his way to the empty seat next to Riley. “Sounds like he's made a game out of picking up girls on the rebound."

Jack’s comment earned a grin from Riley, who added: "At least he looks like he tips well."

Your leg bounced involuntarily as you fiddled with the few paperclips in your hand—not bending them, just linking them together one after the other to make a chain. It drove Mac mad, and you knew it. He was one who did things with purpose, so idly fiddling with some paperclips without reshaping or bending them clawed at him internally. “So what is our position in this?” you finally spoke up. “I didn’t know the Phoenix Foundation did personal vendetta work for ex-girlfriends.”

Matty shook her head watching Mac who silently but unsubtly stared you down as you wrapped the paperclip chain around your wrist to make a bracelet. “Not a vendetta. A prevention service for the Parisian government. Snyder holds a virus on his laptop that, if released onto the broadband servers of France, would cause nationwide blackouts and hold millions of people’s information hostage.”

Jack’s face soured at the thought. “Oooh, okay, yeah, so not an angry ex-girlfriend. Got it.”

“We’ve had Riley coding a USB drive that, once plugged in, can give her access to the computer’s system. That way she can corrupt the virus so that when he tries to open it, none of the code will be salvageable. The only thing our team needs to worry about is getting that drive plugged into Snyder’s computer for 8 minutes without him noticing.”

Another scoff came from Jack. “No offense, Matty, but this guy seems like the kinda nerd to be obsessed with his computer. He’s probably one of those weirdos who treats it like his baby or something.” He immediately turned to Riley who had her computer in her lap. He pressed his lips together and stood up, walking towards the other wall to get as far away from Riley as possible. “I’m just gonna shut up now.”

“Yeah, smart choice.”

“The plan, if you guys will ever let me get to it, is this: Is to send in (Y/N) with a partner to pose as our unhappy couple, Bryan has a stay booked with a casino in Monaco this weekend. It’s his last stop on the way into France. A messy breakup in the middle of the casino should be enough to pique Snyder’s interest, and from there all (Y/N) has to do is get him to take her to his hotel room so she can connect the USB to his laptop, which shouldn’t be so hard given his M.O. After 8 minutes, once Riley’s USB has done its job, (Y/N) will take it out and destroy it so it’s not traceable.” Matty pressed her lips together firmly when she noticed Mac shifting his stance and uncrossing his arms, which normally meant that he had something to say. “Can I help you Blondie?”

Mac took the opportunity and stepped forward. “Why don’t we just send in Riley? If the USB doesn’t work, she’ll be able to disable the virus manually. Plus,” a strong look of disdain settled on his face, “I don’t think (Y/N) can flirt convincingly enough to get him to take her back to his room. It’s dangerous to put the weight of a mission on it without a backup.”

That got you mad. You stood and eyed Mac in his stupid power stance. His hands on his hips while he stared at the screen as if he was avoiding eye contact with you. You wondered where all of his confidence had suddenly gone.

“Oh? You don’t think I can handle it?” You took a confident couple steps towards Mac. A well-placed hand on his forearm brought his big blue eyes back to you, somewhat confused as to what you were doing but it didn’t seem as if he was going to stop you.

You took his silence as permission to continue and slid your hand down his arm, bringing your free hand up to play with the suede lapel of his jacket near his chest. You lifted your eyes to meet his for a single, shy moment and couldn’t help the way your cheeks flushed. Who thought it was a good idea to give a man with such a perfect face those baby blues? Fuck.

Mac was malfunctioning, his jaw slack as he tried to focus on anything other than how close you were to him. Or the fact he could feel your breath on his neck, or the way your hands held him. Tantalizing and unobtainable. He was sure if either of you did anything in the oncoming moments he’d find himself too deep to back out.

You slid the fingers fiddling with his jacket past his chest to his abdomen, felt the shiver run up his spine even though he tried his best to hide it. Your fingers reached his beltline with more confidence than you felt, and…there was a undeniable tension. One that left you wondering if perhaps you should excuse yourself and drag Mac into some unoccupied office down the hall.

A quick smack below the belt and Mac was half-keeled over, gasping for air as you stepped aside with a prideful smirk. “That convincing enough for you?”

The rest of the team broke into laughter, the sexual and uncalled for tension that was in the room had gone.

“The Macbook needed to reboot there for a moment huh,” Jack said patting your shoulder. “You’ll do just fine, and your mission partner will be there as your backup, you can trust them

Matty just pulled on that subtle smirk she wore when she knew something was bound to be entertaining. “Well, glad you’re working on your chemistry, because Mac is your mission partner. Try not to cause a scene before the target gets there, though. Wheels up in 2 hours.”

Mac had finally been able to gather himself and recover from the unexpected tap. “Let’s just hope you’re ready for 2 to be playing that game.”

A/N: Thank You guys for reading! I am thinking about making another part about the actual mission or what the aftermath would look like for your and Mac's relationship.

A/N: Remember I'm always open to talk to people (18+) about MacGyver! I love the fandom and want to interact as much as possible. If your interested don't be afraid to shoot me a message!

#macgyver 2016 #macgyver #angus macgyver #fearless macgyvers version #lucas till #jack dalton #macgyver fanfiction #macgyver x reader #angus macgyver x reader #macgyver reboot #Fanfiction #I love this man #he is kenough #getting hit in the nuts hurts #Macgyver fanfictions

162 notes · View notes

sexiestpodcastcharacter · 3 months ago

Text

2024 Preliminaries — The Adventure Zone — Round 2

Propaganda

Barclay:

he is literally bigfoot

Indrid Cold:

he is literally mothman. in his human!sona he wears a wifebeater and red tinted glasses. he lives in a shitty trailer and drinks exclusively eggnog. he can see the future. he is literally mothman (it bears repeating).

Kravitz:

He’s the grim reaper AND he’s gay AND he’s a nerd

he's the grim reaper, he puts on a fake cockney accent while he's on the job because he's a fucking nerd, he tried to convince Merle he was his god and almost managed it, his first date with his future husband was a wine and pottery night at the "chug and squeeze" and he thought it was a business meeting

Lup:

she is a lich she is an umbrella she is a pyromaniac. she is trans and she becomes a servant to the Raven Queen. she sees her brother for the first time in a decade and she makes fun of him for dating the grim reaper. she plays the violin and she adores her family and she loves her husband

Amber Gris:

she has extra ghost arms and punches teleporting sharks i love her

She could win tumblr sexy woman if more people knew her I stg she’s crazy she’s a lesbian she fights blinksharks with her bare hands she’s perfect

Fitzroy Maplecourt:

Introduced as quote “very sexy, very sexual” and later was confirmed as asexual so just like peak character I love him

he is a knight, he is the face of a fashion magazine modeling cloaks, he grows like a foot(??) in a magical accident, one time he accidentally turns himself into a plant in the middle of a fight. he decides to overthrow a corrupt government in his first semester of university and he fucking does it.

Montrose Pretty:

he wears a mask constantly obscuring his features and wears full-piece suits. in his free time he likes to talk to mechanical animatronics and pretend they're his family. he is a thief and a great liar. he repeatedly managed to convince multiple people that he's their long lost father to get out of trouble. he absolutely could be a deadbeat dad but isn't!

Shlabethany:

She’s an absolute shitbird. She doesn’t like potatoe chips and she hates movies. She’s a taurus, but not one of those types of tauruses. She once caught a wile fox and fed it poison! She terrible but shes also the best

Dracula:

IMAGINE DRACULA BUT IF HE WAS ALSO A CRINGE FAIL PATHETIC LITTLE MEOW MEOW WHO STARTS EVERY EPISODE WITH A DIARY ENTRY

Lady Elizabeth Godwin:

She’s an old Victorian lady who Dracula hit with a car so hard her body exploded and she got frankensteined to have the body of a body builder but her old Victorian lady head and she’s on a mission to kill Dracula

42 notes · View notes

ficxworm · 3 days ago

Text

Thanks and Giving

Pairing: Wilson x House

Tags: Thanksgiving w/ Hilson, Domestic fluff

The aroma of roasted turkey filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. House slouched on the couch, eyes glued to a football game he didn’t care about, a beer in one hand and the remote in the other. He was already three comments deep into mocking the players’ poor strategies when Wilson emerged from the kitchen.

“House, if you don’t help me with this stuffing, I swear you’re eating frozen pizza for dinner.”

House tilted his head, pretending to weigh his options. “Frozen pizza’s not terrible. Less effort, more cheese. A win-win.”

Wilson set down the tray he was carrying with a heavy sigh. “For once, can you just pretend to care about tradition?”

House smirked. “I am. I’m traditionally annoying.”

Wilson shot him a look but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. Thanksgiving had always been a mixed bag for both of them. Wilson, ever the sentimentalist, tried to uphold the rituals. House, true to form, found ways to undermine them. Yet somehow, they always ended up here—together.

Reluctantly, House pushed himself off the couch, favoring his leg as he limped into the kitchen. “Fine. But if I burn this stuffing, it’s on you.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to burn it. Just stir it while I handle the gravy.”

House picked up the spoon and gave a half-hearted swirl. “You know,” he started, “Thanksgiving’s a weird holiday. We gorge ourselves, argue about football, and pretend we’re thankful for things we’re going to complain about tomorrow.”

Wilson didn’t look up from his task. “And yet, here you are. Complaining and stirring at the same time. Truly, a multi-talented man.”

House chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Can’t let you have all the fun.”

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, the sounds of bubbling pots and the occasional clink of utensils filling the space. House, despite his protests, found a strange comfort in the domesticity of it all. He glanced at Wilson, noticing the way he meticulously whisked the gravy, brow furrowed in concentration. It was…endearing.

“Hey,” House said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “Why do you do this every year? The whole cooking-for-two thing. You could just go to a fancy restaurant or something.”

Wilson paused, spoon in hand, and looked over. “Because it’s not about the food, House. It’s about being with people who matter.”

House arched a brow. “So, no one else answered your invites, huh?”

Wilson shook his head, laughing softly. “No, idiot. I choose to spend it with you.”

For once, House didn’t have a snarky comeback. He just nodded, stirring the stuffing a little more thoughtfully.

When everything was finally ready, they sat at the small kitchen table, plates piled high with turkey, mashed potatoes, and all the fixings. House eyed the spread with mock suspicion. “What are the odds you poisoned something?”

“Very low,” Wilson replied, taking a bite of his own food. “I’d miss your charming commentary too much.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the tension of the day easing with each bite. Eventually, Wilson raised his glass. “To surviving another year. And to…whatever comes next.”

House clinked his bottle against Wilson’s glass. “To tolerating each other. And maybe even liking it a little.”

Wilson smiled, and for once, House let himself enjoy the moment.

Thanksgiving wasn’t about tradition, or even the food. It was about finding something worth holding onto, even in the chaos. And in that, House thought, they were both pretty damn lucky.

#house md #house md fic #ficxworm #fanfic #gregory house #gregory house x james wilson #house and wilson #house md fanfiction #house x wilson #james wilson

30 notes · View notes

elegantauthor · 22 days ago

Text

Saving Grace Chapter 17

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Aurora Stark

Summary: She was the Winter Soldier’s wife… wasn’t she?

Warnings: brief suicidal and bulimic ideation

Series Masterlist

As the last five minutes ticked by, Aurora wasn’t sure if she wanted them to pass agonizingly slow or for Zemo’s thirty-minute window to arrive, so she could just get dinner over with. Either way, he was not going to grant her the mercy of eating alone. She promised to make captivity miserable for him, and yet she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that if she pressed her luck, he might actually snap and hurt her.

She knew him to be calculating, perceptive, intelligent, and that was putting it mildly. He was able to destroy the Avengers. To quote Zemo, that was no small feat. She couldn’t make him feel anything, because he was inundated by grief, the walls around his heart too solid to penetrate.

Briefly, she empathized with him. She was no stranger to loss and grief. She’d lost Bucky during the Snap, only to lose her father in sacrificing himself to bring the former back. It was an unfair bargain, and she told her mother so, not once, but twice. Anger burned like a furnace, equivalent to the heat that emanated from Bucky’s body due to the serum, except hers didn’t emit a physical sensation—it had taken hold from within, subduing her powers. Because, what was a demigoddess of beauty to do with anger?

It interlaced her heart like thorns, prickly and tangled. It seeped in, slowly poisoning her, until one day she discovered she’d been cut off completely. From Aphrodite, from the full extent of her powers. She could make anyone do whatever she wanted with one alluring word, except she couldn’t. Not now, not ever again.

At the five-minute mark, Aurora sighed and dragged herself out of the room, downstairs, and into the dining room. Ostentatious. That was the only word to describe it. Granite and marble blended together to form a pattern of stone-like texture across every surface. Artwork adorned the walls, including Da Vinci. Polished utensils engraved with H.Z. decorated the countertops and the large, rectangular table.

Seated at one end, Zemo gestured for her to sit down. Reluctantly, she did—at the opposite end, far away from him. His glower did not go amiss, but Aurora was past caring. He’d kidnapped her, planned to exploit her powers for his benefit; he didn’t deserve her compliance.

Oeznik, Zemo’s kindly old butler, set down a plate in front of her. Roast, fingerling potatoes, and peas. It looked appetizing and smelled tantalizing, causing her empty stomach to revolt against her protest. Gods, she hated this. Without having to glance up, she felt Zemo gloating at her.

“You could starve yourself,” he acquiesced, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “but I do not believe you of all people would.”

He was right, of course. While she possessed a lot of pride and stubbornness, given she was raised by Tony, she was equally her mother’s daughter. She wasn’t about to let him win, not when there withstood a chance. She was a demigoddess, for crying out loud.

Stabbing the roast with her fork, she took a bite. The meat melted in her mouth like butter, and she couldn’t resist any longer. Eighteen hours was a long time to go without food and drink. As if he read her mind, Oeznik put a glass containing dark-purple-almost-black liquid in front of her. She picked it up and sniffed, recognizing the familiar scent at once. Elderberry.

Zemo shrugged nonchalantly. “You seemed to enjoy it in Riga.”

As she ate and drank her fill, Aurora couldn’t help but think she was somehow betraying Bucky. Would he want her to put up more of a fight, or would he rather her take care of herself, despite the circumstances?

“I have no intention of giving you back to the Soldat.” Zemo’s words from earlier distorted her thoughts.

There was a third option. She could eat and vomit it all up later, her own secret revenge plot.

Abruptly, Aurora stood from the table and sprinted from the dining room, up the stairs two at a time, flinging open the bathroom door. She knelt in front of the lavatory, exhaling shakily. Her heart pounded in her chest something fierce, as the tears clinging to her eyelashes splashed down her face.

Bucky and Sam were resourceful. The last remnants of the Avengers. Their mission to stop the Flag Smashers took precedence, but she was the Winter Soldier’s wife… wasn’t she?

Yes.

And she had to be strong… for Bucky, who had endured far worse from HYDRA, and survived.

Aurora picked herself up off the floor, knees threatening to give out beneath her slender frame. She clutched the doorknob, pushed herself to walk a little farther, before plopping down on the bed. The mattress dipped, and suddenly, she felt exhausted. She had no choice but to give in. Hunger and thirst quenched, she welcomed the blackness.

#Bucky Barnes

25 notes · View notes

harrisonarchive · 5 months ago

Text

Photo by Terry O’Neill.

“There’s also been a strong political thread throughout Harrison’s music, from the recent ‘Cockamamie Business’ back to the White Album’s ‘Piggies.’ ‘That was social comment, and it’s still the same today. Especially now, with glasnost, and communism going away, they’ve got to have a good reason not to give that money to the poor, or redivert it into helping the planet become safe and unpolluted.’ He mentions his involvement in a British environmental movement ‘similar to what Meryl Streep’s doing in America, Parents for Safe Food. The poison is everywhere, on your potatoes, tomatoes — not to mention the air we breathe. The basic problem is that the agrochemical industries have a stranglehold on the government. They’re all in cahoots.’ George laughs sharply. ‘They’re probably all freemasons as well. ‘What we need is an honest army that goes around busting those guys, because they’re the ones ruining this planet. But then what you find is that the people causing the most environmental damage are the industrialists. And the Dow Jones people. Buy buy buy! Sell sell sell! This madness that Reagan and Thatcher created, this idea that everyone is much better off now, everyone is more in debt, there’s more concrete, we’ve sacrificed the planet for the motor car... that’s why I can’t practice the guitar anymore,’ George sighs. ‘I’m so crazed by what they’ve done to our planet.’ Though he’s more comfortable with his privacy, Harrison isn’t shy about using his celebrity to promote progressive causes. ‘If you’ve got a platform to speak from, you should speak,’ he says flatly. ‘But it’s always musicians and film people who are doing the work government is really supposed to be doing. They collect taxes to take care of everybody, and instead they’re off playing their little games with missiles. And the same people who call this the devil’s music are the ones complaining, “Who do these people think they are?” It’s like you can’t win. But it also shows there are a lot of good people out there. And most of them are musicians!’” - Musician, March 1990 (x)

#George Harrison #quote #quotes by George #quotes about George #1990 #1990s #Harrison songwriting #fits queue like a glove

35 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 8 months ago

Text

As an ex-Soviet myself, I am baffled by the renewed global fascination with autocracy. According to Freedom House, 8 out of 10 people now live in a partly free or not free country. In the United States, surveys show that a substantial number of people would support authoritarian rule and do not consider the decline of democratic institutions a mortal threat. In China, Russia, and elsewhere, the winds of change seem to be blowing in the wrong direction.

Given this shift, HBO’s miniseries The Regime, whose finale aired on April 7, could not have been timelier. With Emmy Award-winning Kate Winslet and Succession’s Will Tracy at the helm, along with all the trappings of prestige television, The Regime was poised to explore some of the 21st century’s heftiest political questions: the allure of demagogues, the slide into unfreedom and tribalism, and the mechanisms a society can employ to reverse this slide.

Instead, The Regime provides only vague winks to the tendencies of the world’s strongmen that fail to rise to the level of serious critique or analysis, deployed with a naivete that feels distinctly American.

Winslet stars as Elena Vernham, a middle-aged chancellor of an unnamed fictitious country in Central Europe who is obsessed with the black mold she believes is invading her palace. To fight it, she summons Herbert Zubak (Matthias Schoenaerts), a hunky army corporal from a province that grows sugar beets. Prior to his arrival at the palace, Herbert was thrust into the national limelight for his role in gunning down 12 protesters at one of the country’s cobalt mines, earning him a gruesome nickname: “The Butcher.”

Elena and Herbert quickly develop a Beauty and the Beast kind of attraction (postmodern, of course, with no clarity about who is the beast—capricious and delusional Elena or self-loathing, bullied-turned-bully Herbert). After a brief falling out, resolved by Herbert saving Elena from an assassin, the two begin to rule the palace through a Rasputin-style combination of hysterics and nativism.

For the next five episodes, we follow Herbert’s zigzagging ascent through Elena’s wobbling realm, from a walking humidity monitor to a trusted political advisor and lover. Herbert witnesses, engages in, or directs various antics that, according to the show’s description, depict a “modern authoritarian regime as it unravels.” Scenes include cabinet meetings that Elena conducts from an ice-filled tub and bizarre conversations with her dead father, preserved in a glass coffin in the palace’s basement. Herbert, a man of rural origins, caters to Elena’s paranoia by cleansing the palace’s supposedly poisonous air with the steam from boiled potatoes (a folk remedy popular in my Soviet childhood).

Of course, no leader can outrun geopolitics. The country’s rich cobalt reserves attract international interest, and after chasing out a deal that would have given the United States mining rights on the cheap, Elena cozies up to China, promising it a free trade deal and a cut of the mining profits. Together, Elena and Herbert then navigate their way through the illegal annexation of a sovereign neighbor, a half-baked flirtation with nationalization and land reform, and the sting of Western economic sanctions.

All this chaotic politicking unfolds against Elena’s droning on about love, which she constantly either bestows on or demands from her people. Ever the shrewd economist, Elena proclaims, “The American beast and its client states try to strangle us, but petty sanctions will always fail because our love cannot be sanctioned.” Having shipped her subservient, poetry-loving French husband, Nicky (Guillaume Gallienne), to Swiss exile, Elena, who has regained her sex drive, passionately makes up for lost time with Herbert—and fails to notice the unrest growing among her populace over the country’s economic downturn and crude handling of protests.

By the final episode—spoilers ahead—it seems that Elena’s ruling model is no match for revolution. She is chased out of the palace and must run for her life through a land it’s clear she knows nothing about, despite the “special connection” she often claims to have with its people. For once, someone in this world other than Herbert has managed to outmaneuver her delusions. But soon enough, Elena bends the knee to the very oligarchs she once vilified. A would-be coup is undone with the snap of a U.S.-backed finger.

“What was that all about?” Nicky asks his wife at the end of the show. He is offered no conclusive answer—and neither is the audience.

Tracy, who created the show, has compared The Regime to a dark fairy tale, which may explain Elena’s look—a cross between an aging Sleeping Beauty and Madonna’s Evita—and the glass coffin. One could also see it as a love story, in which two broken individuals find a semblance of happiness by tormenting each other in their own make-believe reality. It may even be a dark comedy, as HBO describes it, if one can have comedy without a single funny joke. (Her cabinet member’s quip, “His profits are fucked like a spring donkey,” is certainly rude, but rudeness isn’t necessarily funny.)

One thing the show isn’t is satire. For that to be true, it would actually have to satirize something. Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels derided the rigid mores of 18th-century England. Armando Iannucci’s The Death of Stalin poked fun at the brutality and hypocrisy of Joseph Stalin’s flunkies in the postwar Soviet Union. Making Elena’s regime a pastiche of autocracies was a fatal choice because those regimes are products of their unique, often brutal environments. Because the show nods to a little bit of everything, it takes aim at nothing.

Instead of real people, The Regime offers us walking cliches: a delusional woman with hot flashes and daddy issues; cowering and corrupt ministers; greedy Americans pining for other nations’ resources; the dull, kerchiefed masses who look like props recycled from last century’s movie sets. It’s not that we can’t care for bad people. We did for the Roys in Succession because they were nuanced characters, at once tragic and funny, with clear agendas that drove the plot. But The Regime’s characters feel generic, simply dropped into the set, stirring no feelings from the viewer, sympathetic or otherwise. The only character with an identifiable interest is the U.S. senator, Judith Holt (Martha Plimpton), who just wants the country’s cobalt. The rest merely float through the episodes, as though searching for a good scene to act out but coming up blank.

This is a shame because the show has no lack of talent. Winslet does her best with the material she is given, but there isn’t much she can do with lines such as, “I like a bit of spice. Spice is nice,” in reference to Herbert’s “spicy” dreams. She has no real antagonists, no articulated desires, and no emotions. Viewers are left to blink at the screen, admiring her outfits and waiting for something substantive to happen.

Schoenaerts, who plays Herbert, is more plausible, if cliched: a tortured warrior prepared to kill—and die—for love. Andrea Riseborough, playing Agnes, the palace manager, is less lucky. Having shined as Stalin’s daughter in The Death of Stalin, here she is reduced to a brittle, peacoat-wearing loyalist who has an unexplained co-parenting arrangement with Elena and yields her maternal rights the moment Elena demands it. Her epileptic son doesn’t seem to mind, as long as he gets new toys. Hugh Grant as Edward Keplinger, the country’s imprisoned opposition leader, is charming, but his cameo feels like a checkmark on the celebrity cast list. With his carpeted cell, steady supply of sausages, and access to the prison’s keys, Grant’s performance lacks the gravitas that the suffering of real imprisoned political figures, including the late Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny, deserves.

And then there is Mr. Laskin (Danny Webb), the head of Elena’s security service. In real dictatorships, the requirements of this job are gruesome and attract rather monstrous personalities—think Lavrentiy Beria of the Soviet Union or Heinrich Himmler of Nazi Germany, both of whom orchestrated horrendous mass murders. Yet in The Regime, Laskin speaks politely about his duty to his country and that he “believes in a principle, the legal transition of power.” Unlike in a real dictatorial regime, we see no blood on his hands. There’s a difference between a temporary suspension of disbelief, which viewers will happily grant, and constantly being asked to accept improbable things.

Herein lies The Regime’s fundamental problem: It fumbles what seems to be the primary point of the show—the portrayal of autocracy. The issue with autocrats is not that they’re narcissists who force others to listen to their off-key singing, as Elena does at seemingly every banquet and celebration she can, but that they are ready to sacrifice millions of people to their delusions. Their subjects, including their inner circle, live in constant fear because the autocrat’s government and law enforcement apparatuses are weaponized and can be turned against them at any moment.

But there is no fear in Elena’s kingdom. Her out-of-grace oligarch is not dispossessed and jailed but simply ordered to clean up chairs at a press conference. Her ministers plot for her downfall in a downstairs bar before mockingly denying her a seat on the rescue helicopter. The rebels take the palace in a span of an episode. (If only real dictators were toppled that easily!) The Regime makes Elena look stupid and pathetic. We do not flee from her in terror; we shrug her off.

Despite her European aesthetics, the portrayal of Elena as a ruler reflects an undeniably American attitude toward autocracy. Even after four years of a Donald Trump presidency, many Americans still don’t take his threats seriously, unable to believe that his cartoonish personality and ineptitude could translate into a real assault on their democratic rights and liberties. With the memory of World War II fading away, others may simply underestimate the difference between living in a free society and living under tyranny.

At some level, plenty of Americans may even hanker for a strongman because he offers simple solutions to complex problems, blind to the fact that—like Elena—he is animated not by public service but by his own vanity, enrichment, and survival and occasionally those of his cronies.

As a creative project, The Regime is free to be whatever it wants to be—a fairy tale, a dark comedy, a saga of human vices. But any serious work of art must be about something, some pressing aspect of human existence, and should be evaluated on those terms. What, then, is The Regime’s message? That love is an exchange of perversions? That the United States is a colonizer propping up authoritarian regimes because it wants their assets? That nothing ever changes and we should resign ourselves to endless inevitable iterations of the narcissist-in-chief?

Cynicism doesn’t win battles—or make for very good television. Perhaps HBO’s next meditation on authoritarianism will give us substance on the topic rather than winks.

25 notes · View notes

call-me-maggie13 · 1 year ago

Text

I’m bored and the guys at work are being goofy so here’s a list of no context things I’ve heard from The Boys™ recently.

“Call me a fake lesbian but I don’t really like girl in red. Clairo? Love. WILLOW? Besties. Hayley Kiyoko? Lesbian Jesus. But Girl in Red and I don’t really vibe. Sorry.”

“Maybe I’m losing my mind, but I wanna bite that truck.”

“Aye, watch your language.” “Will it do a flip?” “What?” “Watch it’s gunna do a flip!” [flips manager off]

“Have y’all heard about the Zuckerberg V. Musk fight? Okay let’s debate. Kanye or Swift, who would win? Actually. That wouldn’t be fair, Kanye never stood a chance. Okay. Obama or Trump? Fists only, no weapons.”

“Do you ever wonder if grass can feel? Like. What if it screams on a frequency I can’t hear every time I step on it? What if the fresh mowed grass smell is actually grass tears and blood?”

“I know we all agreed, but…”

“If lightning struck me right now, would y’all try to save me?”

“Sometimes I’m like ‘Hozier is a god.’ And sometimes I’m like ‘Hozier is just some guy.’”

“Someone threw away a black American Express card. Can I keep it? It’s not expired.”

“I’m not allowed to set off fireworks anymore. It’s not my fault I didn’t know they were actual explosions that could burn a house down. No, this wasn’t when I was a kid, this was like three months ago.”

“What do you think the sky tastes like?”

“When I was twelve, my mom hit me with her car backing out of the driveway and she didn’t even take me to the hospital. I think I broke my arm and I’m pretty sure that’s why my wrist does this. [shows wrist making clicking noise when he rolls it]”

“Okay. But. What if. Nope wait, I think that’s illegal.”

“God customers are stupid. Are you closed?? No lady, the sign says we’re closed because we’re open. It makes me want to eat a car battery.”

“If you could only eat one bug for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“What are y’all’s opinions on potato flavored chewing gum?”

“Can I start bringing my dog to work?”

“Can I break this? I know it’s already broken, I want to break it more.”

“I’m a simple man. I like when things go boom. That doesn’t mean I started the fire.”

“Sometimes I like to take a bath and pretend I’m a little potato getting boiled to make some mashed potatoes.”

“Why can’t I be a duck? Why do I have to be a person?”

“But if I just punch him in the face, I don’t have to worry about him being mean anymore.”

“Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. Mag - okay I’m bored now.”

“If I was a rock, I think I’d be a big blue smooth shiny rock. What rock would you be?”

“I have an announcement to make. Stalactites and stalagmites. That is all. Carry on.”

“Sorry, was that gay?”

“I think being an adult is all about being nice to yourself. And taxes, maybe.”

“Why does the dirt over here taste saltier than the dirt by the flowers?”

“No. If I’m not asking him about Taylor Swift, what makes you think I’d ask him about Gracie Abrams?”

“Can I make a list of everyone’s red flags?” “Only if you list their green flags too.”

“I had to change your contact name to Charles. I don’t know why Charles, I just panicked and picked the first name I could think of.”

“Sometimes I forget she’s your mom.” “She’s not my mom. Do you think she’s my mom?” “Not anymore.”

“God. Everyone wants to be Donna but no one wants to be Rachel. No one is Donna except Donna. Everyone else is Rachel. Or they’re Harold.” (Someone please tell me what this means, I have no idea what he’s talking about)

“Why do crickets taste like that?”

“Oh to be a silly little horse in a silly little field being taken care of by a silly little person I could crush like a bug beneath my silly little hooves.”

“Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car?”

“The world went to hell when autopsies started testing for poison. Women just can’t poison their husbands anymore. That was the true beginning of the downfall of society.”

“What happens if someone asks to take their motorcycle through the carwash?”

“You don’t have to file customer complaints if you eat the paper they’re written on.”

“And if I said I still haven’t forgiven John Wilkes Booth, what would you say?”

“I don’t say this lightly, but the Pedro Pascual edits on tiktok have confused me sexually.”

“I just pulled a dead bird out of some guy’s grill. Anyone hungry?”

“Taylor Swift might have forgiven him but that doesn’t mean I have to!”

“Why aren’t we allowed to have a company pet? Firefighters get Dalmatians, we should be allowed like. A fish or something.”

“I dreamt that I came to work yesterday and worked an entire shift, is there any way I can get that added to my pay?”

“My girlfriend is mad at me because I keep playing I’m Just Ken and telling her she’s Kenough.”

“Can we close early on October the thirteenth? Oh, no reason… On a completely unrelated note: what should I wear to the Eras Tour movie?”

“If my grandmother confessed to murdering my grandfather but it happened in like the eighties, do I have to report it? Hypothetically, of course.”

“Sometimes a man just needs to cry to mirrorball and tolerate it in his car. Sometimes he just needs to scream Death by A Thousand Cuts. Sometimes…”

“I accidentally just called a customer Mom and she gave me her phone number, what do I do?”

“It’s only blasphemy if you get caught. Do you really think God has time to listen to everything every single person says?”

“Sometimes I wish I was a woman but then I remember this is America and I thank the stars that I’m not. Sorry, Maggie.”

“Why is it so hard to find a stupidly rich woman searching for a trophy husband?”

“Do you think I could walk through the carwash instead of taking a shower?”

[after a guy’s day off] “I missed you guys yesterday. I wish I never had to leave.”

“My sister told me I was adopted and my mom got mad because she wasn’t supposed to but like. My parents are white. I’m black. I already knew.”

“I just had a child quote Revelations at me because I told him he shouldn’t drink the glass cleaner.”

“I forgot my shoes. Also, I just stepped in glass in the parking lot, someone should really clean that up.”

“I think everyone should be allowed to kill someone if they have a really good reason. I would kill the guy that called my sister a bitch because she didn’t want to sleep with him. Who would you kill?”

“Is… is that… not… normal?” [hint: it was not.]

“I stand with Sansa - I mean Sophie Turner.”

“I still don’t understand why I’m not allowed to punch customers in the mouth for being assholes to Maggie and Dru.”

“What kind of tree do you think I am?”

“Apparently I was supposed to listen to the new Olivia Rodrigo album with my girlfriend and now she’s upset with me for listening to it with y’all first.”

“Every night, I go to sleep and every morning, I wake up. How do I stop this cycle?”

69 notes · View notes

universaln0b0dy · 1 year ago

Text

Bully twist au v.s reader (untouchable part 2)

《Summary 》: You wanna break them in a way no one else can and maybe you are just manipulative enough to show them you will be superior

《Note》: Bully au inspired by: @.azulsluver also reader is on a revenge trip in this one!

Vil: I wished you were a pretty boy

You hated Vil. He bullied you, made you insecure about everything you were. You hated him with a fiery pation, the way he spread rumours about you and made stupid comments about you every day.

Something in you snapped as he forced you to lick his boots. You hated him from that day on, only wishing to break him with all your might...

"So, you are Neige LeBlanche?" You ask looking at the boy with a smile. You had learned from Vil how to make your eyes have hearts swimming in them, as if you truly loved someone.

"Uh, yeah? You must be the prefect from NCR, right?" He asked and you let out a slight giggle along with a nod. The black haired boy suddenly eyed you with great intrest.

"I heard you are a great fan of mine?" He asks and you smile realising everything is going according to plan. He was as manipulative as you were, you could feel it, but that was alright. You nod.

"Would you be intrested in getting a coffe with me?" He asks and you eagerly nod.

"I-I would love to!" You squeal making Neige grin, before the boy puts a finger to his mouth.

"But shh, those meetings have to stay a secret."

"Potato, where are you going?" Vil barks out and you quietly giggle. "No were." You answer, fully aware Vil had used Rook to check on your affairs over the past 3 months.

You were secretly dating Neige for 3 months already and Vil only now decided to question you about it. It was a win. You could see it on his face. It was eating away at him, you his favourite punching bag has decided to date his enemy.

"STOP LYING." He hisses grabbing your chin and digging his nails into your face. You force tears into your eyes. In reality Vil didn't matter to you. He already broke you, but you could never show him that you didn't care anymore. Not now at least.

"I-I am not lying!" You say letting out a few chocked up sobs and Vil growls. He let you enjoy his presence, you a speck of dirt a useless potato, but you still choose Neige? He can't contain his anger anymore. He wanted you to feel his pain.

"Oh Neige it was horrible!" You loudly exclaim, tears in your eyes. The ravenette hugs you close in a possessive manner. You didn't care that what you were doing was cringe. Neige fell for your act and that was all that mattered. You knew Rook was watching, you knew that he would tell Vil everything like the pet he was. "Well my cherié, come stay in RSA! Everything would be better for you!" Neige murmurs.

"R-really! You would let me?" You ask Neige with a smile on your face and he nods. He would have everything arranged just for you. Rook would probably report everything back to Vil and you could-

Someone storms into the room panicking. "Vil Schoenheit was poisoned and only a true love kiss can help him!" You look at the person in shook, not bothered to even think about Vil. It seems that everything has played into your cards currently.

You are forced to go to NCR, despite you yelling that you and Vil are nothing. The true loves kiss wouldn't work, but the person didn't care, pushing you into the room Vil was in.

You had never seen him in such a state. He looked like he was about to die, wich he probably was actually. You didn't know who poisoned Vil, but you were indebted to him.

"So they even send useless potatoes in to try." He snarls, sure you would come close to him and kiss him and he mentally gagged. At the same time he wanted to have you in such a chokehold, but what you do suprise him even more.

"If only you were a pretty boy Vil. Maybe than we would have worked. But there are plenty people that love you aren't there? I am not her to be a knight in shining armour." You softly caress his cheek, before walking out of the room with a gloomy expression on your face.

"I am sorry, but it didn't work."

_________________________

Azul: Just an insecurity

Azul, Azul, Azul. That boy was horrible, mainly because he only send his henchmen to bother you. He forced you into deals that put you in uncomfortable positions and many many other things. We don't even want to talk about the incident were he ridiculed you in front of the whole school.

But you knew how to get revenge. Azul had tried to get rid of all the pictures of him, but you still had one. One picture of him as a child in a very embarrassing situation. No one knew you possed it, you even had forgotten you had it for a while. You had gotten it from somewhere, probably the museum but you didn't really remember.

You sat in mostro lounge, using a phone someone had lost. It was easy to log in after you realised the code was the numbers 1-9. You created an anonymous magicam account and tagged everyone you could find, posting the picture from Azul you had found with the caption; look at my dormhead!

You wiped the phone after that, logging out of the account and getting rid of any other evidence before hiding the phone. You would probably add a few rumours later on, but that picture was enough for now.

After all you had hit him right in his insecurities.

____________________

Carter: The best masquerade

Carter was a two faced bi.ch. He used his clones to make your life a living hell, even ridiculing you by making you the stupid friend at any occasion, but you were feed up with everything and ready to spew some venom of your own...

"Has someone seen the Ramshackle prefect?" Carter asks casually asks, looking at some students that just shake their heads. It irked him that he didn't know were you were, after all he wanted to play a prank on you, his social media needed content after all.

He suddenly noticed a few students whisper about something looking directly at him. He watched them, they giggled and pointed at him before continuing to walk past.

He brushed it off.

After finally finding you hiding in a tree, he decided that he would pull the prank on you know, making it a live stream.

The prank was simple and a classic, dumping cold water on someone. Just that your clothing became kinda see through once it was soaked.

He cackles seeing you scream in shook and jump up, calling you names saying that you were sensitive, he had the camera pointed at you, not noticing everyone could see you crying.

He put an arm around you grinning into the camera. "Aren't they to sensitive guys? Like it was just cold water." He doesn't notice your uncomfortable expression.

The next day there were more people looking at him weirdly, ignoring him or giving him rude comments. He didn't understand it, why would they do that.

He was angry for the rest of the day. He needed you to become his personal punching back, but unbeknownst to him, someone filmed him...

Carter didn't know how to feel. There was a major call out on him and hate comments filled his videos. Someone had took their time to analyse his videos after the live prank and called him out on his behaviour.

"Also, I think the prefect needs some justice?" The person suddenly said, talking about the fact that you were always a victim, even showing the proof of Carter bullying you.

From one week to the other his whole life had turned around, he couldn't get even remotely close to you and he became a bullying and prank victim.

You smiled to yourself, the grin not even once leaving your face as you look at your friend. "Thank you for helping me!" You say and the friend nods.

"It was fun taking part in this masquerade."

Part 3: Malleus: heart of stone, Kalim: my world is blue, Trey; Rotten teeth

(Also request are open!^^)

#twisted wonderland #Bully twist au v.s reader #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit #carter diamond #reader insert

36 notes · View notes

lectern-fullcauldron · 11 months ago

Text

Serverwide megagames (cross server, long term games, with set rules and minimal role play) to enjoy if you get a chance:

Tag: season 6. It's a game of tag, with a name tag being passed between hermits who are it. The game gained rules as it went on, with the tag tower being built and forfeit armour being introduced

The Head Games: season 7. Cleo needs heads for armour stands, so she pits the hermits against each other by putting bounties on their heads. Kill kill kill kill. Cub builds her spider throne

Hot potato: season 6. The goal is to slip a poisoned potato into someone's inventory. Of you have it, you have to do a forfeit and then pass the potato along. It brings us duckwoman and other delights

Iskall's leaf thing: season seven. he needs leaves for the megatree, and he's not gathering them all himself. In teams the hermits must bring his robot shulkers of leaves to potentially win prizes

NFD: season six. Nuggets for diamonds. A serverwide treasure hunt for golden nuggets. You can chuck these nuggets into the NFD machine to potentially win diamonds and diamond blocks

Grian head hunt: season six. Grian has concealed his head around the server. Find them and keep them in a vault. Others may steal them, so hide them well. Most heads wins

Tegg: season eight. Hide the dragon egg. Find the dragon egg. Egg!!

Easter egg hunt: season nine. Look at all these baby hermit eggs jevin has commissioned. Hide your eggs in everyone's bases. The one with the least eggs found wins

Demise: season six. The best game. My beloved demise. The rules are simple. Don't die. No god armour. The dead become greyskins and can trap the living. The winner gets everyone's entrance fee.

Hermitron go: season 5. Ren's baby. Pokémon go but for hermits (is my understanding of it). The hermits loved it

Tag 2 electric boogaloo: season seven. Trap someone to tag them, because grian's feeling mischievous

Hermitcraft tcg: season nine. It's the hermitcraft trading card game. There were tournaments and events and matches galore.

The build off: season six. New hermitville is here with the advent of village and pillage. Whose base is tallest? A number of hermits all think it's theirs

I'd particularly recommend Demise, Cleo's head games, the Easter Egg Hunt, and the Hot Potato

#good to reblog #hermitcraft

21 notes · View notes

imlivinginyourtrashcan · 1 year ago

Text

Hi hello im a dirty American heres some friendsgiving headcannons for the sp character

Cartman:

That man aint bringing shit

Only there for the food

The type of mf to steal ingrediants while youre cooking something

Dives RIGHT for the pumpkin pie

Nobody is happy

He denies it but its do obvious hes stealing shit 🤬

Does not wait for a toast

Bro just dives in

Getting seconds, thirds, fourths

When hes done theres no left overs

If he were to bring something id be pie

His moms recipe

BUT THIS LITTLE FUCK EATS IT IN THE CAR

Kyle:

Sometimes hosts the friendsgiving at his house

Brings the sparkling grape juice/apple juice

And also the Kosher things

Only has one helping, tries to get leftovers for the family or for kenny

Helps his mom cook when hes hosting

Setting the table always

Tries to toast but ends up yelling at Cartman for eating before hes done

Helps Ike pack for those little kindergarten thanksgivings?

Yknow when you dressed as a pilgrim and ate food?

Was I the only one who did that??

Stan:

He panicks and brings what he can find

"Hey dude! What you bring?"

"Uhhh... leftover mash potatos?"

Hes TRYING

Downing the sparkling juices like no tomorrow

The eggnog too

Cartman encourages it

"CHUG CHUG CHUG"

Watching the football game

RESTRAINS himself when it comes to food

Like, he wants it but knows Kyles gonna be pissed

Plays catch with everyone else

Or pingpong

Doesnt give a fuck about the Macys parade

Kenny:

Brings canned stuff he got from the food drive

Like cranberry sauce

Sneaking leftovers for his family

Plays catch with the boys

Died from a football lodged in his eye

Oh and from the

"Macys parade"

Incident

You dont want to know

Butters:

Brings the sweet potatos

Suggest christmas music/movies be played

Cartman called him gay immediately

So that got shut down

Brings the extra pies and everything since Cartman eats his

Lover of cranberry sauce and other things most people hate on thanksgiving

"Oh that was good! Could I have more please?"

"Butters what the fuck who likes CRANBERRY SAUCE???"

"I do!"

Doer of the toast

Often gets hit in the face when they play catch and cries

Can't stay for long cuz his parents are strict but hes there on video call rest of the time

Craig:

The type of mf when you ask what he brought he says

"My presence"

MF-

No!!!

You need to bring FOOD

They have to kick him out

He comes back with bread rolls or crackers, cheese and olives

So hes aloud back in

Doesnt care abt the parades or catch or anything

Just kinda there for Tweek

If someone asks him to do sonething he'll do it though

Hes limited by meals thanks to his braces

He doesnt care

Thats future craigs problem

Flips someone off if they beat him in a sport

Or flips off the tv when someone does something stupid in football

Has restraint when it comes to food

Bro will just wait

Wait

And then devour his plate in seconds

Tweek:

Brings homemade cider or pumpkin spice

Panicked the whole time

Hiding upstairs half the time

At least until food

He looks like a sopping wet cat

Doesnt really eat that much

Convinced the food is poison

Dont try to reassure him either he doesnt trust you

Has to check a million times though

"Is this poison???"

"No???"

"GAHH!! I dont believe you!!"

Leaves after feasting

He can only handle so much

Arrives super late too which is ironic

Jimmy:

Brings the food over and makes a puns

Like puts devil horns on eggs

"Jimmy what is that?"

"D-d-d-deviled Eggs"

Bro is telling thanksgiving jokes every second

Does the toast some years

Its like a stand up comedy routine tho

He lets you eat during that

Sneaking food

Mischievous little bastard

Puts on family fued when he realizes the boys are too pissed at football

Also has brace limits

But does he follow them ever? Nope

Drinks sparkling juice from a wine glass

Able to keep the party going for a WHILE he has ENERGY

Card playing KING

Winning at Crazy 8s left and RRRRIGHTTTTTT

Clyde:

Brought mac and cheese

Either that or bread

Food sneaker

Thinks hes good at sports

Hes not

He gets hit in the face so often

And cries

Tried Tweeks coffee

Started coughing and gagging immediately

Hes a picky eater im calling it now

Like will not eat if he doesnt think he'll like it

Me too Clyde i get it

Likes the Macys parade

Fucking weirdass

Arrives a bit before Tweek but is still late

The mf to get seconds

Wont eat before the event either

Saving his stomach for yum yums

Tolkien:

Also hosts

Helps his parents with food

Makes the dinner table look like a whole buffet

When hes not hosting he brings stuffing or some expensive good food

Or like

Homemade dip?

Casserole?

Idk

Seems like itd change every year

Great at sports

Helps clean up too

Toasts sometimes

Very generic toast

Doesnt seem like someone who has much to say

#south park #southpark butters #southpark #sp butters #sp tweek #sp craig #sp headcannons #tolkien black #tolkien #south park tweek #craig x tweek #tweek tweak #craig tucker #kyle brovlofski #eric cartman #stan marsh #thanksgiving

31 notes · View notes

wingedblooms · 2 years ago

Text

Herbs she planted

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

“The point is that this is all gardening. The garden runs through our lives like a river through a field, like air in our lungs. The garden does not end in space any more than it does in time. The flowers grow as much in our minds as in the soil. There are very few nights when I do not lie in the dark, everyone else sleeping inside this dark, creaking, bony house, and go through the garden, seeing it with the clarity of a dreamer, taking it to pieces and putting it together again, mending everything in my head.” (Montagu Don, My Roots: A Decade in the Garden)

Like the threads of an intricate tapestry, Elain weaves a variety of plants together in her gardens. She creates living art, even at the worst of times:

I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” (acowar)

Feyre casually mentions that Elain is planting herbs in the town house garden after she drops some unsettling information on Cassian (which, as an aside, is one of my favorite scenes; I love it when Elain, the gentle gardener, unnerves 500-year-old fae). @offtorivendell posted a headcanon that Elain has a garden full of useful plants, which makes sense for a practical forest witch, and this quote suggests she is on the right track. We don’t hear about her herbs specifically again, but we do see glimpses of her work on the town house garden where she started planting them:

…peering out the kitchen window at the garden beyond…Elain had already readied the garden for winter, veiling the more delicate bushes and beds with burlap. (acofas)

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. (acofas)

Herbs are used by witches and healers in the Maasverse for a variety of purposes, such as flavoring cuisine, enhancing divination, and healing the body. All things many of us naturally associate with Elain.

Cuisine

Manon gives us a glimpse of Crochan witches going about their domestic tasks, including cooking with dried herbs at their cauldrons:

At least two dozen other witches tended to the several fire pits scattered amongst the white tents, all of them halting their various work as Manon passed. She’d never seen Crochans going about their domestic tasks, but here they were: some tending to fires, some hauling buckets of water, some monitoring heavy cauldrons of what smelled like mountain-goat stew seasoned with dried herbs. (koa)

This image makes me think of other witches (and suspected witches) who have engaged in similar domestic tasks, such as Hypaxia offering tea to Ruhn in the medwitch clinic, or Elain carrying herbed potatoes that she helped the twins prepare near the winter solstice. In our world, traditional witchcraft is founded on a deep bond with the land; many of the holidays on the Wheel of the Year align with the agricultural year. It is no surprise then that witches in the Maasverse are also deeply connected to the bounty of the land. And even though it does not involve witches exclusively, the Great Rite in Prythian honors this bond and is performed to ensure balance between the the land and those who benefit from it. It’s very witchy.

This also helps put into perspective the gravity of Queen Rhiannon's curse on the land:

But the last Crochan queen had cast a spell to ensure that as long as Ironteeth banners flew, no bit of soil would yield life to them. (com) “Rhiannon swore on her last breath that we would win the war, but not the land. That for what we had done, we would inherit the land only to see it wilt and die in our hands. Our beasts would shrivel and keel over dead; our witchlings would be stillborn, poisoned by the streams and rivers. Fish would rot in lakes before we could catch them. Rabbits and deer would flee across the mountains. And the once-verdant Witch Kingdom would become a wasteland. […] Every few decades, they would send groups to try to work the land, to see if the curse still held. Those groups never returned. We have been wanderers for five hundred years—the wound made worse by the fact that humans eventually took it for themselves. And the land responded to them.” (eos)

Manon’s half-sister, who is named for the last Crochan queen, has earthy eyes that are described exactly like Thesan’s, which are rich and warm like Elain’s (who I have long associated with healing light and Dawn).

The Crochan witch, her eyes the solid color of freshly tilled earth, looked up at Manon. How those eyes were so bright despite the horrors written on her body, how she didn’t collapse right there or start begging, Manon didn’t know. (hof)

Every Crochan witch also has an hearth that travels with them, and they can use it to communicate when they are scattered across the world:

Glennis jerked her chin toward the tent flaps, to the fire pit beyond. “Every Crochan family has a hearth that moves with them to each camp or home we make; the fires never extinguish. The flame in my hearth dates back to the Crochan city itself, when Brannon Galathynius gave Rhiannon a spark of eternally burning fire. My mother carried it with her in a glass globe, hidden in her cloak, when she smuggled out your ancestor, and it has continued to burn at every royal Crochan hearth since then.”

“What about when magic disappeared for ten years?”

“Our seers had a vision that it would vanish, and the flame would die. So we ignited several ordinary fires from that magic flame, and kept them burning. When magic disappeared, the flame indeed winked out. And when magic returned this spring, the flame again kindled, right in the hearth where we had last seen it.” Her great-grandmother turned toward her. “When a Crochan Queen summons her people to war, a flame is taken from the royal hearth, and passed to each hearth, one camp and village to the other. The arrival of the flame is a summons that only a true Crochan Queen may make.” (koa)

The Crochans carry hearths—the heart of family and domestic life—with them as they travel, which reminded me of Elain’s rose:

It was a fire. Not her father’s neck. Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d place on the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.

Another log cracked, and Nesta flinched. But she remained sitting there. Staring at that carved rose. (acosf)

Nesta found Elain’s dark rose on the mantel in their old cottage, and then felt the need to place it on a mantel in the House of Wind, just above the hearth and next to a figurine of a primal goddess, likely the Mother. It moves from mantel to mantel and hearth to hearth until she places it on her father’s gravestone in the final scene of her book. This rose may be yet another hint of Elain's connection to witches, divinity, and roses, as well as the gift of healing, which I’ll get to later. Roses are associated with love and death (among many other things), and have a rich history in folklore; they are a common ingredient used in herbal magic. I could see Elain possessing her own portable hearth to accompany dried herbs from her town house garden as she sets out on various adventures. That way, no matter how far she travels, she'll always have her home with her like a lovely Crochan witch.

Divination

Some herbs are used to amplify divination or dream magic. As @offtorivendell mentioned in her post on Elain’s Sight, seers in Erilea use bloodbane (which, as a drug, may contain herbs) to see spirits from other realms, and mystics use bloodsalt to focus their search across worlds. In Midgard, the Oracle's Temple is full of incense and the sphinx breathes in the fumes that are smoldering in her chamber.

...the domed onyx building of the Oracle's Temple veiled in the mists that had rolled in over the river.

Even at midday, the Oracle's Park was near-empty, save for the hunched, slumbering forms of the desperate Vanir and humans who wandered the paths and gardens, waiting for their turn to enter the incense-filled hallways. (hoeab)

She blinked, wings rustling as if in surprise, but settled herself. Breathed in the fumes rising from the hole. Minutes passed, and Hunt’s head began to throb with the various scents—especially the reeking sulfur.

Smoke swirled, masking the sphinx from sight even though she sat only ten feet away. [...] A rasping voice slithered out of the smoke. “To open the doorway between worlds.” A chill seized Hunt. (hoeab)

@offtorivendell theorized that, like others gifted with Sight, Elain could use substances to amplify her powers if needed. It's possible she might be able to use herbs from her garden to pierce the veil and see clearly. She even smells like jasmine, a plant that—among many other things—induces prophetic dreams.

Healing

What can cure can also kill. (Rebecca Beyer, Wild Witchcraft)

In Midgard, we're told witches are seers, warriors, potion-makers, and healers. Healers, also known as medwitches, are the most visible and they have their own herb gardens. Their healing magic is even more powerful than the fae.

They were a strange, unique group, the witches. Though they looked like humans, their considerable magic and long lives marked them as Vanir, their power mostly passed through the female line. All of them deemed civitas. The power was inherited, from some ancient source that the witches claimed was a three-faced goddess, but witches did pop up in non-magical families every now and then. Their gifts were varied, from seers to warriors to potion-makers, but healers were the most visible in Crescent City. Their schooling was thorough and long enough that the young witch before him was unusual. She had to be skilled to be already working in a clinic when she couldn’t have been a day over thirty.

[…]

She gestured to the hall behind her, where sunlight leaked in through a glass door at its other end. “We have a courtyard garden. The day is fine enough that you could wait out there.”

[…]

Ruhn followed her down the hall, trying not to breathe in her eucalyptus-and-lavender scent too deeply.

Don’t be a fucking creep.

The sunlight tangled in her thick night-dark hair as she reached the courtyard door and shouldered it open, revealing a slate-covered patio surrounded by terraced herb gardens. The day was indeed lovely, the river breeze making the plants rustle and sway, spreading their soothing fragrances. (hoeab)

We now know this graceful healer is the Witch Queen, Hypaxia. Elain seems to share parallels with Hypaxia and her half-sister, the Hind (and her story about the forest witch). Hypaxia smells like plants that are used for healing and shows Ruhn out to their courtyard herb garden. Like the witches, Elain is gifted magic from an ancient source (the Cauldron, which is also part of a magical trio: Mother, Cauldron, Fate) and plants her own herbs in a courtyard garden. She smells of jasmine and honey, which have medicinal properties: one is used to improve sleep and the other is used to treat burns.

The wise and peaceful medwitches in Midgard remind me of Crochan witches in Erilea, who were scattered to the winds and used healing to hide their heritage:

They were still out there, the self-righteous, insufferable Crochans, hiding as healers and wise-women. (hof)

We also witness extensive healing magic from humans blessed by Silba in Antica, and as I mentioned in forbidden secrets, they seem to share some pointed parallels with Elain as well.

It was broad, more of a keep than anything, but still rounded. Buildings flanked its sides, connected on lower levels. All enclosed by towering white walls, the iron gates—fashioned to look like an owl spreading its wings—thrown wide to reveal lavender bushes and flower beds lining the sand-colored gravel walkways. Not flower beds. Herb beds. (tod)

We learn that Maeve surrounded herself with healers because of the threat they pose to the Valg, and in the scene below, a Valg princess calls the healers Maeve's secret army:

“Why do you think Maeve has hoarded her healers, never allowing them to leave her patrolled borders? She knew we would return. She wanted to be ready—to protect herself. Her prized favorites, those Doranelle healers. Her secret army.” Duva hummed, motioning with the dagger to the necropolis. “How clever those Fae were, who escaped her clutches after the last war. They ran all the way here—the healers who knew their queen would keep them penned up like animals. And then they bred the magic into the land, into its people. Encouraged the right powers to rise up, to ensure this land would always be strong, defended. And then they vanished, taking their treasures and histories beneath the earth. Ensuring they were forgotten below, while their little garden was planted above.” (tod)

The fae healers bred magic into the land, into its people…then they vanished beneath the earth…forgotten…while their little garden was planted above. THEIR LITTLE GARDEN?! I've wondered elsewhere if Elain might heal the land, but what if, like Doranelle healers, Elain is weaving magic into the ground because of something she has Seen? What if she is endlessly toiling in her little gardens not just to restore life, but to cultivate the right magic to rise up and bloom, in defense of her family and the realm?

@offtorivendell has theorized that Elain might weaponize plants, like Ents, which would be so much fun to read. I would love to see her use (or sing to) living things around her, as @silverlinedeyes theorized, to uncover secrets and protect others (like a forest witch would). There are so many possibilities for how gardening will come into play in her story. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see her little gardens become secret weapons that are critical for the future. At the very least, we know that it has a symbolic purpose, as the quote I started this post with suggests: it is the lens through which we see Elain's evolution and role. Feyre starts the series believing this about her sister:

It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. (acotar)

Then she sees her sister come alive in her garden, where she is able to exert control and create beautiful art with blooms. Her joy is infectious.

The little garden beneath the window was hers: every bloom and shrub had been picked and planted by her hand; she would allow no one else to care for it. Even the weeding and watering she did on her own. (acotar)

And we also see the moment when Feyre’s perspective shifts, and she begins to wonder if Elain prefers to get her hands dirty; if it's proof of her work.

“Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy. (acofas)

We’re then reminded of this evolution in the Feysand bonus chapter:

I glowered at Rhys. “You think Elain’s boring?”

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.”

“And torn up by thorns,” I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free. (feysand bonus)

It’s interesting that Feysand discuss Elain’s hands in their bonus chapter: gardeners often get their hands dirty for a pretty result (living art). And then, in Azriel's bonus, he thinks about how Elain couldn't possibly know how his hands have been sullied far beyond their scars (by his deadly art). Sully is a synonym for soil, which means to make dirty. Soil is often used to describe the upper layer of the earth where plants grow, bringing us full circle.

Sarah could run with this hand imagery in a few different ways, but it reminds me of someone else in another world who also bloodies their hand on a rosebush…

Dorian held up his bloodied hand. “Thornbush.” Rosebush made his cuts seem that much more pathetic.

“The hand is—very complex,” she murmured at last, studying the cuts. “I just wanted to make sure that nothing was damaged and that there weren’t any thorns lodged in there.” She swiftly added, “Your Highness.” (com)

Why do I keep coming back to Dorian? Although he is heavily involved with the witches in tog, he is not a witch. So what is he doing here? It will lead back to healers and witches so stay with me. Dorian evolves over the series and becomes a force to be reckoned with; his raw magic allows him to learn other types of magic, including how to shift and wield magical hands.

His hands trembled—and not just with fear. No, there was some force still running through him, begging him to unleash it again, to open himself up … Dorian crammed the last book back onto the shelf and took off at a run. He could tell no one. Trust no one. (com)

Chaol stared at Dorian in mute horror as his friend’s eyes glowed a deep, raging blue, and the prince snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch him.” The ice spread across the room, up the legs of the shocked guards, freezing over Sorscha’s blood, and Dorian got to his feet. He raised both hands, and light shimmered along his fingers, a cold breeze whipping through his hair. (com)

Anyone else think Dorian’s snarl sounds a lot like Elain’s snarled don’t touch my sister? Yeah, me too. In Seed of power, I wondered if Elain possessed raw magic like Dorian, and before I’m accused of giving her excessive powers, I think this might be the case for all three witchy sisters. They are blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match Rhysand whose power is described as raw. When Rhysand uses Feyre as a conduit in acowar, her magic comes out as raw, brutal power to weld the Cauldron back together. It reminds me of this:

"Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power." (acosf)

Feyre welded the Cauldron and Nesta hammered swords, creating her own trove of nightmares. Elain will likely craft something with her magic as well, and it may be the other side of the coin to Nesta's nightmares: a trove of dreams. It could be witch mirrors hidden in ordinary jewelry, or even herbs with the power to heal and kill, if she can weaponize plants.

Now back to Dorian and the reason I mentioned him in the first place. He uses phantom hands, as @ladynightcourt3 has pointed out before:

Then those claws were pinned in the wood beneath phantom hands as Dorian sauntered over, face so unyieldingly unmoved. The Bloodhound thrashed, those claws trying to wrench free— The creature screamed as those invisible hands crunched down on bone. Then through it. […] It was not flame or wind that snapped the Bloodhound’s neck. But invisible hands. (eos)

Interesting. This reminds me of another phantom hand, albeit a bit gentler:

And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore. A bargain. With the Cauldron itself. Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. (acosf)

This gentle, glowing hand intervenes on Nesta’s behalf, and it seems to be connected to the wise, soft voice.

A soft, familiar voice whispered the words. As they had been whispered to her long ago. As it had warned her in Oorid’s darkness. A lovely, kind female voice, sage and warm, which had been waiting for her all this time. (acosf)

This gentle hand and voice also seem like the Other Yrene bargains with in an important healing. The Other is most likely Silba, the goddess of healers and bringer of peace and gentle deaths, in Erilea. The one who is associated with owls and purple and healing magic.

A woman’s voice that was both familiar and foreign. A voice that was both Hafiza’s and … another. Someone who was not human, never had been. Speaking through Hafiza herself, their voices blending into the blackness.

[…]

A daughter of Fenharrow will pay the debt of a son of Adarlan?

Yes.

She could have sworn a gentle, warm hand brushed her face.

[…]

The Other said, You offer this of your own free will?

Yes. With my entire heart.

It had been his from the start, anyway. Those loving, phantom hands brushed her cheek again and faded away.

[…]

The Other said, I chose well. You shall pay the debt, Yrene Towers. And I hope you shall see it for what it truly is.

Yrene tried to speak. But light flared, soft and soothing. (tod)

The Other is not named, but it says it chose well and we know that Yrene was blessed with powers by Silba, so it seems likely that this is Silba’s voice. Interestingly, one of the healers also mentions Death:

Before Yrene could answer, Chaol demanded, “What cost?”

A stillness crept over them, and even Yrene looked to Hafiza as the woman extracted herself from Eretia’s care. The Healer on High said quietly, “The damage was too great. Even with all of us…Death held you by the hand.” (tod)

This scene shares so many parallels with the Feysand rescue; it is a powerful healing with a high cost. We learn through Yrene that healers can sense when death is near, which is one of their less savory abilities. Death lurks near Feyre before Nesta uses the Trove, and that is when an otherworldly being looks out from her eyes. The Feysand healing would have taken place after the gods were banished from Erilea, and we did not actually witness their deaths. Is it possible the Mother is connected to Silba?

There is also a place beneath the Torre called Silba’s Womb where healers soak in natural spring waters in the form of dozens of tubs. The darkness Yrene senses in this underground cavern is connected to creation, rest and unformed thought, reminding me of Elain’s iron mental gates that are covered with sleeping buds, leaves, and thorns. This sleeping garden could be a hint for a dormant power like Dorian’s; when his sleeping power is awoken, it is described as something ancient and slumbering deep inside of him, and it opens an eye.

And the darkness above her … it was different from what she had spied in Lord Westfall’s body. The opposite of that blackness. The darkness above her was that of creation, of rest, of unformed thought. Yrene stared into it, into the womb of Silba herself. And could have sworn she felt something staring back. Listening, while she thought through all Lord Westfall had told her. (tod)

Silba’s dark womb of creation is also eerily similar to the dark womb that Nesta senses in the depths of the library:

There was night, and there was the darkness of extinguishing a candle, and then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but … a womb. The womb from which all life had come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. […] Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. […] The darkness pulsed, beckoning. (acosf)

The healing magic we see in tog reminds me quite a bit of the Cauldron, which is that dark womb Nesta mentioned. Healing light not only weaves things together, but devours darkness:

More of the world faded away. I am not afraid of you, Yrene said into the dark. And you have nowhere to run. Duva thrashed, trying to unseat Yrene's grip. Yrene pressed down harder on her chest. Time slowed and bent. She was dimly aware of the ache in her knees, the cramp in her back. Dimly aware of Sartaq and Kashin refusing to offer their position to someone else. Still Irene sent her magic flowing into Diva. Filling her with that devouring light. [...] "Utterly pathetic," Yrene repeated, her magic rallying behind her in a mighty, cresting white wave. "For a prince to prey on a helpless woman." The demon scrambled back against the wave, clawing at the dark as if it would tunnel through Duva. Yrene pushed forward. Let her wave fall.

Yrene's tidal wave of light devours the dark of the Valg like the thread of Hope piercing the Void. The language is similar to the wave imagery of the Cauldron and Elain’s white void when she is overcome by despair and strange new powers. If her void is not the typical dark nothingness but white, could her healing power be opalescent light that devours the darkness? As bright as the sunstone palace of Dawn that holds the light of a thousand suns, piercing the shadows of night each morning?

If Silba and the Mother are connected (one and the same, or part of the same consciousness of formless, higher beings), could Elain—a seer with theoretical raw magic that can heal and destroy and everything in between—act as their watchful guardian, an otherworldly bird of prey?

Even though it perched atop a gnarled branch of iron that flowed across the door itself, wings flared wide as it prepared to leap into the skies, it seemed … alert. Aware of all who passed that door, who perhaps gazed too long in the direction of the workshop. (tod)

Perhaps time and space also work differently for her, as they do for the Ancients.

Next: The Ancients, or Elain’s connection to ancient witches.

Series: seer. wise woman. witch.

#witch elain #witchy elain #herbs she planted #herbal magic #raw magic #Elain’s little garden #it’s all gardening #witchy archeron sisters #acotar witches #tog witches #crescent city witches #maasverse witches #elain archeron

66 notes · View notes