#sibylla cats

[flame-x]

Do you have any familial headcanons you really like?

Gosh so many.

I really like my version of Munkustrap's family (and by saying my version, i just mean his family in my au).

I am so sorry this turns into more than what the ask was.

tw: mentions of attempted murder, banishment, forceful taking away(?), death, abandonment and dog attack

His parents are Old Deuteronomy and Isis. Isis was a queen Old Deuteronomy fell madly in love with and she was the last of his 99 wives and the one he loved the most (hehe tradgedy approaches). Isis was his sun (even though the Ancient Egytian goddess Isis was actually a goddess of the moon) and she brought light and real love into his life. She wasn't just a fling, like most of his other "wives" had been (ehehe young deut being a player like tugs hc my beloved). She was It for him. Deuteronomy was her moon. He brought her peace and a guiding light to what was best for them (maybe one day i'll give more on that). She had been slow to fall for him, never believing he was serious, but eventually he showed her he was. She had Macavity first, of course. God, he brought new feelings into their lives, feelings of love that filled your chest and made you feel as if you could burst of pride. He was a gifted and handsome little cat, and Isis and Deuteronomy knew he'd do spectacular things one day. They knew they wanted to grow their little family, but they could take their time, right? They had all the time in the world. (spoiler: no they didnt >:D) Then (maybe two human years later?) she had Munkustrap. More feelings swelling their chests, and Macavity was great with his little brother (well at the start, anyway) - a great relief to them. He was delighted to have a playmate! He quickly got bored of the little grey tom though, realising Munk was content to sit and listen to the Elders' stories or watch Demeter shyly from afar. One year later, Tugger is born, and gosh isn't he a little menace, although a lovable one. By this point though, Macavity has become reclusive and secretive. Isis doesn't like it, but she's reassured by the other queens that sometimes older tomkittens bordering on young tomhood can be like this, so she doesn't really... try to step in. Meanwhile, Munkustrap is essentially perfect. Everyone prefers him, everyone. There's already stories about his ability to captivate his audience, even when it's just him excitedly telling them about a bug he found in his ear this morning. This is what's been driving Macavity mad. Here he is, magically gifted, and yet everyone prefers Munkustrap. That's where it all starts to go downhill. One night, about four human months after Tugger is born, Isis returns to her human home and is never seen or heard from again. With great sadness, Sibylla, who'd lived next door, informs Deuteronomy that Isis' owners had moved away, and had taken her with them, not knowing they were taking her away from her young family and her tribe.

Deuteronomy is never the same again. He folds in on himself, Macavity becomes more derailed, Munkustrap winds up with increased pressure on his shoulders, and Tugger grows up a wild and uncontrollable tom.

Then head protector Ramses himself takes Munkustrap under his wing and Macavity fucking blows his top. That was supposed to be his job, not Munkustrap's. He tries to kill Munkustrap. Alonzo intervenes, saving the grey tom's life and as a result of the attempted murder, Old Deuteronomy has to banish Macavity. Demeter goes with him, breaking Munk's heart. (This all happened about ten (10) human months after Isis' disappearance)

It's nearly 2 full human years later, and Munkustrap (who's about 4 in human years) finds himself adopting little Misto and Quaxo, who's mother, Noilly Prat (also Alonzo's mother, who's about three) has just recently died from a car. Soon after (maybe two months?) he adds little abandoned Victoria to his small family.

Then more tragedy strikes. Ramses and Sibylla are killed in a shocking and brutal Pollicle dog attack, and Munkustrap finds himself as Head Protector with three young kittens, no mate and having to choose a second ASAP.

Anyway, time continues on, and it's about a human year and a half before Grizabella's Ball and Demeter and the chaos twins arrive back to the tribe. She and Munk become mates and have Sillabub and Jemima. :)

Anyway, some other family hcs I like are: -Alonzo, Misto and Vic as siblings, Bustopher as their uncle -Jelly and Asparagus are siblings and Gus is their dad -Tumble and Pounce are brothers

thank you again for the ask! <3

[bessabessa]

princess cat💚💜🐱

[bitethedevil]

WIP - Raphael as the "dad who didn't want a dog"-meme

(This is just a silly little WIP for something that happens much later in my fic More Than Our Fathers (Raphael x Demigoddess!Reader). I just had a weird urge for Raphael to become a dog-dad)

While Raphael was talking to someone, you wandered around a bit. It was all a lot to take in. There were so many miserable soldiers of the Blood War. The conditions on the ground were awful and the camps were, of course, sectioned after hierarchy. The further you walked, the worse the conditions became.

You stopped in your tracks when you heard the hollow sound of what sounded like a tiny bark behind you. You turned around and looked down on the ground. Your eyes softened immediately as you saw the small fiery creature on the ground in front of you.

It looked like a hellhound, but it was much more dog-like than the huge beasts you had seen walking around. It was just a puppy. It had red glowing eyes that were looking up at you. It was clear that it would grow up to be huge from the big floppy ears it had and big paws. Its fur was a rusty reddish color. It was absolutely adorable.

“Hello, you,” you said to it in a baby-voice.

Its tongue lolled out of its mouth and its little tail started wagging. It barked at you and a puff of smoke came out of its mouth. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen during your time in the Hells.

You cast a spell that made you immune to fire. You cast another to make your hand numb, in case it would bite you with those already strong jaws. You knelt down and let it sniff your hand. Its tiny nose sniffed you with curiosity and it let you pet it.

“Oh, aren’t you precious,” you cooed and smiled.

Your smile faltered slightly when you remembered where you were and the fact that this pup would most likely grow up to be fodder for the front lines.

Animals had always been your biggest weakness. You weren’t too fussed about people, but the thought of animals being hurt tugged at your heartstrings.

Raphael had just left the tent where he had talked with the lieutenants, when he found you outside waiting for him. He looked at the puppy in your arms and then at your pleading eyes.

“No,” he said firmly. “Perish the thought.”

“But—”

“No,” he said again. “No pets. Let it go.”

“’It’ is a she,” you said. “She could be a working dog, a guard dog!”

“Sibylla,” he said tiredly.

“You wouldn’t let me get a cat either,” you said. “I’ll take care of her. She won’t go in the furniture, and she’d be well-trained and everything. I’ve owned lots of dogs before.”

“It is not a dog,” he said.

“She,” you corrected.

“Fine. She is not a dog,” he said and pointed at the puppy in your arms. “Not entirely at least. Her mother might have been from the looks of it, but ‘she’ is a hellhound. I am not taking that half-breed into my home.”

You looked at him in outrage and lowered your voice.

“So, what if she’s a ‘half-breed’? So are we, if you want to be technical about it,” you said defensively and held the pup closer to you. “No need to be rude about it.”

“I grew up around those beasts,” he said with disdain as he looked at the pup. “My father has a fondness for them. I am not budging. Let it go.”

“What will happen to if I do?” you said. “Will it survive? Be honest.”

Raphael sighed and gritted his teeth.

“It will not,” he said. “It is the product of a hellhound breeding with a simple dog. The mother never survives, and hence the pups rarely do for long either. It is the way of nature. Now, let it go.”

Your heart broke and you held the pup closer. You felt its warm little nose nuzzle into your neck as you held it, and tears were threatening to fall down your cheeks.

“Don’t,” Raphael warned at seeing your tears. “Not here.”

He looked around to see if anyone was looking in your direction. You started sniffling when the dog licked your cheek.

Raphael groaned in frustration.

“Fine. Keep the damn mutt,” he groaned. “But it will need to be trained and if it ruins any furniture or makes any trouble at all, we are getting rid of it. Understand?”

“Yes, yes,” you said relieved and nodded. “Thank you.”

Raphael looked at the pup with clear disdain. It was staring excitedly at him with its tongue out of its mouth.

“Such an ugly little thing,” he said.

The puppy yipped at him, and smoke and sparks came out of its mouth. Raphael was quick to take a step back. Was he scared of hellhounds? You weren’t going to press him on it now that he had finally said yes.

“I think I’ll name you Asha,” you cooed to the pup. “Do you like that?”

Raphael mumbled something that sounded like ‘spare me’ and rolled his eyes.

Mephistopheles suddenly turned his attention to Asha who had been sitting beside you like a statue for the entirety of the impromptu meeting from your father in law. She was the size of a big grown up dog now, and she was still growing. He looked at her with a toothy smile that could have been interpreted as fond, if you did not know that he was just as much of a performer as his son was.

“Well-trained, isn’t she?” he said in that smooth breathy voice of his. “Impressive. Especially considering that you do not speak Infernal.”

You looked down at Asha. Her red eyes were following Mephistopheles’ movements intently.

“She understands common just fine it seems,” you said. “I have had her since she was a pup.”

“They are quite intelligent creatures,” he said.

“Indeed,” you said. “I understand you have an interest for hellhounds as well.”

“Oh yes,” he said. “I have been breeding my own race of them. It has been a little pet-project of mine for quite some time. They are tougher, meaner, and larger than even the largest of the Nessian warhounds. Of course, they are purebreds, and not mutts like your attentive little girl there.”

You smiled politely, though the smile was strained.

“I’ve always found that mutts have their own charm,” you said.

“Certainly,” Mephistopheles said and turned his attention to you with a charming smile. “Though they are, of course, completely unpredictable. You never know if the pups will grow up to take after their simple dog mothers or their hellhound fathers. No matter what, the blood is diluted, and you often end up with a hound that is of little use. A half-breed pup does not stand a chance in a pack of purebred hellhounds, and they more often than not end up as dinner…”

He might have still been smiling, but you could easily tell in his pale eyes that you were not talking about dogs anymore. His smile widened even more when he heard the familiar ‘poof’ or Raphael appearing behind him. Raphael looked from you to him with a look of surprise and then annoyance.

“Mephistopheles,” Raphael greeted his father with a cold tone. “My apologies. I did not expect a meeting.”

Mephistopheles did not even look back at him but kept his eyes on you.

“I was not here to meet with you, dear son,” he drawled and walked up the steps to where you were sitting. “A pleasure to properly make your acquaintance, Sibylla.”

He kissed your hand while still making eye contact. You pressed back against your seat as he did. Despite yourself, he did terrify you.

He looked down at Asha and smiled. He reached out to pet her. Had he not moved his hand away fast enough, she would have bitten him. The snap of her strong jaws echoed through the throne room. Mephistopheles’ eyes widened for a second, but he quickly brushed it off with a chuckle. Asha growled at him.

“Apologies,” you said to him. “As you said yourself…half-breeds and their unpredictability.”

He smirked at you with just a hint of admiration in his eyes before disappearing in a flash of smoke and embers.

You sighed in relief and the tension in your body disappeared the second your father-in-law did. Asha quickly returned to her cheerful self and started wiggling her entire body in joy as she went to greet Raphael. For once, he leaned down to scratch her behind her ear and her tail started wagging even more.

“Such a good girl,” he praised and petted her. “Yes, you are, darling.”

“Don’t teach her it’s fine to bite guests,” you said to him.

“She is a smart girl,” Raphael said and rubbed Asha’s belly. “She is allowed when the guest in question is my father.”

You rolled your eyes at him but could not help but smile.

[incorrect-koh-posts]

Do you think Tiberias likes cats or dogs better?

I think he's very firmly a dog person. I don't think he minds cats, necessarily, but he probably likes the loyalty and companionship that come with a well-trained dog better than the fickleness of most cats, since the latter tends to remind him of Sibylla's less admirable traits. I imagine his doggos love him well in return, internally going "Ah, our human is asserting dominance again!" whenever they hear him bark at Guy, lol. They're spoilt as all hell but Tiberias pretends to be annoyed at their antics whenever there are people around.

Also because I drew this silly thing last year and laughed way harder at it than I probably should have:

[arioloyal]

[[Sepandarmazgan]](King baldwin iv x reader)])

Part2

[Jerusalem- 1182]

Sibylla's pov:

I wasn't there the day that the young traveler appeared on my brother's path with her long hair and strange black clothes. I had gone outside Jerusalem with some of my companions to meet balian. When I came back, I realized that the story of my younger brother's acquaintance with that stranger has become a new topic for any conversation.

All the people were asking one thing: who is this girl who is not known where she came from?, what is her origin?, how come the king of the holy land took her seriously and almost bowed to her?...

Since I have been used to seeing everyone bow to my brother since childhood, I never thought that one day he would bow to someone as a sign of respect. He only bowed in supplication before the statue of Jesus during worship, not before lesser and ordinary persons. That's why I didn't believe what I heard. But when I returned, Raymond confirmed the matter, and as I've never heard such a loyal person tell a lie till this day, I was forced to believe that Baldwin had kissed the stranger's hand at court, in front of everyone.

Besides, as Tiberias said, this uninvited guest who seems to be y/n of Persia, is destined to stay with us from now on.

Who is this stranger who suddenly came down from the heaven with a basket and just appeared in front of him? I wanted to look for her and see her with my own eyes. As soon as I saw Tiberias, I asked him: "Then why can't this girl be found?"

Tiberias silenced me by whispering: "Shh...his majesty and Lady y/n have gone to that bedchamber and closed all the doors."

From a distance, their voices sounded like whispers, but it was impossible to understand what they were saying. I was going that way when Tiberias stopped me again.

:"You better wait Sibylla, they don't want to be disturbed."

Guy de lusignan's pov:

...the long days in Jerusalem are not easily over. But they did not come out, the next day was the same, the next day again...how many words did they already have to talk to each other? What could the king of Jerusalem have in common with an ordinary person?

...One week passed, another week was the same... The servants and physicians lined up behind together every day and left the that leper's medicine , fresh bandages and food behind it and left. Although every day more delicious food was cooked than the day before, baldwin and y/n seemed to eat nothing but a piece of wheat bread and a bowl of milk and left the rest behind the door.

The order of the court was messed up. Every day that passed, I became more nervous and curious; I'm always calm, but this time it was different. At different hours of the day, I would stick my eyes to the door and look inside the room. I eavesdropped tirelessly every day. What if this girl knows about the caravan that Reynald and I robbed? as that orange-colored traitor said: "You should be afraid of famous people"...

But in any case, I did not see anything special. The curtains were drawn halfway. Except for the few words I stole in the air, the only thing I could hear was endless whispers. When there is nothing to see or hear, a person starts to fantasize in his mind. Maybe something has happened to the girl...

Once, Sibylla surprised me while I was listening to the door. she was angry and surprised. I think she also came here out of curiosity and wanted to know what kind of long story this is. Honestly, women are naturally curious. they can't help it.

My princess's eyes became like wild cats and she whispered her words in my face angrily.

:"You have no right to eavesdrop here. Since when did you worry about your king? You are not even allowed to enter this corridor."

Thank God I always keep my excuses in my pockets already: "Your lover now has the support of your brother. I have thousands of Knights and Templars at my disposal, and I have the power to do anything without his permission, but before that, I must remind the king that I am asking for your hand in marriage, otherwise your son's rule will be nothing but destruction... I came to talk to him, but it seems he has a beloved guest who never gets tired of being with her almost a month everyday..." I don't know why, but suddenly I laughed at the thought of it. wondering what just happened there...

(To be continued...)

[mythologyolympics]

Mythology Olympics tournament round 1

Propaganda!

Bastet was the daughter of Ra, sister of Sekhmet, the wife of Ptah, and the mother of Mihos. Since the Second Dynasty, Bastet was worshiped as a deity, most commonly in Lower Egypt. Her form and powers changed over the years.

It was believed that every day she would ride through the sky with her father, the sun god Ra. As his boat pulled the sun through the sky she would watch over and protect him. At night, she would turn into a cat to protect Ra from his greatest enemy, the serpent Apep.

Due to her protective duties, she was nicknamed the Lady of the East, Goddess of the Rising Sun, and the Sacred and All Seeing Eye. She is also known as the Goddess of the Moon and was thought to be the eye of the moon and the eye of Ra. Bastet is still worshipped today and her protection is believed by some to be cast over modern cats.

The Cumaean Sibyl was the priestess presiding over the Apollonian oracle at Cumae, a Greek colony near Naples, Italy. The word sibyl comes (via Latin) from the ancient Greek word sibylla, meaning prophetess. There were many sibyls throughout the ancient world. Because of the importance of the Cumaean Sibyl in the legends of early Rome as codified in Virgil's Aeneid VI, and because of her proximity to Rome, the Cumaean Sibyl became the most famous among the Romans.

The story of the acquisition of the Sibylline Books by Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, the semi-legendary last king of the Roman Kingdom, or Tarquinius Priscus, is one of the famous mythic elements of Roman history.

Centuries ago, concurrent with the 50th Olympiad, not long before the expulsion of Rome's kings, an old woman "who was not a native of the country" arrived incognita in Rome. She offered nine books of prophecies to King Tarquin; and as the king declined to purchase them, owing to the exorbitant price she demanded, she burned three and offered the remaining six to Tarquin at the same stiff price, which he again refused, whereupon she burned three more and repeated her offer. Tarquin then relented and purchased the last three at the full original price, whereupon she "disappeared from among men".

[calissarowan]

In your AU… If you have Season 7 here in the Naomiverse, Do The Rustic Fairies and Sibylla have good connections with the Quill Cats before the Quill Cats goes into extinction?

I am planning season seven in the Naomiverse, yes! It’s definitely set to be Roxy’s time. I don’t know yet if Critty is going to feature, since I’m planning some heavy plot reworking, but if she does feature, yes, that would make a lot of sense for Sibylla to know and have a connection with the quillcats, as they both reside in Italy. And I’m planning some adventuring on Earth that is set to feature at least one of the Major Fairies, so Sibylla is likely to feature. (I’m sorry I don’t have more on that, season seven is still being reworked.) Thank you very much for the ask!

[misterah13]

Purple List

Coo (Kirby)

Marx (Kirby)

Bonnie The Bunny (Five Nights At Freddy’s)

Shadow Freddy Fazbear (Five Nights At Freddy’s)

Funtime Freddy Fazbear (Five Nights At Freddy’s)

Helpy (Five Nights At Freddy’s)

Mr Hippo (Five Nights At Freddy’s)

Baby Talking Tattletail (Tattletail)

Yuri (Doki Doki Literature Club)

Daisy Duck (Disney)

Gale (Angry Birds)

Selena (Rayman)

Sibylla (Rayman)

Voodoo Mamma (Rayman)

Purple Pikmin (Pikmin)

Purple Crewmate (Among Us)

Badeline (Celeste)

Hat Kid (A Hat In Time)

Abby Park (Turning Red)

Miyumi (Hanazuki Full Of Treasures)

Purple Hemka (Hanazuki Full Of Treasures)

Lavender Hemka (Hanazuki Full Of Treasures)

Lila (Spooky Month)

Kagami Hiiragi (Lucky Star)

Tsukasa Hiiragi (Lucky Star)

Inori Hiiragi (Lucky Star)

Miki Hiiragi (Lucky Star)

Toothy (Happy Tree Friends)

Mime (Happy Tree Friends)

Lammy (Happy Tree Friends)

Lollipop (Battle For Dream Island)

Marker (Battle For Dream Island)

Purple Face (Battle For Dream Island)

Five (Battle For Dream Island)

Banny The Rabbit (The Walten Files)

The Toymaker (Harmony And Horror)

Sarah Henderson (Needlem0use)

Needlem0use (Needlem0use)

First Lieutenant Garuru Chui (Keroro Gunso)

Quack The Duck (Peep And The Big Wide World)

Cindy The Cat (Five Nights At Candy’s)

Shadow Candy The Cat (Five Nights At Candy’s)

New Cindy The Cat (Five Nights At Candy’s)

Withered New Cindy The Cat (Five Nights At Candy’s)

Shadow Rat (Five Nights At Candy’s)

Shadow Cat (Five Nights At Candy’s)

CatNap (Poppy Playtime)

Uzi Doorman (Murder Drones)

Fear (Inside Out)

Ennui (Inside Out)

Penny (Enchanted Portals)

[charmixpower]

Do The Rustic Fairies and Sibylla have good connections with the Quill Cats before the Quill Cats goes into extinction in your AU?

I haven't seen s7 yet jdjsjssn I can't answer this

[dear-indies]

Hello Cat (& Mouse!) i was wondering if you had any suggestions for a south asian woman, around teens-early thirties, with fantasy or historical resources? i'm trying to fancast a very princess-y character! thank you so much!

Simone Ashley (Bridgerton) Tamil Indian.

Charithra Chandran (Bridgerton) Tamil Indian.

Anya Chalotra (The Witcher) Kashmiri Indian / English.

Kiran Sonia Sawar (The Nevers) Pakistani.

Sibylla Deen (Tut) Pakistani.

Amita Suman (Shadow and Bone) Bhojpuri Nepalese.

Here you go - friendly reminder that I don't give suggestions for those younger than 21!

[nevinslibrary]

Comic Book Saturday

This graphic novel takes the Scottish fairytale of the same name and reimagines it a bit. It starts with Sibylla and her sisters getting their fortunes told by a witch. Sibylla’s sisters want to know who they’ll marry. Sibylla wants to know what adventures she’ll be on, but, also does ask about who she’ll marry. And, finds out that she’ll fated to marry the Black Bull of Norroway. And so starts Sibylla’s adventure, although it never seems to take the path that she thinks it will.

It’s a typical fairy tale in that there are messages that aren’t always straight forward, curses, and the journey is part of the point as well as the destination. I also really liked the art, and, although it took a moment, I did get used to the pace and how the panels were being put together. It was a fun read and I can’t wait to read the second volume.

You may like this book If you Liked: The Witch's Throne by Cedric Caballes, The Last Unicorn by Peter B. Gillis, or The Sleeper and the Spindle by Neil Gaiman

Norroway, Vol. 1: The Black Bull of Norroway by Cat Seaton

[flame-x]

I see you say Munkustrap is your favourite character and I have to say you have good taste.

What are your Munkustrap HCs?

-TRC

Well, anon, I have many. Thank you for the ask! <33333 And yeah I have impeccable taste! /lh. I'm afraid this post is going to be extrememly messy.

I'm gonna answer this in relation to my au cos I have many hcs all over the place and my au is the only thing where I have them all together in comprehensible format sashjsdhakda XD

cw: mentions of death and attempted murder below the cut

Where do I start? Probably with explaining the family stuff. (most of this part is taken directly from my notes so excuse the roughness)

Macavity, Munk and Tugger are brothers. Old Deut is their father. Mother dead. Macavity is the oldest but Old Deut always favoured Munk because he was "perfect" but like not really yk. Macavity tried to kill Munk when they were younger but Alonzo intervened, saving Munkustrap’s life (this is why Macavity was exiled). Demestrap is canon and they're parents to Sillabub and Jemima. But first, earlier on he adopted Misto and Quaxo and soon after Vic too (before Demeter came back to the tribe- single dad Munk!)

He has blue eyes because yes XD

He and Alonzo are so close I just hsjkdhag I love them so much! Platonic alonzostrap give me life!!

He had such a hard time when he became head protector. Ramses and Sibylla (Munk's predecessor and his mate and second) were killed in an unexpected Pollicle attack and their premature deaths were a shock to the tribe. Munk had a tough time between having three adopted kittens (one possessing unpredicatable magic) and no mate to help him, having to take some time to choose a second wisely (for the record, his first instinct had been Lonz but his brain said 'no u should wait a while' even tho he was sure but he waited anyway) and having to deal with doubts about his leadership- his brother was Macavity, after all. He just wasn't fully ready. Just as he had found his feet, he was flung into the turmoil that was the return of Demeter, Mungo and Teazer to the tribe.

When Straps has a spare moment, he goes to the mursery to tell the kittens a daring story about adventurous and heroic cats- a lot of whom just so happen to have the same names as them or other cats in the Junkyard. (This is a tradition Gus began a long time ago- even before Munkustrap himself was born)

He has an owner but he spends the majority of his time in the Junkyard.

His patience levels are insane. He is also the ultimate Dad(TM) and doesn't sleep enough.

Munkustrap is a very gifted Storyteller- which is a type of ancient Jellicle magic, often passed down in families. Old Deuteronomy also has a bit of Storytelling magic, though Munk's talent far, far, surpasses his father's.

Munkustrap's favourite colours are the exact shade of Demeter's eyes, and the moonlight reflecting off of Victoria's coat as she dances at the Ball, and the exact pink of Sillabub's tongue when she stops washing her paws in excited wonderment with her tongue still out to listen to another of his stories, and the many different glittering shades of the light on Misto's coat as he does his Conjuring turns, and the colour of the sunlight on Jem's reddish coat, and the rich, velvety black that covers Quaxo from head to tail (except, of course, for the white markings on his ears and the tip of his tail and his little white toes), and the beautiful oranges and brown and golds of Tugger's mane in the evening sunlight and the black and white of Alonzo's coat that he knows better than his own. But if anycat asked, he'd say he didn't have one.

I'm always playing around with other hcs for him. But also Alonzo, who I think has just wormed his way into sharing the top spot with Straps at this point XD.

[bessabessa]

sibylla but cat💖💜🐱

[sciencestyled]

Botanical Bling: How Plants Became the Kardashians of the Art World

Alright, folks, buckle up because we're about to embark on a wild ride through the verdant jungle of botanical illustration—a world where flora meets flair, and petals are painted with panache. Imagine if Da Vinci had a TikTok account and was obsessed with houseplants. That's the kind of leafy extravaganza we're diving into today.

Picture this: it's the Middle Ages, and some monk in a dimly lit scriptorium is hunched over a parchment, trying to make a dandelion look like something other than a squashed bug. Fast forward a few centuries, and suddenly, everyone's losing their minds over botanical illustration like it's the latest viral cat meme. Early herbals and botanical texts were the OG plant guides, like the medieval equivalent of scrolling through #PlantTok. These weren't just your garden variety doodles; they were serious business, folks. Medieval herbals were like the “Game of Thrones” of botany—full of intrigue, drama, and the occasional misidentified herb.

Then came the Renaissance, a time when every Tom, Dick, and Harry with a paintbrush decided they could illustrate plants. Techniques evolved faster than a teenager’s TikTok feed. Watercolor was the aesthetic of choice, bringing that soft, ethereal glow to every leaf and petal, making each plant look like it had just been misted by an influencer's facial spray. Engravings followed, with their sharp, precise lines—think of it as the botanical equivalent of an HD upgrade. And let’s not forget digital illustration, the Photoshop of the plant world, where you can make a daisy look like it’s posing for Vogue.

Now, let’s talk about the Beyoncé and Jay-Z of botanical illustration—Maria Sibylla Merian and Pierre-Joseph Redouté. Maria was the original plant mom, traveling to Suriname in the 1690s to paint bugs and plants with more dedication than a reality TV star looking for their next headline. Her illustrations were so detailed they made you feel like you could almost smell the jungle through the pages. It’s like she was the David Attenborough of the 17th century but with better hair.

Pierre-Joseph Redouté, on the other hand, was the botanical equivalent of Leonardo DiCaprio—always in demand and forever a heartthrob. His roses are so iconic that even people who kill cacti can appreciate their beauty. Redouté was to flowers what Kanye West is to oversized sneakers—an undeniable trendsetter.

Today’s botanical illustrators are like the cool kids in art school, blending scientific accuracy with artistic expression as seamlessly as a barista pouring a latte. They fuse the meticulous detail of a biology textbook with the bold creativity of street art, creating works that are as educational as they are Instagrammable. This new wave of artists understands that plants aren’t just organisms; they’re the divas of the natural world, demanding attention with their flashy colors and dramatic structures.

But it’s not all about looks. Botanical illustrations are the unsung heroes of plant taxonomy and conservation. These drawings help scientists identify and classify plants, making sure we don’t accidentally mix up deadly nightshade with your garden-variety tomato. Think of it as the botanical version of not confusing Cardi B with Nicki Minaj—both fabulous, but definitely not the same.

And let’s not forget their role in conservation. Botanical illustrations raise awareness about endangered plants, acting like the Greta Thunberg of the plant world. They remind us that while we’re busy binge-watching “The Office” for the fifth time, there are plants out there fighting for survival.

So, why does botanical art still have such enduring appeal? Maybe it’s the way these illustrations capture the delicate balance between science and beauty, much like a perfectly crafted tweet that’s both hilarious and insightful. Or perhaps it’s because they remind us of a simpler time when people actually stopped to smell the roses instead of just scrolling past them on their feed.

In the end, botanical illustration is more than just pretty pictures of plants. It’s a testament to our fascination with the natural world and our desire to understand it in all its complexity. It’s biology and art having a meet-cute in the middle of a field of wildflowers. So next time you see a botanical illustration, take a moment to appreciate the artistry, the science, and the sheer dedication that went into it. After all, in the words of the great philosopher Kermit the Frog, “It’s not easy being green.”

[incorrect-koh-posts]

Chapter 11 on AO3

“Slower, girl. Slower! By all that is holy – do they not read books in Kerak?”

Sibylla lay sprawled on her bed, half-buried under a heap of tasselled cushions and silks. She had been complaining of a headache all day, but when she heard Isolt and Fenie approach, she feebly lifted her head, keeping a hand pressed to her brow to prevent her cold compress from slipping. “Ah,” she said, sinking back into the mattress. “There you are. I need some refreshment to combat all the words that child is butchering.”

Seeing Isabella cringe in her high-backed chair, Isolt very nearly cringed along with her. Her own truce with the queen still stood on shaky legs, too new to carry much weight, and Isolt was still frighteningly aware that Sibylla was watching her every move.

She had, after all, admitted to it herself.

“I saw you, you know,” Sibylla had mentioned casually one evening out in the gardens, mere days ago. Hitching up her skirts with one hand, she had sat beside Isolt on the rim of the trickling fountain, close enough that their knees touched. “You and my esteemed cousin, at my lord husband’s tourney. You seemed rather … familiar with one another, non?”

It had taken Isolt her all not to drop the embroidery she’d been working on into the water. Yet something in her face must have betrayed her, for Sibylla had smiled at her, with the deceptive mildness of a cat that has placed its soft paw on the mouse’s tail. “Oh, don’t look so caught out! Thought you were being discreet, poor gosling, did you?”

Isolt felt as though a rug had been pulled from under her feet. “My lady,” she stammered, curling her fingers round the cool stone of the fountain’s ledge. “Madam, I hardly –”

She and Lord Tiberias? In some small corner of her mind, of course, she had expected that such an accusation might be levelled at the two of them eventually. After all, they saw each other often; and though they took some precautions with choosing the time and place for their meetings, none of it was clandestine, exactly. Why, Tiberias was a married man! And he did not strike her as being of the unfaithful sort of husbands that prowled about court, chasing after every skirt. Besides, he was so much older than her. And even if – if one of them were to even consider – surely, then, he’d prefer someone else. Some older lady, perhaps, whom he’d known for years; a grave and much more worldly-wise person than her, who’d whisper daring, heated words into his ear at night, but would dress again at the crack of dawn and return to her husband’s quarters with scarcely a perfunctory peck on her lover’s cheek. Or perhaps -

Isolt had reined in her shameful fancies with some effort before they galloped away with her entirely. But when she had looked up again, her cheeks were burning, and she’d known Sibylla had her precisely where she’d wanted her.

“I must admit,” Sibylla had said, idly trailing a hand through the leaf-strewn water, “it quite surprised me the old fox still shows interest in you. Be warned – he has a habit of dropping people once they have served their purpose in his schemes. And I cannot for the life of me see what advantage an insignificant thing like you might win him, at present. Not with my husband, that’s for certain, what with your connection to William Marshal! If it were influence he wanted, my lord Tiberias had better seduce Reynald’s horse than bother with the likes of you.” A pensive expression crossed her features; she gave a shrug. “Well, I suppose his years are beginning to mellow him. You have some little charm, I grant, when you choose to put some effort into it …”

Perhaps it was the veiled jab at her pride that made Isolt find her voice. “Nothing untoward has passed between the count and I, Your Grace,” she said, hoarse but firm. “I assure you.”

Sibylla had laughed at that, somewhat shrilly, as if she found Isolt’s desperation both familiar and hideously entertaining. “No assurances needed, ma chère. I heard of those poor young fellows you recently jilted so recklessly. That fierce little German – and one of Scandalion’s scions, was it?” Her gaze grew sharp. “Just out of curiosity, was my cousin the one who convinced you to set your sights a little higher?”

Set my sights a little higher? Isolt had almost recoiled. She knew everything was a game of ambition in this place, all the perilous climbs and descents from the cradle to the grave, but she had ill considered how her own actions would be read. She believes she deserves better, the silly chit. That was what Severijn had said about her decision, quite deliberately within hearing range, and she’d seen him preen when his friends had jeered. And yet, deep down, wasn’t that exactly what she believed? That she deserved a life without the constant jingling of fear at the back of her skull, beside someone who didn’t trample on her views, her trust? Someone to whom she was more than a mere connection made with some other man, some prize to be won?

Read the rest here :)

[notasapleasure]

Sunday six...and more

Inchoate

A couple of new chapters

Elizabeth pov, just a bit of characterisation I guess. I'm having a bit of a writing break from Inchoate right now, I need to get my enthusiasm back, but I've not forgotten our boys :') I'll be finishing this eventually, don't worry!

One of the many present band au Lymond wips

Draft of chapter 1(!) of the fic @erinaceina asked for ages ago where the characters celebrate the resignation of Thatcher at the close of 1990 (so about 1 year post-canon). Happy vignettes ended up being hard to get a purchase on though, so expect angst to creep in - these guys have a fair bit of a past after all.

In this chapter: Lymond/Philippa, Adam/Kate, Sibylla, Mariotta/Richard, their son Kevin, Slata Baba the dog, Talus the cat, Will Scott/Grizel, their many ginger children.

---

Anyone who could hold together the kind of career Francis Crawford, the artist known as Lymond, had managed to maintain was unlikely to be troubled by the organisation of a little party. Indeed, with one of Red Wedge's staunchest fundraisers onboard, a stalwart of Folk Against Fascism, a woman who had persuaded Elvis Costello and all of the Attractions to play her benefit shows, the matter shouldn't really have required more than a few phone calls to caterers and the setting up of some speakers.

Reality, however, had a tendency to complicate matters, particularly when friends and family were involved. Such complications were only compounded by the very public, deeply satsifying, disintegration of Margaret Thatcher's stranglehold on power.

The party being prepared had been planned in celebration of Christian Stewart's birthday, but had recently taken on a new mantle, at Christian's insistence, of a celebration of the end of Thatcher's career. All who knew Christian loved Christian and had wanted to help with the party anyway, but now spirits were even higher and St Mary's should have been a hive of activity.

Sibylla was there to decorate, as were Mariotta and Kevin; if Richard Crawford had, earlier that week, tried to suggest that Chris, being blind, was unlikely to appreciate Sibylla's flower-arranging skills, and that Francis and Philippa might prefer to set up the party in peace, he had been swiftly corrected. Chris appreciated the scent of Sibylla's bouquets and wreaths, and Mariotta had promised Kevin they'd make a pinata like he'd seen them do on Blue Peter. It was then universally agreed that Chris would enjoy, and excel at, whacking the stuffing out of a papier-mâché construction.

And then Kate was to be on hand to help prepare the food while Adam set up the sound-system, and Francis and Philippa themselves would not be driven from the kitchen when they had new recipes they wanted to try out on their guests.

Yet it was two hours before the party and the estate at St Mary's was a scene devoid of people, messy with incomplete activities.

The doors of the great grey building were open to the dreich November day, letting turf-warmed air out and inviting mizzle to settle on the tiles in the entranceways. A black cat sat imperious on the front doorstep, blinking at the four wheel drive that had pulled up on the drive and twitching its tail and ears at the sound crunching gravel. The cat's yellow eyes narrowed as the Land Rover decanted its passengers. It did not move when the lanky driver strode towards the front door and yelled for the master of the house, but when the cat noticed the noisy knot of children emerging from the back-seat its fur fluffed up and it turned on the lintel to trot away into the house.

"Talus, fetch Francis for us!" Will Scott instructed the animal as it disappeared. He squinted into the hallway and shrugged at his wife.

"I'll start unloading, will I?" Grizel, a baby held in one arm, gestured to the boot.

"Naw, woman," Will leaned on the doorframe, mindful of his muddy boots in a way Grizel never saw him be at home. "I'll go round back and see if they're in the kitchen."

He tramped round the edge of the building, peering through windows as he went.

In a front room over-stuffed with furniture that had been evicted from other locations in order to make space for recording studios, a project had been abandoned mid-way through. There was a washing basin filled with a murky mix of PVA glue and water, a stack of sacrificial newspapers, and a papier-mâché doll shaped around a part-inflated balloon and some old toilet rolls. Cat hair clung to the drying mix of paper and glue and sprinkled the surface of the liquid in the bowl, and the hand-prints of a small person, sticky from glue and dark from newspaper ink, stained the stone around the fireplace.

At the back door, muddy foot-prints tracked from vegetable patch to patio to kitchen. A bucket of evergreen sprigs, twisted willow branches, and dried teasel heads stood sentinel by the unappreciated boot-scraper; leylandii and pine and rosemary leaned drunkenly against one another, drooping beneath the weight of accumulated mist. Damp newspapers laid down to protect the lino had been crumpled and torn underfoot, and potato peelings filled the sink. Flour scattered on the kitchen table had powdered the floor like a light fall of snow, and cake batter waited patiently for someone to place it into the oven. The counter-top was covered in sprigs of dried lavender and citrus pieces.

"Philippa?" Will bellowed into the house. "Francis?"

A window above him opened and a mop of blond hair appeared, a broad smile beneath it. "Marigold! Come on up - Richard's on the telly."

Will squinted. "I've got whisky from my da' in the boot first, where d'ye want it?" his accent broadened as he hollered.

Francis disappeared inside to consult with someone, and then his head popped out again. "We'll arrange that in a moment, make yourself tea and come up. He's really doing a rather good job..." Francis peered back inside as he spoke, evidently still half-focussed on the TV broadcast.

"I've got the wife and kids..." Will protested.

"Bring them too - d'you hear that, Kevin? Walt, Jeanie, Jack and little Frankie are here!" And with that, Francis disappeared inside again and the window shut.

Grizel rounded the corner of the house with a question on her features, a baby in her arms, and the other three children trailing scrappily after her.

Will sighed and stepped into the kitchen, gesturing for her to follow.

"Tea?"

The room upstairs was the clearest indicator that the house had far too much space for one couple alone to fill. It wasn't a study or a bedroom, nor even a store room or a music room. It was just a TV room - and it could have done with some of the furniture from downstairs moving up to fill it.

Inside, the master of the house and his young wife sat contentedly on beanbags, their nephew and sister-in-law seated likewise to one side, their enormous black dog, newly imported from Russia, to the other. Adam Blacklock and Sibylla Crawford sat in the only two chairs, and Kate Somerville perched precariously on the arm of Adam's seat. A jumble of muddy boots was piled in the hallway outside the room - to which Will added his grubby timberlands - and on the TV set Richard Crawford, MP, discussed the ongoing infighting among the Conservative government with a careful mask of professional amity.

Grizel frowned at something he said as she followed Will in. "But I thought the old witch was gone?"

"To the living I am gone ... To the faithful I have never left," Francis quoted with biting contempt and brittle amusement in his eyes.

"She stood down as leader," Philippa informed Grizel. "And won't run again to keep her place. But she's still PM until they choose a new one."

Grizel made a sound of disgust and waved at Sibylla to keep her seat as the older woman went to rise. She kicked an unoccupied beanbag over the floor to settle by the big dog, who flinched at the unexpected movement and the sound of the stuffing rustling, and got up, tail between her legs, head down, to hide behind Philippa and Francis.

"Och, hound, I'm sorry. But you're a great feartie, look at the size o'ye!" Grizel flumped down, baby Frankie still held close to her ample chest, still blissfully unconcerned with all that was going on around him.

Philippa scratched Slata Baba's ears as the dog settled again with a groan, her enormous head laid between Philippa and Francis and her eyebrows twitching plaintively as though asking her owners why there were suddenly so many strangers in her house. "She's getting better, but I think tonight we'll leave her in the study, don't you agree, Francis?"

Lymond's long fingers stroked the top of the dog's skull and he smiled down at her. "Yes, I think so. She might not be happy to share the house with old Sym."

"I can't believe Chris still has him," Will shook his head, passing Grizel a mug of tea and easing himself down onto a large cushion next to her. The scar tissue in his side pulled stiff, as it always did when he bent or twisted too far. He grunted like Slata Baba had done when she settled, and it did not go unnoticed by his wife who, Will knew, would add it to the dossier of things to bring up should he ever be foolish enough to suggest joining Lymond on tour again.

"I think Chris guides Sym these days," Sibylla said drily. "Mind you, he was never the most accomplished of service dogs."

Kate turned to Adam and some unspoken agreement passed between them. "Actually, Adam and I have arranged to take her to the centre at Tollgate. She's coming to stay at Flaw Valleys after this, and from there we're going to meet some newly graduated guide dogs this week."

"Oh Kate, puppies?" Philippa turned to her mother.

"No...highly trained working dogs," Kate corrected her, hiding her smile badly.

Philippa's enthusiasm was undimmed, and she shot a knowing expression Adam's way. Adam shrugged one shoulder and grinned, resigned to his fate - however many dogs it might involve.

"Da, can we have a dog?" Walt, five years old and more freckle than boy, asked. He stood by Will, his little hands bunched into determined fists and his blue eyes round as marbles as he stared at Slata Baba. Clearly, he longed to go and pet her, but he would not approach unless invited to.

"No ye may not. Ye can play with wee Jock when we go to Grandda's, and ye already have that rat ye don't feed!" Grizel tutted and answered for him while Will grinned sheepishly, pleased to have the decision taken out of his hands.

"Mario isna a rat, Ma, he's a hamster," Walt rolled his eyes petulantly.

"Same difference," Grizel shook her head. "And I hafta clean it out either way."

Sensing the mood, Mariotta sat forward on her bean bag and tore her eyes from the TV screen. "Walt, Jeanie, Jack, do you want to help Kevin make the decorations for tonight?"

It was a thoughtful idea, but Kevin let out a sulky "No!" at the suggestion. He scowled at the TV screen. "Dad's not finished, Mum, and you're not even listening!"

Mariotta's brows raised at his tone and, appropriately chastened, she hid her smirk behind a hand, though no one else in the room bothered concealing their amusement. To think that the press had once tried to suggest this boy was anyone's other than Richard's...

"Sorry, Kev," Mariotta murmured and rubbed his back with her palm, turning towards to TV with elaborately pantomimed interest.

Richard gave his assessment of the situation in measured tones, but stuck a sharp, polite knife into the Tories at every opportunity. The interviewer could barely conceal the glint of amusement in his eyes.

When asked who he thought was the best person to replace Thatcher, Richard allowed himself a small chuckle. "You mean other than Neil Kinnock?"

Indulgent, unctuous, the interviewer echoed his laugh. "We're discussing a leadership contest, not a general election…"

"Well you asked me who I thought best," Richard pointed out, gesturing with a broad palm. "But in terms of Tory leadership candidates it's really like asking me to choose between tetanus and tuberculosis. While both can be treated, I wouldn't want to contract either of them."

"And who's tetanus and who's tuberculosis?" the interviewer didn't miss a beat.

Richard couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Let's see what symptoms we develop."