#source: merryweather

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Bee!Faunus Penny: *Dying* I ... I'm sorry Jaune ...

Jaune: No ... Why do you all keep dying ... Where did we go wrong ...

Jaune: How can we survive if you keep Dying? All the plants you pollinate ...

???: Don't worry little Human~

???: Bees aren't the only Insects that pollinate~

Jaune: C-Cinder?

Wasp!Faunus Cinder: Soon you won't be able to live without me~

Fun Fact! Many species of Most Bees, Wasps, and Hornets, as well as certain species of Beetle, Fly (Including Mosquito) and even some Hummingbirds are important Pollinators in the Ecosystem.

[fortunate-hal]

Does she dream of Myr? she wondered. Or is it her lover with the scar, the dangerous dark-haired man who would not be refused?

Cersei Lannister and Taena Merryweather as depicted in the Finnish special edition of A Feast for Crows illustrated by Petri Hiltunen.

[incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre]

Robin: God, you’re SO clingy Maria: YOU came into MY bed?!

[ai-art-thieves]

Sevenart's getting wiser

In case you weren't aware, Sevenart.ai had started to change their targets.

They are now scraping images on DeviantArt.

Example of stolen work and the new tags. note that the tags have no spaces in between the words. Original artist is @mangolily0 (sideblog is @mangolilyart. mangolily0 on deviantart. Source here.)

Another example. This time stealing art from the webcomic "Goth Girl and the Jock" by @merryweather-media/@merry-vtuber (merryweathercomics on deviantart. source here.) Note the long image format, a hallmark for comics on DeviantArt.

A final example, stolen from @demico-art (same username on deviantart. source here.)

So if you have a DeviantArt account, now's the time to nightshade and alert people about this.

Report these bots via a copyright violation.

And since DeviantArt has their own ai engine, I have a feeling that they wouldn't like that their ai generated results are being used by these scumbags.

The bots might not be scraping this site anymore, but they are still scraping.

We will not stop until SevenArt.ai is gone for good.

[milfjagger]

posting this on its own as well :) template and idea from @trollmaiden and full guide/sources under cut

"La Belle Dame sans Merci” by Henry Meynell Rheam

by Ayami Kojima 

“The Fairy Lovers” by Theodor Richard Edward von Holst 

Gnomes from the novel The Little Grey Men, written and illustrated by “BB” (Denys Watkins-Pitchford)

Nyform Norwegian troll

“Little Red Mischief” by Amy Brown

Faery from “The Hallow” dir. Corin Hardy, SFX by John Nolan

Ariel from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, illustrated by Jane Ray

The Beast from Over The Garden Wall, created by Patrick McHale

“Morgan Le Fay” by Clive Hicks-Jenkins

Unicorn foal sculpture by SovaeArt https://www.deviantart.com/indigo-ocean/gallery

Faery from Good Faeries, Bad Faeries by Brian Froud

“Dusk” by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law

Honeythorn Gump from “Legend” dir. Ridley Scott

Oona from “Legend” dir. Ridley Scott

Flora, Fauna and Merryweather from “Sleeping Beauty”, art direction by Eyvind Earle

Bilbo Baggins from a Dutch edition of JRR Tolkein’s The Hobbit, illustrated by Kees Kelfkens(?)

Selkie depicted on a Faroese stamp

Chortlebones from Bella Sara, illustrated by Lynn Hogan

Huldra from the game “Year Walk” 

The Sprite from Fantasia 2000, segment directed by Paul and Gaëtan Brizzi

and 23 Costume designs for Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Robert Courtneidge

As above

Tinker Bell from Peter Pan (2003) dir. PJ Hogan

Hoggle from Labyrinth, designed by Brian Froud and created by Jim Henson’s Creature Shop

Mr Tumnus from The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe dir. Andrew Adamson

Tom Bombadil from JRR Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings, illustrated by Tim Hildebrandt

The Green Man (source unclear)

Illustration for Terry Pratchett’s The Wee Free Men by Robyn Haley

Truffle from Adventure Quest

 Littlest Pet Shop fairy

Woodland Furby made by me :) Please do not call him cursed

The Psammead from the BBC’s TV adaptation of E Nesbitt's Five Children and It, dir. Marilyn Fox

Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves from The Hobbit, dir. Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass

Nøkken by John Bauer

Gizmo from Gremlins dir. Joe Dante, creature design by Chris Walas

Gollum from JRR Tolkein’s The Hobbit, illustrated by Tove Jansson

Soot Sprite from Spirited Away dir. Hayao Miyazaki

Gonk

“The Junk Lady” from Labyrinth; concept art by Brian Froud

Domovoi by Vladimir Chernickov

Falkor from The Neverending Story dir. Wolfgang Petersen, creature design by Patrick Woodroffe

Cherry Fairy from Webkinz

Titania from Vertigo Comics, illustrated by Matt Dixon

Wind Drifter, My Little Pony G1

[princess-ibri]

Sleeping Beauty (Maleficent) Live Action Redesign

Had this saved up for a while trying to come up with an amazing way to combine Maleficent and the Actual Sleeping Beauty movie and decided I had too many things on my plate so here's the art at least xD

Made her peasent dress more period accurate to the 14th century but with a bit of Fairytale Flair. Also, I tried to go for a shot silk/iridescent look with Aurora's ending gown to get all of the fairy's colors in (including Fauna)

With Maleficent I wanted to have her design envoke more of a dragon then a bird as she would 100% still turn into a dragon herself in my version, also wanted some iridescence in her gown as well. Make that black stand out more/give it an oil slick quality.

With the fairies, basically, I'd just overhaul them back to their decent, actually loving, and mostly competent selves from the animated version. With no weird mini CGI forms either. Also give them back their real names. Also switched the Fauna and Merryweather actresses since Merryweather is meant to be the youngest.

(Would also not have Stefan be evil, though might keep him knowing Maleficent as children. If the only way to make people feel for your villains that you can think of is to make the good characters secretly evil and the villains just "misunderstood" then you're not trying hard enough/have no respect for the source material. Give me "Revenge of the Sith" not 'Wicked-Lite')

[iilllya]

Overanalysing sad german cops part 7/?: Adam Schürk, Leo Hölzer + hope

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 can be found here, here, here, here, here and here!

Andrea Bartz, We Were Never Here / Alexandra Potter, The Two Lives of Miss Charlotte Merryweather / source unknown / Louise Glück, Poems 1962-2012 / bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions / Hermann Hesse, Narziss und Goldmund / Christian Kracht, Faserland

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.

However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.

This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?

After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love. Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.

Chapter 8: Schemes and Artisans

AO3 - Masterlist

A theater had been erected amidst the lush gardens of the Red Keep, its semi-circular structure complemented by the captivating backdrop of the vast expanse of the sea. The structure was a mix of marble and limestone, ornately carved, and had been built during the reign of Jaehaerys and Alyssan. 

Daenera had arranged three elegantly sets of tables on the balcony, offering a splendid view overlooking the stage and the sea. Her invitations had been extended to esteemed guests, including Tris Caswell, the second daughter of Lord Merryweather, Kaylys Merryweather, Lady Fell, and Lady Sylvie Rosby. An invitation had also been extended to Queen Alicent, but that had politely declined, much to Daenera’s delight. 

The early morning had been spent making the last preparations. The tables were filled with cakes and fruit, a colorful display of abundance and wealth, with the possibility of being watered with some of the finest wine Westeros had to offer. Daenera had chosen a colorful dress of orange and gold and her hair were braided in the traditional Targaryen way, keeping it from blowing into her face.

She was standing on the balcony, listening to the ladies talk among themselves excitedly, already indulging in the wine. The sun shone brightly and were it not for the shadow the stretched out fabric provides, they would surely have burned. 

Jelissa hurried into the middle of the theater, her steps clicking over the pale stone. She looked up at Daenera, a bright smile on her lips. “We’re ready!” 

Daenera nodded in acknowledgement. 

Jelissa hurried away, letting the guards at the gate know that they could open. She then sprinted back to stand with Joyce by the side of the rounded stage, the table in front of them filled with leather pouches, brimming with unspent money and the promise of more to come. 

A mass of people filed in through the gates. People of all colors, backgrounds and skills. Some were from Lys, some Essos, some Pentos. There were Westerosi singers, artists and musicians. Daenera smiled as they gathered by the backdrop of the ocean, all looking up at her expectantly. 

“Welcome, my artisans!” Daenera greeted loudly, letting her voice carry out into the theater. “I am Princess Daenera Velaryon, daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.” Her eyes were sharp as they filtered through the mass of people, lingering on the few that displayed some sort of scrutiny to her words. “I’ve always enjoyed the arts of music and dance, and with my return to the capital, I found myself able to finally show patronage to the thing that I love.” 

It wasn’t the entire truth. While she enjoyed music, song and theater, she wasn’t as invested as some other ladies were to the arts. But the thing about artists was, that they traveled throughout the continent, singing their song, acting in plays, telling their stories. And such things held sway. 

It was a tactic Queen Visenya herself had once used. 

“My mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra, has tasked me with finding artists to patronage. She too is a lover of the arts. We wish that you bring the joy you give us, out into every corner of Westeros. We wish you to sing your songs, play your tunes, and tell your stories to the people. That is our wish.”

And it wouldn’t hurt to sing a little something about her. 

“Now, please, show us what you’ve got!”

Daenera looked down at Joyce, giving the maid a nod, who nodded back in acknowledgement. Joyce called out the first number as Daenera took her seat, picking up a grape and propping it into her mouth. 

The first artist was a singer. He began with high appraise to Daenera, telling her about his adventures, where he had been, who he had sung for. That was the dreary part of the whole thing. She wasn’t interested in that, all she wanted to know was whether they could sing and what they’d sing. 

The Bear and The Maiden Fair seemed to be a favorite among the singers and musicians. Each time it was sung, it lost its appeal, until Daenera would rather listen to Aemond call her a bastard than listen to it once more. 

By the time they had reached number seventy seven, more than half the songs had been The Bear and The Maiden Fair. One third of what was left were Maids that bloom in spring, and the rest after that False and the Fair, and Flower of Spring and Little Flower. 

It was then an older man stepped out into the middle of the stage, a lute kept close to his breast, dark beard kept and freshly shaved. At the corners of his eyes were crows feet and a deep line cleaved through his forehead. He bowed to the princess and her company. “I am Samwell Tradd, my princess. I have played the cold seat of the North, to the sand dunes of Dorne, but I have played for none other as important as your mother, the good princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

This piqued Daenera’s interest and she stood from her seat, carrying the cup of wine with her to the railing of the balcony, which she leaned against with her forearms, squinting in the sunlight of the afternoon. “You played for my mother?”

“That I did, Princess,” Ser Samwell Tradd confirmed. “It was a pleasure to play for her.”

“What did you play?”

Samwell Tradd chuckled to himself. “ Under the Dragon's eye.”

Daenera grinned. 

“She made me sing it… two dozen times over,” Samwell told the princess. “She would not hear another, only that, until my hand cramped and my voice was raw, and even then, she bid me continue.”

“Then would it not suit you if I asked you to play it again?” Daenera responded with a gracious smile. 

“For you, The Realms Flower, I will play it again.” Samwell Tradd plucked a few strings on the lute, humming to loosen his vocal cords, and then began to sing. 

She fled with her ships and her people,Her heart broken for those she could not save.Nymeria, fearless and wise, led with determination in her eyes. With ten thousand ships, she led her people’s flight, Across the Narrow Sea, seeking a new life. 

Under the dragon’s eye, they sailed so far and wide, Nymeria and her Rhoynar, their hopes and dreams allied. Through hardships and trails, their spirits remained high,Bound by a destiny, under the dragon’s watchful eye. 

Through stormy seas and treacherous tides they roamed, Leaving behind their homeland, their past disowned. With strength and resilience, they faced each new day, Guided by Nymeria’s wisdom, they found their own way. Through shifting sands, they found their place, United under Nymeria’s willful grace. 

So let the tale be sung, of Nymeria’s nobel quest, Of the Rhoynar’s journey, their resilience put to a test. Under the dragon’s eye, their spirit never broke, A testament to courage.

Under the dragon’s eye. 

“…Under the dragon’s eye,” Samwell Tradd finished. 

Daenera exchanged a knowing nod with Joyce, who discreetly handed the singer a pouch filled with jiggling coins. It carried more than mere currency, it was a symbol of her endorsement, and more significantly, Rhaenyra’s endorsement. Unspoken expectations were attached to the weight of those coins, urging the singer to spread the good word of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realms Delight, and the Rightful Heir to the Iron Throne. 

While some noble houses disregarded the significance of the common folk, Daenera recognized their importance. After all, it was the small folk who dutifully paid their taxes, who ensured the smooth flow of goods, who tirelessly toiled to create the fabrics and wines that the nobles delighted in. Though unaware of their latent power, the small folk held a sway over the very fabric of society. 

And with the small folks' support, they could sway their lords and ladies. 

By the time the sun had dipped down behind the horizon, Daenera’s head was buzzing with wine, sun and song. Fragmented lyrics sailed around her skull, not able to gather enough strength to become a full song. Lady Fell had left the younger ladies to their own devices, citing exhaustion. Daenera couldn’t blame the older woman. 

“Have you heard about Prince Aemond?” Kaylys Merryweather said, fanning herself with the fan, her cheeks flush with the wine. She smiled covertly. They were all leaning back, enjoying the otherwise quiet. Daenera had called it quits, telling the remainder of the performers to come back on the morrow. At the mention of Aemond her head propped up again. 

“That someone tried to poison him?” Lady Sylvie Rosby quipped behind her own fan, crumbs littering her chest from all the cakes she had indulged herself in. Kaylys Merryweather and Lady Rosby shared a look.

“I heard that it was an allergic reaction,” Tris Caswell interjected. 

“An allergic reaction? Please, that is the excuse you use for covering up poisoning,” Kaylys Merryweather criticized. “Someone poisoned his sword.”

“Do they know who did it?” Daenera inquired, her voice raw and tired. 

Lady Merryweather shook her head, her blond strands whipping over her shoulders and back again. “They have no idea. Some say it was a failed assasination-,”

“Oh please,” Daenera groaned at the grotesqueness of that statement. If she wanted him dead, she very well would have used something else, something less obvious and that left little to no evidence. An assassination with poisoning, should either be quick or drawn out over time, the ladder creating less suspicion if the poisoned had a history of illness. No one would suspect a thing after a long bout of fever and illness. People simply dropped dead of that. 

“A scorn lover then?” Lady Sylvie suggested. 

“Or Aegon,” Tris proposed. The women all nodded in silence, thinking. “Aegon is known for his absurd pranks.”

“But would he harm his own brother?” Lady Sylvie asked.  Aegon would most definitely harm his brother for his own amusement , Daenera thought. 

“I saw his hands. They were swollen and red, the poor thing. The Maesters said that they’d itch and burn for a few days, and there was little they could do.”

“It’s just awful,” Lady Sylvie continued in a huff. “If the princes aren't safe from such attacks, then we’re all at risk.”

“I severely doubt you are at risk, Lady Sylvie,” Daenera cut in. “Why would an assassin or prankster target you?”

Lady Sylvie blinked at Daenera’s cutting words. Daenera wouldn’t entertain her with pretends of importance. Lady Sylvie might be a lady, but she wasjust a lady. She was neither heir nor the first born. Her brother was more of a target and her father even more still. Her words seemed to have struck a chord and Lady Sylvie glowered. 

“I personally think Prince Aemond is quite handsome,” Lady Merryweather continued, ignorant to the tension. The second daughter to Lord Merrywhether were betrothed to one of the lower houses of the Reach, the name of which eluded Daenera. The Lady was five and twenty, a crone by small folks' accounts. She was allowed to dream though. 

Everyone stared at her.

“What?”

“He's been maimed,” Lady Sylvie chided. “He’s a one eyed prince. And have you seen the scar? It's so grim and disgusting. If it had been me, I would have flung myself from the highest window in the Keep.” 

You may yet do that .

“I think he’s handsome,” Lady Merrywheather reiterated. “And strong and tall. I can overlook the scar and maiming for the handsome side of his face.”

“You’ll have to sit at his right side then,” Daenera muttered, head throbbing with the subject of Aemond and ‘handsome’ in the same sentence. If the cutting edge of a knife was handsome, then she supposed Lady Merryweather was right. “Or perhaps it’s best to sit where he cannot see you.”

“What do you think he’s got hiding underneath his eyepatch?” Tris quietly asked. 

“Not his eye,” Daenera responded, bored with the conversation. 

They ended the evening not long after, scattering to the winds while the servant’s cleaned up and prepared for the day after. Daenera had dismissed her maids after presenting them with a piece of cake each and kind words for a job well done. Jelissa had been extremely excited, rambling on about her favorite singer, while Joyce teased her relentlessly. Daenera watched them go, turning on her heels to take the long way back to her quarters, heading through the garden. 

The rose bushes barely managed to overpower the smell of the city. On days where the wind came from land, it was especially rough. But on this day, the gods had graced them with a mild sea wind. The sky turned golden as the sun disappeared below the horizon, the last rays keeping the gardens from falling into shadow. 

Daenera took a deep breath, trying to clear her heavy head, rolling her stiff neck from spending the day on her ass.  

“You’re quite creative, I have to give you that,” Aemond’s voice split her quiet apart, the sound like a pick beating against stone, splitting it in two. 

Daenera’s shoulders immediately tensed up and she breathed out an annoyed huff. “You’re out of the infirmary.”

“Poisoned sword,” Aemond hummed, approaching her. It was strange to see him here, in the gardens, surrounded by soft beauty. It had been just as strange to see him in the sept, though there the heavy smog had coiled around him, curled up the nape of his neck, hung around him like a cloak of shadows. Now he was bathed in golden light that made him seem wholly unholy. 

He was no man of flowers. He was a sword, meant to cut, to stab, to bleed one dry. A weapon. 

“If it were poison you’d be dead,” Daenera corrected him. “Or severely sick. As I’ve heard, you must have had an allergic reaction to something.”

His scoff was sharp and dismissing. “An allergic reaction?”

“Those sometimes take a few days to recover from. I believe you’ll be back to your pristine state before the feast.” 

Her gaze flickered across his face, trying to decipher his intentions, though the wine clouded her thoughts. From his cheekbones down to the curl of his smirking lip, she studied him briefly before refocusing on his eyes, masking the curiosity clawing at her insides with thinly veiled sympathy that bordered on mock pity. “Does it ich terribly?”

Daenera squealed when Aemond gripped her arm, pulling her into one of the alcoves of the garden. They were totally enclosed by an overgrown pavilion, the vines climbing up the columns, to spread across the roof. She balked at him, ripping her arm out of his grip, noting the bandaged hand. “What are you doing?!” 

“You vicious little cunt,” Aemond sneered, his face contorting in disdain. 

The wine not only made her cheeks flushed but it dulled her senses as well. “Mmm, call me that again, I rather enjoy it.”

Aemond’s eyes were all fire and ice. They burned with an intensity she hadn’t yet seen, with something utterly terrifying and vicious. Something with teeth and claws and breath of fire. “I should punish you, and tear you apart.”

“What are you going to do, bend me over the knee like a child?” Daenera taunted him, flipping her braid back to its proper place, her eye glaring daggers at the prince. “If I remember correctly, you were the one to start this. You burned me. Or have you forgotten?”

Daenera raised her bandaged hand and provocatively waved it in front of his face. He had burned her writing hand, and she had retaliated by making it itch so intensely that he might desire to peel off his own skin. All she had done was to respond to his initial transgression. They could have maintained their distance, preserved civility, but he just had to bother her.

With a mocking expression, Daenera glanced down at his hand, then back up at him. “Oh, was it your swordhand? Can’t have a little fun without it?”

“Do you believe I won't retaliate?” Aemond bit at her. “Do you think I’m oblivious to your schemes?”

Daenera blinked. 

“Talking with Caswell, befriending his daughter, the musicians. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“I have no idea what you’re alluding to,” Daenera feigned ignorance. 

“Surprising, I must say,” Aemond taunted with a sly smirk. “Your feeble attempts are bound to fail, I will make sure of it, Lady Strong. ”

Aemond advanced towards her, a predator stalking its prey, his teeth appearing sharp as fangs in the warning light. Shadows enveloped him, accentuating his sharp bone structure, tracing delicately over his features. In the dim light, he became the embodiment of wickedness. There was an inherent darkness within him that would forever resist any semblance of light of purity. 

It was as intriguing as it was frightening. 

Her back collided with a stone column, and the tendrils of the overgrown vines brushed against her bare shoulders, entangling with her hair. She swallowed, feeling the dizziness intensify from the wine. 

In an instance, Aemond’s hand clasped around her jaw, his fingers digging into the delicate flesh of her cheeks, reminiscing of their encounter in the sept. Her eyes widened, and she fought against his grip, attempting to push him away as her heart picked up speed. 

Aemond absorbed her strikes against his chest as if they were nothing, a menacing growl emanating from deep within him, gradually morphing into a coarse chuckle. “I’m only giving voice to what is so plain for everyone to see.”

“That is treason!” Daenera growled. 

“It is the truth, is it not?” Aemond asked amused at her anger. “ That’s why you play your little scheme with the lords and ladies, so desperately hoping to forge alliances in case your mothers imprudence comes to light. Should it not be my sweet half-sister who’s out here, tirelessly forging those alliances? Shouldn’t she be the one fighting tooth and nail to secure her own place as heir to the throne?”

“Aemond,” Daenera warned. 

“It’s what they’re all thinking,” Aemond continued maliciously. “Along with wondering whether you take after her.” 

Daenera tried to pry her face from his grip, but he held fast. 

“They’re all wondering whether a marriage to you is worth the risk. And weather you are as impudent as your mother…” Daenera beat against him, growling at the insult. “They think ‘will she carry bastards and try and pass them off as true borns’.”

The scent of smoke and crackling fire surrounded her as Aemond drew nearer. With each beat of her heart, a surge of heat cascaded down her spine, coiling in the depths of her belly. Her gaze darted between his piercing blue eye and the eyepatch, as if they would tell her something she didn’t know, and then lowered to his lips, drawn into a sharp sneer. Her heart shuddered in her chest, her gaze burning with intensity.

“I am going to ruin you,” Aemond vowed. “I’m going to ruin you, consume you, destroy you.” 

In a fleeting instant, his gaze descended to her lips, carrying a wicked and malicious gleam, brimming with both hatred and an unnameable, devastating force. His thumb brushed against her lips, a menacing gesture that threatened to smudge the lip tint she had applied to accentuate one of her redeeming features. If her mind had been clearer, she might have sunk her teeth into his thumb. 

Aemond’s pale locks tickled the exposed skin of her bosom as he leaned in, his breath scorching against the delicate shell of her ear. “I’m going to destroy you and win this war.”

He abruptly released her and Daenera pushed him away from her, breathing heavily and forcefully, eyes ablaze with indignation and fury. Who did he think he was?

She sneered. “I will take out your other eye before I let you destroy me. Two can play at this game. And if you burn me, I will burn you.” 

Once again, Daenera found herself feeling from the suffocating presence of Aemond. Clutching her skirts tightly, she propelled herself forward, each step one of panic and determination. The corridors of the Keep blurred as her hurried steps echoed, giving rise to the feeling of the ghosts laughing at her. 

King’s Landing had become a treacherous maze of power and deceit, and Aemond embodied the shifting tides of its dark underbelly. His transformation was undeniable, a chilling embodiment of calculated malevolence and an untamed chaos. He was an unpredictable storm she had to venture through. 

As Daenera ascended the stairs, the weight of realization settled upon her. Aemond’s presence had already begun to creep under her skin. She would have to root it out and shield herself from it, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the seeds of darkness he had planted wouldn’t be so easily removed. She supposed it was a challenge she would have to accept.

[adrianasunderworld]

Wait. Isn't Prince Florian just 18 in the Disney Movie. It was confirmed in the Art of Walt Disney, along with his name. He was 31 in the original tale from the Brothers Grim, but that isn't the Disney Canon. You slander him without actually knowing all the actual facts.

___

Listen, my Florian slander has little to nothing to do with the age gap. I've always thought the "He's 31" claim was bullshit because i never encountered a source that backed it up. All those "facts you didn't know about Disney" videos and articles never state where that number comes from. So I never really bought it.

That being said, my Florian slander comes from the fact he kissed the body that's been there for months, not knowing that would wake her up. I am not one to logic out fairy tales of all things, but this is just for fun poking at the character. But unlike Phillip, who in the movie, was there when Aroura was cursed and Merryweather gave the "true loves kiss" stipulation, Maleficent told him his love would break the spell, Phillip has all the information, he knows what's going on and what he has to do, and all three of Arouras have signed off on him kissing her to save her.

Florian has no such luxury.

And don't give me the "Well he could have learned that off screen" No. It's a good fic premise, but no. If we are only going by what we see on screen in the movie, Snow White was in her coffin for a while, the prince heard about her, went to see her body, then kissed it. None of these mother fuckers knew that was gonna happen. Again, it's a fairytale, I'm not gonna harp on it. But you wouldn't look at someone funny that went to a wake and kissed the body, even a little bit? I'm just saying.

[tbthqs]

Quando professor Rosenthal saiu, o clima da festa mudou drasticamente. A tensão que pairava no ar era nítida para qualquer um dos presentes ali, afinal, Rosenthal havia sido o primeiro a nomear aquilo que todos estavam evitando falar. Ainda sim, como não havia mais nada a ser dito, todos foram aos poucos voltando para os seus dormitórios, na esperança que uma noite de sono fosse só o que precisavam para retornar aquele mesmo ciclo dos últimos 23 dias, não é mesmo...

Sua cabeça ainda doía da noite anterior, mas seus olhos e aspereza do local onde você repousava lhe diziam que não estava mais em seu dormitório. Pilastras de concreto, tapumes de madeira e um vento estranho que indicava que estavam em um lugar alto, semelhante a um prédio em obras. Do outro lado da rua era possível ver o teto do Staples Center e na hora você percebe que está no famoso prédio abandonado no centro de Los Angeles, o Oceanwide Plaza, bom, tecnicamente, ele ainda não havia sido abandonado...

"Acordem, acordem, Belas Adormecidas! Seu príncipe acabou de chegar." A frase veio de um homem. Alto, cabelos loiros penteados milimetricamente para trás, sentado em cima de algo que parecia ser como uma mesa de escritório. Atrás dele estava uma figura mascarada, vestida dos pés a cabeça de preto, igual a um dos soldados da Merryweather e um lençol preto escondendo a entrada para uma sala.

"Acorda pra cuspir, que eu não tenho tempo a perder. Estou perdendo o Gran Prix de Monte Carlo, porque nenhum dos idiotas aí teve a capacidade de juntar as peças que eu deixei pra vocês. O Dean me deve 20 dólares porque eu falei que vocês eram imbecis demais para isso" Ele pula da mesa e esfrega as mãos, parecendo uma criança prestes a abrir os presentes de Natal. "Por favor, Milton, revele pra nós o que está atrás da porta número 1"

O homem de preto retira o lençol e você pode que dentro daquela sala improvisada estão todos os objetos que misteriosamente apareceram para cada um de vocês, além da planta encontrada por Lucien e Marcelo, a chave que Donna resgatou e fotos da caixa de madeira que estava na cantina dos cursos de humanas. Você franze o cenho e tem certeza de que, quando não tem como aquela situação ficar pior, ela de alguma forma caminha para uma bizarrice digna de filmes B.

"Agora, Donzelas, vocês podem mexer, tocar virar do avesso, fazer qualquer coisa que seu coraçãozinho mandar com estes objetos, só não podem ser roubados ou o tirados deste local. E nem tentem nada absurdo, como esconder em orifícios corporais. Se não eu vou pegá-los de volta pra mim. Já que as crianças não sabem brincar, o papai toma o brinquedo de volta. Capische? Você tem 4 horas para desvendar a segredo dessas partes, vou ficar aqui de babá das mocinhas enquanto o Milton guarda a...porta... saída... sei lá, impede alguma peripércia que vocês possam usar para fugir daqui ou me agredir, sei lá. Posso responder a perguntas, mas não tudo, e posso estar mentindo também. Cabe a vocês descobrirem isso. Vamos, moças, chop chop. Hora de trabalhar."

Informações OOC

As intenções para a Festa Supresa da Bella se encontram encerradas. Os turnos podem continuar sendo postados em flashback

Em Ic, a dinâmica tem duração de 4 horas, começando as 8h da manhã do dia 26/9 e terminando ao meio dia, mas em OOC, ela irá durar 24 horas, começando das 19h horas de 15/05 até as 18h59 de 22/05.

A transcrição será postada sábado, na central.

Todos os personagens irão participar do evento, incluindo OC não viajantes.

Os itens das tasks que ainda não foram enviados serão mandados ao final da dinâmica.

Mais informações nesse post: https://www.tumblr.com/tbthqs/750562342203539456/din%C3%A2mica-tupperbox-mania?source=share

No mais, se divirtam-se!

[bedofthistles]

The Little White Horse: Robin Minette

In continuation with my analysis of the novel, the Little White Horse, by Elizabeth Goudge, I want to cover the characters and the main themes of both the book and the movie.

Here's my thoughts and opinions on Robin De Noir and Robin Minette, two wildly different characters

TL;DR

My enemy. 

My beloathed. 

The one I despise! 

This boy is insane, he is the definition of toxic masculinity, he’s only a child and already he sucks, and I know for a fact he will never get better because he is never punished for his actions. 

And what did he do wrong? 

Well first I would like to remind you all of my beautiful, wonderful, fantastic, baby-eyed Robin De Noir. I have no idea how we got Robin De Noir out of Robin Minette, but I am forever grateful. 

For starters, Robin De Noir takes the place of Mr. Cock in LWH. Where Mr. Cock has trapped the hare, Robin De Noir has, where Maria gets chased by Mr. Cock in the book, she gets chased by Robin De Noir in the movies (and yes, technically the Coeur De Noir and all of the De Noirs are chasing after her as well), where Maria and Mr. Cock run through the forest so she can show him the White Horse, she and Robin De Noir run through the forest in search of the pearls. Additionally, he is no longer Robin Minette, Loveday Minette’s son, but the son of the Coeur De Noir, and Loveday’s brother. 

One, this change is already ten times more dynamic. Throughout the book, we are only told that the De Noirs are wicked, and it isn’t until Maria’s last minute change of heart about them that suddenly they aren’t. Those poor people are demonized in the book, and are not given any sympathy. Now I hear you saying, the movie was the same! They were evil until Maria decided she needed Robin’s help! 

I need you to go back and give Augustus Prew his due, because that boy acted his ass off. I don’t think I’ll be able to go over all of his exemplary acting choices, and I may make a separate post for that, but that will require gifs and screengrabs. Anyway! There are several scenes that show us, the audience, that Robin De Noir is just a boy who is trying his damnedest to make his father proud of him. We see this when the Coeur De Noir calls him a ‘dolt’ after the rabbit trap, and you can see his face just fall, he is devastated, not that he lost the princess, but that he disappointed his father. 

We also see this when Robin quickly decides to help Maria. The very first time I watched this, I didn’t really understand his reasoning, but once I started thinking about it (probably about the time I started writing fic and needed to get inside of his head) I realized that he is fundamentally good, just born on the wrong side of the valley. Robin chooses the Valley over his father, he chooses to help Maria despite not even fully trusting her, he is beside her until the very end because he knows she is doing the right thing, because he loves the Valley and wants to save it. So, despite what we are told about the De Noirs (as by sir Benjamin, who calls them bandits, poachers, and plunderers) we know from visual cues, Robin De Noir’s desperation to be a good son, and his choices at the end, that the De Noirs are not purely wicked. 

Robin Minette on the other hand can die on a stick. Robin and Loveday Minette are actually a part of the Merryweather family (more on that later) and are not associated with the De Noirs at all. 

So what are all of Robin M’s sins? 

Well, if you’ve heard about the bird theory, it is the simple idea that when you call out “oh look, a bird!” the response of your partner/friend/companion should be “where!” Not because they are necessarily interested in the bird (though they should be) but because you are interested in the bird. The logic being that the person will listen to whatever random, boring, stupid thing you’re saying because they are interested in you, and are not looking at you as a source of entertainment. It’s a very simple, and beautiful concept, that shows a person who is interested in you, is interested in you! 

Robin Minette is not interested in Maria. 

I say this because in the book we are told multiple times that whenever Maria asks too many questions, Robin just walks away. He does not answer, or even asks her to stop, when he is astral projecting into Maria’s dreams, he just leaves the dream and wakes up. Again, this is in conjecture with one of Goudge’s morals: female curiosity is of the Devil. 

“All my life, Robin, I'll always tell you all about everything." “And I'll tell you," said Robin. “If I didn't you'd ask me so many questions that life would not be worth living."

This is not an okay lesson to teach to children, any boy or girl should not be learning that her voice does not matter, that her questions should be squashed, and that curiosity is a bad thing. I genuinely have no idea where Goudge got this idea from, other than it is just a very old and misogynist viewpoint. It’s not even Christian, as scripture encourages followers to study, and yes that includes women. 

I don’t think it is a harsh stance to take that a character who walks away from another while they are talking, is not interested, or in love with that character. Maybe possessive, but not in love, and it's certainly not the kind of love anyone should be idolizing. 

Furthermore, like most entitled men, Robin Minette has anger issues. I don’t want to quote the entire section, but I can post it somewhere because it is absolutely insane. 

After Robin and Maria defended Paradise Hill from the De Noirs, they go back to his house. Since it was raining, they had to change out of their wet clothes. For whatever reason, Loveday Minette decides to put her old wedding dress (that she never wore because she ran away) on Maria. 

Maria loves it, and asks if it can be her wedding dress, and Loveday M says yes. 

When Maria joins Robin in the kitchen so they can have tea, Robin asks what that is. 

“It's my wedding dress. I'm trying it on to see if it fits." "Are you going to be married?" asked Robin sharply, his munching jaws suddenly still. “Of course," said Maria, reaching for the cream. “You didn't expect me to be an old maid, did you?" “Are you being married today?" demanded Robin. “Of course she isn't being married today, Robin. She isn't old enough to be married yet. But when she is married she will wear that dress." [Loveday] “When you do marry, whom will you marry?" Robin asked Maria. Maria swallowed the last of her bread and cream and honey, put her head on one side and stirred her tea thoughtfully. “I have not quite decided yet," she said demurely, “but I think I shall marry a boy I knew in London." “What?" yelled Robin. “Marry some mincing nincompoop of a Londoner with silk stockings and pomade in his hair and a face like a Cheshire cheese?" The parkin stuck in his gullet and he choked so violently that Loveday had to pat him on the back and pour him out a fresh cup of tea. When he spoke again his face was absolutely scarlet, not only with the choke but with rage and jealousy and exasperation. “You dare do such a thing!" he exploded. "You--Maria --you-- if you marry a London man I'll wring his neck!"

Now, you’ll notice three things here: 

One, the fate of all Moon Princess’ is to get in a fight with her love, and if she doesn’t humble herself, she’ll be forced to leave Moonacre. This is something Maria knows at this point. 

Two, Robin is a thirteen, fourteen year old boy displaying this much anger, possessiveness, and audacity. This is not something he is punished for, and he gets away with this behavior. 

Three, his mother is right there???? And her chief concern is: 

“Robin," said his mother, “that's not at all the way to propose. You should go down on one knee and do it in a very gentle voice."  

Ma’am your son is a maniac and you’re giving him tips on how to propose properly? 

Now, I want to swing back to my first point. To state it very plainly, this is one of the reasons as to why people stay in abusive relationships for so long. Maria knows that if she and Robin hadn’t made up right then and there, she would have to leave Moonacre. This language and ideology puts the blame on the victim’s shoulders, making the victim feel as if they have to be the one to make amends, to fix what is broken, and appease the abuser. This is the cycle of abuse that is seen time and time again, and while Goudge does not frame this as an ideal relationship we can gather that based on all that Maria has learned, it is her job to keep the peace. 

Am I calling Robin Minette an abuser? Yes, yes I am. 

Maria immediately forgives his behavior, Loveday is obviously okay with it, because she does nothing to stop him or scold him, and Goudge obviously sees this as okay male behavior. 

It's preposterous and yet this book is only eighty years old, we can obviously see people who behave this way, and we all know people who are like this. However, I think we have finally pivoted to presenting this behavior as abusive in media and art. Too often we think of abuse as just physical, but so often it is emotional, financial, and sexual, and the consequence of that mentality is people suffering abuse thinking that they aren’t because they don’t get black eyes. 

Here, I would also like to mention the BBC miniseries, Moonacre. The Miniseries is boring, it’s praised for being a more direct adaptation of the book, however they do make some major changes, especially to the plot. They add this thing about the ‘Blackheart’s’ having their water supply being cut off, all their wells are saturated with saltwater, and they blame Sir Wrolf for cutting off a pipe that would lead freshwater back into the valley. In this, we do get Loveday and Robin (still mother and son) as De Noirs. Loveday is the direct descendant of Black William, and despite teaching her son to hate the Blackhearts, he is also a De Noir. Robin Minette in this movie is boring, he doesn’t get mad at Maria for asking questions, but all he really does is show up at convenient times to save her from the Blackhearts. He’s fine, he’s not as problematic as Robin in LWH, but his character is not as compelling as Robin De Noir in TSOM.

Prev | Next

Full wedding dress excerpt

[fragileizy]

Not to be weird but I saw this and thought of you haha

https://www.tumblr.com/merryweather-media/754314206491344896/date-with-a-cat-girl?source=share

here's the link to it!!!

this is so sososoososoo cute. THIS IS SOOSOOOSOSOSO CUTE!!!!!!!!!!

[gael-hightower]

The literary works of Lord Gael Hightower, Master of the Arts

While not every piece that Lord Gael Hightower works on reaches the public, at twenty-nine years of age the Reach's Master of the Arts has put into the world pieces that are both politically and socially relevant, as well as others that are more intimate and emotional works.

Collection of sonnets: Gael began publishing his poetry in his early twenties under the pseudonym Hadrian Dunn to hide from his father, who never approved of his son's artistic inclinations. The work became beloved by nobles and the literate common folk alike, appreciative of the author's emotional vulnerability while making clever use of historical and religious symbols in the works. In the present day, as it has become well-known who the author of that poetry is, the sonnets have been compiled and bound in a tome of poetry, occasionally called The Dunn sonnets.

The Ballad of Thorns and Roses: This was the first work by Gael after being appointed Master of the Arts by King Cedric Tyrell. The Ballad is a trilogy of plays, written in exquisite verse, which chronicle relevant events of the Reach in a fictionalized manner. To some, the tragic trilogy not only represents the current zeitgeist of the Reach, but is a profound exploration of unavoidable and timeless conflicts of loyalty, justice, and revenge. Each of the three plays was first performed at The Garden Court theater in Oldtown, but the theater company has performed them in several regions within the Reach by now.

Civil war work: During the period of turmoil caused by the false king Alaric Tyrell and his wife, Sienna Merryweather, Gael wrote several poems that reflected the situation of the realm and offered solace during such a harsh period. None of the pieces were overtly political at first glance, though with deeper analysis there are clear symbols and literary devices in place to denounce Alaric and his false queen, as well as those who sided with their faction.

He who speaks with the voice of the gods: This epic poem consists of one thousand stanzas and is an ode to Lord Leyton Hightower's participation in the reclaiming of Alaym. While Leyton is never mentioned by name throughout the work, there are enough clear references within the poem to make it very clear that he is the source of inspiration for it. Through the epic poem, the author grants his brother epithets that both allude to his identity as well as uplift him as a legendary figure (High-hearted Hightower, the Voice in Alaym, Shepherd of the Just). In this work, Leyton is immortalized as a most unlikely hero, detailing all stages of the septon's presence in Alaym: his arrival to the battle-torn region in Andalos, his unfaltering stance to avoid violence as he did the gods’ work, the ethereal silence that fell on the camps as he spoke to encourage the men in the camps, and his last stand prior to the return to Westeros.

[incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre]

Maria: It's time for Plan B

Robin: We have a Plan B?

Maria: No, but it's time for one

[miiilowo]

fucking obsessed with redux now. i'll sell u my soul in exchange for 1 (one) snippet of it written /hj

u know what. i will. just for u

There was a restlessness in Finn's heart that needed to be tended to.

A horrible little pest of sorts pacing around in his chest; urging him to get up and get out there, beating on the walls of his ribcage and whining when the boy refused to rise from his armchair. Color from a precariously balanced box TV danced across the room, leaving most things to be various shades of a pale blue; he had favored natural light over the dull yellow lightbulbs installed in his RV, and neglected to turn them on when the sun began to set.

Glassy-eyed, he watched Poltergeist run for what had to be the hundredth time this month. Sinking further into his chair, caring less and less about whatever was happening on screen, the screams from the film once-piercing now fading into a dull hum in the background...The restlessness outweighed his desire to do fuck all, and he begrudgingly rose to his feet, slammed a fist against the power button on the television, and watched with horror as the force of it caused it to begin to fall over.

He made a sound that can be only compared to that of a threatened prey animal crying, and rushed to fix his mistake at the cost of his finger getting smashed into the wall, which immediately began to bleed.

Finn swore loudly as he readjusted his TV and sucked on his bleeding finger, now thoroughly conscious. He made his way to the tiny kitchen that was pressed against the wall and began rifling through cupboards & drawers, in search of the mightiest salvation of all: a band-aid and Neosporin.

He yanked open a cupboard door and found not the band-aids, but his instant camera. It was a sort of beige, with chrome lining on some of the edges; The mere sight of it reminded him of why he had decided to trap himself inside all day.

His fingers twitched toward it, but his gaze was focused on a binder that laid on the counter. Black, and anything but sleek; it was torn in most places, its only lifeline being scotch tape and glue. On the front, written in white paint, was a title. Though it was supposed to say 'findings', it was obscured by a slightly crumpled photograph.

He inhaled sharply and pulled the picture toward him.

It was dark. Only a few feet in front of the light source was illuminated, the weak flash of his camera not doing him much of a service. The ground was ashy-- dusty -- comprised of splintered floorboards, and littered with the bones of unfortunate small animals who had come there to die.

The walls, too, were slightly visible; old, fraying wallpaper exposed the interior workings of the house. The flowery adornment had faded to a sickly blue-green, and the pattern itself had turned from pink-orange roses to yellowish ones.

Though, that was of course, not the focus. In the center of the photo was a blackness, a yawning chasm that made the small space appear massive, punctuated by white flecks of dust that Finn had kicked up before taking the photo; And amid them, the reflection of somethings eyes stared back.

Finns brow furrowed as he studied the picture again, and he tried to rationalize what he had captured the night before. It was something he should've been excited about, given his nature as an amateur paranormal investigator, but it shook him to his core instead.

Nothing he knew of, nothing he could believe, nothing that existed in his reality could match up to whatever he found in the old Merryweather house; The eyes were not simply that of a raccoons or something similar, considering that there were 9- at least, that he could see.

The worst thing yet occurred to him when he considered how far his camera's flash typically traveled. Even in the darkest environments, such as this particular photo, he could rarely-if ever-see anything that was further than 3-5 feet away from him at the time of taking the image.

Finn's thoughts were interrupted by him catching a glimpse of his bloodied hand now dripping onto the countertop. He shoved the photograph inside the binder with little care as to where it ended up and snapped it shut before tossing it on the couch.

He would worry about meeting it again later.

[cherryrainn]

I'd love to see headcanons of the Disney Princesses if that's okay. What would Cinderella, Aurora, Pocahontas, and Moana do if their noses grew like Pinocchio? Whether it be lies or some other reason.

━━ ✧ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; i had so much fun coming up with these! hehe, thank you for your ask

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; none

𝘾𝙄𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙇𝙇𝘼 ★

cinderella's nose grows when she's telling a little white lie to spare someone's feelings. for example, if somebody asks her if she likes the dress they're wearing and cinderella wants to be polite, her nose would give her away.

the first time it happens, cinderella would be utterly shocked and wouldn't understand what's happening. she might even try to hide it behind her hand or by turning her head away.

cinderella might turn to her fairy godmothers to figure out how to reverse this unusual affliction, leading to a charming and magical adventure.

she might use her growing nose to her advantage, playfully poking fun at herself, making it a source of laughter rather than embarrassment.

in the end, cinderella's little spurt would always serve as a reminder to stay true to herself and others and never pretend to be something she's not.

𝘼𝙐𝙍𝙊𝙍𝘼 ★

aurora is known for her grace and charm, but she might find herself in situations where she has to exaggerate a little for the sake of diplomacy or to please others.

at first, aurora would be utterly shocked and likely scared when she notices her nose growing. the sudden change would catch her off guard, especially considering her usual grace and composure.

flora, fauna, and merryweather notice aurora's predicament and decide to teach her the importance of honesty. instead of scolding her, they guide her through creative solutions to navigate the challenges of royal life without resorting to falsehoods.

aurora became a master of elaborate hairstyles, using cascading curls and intricate braids to cleverly conceal her lengthening nose.

understanding the importance of honesty, even in diplomacy, Aurora honed the skill of delivering truths with a touch of diplomacy, avoiding the need for exaggeration.

𝙋𝙊𝘾𝘼𝙃𝙊𝙉𝙏𝘼𝙎 ★

pocahontas' nose would rarely grow due to her honest and straightforward nature.

pocahontas, being introspective, takes the nose growth as an opportunity for self-reflection. she spends time alone in nature, meditating on her recent actions and trying to pinpoint the cause of the deviation from her usual honesty.

pocahontas, being resourceful, uses elements from nature to creatively conceal her growing nose. leaves, flowers, and vines become natural adornments that not only hide the physical change but also align with her connection to the earth.

she turns the experience into a lesson for her community, emphasizing the importance of honesty and personal growth.

𝙈𝙊𝘼𝙉𝘼 ★

moana's nose grows occasionally when she optimistically overestimates her navigational skills, assuring her people during challenging voyages.

moana views the nose growth as a symbol of cultural misalignment and immediately seeks to realign herself with the traditions and values of her people.

she takes time to engage with her community, learning more about their concerns and aspirations to better navigate their collective journey.

she uses the nose growth incidents to refine her navigational skills, becoming not just a wayfinder but a beacon of truth and reliability for her people.