#the eyeroll and the century everybody

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(me: a whole very smart educated adult doctor human

also me to my 14 year old: can you help me figure out how to sync my MAC to my IPAD?)

[athenaofnight]

There is ZERO information about Canadian Horses on this platform. It kind of makes my heart ache. I guess it’s my job to fix that. Here is a brief introduction. I’m quoting a website. I’ll do more personal blogging later on. This is just so everybody can get a feel for what the breed is about. This is my heart breed for equines.

✨Le Cheval Canadien/The Canadian Horse✨

“The Cheval Canadien is truly the unsung hero of North American horse breeds. The breed’s origins trace to 1665 when the first horses, likely from Normandy and Brittany, were sent to Canada by King Louis XIV of France. Over the next a century, a distinct breed developed from this founding stock. The fittest not only survived, but thrived despite harsh winters, hard work, and scarce feed, earning them the nickname “Le Petit Cheval de Fer” or “The Little Iron Horse.

A calm and willing disposition, excellent feet, stamina and strength, made it an ideal cavalry horse, and in the 1860s Canadians were sold by thousands to the U.S. Army to fight in the American Civil War. Americans eagerly bought up quality Canadian stallions to improve their own stock, and the Canadian Horse appears the early stud books of the Morgan, Standardbred, and Tennessee Walking Horse breeds. The Canadian Horse was threatened not only by exports, but by crossbreeding. By the close of the 19th century, Canadian officials recognized that the breed was in danger of being lost, and stepped in to develop breed standards and establish the first studbook.

Although these efforts resulted in a resurgence, the reprieve was temporary. Throughout the 1900s, as farms were mechanized, breed numbers diminished to the point to where it was virtually unknown outside of the province of Quebec. By the 1970s, only 400 registered Canadian Horses remained in existence, and less than five registrations were being recorded per year. Since that time, dedicated breeders have worked diligently to save the breed from extinction and to preserve the qualities of type, temperament, and hardiness that made the breed famous throughout North America 150 years ago.

The breed slowly made a comeback, hitting a population high of about 6000 horses in the early 2000s. Unfortunately with the economic downturn of 2008, it once again began dwindling and many larger and long-time breeders retired. Today the number of actively breeding mares is critically low, and only 100-150 new foals have been registered annually in recent years. This makes CHHAPS’ mission more important than ever.”

-All is quoted from https://chhaps.ca/about-the-breed/, our official breed organization website. It’s a helpful resource to showing you how the breed community works, and how you can support.

CHHAPS stands for “Canadian Horse Heritage and Preservation Society.” Although I don’t compete my horse anymore, and we haven’t been able to attend a lot of ambassador events (the sponsorship hasn’t been there since pre-Covid), I have renewed my membership every single year, and will continue to do so, even when he’s gone, to give support to the breed.

Since COVID began, numbers have plummeted, and are continuing to. Also there’s some “color breeding,” specifically trying to attain the palomino coat color, “INTENSE EYEROLL* happening within the breeding stock, not taking into account type/temperament/function/genetic diversity. It’s disgusting.

It costs $35. You DO NOT need to own a Canadian, or even ride horses, to support the breed. Heavily consider supporting ❤️

We also have a Canadian Horse-specific rescue organization too, “Canadian Horse Rescue and Re-Home Society.”

[abbinurmel]

American Politics in general I've noticed really is metaphorically very often a lot like having a broken down car in a garage.

A bunch of family members are all aggravated because there was a huge holiday road trip planned to Grandma's and the calendar deadline is coming ever closer; and they are just stuck with this one family minivan. And so, they're all messily debating back and forth for months on end, what is to be done about this van, what is the root issue at the middle of the car trouble, or what could be used as a last minute alternate vehicle instead... And some of them know a lot about cars, and some of them don't, but either way, they all know they are on a tight budget, and pressed for time, and instead of cool heads coming together to find a solution they're constantly arguing about unrelated things and going off topic while sorting the details about the budget, or how to fix the car. Maybe they should seek a higher authority and take it to a mechanic, no no, that'll just end up having us be broke/manipulated and helpless!-they should save time and money by tinkering themself in the garage- NO NO!- they should they ask a neighbor for help, ask the neighbors for their car, are you kidding, we can't become reliant on THEM, then we owe them a favor and we don't wanna look weak and needy- perhaps should they try to lease a new vehicle...are you crazy??...does the problem stem from a piss poor engine from the 1970s or does it just need some TLC, some antifreeze and a tune up, NO NO NO, now listen to me, perhaps we should tell Grandma we need to postpone(- WE ARE NOT DOING THAT!!) ...Fine. I took a look under the hood and I didn't see anything wrong, the van is fine. We can drive it to California and-NO that's a RISK those brakes needed changing ages ago!-This is all your fault, not saving up for a better car! Well maybe if we....if we...and so on. There's obviously some kind of layered, nuanced issue, with all the above and everyone is trying to generally keep their shit together, as keeping sane and polite is the obvious best way to get things done, but most are doing poorly at it....

MEANWHILE; in the middle of all this deadlocked chaotic squabble, the youngest naive well meaning child toddles in from their room upstairs. He keeps tugging on their sleeves, nagging for someone's attention. When they finally give in, and say "What is it Little Timmy?" the bright eyed kid just asks:

"WOULDN'T IT BE BETTER IF WE JUST ALL RODE TO GRANDMA ON **BIKES**???🙃" (The parents eyeroll, the eldest sibling rudely scoffs, while another one shakes their head doting.)

"...Yeah Timmy. That's real nice." sighs Mom. "-Now go play upstairs." He doesn't go away. Timmy insists they must pay attention to his views. This is like, real, real good childhood wisdom, after all. They need to appreciate his deep sage ideas nobody else has ever had. ...And the adults, meanwhile, they are tired, so tired, of this entire fucking conversation. They'd like to move on, but can't. They all wish it was that simple. But they need a car. They've all been arguing for so so so long, about not just the car, but nearly everything else, by this point. It has been a few centuries. And there's clearly many other personal agendas, and inner social tensions, at stake. But the kid's too innocent to understand that. He's not willing to succumb to any moral compromise, or aware of nuance or mundane adult stresses; and is too unemphatic/ black and white in his manner of thinking at this current age, because he hasn't really experienced life. He doesn't know or care about the difference between standing up for Principles vs. analyzing reality and careful formulating an actual strategy to implement them yet and knowing what the possible social pros and cons of that event may be as a result.

Maybe he will hopefully someday.

But for now: all he knows how to do is is say-

"B-But BUT BUT; I *LIKE* RIDING BIKES!"

"Yes Tim."

"-NO mom doncha see IT'S BETTER FOR EVERYBODY!....WE COULD ALL GET HEALTHIER TOGETHER. IT'S BETTER FOR THE ENVIRONMENT, AND-"

"Yes, look, Lil Hypothetical Timmy, that's all very true," Mom kindly sighs, with great aggravated patience. "But sweetheart, we're not in good shape. We're not made for biking every single day. Or riding to Grandma's, who lives 6 hours away."

"WHY NOT!*

"Because we aren't trained to. Not everywhere has bike roads. And your father's lazy-" The husband glares over at her. ("Sharon-"...)

"BUT! People on TV, they do it, and in France, THEY all do it!...."

"Look, honey- those people usually are athletes. They have different bodies. Maybe it"s easier for them to do it in France, but we aren't France, we hace different roads and even the French need to sometimes drive cars too. Yes we should care about exercise and cleaning the air. Maybe we can keep trying to get better. But dropping the car now is not practical, we're just not cut out for only bike riding, and-...."

The dad and all the other gathered relatives eye the mom and kid accusingly for wasting time. Some crack jokes because they are smugly bemused/secretly eating popcorn pleased by the total derailing of this entire conversation, as some of them never wanted the family road trip to Grandma to happen in the first place. A few don't even like much of the family as a whole, and just either personally dgaf about the situation or simply are the sorta ass who basks in pure chaos so long as it doesn't affect them.

"But MOMmm, we COULD be riding bikes! :(" the kid continues to whine. "WE COULD TRAIN, HONEST, WE COULD GET REALLY REALLY GOOD, IF I PRACTICED EVERY DAY, I really could! I am strong!-"

"I know honey..."

"IF WE JUST SOLD THE CAR, GOT A BUNCH OF REALLY *GOOD* BIKES, AND WE PRACTICED EVERY DAY, IT COULD BE FUN, AND-"

"Look sweetie. Just go play upstairs."

"BUT!"

"Look, son, that's a real lovely sentiment, but it's not realistic. Your dad's 47, he's in no shape to undertake such things. Even if we did take our summer roadtrip that way, mommy has to go to work all the way up in the city. It's not safe or easy to bike there, it's too far. We need the family van to work. Your brother Joey has furniture that he has to take up to college and- Look, just head back upstairs"

"BUT MOMMMMM"

"Timmy," the Dad barks growing aggravated. "Taking bikes everywhere is nice, yes. Maybe we can buy you a new bike for Christmas or your next birthday. Or next time mommy ever decides she wants to go someplace nice close by as a family, instead of sleeping with one of the lobbyists next door. But we can't bike to Grandma's and we can't afford a plane. We need right now a car. That's just the way it is."

"WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY EVER *LISTEN TO ME!!?* WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY *CARE* ABOUT *FIXING THINGS?* 😭😭😭 You do not even LOVE me, DO YOU?! YOU DON'T CARE about saving the environment at all, DO YOU!?"

"(Ohferchrissake-)"

"IT'S NOT *FAIR!!!!* I don't even care about Grandma's! THIS FAMILY SUCKS! It is literally THE WORST. FAMILY. EVER!! I'M RUNNING AWAY. THAT'LL SHOW YOU! RRMMPH!"

Timmy dashes off in a pre-pubescent angsty huff and slams the door. Just for the extra emphasis, he slams it thrice more, to make sure you heard it.

Then after tweeting/sobbing his poor idealistic 10 year old wee heart out for about 2 minutes, Timmy immediately gets distracted by playing Minecraft or Roblox while the family tiredly sighs and returns to the endless weary discussion at hand.

Timmy continues on meanwhile resenting his objectively quite imperfect yet still extremely materially pampered life he has; both in justifiable and absurdly unjustified ways; and it's universally agreed by all parties later on as Timmy develops into an adult that he is in a bad need of therapy as well as probably everyone else who hasn't already died yet.

What nobody understands about American politics is that creating a third party big enough to compete with the top two is a project that would take at least ten to twenty years, meaning it would still not be viable for decades worth of elections. It would have to be built up slowly and steadily first for all that time. Currently there are none who can get even 1% of the vote. They're jokes. Addiction parties exist only as a kind of nice gesture and tradition right now, barely getting news coverage other than novel curiosities.

In some other countries you can vote for your "preferred" choice and if they lose, your vote goes to your backup choices. Not in America. You get one vote for one guy and if they lose your vote evaporates.

Also, the electorates get the majority voting power and even if everyone in a district voted for a third party, every electorate is dedicated to voting either Republican or Democrat and will still do so.

[brawltogethernow]

@mirrorfalls​ submitted: Came across this while searching for James Bond’s scrambled-eggs recipe (long story). Your thoughts?

~~

But did you find James Bond’s scrambled eggs recipe?

In this article, Scocca laments his inability to find accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable to read with his young son, while also demonstrating a mysterious aversion to looking at DC and Marvel’s lines of comics for children, which is where the accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable for reading with young children are. He wants his elementary schooler to be able to safely have the run of all superhero media so he doesn’t have to touch the yucky baby books.

This is not an industry-wide crisis. This is just one dude who got paid to write an article where he accidentally exposed one of his personal hangups.

The child headed toward the trade paperbacks of Marvel and D.C. superhero titles on the side wall […] a few steps in front of me. […] Is he with you? a clerk asked me. I said he was. You know, the clerk said, we have a kids’ section. The clerk gestured backward, at a few shelves near the entrance. I said, Thanks, we know and tried throwing in a little shrug, as the kid kept going.

You can’t just turn a seven-year-old child loose in a comic-book store to look at the superhero comic books. […] My seven-year-old really wanted to see that last Avengers movie […] that is, he wished it were a movie he could see, but he understood that it was, instead, a movie designed to scare and sadden him—a movie actively hostile to people like him.

They have a children’s section. Because comics are a medium suitable for stories for everybody, and they are sold in comic book shops, which have sections, like bookstores. You can use this organization to find books that you know in advance are suitable for children. What goes in that category is determined by industry professionals. This area will be bigger the bigger the shop is. These comics are not lower quality that titles from the main lines. They are actually slightly better-written on average.

Your local comic book shop has considerately wrapped Empowered in a plastic bag, so your child will not be drawn in by a colorful superhero and accidentally read a graphic scene. If you think your kid might find a memoir about internment camps upsetting, it is your job to notice them picking up They Called Us Enemy and read the blurb on the back before you let them have it. This comic adults are meant to read is in a comic book shop because that is where comics are sold. Not every public place is supposed to be Disneyland.

Movies have ratings systems. If you do not want your child to watch a PG-13 movie, you will find that most superhero cartoons are for children. They are about the same characters. Some are quite good! I really enjoyed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Your child may like Avengers Assemble. At least I think that’s right. I’m always mixing those titles around.

This is a deeply weird bias for Scocca to casually demonstrate, because he identifies in the article that real childishness is striving for empty maturity.

He compares an old comic,

[…]a 1966 Spider-Man comic in which Spider-Man meets, fights, and defeats the Rhino; participates in a running argument between John Jameson and J. Jonah Jameson about his heroism; buys a motorcycle; breaks up with his first girlfriend, Betty Brant; flirts with Gwen Stacy; and reluctantly agrees to let Aunt May take him to meet her friend Mrs. Watson’s niece, Mary Jane.

and a new comic,

[…]a 21st century comic book in which Thor, brooding in a Katrina-destroyed New Orleans, beats up Iron Man. He also yells at Iron Man a lot about some incomprehensibly convoluted set of grievances, including involuntary cloning, that he believes Iron Man perpetrated against him while he was dead(?), and then summons some other Norse god from the beyond somehow for reasons having something to do with real estate. I think. Where the 1966 comic is zippy and fun and complete, the whole contemporary one is muddled and lugubrious and seems to constitute a tiny piece of a seemingly endless plot arc—simultaneously apocalyptic and inert.

and concludes that the edgier comic is actually less mature. This is true. (This is not news about mediocre comics.)

It also has nothing to do with either comic being child-friendly, the article’s nominal thesis, except in the sense that ASM #41 (yes, I eyeballed that from that summary, yes I am just showing off now) is better written, making it more everyone-friendly. It also has practically more space dedicated to word balloons than art and is about a college student juggling girl problems and a part-time job with a tyrannical boss. But the immature one, as Scocca points out, is dour.

These are both teenagery issues, separated only by quality. It’s true that lots of new comics published by the big 2 are bad in the specific way Scocca describes here, taking themselves too seriously and hauled down by associated stories instead of buoyed by them. Some are not! Some titles from these companies’ main continuities are zippy, contained, and child friendly. Give your child The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl! Or if you like vintage comics so much better, why don’t you…buy some?

The books on the kid’s rack are good and fun and totally suitable for parents to read with their children without wanting to scoop their eyeballs out. Scocca cites the Batman ‘66 comics as the brightly colored, tightly written all ages solution to his problem about sharing superhero stories with his son. My local comic shop stores this title in the kid’s section. I am glad that Scocca’s does not, as he seems to have a peculiar aversion to looking for comics to read with his son there.

Scocca cites Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as a superhero movie he could watch with his kids. (I was surprised when this line made it sound like he has several. I don’t want to assume the other one isn’t in this article because they’re a girl, but I very much am assuming that.) Great! Go to the kid’s section and look for Marvel Adventures: Spider-Man. It’s a fun, zippy title directly inspired by ITSV where Miles, Gwen, and Peter superhero together. It’s much more tightly written than most of the various Spider-Verse comics, which are ambitiously messy ubercrossovers. You may not want to give those to children because they include murder and so on, but also you just have the choice between the two as an adult reader deciding how much continuity you want to deal with. Adventures is one of the only titles I would buy on sight before corona. The kid comic rack is a reliable place to take a break from How Comics Get Sometimes regardless of how old you are.

This article makes me feel quarrelsome. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like exploration of a single idea so much as a loosely grouped bundle of things to kvetch about. Maybe it’s that the experience of getting into superheroes that Scocca describes experiencing, projects his seven-year-old son will experience, and from which he extrapolates a metaphorical microcosm of the history of the genre is completely alien to me.

Comic books [and] comic-book movies—are […] trapped in their imagined audience’s own awful passage from childhood to adolescence. A seven-year-old has a clean […] appreciation of superheroes. They like hero comics because the comics have heroes: bold, strong, vividly colored good guys to fight off the bad guys and make the world safe.

But seven-year-olds stop being seven. […] They become 13-year-olds, defensively trying to learn how to develop tastes about tastes.

The 13-year-old wants many things from comics, but the overarching one is that they want to prove that they’re not some seven-year-old baby anymore. They want gloomy heroes, miserable heroes, heroes who would make a seven-year-old feel bad. (Also boobs. They want boobs.)

Not because of the boobs line, although that does illicit an eyeroll that this gloomy thinkpiece is fretting over preserving the superhero experience of little boys who resemble the little boy the writer was while casually dismissing everyone else. I was one of those unlikable little seven-year-olds with a college reading level and the impression that maintaining it was the crux of my worth. I only read Books - distinguished media you could club someone with. I have a formative memory of pausing, enraptured, in front of a poster for Spider-Man 3, preparing to say that it looked pretty cool, and being beaten to the punch by my mother making a disparaging comment about how the movie was trash. It wasn’t out yet, but it was a superhero movie. That meant it was for loud, brainless children.

That was the total of my childhood experience with superheroes, excluding being the unwilling audience to incessant renditions of “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” that left me wondering why in god’s name Batman’s sidekick was named Robin. I certainly never visited a comic book shop. I got into TvTropes, which got me into webcomics, which got me following David Willis, who got me into Ask Chris at ComicsAlliance, which led to me rewarding myself for studying like a demon for the AP tests with three volumes of Waid’s Daredevil, pitched as a return to the character being colorful and swashbuckling. I was seven…teen.

This is of the same thread as Scocca’s point that immaturity is running from childish things. It leaves me baffled that he doesn’t follow that maturity is embracing them.

I will disclose here that while I think it was dumb I had to overcome my upbringing’s deeply embedded shame associated with enjoying arbitrarily defined lowbrow media and children being childish, I think it’s fine that I was allowed largely unchecked access to technically age-inappropriate content. In my limited experience, content small children are too young for is also content they’re too young to understand, so it kind of just bounces off of them, and what actually ends up terrorizing them is unpredictable collages of impressions that strike out at them from content deemed perfectly child-friendly. I would not forbid a seven-year-old I was in charge of from seeing an MCU movie unless I had a reason to believe that specific child would not take it well. These are emotionally low-stakes bubblegum films. It will probably be easier to socialize with other kids if they have seen them.

But then, when I picture being in charge of a hypothetical child, I usually imagine this being the case because they are related to me, and the pupal stage in my family strongly resembles Wednesday Addams. ALL children love death and violence, though, right?? This isn’t a joke point. I know it looks like a joke point.

The MCU thing seems especially weird in light of the article’s particular focus on Spider-Man, which is the kiddie line of the MCU, even if they refused to waver from their usual formula enough to get a lower rating. Though I am more inclined to describe it as “preying on the young” than “child-friendly”.

(MCU movies are increasingly dubious propaganda, but I would not judge them in front of a child who wanted to watch them for that reason, just in case this led to them partaking of them without me the second they were old enough to and then they grew up to run a blog about them while our relationship suffered because they didn’t feel like it was safe to talk to me about their interests…Mom.)

I tried to overcome the philosophy of letting anyone read anything while compiling this handful of mostly-newish superhero recs for the road that anyone can read. (Handily, I have been in spitting distance of being hired as a comic shop clerk enough to have thought about it before):

For actual children:

Marvel Adventures Spider-Man (the new one is reminiscent of ITSV, the old one is more like 616) any DC/Archie crossover, Archie’s Superteens The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl (for bookish children who think they’re too good for comics and adults afraid of the kid’s section) Teen Titans Go (even if you hate the show) Superman Smashes the Klan

For teens:

Ms. Marvel Young Avengers (volume 2) Unbelievable Gwenpool Batman: Gotham Adventures Teen Titans Go (the tie-in comic based off the old show was also called this)

Here are a bunch of relevant C. S. Lewis quotes.

[problematic-faves-appreciation]

This blog gives me life! My problematic fave, truly problematic but I still adore him (oh, I am such an imoral evil person, amirite *eyeroll*) is Ahmed Ben Hassan. What people don't get is that the novel (though extremely problematic) is nothing but a fantasy. There are plenty of similar erotica books that cater to the same fantasy, and there are movies like that as well. I don't see why, as a woman, I shouldn't enjoy a mere fantasy. That movie affects in no way my opinion of how real life relationships should be, and I do not condone such dynamics irl. It's so tiresome to be considered immoral for liking whatever villainous character piques my interest. I will say I prefer movie Ahmed to his novel counterpart, because he is toned down (not by much, still problematic) but I am so done apologising for liking a fictional character from a 1920's erotica novel and its screen adaptation. And whenever I mention liking certain characters, I just have to add "they are problematic though" like I need to apologise for my taste in FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. I like Byronic heroes, I love tortured complex HORRIBLE male characters - not because I think this is how a real life person should behave - but because they stimulate my noggin to reflection, and yes, because they are very erotic to me. Especially Ahmed is a very... BDSM-tinged character. And Rudolph Valentino just so happens to be my favourite actor of all time. His movies (for I have seen them all, that have survived) have managed to put a smile on my face even in my darkest of times. The Sheik is especially my go-to movie when I am struggling with severe depression. Is it the most ideal choice? I have no idea. Is it controversial, yes. But I refuse to be shamed for liking a stupid movie (and a stupid book) anymore. They are but a female written fantasy(!!!!!), directed at a female audience. They are not real. People should concern themselves less with each others' taste in problematic characters, and more on actual real life issues. Nobody is a degenerate monster for liking a fictional character, for whatever reason.

Hello there! Thanks for dropping by. :)

Ahmed Ben Hassan, the Rudolph Valentino-portrayed snack whose character had an influence on male love interests in bodice rippers and other genres. A heavily flawed, but complex character not beyond redemption. Just my cup of tea. 

Don’t let haters get you down for your taste in fictional characters! They’re the hypocritical sort of assholes that said nothing when dudes thirsted over Lady Dimitrescu — but when women do the same with characters like Ahmed Ben Hassan and Kylo Ren, everybody loses their minds a la the romantic novel antis of the 18th century, and talk down to us as if our “feeble female brains” can’t tell fiction apart from reality. Pay them no mind. 

“People should concern themselves less with each others' taste in problematic characters, and more on actual real life issues. Nobody is a degenerate monster for liking a fictional character, for whatever reason.”

This!

[beastofeasto-blog]

Medlar and Quince Jam

There’s a special pleasure in making your own jam. It’s not just another thing to brag about: ohh look at me I made a strawberry-Chablais-black pepper abomination, I’m better than you.

The point, I think, in making your own, is to scratch an itch that isn’t widely commercially available: don’t bother with berry jams. It’s just going to be a whole lot of effort on your part resulting in something you could’ve popped down to the shops for.

Now, where I’m at, in soggy old England, tis the season for two excellent fruits.

This is a  quince. It looks like an especially  large, yellow, tumourous pear. When you poach it (cue eyerolling from the zoomers in the audience, derisive snorts and rhetorical questions as to which century it is), it takes on an implacable, exotic fragrance, and a taste somewhere between roses, apples and pears, and a texture that’s both grainy and soft. I know that’s not to everybody’s taste, sometimes, not even to mine. If you have a quince at home and don’t know what to do with it, the best I can advise is to cut it into chunks, put it into a pot, cover with water, add maybe three tablespoons of sugar and a few well chosen spices: a stick of cinnamon, a couple star anise, maybe some cardamom. Subtlety is the name of the game here, so don’t be excessive. Then let it bubble away until the white flesh has blushed to magenta and it will yield to the pressure of the back of a fork. You can serve this as is, or with double cream or even custard. It’s the perfect thing to cheer you up on a wet November afternoon.

The other fruit is something that some of you probably haven’t tasted or even seen. English poets of yore charmingly nicknamed it “cat’s arse” or “open arse” due to its suggestive, rectal shape. Medlars are doubly strange because they’re inedible raw, and it’s standard procedure to allow them to blet: soften, darken, their interior flesh changing from cream to an applesauce-brown to something somehow even less appetising. Yeah, bletting is a more appealing way of saying rotting. So why am I telling you about them? Not just due to centuries of jokers making allusions to them, but also because they’re delicious. I mentioned applesauce because that’s an approximation of what they taste like. Applesauce, or medjool dates. They also have the quality of being absolutely packed to the gills with pectin. This is another reason why I want to tell you about this recipe: unlike many other jams,  it doesn’t require pectin. It’s strictly a jelly: silky as the jar of Welch’s, but at least a dozen times better tasting.    

Now, in absolute brevity, pectin is a polysaccharide, like starch or cellulose. It’s different from something like fructose, glucose or sucrose, because they’re all monosaccharides; just one "unit” of sugar. Pectin, on the other hand, is a polymer chain of many monosaccharides, all bonded together. The gel forms because when heated, the different pectin chains form hydrogen bonds with one another. For those who’ve neglected their chemistry, hydrogen bonds are comparatively weak interactions, that occur between a hydrogen and a pair of free electrons on most usually an oxygen, nitrogen for fluorine. Despite their weakness, they’re still significant, because they can affect the 3D structure and behaviour of molecules. They allow DNA to have its double-helical shape.   Pectin is another great example. The pectins (remember, they’re chains of sugars) interact via hydrogen bonding, and form a net-like structure. In real terms, this means a gel forms. 

However, what this recipe does need is a pot, a wooden spoon or spatula, something to strain with like a relatively fine-grained sieve, and a cooking thermometer, ideally a candy thermometer.

I’ve modified a Nigel Slater recipe here. Nigel Slater is my favourite food writer, and he probably should be yours also, not just because of his evocative prose but because he doesn’t give a shit what’s going on at El Bulli or Noma or God knows where else. He cares about good, tasty, unpretentious cooking. He’s one of the reasons why I’m so interested in food today.

You’re going to need for about two jars.

about a pound of medlars, 2/3 of which are soft and squashy, and 1/3 of which are still quite hard.

one big quince

 an apple

a lemon

water

caster sugar

and some spices of your choice

First, cut your fruit into pieces so that they’re all roughly the same size. I’d suggest that you go for “half a medlar” as your size, but it’s entirely up to you.

Then put them into a big old deep pot, cover them with water, and then about a thumb’s depth extra.

Bring the pot to a boil, and then turn it on low and let the thing bubble away for an hour. Poke at the fruit a little with your spoon, but don’t stir because the jelly will cloud, thereby partially ruining it. While you’re boiling, you could skim the foam off the top if you want to. I did it, but you don’t have to.

Then, pour all of it into the sieve, which you’ve sat over a bowl that’s at least 2L in volume, and let the liquid pass through. You can help the juice on its way, but generally let nature take its course, until all that remains in the sieve is a dark mess, and the bowl is full of a pretty, deep coloured liquid. You could, of course, use a jelly bag or cheesecloth, but you probably don’t have one and they’re the very devil to clean. While a sieve isn’t as fine, it’s good enough.

Now, measure out how much liquid you’ve got, make a note of it,  and return it to the pot. Boil for a few minutes, not just to deepen flavour and colour, but also to bring it up to heat.  Here, you can add some spices. I chose cardamom and hibiscus: about four cardamom pods and a small handful of dried hibiscus flowers. The cardamom because I think that it works beautifully with stewed fruit, and the hibiscus to amp up the gorgeous colour. Add the same volume of sugar as you did liquid. Stir to combine and bring it up to to 108C/220F. This is the gelling temperature, and if you don’t do this the jelly won’t set. Cook at that temperature for a few minutes. Dip a cold metal spoon into your jam and remove it. If two drops  coalesce to form a “sheet”, it’s ready. Another way to test for doneness is to put a teaspoon of jam onto a saucer and put that into the freezer for a few minutes. If it furrows like a brow when you run your finger through it, it’s also done.

Now, once you’ve done that, pour it into sterilized jars. Hot jam likes hot jars, cold jam likes cold jars. I’m not sure how long this keeps, but it’s probably weeks-to-months.

The first thing I ate it with was some baguette and brie. It was excellent. I’m no sommeilier, but let’s see if I can evoke the flavour. It was sweet, even for me, fragrant, intensely tasting of quince, with that subtle bitter/sourness from the hibiscus flowers, and with a distinct almost creamy flavour which I suppose comes from the medlars. Very rich stuff. The texture was jelly-like, but subtly crumbly.

So here we are. Medlar and Quince Jelly. My first post. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did cooking it. Next time, maybe something about Japan.

All images were taken by me except for the quince illustration, which is by Ann Swan, and is called “Champion Quince”.

[rametarin]

I can promise you, nothing has changed.

They may make it sound like you're on the edge of some sort of white people hate crime revolt, but it is, in fact, absolutely absurdly LESS likely than any other time in American history, and it has always been an extremely miniscule prospect since post-WW2.

If ever there were going to be mass violent riots about race and civil rights, it would've happened when the KKK was at its most powerful, or during neo-Nazi rallies throughout the 50s and 60s. It never happened to anywhere near the extent they suspected it might, because people in general aren't like that.

The number of hate groups and people plunged considerably in the 80s and 90s, as the older generations born in the early 1900s died off and those younger aged out of being healthy or angry enough to bother, and the new bigots not being numerous or angry enough to be of any threat- also, American intel keeping an eye on hate groups.

They're going to cite the "massive swing towards the right" and the "reactionary hate group responses to LGBTQ+ rights." Except.. no. They're going to cite a thing called Gamergate, and try to make it sound like these poor put-upon feminist activists got bullied and harassed by a bunch of male chauvinists just trying to "keep women out of videogames" and other eyeroll worthy shit. It's lies. They waged a finger-wagging campaign in the 2010s when the ideologues infested games journalism rags and started putting out puff pieces on how Gamers were what was wrong with gaming, how Gamers needed to lower their expectations of videogames and choose games that had "Good Messaging" and put down games the journos felt, "didn't have the best of messages," and started rating games based on how close to their ideology they were, not based on their quality or fun.

When they got blowback from that, they waged a big media campaign about how all these "cishet white male gamers" were "JOINING THE ALT-RIGHT" over "GIRLS IN 'THEIR' VIDEOGAMES." Except.. no. that is not even close to reality. It's just narrative. It's not even remotely a half-truth. Video gaming has always been equal opportunity and welcoming of female protagonists, whether they're butch and offputting, sporty and friendly, or just straight up princesses in all senses of the word. They were making out these extremely liberal, tolerant and accepting gamers as just being extensions of "the white supremacist patriarchy," and trying to make young people think THAT was the status quo, and that if anybody disagreed with their ideological nonsense, it was just white supremacism lashing out.

So after smearing people that disagreed with their ideological takes, it was like a bomb went off (metaphorically) in journalism, with every outlet talking about how "the alt-right was on the rise," making it seem like it was turn of the century KKK member numbers or something.

But at the same time, they were running around antagonizing people, repeating shit like, "All white people are racist, racism is something that is only possible if you are white. White women use their feminine white fragility to shield and absolve themselves from association with whiteness, and cannot be considered oppressed anymore by their whiteness."

Their takes are absurd, their faith is bad, and they're growing increasingly desperate to paint everybody that ISN'T part of the Progressive platform as just a bunch of woman hating, queerbashing, white supremacist, male chauvinist, cisheteronormatist, religious fundamentalist, ablist monsters.

So naturally when 1/5th of all black people vote for Donald Trump, a good portion of Latinos, instead of seeing anything right of Mao or Stalin as Hitler incarnate, they start screaming about how they're being "tricked by the alt-right."

You can EXPECT they'll make an enormous mess of trans rights on a state and federal level, I think, but wax on, wax off. Next presidential election, or the one after, it can be put back on the table. There's still gay rights. They're not going to round up and imprison people for being transgendered. They're not going to let hate mobs run around burning down black neighborhoods- especially not after ANTIFA and BLM did enough of that during 2018 and 2019.

We're very quietly already in World War III, economically, and have been for some time. This has been out of Obama, Biden and Trump's hands, largely. Don't look under the hood if you want to sleep better. It's being handled, but there will be turbulence. So, strap yourself in.

As someone who was busy being a pre-teen last time trump was president, I am extremely unsure what to expect.

[cosmosfated]

Virtuous Vices

   A lone figure standing at the end of the world, dressed in beyond damaged robes with beyond damaged symbols, looking out into what lays beyond the end instead of turning back and enjoying that of which has yet to see it.  Golden eyes reflecting light that doesn’t exist, a SOUL ever as defiant as the one protected by its grace.  A SOUL ever as contradictory as the one who once commanded it.

   A lone figure standing at the end of everything, shielded with the divine and armed with the damned, watching calmly towards something that lays beyond both good and evil- beyond both right and wrong.  To lay eyes on it would cause great insanity, and to know its name would render a mind asunder.  Though that’s exactly why the figure keeps her eyes moving.  Acting not like a guard but like a wanderer.  Someone unassuming, someone not to be worried of.

   A lone figure standing at the end of the path, head held level with the rest of the worlds at her back counting on her and those elsewhere who do the same as she.  No matter the truths, she’d stay here until called elsewhere by a duty greater than that of the one chosen and cherished.  No matter the price, she’d do what must be done in order to do what’s right.  Right was never supposed to be popular opinion, for it rarely is.  She just prefers the softer methods as compared to the times where violence did what had to be done, it got the right thing done, but it wasn’t the only solution.

   Gentle, not scared.    Hopeful, not naive.     Kind, not weak.

   She has her own strengths.  Not to say she can’t fight, but it’s the simple fact that she feels no need to.  Why fight when the battle rigged against you?  When you can’t win a rigged game, change the game.

   | You seem not the type for hubris, little one. |

   She finally tears her eyes away from what spans beyond her, turning her head towards the voice that spoke to her.  Recognizable, though she’d not heard that voice in her entire existence.  She simply knew, and she had no reason to question the validity of it.  Not anymore.  “Comin’ from th’ one who hasn’t been doin’ ‘er job in th’ past ... eight years? I’ve been doin’ better than y’all and I’ve hardly done anythin’.”

   Silence, but only for a short time before they sigh.  | I suppose ... I deserved that one. I was not expecting such commentary from one of my own... but that’s the say you were ever one of mine. Even when you prayed to me, all those centuries ago, you were not one of mine, were you? |

   Cue the largest eyeroll she can manage.  Of course she’d get bothered when she wants time alone.  “Why’re ya here? It’s not safe fer ya ta be here unprotected.”

   | Ah, but you’re here, little one. I am not unprotected. |

   “Ya put too much faith in a disillusioned angel.”  A click of the tongue, and her gaze returns to what lays beyond the end of everything, beyond the end of the end.  “I have no qualms wit’cha bein’ slowly destroyed with no one to come rescue you, not even noticing that you cried for help when you needed it most.”

   | ... sort of deserved that one, too. Even so, I worry of you and your state of mind. You have not left this terrible place between places, this never-world, if you will, for almost four years. You do realize that your happiness ... is back home? With your brother, and his family? With those Hunters who seem to adore you so? |

   She doesn’t answer.  Not immediately, at least.  She simply keeps her eyes in front of her, not quite watching anything but staring out into the emptiness as if there was something there staring back at her.  A madness understood without collecting it herself-- or perhaps she is mad in a different way?  In comparison to Humans and Monsters, even most Monstrosities, those of other Realms do think differently.  They see differently.  They act differently.  Hmm...

   Happiness isn’t back there.  It doesn’t feel real.  Is she the only one who can see it?  Is she the only one who isn’t blind?  The thought alone scares her in a way she doesn’t like to admit to, even though it reminds her that despite her status as an angel, she still retains some of her humanity in this way.  “... Nah. It ain’t.”  It’s true, it’s not back there.  “My brother’s happy. Frisk’s happy. Everybody’s happy, everybody’s bright, more thin’s are bein’ learned every day, every battle has been fer th’ most part won. Yer right. ... but it won’t last.”

   | ... excuse me? There is nothing that is said to disrupt the flow of this time for at least another year, if not longer. ... Are you saying that the gods of Time are lying? |

   “No.”  Her stare turns into aimless wandering of her eyes, trying to not get caught staring.  Caught by what?  Does it matter?  She’d rather not think about it.  “I’m not sayin’ they’re lyin’. I’m jus’ sayin’ that even gods make mistakes. We can’t rely on gods ta fix our problems.”  An icy glare is shot over one shoulder at the being behind her.  “Ya know what happened th’ last time we tried that method.”

   | The Dark Ages were ... not our best moment. |

   “As if that was the only time. Ya remember the War of Last Light? Or, ‘ey, what about the Age of Silence? Even betta’, the last battle fought ‘gainst Th’ Dark Beyond where ya said you’d help the Hunters an’ Knights and NEVER fucking did?”

   | You’re right... as always, you’re right. Thus why ... I wish to extend a proposal. |

   “What could’ja possibly offer me that would be ‘f any fundamental use ta me after all this ends? Yer powers only extend so far once he’s dragged back down again, after I always follow ‘im back down so ‘e ain’t alone- even if he’s always blind to me thanks to that cheating bastard. Ya can only do so much after this world begins anew once more, no matter how powerful ya think ya are.”

   | Which is exactly my point. How would you feel about taking the light of the Divine Realm and shaping it into something you could use at any point ... for any reason you deemed right? From armors and weapons ... to creating new spells at a moment’s notice ... to even mimicking the abilities of those that lurk within The Dark Beyond. |

   “Soun’s like a useless bribe--”

   | This ability would stay with you ... even after he Falls. You would forever hold title and power. |

   ...slowly, she turns to face the being behind her, curiosity and interest piqued.  Watching The End could certainly wait, as it would only arrive when it wanted to.  “... I’m listening. Get to talking.”

[tails89]

My world revolves around you

This was on my sideblog, which I have since deleted, so I’m posting this here.

Sterek :)

It starts off innocently enough.

“If you were a chicken, you’d be impeccable.” Stiles snorts at his own joke. “Get it?”

Scott rolls his eyes and groans. “That’s just awful dude, you’re not actually using these on other people, are you?”

It’s like Scott’s words spark an idea in Stiles’ brain. Everyone’s a target. No one is safe.

“Hey Lyds!”

The red head glances up from her notebook.

“The world revolves around the sun-”

Her brows are already drawing together in a scowl.

“-but my world revolves around you.”

Lydia stares down Stiles, but his goofy grin never falters, so she huffs and goes back to her homework.

“Aw, come on. Nothing? That was my best one!” Stiles moans.

Lydia doesn’t even look up. “You’re going to be single for a long time then.”

“Oh, how about this one,” Stiles is pushing aside his books, homework forgotten. “Do you like heavy metal? Because I could teach you-“

“Finish that sentence, Stilinski, and the only reason I’ll be screaming is because you are dead.”

Stiles sighs and reaches for his textbook. Banshees have no sense of humour.

It’s Kira who notices that Derek never seems to be on the receiving end of Stiles’ terrible pick-up lines.

They’re all sitting around in the loft, waiting for Derek to pay the delivery driver and return with pizza.

Stiles tries shrugging it off. “Despite what you guys think, I value my limbs, I’d rather not have Derek tear one of them off because I’ve offended hid delicate sensibilities. I do have some sense of self-preservation.”

Lydia scoffs from her seat.

Stiles twists to glare at her. “I do.”

“Self-preservation? I don’t need to be a werewolf to know that’s a lie.” Lydia uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “You won’t use your childish pick-up lines on Derek, because you actually like Derek.” She raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow as Stiles’ mouth drops open.

“No, I don’t!” He splutters.

“Wait, what?” God bless Scott and his obliviousness.

Stiles is glaring daggers at Lydia. A silent plea for her to stop. Derek could be back at any moment!

“Getting brushed off by the rest of us is no big deal,” Lydia goes on, ignoring Stiles’ stare. “But you actually have feelings for Derek and you can’t bear the thought of him turning you down.”

“No.” Stiles scrambles, glancing from Scott to Kira. Kira looks just as smug as Lydia. Damn her for bringing it up. Scott looks thoughtful, like the gears are slowly turning in his mind. Making connections, damning connections. “I don’t- It’s not like that!”

“Prove it.” Lydia challenged, reclining gracefully. She’d look right at home stroking a fluffy white cat, like one of those classic movie villains.

“I don’t need to prove anything,” Stiles crosses him arms in front of his chest. “There’s nothing to prove.”

Kira initiates the chant. “Prove it!” She cries.

“Prove it!” Malia is quick to join in.

Liam says nothing from his position on the floor, but his expression is smug.

Stiles turns to each of them, “Yeah, fun. Let’s all gang up on Stiles,” he complains. “Scott, help a brother out.”

Scott shrugs like, what can you do, but damn it his face is positively gleeful.

“Scotty! Scott. My first friend. My best friend. Scotty-boy.”

“We’ve had to put up with it for weeks.” Scott’s tone is almost sympathetic, but it falls short when he smirks and says, “paybacks a bitch.”

“You-” Stiles’ mouth flops open, searching for his wittiest retort. “…suck!

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Real powerful comeback.”

Scott’s jabbing a finger at his best friend. “Stiles, I dare you- “

Stiles feels his eyes roll, out of his head, out of this plane of existence. “How old are you? Six?”

Scott shushes him, ignoring the eyeroll of the century. “I dare you to tell Derek your absolute worst, cringy-est pick-up line.”

“Or what?”

“Or… “ He falters.

Stiles knows Scott doesn’t have the balls.

Strawberry blond hair tickles the back his neck and the banshee whispers, “Or we’ll tell Derek how you really feel.” And just… Lydia Fucking Martin everybody.

Derek chooses that moment to return to the loft, pizza boxes piled high in his grip. There’s yelling and laughter and Stiles prays for the sweet release of death.

All he gets, though, is a nudge and a sharp look from Lydia, so Stiles swallows his mouthful of pizza and takes a breath and…

“Hey Derek?”

Derek turns, hand lowering pizza back onto his plate.

“So, we’re learning about important dates in History at the moment… want to be one of them?”

Silence.

Thick eyebrows draw together in a scowl. But then Scott and Kira are snorting over their shared plate and… and it’s over. Stiles didn’t combust and Derek didn’t look disgusted or tell him to leave and Stiles was probably just imagining the way Derek’s ears flushed red.

It’s later, halfway through the movie, when Stiles feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

If you were a transformer, you’d be a HOT-obot, and your name would be Optimus Fine.

He gapes at his phone, then sneaks a sideways glance. Everyone around him is caught up in the action onscreen, attention glued to the glowing box. Derek’s no exception, but Stiles can see the light glinting off the mobile he’s fiddling with absentmindedly. And if his cheeks are rosy, it’s probably only because the onscreen explosions are casting a fiery glow over the room.

Still this… this is amazing. Because none of his friends had ever played along with Stiles’ stupid game. And suddenly it’s on.

Stiles texts back. Is your name google? Because you’re the answer to everything I’ve been searching for.

He waits and watches out of the corner of his eye as Derek glances down at the screen that’s lit up in his hands.

Are you the square root of -1 because you can’t be real.

Stiles bites his lip to keep from smiling and turns back to the television. As the credits start to roll he realises he has no idea what they’d been watching.

After that, it becomes this thing that just completely snowballs out of control.

Stiles turns up at the loft, greeting Derek with “is your face McDonalds? Because I’m loving it” and gets to work pulling out his latest packet of research on whatever big bad they’re facing that week.

One time he’s sitting on the couch, easing his laptop off his legs and shooting Derek an offhand comment. “Are you religious? Because you’re the answer to all my prayers.” And chuckling to himself at the look of Derek’s face.

He knows he needs to reign it in before he gets too caught up but he just. can’t. help it. Because Stiles would do anything to watch Derek’s cheeks and ears flush red. To watch the way he tries to retaliate but more often than not, gets completely derailed, mouth moving but words catching in his throat and god damn it, it’s adorable.

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

“I know you’re busy today, but can you add me to your to-do list?”

“Stiles.”

“Hmm?”

They’re alone at the loft. Stiles turned up early to clarify some research he’s been going over about forest nymphs. His laptop is open on the couch, pages strewn across every bit of available space.

“Stiles. I think we need to stop.”

“Uh,” Stiles puts down the sheet of paper he’d been holding. “Okay, I figured we’d wait ‘til the others get here but yeah, a break sounds good.” He shuts his laptop and reaches his arms up into a stretch. “Hey, Derek,” Stiles grins. “You’re hotter than the bottom of my laptop.”

“Yeah, you need to stop that.” Derek’s arms are crossed and he has his brooding face on.

Stiles laughs. “What? That wasn’t even the worst one.”

Derek shakes his head and gives him a pointed look. “Stiles. I know.”

Stiles just stares, eyebrows raised, waiting for the conversation to make sense.

“You don’t have to play this game anymore.” Derek says after a moment. “I know.”

Did Derek know how Stiles felt about him? How did he find out? His heart was racing. Was that- had his stupid racing heart given him away? “You know?” He draws the words out slowly. “And?”

Derek scowled. “And it’s childish and stupid.”

“Oh…” Stiles face fell. There it was then. Derek Hale thought Stiles’ crush was ‘childish and stupid’. Greatest day ever. Not. Still, he needed to know. “Is it- is it the age difference?”

The question seemed to throw Derek for moment. “You and Scott are the same age.”

And now Stiles is thrown too, so he asks. “What are we talking about right now?”

“I’m talking about that stupid dare.”

Which really doesn’t help, and Derek is looking more and more resigned with each question Stiles asks.

“What dare? I’m so confused right now.” Perhaps Derek doesn’t know about Stiles’ feelings after all. Maybe Stiles can still pretend that even has a chance with Derek.

“Pack night. I heard Scott dare you to- “

Oh. That dare. Never mind. Derek had known all along. The illusion is shattered.

“That was ages ago!” Stiles splutters, rising from his spot on the couch. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His hands are in his hair anxiously running through the locks. “God, I feel like such an idiot. This whole time you knew. And what,” he turns on Derek, “you were just humouring me?”

“What?”

Stiles is pacing. “Jesus, you must have been so uncomfortable!“

Derek catches Stiles’ shoulders in an attempt to get his attention. “Stiles, stop- “

“This whole time you knew I liked you and you just let me make a complete fool of myself!”

Stiles jerks free and they stand there in the middle of the living room. He turns to start pacing again, but Derek has a hand around his wrist.

“You like me?”

Stiles tries to tug his hand loose. “Dude, just stop. You just told me you heard the whole thing. You don’t need to play along anymore.”

Derek let him go. “I heard Scott dare you to use the pick-up lines.”

“Yeah…” Stiles clutches his hand to his chest.

“That’s all I heard.” Derek tells him. They both stand there awkwardly for a moment, before Derek breaks the silence. “You like me?

“You- you didn’t know?” Derek shakes his head. “But that’s how this whole thing started. Lydia- Lydia said….” Stiles glances up at Derek and takes a deep breath. “Yes, I like you. Jesus Christ, I like you so much!” The words come out in a rush, like if he doesn’t speak now and speak fast it’ll never happen.

“Lydia was teasing me, so Scott dared me to use my worst pick-up line on you and the whole thing escalated and god, this is embarrassing and you- Jesus, Derek, I couldn’t help it, you just looked… and then you joined in and like, man, they were so bad and I guess there was always a part of me that knew this was going to happen, that you were going to get tired of it and- will you please stop looking at me like that- here it is and I’m sorry okay? Please say something before I make this worse, like this whole verbal word vomit is just digging me deeper and your eyebrows are getting judgier and I-

Warm lips are pressed against his mouth, silencing his outburst.

“Breathe Stiles.” Derek pulls away, watching Stiles face carefully.

“I uh-“ Stiles swallows. “You just…” he trails off.

Derek is still so close. Stiles imagines he can feel the body heat radiating from the werewolf. “If you’d taken a second to breathe, I could have gotten a word in and told you it was okay.”

Stiles takes a step back. “’It’s okay’? Those words don’t fill me with confidence Derek.”

“Okay that you like me.” Derek steps forward.

“Yep, still not feeling it.” But Stiles is smiling now and Derek is back in his personal space and when their lips meet again Stiles is moving eagerly against Derek, tongue darting out to taste what he’s been dreaming of for oh so long.

He pulls back, wondering when his fingers became tangled in Derek’s hair. “But I think I’m beginning to understand,” he says, voice low. “You like me too?” Stubble scrapes against his jaw. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“Stiles?” Derek’s breath his hot against Stiles’ neck.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

[vernons-laugh-is-my-aesthet-blog]

Memeteen guide to Seventeen

S.coups: 

carats make fun of his stage name holding a couple s.coups of icecream and a S.cup of noodles 

chicc

the poor man between jeongjicheol

papa coups 

embarrasing dad

wings it at choreo sometimes

has 12 children 

wants to c h o k e jeonghan

the type of dad that would challenge his 5 yr old child to a game of soccer and then gets too competitive and swerves that bitch to get goals

 his smile and his smile alone gave one of Seventeen's stages a crap ton of views

say the name!

camel

piggy bank

beagle leader

“eyes look like 9:15″

eyelashes for ddaayyyysss

Everybody SCREAMM

fireworks are the only enemy

My EGG YOLK T-T

members rebel against him at times

someone save him

Jeonghan:

John-Oops I mean Jeonghan

Laying down is his preferred physical state

swindler

long hair majestic unicorn and short hair majestic prince. He majestic no matter what fam

"Joshua was the first one to approach me"

 toucher of asses 

shamelessly feeds off of members' love 24/7

Makes members have couple wallpaper and phone cases with him 

 "angel"

the mother of Seventeen

“Dino, nugu aegi?”

All members are under his spell

giraffe running

Jeonghan's warm cup of milk

sa-sa-say the name seventeen 

Doubts OFD pds

bitter smile of betrayal 

vernon crushed his balls once

athletic with no stamina

creator of the Carat mating call: *incoherent screaming*

Joshua:

Gentleman

fukn weeaboo

the b e s t freestyle rapper in Seventeen. Dont @ me

ded meme(?) "Jisoos Christ"

The 'normal one'-SIKE bitch

That poor waterbottle

When-one-of-the-members-wear-a-shirt-with-questionable-english-words-everyone-blames-me-lol  guy

I pledge allegence to the flag of the united states of amerca and to the re-

dRinK WaTeR

pin drop and worm master +uncle dance

pingpong vlive 

“EAT THIS” signature move

"over here"

The english teacher everyone wants and deserves 

white cap

Chicken can heal the heart

L.A motherfuckerss

piggy bank

"Ïm part of vocal unit too! T-T"

Jun

Heechul's reincarnated body that was too early bc he aint ded lol

chinaline

child actor 

nyeac nyeac 

logos are out to get him 

eyeroll king 

punny and awkward

king of china

404 lines not found

My I now

"Ice ice froze." (that crazy in love Wonwoo lyric) moments

sexy expression

convinced he is the number one visual 

shy vlives

proceeds to tell members to call him handsome in chinese

ofd positivity boy

Hoshi: 

naega hosh + pose

 What time is it? 10:10 bitches

‘ten hour ten minute’

 shinee’s biggest fanboy

 from soft 1 to hipthurst 100  real quick.

HAM HAM. HAMHAMHAMHAM

My name’s soonyoung call me soon

hamster cheeks

suffers with spicy food

beurora hurricane

Coco his chicken 

his love for the angsty teen makne 

"HEy MIDDLE" 

glitter face

pretty u first win cry face

Mounteen

kwon fire

 making dances out of things that inspire him; ex: crab, octopus, noodles, street lamp, backpack

kwon edward soonyoung 

refuses to be bottom visual 

rivalry with seungkwan and wonwoo 

claps like a child

KWON SOONYOUNG FIGHTING *wakes up* 'YYEEEEAAAHHH"

Grandma

Wonwoo:

lowkey highkey loves his own visuals 

beanie bro 

garden fairy 

voice so deep adele's rollin in it 

"life is hamburger"

cheese burger aegyo 

emo 

let him sing fam

fukn nerddd 

sick wonwoo days with the plushy

Tsundere™

make him an actor pls 

got hit in the balls with a ball one time 

nose crinkle 

specs 

lack of highfives

middle school’s dance machine

him vs. Hoshi in ofd japan

bag of luck

Woozi:

Smol bean that would kill for a single cornchip 

Reminds me of a old grandpa teddy bear idk lol 

Done with life, hates aegyo and human contact, but will accept it when he wants to

members mock his crying from pretty u first win every chance they get 

if he does anything out of character they tease him about it till no end tbh

Suga's son

his need to grab and hit people when he laughs

guitar is his greatest weapon

ccrriinnggeee & finger ccurrlll

producer-nim

 adore u is a funky pop song that has fun and fresh lyrics that match seventeen's age on top of an addictive melody 

members exposing his ass in project svt

Dk:

the actual sun

 built in speakers bc he loud as shit 

sacrifices his beautiful face to make people laugh

 smile that can cure all the worlds sickness

 stop eating cds

woojoos_daddy

‘come to daddy’ tee

horsemin MAL

pigeon

GRILLED PPPORRKK

 chicc

 pure and goes along with jokes the best 

heLL0 mY naMe Is LeE SeOkMIN my moTheR’S naMe Is

hightone rap

wat is basketball? 

do it from your heart 

Jeonghan's fool 

mosquito 

Happy birfthday broo

orange peel king

wow, unbeliebable  

Grandpa

Two-teen

Mingyu:

MingEW and all his sneezin

flowercap boi 

tol and clumsy

If Seventeen doesnt drop somethign, Mingyu certainly will 

actually very organized and neat 

Minghousewife 

was a cheeto for a split second

proud father of OG BongBong 

Mingyu sunbaenimmm

Seventeen cant live without their swiss army knife 

Akita sound

oh. my. god. Oho My GOD

‘Your name is bob’

Where Is Your Tag???

squeals 

"Seventeens official visual" 

oooo000OOO yEAh 

The8: 

got7 bambam taught him how to dab and he never looked back since

 thughao

IMMA

before: Yeah I'll have her home before 10 ^-^ 

          now: she'll spend a night at my house ;)

nunchuuk daddy

404 no lines found pt.2

now My I

his predebut pictures are  e p i c

side-eye king

arms for days

fashionista

rolled thin porkbelly hair

learns more korean to roast bitches

flipping is his preferred transportation 

dirty dirty jamjam ^-^ *svt flipps out in cringe* 

Kermit is his bitch

Seungkwan: 

fresh baked buns bebe

divaboo

 just put boo in any word and it gets 100 times better

supports AND hates aegyo

Beyonce who?

MCboo, talk talk talk. 

"Thomas the train" omg rip XD 

Vernon's number 1 fan

OHMYGOD JASMIN

cries in jeju accent

John?

Boonon, svts rapper 

Oh Laaaddiieesss~~ this is your story 

red 

haunted house screaming 

volleyball fanatic

 kimbap kidding? 

Crab walks away 

Son of Jeju 

fashTion 

'13th visual' (fuk nah)

Im the BEST quality 

Vernon:

child actor but never fukn talks about it

attempts vocal runs

looks confused most of the time  

iconic rap lines "pull up on you wacks with a mac fuly loaded", “i'm only seventeen i only got a few dollars” "Chili Chicken in the microwave"

fortune cookie hair 

headlines headlines ( HaJiMAaaaAa, dont mention smtm4)

his obsession with hotline bling

"speaks english, but forgets that one english word" (bilingual problems)

Person: h- 

          Vernon: I was born in america but moved to korea when I was five 

Kidney function is not a right its a privilege

woke af

His mom is my bias

teeth

bubble pop

*slightly lifts glasses* 'ding' 

sofia

Leonardo Dicaprio AND Leonardo Divinci

Dont take him fishing

stitch

Dat laugh tho

lotto

My favorite part of Seungkwan is-

Dino:

Michael Chanson

"Im growing!"

not Jeonghan's aegi

we will now forget mansae era duck ass hair

Diamond makne

“he’s going through puberty now”-Hoshi

a new born savage

Makne’s visual ranking

GloUp of the century

"michael jackson version" 

bitter smile 

loud laugh 

*runs over hoshi's toes with scooter* 

*scrolls through phone and half-heartedly says*  I love you.

[supernatural-imagine-oneshot]

The Mrs. - Part One

SamXReader (eventual)

Summary: You’re a long time hunting partner of the Winchesters; to Dean you’re a best friend, and to Sam you’re just a friend. But oh how you wish you could be more. When a hunt comes up and Sam needs you to play his wife, you reluctantly agree. Now Dean is playing your fairy godmother and you’re starting to think you might just end up winning Sam’s heart.

A/N: I’m a sucker for the pretending to be married trope, and I wanted to write it! There will be a part two!

“Y/N, please.”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

“Sam, it’s ridiculous!”

“We’d do it together!”

“That doesn’t make this any less dumb.”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, his large arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at you. “It’s one night. One cursed object. After that, you can beat me up or whatever the hell you want, but for one night please just go undercover with me.”

You’d been having this argument with Sam for a good ten minutes now, ever since he’d brought up the art exhibit showcasing a cursed rod of Akubuku. Apparently the object had been the indirect cause of death for hundreds of people over the past several centuries, getting passed down from person to person after each owner died. 

“Why do we have to pretend to be married, though?” You demanded. Going to the fancy schmancy exhibit was no problem, in fact you liked getting to play dress up. But pretend to be married to Sam Winchester? That just seemed like an unnecessary complication, and unnecessary torture for you.

“Because it’ll give us a reason to not mingle and stick together,” Sam explained. He looked away from you at the last minute, signalling he was hiding something.

“I know you’re lying,” you stated, crossing your arms over your chest, taking an aggressive stance. “Spill the beans or I’ll sit this one out and you can pretend to be married to Dean.”

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, giving you an eyeroll. “Fine,” he sighed finally. “I was scoping out the exhibit today and pretended to be some rich art collector to this old woman. She got handsy and I told her I was married. If I show up to this thing without a wife, she’ll be all over me and I won’t be able to get the rod.”

“But she’d definitely get the rod then,” you said, trying and failing to hold back your laughter.

“Y/N,” Sam chided you, throwing you an annoyed look he usually reserved for Dean.

“Okay, okay!” You said, still smiling at your own wit. “I’ll be your wife to save you from the handsy elderly woman.”

“Thank you,” Sam sighed. “Exhibit opens at seven tomorrow night. I’ll take you to get a dress if you want, and shoes, or whatever it is you need. I owe you one.”

“You certainly do,” you agreed, smirking as you walked around Sam and headed to your room.

A few hours had passed since you’d agreed to Sam’s plan, and you’d just been in your room reading. Suddenly, your bedroom door was thrown open, and Dean walked in, flopping on your bed. 

“Yes?” You asked, not looking up from your book.

“Sammy just told me about the hunt you two are going on,” he informed you.

“Sorry you’re not invited,” you stated, absolutely no remorse in your voice.

“Hey, I’m fine to sit this one out.” At that, you lowered your book. Dean Winchester, sitting out a hunt without throwing a fit? What was the world coming to?

“You are?”

“Yeah, I’m just a little worried is all,” Dean said with the air of a man who had more to say. Upon seeing your confused look, he continued, “What with you having a huge crush on my brother and all.”

Your eyes widened and you instantly laughed. “What? Me? A crush on Sam?” You laughed so hard your stomach started to hurt. Dean just continued to stare at you, his lips curved up in a slight, almost imperceptible, smirk. “That obvious?” You asked once you realized he wasn’t buying your act.

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “Well, obvious to everybody but Sammy.”

“Don’t tell him,” you pleaded. “I don’t want things to be awkward.”

“I wouldn’t tell him!” Dean assured you, “I’m not a monster.” You let out a relieved sigh, and offered Dean a grateful smile. “But I am going to help Sam realize how much he likes you.”

“What? No!”

“Get up, we’re going shopping,” Dean was already on his feet, pulling you up too, before you could even form a full argument.

“B-But, Sam said he would take me!”

“And I told Sam I’d take you! Now let’s go!”

“Dean, no.” You tried pulling yourself from his grip, but Dean only held you tighter. Finally, realizing that you weren’t going to go easily, Dean threw you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Dean! Put me down!” You shouted, squirming against his hold. 

“Careful, or I’ll drop you,” Dean warned, grabbing your shoes and a jacket and he easily walked towards the garage.

“Sam!” You screamed as Dean carried you through the library, past his brother who was reading at one of the mahogany tables.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, watching as Dean carried you across the room. 

“Just taking my girl shopping!” Dean announced. “Nothing to see here!”

“Your girl?” You heard Sam ask in a soft just before Dean walked into the garage.

Dean didn’t put you down until he had the passenger door of the Impala opened, and even then he actually placed you in your seat, like you were a toddler.

“Jerk,” you huffed, slapping his hand away as he tried to buckle you.

Dean just snorted, slammed your door shut, and slid himself into the driver’s seat. “You’ll thank me later,” he assured you.

“Oh, don’t hold your breath,” you hissed at him, facing forward in your seat with your arms crossed over your chest, much like a petulant child would do.

Dean didn’t say anything more, just spared you an amused, if not slightly annoyed, laugh. 

The car ride to the mall took almost no time. You were never good at holding a grudge, and by the time Dean parked the car you were no longer pouting and ignoring him; you’d even started singing along to his music somewhere along the road. 

You and Dean headed towards the entrance, your steps in sync, just like they were whenever you hunted together. Dean just seemed to click with you; it was always so easy with him.

Soon you were within the walls of the large mall, people bustling around you, not sparing either of you a second glance. You started to turn left, planning on shopping at some department store for a plain dress that would make you blend in the crowd. Dean, on the other hand, started to turn right.

“Where are you going?” You both asked at the same time.

“Macy’s or something,” you shrugged, pointing in the direction you were headed.

“No, no, no,” Dean said, shaking his head. He gripped your upper arm and started steering you in the opposite direction. In your confusion, you didn’t protest. “A dress from those stores won’t drive Sammy crazy! You need an actual dress.”

“What does that even mean?” You huffed, but followed Dean anyway. If he was paying for the dress, who were you to complain?

Dean ushered you into a store that held wedding and prom dresses in the display window. You felt completely out of place within seconds of entering; glitter and glam surrounded you. You were more of a blood and guts girl.

Dean let go of your arm and started looking through the dresses, plucking out skin tight black dresses and a few red ones. You stood rooted to the floor, out of your comfort zone and unsure of yourself.

“Dean, this isn’t my style,” you said once you’d found your voice.

“No, this is Mrs. Winchester’s style, the style of the wife of a wealthy art collector,” Dean corrected you.

“Dude-”

“You gotta play the part! And if you just so happen to lure my brother into confessing his feelings for you in the process, then all the better!”

“Why are you so obsessed with me seducing your brother?” You demanded. Dean just scoffed at you, but didn’t look like he was going to answer. “Are you trying to live vicariously through me? Is this your weird way of seducing your own brother? Are you-”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean hissed, slapping a hand over your mouth to stop you. In his defense, you had just insinuated that he was into wincest. Dean stared at the silk dress in his hands for a moment, then looked up at you, total sincerity in his eyes. “Sammy likes you. I’m his brother, I’ve seen him at his best and at his worst, but I’ve never seen him look at someone like he looks at you. The kid talks about you and he just lights up. I want him to be happy, and you’re the only way he will be.”

What Dean had said touched you, made you take your hand and hold it against your heart. “Dean, that’s so sweet,” you said, actual emotion in your words. “Now what’s the other reason,” you demanded.

Dean rolled his eyes, but after a moment of you glaring at him, he let out a huff. “You know how you got two tickets to that musical thing, miserable-”

“Les Miserable.”

“Yeah, miserables. Well... I know you wouldn’t ask Sam to go because you’re a wuss, and honestly, I really don’t wanna go!”

“Dean!” You exclaimed, slapping his arm. “You’re pushing me onto your brother to get out of a goddamn musical?!”

“And for his happiness!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, let out a noise that was something between a screech and a huff, then started looking for dresses on your own.

“It’s a win-win,” Dean added. Your glare seemed to silence him after that.

Once you’d had enough dresses to try on, one of the men that worked in the store led you to the fitting room. Dean sat in a white armchair outside your stall, and you tried on each and every dress, having your own little fashion show with Dean.

Dean said no to the first ten dresses you tried on; by the fifth dress he just started giving you a thumbs down. You were becoming extremely frustrated, and practically ripped the eleventh dress as you pulled it on you.

This dress was black, strapless, and had a jewel neckline. It hugged you on the top, accentuating your curves and cleavage, but then poofed out at the bottom, making the dress look more elegant than it really was.

You stepped out of the stall, and Dean stared at you for a moment. Had he not been your best friend, you would have slapped him for the look on his face. “Hot,” he stated, giving you a thumbs up and wide smile. “I think that’s the dress.”

“Good, ‘cause I wasn’t trying on any more.” 

After purchasing the dress and finally leaving the much-too-fancy store, you were ready to get back to the bunker, put on some pajamas, and eat junk food until you passed out. You headed straight for the exit, assuming Dean was following you. But when Dean’s firm grip held onto your upper arm once more, and he started steering you into another store, you just about cried.

“Why?” You pouted, taking in your surroundings. You were in a shoe store that smelled strongly of latex. “I have shoes!”

“No, you have barely-there heels,” he corrected you. “You need stripper heals for tonight.”

“I need to be able to move,” you reminded him.

“Sam can carry you, it’ll be romantic,” he dismissed you with a wave of his hand.

“Dean, this could be life or death!”

“If I have to sit through Les Mis it will definitely be death!”

“Forget about the goddamn musical! I’m not inviting you anymore!” Dean actually looked relieved at that. “But I was gonna make a reservation for this fancy steak place, so your loss.”

“I can make my own steak,” Dean mumbled. He then shook his head, getting his mind back on track, “but you can’t wear this dress and then have shoes that look like they’ve been walked through in mud.”

“But I have walked them through mud!”

“This is a fancy place you’re going to. You gotta play the part.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, a pout on your lips, but didn’t argue anymore. Besides, if everything went according to Dean’s plan, you might have a large man with equally large hands to massage your feet in the near future.

You sat down on a bench and watched as Dean talked to one of the women working behind the counter. Her eyes flashed to you, then to your feet, and she nodded to Dean before disappearing into a backroom. Dean made his way over to you, a smug grin on his lips.

“What?”

“Sandra over there is gonna hook us up,” he explained, sitting beside you.

“What’d you tell her?”

“That I was helping you seduce a guy and you needed all the help you can get.”

You face grew red with embarrassment, but you didn’t even have time to berate Dean before “Sandra” stood before you with a stack of shoe boxes.

“Okey dokey! So, I got you the sluttiest heals we have, and then the fanciest. If you’re trying to get a guy into bed, totally go with the slutty ones,” Sandra advised, setting the tower of boxes beside you. “It’s so cool of you to be helping her,” she beamed at Dean, who threw her his most charming smile back. “I mean, my best friend Derek is gay, and he would never help me!” Dean’s smile fell.

You just barely managed to contain your laughter, and thanked Sandra before Dean could correct her. Sandra walked away, leaving you to grin at Dean, who glared at you in return.

“Shut it,” he growled.

The smirk stayed on your lips, but you said nothing.

You tried on several pairs of heels. The first two were way too small, and the third much too big. The fifth pair was a bright red, and the sixth were just plain ugly. Just like with the dresses, your frustration was growing, until, thankfully, the stars aligned and the perfect pair of heals slid onto your feet.

This pair had straps that traveled to the tops of your ankles, making them seem slimmer almost. Your feet were fairly exposed, but the heel was high, making your ass look plain amazing.

“Y/N-” Dean started.

“I know,” you interrupted him. “I can’t look away from my ass either.”

Dean rolled his eyes, then motioned for Sandra to come over. “This pair,” he told her. “It’s perfect.”

“I agree,” she said, flashing you a wide smile. “This guy’s not gonna stand a chance!”

And with that confidence boost, Dean bought your heels and you were finally allowed to return to the Impala.

“We’ve been out for two hours,” you realized as Dean started driving away. “Two hours!”

“Two much needed hours,” he corrected you. “We got you the perfect outfit to Mrs. Smith it up!”

You couldn’t help but agree. “You know how much I hate letting you know when you’re right... But you’re right.”

A large proud and smug smile spread over Dean’s lips, and he winked at you before blasting his music. 

When you arrived back at the bunker, Sam was still in the library, and jumped to his feet at the sound of you and Dean walking into the room.

“You guys were gone a long time,” Sam remarked.

“Well hello to you too,” Dean scoffed.

“Dean made me try on fifty thousand goddamn dresses,” you explained.

When Sam gave Dean a quizzical look, Dean just shrugged and smirked, “Can’t blame a guy for looking.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter at that, and slapped Dean’s arm. “I’m gonna drop this stuff off in my room,” you said, taking the bags from him. You flashed Sam a smile as you passed him, then disappeared down the hall and into your room.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.

[kyilliki]

What did the Volturi do during the Black Death?

I imagine the collective reaction in Volterra was more “Oh no, not this again,” as opposed to “It’s the apocalypse, everybody!” These guys-- particularly the coven + Chelsea + Corin-- were around for many exciting historical pandemics. Heck, the Plague of Justinian wiped out 25-50 million people (or 13% of the global and 40% of the local population) in the 6th century. As a result, humans dropping like flies was probably nothing new to them. It was distressing, of course, but they weren’t surprised by the plague.

A couple of Italian cities-- Milan and Venice, most notably-- took rudimentary measures to quarantine the sick. Some sources suggest that these measures included bricking up houses that contained the infected, and leaving them in there to die. Alternately, and more credibly, sick people and those nursing them were banished outside the city walls. Trade was also restricted. The Volturi, being the de-facto rulers of their city, could presumably implement all or some of these strategies.

(I amuse myself with the idea of Caius being like... “Wait, what if this newest plague is transmitted by bites?” He’s got werewolves eternally on the brain after all. The coven’s reaction was one continuous, barely-suppressed eyeroll, but hey! He was right! Totally by accident, but flea-bites are the leading hypothesis for transmission of the Black Plague. One point for Caius on the whiteboard the coven-members use to track their arguments and who wins them.)