#their sense of humour is exquisite

[l-in-the-light]

I freaking adore the solidarity in bread-hating on Polar Tang. As much as I enjoy the idea that Law might be just gluten-intolerant, it would make sense if Corazon was instead. The Will of Hating Bread is real!

Law would just do about anything in memento of Cora-san, wouldn't he? Even swearing off to never eat bread for the rest of his life.

But if it wasn't about gluten-intolerance, then I wonder what was the original reason for the hate of bread. It would make sense Rosinante hated it because he often had to eat dirty, moldy bread he and Doflamingo found in the trash, in their childhood. I guess after having that experience anyone could dislike even looking at bread.

I suspect Law also had some bad experiences like that, after all when Flevance lost the war it would be very difficult to find not rotten food there, and even after he miraculously escaped Flevance he would still be an orphan literally living on the streets and again had to eat all the moldy, rotten food he can find. At least before joining Donquixote Family. Yeah, that might also be a sign of solidarity between Cora and Law. I wouldn't mind to learn the canon reason though!

Also, "Spring on a Winter island", that's so cute and indeed makes him seem kinda homesick! Proving once again Law is a pretty nostalgia-filled guy haha.

I doubt Law sleeps well at night. That trauma he has could guarantee him a thousand years of nightmares, after all. Meanwhile napping with Bepo is probably very soothing <3

Bread haters assembled

Turns out Bepo's least favorite food is indeed, bread. (via Artur)

New info from what I could gather:

Bepo's hobby are "sliding" (literally written as that in katakana) and "afternoon nap with Law" does this man sleep at night

Law's favorite season is "Spring on a Winter island." homesick much?

Bepo's current bounty is 1500 berries, keeping a steady parallel with Chopper (except it's more ridiculous somehow)

And that's it?

I haven't seen the cards myself. The promo last time seemed to imply a little more information about Chopper's drug but haven't seen it mentioned in the translations floating around.

Seeing absolute background no-names receiving their vivre cards makes me really mad about the negligence towards the rest of the Heart pirates. At least there's Bepo 😔

[teencopandthesourwolf]

read on ao3 HERE

.

He didn't mean to do it. He meant it, with every fucked-up fibre of his being he meant it, but he didn't mean to actually do it. 

Stiles had just—been so very fucking Stiles, in that stupid, irresponsible jump-head-first-into-the fray-on-everybody-else's-behalf kind of way that he has about him, and after the pack had neutralised the danger but everybody's veins still had more adrenaline than blood coursing though them, Derek felt—feels—so fucking livid, and so damn grateful, and so utterly, utterly muddled that he's grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and is pulling the kid's body into his own, hard, crashing their torsos together like a devastating highway collision, arms enveloping Stiles's shoulders as a crushed car bonnet wraps itself around a tree. 

Now—here, at a clearing in the trees on what has been Hale land for generations going back centuries, with Stiles in his space, and his nostrils, and in his fucking head—Derek is terrified. 

There's a fairly stilted, “Whoa, okay, alright, we're doing this, huh, big guy?” but then Stiles is relaxing into the hug. He sort of melts, actually, snaking long and wiry yet surprisingly strong arms around Derek's waist; so very warm, and alive, alive, alive.

“Stiles, you shouldn't have—why do you always have to—you could've fucking died!” he admonishes, although it doesn't come out half as harshly as he means and wants it to. 

Lost, Derek shoves his nose into Stiles's neck, and breathes.

Stiles lets him, because of course he does, cocking his head to the side to accommodate Derek's needs.

“Must be a day that ends in Y, huh, Der?” he answers, ever the class clown.

Derek quietly growls his annoyance and relief in equal measure, and even though he senses the rest of the pack has now gathered around them, and hating that he has an audience for this, he squeezes Stiles into him impossibly more.

Stiles wheezes comically, then jokes more, because humour is his default in any situation. “Why don't you ease up a bit there, buddy? Kinda need this work of art that I call a body in one piece if I'm ever gonna save your wolfy-ass again, oh alpha, my alpha.”

Derek shuts him up with a slick lick to the jugular. The kid shivers beautifully, but even Derek's tongue doesn't keep him quiet for long. Only Stiles Stilinski could ramble incessantly with a werewolf at his throat. 

“Okay, shit, that—ahhhhhhh, that tickles, Fido! Do I need to get the collar and chain on y—oh my fucking god!”

Derek clamps his jaws around the most exquisite throat he's ever seen, smelled, dreamed about, and growls out a warning sound that causes the betas to back off and Stiles to go weak at the knees.

Mine, he thinks loudly.

After a few moments of Derek gnawing on Stiles's throat, once they're alone in the preserve, other than the nocturnal animals and eery sound of the wind picking up from the west, Derek releases his jaws' hold on the sheriff's boy—the boy who runs with wolves; little red riding hoodie; the best human Derek's ever known—and soothes the purpling mark with a lingering press of his lips.

“Oh!” is amazingly all Stiles has got—although Derek can satisfyingly smell Stiles's arousal, his wolf now howling inside of him at the delicious scent.

“Yeah, oh,” he answers, after trying his level best to calm the feral instinct he has to pull them both down into the undergrowth and mate the boy.

He finally pulls away from Stiles, but doesn't release him from his grip entirely. Fire-red irises find big, brown doe eyes, and a smirk that Derek wants to lick right off Stiles's face and replace with a look of pure ecstasy.

“Stop doing stupid things,” he demands.

Begs. 

“Yeah, no, probably never gonna—oomph!” 

Derek kisses Stiles, kisses him like it's the end of the fucking world because he's realised that every time Stiles puts his own life in danger, it feels like it might be.

Stiles doesn't hesitate this time, though. He kisses Derek right back like he gets it.

Now found, Derek takes, and he takes, and he takes.

Stiles kisses like nobody else in existence, Derek is sure of it; he is earth and wind, fire and water.

Fucking elemental. 

When he presumably needs to breathe, Stiles tears his lips away from Derek's—swollen and blood-red—and Derek can't help the whine that escapes his. Their foreheads bump as they both pant, attempting to settle as they shake with post-fight waning nerves and a feverish desire.

Stiles says, “How ‘bout if you keep doing that, I'll get myself a bigger bat?”

Derek both hates and loves the smile that spreads across his face like a rash, entirely of its own volition. 

“How about next time, you just wait for me?” 

“Deal,” Stiles grins and kisses Derek again, and Derek hopes it's the kind of deal that's forever.

.

for @greyhavenisback—love yew, love <3 (unedited, soz!)

.

now edited and on ao3 HERE

[driverlando]

🗞️ oh whats that?? Lando norris caught proposing to long term gf in santorini! Get the scoop on who was invited and the large diamond he purchased! PS….she said yes 🫶🥺 congrats btw

EXCLUSIVE: Lando Norris Pops the Question in Santorini! Get All the Details on the Romantic Proposal, Guest List, and the Stunning Diamond Ring!

Love is in the air, and it seems our favourite McLaren driver, Lando Norris, has taken the plunge! The 24-year-old British Formula 1 star was spotted on the picturesque island of Santorini, proposing to his long-term girlfriend in a scene straight out of a fairy tale.

The Romantic Setting

Santorini, with its breathtaking sunsets and stunning caldera views, has long been a favourite destination for romantic escapades. Norris chose this idyllic location to ask the biggest question of his life. Witnesses say the couple looked utterly smitten, with Lando down on one knee against the backdrop of a golden sunset, creating a picture-perfect moment.

The couple has been dating for several years, keeping their relationship relatively low-key amidst the hustle and bustle of F1 fame. However, it seems they couldn’t keep this special moment under wraps, as eagle-eyed fans and locals alike caught glimpses of the magical evening.

The Sparkling Diamond

The talk of the town, however, is the dazzling diamond ring Norris slipped onto his fiancée’s finger. Sources close to the couple reveal that Lando went all out for the special occasion, choosing a stunning, large solitaire diamond set in a classic platinum band. The exquisite piece is said to be worth a small fortune, reflecting both his love and his status as one of F1’s young stars.

Who Was Invited?

While the proposal itself was an intimate affair, Norris and his fiancée were not alone. They were surrounded by a select group of close friends and family who were reportedly in on the secret and there to share in the joy. Among the guests were a few notable names from the racing world, adding a touch of glamour to the occasion.

Sources indicate that the guest list was kept deliberately small to maintain privacy and intimacy. However, with the couple’s wide circle of friends and Lando’s popularity, it’s no surprise that word of the engagement quickly spread. The event was said to be filled with laughter, tears of joy, and a fair share of champagne toasts.

A Look to the Future

The proposal marks a new chapter for Norris, who has quickly become one of the most beloved figures in Formula 1. Known for his cheeky sense of humour and incredible talent on the track, fans are thrilled to see him take this significant step in his personal life.

As the news breaks, congratulations are pouring in from fans, fellow drivers, and celebrities alike. The newly engaged couple has yet to announce any wedding plans, but speculation is already rife about when and where they might tie the knot. Will it be another exotic destination, or perhaps a more traditional ceremony in their native UK? Only time will tell!

For now, the couple is basking in the glow of their engagement, and we can only imagine the excitement building as they plan their future together. One thing’s for sure: if their engagement is anything to go by, the wedding is set to be an affair to remember.

PS: The Answer?

Oh, and in case there was any doubt, she said yes! With such a romantic setting and a beautiful ring, how could she not?

Stay tuned for more exclusive updates and inside scoops on this developing love story. From the racetrack to romance, Lando Norris proves he’s a champion in more ways than one!

[charliedawn]

I can't stop thinking about how the hannibals would react. If you refused to go out with them because you thought that they ask to mess/as a joke with you.

As someone how was asked out as a joke. Cuz I was the weird kid and still does not believe people when they do it for real

"You and me are going out on a date tomorrow."

Morgan doesn’t mess around. He’d have the papers ready and ask you without a moment of hesitation because he is sure you like him too. He isn’t one to ask unless he is sure it will go according to his calculations. But, he froze when you answered with a laugh.

"Ah ! Good one, Morgan. But no." You then resumed to reading your book and Morgan frowned. His first reaction would have been to take offense by your refusal or lack of acknowledgment. But, he was too stunned to speak.

"Well…That is rather disappointing." He then sat down next to you and looked at you again before scratching his chin pensively. "I thought you would at least think about it. Or maybe even give me a chance to defend my case."

You glanced back at him, but didn’t know how to answer. You finally sighed.

"What is there to defend ? I have been tricked before. I refuse to be tricked again…"

Morgan stayed silent for a moment before taking your hand and tracing circles on your skin with his thumb.

"I am not one to joke. I have an awful sense of humour. My brothers can testify."

You chuckled and Morgan smiled before intertwining your fingers together.

"…But, I make you laugh. And that miracle does deserve a chance, don’t you think ?"

You had never seen Morgan seem so hopeful before and thought about it for a second before smiling back.

"Fine. One date."

"Would you be interested in allowing me a delightful evening in your sweet company ?"

Hannibal Jr. is a gentleman through and through. He would find a moment for the both of you to be alone (without the children around) to ask you and try to be as gentle as he can, as he would know your earlier struggles with dating. He’d try to reassure you the best he can and convince you that he isn’t a man to come back on his word. (He really isn’t.)

He also made sure the date is worthy of your place in his heart and take meticulous care as to prepare the perfect meal for you. He prepared the room and took a long time to choose his best suit for the occasion. He wanted to beat all those times you hadn’t been properly invited on a date.

And when you came in a sweatshirt and pants and said that you thought he was joking…His smile slightly cracked because of how upset he was. Not at you. Of course. But the simple fact that you hadn’t thought that he was telling you the truth.

He took your hand and kissed the back of it—deliberately staring into your eyes.

"…No need to worry, love. You will believe me. Eventually. Now, come on. I have a bœuf bourguignon that just waits for your exquisite palate to taste…"

He smiled at you before leading you inside and closing the door behind you…You would believe him once you’ve seen everything he’s prepared for you. He would open your eyes. Eventually.

Hannibal Jr. could be patient.

"…Date me. Please." Peter asked you and you were momentarily stunned. You had known Peter for a while now, but you couldn’t have possibly expected him to actually make a move. You didn’t know what to say. You shook your head.

"Why would you wanna date me ?" All of your past requests had been lies or ways to make fun of you…You knew Peter to be better than that. But, you still doubted that he really wanted to date you because he liked you, or because he felt pity for you.

It was Peter’s turn to be stunned. You were gorgeous, funny and beautiful. He couldn’t possibly understand what would make you think like that ?

"Because I love you."

Your eyes widened and you looked up at Peter who didn’t shy away from your gaze. He held it and even leaned forward—his lips mere inches from yours.

"…Please. I love you, Y/N." He repeated and your heart hammered in your chest as you saw him close your eyes and lean forward. He wanted to kiss you. That much was obvious. And you hesitated. You didn’t want to be hurt again…He seemed to understand and sighed before pulling you towards him and resting his forehead against yours "…I love you, Y/N. Please. Give me a chance. I promise not to disappoint you or make you feel bad. Ever."

You almost cried at his pleading voice, but finally nodded as you buried you face in the crook of his neck.

"…Alright. I trust you."

"…Would you like to…go on a date with me ?" Kevin had rehearsed his speech in the mirror at least 30 times before finally finding the courage to ask you. He smiled at his small accomplishment…until he heard your answer.

"…I never thought you’d play such a cruel prank on me, Kevin."

His eyes widened and he frowned in incomprehension before running a hand through his black locks in frustration.

"Wait…You think am fuckin’ joking here ?" He sighed before sitting down next to you. "I know am an idiot, but come on ! Gimme some damn credit."

You looked away and sighed.

"Come on. We both know you’re outta my league. And guys like you never go for women/guys like me."

Kevin shook his head again in incomprehension. What did you mean by that ? Guys like him ? Did you…Did you think he wasn’t good enough ? He suddenly froze at the realisation. You were right. You were too good for him. Who was he kidding ?

Kevin sighed before standing up and nodding.

"Fine. You’re right. Guys like me have nothing to do with women/guys like you…I’m sorry I even tried."

He then proceeded to leave, but before he could get out…You embraced him from behind and held him closely.

"…I am sorry, Kevin. I didn’t mean it like that."

He knew exactly what you meant…He just didn’t want to hear it. He turned around to hug you tightly.

"…Don’t insult my tastes again. I like you means I like you. I don’t give a toss if you think you not good enough for me, because that would mean you think am a dumbass who decided to ask you on a whim. And I ain’t no bloody dumbass."

Your breath hitched before you smiled and nodded.

"Alright. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Kevin…"

Hannibal Sr. knew you were attracted to him and your past experiences. He didn’t want to rush you, but he also knew he couldn’t wait forever. So, he eventually hinted that he may enjoy to spend a little time with you. But, he knew you wouldn’t believe him at first.

He kissed the back of your hand and smiled.

"I never joke about the matters of the heart, my little lamb."

He then stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, his knuckles barely grazing your lips as he smirked. He then playfully winked at you.

"Besides…I am quite curious as to what a little lamb like you may offer me ?"

He then stroked your lips with his thumb and his eyes stayed there for a moment before he grinned and raised his eyes to meet yours again.

"…Do tell me when you are ready to trust me."

He then walked away and let you think about it. Hannibal Sr. can wait. He has spent a lot of time in prison and knows the values of patience and determination. With time, you’d come to realise that he is the man for you. And until then ? He’d let you think and slowly come to the obvious conclusion…

[original-punks]

🧡Just found out that my old flat cat passed away 😿 rest in peace, beautiful furbaby🤍

🧡Buddy🐈🤍

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Do you write platonic x readers? Cause I was wondering if we could have an expansion on Franco Barbi as a best friend to a preferably female reader but im not picky

Two gangsters in the loony bin

Franco Barbi x best friend (fem)

warning: kinda fluff, violence, no use of Y/n

summary: At any moment, a best friend is the most important thing you can have, even here in this hellhole or the loony bin or just the place without hope. But even Franco needs a best friend, because together you can hunt victims and have more fun than alone.

info: Sure you can get something like that, and thanks anyway for asking, I hope you enjoy reading it, anon ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

°How did the feared Franco Barbi, son of a gangster and his best friend meet? All he heard his father's blows and the screaming still ringing in his ears, he knew he had to get away. He had pushed it too far and now drove through the States in a half-broken-down car, stopping at a seedy bar for a drink. A run down bar where only a few people lingered, but as he entered and ordered his special milkshake, he heard a giggle next to him. He put his hand on his shotgun and looked at the person next to him, but stopped when he saw the exact same drink in the woman's hands. ,,I didn't know anyone else would drink something so exquisite,’ she said, moving a chair closer to him. Franco didn't know whether he should laugh or scream, but when he also got his drink and she tapped her glass against his and the tinkling sound was heard, he smiled slightly and they both took a sip.

°That same night, they had more than just a drink together, and it all started in the backyard with bottles and maybe a few people shooting with his shotgun and her revolver. ,,What do you say if we move on together?" he asked as they sat next to each other in his car, drunk and yet finding the situation and the weirdness funny. As it turned out, Franco was not the only one with a criminal past and she had already killed one or two men, taking the money and now on the run after the last robbery had gotten a little out of hand. ,,Let's go!" she had shouted at him as she had thrown the bag of their things into his car and sat down next to him on the passenger seat, started the engine and drove on through the States, taking whatever they wanted, from jewellery and clothing to ammunition and money.

°It was a wonderful time together, in which not only did Franco one day get his suit from her and he gave her the golden necklace with a blue gem as a pendant after she had cut a ball for him and vice versa. They had the same sense of humour, the same background and, above all, they were the first to really trust each other. A trust that ended in a loud argument with the law and Murkoff, a fight with Franco and the use of all the ammunition and grenades they had. ,,This doesn't look good," she said, throwing her last grenade before she pushed through and winced as she heard the hit men scream, ‘The fuckers won't let up… I don't think this is going to go well, darling,’ she heard Franco say and looked over at him in amazement. His hand was on hers for a moment as they both saw the grenade of the police officers and pressed themselves against each other to minimise the damage. He only ever called her darling when he was sad, overjoyed or completely desperate, and it looked like they were up to their necks in shit.

°On that dark night, the two surrendered, taking a few more policemen with them to their deaths through knife wounds, bites and blows, before Murkoff put an end to it with a stun gun and took the two of them away. From then on, they were separated from each other. The time was dark and hopeless, but again and again she found a few teeth in her cell, bloody teeth, and she collected them. She knew, no, she was one hundred percent sure that it was Franco who wanted to tell her something, to show her something. ,,I am with you," she heard his voice and tried to find him in her trials. Finding what ended with a glance at his Lupara and they both paused before a big smile crept onto his lips, ,,Franco!" she shouted happily, took his hand and pulled him into a long embrace, feeling the the pain in his life, the bullets, the injections and the pain… but now, now they were finally together. ,,Finally together again and now forever," he said, handing her the revolver he had kept.

°,,Well then, darling, let's punish a few bad guys!" he shouted, loading his gun before they roamed his territory together, slaughtering everything like back when they were still outside, and between the shrine, they found dismembered bodies and gutted . Franco and she were found sitting together on the bed again, drinking from a glass of wolf's milk and finally able to do what they both enjoyed most: being together as best friends in a place where they could do whatever they wanted, together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ramontism , @millie-milkshake , @lovesick-on-the-loose , @gummibrit , @cuddlecow , @zsatuka

[alwayschasingrainbows]

Valancy Stirling is the most relatable of L.M. Montgomery's heroines, I think.

Not many people can have Emily's talent, Pat's sensitivity, Anne's charm, Rilla's courage or Kilmeny's beauty.

But many people, just as Valancy:

have insecurities,

go through a time when they feel unloved and unwanted,

are afraid to offend someone,

find it difficult to voice their opinions,

rely on their sense of humour to survive,

have their own "blue castle",

hope for a "dustpile of their own".

Valancy is just a girl. A woman with insecurities, hopes and dreams.

She teaches us that there is a courage in each one of us, even though sometimes we cannot find it.

She teaches us it is possible to find friendship, love and happiness in every situation.

She shows us that something seemingly destroyed might yet blossom - just like her rosebush did - and turn out to be exquisite.

[kehlana-wolhamonao3]

Reblogged a picture of Lavinia Swire and it got me thinking what makes a good love triangle and why I think Mary - Matthew - Lavinia were a very good one.

Basically, you have to be able to see both possible relationships as potentially working. If, as with Lavinia and Mary, it's believable to see the person in the middle building a relationship with either of them - if they are both likeable - so likeable that even if you're rooting for the other ship you end up feeling sorry for the character who ultimately loses - oh, it can be exquisite and, in my opinion, more true to life.

In Matthew's case especially I think him picking Lavinia as Mary's replacement was very realistic. He is a romantic. He wants to marry for love and scorns more materialistic considerations when choosing a partner, at a time when it was not an obvious position to take. Of course he wouldn't choose an awful girl to propose to, even if he did it on an impulse after a pretty short acquaintance. He needed to believe that he could love her. While I think that a big part of Lavinia's attraction to him at the time was that she was as different from Mary as possible - in looks, personality, background, views - she was also remarkably well suited to him. If you think about it, better suited than Mary in a lot of aspects. Lavinia and Matthew were from the same background and shared a lot of views and values. There definitely was less of tension and conflicts between them than between Matthew and Mary. There was friendship, tenderness, support and gentle, genuine affection. You could definitely believe that they could marry and be happy.

Except, of course, that in the end you couldn't because it soon became obvious that Matthew was still passionately in love with Mary. And this was one component which we never saw in his relationship with Lavinia - passion. At least not on his side, there are hints that Lavinia loved him passionately - but we never get such hints about him. He loved her, I think, but differently than Mary. There were no open mouthed stares at Lavinia or following her around the room either just with his eyes or literally, like a puppy. There were no heated glances exchanged over the dining table or through the length of the room. We never heard this kind of risky flirting as we get with Mary when he is finally engaged to her. And this is why it seems all too probable that if he went through with marrying Lavinia while still feeling all this for Mary it would end up in disaster of some kind for everyone concerned and when Lavinia finally gets the proof that this is the situation she is in, she immediately and wisely decides to cancel the wedding and break their engagement.

Matthew and Mary are so different from each other in so many ways - background, views, values, tempers - but they also are similar in some very important things. They are both principled and dutiful people in their own way, they are both sharply intelligent, they clearly have compatible sense of humour and common interests. Of course they are also madly in love with each other and have explosive chemistry, but it's those other things which makes them work as a couple in the end. There is a clear intellectual connection as well as physical attraction. There is respect on both sides. There is deep commitment to each other, even when they don't expect to be together.

There is a reason I remain obsessed with them and yet care for Lavinia very much.

[themoonlily]

(I have argued before that Éomer has skill in poetry, as is shown by the lines he composes in the middle of Battle of Pelennor fields. The way he talks often implies a witty sense of humour and affinity for words. But with @konartiste 's recent posts on the subject, I began to think about it more: what kind of poetry would he have composed, did he share it, and how did it evolve during his life? Eventually, my thoughts turned into a pseudo essay, presumably written by a scholar in Minas Tirith in the time of Éomer's grandchildren.)

These Blessed Words: Excerpts from Treatise on the poetry of Éomer Éadig of the House of Eorl

"That the Rohirrim had no written records of their songs, poetry and stories was indeed a cause of great astonishment to the scholars of the Houses of Learning in Minas Tirith. Our wise men and women, nourished and educated on books with a tradition extending all the way back to Númenórean origins, could scarcely believe that an entire culture could exist and thrive in the living memory of a people. But since then we have learned much of the sophisticated techniques Rohirrim use to memorise vast quantities of lore, poetry, songs, tales, histories, proverbs and so forth. These are shared on daily basis, between guards standing on long watches, Riders making their patrols, the herders following their horses and cattle over the vast green fields, the ordinary folk in their chores, and most of all, sitting around the hearth fire - the heart that beats at the centre of even the smallest homestead of Rohan. It is believed that poets like King Éomer could clearly recall works they had composed many decades ago, and perform them as fluently as the moment they were first made."

"Some of the king's children inherited this understanding, but especially those of his offspring that were married in Gondor developed both a keen appreciation for their sire's poetry, but also a fear that it would one day vanish from the world utterly, if not penned down."

"King Éomer was not easily persuaded to recite his poetry for the scribes: he believed until the end of his life that living words were not meant to be captured by dead ink and lifeless parchment. It is not known how or why he eventually relented and bequeathed some of his work to posterity, unless his queen had a hand in it. And it is believed indeed that the words that were written down include only a small part of all the words he composed in his life. "

"The poetry of King Éomer contains themes that clearly tie with the phases of his life, and though he did not usually inform his scribes of when a particular poem was composed, much of his work contain hints and traces that help us to date them, or at least estimate to which period of his life they belong. As the king aged, his poetry also matured and acquired finesse. It is believed that some of his works contain traces of collaboration with King Elessar, another lover of poetry and the close friend of King Éomer."

"His early works are intensely concerned with his profession as a warrior, but the changes in tone have lead us to believe that he was deeply affected by the many losses he experienced. As a young warrior, King Éomer spent much of his life upon the free fields of Rohan, and from this period we can trace his great love for the nature of his homeland, reflected with exquisite words in his poetry. Meeting his wife to be, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, introduced another shift in his poetry, and he became more and more occupied with life's great questions: finding his life's purpose in his family and people, the measure of a man and how to live a good life. His later poetry as a mature, experienced king are filled with more abstract reflections. What does it mean to be a king, and what is the sum of his life? What of the nature of power, and how can one wield it without being corrupted? Where is his realm, his Rohan, headed after he is gone? It seems that in his final years, King Éomer often wondered about what his life amounted to, and whether he could stand proud next to the great kings of his House. We, the posterity, know the answer to that final question."

The path of a warrior: from glory to grief

"Like many poets of Rohan, as a young man King Éomer was fascinated with the ideals of warriorhood. His early works deal with the glory of battle, the heat of the fight, and riding home accompanied by victorious songs. His words almost seem to echo with the sound of clashing swords, the thundering hooves of the charging éored and the battle cries of his fellow Riders. Here emerges a young, fierce Rider delighting in his skill, eager to join the ranks of the famous warriors. Many poems were made in this triumphant mood. Most famous of his battle poetry are, of course, the unforgettable lines he composed in the middle of the Battle of Pelennor fields. Like a true warrior poet, he was able to rapidly transform his experiences into evocative words even in the heat of battle."

"Gradually, his tone changes. His battle poems deal less with the glory of the warrior: he becomes more and more concerned with the grimness of war. He speaks of friends who rode with him to battle but did not return, the terror of the victims, his grief and despair when he was not able to save lives, and the bleak aftermath of burials that follow even victory. As the situation in Rohan worsened and the threat of Isengard grew closer, King Éomer would compose some of the darkest lines of his life: lament fills his words, but also rage. It is still startling to read his poetry from this period, and one wonders that he consented to reveal it."

"It is telling that the deaths of his beloved uncle and revered cousin are not preserved in any of the King's surviving poems."

The hills are alive

"Training and riding patrols in the great wide fields of Rohan was not just battles or bloodshed. There were also periods when young Riders were left idle, and it seems that King Éomer spent much of his spare time observing his natural surroundings and weaving words that described his wonder. His natural poetry fills with a deep, enduring love, finding countless ways to describe the colour of the sky, the glory of dawn, the majesty of the mountains, the fires of sunset, the rolling hills, and glittering rivers. Seasons come and go, representing the cycles of life and death."

"Nature seems to form a part of the king's keen love for his land and his will to defend it. He finds the faces of his people in the rocks and mountains, the river reminds him of the tails of horses streaming in the wind, and the curves and valleys of the hills are as the bodies of his lovers."

"Some of the king's nature poetry indeed seems too sensual to be talking about the land. In fact, some lines border on keenly erotic. It is a fascinating glimpse to his views on being incarnate, of having a body that feels and desires and experiences the world. Some have argued that these sensual poems hint at the existence of other similar lines, which were not shared with the scribes. Doubtlessly, the old king recited only those poems that he deemed appropriate; perhaps feeling his age, or not wishing to be remembered for his more explicit poetry."

Treasured words

"Interestingly, we know only one single poem by King Éomer where he speaks of his wife, Queen Lothíriel. His grandchildren believe that this does not mean that many poems about her did not exist; he just chose not to share them. If this is true, then the world has perhaps lost the works of one of the great romantic poets, for the lines of this one poem are some of the most beautiful in all his poetry. It is easy to believe his offspring in the matter of whether there were other love poems dedicated to the queen, for it is well known that King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel shared one of the great romances of their time. One may picture them in the privacy of their rooms, or walking together in the fields as they often did in their free moments, and the king wooing his lady with tender words, crafted with special and loving care for her."

"Even if the king's words for his queen are now lost to us, her impact on his poetry can still be seen. There is a sense of profound sadness in the poems he composed before meeting her, and it seems at this time, just after the War of the Ring had ended, he was struggling with his losses and his sister's departure. We may only guess at the desperate loneliness of the newly crowned king, responsible for the almost impossible task of rebuilding a war-torn kingdom. The arrival of Queen Lothíriel, first as a potential bride and then as a young wife, marks the turn of a tide in King Éomer's life. A more hopeful mood takes over his poetry as well."

"King Éomer shared a few more poems about his family and children, but again his readers are confronted with strange taciturness in the poet who usually spoke so openly. As with his queen consort, we believe that the king kept much of the poetry about his family life to himself, although in the oral tradition many poems attributed to him on this subject have survived. These were the jewels in the hoard of words, meant to be treasured in private, and shared perhaps only with those he most loved. One can understand his unwillingness to reveal the poems composed quite literally with his heart's blood, although we also feel the loss of this treasure trove."

"One remarkable exception is made in the poem over fatherhood: the king attempts to make sense of his own past as an orphan, the two fathers he loved and lost, and how this has impacted his understanding of raising a family and being a father. One can sense the immense love he has for his children, but also the immense fear of losing them. The tone and subject of the poem are raw, personal and familiar to any parent."

"In another famous poem, he speaks to his son, Prince Elfwine, later the King of Rohan, although it has been argued that the prince stands in for all the people of Rohan; the king addresses his words not just to his heir, but all the youth of the land of the horse-lords. He pleads his heir to take care of the legacy entrusted to him. The poem is filled with his love for the land, but also a sense of anxiety, as if he felt personally responsible to teach the young Rohirrim what it had cost him and his generation to preserve the future and freedom of Rohan."

The sum of a man

"As stated before, King Éomer's later poetry shows that he spent much time pondering the nature of kingship, and whether he was a good king or not. To this period can also be traced the one poem where he speaks directly of his uncle and predecessor, and his cousin, Prince Théodred - although it must be noted that their phantoms do haunt many other poems. Slain in the vicious battles of the War of the Ring, King Théoden and his only son were the last of the Second Line of the Kings of Rohan, making King Éomer the heir for the throne and changing the course of his life utterly. The poem dedicated to these two fallen lords reads almost like a self-imposed reckoning, as if needing to reassure his kinsmen that he has filled their roles as well as he can, and done all that he could to guard and guide their people. Even with his success as a king and the ease he showed in this role in his later years, he seems to have sometimes wondered what his life would have been like, had his cousin lived."

"While King Éomer did share much of his poetry while he lived, passing the time with friends during campaigns or sitting at his own hearth fire in Meduseld, these later works are not recalled in the oral traditions attributed to Éomer Éadig. They seem to be a man's private reflection of his life - a tally of sorts, even. But unlike his poetry for his wife and family, this was a legacy he did not mind sharing."

The warrior poet

"The image of an accomplished warrior, skilled both in battle and in poetry, seems the stuff of legends to us now, and some scholars have even challenged the concept. However, considering the fateful times that Éomer Éadig and his generation witnessed, it is easy to believe that in such age an oral culture intensely concerned with battle prowess, warrior poets were not uncommon. Other skilled wordsmiths may now be lost to us, although their words live on in the rich spoken tradition of the horse-lords. For them and for King Éomer, shaping and understanding their lives and experiences through poetry, composed in keen and evocative lines, was as natural as breathing. Poetry gave sense to the senseless violence and horror they witnessed under the threat of the Shadow. It let them deal with their grief and gave shape to the lives they built from the ruins of war, and eventually, celebrated the joys of peace and prosperity. In their minds, poetry was a living thing and an extension of their own selves: some parts are for the world to see, others are meant only for the poet to know."

[sunshine304]

Books read in 2024: "Running close to the Wind" by Alexandra Rowland

First book I've read this year! XD Just haven't felt like reading books and getting into unfamiliar worlds/characters, but I was quite hyped for this book (Pirates! Queerness! Humour and Hilarity!) that I suddenly was in the mood to read it as soon as my preorder arrived.

I had such a great time reading this! The book is indeed hilarious and I laughed a lot throughout. The humour was right up my alley most of the time and I loved the running jokes. But what I also loved were the more serious aspects of the book, its commentary on politics and religion that are rarely elaborated upon (except for one exquisite speech towards the end) but that are always there, as well as the smaller and bigger character moments that hint at old trauma, dark pasts and deeper sadness.

The characters are a lot of fun, though main protagonist and PoV character Avra Helvaçi took a bit for me to warm up to. He is quite annoying and a bit of a trial at first, indeed a sopping wet cat of a man, but he grows on you so much, that you really start rooting for him (and his absolutely non-existend luck). His situationship with pirate captain Teveri az-Haffar is something no-one of sane mind would want to get involved in, so I guess that says something about third protagonist, Vintish monk Julian. XD Teveri is as brittle as Julian is gorgeous, but as a trio, they somehow make sense.

The rest of the crew also has some great characters (I especially liked long-suffering Oscar), and the rest of the supporting cast is entertaining and/or interesting as well (shout out to MVP Cat as well as Amita who is going through it).

I enjoyed the payoffs of some things that are mentioned earlier in the book, like the legendary cake competition or Avra's luck not playing along.

Highly recommended!

I'm now off to read A Taste of Gold and Iron, which has been sitting on my shelf since its release - now that I'm in the world and it's basically the prequel to this book, I feel like it's the perfect time for it.

Wouldn't mind seeing more stories set in this world as it's obvious there's been quite a lot of thought been put into the world building!

[soraviie]

one of the best pictures of Jimin...but all pictures of Jimin are the best ones T-T

The second you plop down the quite fascinatingly uncomfortable office chair, you check on the messages, almost like an instinct.

Jiminie: I have to go to sleep already, love :( But good morning and only 13 days to go!

Jiminie: Whole 13 days....

Jiminie: The taste of my tears is exquisite •᷄ɞ•᷅

Inadvertently, a peel of laughter rips out form you prompting curious, judgmental stares sent from all directions of the office. You pretend you don't see them. Just 13 days and you'll be back with Jimin...Glancing outside, you purse your lips at the rain tapping against the window. Coming home was great and all, not having to second guess every sentence about its proper grammatical structure but Jimin was Jimin and you'd given him your heart, receiving his one in return.

13 days, you sigh to yourself, you can do this.

Just before you lock the phone, you allow yourself the moment of weakness to admire your lockscreen. How clearly you remembered that night.

Hunching over the stove top cooking soup and crying your eyes out, wiping the snot away every once in a while. It'd been one of those days when you felt so isolated. Your humour, your experience, your viewpoint it fell so harshly against what people had here, you couldn't help but feel like all condemning eyes were on you, watching you with the same sentiment one would a cockroach fallen on the back. Suddenly you grasp with the very tips of the ears some very...graphic cursing. At first you dismiss it. Perhaps another alcoholic neighbour taking the stress out in the hallway but then you hear a distinctive pout in that still cursing voice and a shift into Busan dialect which you would only know because a certain someone had moaned your ears off with it - and yes, both sexual and non-sexual way.

"Fuck me, fuck these flowers, fuck this stupid paper," you hear on the other side of the door. "Cooperate will you?! Have some sense of shame?! How dare you go against me?! I'm a human and what are you -!"

"A dummy is what you are," you call out to him from the open door, startling Jimin so bad he flops on all four on the ground. The bouquet of roses lays pitifully on the ground, largely smashed. Only three are survivors. He quickly wraps them up in the white paper, coming to stand before you - concerned. As always.

Abruptly you recall that your eyes were indeed red and that there was in fact snot dripping down your nose, so you push the sleeves of the jumper up against your face, asking him to leave, you're too ugly today.

Yeah as if Jimin would ever accept that.

Long story short, you ended up arranging an engagement that night along with the addition of this photo. Your hazy eyes shift from the photo to the ring around your finger. Sniffling, you brush away the straying moisture away from your eyes, locking the phone.

13 days left. You both could do it.

Maybe.

send in a picture of the boys and I’ll write a scenario

[hinamie]

sorry I'm back again because I saw you referenced Drawfee in another ask and I had to come back and award you for Your Exquisite Taste in Media™ (asdfgjkl i love them so much and I can see how your excellent sense of humour aligns with theirs) okay I'll leave now

GHJGFDSHS YEAH I LOVE DRAWFEE i get soooooo parasocial abt them they make me feel like i have my own little friend group of nerd artist friends,, ESPECIALLY karina drawfee i relate 2 her so hard she embodies everything i aspire to be . just a weird adult unashamed abt playing neopets and owning a lifesize kaiba cardboard cutout . karina is me if i went to art school and was better at anatomy and perspective

[meredithhk8702]

Keep scrolling, nothing but bait for ai here.

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[saintsenara]

what is your opinion about snarry?

thank you for the ask, anon - and thank you for the almost identical ask anon 2.0!

i have always been someone who dabbles in snarry, and it is certainly a ship with some astonishingly talented writers. most of the stories which have prompted me to cry and stare blankly into the middle distance have been snarry, and the ship also produces some really top-tier filth when it comes to smut. as someone who herself contains multitudes, i like that.

and i think it has a pretty solid justification in both harry and snape’s canon characters - although i’m certainly not trying to claim it’s canon-compliant as a relationship. harry adores the half-blood prince because they are sincerely intellectually compatible, because they have a similar sense of humour, and because they have a shared reactivity and emotional volatility. harry empathises with - and even respects, on some occasions - snape well before the conclusion of deathly hallows and, since one of the things which makes me a tomarry girly is harry’s instinctive understanding of how voldemort’s childhood affected him, that’s a trope i love in snarry too. post-war, i think they are one of the pairings best equipped to help each other deal with the trauma of having been - in many senses - a pawn, and i think that snape is, really, the only person in harry’s life who could ever come close to appreciating what it means to have dumbledore send you out to your near-death.

and i have no objection to any of the common criticisms which one might hear against snarry. i literally don’t care about the student/teacher dynamic or the age difference - both because these aren’t real people, because taboos are hot, and because the complexity of the relationship provides a really interesting look at the power differential in and of itself. i am often struck by a trope i find in snarry in which snape’s feelings for harry are accompanied by so much self-loathing that he offers harry the upper hand in their power dynamic despite the fact that he is the younger partner. as someone regrettably committed to student/teacher riddledore - in which the age-gap-related power dynamic is generally not reversed - i find this a fascinating way of exploring the characters both within and outside of a romantic context. after all, the canonical snape is also someone whose relationships with the main men in his life - dumbledore and voldemort - is defined by subordination, and, in dumbledore’s case, outright humiliation and shame. that the snape of canon regards harry as someone who possesses power over him - his complaints about harry being rich and spoiled and arrogant not only make clear that he considers harry to have inherited the dynamic he had with james, but also that harry is inherently an insider [financially, in terms of having a pureblood name, etc.] to the wizarding world while he is an outcast. that can cause some exquisite toxicity - especially when the wizarding world finds out its golden hero is getting railed by a tenuously-acquitted death eater - but it can also result in a partnership which is surprisingly beautiful. after all, harry likes to save people, snape would like to be looked after, they make it work.

i also don’t object to the lily thing, largely because - as someone who writes harry regularly fucking his parents’ murderer - it seems quite tame in comparison. but also, it draws out a fanfiction theme which i am obsessed with - that there is a lost generation, of which snape [and sometimes sirius and lupin] is the only survivor. this is something i prefer in snack - and in post-1981 snily - but it’s there in snarry too. snape provides harry with a connection to a world he would be a stranger to otherwise. harry provides snape with a nostalgic mooring when he is buffeted by the grief of being the only one of his teenage acquaintances still alive.

i also like the idea of snape - as harry’s boyfriend - and petunia meeting. fucking your enemy’s nephew is iconic, there’s no two ways about it.

but, with this said, they can never be my otp. the man of snape’s dreams is, as we all know, lord voldemort. the man of harry’s dreams is the same. the destructive power of that triad has the potential to destroy the world.

[muzzlekiss]

show-piece and tool; a comparative study of two dolls

In the Sanitarium for Convalescent Dolls, there are two dolls set apart from the others. They are of the House, not of the convalescents, and unlike the other staff they have never been convalescents. The Witch made them, uncountable years ago, when she was still new to the art of dollcraft, and their names are Fumitory and Goldenseal. 

Fumitory is perfect. It was not always perfect, of course; even a Witch seldom does something correctly the very first time. Piece by porcelain piece, iteration upon iteration, it has been refined into what it stands as now: a masterpiece of its mistress’ art. Its proportions are exquisite, tall for a doll, the better to heighten the cervine elegance of its limbs. Its joints glide in their housings with such velvet silence that, if it were not for the intricate flourishes of overglaze upon its porcelain, the uninitiated might mistake it for a human girl; a dancer, perhaps, for who else carries their body in such weightless poise? Its hair is dark and luxuriant, its eyes tranquil yet alert, its mind still and clear, and it possesses many pleasing talents in addition to its impeccable service.  It plays the piano exquisitely, it sings, it writes, it plays chess, it has mastered every form of tea ceremony available, each skill richly cultivated by tens of years of study and practice. Its duties, as administrator of the Sanitarium and personal attendant to the Witch, are many, and it is equal to each in turn.

But let’s not talk any more about Fumitory. We aren’t convalescent dolls, excitedly trading stories of their eldest sister’s talent and Stillness, hoping to be just like it when the mending is done. Let’s move on to Goldenseal, a very different kind of specimen. 

Like Fumitory, Goldenseal is the product of inexperience - the very second doll, in fact, that its Witch ever made. However, while Goldenseal too has been a continual project over the years, one would hardly call the process refinement. Its personality is blunt and contrary, its mannerisms stiff and prone to tic, and its sense of humour a touch cruel - altogether lacking in the traditional virtues of a good doll. It doesn’t even possess the basic grace to speak in the dollish manner, a habit that even the greenest, most inexperienced doll ought to possess as a simple facet of its nature. The modifications its mistress has made touch not upon its personality, but upon its body; why the Witch hasn’t clipped its sharp tongue or taught it to curtsy properly, nobody can say. Perhaps Goldenseal’s  personality is completely unsalvageable, and it is simply of sufficient sentimental value that its Witch can’t bear to replace it. 

Ah, but that body - a thing of wonders, a virtuoso piece. In all the world, there is not another doll like Goldenseal. An acquired taste, one might admit; there is little to please the eye unless one holds a proper appreciation for the sere, aseptic elegance of function, and such forms of beauty are seldom found in dolls. Goldenseal’s physiology is a cabinet of miracles, integrated throughout with the hinged and puppet-strung tools of its trade, porcelain and thread and silver and brass all in clicking, ticking symphony.

 And it’s that strange trade that delivers the final blow to any remaining sense of propriety: Goldenseal is a doll-maker. 

Dolls aren’t supposed to know such things, the convalescents whisper in corners and under the stairs. It’s not right, it’s not right, the secrets that make them tick are witchly things, far beyond what mere dolls ough to be trusted with. But the Sanitarium is host to dolls with a cornucopia of maladies: stress-fractures, shivers, nightmares, stuck joints, curses, and it is Goldenseal’s knowledge of the doll-making art  that permits it to serve its Witch. Surgeon, general practitioner, physical therapist; though it quite lacks a bedside manner and though its patients are all rather afraid of it, it is as equal to its duties as Fumitory to hers. 

Rumours abound: that Fumitory’s perfection is not the work of the Witch’s hand, but Goldenseal’s; that Goldenseal was made from a witch, as terrible punishment, and that’s why she’s so queer; that bad dolls, too sick to be fixed, are given to Goldenseal and disassembled for her collection of pretty parts. (The collection, at least, is real; Goldenseal adores glass eyes, and slots a different mismatched pair into its head every morning.) The truth, however, is very simple: many years ago the Witch gave both of her creations the pick of how they would be changed, and these are the shapes into which they wished to be carved, one the show-piece, the other the tool. 

[therealslimshakespeare]

Ok, I’ll be the one who asks fluffy Maureen questions, I miss them as hell. Who is her favourite actor? She strikes me as a Clark Gable kinda gal, or maybe Bogart girl 🤔. You know strong, aloof kinda guys who do have a great sense of humour (like someone else we know!)

of fun, thanks doll!

Honestly your choices are exquisite as are your reasonings. Maybe I’m projecting but I’ll add one more to the mix: Gregory Peck.

I just feel like he and Gale share a vibe. Slightly paternal, very gentle but also strong, wonderful leaders 🫠