#too many mustard greens

[ahopefulbromantic]

I just realized the most tragic thing - that I cannot gush about 31st October being Dziady / Forefathers' Eve because it's a Polish thing and none of my mutuals know what it is and no really good translation of the dramatic works exists to have them read it :(((

It's like a traditional Polish Halloween and nowadays it's mainly known from Adam Mickiewicz's (he's to Poland what Shakespeare is to England) 4-part drama centered around it. It follows a tortured poet (my blorbo, I love him) during the time Poland was partitioned and erased from the maps, its people oppressed but always fighting back. It is one of the most important and culturally significant Polish works ever created. And it's got, like so many themes, so many themes you guys. It's one of my favorite works ever one of my all-time dreams is to play Konrad, a protag from part 3.

So if anyone does know it or is interested in finding out more please please please message me or drop an ask I'd love to infodump!!!

[vaguelyhauntedcornfield]

Whoever gave the foods for that American food poll is clearly either west or east coast. No one from the south would slander good food like that, and no one from the midwest would neglect to mention the atrocities that every aunt or neighbor brings to potlucks. If you’ve suffered thru the mayo and jello based salads and the Frankensteined casseroles, you know they belong on there over grits, biscuits and gravy, and boiled peanuts. Also like, the basic white person from the suburbs meal of boiled/baked chicken, steamed broccoli, and steamed carrots, all with no seasoning…that should honestly have a spot too

[1-800-dnkichu]

this whole scene. in the book and in the movie. john green really looked into my soul and put what ive wanted to say my whole life out there so the rest of the world can understand

ive had the same conversation aza is having in this scene with daisy with my mom idek how many times. not in a while tho. going no contact has been greeaaaaaatttttt /light sarcasm but also /very srs

TURTLES ALL THE WAY DOWN (2024) Dir. Hannah Marks

[nothingbutalgae]

Listen, I just think it's funny that even though I don't smoke weed and only partake in edibles like once a month or less, I'm hyped for the weed legalization bill here in MN. I ordered autoflower seeds so I can start growing some bc I really like plants and gardening, so I guess we'll see what happens here. All my other plants I've grown from seed this year seem to be doing well so.....

[sarathrwizard]

7 Day Camp Stay. Day: 3

Tadaaa! Day 3!

This day was a bit of a mess. You guys told me to be careful during my camping trip... but you can't stop yourself from falling when you've already started. :l

So now Donnie gets to experience how I accidentally hurt myself. Yeeeyyyy!

Hope you enjoy day 3! Under the cut.

7 Day Camp Stay

Day: 3

Donnie woke up to see clouds covering the sky. The wind had died down a bit. He sat up and saw that Mikey was making something over the fire. He got out of the tent and walked over.

In the pan there was a sandwich cooking. He had made himself a grilled cheese sandwich. Donnie wanted a grilled cheese too! So he grabbed the bread and cheese. After Mikey was done with his, Donnie placed his on the pan next. He watched it as the bread slowly toasted and the cheese became soft. He took it out when it started to drip into the pan. Finally, something that was relatively hot for breakfast. He sat down next to the fire with a cup of tea.

At some point, Mikey had made a couple of pet rocks by drawing faces on them. The large pointy one was called Dwayn. And the short flat one was called Johnson. Leo took charge of taking care of Dwayn and Mikey took care of Johnson. Mikey was doing the dishes when he looked over to find Leo misusing Dwayn as a table while trying to chop a log.

"Leo! You can't use Dwayn as a table!"

"But he's just a rock."

"He is not just a rock! He's Dwayn, the rock!"

Mikey brought Dwayn and Johnson away and cleaned Dwayn off of dirt. Donnie came up to him as Mikey was wiping it off.

"What's this?"

"Oh, this is Dwayn!"

Mikey said as he turned the triangle rock to face Donnie. It had a little durpy smile.

"And this is Johnson!"

Mikey picked up the other rock from the bench and placed it onto the table. It was shaped slightly like a bean with a dent in the middle of its head. It had a very wide smile with dots for eyes at the ends of his cheeks.

"I think I like the looks of Johnson better than Dwayn."

Mikey said as he picked Johnson up. He then tried to pick Dwayn up but it rolled over onto his finger, squishing it against the table. Mikey pulled his hand away and put the wounded finger in his mouth.

"Ow! Ow! That's why I don't like Dwayn!"

Mikey said as he jumped around.

"Then you should have treated him nicer!"

Donnie said sarcastically. Mikey put his hand under his arm and started getting the lunch ingredients out.

Later that day, Leo got out a game of clue. The clues added up. Everyone knew it was Mr Green, and there was no hiding that.

"I think Mr Green did it with the rope in the kitchen."

Raph proceeded to prove Mikey wrong.

"We're just abusing Mr Green, arnt we."

"Absolutely."

Donnie snickered. He was about to figure it out. All he had to know was where the suspect did it. Leo's turn was right before Donnie's and he decided to take a gamble.

"Okay... I accuse Mr Green, with the rope in the hall!"

Leo picked up the cards in the envelope. Everyone waited with anticipation. He took a peak inside, then spread them across the game board, proving his accusation was right. Well shucks, Donnie was so close!

Soon, it was supper time. Mikey got the fire going again and placed tin foil over a rack. Then he shaped the beef Into round disks and plopped them on the tray over the fire. Sizzle sizzle sizzle, the ground beef went. Flipping them revealed a crispy brown bottom. When they were done, he took them off and placed them onto some buns, then handed them out to the others to put on whatever toppings they desired. Leo, being his fancy self, had teriyaki sauce and a pineapple on his. Mikey had cheese and mustard, raph had lots of ketchup on his, and last but not least, Donnie put cheese and a couple of pickle slices on his. Together they ate their dinner around a roaring fire.

After they were done, Donnie made his way to the restrooms. Walking near the edge of the road, he looked up to gaze at the stars. There where so many out in the wilderness! If it was one thing that kept him fascinated, it was the vast number of stars that filled the skies.

Donnie wasn't watching where he was going and ran into a road sign. Staggering back, his foot rolled over and he toppled into the ditch. He tumbled down to the bottom and stopped on his back. He laid there for a moment to regain his orientation.

"Ow! Okay, that hurt!"

Donnie slowly sat up, feeling his lower back detest. He rolled over onto his knees and felt his right hip burn in pain. He held his hands on his hip and took a few deep breaths, hoping to ease the ache a bit. Slowly he got back onto his feet and continued to the bathrooms.

He opened the door and slipped inside, still holding his side. He hobbled his way into a stall and sat down. Looking downwards, he could see that his hip was red hot with a large bruise, sprinkled with little scratches.

Back at camp, Leo was laughing his head off.

"Oh, Miguel! That's what you get for telling Dwayn you didn't like him!"

Mikey grumbled. It wasn't very funny to him. I mean, it was his finger that got squished. Raph looked over at Mikey.

"Ya hurt your finger? Come here, let Raph see it."

Raph said as Mikey held out his hand. Raph inspected it.

"Doesn't look too bad! Maybe put some ice on it."

Raph said with a smile. Just then Donnie had returned from the restrooms. Leo was the first to see him.

"Oh, hey Dee! Finally decided to come back?"

Leo chuckled. Donnie made no comment. He held his hand on his hip and limped over to the others. Leo creased his brow.

"Donnie?"

Raph and Mikey turned there head to look at him also. When Donnie got more into the light, they could see that pain was written on his face. His cheeks were shiny with streaks from tears. Raph quickly got up and rushed over to him.

"Hey, you okay? What happened?"

Raph asked. Hovering his hand next to him. Donnie leaned his head against Raphs chest. Raph wrapped his arm around Donnie and lifted Donnie's hand off his hip. Donnie hissed.

"Ouch! Yeah, that looks pretty bad! What'd ya do to it?"

"... fell into a ditch."

"Yeeeup, That would do it."

Leo said as he took a closer look. Donnie flinched every time they even slightly touched it.

"Yeah, Raphs bringing ya somewhere to get that looked at!"

Raph said. He helped Donnie to the Taxi rocket, which is what they arrived in. Donnie sat down in the passenger seat while Raph took the wheel. He put it in reverse and slowly backed out. Mikey waved goodbye to them with a sad smile.

...

Good news was Donnie didn't have any broken bones or anything like that. It's just his hip had fallen out of place. So after seeing what they called a Chiropractor in the hidden city, Donnie could walk a bit better. They said he might have to come in again if it didn't improve. Donnie didn't like people touching him. But if it ment it would help get his hip fixed again, then he would allow it.

The instructions were to alternate a little ice and heat on his hip to help ease the pain. They also told him to avoid leaning or laying on hard surfaces. That ruled out sleeping on a mat in a tent. So Raph brought Donnie back to the lair for the night so he could sleep in his own bed.

What a day.

__________

Yeah, that could have gone better. Oop!

If you enjoyed that day, I understand. ;)

have a wonderful day! Lord bless you! ❤️

Last x Next

[aesthetixhoe]

posts and pictures with conrad fisher — C.F.

warnings: cursing, suggestive comments

authors note: i'm completely guessing on conrad's birthday since the show and book are different i think? i looked it up and didn't get a straight answer so.... 2005 it is!

liked by jellybelly, con.rad.05, taytay.madison and 87 others.

its_y/n when he likes book girls >>

con.rad.05 I just have so many green flags 💪🏻

| jere_fisher that's a big fat lie. 🥱

| con.rad.05 haha, very funny 😐

| jellybelly boys stop fighting or I'll tell my mom

jellybelly girls who read are just better 🤷🏻‍♀️

| steven.conklin Oh yeah, cause you would know, Mrs "I'm failing english"

| taytay.madison be nice.

| its_y/n the boys are so mean today

liked by its_y/n, con.rad.05, taytay.madison, and 103 others

jere_fisher what did I walk in on?? 🤢

its_y/n you're just jealous bffr 🙄🙄

| jere_fisher yeah right, best joke I've heard all week.

jellybelly noooo, they're so cute omg

con.rad.05 thanks for the new lock screen jere!

steven.conklin We've lost another solider 😔 RIP conrad, you will be missed. 💔

| jere.fisher no more boys time, he has to hang out with his girrrrrrllllfriendddd

| its_y/n yup! i stole him and you can't have him back 😘

liked by jellybelly, taytay.madison, con.rad.05 and 94 others

its_y/n summer lovin' ☀🩷

con.rad.05 had me a blast

| jere_fisher happened so fast??

| camcameron hey! This is my song 😟

| its_y/n we'll find one for you and skye, don't worry 😉

jellybelly that dress looks amazing on you

| con.rad.05 everything looks amazing on her, be real

| its_y/n there's too much flattery in here, I have to leave 🤭

steve.conklin No pic cred??

| its_y/n sorry bud, there's always next time!

| steven.conklin There won't be a next time 🙄

liked by its_y/n, jelly belly, jere_fisher, and 112 others

con.rad.05 maybe the deb ball isn't THAT bad

its_y/n the best escort <3

| con.rad.05 you still need to pay me for my services 😏

| its_y/n aaaand you ruined the moment.

jellybelly taken moments before the mustard disaster

| its_y/n it was a sad day 😔

jere_fisher I was a better escort 🤭

| its_y/n you did eat that dance

| jere_fisher there are 8 letters in Jeremiah 🤯

liked jellybelly, taytay.madison, con.rad.05 and 101 others

its_y/n bed head

con.rad.05 I can give great head

| its_y/n CONRAD FISHER STOP THAG RIGHT NOE

| con.rad.05 what will I get if I do?

| jere_fisher PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP

jellybelly surprised he didn't kick you out of the bed

| its_y/n almost!

steven.conklin Get your filthyhands off my boyfriend!

| its_y/n never!! >:)

liked by its_y/n, steve.conklin, jellybelly, and 92 others

con.rad.05 I'm stealing her permanently

steven.conklin You can steal me next 😘

| con.rad.05 I'd rather not...

| steven.conklin Mhm, sure, you're totally not just covering bc of y/n 😒

liked by taytay.madison, jere_fisher, jellybelly, and 103 others

its_y/n life recently >>

taytay.madison no me in the recap??

| its_y/n I'M SORRY, YOU'LL BE IN THE NEXT PHOTO DUMP I PINKY PROMISE

con.rad.05 i love loving you.

| its_y/n why do you only say romantic things on instagram 😔

| con.rad.05 to show off

jere_fisher summer ending is going to be awful

| steve.conklin preach brother 🙌🏻

jellybelly the best summer in the books

[urgardenandmine]

alone yet free ☾ - j. suh

summary: the new night guard is a cutie patootie genre: fluff/non-idol au pairing: m!reader x johnny suh word count: 2.9K

i guess the time has come. we have to go. 

as the sun began to rise over the horizon, you stared out the glass window from your place. from your feet, you could feel the pain of the cold hitting you. it was the usual, due to the museum’s weird angled vents. as your eyes scanned the wooden floor, you looked at the paintings as the pain had rose further and further up to your torso. grunting softly, you tried not to acknowledge it yet you could feel your eyes water. your toes felt frozen, as if someone had placed them in dry ice and then held you in suspended animation through cryosleep. 

feeling the sun’s warmth now on your chest and left side of your face, you took in a quick breath as you stood still. you had felt the hairs on your face stand on end, reacting to how your nerves felt being gently cradled by the glowing yellow star. whimpering due to the cold, you plastered on a face of curiosity, staring towards a corner in the ceiling. it was the same corner you had stared at for a while now. the ceiling was peeling, the missing paint patches revealing the ceiling's original material which was mahogany wood. the beams were littered with chandeliers and as well secretively due to the makers of them, cobwebs. you had seen maybe one spider always in the same dusty corner, feeling somewhat jealous due to it’s freedom and being able to express its creativity. 

listening to the wind pick up, you remembered it was spring and that the weather was cooler now. you had heard someone mention where you were last night. the word “london” happens to pop out a lot from people’s mouths, yet you had no idea what that meant. you also heard the word “spring,” which you knew as you weren’t a heathen to the seasons gifted upon you. the birds chirped, flapping their wings as they soon went to begin their chores for the day. 

feeling the coldness reach the crown of your head, you stood in place, unmoving and unwavering in both the physical and emotional. as your ears became muffled, you did your best to decipher. hearing the sound of the door handle wobble, you heard another sound. it was similar to the windchimes yet less majestic, more mechanical. they were getting louder, and more aggressive as the door handle turned. 

key. the word was key. the keys went into the handle. 

pushing open the door was a stout man, adorned in a simple black tee and mustard yellow puffer jacket. his bottoms were a simple brown, nothing too describe due to his uncaring attitude towards his looks. your eyes were blurry yet you could see his outline. it felt like you were watching through stained glass, the objects now appearing like blobs of color. it was as if you had rubbed your eyes, the vision now staticky as well. 

the man let out a booming sneeze, followed by a hard snort as he mumbled words. due to your current hearing situation, you didn’t make out anything that was said. you saw his body disappear into a room that was labeled “storage.” you had no idea what it was but you knew that it must’ve been vast as everyone had placed so many items inside. you had seen a broom, a water broom and even the broom’s companion which was called a “dustpan.” you had seen the man reappear now in the room, bringing out the green broom as he swept the dust into the orange dustpan. it was almost like an opera, seeing him dance around the room and around the other people you were always around. he had begun his usual routine before getting the place ready to accommodate his usual group of friends. 

during his chores, you could hear the faint ticking of the clock. you could see the hours past yet didn’t budge, simply in place as usual. during the passing hours, three people had come into the building during different increments. the first came an hour after the man had come, while the other followed presumably thirty minutes after. the third had come in another hour. the latter had  opened the doors to the building.

as the doors opened, you could hear the small pitter patter of footsteps and growing voices. slowly creeping into your blurred vision, you had seen groups of children, all dressed warmly and in bright color. one girl (you assumed was a girl) was wearing a brightly colored hat. it was almost a bright pink, yet you felt it was too loud. you couldn’t see any of their faces, only their silhouettes and the colors they had chosen for the day. you had seen as well a bunch of other adults, watching over the children and eyeing those around you. in front of the group were those who had appeared in the morning, helping the man clean up, now wearing a black sweater as they seemed to have been talking to the groups. 

you stood still, looking at those as you had seen your comrades also in position. you made eye contact with your friend amara, as she held her dress in her left hand and re-positioned her diadem with her right. she had the same half-smile as usual. looking at her, you felt a small feeling of relief, seeing that she was in-place unlike your last friend, christos. last week, he had decided to switch his positioning, which was funny to you two yet he had earned three days in the other “storage” room. luckily, it was documented that he was known for changing once in a while. 

as the group had passed by you, you had seen the one person you were expecting. he was wearing a forest green “cardigan,” which you had learned from your friend george william burdenell-bruce. the cardigan had a small patch knitted on, which was a small white bunny. you had always wondered what the bunny was named, considering it looked like he always talked to it. he wore gray baggy jeans, with his white tank top tucked into his waist. on his shoulder was the strap that led to a woody, chunky bag. the bag had things attached on it, such as small cute and colorful trinkets. you were always fascinated by the idea of them as they had their own voices when touched, unlike you. 

seeing him eyeing you, you were somewhat intrigued on what part of you had caused them to linger around you every day. oh, i had forgotten to mention. he was always here. he was always eyeing you, intaking every piece of you. he was your secretive yet not so secretive admirer. whether the weather be warm, scorching, soggy, freezing, he was always here in this building. 

one of the workers of the building had approached him. they began to conversate, yet it was hard for you to understand due to the speed of how they were talking. trying to listen in (which was rude yet you had no choice as you couldn’t move away), you tried to break down what they were saying.

“hello there! what’s your name?” the worker asked, doing their job as they had to assist everyone here.

“oh, hey! i’m johnny.” he replied.

johnny. 

jonathan. john. jon. the many variations of that name have yet one base. the name john meant “graced by god” and here he was, gracing you with his presence. 

“hi there, johnny! well, welcome to the alistair museum! i see you found a piece you enjoy.” the worker teased, nudging him ever so slightly. johnny scratched the back of his neck, chuckling as he nodded and looked at them. his eyes then slowly followed to you. another thing i forgot to mention…

you were a simple sculpture.

you didn’t remember much on your home, knowing only the story you were told from your creator and the days and steps leading up to your being.

it was a simple day in your hometown. you lived in a village, well, technically, your creator lived in a village so you did too. you had no idea what continent it was nor what side of the planet, whether it was day or night. as you being made, your creator had mixed the clay that made you with certain “properties.” he had purchased an elixir from the local apothecary, hoping it had made the clay more “lifelike.” what he didn’t know was that the simple elixir was made of blood, which was mixed with herbal water placed in a silver bowl, soaked in the light of a lunar eclipse. 

your creator had mixed the elixir with the simple clay, not realizing they were making life in a bowl to make a simple sculpture. they had taken their time with you, making each crevice and simple limb lifelike, wanting to be known as an artist that people could revere. they had one thought in their mind, to be the best, and with you being made, they were. 

it was after your first transformation, for a lack of a better term. your eyes had opened as soon as the sun had fallen asleep, allowing the moon to awaken everything else in it’s path. you could feel the coldness slowly lift from your smooth skin, almost like a newborn baby’s. your eyes were immensely blurry, as similar to the morning dew on a clear glass. you blinked, clearing them up as you could see your surroundings. you were in a small hut like house, the roof being coned and made of straw. the walls were supported with wooden rods and straw as well, acting as the insulation. you could see specks of clay through the loose yellow strands of stray. next to you were other sculptures, yet half-made or barely started. 

a small gust of wind had caused you to shiver, making you look for a small sheet to cover yourself with. making your way towards a sheet under pottery, you yanked it from under them, causing them to somersault off the table and onto the floor. the sound of five pieces shattering had caused your maker to jump out of their slumber, rushing to the source of the ruckus. in front of their eyes was a living, breathing man, draped in a clay stained sheet. their initial reaction was that of fear, then slowly becoming realization as they had seen you off your stand. approaching you, they recognized their handy work. in the next hour, you were being taught on what the things in life were, as you had taught them that you were a child in the body of an adult.

throughout the years, or centuries, you were passed around owner from owner, being a piece of art with an alluring history. you remember the places you were placed before, such as countries like greece, parts of asia and more. following the never ending changes in location, you began to get lonely, making friends with the animals and the other inhabitants yet seeing either destruction in the days to come or being stolen due to your value. now in this time, you weren’t as lonely as you were now in this place which was labeled a “museum.” though some of the pieces weren’t like you, you enjoyed their company, yet some were like you and that didn’t bode well for them.

the ones not like you were the ones you had labeled the “living,” as they could experience the gaze and warmth of those around them. though it was ironic, you had called them the “living�� because of how much people knew of them and how much their stories would live on in history. those like you, you all (such as you, christos and more) decided on the name of the “lifeless,” being stuck in time during the day and yet while alive at night, had nowhere to go. though you as well had stories to your own names, you felt like you were in a prison, unable to leave due to your curses and unable to really experience life due to the chains that were placed upon you as your duty as works of art. due to the immense pain of never being free, the other “lifeless” had chosen to never shed their stoney skin, simply staying in the cold. you, however, had a new reason to live.

the man in front of you was that reason.

he was here weeks before, the week before, and now he was before you. his eyes scanned you, studying every part of you. you felt seen, you felt alive.

now, on this day, he was back again and communicating with the worker, learning more on you. seeing him smile at the small pieces of knowledge that the worker knew, it was almost as if a partner was listening to their partner’s parents brag about their child. he had turned to look at you, smiling as the worker walked away. stepping closer, he chuckled as he whispered softly.

“you’re my favorite piece.” 

hopefully this man was what the kids “single.”

⋆｡°✩

as time passed, you had been kept company with the man. he had seemed to never leave, being here in the museum for almost the whole day. feeling the time get closer, you hoped for him to leave, knowing that though if you were no longer stuck in this cocoon, you would either run to him or he would do the opposite. you could see the sun rays slowly exit the room, as the workers followed suit. the man, johnny, still didn’t budge and was nowhere near exiting, as he had made his way to another possible “storage room.” it was weird, but he must’ve gotten confused on how to leave. 

with the sun now gone and the moon over the horizon, you could feel all the pieces of stone and clay remove themself from you, allowing your skin to breathe. the feeling of the museum’s cool air made you feel relief. the cold from the AC was different than the creeping cold of the stone, almost more comforting. stretching, you let out a small exhale as you smiled, looking at your surroundings. hopping off your platform, you made your way to a potted plant in the corner. digging through the dirt, you had slowly pulled out a pair of trousers. you were now getting more accustomed to the new world’s rules. 

slipping on the bright pink trousers, you sighed and took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the musty museum. 

“nothing like the smell of dirt and dust.” you stated happily. you soon made your way to your friends, informing them that the man you had fallen for had been back again. making your way down the hall, you waved at the paintings that you had talked to for years, complimenting them on how today they looked “prettier than usual.” turning the corner, you had immediately froze.

on a bench, in front of your friends was the man you were coming to talk about. johnny. sucking in a short breath, you didn’t know what to do. eyeing him, you noticed his clothes had changed. he was now in a navy blue uniform, his belt accessorized with things such as two metal hoops, a black stick and what the people called a “flashlight.” you had no idea what it did but it looked fun. as you gulped, his head turned towards you. he shot up, removing his stick and the flashlight, shining it on you.

“hey! stop!” he barked, causing you to jump. looking at him, you had never seen this side of him. it was authoritative. it was very alluring.

“oh, i’m sorry. i was coming to see my friends.” you explained. he inched forward, holding the stick tight in his left hand. he furrowed his brows, looking you up and down.

“friends? you’re half-naked!” he exclaimed. you look down at your body, confused on what he meant. looking back at him, you titled your head to the right, showing your confusion. as he approached slowly, his face had softened. 

“wait, you look familiar.” he stated, now an inch from you. you blushed softly, looking up at him and into his brown eyes. 

“oh! i’m from here!” you answered, walking back as you made your way back to your platform. you could hear his heavily padded feet follow behind you. reaching your stand, you sat on it and looked at him. you smiled and waved. as you looked towards him, his mouth had fallen open as he began to dance. 

“i knew it! i knew it! the stories were real!” he happily sang, jumping up and down as he looked at you. after realizing he was now talking to a living fairytale, he stopped in his tracks and got closer. he sat beside you, smiling.

“uh, i’m johnny. what’s your name?” he spoke softly, slyly taking off his button up vest and wrapping it around you. 

“no one’s ever asked me before. my name’s [y/n].” 

“it’s pretty.” he complimented, causing you to smile gently. he looked at you, eyeing every part of you. it felt like how he did when you were stone, his eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

“so, how are you real? and what’s the story? and like what’s your favorite color?” he spewed questions like a leaky faucet, making you giggle. he blushed, looking away as he scratched his neck.

“sorry, too much?” he asked, now embarrassed by making himself seem a little needy. you shook your head, slowly grabbing his hand and holding it tightly.

“not at all. we have all night.” 

⋆｡°✩

inspired by the opening line of kiss of life's "te quiero" and the performance video (stan KIOF!)

sorry if it's not so good! halfway through this writing, i started getting dizzy and light headed TT

i hope y'all enjoy!

[insipid-drivel]

Toxins, Venom, and Poisons in Historical Western Medicine: How Are We Not Extinct From Doing Some Of This To Ourselves?

This piece is an involuntary piece inspired by @writing-with-sophia's awesome post "Poison list", which is an accurate and succinct list of commonly known (and ancient!) poisons, venoms, and toxins that have been and were used for causing poisoning in ancient and recent history. I wanted to write this because what struck me by their post crossing my dash was, the sheer number of poisons listed that were - and even still are - used as mainstays for healthcare around the world throughout the ages!

OBLIGATORY DON'T BE A DUMBASS PSA: If you're planning on incorporating these poisons into your HISTORICAL-era writing, it's also important to remember that many of them were used for medicinal purposes at one time, too, and it's great you're interested in learning about the subject! And also, you shouldn't try ANY of these! I will not tell you how to do it at home if you DM me, so don't! You are not appropriately trained to do it! You will harm or kill yourself and possibly your loved ones if you fuck around with any of these and it will be 100% your fault and you absolutely should feel bad bout it! I've seen some of you idiots believe 4chan posts about making home-grown crystals using recipes for actual mustard gas and seen you being wheeled into the ER on the news! I will not feel bad if you get yourself hurt if you screw around with any of these plants, elements, or animals!

Resource blog plugs and PSA over, now for the Hilariously Poisonous Medicines:

If you're writing something that's meant to take place prior to the advent of our more modern understanding of poisons, venoms, and toxins, factoring in "this is toxic to me NOW, but what about 500 years ago?" can add a lot of opportunities for interesting plot elements to your story.

These can include someone accidentally poisoning themselves with a toxic drug or substance that wouldn't have killed them if they'd handled it properly - like tansy? Grows all over the place in Europe and England? That'll kill you if you harvest it too late in the season, but it's good for intestinal parasites when it's harvested early in the year and processed right.

Did the lady's maid really kill her mistress with belladonna? Or was she trying to secretly help her mistress get rid of an unwanted pregnancy?

The protagonist's children can't survive to make it to weaning age! Is the wetnurse a poisoner, or does the milkman hide that he sells sour milk by pouring Borax into it so no one could taste it and has no idea he's killing his clients' babies?

Nuance and cultural mores regarding historical views about poisons and toxins can make writing even more fun, dynamic, and interesting! Explore 'em!

Just... please don't try any of this crap yourself. You will poison yourself, it will hurt, you will die, and you will hurt the entire time you're dying. Using OP's master list alone, here's the flip side of these lethal beasts through the eyes of our distant ancestors who believed illness was caused by "vapors", "bad air", and "imbalanced humors":

Hemlock:

Used across multiple different cultures in history. When properly administered to treat a disease, poison hemlock was used to treat asthma, whooping cough, bronchitis, joint/bone pain, muscle cramps, and insomnia. Hemlock was most often used as a sedative and antispasmodic.

Arsenic:

Arsenic is a heavy metal, and so has been used in everything from making specialty dyes for wallpapers (Scheele's green is the most infamous arsenic-based paint; Queen Victoria once had a guestroom in her palace redone with Scheele's green wallpaper. The first dignitary to stay there had to be carried out and taken to emergency care after breathing astronomical amounts of arsenic dust from the wallpaper's paint), to medicine. Arsenic was especially commonly used in history to treat skin ailments ranging from acne, to psoriasis, to syphilis sores. It was also sometimes prescribed for menstrual cramps, upset stomachs, colic, and arthritis, among many, many other things.

Cyanide:

Uh... I have literally never found any evidence of cyanide in medicine, outside of its use in modern medicine as part of certain chemical lab tests for measuring urine ketone bodies that involve no contact with a patient whatsoever. Cyanide literally works in less than a few seconds to render your entire body incapable of absorbing OR using oxygen in your lungs or already existing in your blood. Cyanide is really only good at making things that breathe not breathe anymore.

Nightshade:

There are a lot of different "nightshades", so being specific is essential here. Potatoes are nightshades. Tomatoes are nightshades. Calling anything a "nightshade" does not inherently mean it's lethally toxic. Belladonna is probably the most notorious of the "deadly" nightshades, but to this day, is still used medicinally, and would actually be seen as a health and cosmetic mainstay in historical fiction, especially if your setting is in Italy!

Belladonna is an Italian portmanteau for "beautiful woman", because tinctures (water-based drops) of belladonna were commonly used by Italian women as eyedrops to dilate their eyes and appear more attractive, aroused, and desirable. Today, belladonna's eye-dilating effects are still used by optometrists to dilate the pupils! Belladonna has been, and still sometimes is used as an NSAID, general painkiller, motion sickness treatment, asthma medication, and even as a treatment for IBS.

Ricin:

As OP said, Ricin is derived from the toxin found in Castor Beans, and is surprisingly new as an official "the only reason this is made is to make someone dead" poison. Not only is ricin a popular "nobody would think to test for this!" choice in mystery/thriller writing, but it has been used for political assassinations in real life before. Georgi Markov, a Bulgarian anti-Communist dissenter and writer, was killed in 1978 with a 1.7mm diameter ricin-coated pellet shot into his thigh muscle by an unidentified assailant using a modified umbrella as a gun. He died 4 days later.

Historically, castor OIL has been used for medicinal purposes, especially for treating constipation, inducing labor in pregnancy, and as a topical skin moisturizer. If you've ever watched the opening scene in Disney's "Peter Pan", when the childrens' mother is trying to give them a spoonful of medicine each, she's actually giving them castor oil! Castor oil tastes really bad (so much so that flavorings like cinnamon were often added to try to muffle the taste), so the childrens' reluctance and disgust at their mom making them take their medicine is very realistic for the era the movie came out in!

Strychnine:

Another lethal poison that started life as a medicine/food additive. Strychnine is no longer used medicinally at all today, but historically, it was used to stimulate the heart, treat bladder and bowel incontinence, and limb palsy. Strychnine is a deadly-powerful muscle stimulant that, as a poison, causes horrifyingly painful full-body strictures (spasms) and destroys the cardiovascular system. (Fun fact: Strychnine and hydrochloric acid were historically mixed into cheap vodka to make knock-off gin, especially during the Georgian Era in England if the brewer didn't have or couldn't afford juniper berries!)

Snake Venom:

Seriously, do your research before you write an actual, real snake species using venom they don't produce! The Big 3 Forms Of Snake Venom are: Hemotoxic, Neurotoxic, and Cytotoxic. Specific snake species exclusively generate the same kind of venom (so a hemotoxic snake will ALWAYS produce baby snakes that also make hemotoxic venom). Aristotle himself wrote in 380 BC that certain snake venoms could be applied for treating fevers, smallpox, and leprosy, and there is even some evidence in the historical record prior to the 1800s that different cultures have experimented throughout the eons with using venom for converting into antivenom, but I've never found a source citing anyone making a successful form of antivenom until around the 1850s.

Digitalis:

OP really nailed the important thing about Digitalis, and that is it's cardiac benefits for certain people - particularly for treating congestive heart failure. Vincent van Gogh was actually prescribed epilepsy medication that likely contained Digitalis, aka Foxglove, and there are some prevailing theories about van Gogh's love of bright yellow paint as being either caused or exacerbated by the symptoms associated with digitalis use, which can cause an attraction to and increased visual sensitivity to the color yellow. In several portraits, including one of his own psychiatrist, van Gogh shows subjects presented alongside foxglove flowers. Digitalis is absolutely lethal if consumed or taken without expert guidance, however, because it's the mother ingredient of Digoxin. Digoxin isn't used as frequently as it used to be a few decades ago, but it's still used and prescribed today for certain forms of heart failure and heart disease. Digoxin was also, at one time, was also sometimes used to induce chemical abortions.

Lead:

Dear god, lead. Not only is it so slow to kill you that you'll think that the only way to manage your symptoms is with more lead, but lead poisoning can be a life-long crisis for a person who is regularly exposed to it. Humans have used lead for everything from plumbing, to paint, to our cutlery, to cosmetics, to medicine. While yes, it is very possible to ingest enough lead in a single sitting to die within hours or days, most sufferers of lead poisoning experience it for years or decades before the symptoms become obvious. Some archaeologists believe that the Romans used lead cutlery because lead has a unique reaction when we lick it: when you have lead coating your tongue, it makes EVERYTHING you eat suddenly taste 10x better. I learned this myself from going target-shooting with my mom at a gun rage as a teenager, inhaled gunsmoke (which contains lead), and went for lunch immediately after. Even though I was just eating a $5 meal from In-N-Out, my burger tasted so good I thought I was gonna have to change my pants. When I asked the rangemaster at the target place about it later, he literally said, "Oh yeah, lead makes the worst cooking taste like heaven."

The ancient Romans ate a lot of rotten, spoiled, and sour food, and so lead would've made it easier to eat it back then. But the neurological effects of lead poisoning are nightmarish. It's suspected that, in America, the #1 reason we had so many active serial killers in the country from the 1940s-2000s was because of leaded gasoline. Ever since leaded gasoline was banned? Serial and random violent crime rates have dramatically gone down, especially in metropolitan cities. Ancient Rome, too, gradually became an increasingly violent city as its population went up and its reliance on lead did. We're only just now starting to figure out how toxic lead actually is, so go nuts with using it as a plot element regarding subjects like "Why Are You Like This?"

Mercury:

Mercury is also known as quicksilver, because in spite of being a heavy metal, the temperature at which it melts into a liquid is very, very low compared to most other metals. The first Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, was rumored to be so obsessed with the notion of immortality that he would send his doctors on doomed voyages around the world searching for a legendary substance that would, indeed, make him immortal. Legend has it that some doctors who were tasked with the job found out about the last guys, and produced mercury before Emperor Qin Shi Huang and cried, "Here it is! I got it!" so they wouldn't end up doomed to drown at sea. Qin Shi Huang became so obsessed with ingesting and medicating himself with mercury that, when his legendary tomb was being constructed, he had a small-yet-accurate-to-scale map of China+the known world about the size of a football field with every body of water full of fountains of running mercury in his burial chamber. His tomb was rediscovered in the last couple of decades after archaeologists found suspiciously high levels of mercury in the soil on top of a "hill" that had been sitting in the countryside untouched for thousands of years. It turned out to be Qin Shi Huang's long-lost tomb.

Since those days, mercury has closely been associated in early medicine as a sort of cure-all, since it literally kills anything it touches (including people). Captain Blackbeard himself, the most notorious pirate in Western history (Western specifically; google who Zheng Yi Sao was), was known or widely believed to be a syphilis sufferer, and desperately sought infusions of mercury from ships he'd capture (and the doctors onboard) to treat it, believing like everyone did that mercury could cure syphilis. It can't. They just didn't understand back then that syphilis starts off surface-level, and then eats your brain years after the initial infection.

Aconite:

Again, ridiculously toxic outside of specific medicinal applications that still aren't safe today! Aconite, or wolfsbane, has historically been used as a heart sedative (for slowing the heart), diuretic, painkiller, and even used to induce sweating. Evidence of wolfsbane being used for medicinal purposes has been spotted here and there over thousands of years throughout the Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Empires, but its original use came about in Ancient Greece for hunting and culling wolves by poisoning bait-food with it. That form of hunting died out long before the European Middle Ages, but the name "wolfsbane" stuck. Mostly because in the Middle Ages, a lot of people believed werewolves were a huge problem, and kept wolfsbane handy to deter said werewolves.

Thallium:

Today, thallium is mostly used in the production of camera and eyeglass lenses. Before its toxicity was known about, it wasn't strange to hear of thallium being used topically to treat fungal infections like ringworm. Thallium was also sporadically used in treating typhus and tuberculosis, along with a wide array of sexually transmitted diseases.

This list doesn't even touch the tip of the toxic iceberg when it comes to the sheer quantity of hilariously dangerous toxins people have, or still continue, to use for medicinal purposes! In a Victorian-era English London middle-class townhouse setting alone, there were dozens and dozens of ways to poison or otherwise harm yourself just by going about your daily life. So, if you've got a period piece you're working on, or are just bored, you can pick an exact date and time in our history and learn just how terrifyingly comfortable our ancestors were with upsettingly dangerous substances and home remedies. You can also watch a massive docuseries, called "Hidden Killers" and hosted by historian Suzannah Lipscomb, among other historians and archaeologists, which deep-dives into the hidden and unknown dangers of living in eras from Tudor-Era England, to the Post-WWII Reconstruction Age.

As a final note: I am NOT bashing Chinese or Eastern medicinal practices here, and in fact deliberately have gone out of my way to not include any references toward culturally-sanctioned medicinal practices in Eastern and Southeastern Asia. This post is specifically related to the history of WESTERN medicines and their associated history. I am not, nor have I ever been, a doctor of any traditional Eastern medicinal practices, and do not pretend to know better. Sinophobes are unwelcome in my blog space.

[aggro-my-beloved]

The Grey Area (GuyxHoney)

note: welcome to day three! if you’re wondering why this is so short and unedited, my stomach issues have gotten the better of me this week. 1 reblog and silly lil comment = 1 get well soon wish for me <3

summary: *everybody views the world as black and white until soulmates meet/lock eyes and see colors for the first time* [what’s more depressing than witnessing an amusement park in black and white? realizing it may be the last time you visit one, is probably what guy would answer, as he dangles upside down on Wonderworld’s “Surge” coaster. the pretty stranger next to him isn’t the worst company, though.]

pairings: GuyxHoney (romantic)

word count: 1.1k

estimated reading time: 5-6 mins

taglist: @ther3alsweetheart @darlin-collins @professionallyyappinabtangst @elles-roses bloop

GUY DRAWS IN DEEP, LABORED BREATHS alongside the other coaster passengers, inhaling the savory stench of sweat and cotton-candy coated air. In any other instance–preferably one where he isn’t tilted one hundred and eighty degrees on his head and about to suffer a deadly impact onto the fairgrounds–he’d be less green in his gills. His stomach would be rumbling requests for another sopping chili dog, or warm pretzel glistening with yellow mustard to tide him over for the night. However, the mass of citizens gathering beneath him with frightened eyes and murmured concerns is beckoning him to yak up what could be his last meal. No, no, maybe it’s word vomit.

“Crazy, huh? How one second your friends are wagering how many corn dogs you can eat before taking a spin on Wonderworld’s Surge, and the next you’re bracing to be a splat on the ground, remembered as nothing more than a crime scene photo–a crumb of a tragedy–”

“Please stop talking.” A meek voice belonging to the passenger beside him introduces itself. Due to their stiff pose and shut eyes (and seat dividers), Guy has no vantage point to any recognizable characteristics other than dirty sneakers and tremor in their voice. Their hands keep the lap bar restraints in an unyielding choke, and for good reason. If Guy were to shift as much as a millimeter, the minecart of a coaster seat would resound with an unpleasant creak.

“My bad. Talking to myself keeps me relaxed.”

“You find narrating your final moments relaxing?” Another tremor shakes their body, but Guy credits it to the anxious laughter bubbling from their lips. It offers little comfort for either of them, but he’ll take whatever distraction he can get from the looming thought of this night being their last. The respite is short-lived, as Guy and his passenger peer down to see one of the maintenance men (who’d been tackling the coaster’s sudden malfunctions for the past fifteen minutes) wave up at them with wide, swooping arms.

“Don’t worry, help is on the way!” The wind carries his voice unevenly, making it sound warbled to Guy’s ears. What may also be to blame is the unnatural amount of blood rushing past his ears and to his head. As the night progresses, a prominent chill grows stronger each second they are suspended thousands of feet above ground. He perks up at the relieved mutter from the passenger beside him.

“Thank goodness, there’s still hope.” Guy wiggles his toes, but cannot feel them. He chooses not to mention it.

“Now look at who's talking to themselves.” His voice quakes through the tease. The lurching in Guy’s stomach persists, and he ponders if it's another threat from his gut to expel its contents, or the beautiful stranger giving him their undivided attention. Usually, nobody pays him any mind unless he is adorning his work uniform and offering samples of Max’s award winning garlic knots to passersby.

“You may be onto something about the relaxing aspect.” They try for a deep breath, and Guy notices them strain to pull the air in their lungs. He’s sure they feel the lurch now too, but for different reasons.

“So, what’s your name?” The stranger snorts, before answering.

“I like that name. I’m Guy��how old are you?” Again, they reply. A humored snort follows.

“You gonna ask me for three fun facts about myself next?” Guy smirks, and cranes his neck to view the fairgrounds. The crowd of witnesses has grown, and their cell phone flashlights are blending in with the warm bulbs of the distant Ferris wheel. No sirens. No search and rescue. Not yet.

He looks back up to take in their profile. Closed eyes. Scrunched nose. Tight lips.

“Yeah, why the hell not? Seems like we got time.”

_________________________

“Okay, is it my turn?” Asks Guy, who holds up three remaining fingers. He’s become more impressed by this stranger with each hypothetical they toss for him to mull over, and ultimately concede to as he curls another digit to meet his fist.

“No, it’s mine. Never have I ever put pineapple on my pizza.” A disgusted groan falls past Guy’s lips as he tosses his head back, or attempts to. The seat he is strapped against stops him.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned where I worked, had I known it’d be vital to your victory.” He mutters through clenched teeth, and drops another finger. Of course, he had to try all of the controversial toppings—even anchovies, though he wasn’t completely sober when the slice peppered with them went down his gullet.

“C’mon, Guy. Dig deep!” They encourage contagious titters. The amount of blood pooling in their upper body is the culprit, Guy knows, but for now he’ll wish it’s his undeniable charm and wit upholding the conversation.

“Okay.” The man gnaws on his bottom lip. Would it be uncouth to ask after just meeting? How vulnerable can a person be staring into the eyes of death and accepting their fate? They’re strangers…but could be bound by the wicked force of trauma if they manage to walk away unscathed from tonight’s events. “Uh…”

Screw it.

“Never have I ever seen colors.” For a moment, Guy swears he feels their sharp breath inflate his lungs, because the inhalations are synced.

“You mean, you’ve never met your soulmate?” They gander, to which Guy shakes his head.

“Nope. Probably never will, by the looks of it…kinda hoped my last moments wouldn’t be all black and white. Or when the time came where my life flashed before my eyes like in the movies, it would be more…lively.” The stranger beside him blinks theirs open, and keeps them afixed on the array of stars peering down.

“I’ll never even know what color my eyes are.” They scoffed, much to Guy’s surprise. It seems every beautiful stranger he crosses paths with gives him a motivational phrase to keep his eyes peeled for his other half, which is how he knows they’ve jumped the hurdle of finding theirs. “I always ask my family and friends not to tell me, so I can find out for myself.”

Guy grows tired of winking at constellations and phone cameras. He much prefers the profile of the one sitting beside him. “I’m sure whatever color they are is gorgeous.”

Whiskey or bile coats his throat—he’s too far past delusional to tell—as they turn to fully face him. And then their eyes meet.

The whooping sirens reverberate like violins and complement the symphony of cheers from the crowd below awaiting to grasp and tug their loved ones into grateful embraces. The red engines and blue cotton candy clouds perched below them—even the neon painted cart Guy is sitting in means nothing beside the revelation that his life is not flashing before his eyes. They’re sitting right in front of him, letting him study their melanin, and wind blown straggles of hair, and undoubtedly gorgeous irises.

Suddenly, the pair could stay in this spot forever.

soulmate september schedule | main masterlist | abt author

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Script: Meraki Thoughts and Notes, ACT I

...Remember when I said if we don't get something new I'll reach the phase where I dissect the movie frame to frame?

Yeah so I did decide to annotate the bloody script I am that obsessed, will put this into either two parts or three parts, this is from the start to Paris

Highlight:

Red: Deleted Scenes

Yellow: Different from the movie

Blue: Fun/Interesting Movement Descriptions

Green: Extra Information of character/set

Right off the bat, we have a deleted scene

I need someone to enlighten me about these markings: what do the numbers and letters mean? I searched online and it said that numbers means a scene, but what counts as one scene? And what is the letter then?

Again, three more deleted scenes, what the fuck. And why is the first one labelled 1? Was the movie originally supposed to start there before they added the receiving line in re-shoots?

Henry was shaking a person's hand when Alex comes up to him in the movie

TRIES TO LICK IT???? ALEX THE FUCK

Also note how the frosting thing is before "tell me something" here but after that line in the movie: In the movie, Henry didn't not see any of the frosting shenanigans since he turned away to greet someone else. The script doesn't state what Henry's doing while Alex fucks up

Two more deleted scenes!!! One of which should be Aneesh's favourite scene to film where Alex asks her how much trouble does she think he's in

Canonical Zahra and Ellen age

Ellen staring at Alex was not in the final cut, we go from the credits directly to Ellen's line. Also the "killing him" is sort of a book reference: P28 Ellen: "all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term"

TWO MORE DELETED SCENES WHAT THE FUCK

ANOTHER ONE

Ah so that's why Taylor's post of him in "Kensington Gardens" captioned “IT'S ALL LUSHHH”

Huh, he's awed

Nick improvised Henry's "Both" line

Clench teeth not that visible in the actual scene but we get the message

"Juicy photo" what the fuck

"This won't be fun" about that Alex....

Two more, one of which is the Cornetto scene, what's the other one?

Obviously we did not get this line about the outlets in the movie, but also ??? Do American outlets not have lights? Is he talking about this thing? (the red part is a light)

Henry you're enjoying yourself aren't you

ANOTHER ONE

Well this is a mess

"Essentially Spooning" WHAT

I feel like "isn't entirely unsexy" is from the book but I can't remember???

"The most shit-eating of grins"

He didn't wave, he did the V hands. That was probably Taylor lol

Canonical Oscar Age! So both Oscar and Ellen are 55, let's say movie Alex is 25 then Jesus Christ he's right they were babies when they had Alex

ANOTHER ONE I'M SOBBING AT HOW MANY AT THIS POINT

Firstprince Book list!!!

So this is the opposite in the movie: Henry was the one to turn around and face up instead of Alex, Alex was staring at imaginary Henry the whole time until he went to press "hang up" on his phone, on his other side

what the fuck 😭

Canon Percy Age: 24!

He was in fact wearing a white blazer with black swirls (I really liked that outfit).

"Percy is just as impressive as his clothes" HELL YEAH

"coppery-mustard"

"knowing smirk" the fuck

POST WALLFLOWER LMFAO

"dancing his ass off" love your word choice Matthew

"subtly bops to the music" yup, somehow think that applied to Nick at parties too

Aww Alex finds it "ridiculously endearing"

"even sexier midnight kiss" lmfao

"crestfallen" awww nooo Henry bbg :(

"Everyone's hands are on him, wanting a piece of ACD"... huh.

WHAT IS IT NOW

"They look so right together"

"panic growing in his chest, genuine fear crossing his face" HENRY　😭

"utterly gobsmacked" again, interesting choice of words, but accurate

TWO MORE WHAT THE FUCK

Alex was not on the floor, he was stretching against the sofa, I feel like that's a Taylor thing, but also he needs to see the TV on the wall

AGAIN????? MATTHEW!!!!

"Young James Bond" YUP

"entranced by Henry"

THREE???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

"trying out the perfect suave and sophisticated pose to greet Henry" ends up just standing straight

Can you fucking imagine the table read and Matthew saying "and THEY GO AT IT BABY"

"raw and aggressive and hot -- like they're trying to eat each other"

Note that the movement description didn't mention lifting Henry on the table or Alex hitching his thigh up, so that was designed on set

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CLOSE-UP????

“Gently” are we sure about that

"the bluest balls on the planet" lmfao

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE DELETED HERE OH MY GOD

"utterly devasting" yup

Okay there's a lot of differences here: Henry doesn't close the door, Alex grabs Henry's waist not vice verse, Henry kissed down his neck and chest after this dialogue and they tumble over the sofa, but also how to you expect him to kiss Alex's chest while simultaneously unbuttoning his shirt when they're both verticle

"J Crew finest" straight from the book

"The power of his thighs", "his arse bouncing hard in the saddle"

"who has never been so jealous of a saddle" OH MY GOD PFFTTT

I guess 55 is the extended polo scene with Bea and Pez

"attack each other" "pawing"

"Alex can't decide where to put his hands because he wants to put them everywhere at once" Istg this is a book line but I can't find it at the moment, will update when I do

YANKS in all caps

"Their meals are gone" So the photos from Matthew's BTS post where they had their meals was before this scene? But there isn't a deleted scene before or after the Paris cafe scene in the script?

Henry is charmed, huh

"whistles in amazement"

HE WAS SUPPOSED TO WINK?

Alex didn't laugh, we start the hotel scene with his back to the camera

"Henry wraps his arms around him" ... sorta? But in the movie it's Alex's shoulders

"on Henry's chest" okay yeah so this was for short Alex, TZP would have to contort himself to do that

In the movie we only see Henry undressing

(Dammit two more images but I reached the posting limit, hang on)

[strawberrystepmom]

Have you a favourite vegetable recipe to recommend? Or ones that are just quick/easy?

omg sooooo many. I will tell you that the trick to make any vegetable taste good (imo) is to sautee with garlic, a bit of lemon juice, and the seasonings of your choice but definitely salt and pepper at the very least. like I make spinach like this at least once a week and devour it bc spinach is so good for you...full of nutrients and you can eat a ton of it. i do this with fresh green beans if they're on sale and add red pepper flakes, frozen broccoli (i know sometimes it gets mushy but this tends to be the way to keep it a little more intact).

like i believe in volume eating if you're a person who likes to snack (i am) so i tend to eat large quantities of the things that are good for me. i cook a lot of spinach bc it's easy to eat a lot of it. a lot of sweet potato for the same reason and my tip with those is to literally wrap them in foil and roast them at 400 for about 1.5 hours. they almost always end up perfect and i eat mine with miso butter which is literally just butter mixed with a little bit of miso paste. so so so good and good for you!

big fan of carrots too. honey roasted carrots are the easiest thing ever. i usually slice carrots in half but you can cut them in half moons or circles or whatever works best for you, you can even use baby carrots, and you mix them with cumin, garlic powder, salt, pepper, usually a little bit of whatever herbs seasoning i have on hand (or whatever you have that you like to season with), olive oil, and drizzle them with honey just before putting them in the oven. 400 degrees for 30 minutes or so and you have something that is really special and full of nutrients.

also don't sleep on kale! i know it gets a bad rep bc the fucking orthorexia bitches on instagram never shut up but roasted kale is awesome. one of my favorite meals this time of year is literally red onion, potatoes, whatever other produce i have laying around which is usually a bell pepper or two or some tomatoes and sausage all cut up into small bite size pieces. season as you like (i usually make an olive oil/dijon mustard/maple syrup glaze type thing for this) and roast that at 400 for about 25 minutes. in the last 8 or so minutes i put a couple healthy handfuls of kale dressed in the same seasonings on top to crisp up and it's amazing.

hope this helps a little bit! i know it may sound complicated but i promise you you can have any of this stuff ready in less than 30 minutes (less than 15 for sauteeing!) and it's worth it. you will poop better. you will sleep better. you will feel better!!!

[milksuu]

Do you have any random dad!phel headcanons you'd like to share about how he deals with twins? Because I'm still obsessed 🥲

hc: dad!phel and his twin boy parenting from mom!reader

tw: mention of death, angst, minor injuries

notes: rcv'd multiple req. for this one, so here you all go! between dad!phel and yandere!phel...I can't pick one atm. im obsessed with both. still working on some dad!phel comic pages. stay tuned for those. <3

dad!phel made a special request to be a stay-at-home father for the first few years to raise the twins. just until they were of elementary school age. working from home was a huge help, and none of the his band mates minded. and of course, neither did manager auntie alune. considering she wanted what was best for her brother and nephews.

dad!phel made sure to keep them on a consistent schedule as infants, doing everything from feedings to cuddle times. it took him multiple failed attempts to get them in sync, especially when they shared a crib. if one woke up, then sure enough to other did. wailing and crying. double the sleepless nights for him. he made the healthy-dad choice of switching from heart attack inducing energy drinks to zen-out green tea. but even that was becoming an addiction. at some point he did buy a seperate crib for each. and baby monitors helped help him anticipate when one was stirring, so he could intercept one before the cries woke the other.

dad!phel encouraged the twins individuality whenever he could. naturally, they gravitated to each other whatever the situation was. it was no different between him and alune. except he felt he relied too heavily on his sister most of the time, which made social life difficult for him to navigate through without her. to make sure this wouldn't happen to either of them, he never bought matching sets for clothing or toys. allowing them to decide how they preferred to express themselves. of course, he would never turn down a matching gift set from his band mates or alune. usually he saved those pairs for when they were being watched over by the gifting recipient. it saved him from a awkward situation, made the other person happy, and the twins apathetic. a small win.

dad!phel also encouraged them having different sets of skills and hobbies, to even friend groups. again, not easy when they constantly wanted to hold each others hands for dear life, especially in new situations. it wasn't unusual for one to cry when the other was taken to another activity in their primary school years. it always weighed heavily when the instructors mentioned these outbursts between them. thinking perhaps he wasn't being a good or fair father to them. it took many pep talks from alune and the school counselor that this was normal, and he was doing his best as a single father.

dad!phel was never the best at making lunches...or breakfast, or dinner, or anything culinary related. Everything was either undercooked, overcooked, over salted, or just not the right combination of ingredients. it was one of his sore spots as a stay-at-home dad. the twins stopped complaining when he all but lost it when trying to make a ham sandwich without too much mustard. the twins quickly learned to just say 'thanks dad this is great', feed it to the neighborhood stray or flowers growing outside, and sneak into the fridge later. but they always appreciated when their dad writes words of affirmation on their school lunches, like 'keep on shining my awesome stars', and 'love you to the moon and back'.

dad!phel makes sure the twins keep up with their sign language retention and development, making it a rule for them to always use it at home. believing it will help them bolster their prospects in the future. when they're being rather defiant teenagers, he will only respond to them if they sign to him while speaking. otherwise, he pretends he's deaf rather than mute , and just continues on with whatever he's doing. it doesn't take them long to change their tune, especially if their asking for the latest video game about to release.

dad!phel was and still is the master of all pranks. everyday is a potential battle field of trick mines and purposefully placed banana peels. he has house cameras installed for a reason. watching anytime the twins are hiding to blast him with a double-trouble water gun. little do they know, he has a water balloon launcher at the ready. the twins smarten up real quick, find the hidden cameras, then hack into the security system. uploading and rendering a static image of a 'peaceful' household. then it was dad!phel who had to smarten up real quick. especially when their prank on him almost blew up the neighborhood powerline generator. (he rather not go into details)

dad!phel doesn't have any pictures of mom!reader around the house. ever since her passing, it's been too difficult to have any kind of reminder. a pain that he can't seem to get over, no matter how many support group session he takes himself to along with the twins. but he is trying, for the day he can unbury a single photo he has of mom!reader from the depths of his closet. and buried deep in the recesses of his heart.

"Dad. It's not fair. It's like you just keep her all to yourself," one of the twins stated.

"Sure, you've told us about her, but you've never showed even one picture. So, why's that? Why won't you show her to us?" the other cut in, biting on his words. "Did you even love her?"

Dinner conversation fell to a static silence. It shocked him to his core. He had heard these words before. These whispers. At the funeral. Relatives. Family members. Friends. Conversing in front of him. Behind him. All around him.

[Look at him. He's not even crying.]

[Does he even feel anything? She died giving birth to his children for God's sake.]

[I feel bad for them. Even if they weren't planned. Imagine having to be raised by a father so emotionless as him. Does he even have a heart?]

[Did he even love her?]

His eyes were wide, staring at nothing but a distant memory. Lost to everything. His hands trembled. Reigning them to steady, he placed them on his barely emptied plate. Without a word, he lifted himself along with his plate, sauntering heavily to the sink. Washing, picking, scrubbing. Every spot. Every lie—they were all wrong. He felt everything. So vividly. So painfully. If he surrendered to even a fraction of it, the whole world would break into unmendable pieces. So he couldn't cry. Couldn't feel anything. He had to be strong for her. He had to be strong for them.

"Dad. Stop. You're going to—!" One of the twins rose in their seat, but it was too late. The plate shattered from the destructive pressure, slicing bits and pieces of his hands. He didn't feel a thing. Maybe they were right after all.

The twins rushed to their father's side. One worked on removing the splinters of ceramic digging into his palms, the other pressing wads of paper towels to his gashes and cuts. When the moment settled, the twins sniffed on their tears, hugging him at each side.

"We're sorry dad. Really sorry," one choked, burying their nose into his sleeve.

"We...We didn't mean..." the other hiccuped, dampening his other sleeve. "We just wish we met her. That's all."

In the vacant stare of his eyes, a wetness blurred his vision. For the first time. Since he gathered the two bassinets from the NICU staff. To the moment he stepped into a cold empty home with them. Afraid to even touch them, till they reached out and took hold of his fingers. The tears came pouring, and he felt they would never end. Drowning and suffocating him in such bitter sweet memories.

He gathered his sons in his arm, condensing himself in the comfort of their soft beds of hair. Allowing the tears to stain his face and drip in dollops from his quivering chin.

They had to know. They needed to know. They deserved to know. That he loved their mother more than anything in this world.

And with them, he felt her love every single day.

[greyeyedmonster-18]

best day

(For @goodboylupin’s Candy Hearts Challenge. My candy heart prompt was "best day". thank you for hosting this mini-fest once again.)

Days are bad. Life is hard. Love is the easiest thing in the world.

-

It was raining outside, wind howling through the cracks of the windows, rattling the pipes outside of Remus and Sirius's flat. Remus was wishing right about then he hadn't insisted on paying part of the rent. Maybe then they would be tucked away in some lavish home in London; someplace where they didn't have to shut the windows with such force and didn't seem to be swaying with the wind.

He knew it was going to be a bad day the moment he rolled out of bed and heard the sound of the steady rain. Because his joints ached, and his hands were stiff. Because he was going to be one of those idiots outside in this weather--the kind everyone pointed at from their car windows, snickering behind their palms--holding fast to a withering umbrella, hoping he didn't get blown away with everything. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have bothered leaving their flat on days like this. Ordinarily, he would have made himself comfortable on the armchair they had found at some woman's estate sale, that had stains on the arm from too many nights with wine and mornings with cups of coffee and not moved a single muscle.

Waving his wand to do the simplest tasks and asking Sirius to do the others.

But today he had an interview at the Ministry, which required a lot more than a wand wave. Moving.

Remus sighed as he rummaged through his closet, pushing past worn t-shirts that Sirius insisted be hung up to find his slightly less worn button-downs. He pulled a pale green one off the hanger. No holes. No stains. It would do.

Brown trousers and a fraying belt that had survived both sixth and seventh year. He was overdue for a replacement, but when did he wear belts? For interviews, almost exclusively. Maybe once he got a job. If? He got a job. Blame it on wartime, blame it on the weather, blame it on himself, the market had been bleak. The prospects had been bleaker. Hogwarts certainly hadn’t advertised how difficult it would be to find any type of job let alone something he could actually find himself doing in the long term or had any interest in. It was all well and good to “Join the Order!” and “Fight the Good Fight!”, which Remus had been doing (whether he was doing it particularly well was another story) when you didn’t have to worry about working or making money to support yourself.

James and Sirius had both offered.

Remus always said no.

Even if right now, as he pulled a navy sweater over his collared shirt, he was wishing he had said “yes”.

Remus was wishing a lot of things.

He sat on the bed, unrolling a pair of mustard-colored socks to put on his feet.

The toe gave way. How long had he had these socks? Had they been his Dads?

Remus stared down at his big toe, poking through the top of his sock, the rest of his toes safely tucked inside.

“Well, this seems about right,” he muttered to himself, putting on his other sock before slapping his hands to his thighs and forcing himself out of the bed again.

Brushed his teeth.

A hair on the top of his head wouldn’t lie flat.

He sniffed a bottle of hair potion Sirius had in the cabinet, contemplating taking his chances, but decided better of it. Brown loafers. Remus’s bare toe wiggled inside the material. Somehow already sweating.

“Sirius?” Remus called, lingering in the threshold, realizing the flat was quiet. There was no singing; bread wasn’t baking; it wasn’t the weather for Sirius to be outside tinkering with his bike. “Sirius?” he tried again.

He ignored the sinking feeling in his chest. It was early, maybe he had just stepped out to the shops. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Remus inhaled and reached for the door handle, the wind blowing it open. At least he could wave his wand for an umbrella.

--

The day got worse from there.

Before Remus could make it to the underground, a car rushed by, splashing his pants with mud and water. Loafers soaked, and it seemed pointless to keep drying them off. A spell wasn’t going to be able to fix the sweat under his arms, or his heart that only seemed to beat faster and faster, a racehorse trying its fucking best and going nowhere, as he got closer to the front desk of the Ministry to check in for his interview.

His shoes squeaked down the hallway; his toe poking through his sock, squelching and squirming.

His voice cracked through every answer—for a job he was certain he could and would do in his sleep. Filing for fucks sake! Putting things in drawers and sitting around waiting for more papers to go into drawers or be sent to the owlery and Remus couldn’t answer a single question without clearing his throat or sounding like he was en route to a second puberty.

He didn’t bother with the umbrella on the way home, letting rain soak through his clothes, drip down his face. At least the hair on his head was now flat.

Remus sighed as he walked in through his front door, beyond defeated, dropping his soaked RJ LUPIN briefcase on the floor with a thud.

“Is that you, Remus?”

“Who else would it be?” Remus shot back, rougher than perhaps warranted.

“The Queen. Invited her over for tea,” Sirius responded as he turned the corner, stopping in front of Remus and smile fading as he took in the sight before him. Remus returned with a weak jazz hand and a feeble grin. Ta-fucking-da. “Trying out a new look, are we?”

“Where were you?”

“When?”

“I don’t know, Sirius,” Remus said, shrugging off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor, “This morning?” This month?“I went—”

“In the pouring rain?”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Forget it.”

Sirius’s eyebrows were a straight line above his hooded eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak again, pick the fight Remus wanted him to. The wind groaned outside, Remus feeling like the flat was swaying and Sirius looked over his shoulder, breaking the irritated eye contact he had with Remus to make sure the “living room” windows were still holding fast.

Remus peeled off his stuck loafers, that probably needed to go straight to the bin. The hole in his sock was bigger now, his second toe trying to come to the surface for air. Sirius turned back around to face Remus, slowly scanning the pile of wet clothes, the umbrella that wasn’t used. The hole in his sock. A body that was a breath away from giving up hope and strength to keep him standing on two feet.

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m not particularly hungry.”

“But I have an idea.”

“For dinner?”

“No,” Sirius said with a slow grin, grey eyes turning up slightly, and he inclined his head toward the bedroom, “Sort of.”

“Sirius.” But Sirius just grabbed Remus’s hand and pulled him down the hallway through the door of their room. One by one Sirius slowly took off Remus’s soaked clothes, folding everything as Remus stood there near the bed. Too curious for what was going to happen next to want to continue a fight that neither of them wanted to have. But it was a hell of a lot easier than being afraid. Remus held his arms above his head, for Sirius to take off his sweater; watched deft fingers undo every single button on his nice shirt. Watched as Sirius took off his own clothing until they were both in their underwear. Remus swallowed and brought his hand up to push a long dark curl out of Sirius’s face, safely behind his ear.

“I think we need a redo,” Sirius said, putting his both of his hands around Remus’s waist, pulling him closer.

“A redo?”

“Of today. Fresh. Never happened.”

“What are you—”

“Shh, shh,” Sirius hushed him with a kiss to his mouth before pushing him backward onto the bed. Sirius made quick work of throwing the blanket over the top of them. Positioning Remus’s hand around his waist, and Sirius flicked his wrist, to turn the lights off. “Good night.”

“Are you out of your mind—”

“Remus I’m trying to sleep. Don’t you have a job interview tomorrow? You should really get some rest.”

“I—”

Sirius feigned a snore, and Remus fell silent, kissing the back of Sirius’s neck before getting comfortable underneath the blanket, resting his nose along Sirius’s shoulder the same way he did every night to fall asleep. It was probably only five minutes, maybe less, but when the sound of birds chirping magically filled the room, and gold and orange light appeared on the ceiling, Remus couldn’t help but feel restored.

Rejuvenated.

A brand-new day.

Sirius yawned and stretched. They took their time getting out from underneath the covers, throwing on sweatpants and old t-shirts. Toothpaste kisses in the bathroom, with matching foam goatees. A shower that was going to add some trouble to the water bill, but the steam, and the hands and the fancy bath soap Sirius liked pushed every worrying thought out of Remus’s mind.

A record played as they walked down the hallway into the kitchen, Sirius going to the cabinets and pulling out flour, while Remus went to the coffee machine.

“Fancy a Dutch Baby?” Sirius asked.

“Have you ever made one before?”

“No, but I do know how to read instructions.”

“Can you follow them though?”

“Where is the fun in that,” Sirius grinned, reaching for a recipe book on top of the fridge that had been a gift from Mrs. Potter, “If I recall, there’s one in here…”

The sun was getting close to setting outside. It was dark and gloomy, and the rain was determined to keep beating down on the pavement and windowpanes. Inside it was warm, sunlight radiating off of a boy with dark hair and big heart.

“Sirius, hey—”

“Forget about it,” Sirius said, “Don’t…think on it for another second, alright? Let’s…just have a good day. The best day even.”

A good day. They needed more of those.

Remus paused, before closing the lid of the coffee maker, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Moons. Now—remind me how the oven warms up,” Sirius said, gesturing to the stove and oven combination in their tiny kitchen. Remus shook his head and pressed a kissed to Sirius’s lips. Soft. Sighing. He looked down at his feet.

His socks were still on—Sirius hadn’t taken those off when the day restarted. The seam was intact.

[assortedseaglass]

Borne & Bound - I

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

[Masterlist]

Summary: When Prince Aemond insults the commander of the Braedel cavalry, Viserys sends him to their kingdom so that he may learn the art of diplomacy and do battle with the commander herself, the spirited Lady Geowyth.

Content Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Smut, Canon-typical Sexism, Mentions of Incest¸ Mentions of Sexual Assault

Word Count: 2.6K

Note: Just a little intro chapter. This is completely canon divergent. I am rubbish at intricate plotting and relatively new to this fandom. This idea has been rummaging around for a good while in my head, and it’s time to put it into action. If you do want an amazingly plotted, political Aemond Targaryen story, please please please read You Were Always With Me by @myfandomprompts. I was on tenterhooks for every upload, it’s a masterfully crafted story with complex character analysis and so many tense and thrilling moments. I adored it!

I think many people have done this, but I’ve aged up the Targaryen children to their mid-twenties.

“Pay attention,”

“It’s too fucking hot,”

“Be quiet!”

Casting his eye over his sister’s head, Aemond watched his mother and brother hiss lowly to each other. The afternoon was hot. Oppressively so. The clock tower above the sept chimed, marking an hour since they had appeared on the barbican steps, and an hour of passive bickering. A mustard butterfly flew across his face, and he looked down to see Helaena’s mournful gaze follow it. She smiled at him half-heartedly and turned back to the crowded steps as Ser Harrold’s voice carried over them.

“Lord Jason, of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Ward of the West.”

In a sweep of embroidered velvet, Ser Tyland moved from his sentinel behind the royal family to greet his twin and the other members of his house.

“Lord Borros, of House Baratheon, Lord of Storms End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.”

The list of houses was endless. Despite the Targaryen proclivity for heat, even Aemond could feel a trickle of sweat journey its way along his spine. Thunder rumbled around the walls of the barbican and the gathered crowd stirred. Aemond cast his eye upwards, and the clear sky stared back.

“It won’t rain,” came Helaena’s soft voice beside him. Still Aemond watched the sky. “They would let us know.” At this, he turned to his sister. She was pointing to a beetle on the stone steps. A little way off, a sparrow watched it with glinting eyes.

“Mmm,” his eye moved to Aegon, who had stopped his fussing to listen to his sister-wife. He rolled his eyes at Aemond, who ignored him and turned slowly back to the approaching nobles. The youngest Baratheon girl gasped as his eye moved over her, and she inched closer to her sisters. The stiff leather of this doublet hid his sigh, for Aemond was used to this response, especially from the younger women of the court. On his eighteenth nameday, he decided once and for all to forgo the ugly eyepatch he wore to cover his disfigurement. The serving boy acting as his valet made to place the patch over his braided hair, when the young prince grasped his wrist.    

“Not tonight,”

The boy bowed and left the prince to his chambers. In the candlelight of the room, the sapphire in place of the prince’s missing eye shone vivid and the violet of the other, so famed in Targaryen lore, looked dull by comparison. With one last glance at his reflection, Aemond smoothed his green tunic, flicked the unbraided strands of blond hair over his shoulder, and made his solitary way to the feast. How rude of him, to keep his guests waiting.

With excited steps, he hurried through the keep and to the throne room. A few maidservants gasped upon seeing him and scurried aside, curtsying deeply as he passed them. Even today, Aemond could feel pride swelling in his chest. Maesters, heading back to their cloisters bowed with solemn utterances of his name, and Aemond nodded back, not noticing how their eyes trailed after the young prince with pity and horror. Two guards jumped into position as he approached the great doors of the hall, Aemond barely registering their exchange of shock. Light poured into the hall as they swung open the doors, the orange glow of flame illuminating the prince at the head of the hall. Ser Harrold’s voice announced his arrival, faltering as he turned to look at the young man. No sooner had he entered the hall did the whispered chatter begin. Members of every house gazed upon his nightmarish visage. Some couldn’t look. Girls from noble houses, adorned in their finery, some whom he had hoped to court, turned from his face when he looked upon them. The rest of the memory was a blur of hot tears and screamed vengeance. Since then, the eyepatch remained firmly in place.

“Brother,” Helaena’s hand brushed his own. “You’re staring.” Aemond blinked once, twice and averted his eye from the poor Baratheon girl, her own boring into the ground, quaking as her sister held her hand. Lord Borros and Queen Alicent talked quietly, exchanging pleasantries and glancing occasionally in Aemond’s direction. Ah, so that was the order of it. Marry him off to a Baratheon. Well, the youngest was certainly out of the running.

Another rumble of thunder rattled off the stone walls, accompanied by the clatter of metal against leather. Beside Aemond, Helaena gasped and clapped her hands together. The sound was not due to thunder at all, but the cavalry of horses making its way through the Red Keep’s portcullis. Many of the gathered crowd scuttled to the sides of the barbican courtyard, the Baratheons huddled next to the Queen and the Lannisters stopped in the doorway of the council chamber, eager to assess the party’s new arrivals.

At least three dozen dark stallions poured through the gates, their loose manes rippling in the breeze. The clap of their hooves across the courtyard sent deep tremors through the prince, and at his side he felt his sister shiver. With excitement or nerves, he didn’t know. Above the horses, banners of bronze, blue and wine-rich red flew in the air, the horses emblazoned on them riding the wind, and atop each steed sat a knight, their riding leathers adorned with the sigil of their house; the bucking horse with teeth bared. The helmets of their armour produced plumes of horsehair, no doubt to give the impression they were at one with their mounts. Aemond scoffed. It was a sweet attempt to seem commanding, he supposed. His amusement turned to horror however, when he noticed the slightness of some of the warriors. It couldn’t be. Beneath many of the helmets, scattered amongst the knights, were women. Women in battle dress, shields slung over their backs and swords at their side. The prospect of marrying a Baratheon girl did not seem so dreadful now, if the only women at court were to be Helaena’s ladies-in-waiting, the noble ladies his mother pushed at him or these horse maids.

“Gestillan!”

The cry came from the front of the cavalry, the language one that Aemond could not place, and the cavalry shuffled to a halt. Every head turned towards them. Three riders led the troop, two men and a woman.

“Lord Geodred, of House Beridan, heir to Braedel and commander of the Renward, his sister, Lady Geowyth, and Ser Herumbrand Fasthelm, captain of the Renward.”

Lord Geodred, the man who had issued the call, was at the centre of the three. Unlike the rest of the riders, the three leaders wore no helmets, and Lord Geodred’s hair shone russet like a crown about his head. Stubble decorated his round cheeks, and his small eyes twinkled with mirth. There was something in him that reminded Aemond of his mother in her happier days. The tunic he wore was made of velvet, the fabric coloured the same as the sky when Aemond rode Vhagar just before sun’s rise; that deep, endless blue. Bronze pattern work wound around his sleeves and cape, draped nobly over his mount’s back.

The man to his right was an imposing beast. Ser Herumbrand. The old knight’s dark armour was flecked with scratches, though none could quite match those across his face. His white hair was roughly shorn close to his scalp and, combined with the jutting of his square jaw, gave the man a look of stone come to life. Grey eyes scanned the royals and gathered nobles. He looked down his wide nose at them, though his mouth gave him away. The faintest smile played at the corners if his lips. At his side, his hand rested against the hilt of an enormous sword, the other lax on the reign of the chestnut horse he rode. The two men dismounted and Aemond watched their progress up the great steps towards the royal family. Lord Geodred bowed deeply to the Queen, and when she held out her hand, rather than bend to kiss it, Geodred clasped it warmly with both of his.

“An honour, my Queen, that you would have us attend the King’s council. I am only sorry that it is I and not our uncle,”

“And I am sorry that my husband is not here to welcome you, and that your dear uncle is ill. How is the good King?”

“He is well enough, for now-”

A glint of gold caused Aemond’s eye to drift from his mother and her guests to the woman now dismounting from her own stallion. The black horse she rode was an enormous creature, perhaps the largest horse he had ever seen. The tangle of mane covered its eyes, and it huffed through its flared nostrils as its rider departed with a firm pat to his sleek and muscled neck. From beneath its muzzle she appeared, removing her leather riding gloves and handing them to the rider beside her. Like her brother, the Lady Geowyth was bonny faced, though her hair was much darker. It cascaded in frizzy strands to her waist, the effect giving her the look of something haunted, like a witch fresh from a bog. Where her brother wore blue, she wore the red of her house, dark like blood, the velvet gown frayed and sprayed with mud no doubt from the journey. Lifting the skirt of her dress, she approached her brother, who turned and introduced his sister to the Queen. Aemond watched she curtsied, deeper than any who had come before her, and thanked her for her hospitality.

The Braedels moved along the row, first Lord Geodred, then his sister and Ser Herumbrand. Geodred shook Aegon’s hand jovially after bowing, and the poor prince looked jostled. His ability to stand upright was already hampered by his drinking and the vigorous shaking by a warrior lord did nothing to help him. The lady, Geowyth, curtsied to the prince who took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. He muttered something and she laughed, from genuine pleasure or politeness Aemond could not tell. When the party moved towards Helaena, Aegon looked to his brother and winked, licking his lips. He laughed as Aemond imperceptibly shook his head, but ceased when his mother smacked his arm. Aemond distinctly saw her mutter the word “behave.”

Unlike with his mother and brother, Aemond noted that Lord Geodred did not touch Helaena, merely bowed with a gentle “hello”, to which she nodded and clasped her hands. Instead, he stepped aside and introduced the princess to his sister. Helaena, taken by one of her flights of fancy, held out a hand and caught the dark velvet of Lady Geowyth’s cape. She ran her fingers along it murmuring about the delicacy of the embroidery.

“Perhaps we could go to the haberdashers,” Geowyth said gently. “And choose fabric together? By the old Gods and the new, it would be nice to have the company of another young woman.”

Helaena beamed, nodding as she let go of the fabric and swung her arms in front of her. Geodred stepped before Aemond and raised his eyebrows, the act denoting fondness rather than annoyance at their two sisters. The Lord’s calm countenance and assuredness belied his true age for up close, Aemond noted he could have been no older than thirty.

“Prince Aemond,” Geodred bowed. “A pleasure. Your father’s letters to my uncle tell that you are a great student of history.” Beside him, Geowyth looked up.

“History, yes,” Aemond’s voice was measured. “And the languages.”

Geodred nodded. “I hope that you would find the time to show me some of your favourite volumes. I have not the head for history but must learn if I am to inherit my uncle’s kingdom.”

“Of course,” Aemond bowed his head only slightly. “And I might enquire as to your language-” He let the sentence hang, waiting on Geodred to answer.

“Braehic, spoken only in our kingdom. Aed grundset,” At these unknown words, Aemond’s lips twitched into an uncomfortable smile and he bowed, signifying to Geodred that their conversation was at an end. The other man smiled and moved aside. “My sister, Geowyth.”

She was already deep in a bow when Aemond looked upon her. The hair she left untied, tangled like that of her steed, fell forward from her shoulders and near swept the floor. When she straightened to her full height, she met Aemond almost eye to covered eye. At once, Aemond’s eye fell to the ground. The flicker was quick, and he recovered to look at her once again, but nonetheless, they had caught him off guard. Like the bronze of Beridan banners, her eyes gleamed amber. Framed beneath her dark and straight lashes, they stared into his own like an eagle after prey, so bright they were almost yellow. She smiled.

“Your Grace,”

“My lady.” Aemond possessed none of the easy charm of his brother, nor the intriguing gentleness of his sister and, frozen under the gaze of her eyes, said nothing at all. The lady had clearly not expected his silence and glanced quickly to her brother.

“My Queen,” Geodred stepped forward and offered Alicent his arm. “I believe we are the last to arrive-”

“Thank the mother, the maiden and the crone’s sagging-”

“Thank you, Lord Geodred,” Alicent cut Aegon off, taking Geodred’s arm and leading him inside the Red Keep. Behind them followed the royal children and the nobles of the other houses. Helaena tucked her arm into Aemond’s, watching the party from Braedel every now and again over her shoulder.

“Borne and bound,” she muttered.  

“Hm?” Aemond followed her eyes. Lady Geowyth and Ser Herumbrand were deep in conversation. The old knight’s eyes caught Aemond’s and the young prince turned around.

“I like them,”

“I’m glad, sister,” he squeezed her hand. “They seemed very taken by you too.” Helaena blushed and clung closer to him.

“Shame the same can’t be said about you,” Aegon took Helaena’s arm from Aemond’s. When the time was right and he was sober enough to remember, Aegon liked to act the doting husband to his sister. Aemond bowed his head and took great strides to be away from his family and the party behind them, catching Aegon’s words as he departed for his chambers.

“Only a few more hours of council and then the drinking can begin.” A roar of approval rose from the noblemen and Aemond sighed. Between the council and the King’s nameday festivities, women being forced upon him or being ignored completely, Aemond knew this week was to be excruciating.

Note: Gestillan = halt

Aed grundset = of course

The language that the Braedel kingdom speaks is Old English. I was inspired (no surprises here) by Tolkien and the Rohirrim, and the area of the UK that I am from when creating this house. There will be a lot more about them and their society in upcoming chapters! The names in old English names are typically said how the are written, though the prefix “geo” is said as “gay-O”, rather than the “geo" in “geography”.

Tags: @arcielee @mefools @bladeofdreadfort @glitterandgoldfinds @heimtathurs @ewanmitchellcrumbs

[sgiandubh]

Charities and politics: the thin, red line

When you are a proven impostor and idiot and still you insist, it's time to remind you a simple Roman proverb: errare humanum est, perseverare diabolicum. In other, English, words: to err is human, but to persist is diabolical.

Or supremely stupid: your pick, Max.

This page is not into politics at all - and I explained why: this is a very familiar terrain to this blogger, who'd really like to enjoy her daily time off that particular kind of madding crowd. However, from time to time, reality manages to pierce the veil, such as today, when news of Humza Yousaf stepping down as Scottish First Minister made worldwide headlines - just a basic example: https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/29/world/europe/scotland-humza-yousaf-resigns-snp.html

That does not mean that the whole Cabinet is bound to resign, unless next Wednesday's debate on a non confidence vote promoted by Scottish Labour is lost. By the way, non-Scottish Max.

Never mind Max very recently amused me to no tomorrow, with her color blind, non-European view of Scottish politics (and politics, in general). Never mind she wrote enormous things like the SNP and Greens being politically opposed Scottish parties, just because of Yousaf's recent horrible blunder kicking the Scottish Greens out of his coalition cabinet and trying to keep the steer of a minority SNP cabinet. The SNP & Scottish Greens coalition partnership is very likely to resume as soon as John Swinney (or perhaps Kate Forbes, but my money is not on her, for many reasons: too divisive, too close to elections, etc) is hastily anointed First Minister (https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2024/apr/29/snp-looks-to-unity-candidate-after-humza-yousaf-quits-as-first-minister). No Scottish person, living anywhere else than under a rock, would have aligned this intergalactic bullshit with such confidence and such bad syntax:

Angus Robertson is a shrewd politician. He needed to be seen doing exactly that, yesterday night: showing off at an event hosted by S, once a very vocal support of the Scottish Greens. Here is why, according to normal people, like the Guardian's Scottish Politics team:

[Source: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2024/apr/29/snp-looks-to-unity-candidate-after-humza-yousaf-quits-as-first-minister]

How old is Max, anyways? Where do they live? I won't add insult to injury, but boy do they seem to write from an ever more far-flung corner of the world than me, and my money is on South America, for many reasons I will not develop here. I chose to be merciful, tonight.

Tonight, she comes back with a renewed batch of freshly half-baked ineptitude:

Please ignore the hideous word salad the two first sentences are. Google Translate would have done better. Who dunnit? Alexa, in the kitchen, with Colonel Mustard? Let's focus on the Big, Fat Lie, here:

'Any participation in events involving charities must be independent and must not support or be endorsed by any political party or be associated with any candidate or politician.'

This is simply not true. If that were to be true, on this planet, or at least in the UK or Scotland, we would never have any NGOs actively lobbying politicians, hosting debates with them or petitioning them on various issues ranging from road safety to global warming.

I will refer the definitely non-Scottish blogger Maximum Wobbling Bullshit to the official factsheet on this very topic, issued by the OSCR, the Scottish Charity Regulator (https://www.oscr.org.uk/media/2899/v14_faqs-charities-and-campaigning-on-political-issues.pdf):

The above rule is limited to the case of election campaigns, as it is logical to be, since a husting simply is another way to call a campaign meeting. There was no campaign related anything yesterday night, the comments were simply about a Scottish national policy that is anything but political (promote Scottish tourism!), Angus Robertson is not a candidate to be Scotland's next First Minister. And same goes for the WWF and Blood Cancer UK - if you think those people went to that gala without a mandate from their NGO Board, you are: a) 5; b) delusional; c) a foul-mouthed troll.

Anyways, to go to the bottom of it, I also looked in the Scottish Charity Register - because you never know what those people might come up with, again:

As I think we all know, MPC is a registered US Limited Liability Company (LLC), based in Delaware. Its California branch is now closed, but the Nevada one was still active, one hour ago, when I checked:

And in case you are still wondering, after all these years, about MPC's legal status, here is their legally impeccable FAQ answer to the people who subscribe and who would legitimately want to know where their money goes, after all:

An LLC is a relatively recent (1970s) hybrid type of legal entity, equivalent perhaps (give or take a couple of technicalities) to the UK's PLC. In my professional view, it offers the best legal framework for what S tried to achieve with it, allowing both for management flexibility and tax transparency. If MPC does not present itself as a charity, it has the entire right to do so and is, therefore, not a charity, from a legal point of view, unless otherwise successfully contended in court.

You are still an idiot and a liar, though.

PS: S has not shared Robertson's X message on his own socials. Just so you know, MAX. [Later edit: extensively quoting The Scottish Daily Express, the Scottish edition of The Daily Express, a notorious UKIP/Farage supporting media outlet, hate speech condemned by the UN High Commissioner on Human Rights, just tells me once more time what a color blind impostor you are, Max.]

[paris-in-space]

Hey, I was wondering how you chose colors for the Dracula cast! (I love Arthur's red jacket.)

Hi! I am so sorry I only just saw this ask today, but I’ll answer it now, hopefully it was worth the wait (at least with the drawing asks I have the excuse of not having had time to draw things).

Okay so, a lot of the decisions I made when it comes to the colours was on instinct, but I can still try and explain.

Jonathan wears brown, with a hint of red in his tie, and has brown hair and eyes, I wanted his colours to be relatively unassuming, the little bit of red is for visual interest but also maybe hints that he’s not just an average guy, but his design is intentionally quite plain.

When I first designed Mina it was actually for an English Lit A Level class where I had to make a character sheet about her, so I actually googled her for inspiration and took some from her look in the 1992 film (I now hate that film although it does have gorgeous visuals) and I think the green from her outfits in that film stuck in my head. Initially in my mind I didn’t imagine her as a redhead however when it came to actually putting colour on her it felt like a good decision to make, and offers some nice contrast to the green. Her earrings are meant to be like drops of blood because symbolism.

Lucy wears pink because I think of her as being pretty and feminine, the choice to have multiple shades of pink in her outfit was just to make it more interesting although the ribbon she wears in her hair matches with Arthur’s tie. Her hair is a warm blonde because of the sunny ripples line in the book, and her eyes are brown to keep things warm.

Arthur is the character whose design has changed the most since the first time I ever drew him, and I’m glad of it. (My original design of him was incredibly boring) although since first adding colour it has changed very little. The choice of red both looks nice next to Lucy and fits in with the other suitors whilst still being distinctly different. Choosing Arthur’s colours was very much a case of seeing what felt right rather than thinking too much about it in depth. (Also thank you for the compliment on his jacket.)

Jack spends a lot of time being sad so a cold colour palette made sense for him, I think the green has some medical connotations, and still allows for him to have some colour in his design without being too bright. Aside from brown shoes which sort of balance out his hair, any other clothing than his waistcoat and tie are grey because I don’t think he’s the sort to wear much colour. He also has the palest skin of the lot because he spends a lot of time inside.

Quincey on the other hand has such a warm presence as a character that his colour palette is full of warm tones. His mustard yellow waistcoat is the most memorable thing to me but it isn’t his only defining colour, I mostly just wanted him to have a very warm presence without venturing too close to Arthur’s red. I am also fully on board with the idea of Quincey being a person of colour.

Renfield is very grey all around with almost purple undertones. His clothes are very much inspired by the 1931 film which was of course black and white, and are also simple enough that many other colour choices wouldn’t make much sense for him. His hair reflects his age, and his complexion is somewhat unnatural (definitely unhealthy) to sort of separate him as a link between Dracula and the human world whilst also not really being a part of either.

I have barely drawn Van Helsing in colour so I don’t think I can really do a colour analysis on him yet, I need to get into the habit of drawing him and actually design him an everyday outfit, I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve done him in colour he was wearing black because of Lucy’s death.

Dracula himself is a mysterious black shadow with red eyes, mostly because I like the idea of depicting his menacing presence and dangerous vibe without specific details, I also really like the idea of a Dracula adaptation where you don’t actually see Dracula, and just have the mystery that the characters face and whilst drawing him this way isn’t exactly doing that, I think knowing this might make the design make more sense.

I hope this makes sense and was worth waiting so long.

(I had to re type a bunch of this a few times because I accidentally clicked off without saving more than once, having typed out multiple paragraphs)