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I was working with an item today that just utterly flabbergasted a part of me (the other was deeply frustrated with the catalogue record AS SOMEONE APPARENTLY THOUGHT IT WAS PRINTED ON SILK, coming back to that in a minute) … but ANYWAYS … said item is a replica of a medieval manuscript prayer book THAT IS ENTIRELY WOVEN out of grey and black silk … WOVEN … text, images, intricate grey scale, WOVEN … NOT PRINTED …

And it’s flabbergasting because it’s from 1888, Jacquard machine, IT USED PUNCH CARDS to weave these intricate pages … something like 400 weft per near square inch … IT looks like a page of textured paper, but it’s not, it’s entirely SILK … F*CK …

Anyways …

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I love reading fanfics where one character is tagged as jealous, but their partner is unlovable to anyone but them. Like.. calm down, sweetheart, no one wants your man. We're still trying to figure out why you want your man.

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In a last ditch attempt to save your people, you offer your life to an ancient god of war and blood. Unfortunately, your translation of the ancient text was a bit off. You're married now.

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Dawn sighed. "Oh, Marianne," she said, "dearest sister, I can't believe you went and stole my man like this, even if I'm glad you have a Valentine this year."

This innocent lament had the effect of turning Marianne's face as red as a ripe tomato and send her into a spluttering rush of excuses and denials.

"He's not--!" Marianne said, "He's never been your--I haven't--we're not--no!"

"I saw it too." Sunny said from the backseat. "Unless they've invented mouth-to-mouth combat . . . But, really, Marianne, how could you steal Dawn's man like this?"

Marianne wished she could melt into the car's passenger seat and disappear from her current plane of reality. However she did still have enough venom left in her system to remark to Sunny, "And you're welcome."

Sunny's eyes went round and they darted frantically between staring at Marianne with horror and checking to see if Dawn had any reaction to Marianne's implications. Dawn was busy at the wheel of the car, navigating a left-hand turn, and made no comment.

"Really," Dawn sighed when she could spare the attention from the road, "Boggy really does have the most blue eyes and exquisite cheekbones. No wonder your skin got cut when you punched him, they're as sharp as knives. Yeah, I definitely could have made him Mr. Dawn."

"Over my dead body!" Marianne snapped.

"Don't be so jealous, sis." Dawn said.

"I'm not jeal--! Look, he's six feet of trouble, definitely, and I would never let you go out with him!"

"Marianne! I would never dream of going out with my sister's boyfriend!"

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"Oh? I thought the deal was sealed along with that very passionate kiss." Dawn said with a raised eyebrow.

"You don't mean," Sunny said, gasping, "That it was just an emergency room fling? The scandal!"

"Don't you dare break my Boggy's heart!" Dawn said sternly. "He's a very sensitive guy."

Sunny shook his head. He said, "She snaps him up while we go bring the car around and drops him twice as quick. I thought we brought you up better than this."

Marianne regretted every choice that had led her to this moment, starting with her unfortunate decision to exist in the first place. She herself was hazy on the details around the . . . incident. It had just seemed like a natural progression of events at the time. Bickering had turned into banter and Bog had turned from foe to friend to kindred spirit. One moment they had been viciously denouncing every aspect of Valentines Day and the next . . . the next . . .

"It must've been me who got hit in the head," Marianne said, covering her face with her hoodie, "My brain cells got deranged. I'm not responsible for my actions."

"By the way," Dawn said, "We got his contact info from his mom before they left."

"Yeah," Sunny said, with a tinge of malice, "you're welcome."

Broken Hearts in the Emergency Room

Marianne leaned back in her chair and considered the off-white ceiling panels of the emergency room waiting area. She considered the throbbing pain in her knuckles and how long it would take for the doctor to see her with so many patients it was standing room only. She considered how her hand had not hurt this much when she punched Roland. She considered the irony of the bloody tear on her knuckles being in the shape of heart.

Yes, all things considered, this was the second worst Valentines Day of her life.

"I really hope you didn't break your hand this time." Dawn fussed, wrapping a towel around a fresh bag of frozen peas and putting it on Marianne's hand. Marianne just grunted. Dawn continued, raising her voice in a pointed manner, "And I really hope you didn't break his cheekbone!"

There was another grunt. This one came from the seat next to Marianne. A pair of long legs uncrossed and recrossed.

"He's not even bleeding." Marianne mumbled.

"He can't see out of his right eye, it's so swollen!" Dawn said. She produced a bag of frozen corn, apparently having run out of peas, and offered it to the owner of the swollen eye. "It's such a shame, too," Dawn said, "He's got such lovely eyes and cheekbones."

The owner of the swollen eye and long legs was overcome with a coughing fit, having apparently choked when a gasp disrupted his breathing. Recovering, he pressed the corn to his face and groaned.

Marianne slid down in her seat and occupied herself with pressing the bones in the back of her hands to see if any were noticeably out of place.

"Are you okay, Boggy?" Dawn asked.

"Bog." Their seatmate mumbled. "'M fine."

Bog was not fine.

His face had been smashed to pieces and it was no doubt the fragments of his skull responsible for the stabbing pains around his eye. He wished he'd never left the house that day. He wished he hadn't let himself be talked into grabbed a drink with his coworkers. He wished he hadn't caught the eye of the fluffy-haired little blonde girl decked out in glitter and hearts. He especially wished he hadn't been so aggressively, loudly rude in response to her flirting because that had summoned a blood-thirsty sister who had taken umbrage with his attitude and taken a swing at his face.

The blonde--Dawn--had been so sweetly apologetic about her sister that Bog felt embarrassed and ashamed for being so rude, but the sister--Marianne--was so angry and sullen that Bog was forced into retaliatory grumpiness and was finding it hard to apologize. Anyway, he was ultimately the injured party and should be extended an apology first.

"What kind of name is 'Bog' anyway." Marianne muttered.

A spike of annoyance pierced through Bog's embarrassment. "Oh, don't even start!" He said. "And if you must then at least don't take such a cheap shot. I've heard it all."

"Bog body?" Marianne persisted, challenged.

"In high school. Daily."

"Bog of Eternal Stench?"

"I've lost count."

"Spider-infested cranberry bog?"

"Endless variations."

"Do you write a lot of posts online--"

"All bog/blog puns have been exhausted."

Marianne fell into a thoughtful silence, stumped for the moment. Bog took the opening. He said, "If I hadn't been slouching would I have a chest injury instead of a black eye?"

"I am not short!" Marianne said instantly, "You're just some sort of ambulatory redwood!"

"You being short and him being tall can both be true." Dawn said with the air of a mediator maintaining fairness in this exchange.

"For a moment I thought a wee winged fairy was fluttering up to take a poke at me." Bog said, sensing weakness and seized on it.

Marianne fired back. She said, "I wonder if your black eye wasn't a per-existing injury from smacking your face on door frames!"

"I choose to overlook that remark."

"Because you're the bigger person?"

"I try not to let these little things get me down."

"It's amazing how such a tall guy can be so low."

"They say tiny things are cute but I guess the exception proves the rule."

"You're both pretty cute." Dawn said brightly. "Now break and go back to your corners."

Bog realized he was nearly nose-to-nose with Marianne, having leaned forward to better utilize his glare. It was not being as effective as usual. His face, already flushed with anger, still managed to raise the heat a degree or two before he collected himself and slouched back down in his seat, focusing on the renewed throbbing around his eye.

Marianne frowned ferociously and did not dwell on how bright blue Bog's eyes were in such a heavy-browed face. Instead she thought about how the peas were getting squishy.

Dawn snapped a picture of Bog.

Bog bit back an angry protest and tried to deliver a calm inquiry about why she had decided to document his face.

Dawn smiled. "Your bruise looks kind of like a heart! Besides, we should keep a record of your injury, just in case. Don't worry, I won't show it to anyone!"

"Oh . . . kaaaay." Bog sighed.

"Not until the wedding reception, anyway," Dawn murmured.

"What?" Bog asked.

"Huh?" Marianne said.

Dawn added a glitter filter to the picture she had taken of Bog and Marianne's blushing profiles. "Nothing!" she said, thinking that this Valentines wasn't so bad even if she had to cancel her date with Hadrian. She could not wait to tell Sunny all about this.

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Broken Hearts in the Emergency Room

Marianne leaned back in her chair and considered the off-white ceiling panels of the emergency room waiting area. She considered the throbbing pain in her knuckles and how long it would take for the doctor to see her with so many patients it was standing room only. She considered how her hand had not hurt this much when she punched Roland. She considered the irony of the bloody tear on her knuckles being in the shape of heart.

Yes, all things considered, this was the second worst Valentines Day of her life.

"I really hope you didn't break your hand this time." Dawn fussed, wrapping a towel around a fresh bag of frozen peas and putting it on Marianne's hand. Marianne just grunted. Dawn continued, raising her voice in a pointed manner, "And I really hope you didn't break his cheekbone!"

There was another grunt. This one came from the seat next to Marianne. A pair of long legs uncrossed and recrossed.

"He's not even bleeding." Marianne mumbled.

"He can't see out of his right eye, it's so swollen!" Dawn said. She produced a bag of frozen corn, apparently having run out of peas, and offered it to the owner of the swollen eye. "It's such a shame, too," Dawn said, "He's got such lovely eyes and cheekbones."

The owner of the swollen eye and long legs was overcome with a coughing fit, having apparently choked when a gasp disrupted his breathing. Recovering, he pressed the corn to his face and groaned.

Marianne slid down in her seat and occupied herself with pressing the bones in the back of her hands to see if any were noticeably out of place.

"Are you okay, Boggy?" Dawn asked.

"Bog." Their seatmate mumbled. "'M fine."

Bog was not fine.

His face had been smashed to pieces and it was no doubt the fragments of his skull responsible for the stabbing pains around his eye. He wished he'd never left the house that day. He wished he hadn't let himself be talked into grabbed a drink with his coworkers. He wished he hadn't caught the eye of the fluffy-haired little blonde girl decked out in glitter and hearts. He especially wished he hadn't been so aggressively, loudly rude in response to her flirting because that had summoned a blood-thirsty sister who had taken umbrage with his attitude and taken a swing at his face.

The blonde--Dawn--had been so sweetly apologetic about her sister that Bog felt embarrassed and ashamed for being so rude, but the sister--Marianne--was so angry and sullen that Bog was forced into retaliatory grumpiness and was finding it hard to apologize. Anyway, he was ultimately the injured party and should be extended an apology first.

"What kind of name is 'Bog' anyway." Marianne muttered.

A spike of annoyance pierced through Bog's embarrassment. "Oh, don't even start!" He said. "And if you must then at least don't take such a cheap shot. I've heard it all."

"Bog body?" Marianne persisted, challenged.

"In high school. Daily."

"Bog of Eternal Stench?"

"I've lost count."

"Spider-infested cranberry bog?"

"Endless variations."

"Do you write a lot of posts online--"

"All bog/blog puns have been exhausted."

Marianne fell into a thoughtful silence, stumped for the moment. Bog took the opening. He said, "If I hadn't been slouching would I have a chest injury instead of a black eye?"

"I am not short!" Marianne said instantly, "You're just some sort of ambulatory redwood!"

"You being short and him being tall can both be true." Dawn said with the air of a mediator maintaining fairness in this exchange.

"For a moment I thought a wee winged fairy was fluttering up to take a poke at me." Bog said, sensing weakness and seized on it.

Marianne fired back. She said, "I wonder if your black eye wasn't a per-existing injury from smacking your face on door frames!"

"I choose to overlook that remark."

"Because you're the bigger person?"

"I try not to let these little things get me down."

"It's amazing how such a tall guy can be so low."

"They say tiny things are cute but I guess the exception proves the rule."

"You're both pretty cute." Dawn said brightly. "Now break and go back to your corners."

Bog realized he was nearly nose-to-nose with Marianne, having leaned forward to better utilize his glare. It was not being as effective as usual. His face, already flushed with anger, still managed to raise the heat a degree or two before he collected himself and slouched back down in his seat, focusing on the renewed throbbing around his eye.

Marianne frowned ferociously and did not dwell on how bright blue Bog's eyes were in such a heavy-browed face. Instead she thought about how the peas were getting squishy.

Dawn snapped a picture of Bog.

Bog bit back an angry protest and tried to deliver a calm inquiry about why she had decided to document his face.

Dawn smiled. "Your bruise looks kind of like a heart! Besides, we should keep a record of your injury, just in case. Don't worry, I won't show it to anyone!"

"Oh . . . kaaaay." Bog sighed.

"Not until the wedding reception, anyway," Dawn murmured.

"What?" Bog asked.

"Huh?" Marianne said.

Dawn added a glitter filter to the picture she had taken of Bog and Marianne's blushing profiles. "Nothing!" she said, thinking that this Valentines wasn't so bad even if she had to cancel her date with Hadrian. She could not wait to tell Sunny all about this.

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We don’t talk enough about how fanfiction writers love to give character large amounts of non-specific paperwork they hate doing

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Your legally married spouse is the one person in the world that you get to choose, who doesn't have to witness against you in court. So if you're thinking of marrying someone, consider these two questions:

Do I trust that this person would 100% help me hide a body, no questions asked?

Do I trust this person enough that if they asked for my help to hide a body, I wouldn't hesitate?

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I can't remember if it was mentioned yet in Changing of the Seasons that Griselda is the Laughing King's second wife. His first wife was a princess from Winter, a sort of affectionate political marriage. Aidan was close to the royal family of Winter and even after the death of the princess they considered him a son.

Bog may have met them once or twice when he was small but political unrest was brewing and eventually Autumn closed its borders and Bog never made much of a personal connection with them.

Someday when I rewrite CotS I'd like to expand on that. I also need to nail down the details of what the Winter people are like because I've waffled back and forth about that. They're likely pudgy, furry, feathery sort of people, more inhuman that fairies, closer to goblins. There could be bird types, ferret types, cold water mammals . . .

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[DAZED FROM BLOOD LOSS] hey not to kill the vibe completely but i think i am in love with you

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evil organizations are always going after deserters who left to live a normal life and be no threat at all and pour an incredible amount of resources and people into their capture/killing only to lose all of it because of the one guy. The evil organization's accountants are crying, the hiring managers are on the edge of a break down trying to find fifty more combat-trained mooks this is destroying their bottom line they're going to have to cancel the christmas office party

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Do you make yarn while waiting in the drive thru or are you normal

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it's definitely my predisposition to extreme frugality+redneck engineering, but i'm now obsessed with creating things literally without buying Anything. no supplies no tools no nothing, only the stuff you can just find outside, like Plants, Sticks, and Rocks.

I'm making textiles with nothing but foraged plant materials using no tools except sticks. Nature allows you to do this! There's no rules! I mean okay well maybe there might be some rules sometimes but they're just weak human rules! The plants themselves? They're like "Why sure! You can make yarn with nothing but fibers from the dead stem I don't need anymore, a couple sticks from that tree over there, and your own body and mind! Why not?"

Plants like to give us gifts! And nobody has the power to stop them!

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when a character says 'I can't live without you' I often think it would be more powerful to say, 'I don't want to live without you'. Life will go on, the world will turn, but a light has gone out of it that cannot be replaced even if new ones are lit. I want to be with you, I'm choosing to be with you, I could live without you but I would be losing something incredibly precious that brings a certain richness that nothing else ever will.

'I can't live without you' sounds kind of coercive to me. I can't live without you I don't have a choice so you don't have a choice unless you want to destroy me, do you want to destroy me? Without each other we have nothing, are nothing.

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I think the funniest dynamic for arranged-marriage royalty would be a queen who came here 100% prepared to murder her future husband and rule as a widow queen in her own right, only to discover that the king is autistic as hell and responds to her wish to rule with "oh thank god please do, I don't want to be bothered by these people. I can just tell them to go bother you instead, if you really want that. I've got beetles I wanted to study."

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Happy Valentines Day

You wake up covered in rocks. You open your eyes and see actually that all the rocks are Hershey’s Kisses, the foils creating a shining shore of pink and silver and red. You look over from the tile wall to your best friend slouched on the toilet and that’s how you realize that you’re in the bathtub. Scattered at your friend’s feet are a dozen or so empty plastic wrappings for party sized bags of Hershey’s Kisses. The situation cannot get any goddamn weirder, even if you tried, so you decide not to try.

You turn to your friend.  “Sup.”

“I didnt have a true love’s kiss.” They reply. “But it turns out if you have enough romantic kisses its sort of the same thing. You timed your breakup well. If Megan had cursed you before Valentines day none of this would have been half off.”

“How much did this all cost?”

Your best friend reaches out towards the sink and pulls out a long receipt like a magician pulling a row of handkerchiefs out of a sleeve. “Like fifty bucks.  Cheaper than going to the emergency room for a curse breaker.”

“Huh.“  You grab one of the kisses and unwrap it .  It’s a pink one.  You pop it into your mouth.  “Real sweet of you.”

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You ever think about how only the monsters are allowed to be ugly? Only the monsters are allowed to grow old.

Beautiful Princess. Beautiful Queen. The Queen dies is childbirth, saintly in death, to add an element of tragedy to the Main Character's life.

What of it? Only the trolls and goblins can be fat, lumpy, nobby-kneed and sharp-elbowed. The old women are all witches and crones.

People will rally around a cute, rust-bucket robot, than cry in horror because the villain is a *horrible, unnatural* cyborg.

What about it? What of it?

Are we not all monsters here?

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Extremely nitpicky but I hate white wedding gowns in fantasy, especially when they make absolutely no sense in the setting. No, that culture in the far north that prioritizes function over form and mostly wears heavy furs would not have the means, ability, or desire to make a sleeveless ivory silk gown with a semi-sweetheart neckline. Please be sensible about this and use your creativity instead of just slapping a Kleinfeld wedding gown into a medieval fantasy setting.