#Almost Springlike!

[argumentl]

Kaoru having an evening walk along the Sumida river, taking a photo of Hokusai's “Shubinomatsu no Tsuribune, Shiinoki no Yuzemi“, more info here.

[astral-scout]

man, it sure does feel like spring out there! the birds are singing, the sun is shining, there's a foot and a half of snow on the ground... it's springtime alright!

[petaltexturedskies]

the air was mild and damply springlike, the sun almost warm, and green buds out on all the lilac bushes.

Sylvia Plath, in a letter to her mother Aurelia, dated 10 March 1960, from Letters Home: Correspondence 1950-1963

[t-underneaththeradardancing]

it could be yesterday but - its knot - a hazy living disco - a beat relentless

no - tis a slow moving turtle tuesday - usual usual - good and always kitty - unpoet up early - murder birdsong - as u can c a blue sky

a little owee feeling - a little unsteady - maybe some aretha - maybe some pie

dishes are more insidious than laundry - if there is something - beyond that we could see or hear and now - there is a color just beyond that can be idk projected by laser and ppl can see it or an after image - happy enuff with birdsong and calls i can almost always tune in to wafting above and through the city hum if not downright noisy sometimes and the gull squawk

and other topics that came up this morning

and omg the horror fuckery also

its not sinful to be joyful - being alive is not a crime

where wuz we - or are

a little bit of exercise - a bill paid - a couple of phone calls some stairs - some music not all of it meant shunned - the latest hypnotic thing im ingesting - here comes the wave ( the ocean by richard hawley ) more to than gonna but getting closer maybe

springlike if not actual but jazz close

hallelujah

anyway

or maybe jest

hallelujah

[crookedfivefingers]

In the Days Still Left

A Ten x Martha smutfic I've been working on for over a year. 😅 And now finally posting.

What if, through her, he could just… check out for a bit? Engage in something all-encompassing — a quick baptism of the sensory? Martha reckoned the Doctor wasn’t the sort of bloke who would get himself wrapped up in such acts with a stranger, but what about with someone who cared for him? Someone who understood him?

Read on Ao3 💜

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Smut, Outdoor sex

Chapter One below the cut:

On a cool, cloudy day—near the highest point, it seemed, of a vast and sprawling landscape—the TARDIS materialized on a hillside.

Ruins of what was once either a grand house or a small castle loomed over Martha as she stepped into the springlike breeze, eyes tracing a path up a stone wall that must’ve been erected several centuries before. The rocks used were in their natural states; all flat, jagged, and asymmetrical—constructed by the archaically trained, but no less skilled hands of ancient tradesmen. 

She felt that same shiver of reverence that always came with visiting old places, looking upon evidence of lives long forgotten by time, paths well-traversed in the very spot she stood.

Passing beneath an arch near the center wall (a fully intact doorway either leading into or out of a room that no longer existed), she was overtaken by a stunning sense of serenity, soothing worries she hadn’t even realized were present as she admired the lush alien world. Meadows of long, green, and golden grass sloped steadily downward, smattered at points with trees and shrubs and foothills, though it was almost entirely open air—all dipping towards a collection of stone-studded lakes as far as the eye could see.

“Now, this is just… gorgeous,” said Martha, a smile playing on her lips as a second presence arrived beside her. “I feel fantastic. Like, effortlessly... just calm. D’you feel that?”

Staring across the hills, the Doctor stood close, his hand wrapped around the strap of a large backpack as his coat whipped around in the wind. He drew a long, deep breath before suddenly clapping a hand on her shoulder, her faint disappointment in the paternal gesture almost immediately eclipsed by his dazzling Cheshire grin.

“Positive ions!” he declared cheerfully, giving a friendly squeeze before returning his hand to his pocket. “Planet’s loaded with them, like springtime pollen. One of the most tranquil places in the universe, the Eye of Orion—of course, provided you’ve got a nice breeze...”

Martha was still taking it in, the picture-perfect waves of nature reminding her of childhood holidays in the Cotswolds; just with fewer people around. Er, no people at all, actually... From where they stood, they could see for miles and miles—so much depth, yet no evidence that anyone had been there for a very long time. 

“Lot like Earth, yeah?” she asked conversationally, a gust of wind blowing a piece of her fringe over her face. She caught it with the tips of three fingers and tucked it behind her ear, glancing over to see that the Doctor looked even more distant than before, appearing to be miles away.

“In some ways,” he said with a sniff. “Many years ago, Tegan—she’s, well. She was an old friend of mine—once compared it to the Earth after a thunderstorm.”

There was a swift, unpleasant spike in Martha’s gut as the weight of his words crept over her, so she shifted her gaze back towards the field, hoping (praying) that her insecurity wasn’t already shining through all of thirty seconds into their trip.

Hope wasn’t enough to keep it entirely at bay, however.

“Right,” she bobbed her head just once, lips pressed in a flat smile she knew likely didn’t reach her eyes—not that he was looking. Desperate to affect an air of ease, she glanced at his profile again, reaching out to give his arm a friendly shove. “Take all the girls here, then?” 

Oh, bollocks.

She couldn’t just leave it? Really?

When the Doctor turned to look at her directly, she was expecting the same flippant dismissal he’d offered when confronted on New Earth (and she wouldn’t have blamed him this time), but instead found herself tensing when she was met with something else. The jovial facade of only seconds prior was superseded by something distant and entirely vacant: an expression seeming to convey more than any words ever could.

“I’ve not been here in some time,” he said softly, voice practically washing away in the wind.

Guilt welled, slow and sick, within Martha. Because she knew it, of course she did, that it wasn’t fair: alluding to something that’d happened so long ago with any degree of bitterness. Considering the circumstances, she should have also figured he’d not be up for that sort of banter — it was obvious from the moment he’d announced their destination that the planet meant a great deal to him.

And he’d taken her to see it this time. Not… whoever Tegan was.

Come to think of it, for all the months they’d been traveling together, she’d hardly seen him speak to another woman unless directly involved with assisting on a mission. It’d just been she and the Doctor from the get-go, both before and after she essentially had to put her foot down to revoke the ‘one more trip’ card (to which he’d shown not even a hint of resistance—almost as though he’d been hoping she would be the one to crack, eliminating the need to contrive any more excuses to keep her).

But just because he’d been alone before—just because he’d cherry-picked her, good old Martha Jones, to rollick about the universe with—that didn’t mean he’d been alone since ‘Tegan’.

There was a second spike; another flicker of jealousy as she was once again reminded that, up until recently, yet another woman had traveled at his side. Someone Martha was purportedly never meant to replace. 

Someone he’d loved.

(Were she to fancy a wager.)

If it hadn’t been love, maybe he’d have an easier time talking about it. The wound was still raw enough that she could see it bleeding behind his eyes on his best day... And though he certainly never had any problem alluding to that former companion, he seemed to have an easier time discussing the death of his entire species than going into detail about whatever the hell happened between him and Rose. 

Of course Martha had thought about it: What she and the Doctor might be if not for her; whether they could’ve had a shot if not for the presence of a ghost hanging thick in the air between them. After all, she and him had chemistry in spades; had since the first day they met—and since then, it’d only flourished. They had better bloody chemistry than she’d had with any bloke in her life, and they were brilliant mates.

Which only made it all the more frustrating.

She knew she was pretty, she was smart. ‘Brilliant’, the Time Lord had reminded her over and over—‘Better than good.’

She wasn’t conceited by any means, but she did have the confidence to know she was a catch.

The Doctor, he just… wasn’t interested. Not like that.

Giving Martha the benefit of the doubt, it was easy to misconstrue his behavior as being very much like that on occasion—particularly when she caught his eyes trailing down her body like fingertips—but another thing she knew about blokes, alien or not, was that ultimately, they didn’t even need to like a girl all that much to jump in the sack with them. 

The absence of sack-jumping notwithstanding, the Doctor did like her. There was an air of affection between them, particularly as time had gone on and he finally started to see her… Taking her to such an important place from his past was proof enough of that.

And so Martha tried to remind herself to be grateful and cherish what they had. To be present with him; to enjoy the privilege of sharing even a fragment of his long life with him. He could be standing beside anyone in all of time and space, yet he was sharing that view with her. Spending months of his life with her.

If the trade-off for that privilege was to take a semi-brief sabbatical from romance, she reckoned she could handle it for just a little while longer. 

(God help her if he began fancying some other girl, however. That’d do her in like a hammer to the teeth.)

“I’d like to show you something,” the Doctor said suddenly, still peering into the distance. At the same time, they looked towards one another, and he lifted his eyebrows in question. “Come with me?”

Martha smiled. “Of course.”

A bolt of pure warmth struck her chest as a cool hand slipped into hers, and he nodded somewhere off to the left—a path of broken stone that was half-grown over with reeds and foxtails.

“It's just this way.”

[skyward-floored]

This is the longest one yet, buckle up (comes before the one where Volga confronts Cia)

———

Skyloft is beautiful.

...Or, at least, Link thinks it would be, if there weren’t currently a battle sweeping across its placid fields.

He wipes some dirt off his cheek as he slices past another monster, the warm sunshine and springlike weather in sharp opposition to the blood and screams surrounding him. A flower gets crushed under a moblin’s foot as Link goes to attack it, and he distantly wishes he could have come here before all of this destruction and death swept through.

The Skyloftians aren’t letting their islands being overtaken without a fight though, and they fight just as fiercely as the men Link brought with him.

One cuts down a bokoblin that was trying to sneak up on him, and Link nods his thanks before spinning around and slashing at another. He can’t help feeling the pressure of leading his men here without any higher officers above him and an unfamiliar force as their allies, but they’re making it work, and the battle is close to being won.

But if they’re going to win, they need to defeat the commander of the enemy forces.

A sudden roar rings out from somewhere outside the keep they’re fighting to take, and Link’s heart wrenches into his throat, the sound horribly familiar. He leaves the keep in the other soldiers’ capable hands and runs outside, making his way along charred grass and scorched earth.

Fire shoots into the air nearby, and Link freezes as he reaches a plaza, locking eyes with Volga when he turns his way.

He’s only seen the dragon knight once since Cia spilled the secret of his parentage, but only from a distance. He hasn’t fought him at all since that first day, merely watched Impa fight him from a distance, busy with his own mission and battles, but that was it.

This is the closest he’s gotten to Volga since he learned who he is.

Link hesitates as he looks at the dragon knight, his throat growing strangely tight, but Volga has no similar reservations, charging forward with his spear raised.

The first thrust nearly takes off his head, but Link dodges, and the two of them whirl around each other, Link avoiding flames and jabs from the spear while Volga dodges his sword. Link falls quickly into the familiar rhythm of battle, ignoring the thoughts crashing through his head and the endless echoes of both Cia and Impa’s words.

He has a job to do, and he won’t let the fact that something in his chest feels like it’s going to either shatter or explode stop him from doing it.

He refuses to think about who Volga is to him right now.

Volga swings his spear and Link blocks it with his sword, grunting as their weapons lock. Link is by no means weak, but Volga is incredibly strong, probably due to being a literal dragon, and Link finds himself being pushed backwards, scrambling for purchase.

His foot slips just the smallest bit as he tries to make a move, and Volga sees the opportunity and leaps on it.

He roars as fire explodes around them, and Link cries out as he‘s thrown backwards from the force of the flames, heat and light and pain whirling around him.

Proxi yelps in alarm, and Link’s skin aches, the fire searing through his gloves and no doubt forming burns on his hands. Volga’s flame is so intense that even Link’s practically fireproof skin can’t stand up to it, and he’s almost afraid to look at the impact it left. Link dizzily raises his head, and feels an almost tingly feeling run up his hands where he’d lifted them to try and shield himself.

He hazards a glance down at them, and stares, eyes going wide at the orangey-red scales shimmering over his fingers like the lava in the Eldin caves.

Every other thought in his head is immediately silenced.

“What..?” Link whispers, lifting a shaking hand closer to his face, spreading his aching fingers.

Upon closer inspection, it doesn’t look like his hands have actually grown scales, merely gained a faint impression of them, shimmering and glowing in the sunlight. His skin is doubtlessly burnt underneath, but he can barely tell through the almost jewel-like luster that’s fallen over it.

Link doesn’t have time to examine his hands further though, as something else slams into him, throwing him backwards and sending him crashing into a wall.

More fire accompanies it, and Link coughs as pain sears up his middle, the edges of his tunic singed. He clutches a hand around himself, ignoring the pain from the burns and the strange appearance of his hands, and curses his distracted state as he feels around for his sword.

Weird hands can come later, Link!

Footsteps approach, and Link scrambles to get to his feet, biting back a cry when he ends up sliding back to the ground. He looks up and sees Volga staring at him, his spear raised as if to run him through.

But he doesn’t attack, merely stands in front of Link, smoke trailing from his form.

Link blinks, then realizes Volga is also staring at his hands, the faint shimmer of scales fading, but still visible. His stomach suddenly heaves with nerves, and Link swallows, Cia’s words flashing through his head again.

Apparently there’s a bit more to being half dragon then he thought.

“What are you?”

Link looks back at Volga at the words, the dragon knight still staring at his hands. His brows are drawn with an emotion Link can’t puzzle out as the scales finally fade, nothing but reddish skin left in their wake, and Link drags in a shaking breath.

“Your hands should be nothing but charcoal right now,” Volga continues as Link tries to sit up, gritting his teeth when his middle flares with pain again. “Yet your skin... what are you?”

Link bristles a little at the question, and tries to draw on the legendary courage he supposedly possesses in order to get his thoughts in order and actually speak, instead of continue to merely stare.

“I... I’m part dragon,” he says finally, unsure of how else to put it.

Volga tilts his head, still staring, face expressionless. Link is reminded of his conversation with Impa as he looks at him, where the Sheikah leader had told him of the darkness she’d observed surrounding Volga, unlike when she knew him.

Looking at his shadowed eyes, Link sees what she means.

“How is this possible?” Volga rumbles, voice impossible for Link to read.

Link swallows. He can think of several ways Volga could take what he’s about to say off the top of his head, none of them good. Proxi softly chimes from inside his hat, quietly encouraging him, and Link closes his eyes.

“You... it’s because you’re... my father,” he says thickly, still breathing heavily through the pain, his arm curled tightly around his middle. “I’m— I’m your son.”

The words feel strange as they leave his mouth.

Volga stares at him, his eyes narrowing as the silence stretches between them.

Link sits quietly as he waits for a reaction. If Volga decides to attack in any way, Link won’t be able to dodge in time, Volga too close, the pain in his middle too intense. There’s a potion in his bag, but he doesn’t have time to pull it out and drink it. His sword is out of reach on the ground behind Volga, and none of his men are in the direct area, busy taking keeps further away or blocked off by the wall he’s been slammed against. Link and the dragon are alone for the moment.

He’s entirely at Volga’s mercy.

“Who told you this?” Volga rumbles finally, his voice low and stern. “How do you know?”

“Cia,” Link gets out weakly, fighting the urge to cough. “Weeks ago.”

Volga is silent, smoke trailing from his nostrils, and Link watches him in silence, breath hitching when a tremor runs through him. The dragon knight appears deep in thought, his thumb lightly rubbing his spear, and doesn’t say anything for such a long time that Link isn’t sure what to do.

“...Impa,” Volga murmurs finally, voice distant as his spear lowers a hair.

“Yes,” Link says quietly, trying to see Volga’s eyes through the shadows that lie over them. “She... she’s my mother.”

Something in Volga’s disposition seems to shift at the words, hard lines easing, his tense posture softening, expression turning into one that seems almost wistful, in a way.

Link watches him cautiously, unsure of what’s going through Volga’s head. He’s never seen the knight act like this, still and quiet. And despite the part of his brain reminding him of their first encounter and yelling at him to fight back and get out of here, he remains where he is, watching Volga think in silence.

“A hatchling,” Volga murmurs after what feels like forever, so soft Link almost doesn’t hear him.

Then suddenly Volga whips around and leaps into the air, turning into a dragon with a burst of flames.

He flies away without so much as a backward glance, and Link watches him go, a bit stunned at the abrupt departure. He stares at Volga flying away until all he can make out is a faint impression of fiery wings, then leans back against the wall, breath still shaking in his throat.

Proxi pokes out of his cap as he finally pulls his potion from his bag, and she sits on his knee as he drinks it, watching him in silence.

“Are you okay Link?” she asks softly.

Link exhales as the potion does its work, soothing his aching hands, healing the burns and weaving through the pain in his middle. A cheer goes up from somewhere nearby, which probably means that the battle has been won, the monsters in disarray without their commander.

Link stares up at the sky, looking back at the spot where Volga disappeared.

“Link?” Proxi asks again, her tone much more worried then before.

“I’m alright,” he says quietly. “Sorry Proxi.”

“It’s okay. He sure left in a hurry,” his fairy notes, wings fluttering in the breeze. “Do... do you think he believed you?”

Link sighs, thinking back to what Volga said. His reaction had seemed so incredulous, but he hadn’t attacked him again, despite Link being cornered and unable to easily fight back. And had he merely imagined the softness in his tone when he’d spoken of Impa and a hatchling, or had Volga truly..?

Link shakes his head, brushing the thought aside.

“I don’t know if he did or not. But at least he knows now,” Link says, Proxi fluttering into the air as he raises himself upward. “And he heard it from me. Not Cia.”

He can’t help but smile just a hair at that realization. Impa had told him that she assumed Cia didn’t want Volga knowing anything about a son, but now he is fully aware of the possibility, even if he didn’t believe him.

Your move, sorceress.

Proxi settles on his shoulder, and Link sighs, realizing now just how how weary he is from the battle. He looks at his hands, now healed from any marks from Volga, then turns to retrieve his sword and prepares to head back.

The wind blows his bangs, and Link pauses for a moment, glancing back at the sky where Volga disappeared.

Then he turns away, footsteps lightly crunching across the burnt grass.

[alexseanchai]

“Take koharubiyori, a kigo of late autumn to early winter used to express a day of warm, mild, sunny, almost springlike weather in the midst of harshly cold days, associated with a sense of soothing and comfort,” [professional haiku poet Etsuya] Hirose told the Nikkei business newspaper. “Nowadays, more days are warm at that time of year, so you can’t really empathise with that kigo, that season and emotion.”

As global heating accelerates the process of natural misalignment, the haiku writer can either down tools in despair or simply adapt, according to Toshio Kimura, a poet and director of the Haiku International Association. Warmer, more unpredictable weather is blurring the transition from one season to the next, but haiku has the versatility to adapt, he believes. “The purpose of haiku is not to praise seasons themselves, but to try to see the human essence through nature.

“Of course, several poets will lament climate change in their haiku. However, to describe a certain climate is not the aim of haiku.”

[eveepe]

Thaaaank you lovely @crepesuzette2023 for tagging me in this fun meme! I hope everyone on my dash does this because I am very nosy about all of you

Favorite Movie: withnail & i, dazed & confused, fargo, mad max: fury road. Can I add the substance to this already??

Favorite TV Show: succession 💛 bojack horseman, the thick of it, spaced

Favorite Musical Artists: bugs and related entities of course, but also björk, kate bush, ty segall, charli, rosalìa, fever ray, joanna newsom, sleater-kinney, sparks

Favorite Color: green 💚 I'll never get tired of painting every room in my house varying shades of lush and soft and springlike green

Favorite Season: spring!! I LOATHE winter with the power of one thousand suns and the first signs of spring (crocuses pushing up through the snow, little buds unfurling on the branches of my garden hedge) are a balm on my soul. The days start to stretch out. Cool, sunny mornings where you can start to feel the heat of the sun on your face. Spring!!

Favorite Book: oh, earthsea maybe? Or the shining mountain, which is a classic mountaineering book (my favourite genre!)

Do you have any Funko Pops? : nope

Do you play any instruments? : no, although I've tried and failed at many! Piano, violin, trumpet, chanter: all abandoned due to my general rubbishness and non-musicality

Do you have any pets? : I'm allergic to almost everything with fur so no, but I did used to have pet rats as a kid.

Do you read or write Fanfiction?: yeeesss

What song(s) have you had on repeat repeatedly? : all my songs are always on repeat but these have been particularly sticky

Tagging @aquarianshift @fkajohnlennon @big-barn-bed

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ take a frickin' shower. [new 11/7]

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabble | word count: 1,359. read more on ao3 | ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | main masterlist

sometimes a shower takes too much energy, but the captain is here to coerce you. sure, there are other ways to keep yourself clean in a pinch, but everyone knows you just feel better after a shower. and right now many of us could do with feeling a little better.

so sorry this has been so long in coming, nonnie-love. i hope you find it useful and comforting. honestly, you're not alone. showers take a lot of spoons sometimes but they are almost always worth it. imo, it is as hard to get out of a shower as it is to get in. (go take one anyway. right now, if you can.)

You stare up at the ceiling of your Knowhere apartment. Something like sunlight filters in, pearly and gossamer across the bone-plaster. It’s lovely outside, you know — not too warm, and not too cold. The skull has been parked the perfect distance from a protostar wreathed in emerald and claret diamond-dust — a favorite peace-time location for your fellow Knowhere locals, who’ve taken to calling the star Gamora. It casts a mint-and-rose glow across the fabricated atmospheric shield, creating the illusion of a cotton-candy sky from the ocular and occipital observation decks. The colors blend with the manufactured wake-shift lights inside the skull, and it all creates a pretty, springlike effect that you haven’t seen anywhere else. And still, it’s hard to make yourself do anything. Right now is an excellent example. You haven’t been able to shower in days — barely scraping up the energy to splash water on your face in the morning. You’d barely managed to take your clothes down to the laundromat a few hours earlier, and now getting up to go retrieve them seems impossible. You lift your head — only to thump it back down into the downy pillow. Then you do it again. And again. Except on the final soft thump, there’s a new sound: a thud. It takes you a puzzled second to place it: the toe of a rubber-soled shoe, bouncing off the door. Welp. Only one asshole who knocks with his foot.

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for nonnie ♡

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

eat somethin. (wc: 576)

go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737)

get outta bed & get your shit done.(wc: 925)

take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375)

leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579)

take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020)

drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209)

stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1,609)

just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271)

it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923)

get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614)

did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288)

schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222)

do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994)

brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774)

nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231)

stop biting your goddamn nails (wc: 2,920)

take a frickin' shower (wc: 1,359 ) for nonnie ♡

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

banners & dividers by @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto taglist ✩ @suicidalshitstick ✩ @glow-autumz ✩ @evolvingchaoswitch ✩ @wren-phoenix ✩ @pretty-chips

total word-count: 24,667.

[intestinalemphasis]

So I'm making a story now.

Blaming @lesbianoms for sorta planting this concept in my brain. This one's made for you, you wonderful human! Enjoy!

-

Sweet-Tooth Manor

Pt. 1

(F/F story, semi-NSFW?? Mostly foxy stuff. EVENTUALLY but not here yet: non-fatal vore, painless digestion, reformation)

A brief, shitty synopsis of idea: young femme meets middle-aged rich classy woman, and becomes her, ah, "plaything" at home...of the voracious sort.

-

Odette was enamored with this place. The atmosphere, the people, the blooming gardens spread vast and wide across the rolling hillside. It was simply breathtaking.

"You must have a very fine taste." Said a voice from nearby. Odette looked around, finding a tall, elegantly dressed older woman sitting at one of the metal dining tables outside. She sat cross-legged in a deep red dress, a cigarette between her manicured fingers.

"Oh, I don't mean to intrude, dear," she said, "I just had to tell you how much I admire your physique, your style."

"Oh, thank you!" Odette said, "I don't really dress this fancy most of the time, it's just this place is so beautiful, I wanted to look at least a little bit like I'd fit in with it..."

"Oh don't be so modest, honey, you look absolutely ravishing," the older woman said, flicking the butt of her cigarette off into the ashtray. "Come, sit."

Obediently, Odette walked over to sit with the compelling woman. She was even taller close up, more than a head higher even while they were sitting down. And in heels of all things, too! She must've been one hell of an iconic figure in town.

"Forgive me, where are my manners. I haven't even asked your name."

"Odette," She replied, "my name is Odette."

"Oh what a lovely name. Just like-"

"Swan Lake, yes." She finished. The amount of times she'd heard that...

"All the more reason you're such a dazzle, darling. Trust me, I'd kill to be able to pull off that young, naive charm again..."

Odette smiled – a thin, humble-but-not-all-too-convinced-of-herself smile that she'd practiced giving in return to any form of compliment. The woman sitting across from her seemed to frown, noticing her cover.

"I do mean it, you know." She added, with a little smile of her own. The bright red lipstick almost made it appear devious.

'You mean which part?' Odette almost said, as she contemplated her last words. She was stopped in her tracks, however, by the way the older - and impressively tall - woman turned in her seat to look her straight in the eye.

She looked the young woman up and down: long hair tied back in a ribbon, flowery sundress with modest sleeves, and a youthful, springlike aura which seemed to surround her. Yes. She would do quite nicely, she thought. Quite nicely indeed.

"I don't usually ask this of people this soon," she began, "ordinarily, I like to have a drink or two first, let things wander where they ought to before I make any propositions. But you've..." - she made a popping sound with her lips - "...let's just say, you've piqued my interest. I admire your modesty even in your sheer beauty."

"Oh?" Odette asked, curious.

"I can see that whimsical sparkle in your eye. You long to live in this kind of a place, no?"

"it's been my dream for all my life," she said, "this village, the people who inhabit it...I am so deeply connected with it, and it means so much to me."

"So you might be open to this proposal, then, I take it?"

"What proposal?"

The older woman leaned forward on her elbows, twirling the end of her cigarette in her hand. "How would you like to stay here, in the villa, under contract of a...business venture, I'd like to offer to you?"

Odette blinked, her big brown eyes appearing to the mistress like that of a mother doe's in the woods. She was slow to respond, either thinking too many things, or none at all. Finally, she nodded softly. As though the concept was equally intriguing and intimidating.

"I'd love to be able to stay here, yes. But I'm curious...What's this of your business venture?"

"Oh come now, the evening is still so young," the woman said, "we have all night to catch up on these things, back in my quaint little hillside manor."

"Of course, yes," Odette said, smiling more genuinely now. "That sounds quite lovely, I look forward to learning about it."

"I have a feeling you'll be just suited for the job..." The woman said.

"Forgive me, where are my manners." Odette added in, "I still have not even asked your name."

The woman smiled, chuckling softly. "No worries, dear. Most people only ever refer to me as the Mistress. Sometimes theirs, sometimes not. But I like you, especially so. Mmm...I think so, yes. You can call me Edith."

The way the woman smiled, Odette was unsure whether to feel enamored, honored, or slightly unsettled.

[gegengestalt]

Katerina Ivanovna Verkhotseva! (For the ask game thingy)

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

(You don’t have to answer all of these if you don’t want to, however I love your takes on her and am dying to hear you talk about her more.)

Oooh, finally! Someone sends me something related to the ask game! And about one of my favourite girls, too!

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

If I had to choose just one, it would be how explosive she can be. I love it so much when things don't go her way and she goes from being so doting to resorting to insults and almost throwing hands. This is not simply the rage of a young woman who shows her true colours when she doesn't have what she wants, she really, really seems to be convinced that things are going her way... And then reality hits her.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Oh, Katya Ivanovna, you would have loved Me and My Husband by Mitski. Somehow I imagine the lyrics being about her and Mitya at first, but as the song goes on she's actually talking about Ivan.

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

I don't feel like Katya is talked about much in general, and I can say so confidently after navigating as much TBK related content on the internet as I could. So I don't really know what to say. When she gets attention, I specially love it when her God/saviour/martyr complex is adressed and appreciated. She is a little weird.

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Tough question, since there is a lot I dislike about how female characters are treated by readers in general (as well as narratives). I'm going to try to be original and say something I haven't said before. I don't really like it when the girls are pitted against each other, like you have to choose one of them or think one is better than the other. I think a lot of the animosity between her and Grusha come from struggles with themselves and their fears and insecurities, and I feel sympathetic towards both of them, both young women who want to feel some control over their lives. So it breaks my heart a little when other people who prefer Grusha put down Katya and viceversa.

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

This is half headcanon half character reading, but knowing that she lost her mother at a young age and that there is a theme of absent mothers throughout the book, I like to think that the loss of her mother impacted how she turned out and why she seems to take on some motherlike, overbearing tendencies herself.

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Hmmm, I don't know how I'm supposed to answer to this, but I associate her with elegant, long clothing in green, blue and white, sometimes with gold accessories. Combined with the light brown hair of my design, it gives her a springlike kind of look.

In The Sims, I gave her a preppy, simple look with light colours. Here she is, I don't know why she's loooking at squids on her phone.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Katya was a character who had to grow on me. On my first read, I didn't like her much, but I didn't dislike her either. She was, in fact, one of the harder characters to visualize. I had to make several sketches of her designs because all I could think of was "tall slender girl with dark eyes and a lot of hair". Only after processing what I had read for a longer time I started to pick apart everything she said and started to appreciate her more (and started to appreciate her relationship to Ivan as well). In retrospective, the buildup to her introduction was great. It's not as good as Nastasya's, but it's the work of a good writer. I love Katya, saviour complex and all.

[whyoneartheven]

SURPRISE. I AM HERE WITH THE FIRST OF THOSE FASHION STUDIES I WAS TALKING ABOUT :DDD

I thought, hey, since it's you we're talking about, why not start with the Minish Cap/Four Swords era?

-------------------------------------------------

The Picori Era (MC/FS)

Overview

The fashion of the Picori era is very similar to what we’d consider “fairy tale” fashion. Hyrule is an incredibly small kingdom at this point, and even the fashion of the nobility is quite simple and provincial (though with perhaps a bit more ornamentation). The favored adornment in this era is flowers or natural materials, rather than gold and jewels.

Menswear

This is the first era in which the Knights of Hyrule make a prominent appearance. As a mark of their distinction and honor, all Knights of the order wear their hair in long plaits. The longer and more elaborate the braid, the higher rank the knight usually is. From the day of knighthood, these braids are never cut, unless the knight in question brings some dishonor upon himself or the kingdom, in which case it will be shorn by the reigning monarch in public ceremony. He is unallowed to renew his knightly vows until his hair has grown back long enough to re-braid (which is usually about shoulder length, the same length it must be before a squire is knighted). 

Clothing is simple in this era. Most men wear a simple shirt and trousers as a base, with leather boots or shoes. Sashes, vests, and suspenders are favored accessories. 

Beards are quite popular in this era. Almost every grown man chooses to wear one, and they are well-groomed and neat. 

Womenswear

Ladies mostly wear their hair up in this era, though it is not usually covered as it is in the Era of Time. Braids and buns are the most common styles, and simple hair pins are very popular.

Women wear dresses or blouses and skirts. It’s a warm, springlike era, so most garments are not long-sleeved and skirts don’t usually fall much farther than the upper calf. The same kinds of accessories are popular amongst women as they are men: sashes and vests, with aprons replacing the suspenders (though it’s not unheard of for a younger woman to wear suspenders with her skirt). For footwear, clogs or flats or short boots are worn.

Children

Children’s clothing isn’t much different from that of adults, save that it’s more common to see young girls in trousers than grown women. 

Hats are popular among both boys and girls, although it’s more common to see girls with ribbons or headbands, and even a few kerchiefs, instead. Boys’ hair is cut and styled usually in many layers and quite fluffy, and girls wear younger versions of women’s hair- double braids and ponytails are the most popular styles. 

Boys completing their squireship for the Knights of Hyrule must spend at least a year apprenticed under a blacksmith, as part of the ceremony in this era requires them to forge their own blade. Blacksmiths’ apprentices wear practical, protective clothing well-suited for long hours at the forge. In addition, as their Knighthood approaches, the boys begin to grow out their hair for the braiding that will take place during the ceremony.

Miscellaneous

This is an era that prizes practicality, talent, and the beauty of the natural world. As such, adornments are not as ornate or costly as they will be in later eras; the people prefer elaborate embroidery and beadwork to decorate their clothes, and flowers, feathers, and curious little stones (not necessarily gems) for their jewelry. 

Children often wear kinstones on chains or carry around little pouches sewn by their mothers. Even some adults will have a kinstone purse tied to their belt.

Though trousers and skirts tend to only be about knee-length in this era, as it’s a very warm time for Hyrule, both men and women are apt to wear tall stockings to protect themselves from insects.

OOOOOHHHH I LOVE IT

just like. Everything. It’s PERFECT AND IT FITS SO WELL

fashion-wise (and probably everything-else-wise too) THIS would be the era I’d like to live in (at least as of now… it’s quite likely you’ve cooked up wonders for the other eras)

ALSO

did you read my mind??? Bc this is SO MUCH of what I had in mind for my Little Link AU XDDD

[denimbex1986]

'I almost knock into Andrew Scott before I see him. He’s just dashed out of the Tate Modern, frantic and slightly late: “There’s just so many entrances!” he exclaims. His patrician forehead crinkles, and the brown eyes charmingly plead: Forgive me! He was just inside, picking up his membership card. Surely he can get in for free? “Excuse me,” he huffs, “I’m a fully paid-up member.” Then he flashes the broad grin that seduced a legion of Fleabag viewers, and we’re off.

The plan today is to meander in a loop along the Thames. On a midafternoon Friday in London, this involves much ducking and diving through crowds, which suits Scott just fine. The weather is one of those bright, springlike days that convinces you that winter is over—except the rain-swollen river is now sloshing ominously onto the pavement. We slow down to regard an underwater section of our route. “I don’t think we’re gonna get through there,” he says. “I’ve probably got a hole in my trainers.”

We head for the road instead, words pouring out of the 47-year-old actor in that mellifluous Irish lilt, peppered with “you knows” and interrupted frequently by his laugh. It’s no surprise that his colleagues quickly become friends: “It was clear from the moment that I met and worked with Andrew that he was an exceptionally gifted actor,” says Julianne Moore, who starred alongside Scott on Broadway in 2006’s The Vertical Hour. It was both actors’ Broadway debuts, though Scott has juggled screen and theater from the start. “I’ve always done both,” he says, though he acknowledges modestly: “I used to do maybe a few plays a year and one television show. Now maybe it’s kind of the opposite.” That’s somewhat underselling his dramatic accomplishments. Scott has won two Olivier Awards, for the experimental A Girl in a Car With a Man in 2005 and Noël Coward’s Present Laughter in 2020. He has performed in productions of Eugene O’Neill, Oscar Wilde—he’s played Hamlet, too, and was nominated for an Olivier for that as well. “Scott gives carefully controlled, thrillingly virtuoso physical performances,” wrote The Guardian last year, when he performed eight roles from Uncle Vanya by himself, in a much-lauded West End solo adaptation of the Chekhov play. (A New York transfer could not be confirmed when this piece went to press, but seems highly likely.) “He wore his talent so lightly and modestly,” Moore says. “He was joyful and fun and an amazing partner to have onstage and off.”

Scott was born in Dublin, sandwiched between two sisters; his mother is a teacher and an artist, and his father works at an employment agency. As a child, he was brought to art galleries and theaters. A performance by the great Irish actor Donal McCann in Sean O’Casey’s Juno and the Paycock when he was 11 or 12 made a lasting impression: “There was just something about the power in his stillness—people think that, in theater, it’s all about the grand gesture, but stillness onstage is absolutely mesmerizing.”

An eerie stillness characterizes all of Scott’s performances as well. As Moriarty in Sherlock, the BBC One show that catapulted him to fame in Britain in the 2010s, he requested fewer lines to play up the villain’s spookiness. And then there is that agonizing stretch of silence in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag right after its titular protagonist confesses her love. Has the line “It’ll pass” ever been delivered with so much pathos? Scott’s acting is all submerged passion; when he does speak, his words have depth. “Andrew has an intensity and a precision in his work,” Moore tells me. “I love his vulnerability, the way his eyes glitter onscreen.”

As a child, Scott was sent to drama classes to get over his shyness. He still remembers his first role, as the Tin Man in a production of The Wizard of Oz. “I felt completely free,” he says, seemingly transported to the moment he launched into “If I Only Had a Heart” onstage. “I felt joy—that’s the word. Not only did I feel it, but I felt that other people felt it when they were looking at me…. Some intuition told me as an 11-year-old: ‘You have to be this expressive, that’s what theater is!’ Nobody taught me that. I just felt it.” Then he swerves to avoid a clutch of tourists on Tower Bridge, and the reverie is lost.

These days, walking around London is something of an ongoing pastime for Scott. During the press rollout for Andrew Haigh’s Golden Globe–nominated romance All of Us Strangers, he and costar Paul Mescal went to their PR engagements on foot. One day, two boys on bikes clocked the pair and started chasing after them in an alarming fashion: “We escaped them—it was quite fun, actually!” Does he ever feel slightly protective of Mescal, two decades his junior? “Not any more than I would with any of my other people in my life. Because he’s got his head screwed on, you know? I absolutely adore Paul,” Scott adds, though he wants to make one thing clear: “Bromance is not the word that we associate with it, because neither of us are very bro-ey.”

Waller-Bridge, who has known Scott for 15 years, describes him as “an absolute pixie of mischief.” When asked to elaborate, she continues: “I could write a novel. But I love how naughty he is. He has the magical ability to make you feel instantly present—no matter what’s going on in your life, you’re suddenly there in the moment and feeling joyful. I think that’s what it’s like to watch him as an actor too…like he can stop time with his honesty.”

Between 2020 and 2021, Scott also traversed the lengths of the Thames, pondering the script from Ripley, his upcoming eight-episode project for Netflix, in which he plays the titular protagonist. “Quite unusually, I got sent all eight scripts at the same time,” he remembers. Steven Zaillian, the screenwriter behind Schindler’s List and Gangs of New York and the director and writer behind All the King’s Men, had written all eight at the outset.

Tom Ripley is crime novelist Patricia Highsmith’s slipperiest literary creation; a pathological liar and murderer with whom she felt a strange kinship—she sometimes signed letters with some variation of “Pat H., alias Ripley.” It is not so much a spoiler as an ongoing feature of the books that Ripley, despite splurging on Venetian palazzi and Gucci suitcases, never gets caught. If anybody comes close, there is always a conveniently located oar or glass paperweight nearby. Ripley, in other words, is the hero of the tale. “That’s why he fascinates so many,” says Scott. “There’s been so many iterations of him. I think it’s because people root for him.” Actors like Alain Delon and Dennis Hopper have tried the role; Matt Damon played him as an obsequious, lower-class naïf; John Malkovich, as a slimy, camp killer. Scott’s Ripley is different; a watchful loner escaping rodent-infested poverty, more at home among art than he is around people. Musician and actor Johnny Flynn plays his first victim—the monied Dickie Greenleaf—and Dakota Fanning is Dickie’s suspicious ex-girlfriend. “I find Tom quite vulnerable,” Scott tells me. “I don’t think he’s necessarily lonely, but I certainly think he’s solitary…. He seems to me by his nature that he just can’t fit in. He’s trying to survive.”

In Ripley, Zaillian extracts maximum Hitchcockian dread from every creaky footstep. But most sinister of all is Scott’s face, which exhibits a sharklike steeliness throughout. It’s a performance that exudes queasy force. Is Ripley a scammer, a psychopath, or both? “There’s so many things lurking beneath him that I’ve been very reluctant to diagnose him with anything. I never thought of him as a sociopath or murderous,” Scott declares. “It’s up to everybody else to characterize him or call him whatever they want.”

As we weave through tourists near the Tower of London, barely anybody notices Scott, save for a faint glimmer of recognition among mainly young women. He seems to draw reassurance from it. “I don’t like to think about it too much, if I’m honest,” he muses of fame. “I find it a little bit, er, frightening.” He is known but not blockbuster-recognizable, although he is in the upcoming Back in Action with Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx. What stunts did he do? “I can’t give that away, I’m afraid, or somebody from Netflix will come and shoot me in the head.”

What’s been on Scott’s mind the most hasn’t been acting at all, in fact, but art. As a 17-year-old, he was offered his first movie role on the same day he was given a scholarship to study painting. He chose acting, but has recently been thinking about Oliver Burkeman’s philosophical self-help tract from 2021, Four Thousand Weeks, which makes the case for focusing on the five things you truly want to accomplish. “For me at the moment, it’s like, What do you want to do? What do you want to say?”

He scrolls through his phone to show me his work. There’s a watercolor of a couple arguing in a restaurant in rich reds and greens, line drawings of friends and people on the beach, and two self-portraits. “It’s a bit weird,” he acknowledges of his depiction of himself, all bulbous forehead and Pan-like tufts of hair. His brisk, nervy lines are reminiscent of Egon Schiele or Francis Bacon, who turns out to be one of his favorite painters. “Well, God, I’ll take that,” he mutters at the comparison. He would like someday to go to art school. “I don’t ever regret it,” he says of acting. “But I suppose you just get to a stage where you think, What else? That’s one of the big painful things in life for me, where you can’t quite live all the lives.” As he gets older, he feels the tug toward revisiting old working relationships, including with Waller-Bridge: “We’ve definitely got things cooking,” he smiles. “I’d love to work with her again. She’s just a singular, wonderful person.” For her part, Waller-Bridge says: “I’d love to see him do a fully unhinged slapstick comedy character. Someone who is outraged at everything, all of the time.”

As we round the pavement and the Tate Modern looms back into sight, he recalls a poster he received in 2017—a monstrously large graphic that detailed every week in a human life span. “It’s your entire life if you live to 80—you have to fill in all the bits that you’ve already lived,” he remembers in awe, “a visually terrifying gift.” What did he do with it? “I didn’t hold on to it for too long.” Easy come, easy go: We finally finish our loop around the Thames and, as Scott disappears back into the throng, anonymous just the way he likes it, it occurs to me that the actor has many lives to live yet.'

[hrtsmom]

4/23 Wednesday 52°

Yep, nothing worth writing about has happened for nearly a whole week. Okay, maybe not entirely true, but certainly nothing happened that I felt a need to write about immediately.

I did collect another good Alyssa-ism on Friday. At supper she was rattling on about the Spongebob Squarepants movie and Ralph asked, “Was that the one with David Hasslehoff?” Heather said no, that was a different one, and Alyssa chimed in with, “Yeah, not David Assalot.” So there you go; out of the mouths of babes.

Also Heather was babysitting her on Sunday evening and reported that when a toy car wasn’t behaving the way she wanted, Alyssa picked it up and chastised it with, “You criminal!”

I had to go get a new computer keyboard on Saturday, after the old one crashed in the middle of playing Sims. I mean it was almost completely nonfunctional. I’d had the same problem a couple of days before but managed to solve it through restarting the computer and disconnecting/reconnecting the keyboard. This time nothing helped. I don’t think I’d even had that keyboard for a year. No more Onn products for me. The new keyboard is a Logitech, and wireless. I think the old one had actually been failing for a while, as it kept making disconnect/reconnect bleeps every time I moved around the room. I didn’t know it was the keyboard doing that at the time though; I thought it was the computer itself.

Anyway. Still waiting for the weather to stay springlike for more than two days in a row. Well it’s not too bad today, but still chilly. We had some rain on Monday night. I actually woke up that night wondering what the noise was. It had been so long since I’d heard rain just falling straight down on the roof that I didn’t recognize it.

But Heather and I couldn’t go walking this morning because it wasn’t more than 40° when we would have gone. We did go on Monday, but it was a shorter walk. Seems I pulled a muscle in a very uncomfortable area on Thursday. I was still limping on Saturday.

Oh, I made a necklace on Monday. It took pretty muich all afternoon, because first I made the pendant, then I wasted some time painting some wooden beads that I didn’t even end up using, and then I had to find beads that would match the pendant. I like the final product, but there’s at least a 75% chance that nobody else will. Anyway, I decided to start adding new stuff into the shop again. I’m adding one new item and renewing an old one each day. I still have eight pendants, two batches of beads, a bookmark, two pairs of earrings and this necklace in the buffer box. ugh I wish Con was coming sooner!

Just saw a crow flap in, rather clumsily, to grab an unshelled peanut from the feeder on the fence. So there, squirrels. Now a red squirrel is rushing to get the rest of them.

Listening to: Overly Sarcastic Podcast (I need to catch up, though I recently unsubscribed from Supernatural Then and Now. I was getting sick and tired of the . . . everything, basically.)

Watched: Parenthood

[frogdadskeleton]

28.2.

Kcal: 866

Fast: 15h

Steps: 26 600

Exercise: 1h incline walk on treadmill, 1h 22 min gym (tricep), 6 min warm-up run, 37 min stretching

Lemon water (1)

Black coffee (2)

Vitamin B drink (0)

Celsius (14)

Nut & fruit mix (236)

Raw bar (153)

Chickpeas (244)

Kimchi style sauerkraut (18)

Sf protein drink (198)

Longer ramblings abt my day

I woke up at 7, but got told to go back to sleep xd so i slept till 9. Had bit of a slow start (as u can see from the time stamp) but i left for the gym asap.

For some reason i was feeling kinda shitty so i wanted to burn as much as possible at the gym. At the expense of my already suffering legs. My mood ended up getting so much better tho as my workout progressed. First 20 mins on the treadmill were painful but it got easier. Then i did arms and stretched. I felt attractive in my tight training shirt. My workout was amazing, i sweated a ton and felt great.

Bought 2 new energy drinks to try while getting groceries. Sun was out. It was v springlike. Weather is getting warmer too (1-3°C). As nice as that was, walking home, I don't want winter to end. I'm fucking dreading summer.

Then i only had a couple of hours b4 i had to leave to meet my friends and i was feeling tiireeedddd so i watched the office in my pjs, ate nuts and had a celsius (not a fan of cherry flavour but this was alr).

I went to see another garage metal band w my friends and after that we j hung out at a friend's place. Her cat was v curious abt my backpack. I told my friend if it went in, i would close the zipper and run. We had so much fun. I'm glad i went even tho i felt queasy and almost feverish (it passed).

I finished an audiobook on the treadmill so i think I'm gonna start reading fight club tomorrow.

[theoldhempfarmer]

The War against Hemp Derived Cannabinoids…

Dateline: 2-25-24

Presently Middle Tennessee is wafflingly between Winter and Spring, today Nature has decided that its Spring with high temperatures about 66 degrees F. Which is preferable to sub freezing temperatures but by golly it jacks with fauna and flora alike. Which really doesn’t bother my mini crop of Arugula but for the last couple years the warmer than usual weather baited the fruit trees into flowering but then slamming with colder than normal weather killing the blossoms, so no fruit. Anyway this morning, The Old Hemp Farmer is enjoying the Springlike conditions and a cup organic Indonesian coffee and some Costa Rican Cacao fortified with Tennessee homegrown CBD/THC extract. Yours truly will acknowledge that is column is a few days late but the time was spent to get my podcast Full Contact Cannabis researched, produced and edited, we kind of had to Squeeze this in because my co-host and Post Producer Mark Stepp has been doing a gang of high profile projects (think Super Bowl and soon the Oscars.) Anyway it dropped on Thursday. Some of my Full Contact Cannabis research has led to this morning’s musings. Stepp and I talked about the crackdown in Tennessee on certain Hemp Derived Cannabinoids and as research for the podcast I started checking on what others states are doing in regards, to THCa and D8 THC. Well my Tennessee Cannabis brethren, the badly crafted Cannabis law HB0403/SB0378 isn’t personal. Right now, it seems like almost everybody that isn’t either producing or selling Hemp Derived Cannabinoids absolutely hates them.

And when I say almost everyone, The Old Hemp Farmer means almost everyone. The legal Recreational Cannabis industry absolutely hates Hemp Derived Cannabinoids because they don’t have the same compliancy standards, with lower cost for licensing and way more taxes. So slowly almost all of the Recreational states have or getting ready to crackdown on D8 THC and its buddies. Meanwhile, the pushback on Hemp Derived Cannabinoids in non-Recreational States has become a Tsunami. There isn’t a Hemp only state that isn’t trying to close the loophole in the 2018 Farm Bill that basically legalized all Cannabinoids except D9 THC. A lot of folks hate that I call it a loophole but Senator Mitch McConnell never intended for people to go around smoking big spliffs of THCa Flower, trust me on that. So now all of these mostly Conservative states are quickly enacting really bad legislation trying to control stuff made from Hemp that gets you buzzed. This futile attempt to put the Hemp Derived Cannabinoid Genie back in the bottle would be comical if it wasn’t so tragic. Their solution to stem the demand for Cannabinoids? Make a bunch of people criminals because huge amount of folks will start accessing an all to willing Cannabis Black Market that is primed and ready to fill demand. One of the things that Lee Crabtree (Tennessee homegrown partner emeritus) and have pondered about is the fact thousands of Tennesseans that have that bought legal product on June 30th overnight on July 1st become criminals. In Tennessee, possession of a half ounce of marijuana or less is a misdemeanor punishable by up to one year in jail and maximum fine of $2,500, kind of sucks, doesn’t it?

The final group of folks that seems to be on a Holy War against Hemp Derived Cannabinoids are the “Hemp is going to change the World” folks that use to throw Recreational Cannabis under the bus, declaring that Hemp was good, high THC Cannabis was bad. When Recreational Cannabis turned out to be quite popular, the Hemp organizations had to find another scapegoat for why Hemp still hasn’t gone mainstream. So folks at magazines like Hemp Today have started to editorialize that all Hemp Derived Cannabinoids are dangerous and threat to the public, lumping all D8 THC/D9 THC manufactures as money grubbing parasites living off the poor naive souls with an addiction to D8 THC gummies. Some of the dialogue sounds strangely xenophobic, “all of the CBD used to make D8 comes from China” which is so sad. Do these folks know how many Hemp Farmers were only able to recoup some of the huge investment of 2019/2020? If these same folks truly cared about farmers they wouldn’t be going around encouraging them to now grow textile Hemp, which ironically they would have to compete with Chinese Hemp Textile industry, that has done it longer and more economically.

All of the above sounds quite daunting to anyone (like Mr. Crabtree and I) in the Hemp Derived Cannabinoid business but maybe this meant to be, separating the “chaff from the wheat”. Believe it or not I still get calls from people wanting to get into “The Hemp THC Game” and my new mantra is, “if anything can stop you, let it.” Anyway as always, Hemp Dawgs and Hemp Puppies keep one eye on the weather and the other eye on the market.

Visit our Tennessee homegrown web site to try our great products: https://www.tnhomegrown.com

The Wife's web site: https://www.theoldhempfarmerswife.com

Our Podcast - Full Contact Cannabis: https://fullcontactcannabis.podbean.com