#even Wellington hated it

[empirearchives]

Wellington’s Victory being one of Beethoven’s worst pieces gives me great satisfaction

[hoppityhopster23]

Happy birthday to Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington! (May 1st, 1769)

[bitchfitch]

My mother's bf had a fairly major surgery (he's fine and recovering well DW) and he's going to be housebound for his birthday this year, so I've been enlisted to come up with a fancy birthday meal for the special birthday boy that's primarily fruit and veg, sweeter than savory, and is something he's never had before.

Bc I'm making watermelington. It's beef Wellington, but watermelon. bc my mom only found out recently you can use watermelon as a tuna substitute. And I know that you can substitute most higher quality beef cuts with tuna or salmon.... usually. Anyways the idea fascinates her so I'm hoping to use that for bonus points.

Now he's off his ass on pain killers so I can't like. Ask him if he's ever had something before. so to meet my brief I've decided to just. commit a novel hate crime against the British I guess.

Anyways. I'm writing this because I need to walk myself through this process and think it'll be surreal enough to be worth taking y'all along for.

So, Beef Wellington. In its most basic bitch arrangement is a beef tenderloin wrapped in prosciutto/really thin bacon, with a layer of mushroom and onion mush, that has been further wrapped in mustard slathered puff pastry.

We will be ship of Theseusing this. bc beef Wellington is like. the opposite of what he wants. Which is why it's funny.

Puff pastry-> it's still just puff pastry

this one doesn't have to change (aka I can't be fucked to do pastry prep and I'm just gonna use store bought it's Fine.)

the prosciutto is also just going to be prosciutto.

Thin meat

Beef tenderloin-> watermelon,

Tbh this is a pretty 1 to 1 substitution. I'll bake the slices at like. 250-300 for an hour or so ahead of the rest of prep to dry it out a bit. bc you can't like. Sear watermelon to seal in the water like you can beef. By definition it's a very wet fruit (like me when I fall into the lake). Ill Add salt and chili and lime juice while baking maybe. this is the easy part

The mushroom mush-> salsa done bad style

As the word mush implies, this is meant to be a very soft mix. It adds a lot of nuttiness to the wellington that rounds out all of the salt from the meats. I'm replacing it with white person salsa(the birthday boy can't handle spice). Tomato, lime juice, parsley, avocado, cucumber, feta, and maybe mango so I can have an excuse to have a lil mango treat. I said I wasn't making it spicy. I'm still putting a bit of chili in it. bc it'll be better like that. This is also a ridiculously wet bit of mush, Even the original mushrooms have too much water. I'll figure something out.

Mustard -> jelly

He lives in a big city. those preserve sections are massive. I'll find a weird one. maybe apricot.

Prep:

We're in the mind palace kitchen, I have not attempted any of this. We're just thinking real hard about it and I'll edit as needed on the day and post results.

The watermelon

Preheat oven to eh. 300f? We want low and slow to dry things out without it taking a year. but idk what his oven is like. If it's gentle I'll bump it up another ten-twenty.

Slather some watermelon slices in salt chili powder and lime juice mixture.

bake for 30 min on a wire rack or directly on the oven racks (after cleaning thoroughly) if he doesn't have a wire rack. with a drip try underneath to catch the drippage. check frequently. Have one slice that's for being poked to see if it's approaching being meat. Bake longer if needed.

Salsa bad style

chop everything up and add it to a pan with some oil in it. Tbh I don't think the type of oil you use for cooking matters if you're not like, getting near any smoke points. Most people can't tell the difference unless you made your food bland as hell.

Anyways there's some wildly different moisture contents on the list so there has to be an Order to cook off as much water as possible without getting yucky.

Tomatoes and cucumbers go in together with some salt to get the cucs softening, then the mango chunks and lime juice. Once most of the water is gone the avocado feta and parsley can go in. There is a good amount of water in avocados but they're delicate and don't pan fry well, so we're just going to ignore their water crimes and hope for the best. They just need to be evenly mixed through the rest of the mush.

Putting it together

lay out the puff pastry, cut into sections to wrap each watermelon slice individually with.

Slather in jam

Take the prosciutto and lay it out on half of each section of the pastry,

spoon the salsa onto that

Melon

Another layer of salsa

another layer of thin meat

Fold the pastry over the top and pinch the edges bc watermelon slices are not a rollable shape and I don't want to carve a watermelon into a tube for this because that sounds irritating.

Brush with egg wash and more parsley

Cook in oven following the pastry's preferred temp and time. it's fucking watermelon, you're not getting ecoli from it.

watermelington :)

I'm serving it with baked sweet potatoes and spinach based salad with whatever toppings are left over from making the salsa.

anyways thank you for joing me on this thought experiment. I will post updates once the deed is done. I'm sorry to every British person ever.

[footballffbarbiex]

Is it too late to request Ruben Dias with baby daddy ‘pumpkin picking’ please? Maybe you’re all out picking with your eldest child & heavily pregnant with the second. Ruben gets a bit sassy and reader threatens to attach a pumpkin to Ruben (like the viral watermelon videos of dads-to-be having them taped to them) and he soon goes back to being fluffy?

from this list.

sorry this is a bit later than planned, but i hope you like it!

-

each step brings a low, dull ache in your lower back and a splintering pain across your hips which only slows you down further than the waddle that you're now doing. it doesn't make it any easier with the ground now drenched from the last few nights rainfall and your feet threaten to slip out from beneath you with each squelchy step. even as you cart the wheelbarrow which helps to keep you the right way up.

Rúben walks ahead with your daughter, both of them managing to stay upright better than you, though she is supported by her daddy. her wellington boots have a thick layer of sludge going up past the rubber soles like a thick layer of icing upon a birthday cake. but he makes sure that she never falls, that even when she begins to lose her footing, that he's right there to give her her confidence back as he helps her regain her balance. she looks so small next to him and yet, she was growing up far too quickly. everything, physically, about her was Rúben and it made it far too easy for him to sweet talk you into having another baby.

he had promised that the first weekend when they were both available, he would take her pumpkin picking. she'd seen pictures from her friend's and acknowledged her jealousy, asking repeatedly why they were able to go but she wasn't. Rúben hated to see his little girl upset, especially for something that was so easy to fix.

several other families mill around, some slipping and sliding and no doubt seeing their life flash before their eyes as they begin their downward journey into the dirt. the sun seems brighter, imitating the way winter sun blinds, though it probably doesn't help that it's cutting through a veil of fog which hangs over the fields, leaving the scene before you all to feel incredibly spooky. you half expect to find a scarecrow to be hung up with a pumpkin head carved with a menacing smile as an attraction to take pictures with.

"mummy is a slowpoke," Rúben says loud enough for you to be able to hear, deliberately turning his head to ensure it reaches you as far back as you are. she giggles, betraying you in the process, and begins to chant "slowpoke" as she bends over to examine a pumpkin before deciding that it's not the one for her.

"come on mummy," he laughs as he begins to run in slow motion, "lets have a race, see if she can catch us." he says, encouraging the mini version of himself. she eagerly agrees, traitor, and begins to mimic him while squealing "catch us mummy" over and over.

Rúben's happy smile quickly disappears as he catches your expression and he gulps as you approach.

"what was that?"

"nothing," he feigns innocence.

"daddy says you're slow." your daughter says as she approaches with a small, but to her a large, pumpkin in her hands. it's dirty, the mud clings to her small hands but she looks super proud of her find as she rolls it into the wheelbarrow.

"keep speaking like that honey," you say, your words dripping with sweetness as you give him a smile just as sickly, "and you'll find yourself picking out an extra large pumpkin to strap to your stomach while i zap you with a TENS machine to see how a tiny bit of this feels."

"that sounds like fun." he grimaces, "but i'll, respectfully, pass. hey sugarplum, do you want to show me those big muscles of yours and maybe help mummy push this wheelbarrow while i help her walk along?" he asks, squatting down to her level and using a calming voice.

she immediately lifts her arms to flex her biceps and show that she's capable of it while he steps to your side and wraps an arm around your lower back.

"good choice Dias, good choice."

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Grey 53

First / Previous / Next

Northern Lights coasted through the deep interstellar, moving at 80% the speed of light. Zhe had never been relativistic before and the view outside looked decidedly odd. The stars ahead were sharp, harsh blue pinpricks and the ones behind were the deep red embers of a dying fire. They had been accelerating for the last month, and Northern had finally turned off the stardrive. Zhe was able to leave the acceleration couch. After a shower, she sat in her cabin, brushing her fur.

"Thanks for taking me along, Northern."

"Oh, it's fine Zhe, it's not like I'm short on space." Northern's voice came seemingly from everywhere when Zhe talked to her. It took some getting used to, but by now Zhe was able to just start talking to herself and hear Northern answer. "Actually, can you go down to the hold and check on our cargo?"

Zhe's ears flicked in amusement. She was pretty sure this was just to give her something to do. "Sure Northern, but can't you check on it yourself?"

"I can, yes, but my cameras will never be as good as someone walking up to them, checking on them, making sure they're ready." Northern said.

Shrugging, Zhe finished brushing, and went down to the hold. She snapped on the lights, and there in two straight lines were eight, 3 meter long lozenges of tungsten. Even in the dark hold they looked unsettling. Attached to all of them was a girdle of maneuvering jets and a miniaturized reactor. On the rear was a lump of metal that looked almost biological. It was blended and formed to look like a growth from the tungsten. A wormhole generator. Zhe stared at her reflection in the mirror finish of the weapons. "Northern? Are we doing the right thing?"

"What do you mean, Zhe?"

"I mean, these are relativistic impactors. It's a serious escalation. Piracy is one thing, I'm from a family of pirates. But, this is like, war crime stuff. We're planning on destroying-"

"We're destroying a shipyard and some Imperial military installations. No civilians, Zhe. I promise."

"Yeah, but-" Zhe's sounded unsure. Her reflection in the tungsten looked back, her features distorted by the curves. "It's a line, and we're not only crossing it, but we're sprinting over it."

"Zhe, we've been trying to get Fen's attention for what, a year now?"

"More or less, yes." Zhe said, still staring at the weapons.

"Has anything worked?"

Zhe had to admit that it hadn't. They had started with some piracy, attacking colonial shipping and they made a pile of money; sending it back to the Heap, and even became slightly notorious in a few systems, but never got Imperial attention. "No, not really."

"So, we attack where she makes and trains ships, and she'll have to go after us. If nothing else, we reduce her ability to make war."

"People are going to hate us." Zhe sighed. That was what probably annoyed her the most. Zhe prided herself on being friendly and outgoing, and here she was, about to do something that could make her vilified to every human.

"Not all of them! There are plenty of humans that hate the Empire. All the AIs too."

"Northern, I've read human history, I know what happened to New Wellington."

One of the original colony worlds, New Wellington sat with Parvati and Mèihuá as the three jewels in Earth's colonial crown. However, shortly after the wormhole generators were developed a war broke out between Parvati and New Wellington. After years of fighting, Parvati won by sending relativistic impactors to New Wellington, destroying the colony completely. The shock of the attack was so great, relativistic weapons were banned, and Parvati was ostracized for decades. To this day, relations between Parvati and Mèihuá are chilly.

"We're not destroying a colony, Zhe. We're hitting shipyards and a few military bases on Luna. We're almost at the drop point. Do the final checks and come on back up to the Command Deck." Northern said, and cut the connection.

Zhe stared at the weapons a moment longer. She touched the one closest to her, the metal cold and impersonal. She shook her head once, like she was clearing something off her fur, and her ears flicked. "Ancestors, what are we doing?" she whispered, but then turned her back and made her way back up to the Command Deck.

Upstairs, Zhe settled into the commander's seat. It was really only a formality, Northern was the one in charge, but she liked being the biological being in command, and Northern let her at least give some of the orders. Zhe was sure that in a real emergency, Northern would take over, but maybe she would let Zhe make some of the decisions. "Northern, did you tell Gord what we were doing?"

"No, I didn't want to bother him. He has enough going on right now." Northern's voice sounded jovial but distracted. She was devoting very little energy to speaking to her friend.

"Did you even tell him? He's going to worry when some relativistic impactors link into Sol and destroy some bases and the shipyards."

"Worry about what, Zhe? Gord hates the empire as much as we do. He'll be happy someone it taking the initiative."

"Hmm." Zhe said, unconvinced. "Are we launching soon, Northern?"

"Yup. Just a few more minutes. We'll release, and then you have to go back to the acceleration couch for the decel."

Another month strapped in the acceleration couch while Northern thrusted at a few gee to slow down. If they linked back now, they'd still be moving at 80% light and would pass out of every star system they linked to in a few hours. Zhe would have to play her games and read her novels again. She had gone through all her entertainment on the acceleration, she didn't have anything else to do. Zhe wondered how much time will have passed. She knew about the time dilation issues traveling relativistically, but being gone for 3 to 4 months probably wouldn't change the calendar that much.

"We're ready to launch, Zhe. Would you like to do the honors?" As Northern said that, a panel rotated next to her, showing a control screen Zhe hadn't seen before. Peering at it, she saw the coordinates for the wormhole generators on the weapons. It looked like two were going to the Heinlein Shipyard, two to the Besmara Shipyard, and the remaining four to Imperial bases on Luna, Venus and Saturn. They would link into space a million and a half kilometers away, giving everyone less than five seconds notice before the strike. There was nearly no defense against the attack.

Zhe held her hand over the button. She couldn't shake the visuals that she saw of New Wellington. She had learned a lot about relativistic impactors while she was in the couch. "N-No, Northern. I can't do it."

"You can't? Why not Zhe?"

"I... just can't. I can't be the one that launches them."

"You sure were all for it when we left, Zhe. You could have said no at anytime." Northern sounded irritated. "This is important Zhe. It's necessary."

"Who says it's necessary? You?"

"Yes, me, Zhe. I'm the ship, I made the weapons, it was my idea. If we want Fen to find us, if we want to find Fen, we have to be noticed. Not only will we get noticed, but we will strike a blow against their warmaking abilities. You've seen the dreadnoughts they're building as much as I have, Zhe. Fen isn't building them for fun. She means to expand. She will attack the Gren, the Sefigans, the K'laxi. She'll attack anyone that stands in her and the Nanites way, and you know it."

"I just... wish there was a different way."

"There isn't Zhe. I launched them already and they linked away while you dithered. It's done. Now, get into the acceleration couch, I'm going to start decelerating."

Zhe blinked in astonishment, and her ears flicked rapidly. So it was true. She was just along for the ride. She got up, and without another word climbed into the acceleration couch.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

short prompt of smth around the love language of sharing food! either comfort thru good food or noticing each other's fave food or sharing a food from their culture etc etc

"Babe. Babe. Babe."

Stede sighed, looking up from picking at his mushroom stroganoff to glare at his beautiful, perfect boyfriend. "What."

Ed's smile was sympathetic as he laid down his fork, his own mushroom wellington mostly-eaten on his plate. "You know you don't have to eat it, right?"

"Well -"

"Stede, love, sweet, my perfect light of sunshine," Ed interrupted, grinning when that got him a small smile, "I just have a question for you. A tiny question."

"Mhm. Shoot."

Ed reached a hand across the table, smiling when Stede's fingers immediately laced easily with his. "Why did you tell me you like mushrooms when you very, very obviously don't?"

Stede chewed on his bottom lip, looking back down at what really did look like a perfectly-executed mushroom stroganoff. "You tried so hard," he said, quietly, after a moment.

"I could've made you something else -"

"But I need to be supportive," Stede practically wailed, and Ed's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Alright, hug time," Ed declared, standing up and unceremoniously pulling Stede to his feet for a proper hug.

Stede sighed deeply, hands coming up to lightly circle Ed's back, sighing into his shoulder. He'd been the one to encourage Ed to quit the modeling job he hated and go to culinary school, and the last thing he wanted was to fuck up Ed's confidence by not liking a dish!

"Hey, Ed?" Stede said softly. "I don't really like mushrooms."

"I could tell, yeah." Ed pressed a kiss to Stede's forehead, rocking him gently from side to side.

"It's the texture," Stede said, leaning back so he could stick his tongue out to make Ed laugh. "They're just so chewy and slimy and - ugh!"

"Alright, point taken," Ed said, with a good-natured laugh.

"I mean," Stede hastily corrected, "yours were on...the better end of that spectrum."

"I'm sure they were, babe." Ed gave Stede a cheeky pat on the ass, then pulled back to take his hand to lead him into the kitchen. "Wanna know the best thing about making stroganoff? You always end up with so many extra noodles."

Stede still felt a bit guilty, as Ed got the leftover egg noodles from the stroganoff back onto the stove, tossing them with some butter and adding melty cheese, not even having to ask to know what Stede would like best.

"See, there we go," Ed laughed when he got Stede seated at the table again and he promptly started shoveling noodles into his face. "That's how I know I've succeeded."

Oh, fuck, the guilt was back.

"Ed," Stede said, forcing down a huge swallow of noodle, "I'm really so, so sorry -"

"Nothing to apologize for," Ed said, giving Stede's arm a gentle squeeze. "You're not gonna like everything I cook -"

"Well, I should!"

"Oh, Stede," Ed sighed. "What's your favorite food in the world?"

"Shrimp," Stede said immediately. "Fried shrimp. Can't resist -"

"Can't resist your shrimpies, yeah," Ed said. "And we can't even keep them in our house."

"Well, you keep Kosher, we can't contaminate all the cookware," Stede winced. "It's not the same, you've got a reason, I'm just being picky -"

"Not the point, babe," Ed said gently. "The point is...we make allowances for each other, I guess. And you're not just being picky, you've got a reason, too. Not liking them counts as a reason. It's fine, but I wish you'd have just told me you wouldn't like the mushrooms."

And before Stede could even apologize -

"No apologies necessary," Ed said firmly, squeezing his hand. "We take care of each other."

And wasn't that a delight? There, in their kitchen, with his belly full of warm food and Ed smiling next to him...Stede had never felt more at home.

[scotianostra]

Leaders of the “Radical Rising”, John Baird and Andrew Hardie were put to death on September 8th 1820 at Stirling.

I last covered the Rising just over a week ago when I posted about the execution of James Purilie Wilson on Glasgow Green.

By 1820, living and working conditions for Scottish weavers, spinners, colliers and manual labourers were often brutal. Many had no work; the labour market flooded with demobbed soldiers from Wellington’s army.

Radicals wanted wide-sweeping change: reform of the corrupt Westminster parliament, universal adult suffrage (not necessarily excluding women), annually elected parliaments and the repeal of the hated Corn Laws, which kept the price of bread artificially high, protecting the interests of landowners and grain merchants at the expense of the poor.

A strike of some 60,000 workers was called in April 1820 and a so-called ‘provisional government’ was even called in Glasgow. A group of Scottish Radicals, mainly weavers armed with pikes, prepared to break into the Carron Ironworks to seize armaments. They were easily overcome by the Yeomanry at Bonnymuir and 47 were arrested on charges of treason. After their trial, three of the ringleaders, Andrew Hardie, James Wilson and John Baird, were executed and nineteen others sentenced to penal transportation to Australia.

What may have looked to the governing authorities of the time as dangerous insurrection, can with hindsight be regarded as part of the 19th century struggle for social justice and democratic human rights. The Scottish Radicals are now regarded as courageous campaigners for justice who fought for the democratisation of Scotland. One of them, John Baird, has a local primary school named after him.

Shortly before he died, standing on a scaffold erected in Broad Street, Andrew Hardie declared: ‘I die a martyr to the cause of truth and justice.’ John Baird said the same. The two men were buried in pauper’s graves in the graveyard of Stirling’s Church of the Holy Rude.

Decades later, their bodies were exhumed and brought to Glasgow, where they were re-interred at Sighthill Cemetery in the north of the city. The monument above their last resting place also honours James Wilson.

The pics include a Broadside reporting the trial, you can find a transcript of here

https://digital.nls.uk/broadsides/view/?id=14665...

[tomjamesavery]

I miss Her Written for Ginnyversary with the prompt: #B14 — He waited until her husband was out of the room, then... Read on: AO3

James Potter felt slightly better than before, as he stepped into the Floo at Godric's Hollow. 

His son and daughter-in-law had invited him to dinner at Grimmauld Place, and since Lily, his wife, was currently on an international NGO educational trip, teaching magical orphans in South America, making him quite lonely at home, he was happy for any distraction he could get.

As he was employed at Hogwarts, as the new deputy Headmaster to Minerva McGonagall and  Head of Gryffindor House, he found himself with a lot of time on his hands since the summer break had started two weeks ago.

But that wasn’t on his mind right now, as he dusted himself off, stepping from the Floo into his son’s family’s living room.

“Dad! And on time at that!” Harry happily greeted him, glancing at the old grandfather Clock, engraved with the Crest of the House Black.

James smiled at his son as the two lovingly embraced in a big bear hug.

“24 Years old, and you’re still smaller than me.” James teased, earning him an eye-roll from Harry.

“We’re basically the same height Dad, I guess I’ve just learned to better control my hair,” Harry smirked. “Look at your mop of unruly Potter mess up there!”

James only snorted as he lightly elbowed his son in the side. Neither of them noticed the third person that had entered the room.

“You both have hairstyles worthy of the Potter name.” Ginny had appeared in the doorway, she was wearing a Harpies sweater and grey Jeans, smiling brightly at them. “Now come on you two, dinner is ready, Harry, our Cook, spent the entire afternoon whipping something up for us.” She exclaimed over her shoulder, leaving towards the kitchen again.

James smirked as he saw his son stare after his wife, a lovesick look shaping his face.

“A lucky bastard, that’s what you are.” He teased. Earning him a rude hand gesture from Harry, as the two Potter men made their way into the kitchen as well.

Dinner was a calm affair, Harry had prepared them Beef Wellington with sides of mash, green peas, and Brussels sprouts. James had to admit, his son could cook.

They chatted about what had been going on in their lives recently, Ginny outlining the details of their last Quidditch training, as the two men attentively listened.  Harry told about the new field of work assigned to him since he had been appointed Deputy Head of the Auror Department just last month, it was a commotion and there even had been a party thrown in his name, which he hated.

While James outlined his plans for reworking the garden at Godric’s Hollow, and how he had been keeping himself busy over the last few weeks, pointedly ignoring how much was missing Lily.

While Harry luckily didn’t seem to catch on, James had noticed the looks his daughter-in-law was giving him, she wasn't as oblivious as her husband, and James was once again reminded how she very much had become a real daughter for him and Lily, in all but blood, they loved her unconditionally.

After they had finished the main course James was very certain Ginny had fully caught on to how miserable he had been feeling recently. They were sitting in comfortable silence for a short while, before Harry spoke up again, a big grin crossing his features.

“I’ve tried myself on something special, for dessert tonight, give me a few minutes, I will be in the kitchen!” With those words he stooped up quickly making his way toward the kitchen, whistling as he went.

But James's eyes were already on Ginny, and he waited until her husband was out of the room, before he spoke.

“Yes, I am lonely, I know it's unreasonable, but she’s been gone for four weeks, and she’ll only be back by the end of this month, so in two weeks…” He continued a hint of desperation in his voice. “Ginny I don’t know what to do without her… I can't…”

“James!” He was interrupted by his daughter-in-law, who looked at him in concern, as she continued with a calm voice.

“Breathe! Deep Breaths, In and Out!” She instructed, and James closed his eyes, doing what she said.

“Good that’s better, now listen to me for a second.” Her tone was sweet and she gave him an understating smile.

“We both know how much Lily wanted this, and I know how much you supported her, going there on her own, to do what she loves, helping others.”

“Lily misses you too, and I bet she can’t wait to come back and snog you senseless-“ James smiled at the thought, as Ginny continued.

“-But she wouldn't want you to be miserable here, she wants you to be fulfilled and happy, and of course that doesn't mean that you’re not allowed to miss her, but crying after her like a little lovesick puppy, wouldn't make her happy either if she knew-” Ginny explained.

“-and I can tell you, if there’s anyone that always knows stuff like that, it's her!” She smiled, her face full of understanding.

“So jump into your garden, and get working, or start preparing next year's school plan, whatever, just stay busy, she will be back in two weeks' time anyway, those few days will fly past, I promise!” 

The last words she said made James feel a lot more at ease, Ginny was right, those two weeks would fly by, just like the last four had, he would just keep busy and before he could blink, the love of his life would be back and they would be united again.

“Who wants self-made treacle tart!” James threw open his eyes, just as his son stepped back into the room, holding two plates of dessert.

He suddenly stopped, looking at his wife and father sitting at the table. “Everything alright, you two look so serious somehow?” Harry raised a confused eyebrow. There was a deafening silence for a second until James couldn't but laugh as he and Ginny burst into loud laughter, leaving Harry staring at them in even bigger confusion.

“No Babe, it's fine, we were just talking about how full we were from your wonderful meal.” Ginny lied as she jumped to her feet, chastely kissing her husband on the lips, before turning and shooting James a swift grin as he nodded in thankful reply, reciprocating her smile.

Harry only shook his head, his eyes still wide open in confusion as they switched between James and Ginny. “Sometimes you two are an enigma to me...”

[devilbeez]

Headcanon collection #14

Random FloydxRiddle fluff

Riddle’s weak to Floyd doing the hold hand kiss the knuckles thing

Riddle some time question if dropping his mom out of his life as the right choice and Floyd just take his hand and kiss his knuckle because he can see Riddle was worried and Riddle just “you know what? Yes. Yes it was the right choice—“

“I can show you the world~ top shelf, pantry, no tip toe” — Floyd @ Riddle at some point probably

When the boys are old enough to try alcohol the third years were supervising and they told them “your limit is one drink” and because Riddle had no experience he thought he could just chug the bottle in one go, so obviously he got drunk and it’s the one time Floyd the responsible one between the two and take care of Riddle. With that being said tho Floyd still would draw on on Riddle face with sharpie

Riddle did not handle his first time being drunk well and end up being chaotic, he even chase Floyd for a change

Riddle being Riddle there probably things he never say sober or just— generally complimenting Floyd and saying couple like stuff so when he’s drunk there just random slip of “you have beautiful eyes” and Floyd capture every moment of it and he refuse to delete it

Riddle and Floyd date would be at like festival date it just make sense and I can’t explain

Speaking of festivals date, Floyd won Riddle an Eel plush and now he have something that represents Floyd in his room. Eventually Riddle won him a goldfish plush so now there just a special space in both their room for those plushes. They both insist on calling the plushies their children

That btw is what cause Riddle to spiral down plushies hole Floyd got him more plushies this time hedgehog ones

Floyd message Riddle during class from time to time and Riddle going through the corruption arc and not as strict with rules now sometimes replies. But there are time he doesn’t want to respond cause you know class and there are time when Floyd so excited about something so you just have

Floyd: GOLDFISHY LOOK

Riddle: I’ll do it later I’m in class

Floyd: I GOT A NEW SHOES LOOK AT IT

Riddle: good for you but I am in class

Floyd: LOOK AT IT GOLDFISHY IT SO COOL—

Riddle: I A M I N C L A S S

Floyd sometimes messaging Riddle like “this pebble remind me of you 🥰” Riddke keep all of the pebbles. He never been gifted something before especially it’s his mom so now he keep everything Floyd give him

Trey: …riddle is that a rock?

Riddle: huh— oh that’s Rockington jr. Yeah I use him as paperweight sometimes leave him there

Trey: …I’m sorry I still stuck on the fact that it have a name and it’s “Rockington Junior”

Riddle: yeah Rockington senior is over there by Floyd Jr.

Trey: ….Riddle that an eel plush

Riddle: I never said I’m the one naming it— blame Floyd—

This video. That is all

After they get together Floyd take Riddle to petting zoo for his birthday. He say it’s for Riddle cause he love small animals like hedgehogs but in reality it both for Riddle and for him to meet his goat friend Sir Wayne Georgia Wellington the third

Riddle’s mom hate Floyd because let’s be honest just as friends Floyd is already a bad influence, but as boyfriend there will be no turning back for Riddle. Literally the only thing holding them all back is his love for rule. And even that doesn’t hold them back that much considering Riddle have becoming more and more chill with the rules

They once made the mistake of sitting down and having family dinner with Riddle’s mom and eventually at some point Floyd or literally anyone snap and went on a rant like “—AND ANOTHER THING YOU SHOULD APPRECIATE HIM MORE BECAUSE HE’S AMAZING AS HE IS, AND ANOTHER THING YOU’RE NEED TO LOWER YOUR STANDARDS, AND ANOTHER THING—“ and it just keep going, no one stop him they just sit there eating their meal like “huh this place have nice salad”

Most people would think Riddle the one taking their first valentines seriously and .Floyd just don’t really care when it’s the opposite. Floyd want to do everything and even try and planned stuff for the day with Jade and Azul help cause he thought Riddle would be all over this since “rule of valentines and stuff” while Riddle barely planned anything out cause either 1. He never really care for valentines and don’t get why couples like it 2. He just straight up forgot it’s valentines cause he don’t have it in his calendar or 3. He thought Floyd wouldn’t really wanna celebrate so he just expected to spend their day like usual and maybe go on a regular date-hang out and not date date

Adding to this, because Riddle didn’t expect a date he almost go with Floyd in his school uniform then Cater pull him away and tell Floyd to wait. This lead to Trey and ADeuce messing around like “what is your intention with my son?”

Riddle’s mom think Floyd come on to Riddle as friends or boyfriend for the money. But then we cut to this mf Only wanting to buy shoes on some occasions and only want to ever buy tiny ducks to mess with Azul. Like

Mrs. Riddle: he probably want our money

Floyd with his new shoes and lil ducklings: and I’ll call you goldfish Jr. and you Ducklia, and you will be Tako because Azul would hate that—

Riddle only stole hoodie because man read somewhere it what couple do but he like it so much because they comfy Floyd no longer have hoodies— they just all at Heartslayul

Because the lounge being you know basically a restaurant, they need to decorate for stuff and sometime they need to buy things so they rotate between every members for decoration shopping in the town and one time Floyd was assigned the role and invited Riddle cause Riddle rarely get out and it basically go

Floyd: come on it’ll be fun!

Riddle: I don’t know—

Floyd: here talk to Azul he’d cover for your work if you say it to supervise me

Riddle: no he wouldn’t he know you responsible enough

Floyd: does he? Does he really?

Riddle: ……*call azul* hey so I’m here with Floyd he said he’s going to go into town and I was thinking—

Azul: he need supervision? Agree, I’ll cover your work thank *hang up*

Riddle: ……well show me the town I guess—

Riddle one time went out with the shirt Floyd made him wear saying “cunt era” first he didn’t wanna but as day went on he got over it and just vibing. And then his mother somehow find out and about to start lecturing, out of pure being done, I give no fuck mix with couldn’t change personality in time moment he went “I don’t approved of your parenting and you don’t see me complaining” And that the story of how Riddle moved out of the house at 17–

they adopted 2 kids in the future a set of twins merfolk and fate have it so that the kids are octopus merfolk so as soon as Floyd know he just shaking from excitement cause Azul gonna be so happy. A couple of years later it backfired and Azul keep saying he gonna steal the kid cause one time the kid saw Azul merform and got so excited cause he’s just like them

Kid: will I get to see uncle azul merform? :D

Floyd: probably not kid, he doesn’t like—

Azul, in his merform: please don’t answer for me Floyd

Kid: *shaking from excitement and have the brightest smile anyone ever seen* UNCLE AZUL IS LIKE MEE!!

Azul also spoiled them rotten btw, he love his niece/nephew so much and Riddle got so much headache from it

Leaning into my ship here but I like to believe Azul brought Riddle and Floyd kids one of those kids instrument that doesn’t have a lower volume button. Jade just give them a teddy bear…..that have a voice box and a button on its hand and the voice line is “I love uncle Azul and uncle Jade more than everyone else” Floyd think it’s funny and Riddle hated it so much— he haven’t been in a quiet house in days—

When Riddle moved out and was about to send her a gift but Floyd the chaos skyscraper intercept it and gift her like a bunch of things that say stuff like “worst mom ever” “fuck you whore” “⬆️ Karen”

Floyd don’t say Riddle’s name often but when he does he do it in private and in intimate moments like saying “I love you”, proposing etc and it melt Riddle every time. His name being said by Floyd is one of those things that he love and couldn’t explain why

[richincolor]

I thought it would be fun to highlight some books that came out earlier this summer! Have you read any of these yet? Did they make your TBR list?

Looking for Smoke by K.A. Cobell Heartdrum

Since moving to the Blackfeet Reservation with her parents, Mara Racette has felt like an outsider, taunted by her tight-knit classmates for growing up far away. So, when a local girl includes Mara in a traditional Blackfeet giveaway to honor her missing sister, Mara thinks she’ll finally make some friends. Instead, a girl from the giveaway, Samantha White Tail, is found murdered. Because the members of the giveaway group were the last to see Samantha alive, each becomes a person of interest in the investigation: New-girl Mara, who hated Samantha for being particularly cruel. Grief-stricken Loren Arnoux, who was Samantha’s best friend until her sister’s disappearance drove a wedge between them. Class-clown Brody Clark, whose unreciprocated crush on Samantha is an open secret. And tough-guy Eli First Kill, who has his own complicated history with Samantha. Despite deep mistrust, the four must now take matters into their own hands and clear their names. Even though one of them may be the murderer. In her powerful debut novel, Looking for Smoke, author K. A. Cobell (Blackfeet) weaves loss, betrayal, and complex characters into a mystery that will illuminate, surprise, and engage readers until the final word.

The Blonde Dies First by Joelle Wellington Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

A group of friends fight to choose their own fates in this trope-savvy, self-referential young adult thriller from the acclaimed author of Their Vicious Games, about a demonic force that acts according to horror movie rules in the spirit of the Scream movies. Devon is always being left behind by her genius twin sister, Drew. At this point, it’s a fact of life. But Devon has one last plan before Drew leaves for college a whole year early—The Best Summer Ever. After committing to the bit a little too much, the twins and their chaotic circle of friends learn why you don’t ever mess with a Ouija board if you want to actually survive the Best Summer Ever, and soon find themselves being hunted down by…a demon? But while there’s no mistaking the creeping, venomous figure is not from around here, their method doesn’t feel very demonic at all. In fact, it’s downright human—going after them in typical slasher movie kill order. And that means Devon, the blonde, is up first and her decade-long crush, Yaya, is the Final Girl who must kill or be killed to end the cycle. Devon has never liked playing by anyone else’s rules though, not even a demon’s, and the longer this goes on, the more she feels Drew and Yaya slipping away from her even as she tries to help them all survive. Can they use their horror movie knowledge to flip the script and become the hunters instead of the hunted? Or will their best summer ever be their last?

The Girl with No Reflection by Keshe Chow Delacorte Press

Princess Ying Yue believed in love … once upon a time. Yet when she’s chosen to wed the crown prince, Ying’s dreams of a fairy tale marriage quickly fall apart. Her husband-to-be is cold and indifferent, confining Ying to her room for reasons he won’t explain. Worse still are the rumors that swirl around the imperial palace: whispers of seven other royal brides who, after their own weddings, mysteriously disappeared. Left alone with only her own reflection for company, Ying begins to see things. Strange things. Movements in the corners of her mirror. Colorful lights upon its surface. And when, on the eve of her wedding, she unwittingly tears open a gateway, she is pulled into a mirror world. This realm is full of sentient reflections, including the enigmatic Mirror Prince. Unlike his real-world counterpart, the Mirror Prince is kind and compassionate, and before long Ying falls in love—the kind of love she always dreamed of. But there is darkness in this new world, too. It turns out the two worlds have a long and blood-soaked history, and Ying has a part to play in the future of them both. And the brides who came before Ying? By the time they discovered what their role was, it was already too late.

[obsidiancreates]

Out Of The Shadows and Into The Neon (Part 11)

Six fathers stand before five children. 

Leon taps his foot, arms crossed. “So… who wants to explain themselves?”

“She started it!” Mikey shouts, pointing at Tweetie who’s still rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She chirps in shock and rage!

“Your dads started it!”

“Now now!” Hypno puts his hands on his hips. “Tweetalinda Wellington Stone, you know the rules about fighting turtles!”

Tweetie slumps. “Stay away from the small ones.”

“That’s right. These guys are no joke, you know!” Hypno waves his arms at the Mad Dogz. “The small one can throw skyscrapers!”

“But the tiny ones can’t! And adults don’t fight kids!”

“Uh, hate to burst your bubble, kid, but we were children when your adult dads started fighting us,” Leon informs.

Tweetie’s feathers puff with rage. “Well-! Well, uh, no-one really got hurt! They hit each other more than I hit them!”

“Those were accidents!” Donnie defends.

“And they only happened because you swung your hammer at us!” Raph points at her with a sai– which is promptly confiscated by his father.

“Okay, okay.” Raphie sighs. “Listen, kids. We adults may have problems with each other, but we don’t want you inheriting those problems. You guys have no beef! If, you know, you ignore this whole situation.”

“And we don’t want you getting hurt,” Warren says to Tweetie. “Even an illustrious villain such as I–”

“Who is he again?” Angelo whispers to Donald. Donald shrugs.

“–doesn’t think there’s value in harming the children of my enemies. And I especially don’t want those enemies harming my child!”

“Does he think we’d fight a ten-year-old?” Raphie says aloud.

“Are you saying we wouldn’t?” Donald asks. Raphie frowns at him. Raph Jr. grins up at his uncle.

“I’d fight them again,” Tweetie chirps, crossing her arms.

“Well so would we! And Donnie would figure out how to beat you again!” Raph barks back, putting an arm around his younger brother. All four turtles scowl at Tweetie, who scowls right back.

The six fathers all share a look- not the look of enemies, not the look of shared mutant-ship, but the look of disappointed parents.

“Then you leave us no choice,” Hypno says, lowering his head dramatically. “We’re all in agreement.”

“This hurts to say, boys,” Angelo sniffles. “But… you’re…”

The six fathers speak at once.

“Grounded.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Uuuhhhhhggg!” Raph kicks the rug in the living room. “This sucks!”

“I know, dude! It’s like we’re being punished!” Mikey lays on his plastron, sunk deep into a beanbag.

“We are being punished, Mikey.” Leo looks longingly at the Jupiter Jim and Lou Jitsu movies they aren’t allowed to watch for the next two days. “It’s so unfair!”

“They did tell us not to get into fights.” Donnie sits in the middle of the room, trying to take apart an old junky camera he’d found using a paper clip and a butter knife. 

“Can’t Shelldon sneak us a movie or something?” Mikey whines, scrambling up and over to the screen on the coffee table.

“Sorry little dudes,” Shelldon says. “Grounded protocol is active, all I can do is watch you while the Mad Dogz are out.”

“But you’re our big brother!” Mikey clasps his hands together. “Can’t you, uh, override yourself?”

“Maybe if I had a body lil’ dude, but I’m just an app right now!”

“I still don’t know why Dad won’t let me make you a body,” Donnie grumps, prying the lens casing off the camera.

“Because everything you make blows up,” Raph says, plopping down next to Donnie and picking up the butter knife to twirl in his fingers. “And a robot can walk places before it blows up.”

“Not everything!” Donnie looks down the hall that leads to his father’s lab– which has collected a significant amount of burn marks, broken bricks, and metal patch jobs since Donnie started building his own projects at his dad’s side. “Just… some, things.”

“It’s because you use garbage, little dude,” Shelldon says. 

“I try to use Dad’s stuff!” Donnie grabs the butter knife back from Raph and twists the paperclip around the tip, making a makeshift screwdriver for the screen of the camera. “It’s just… hard! I feel weird messing up so much with all of it! At least if I mess up with garbage, the only thing that blew up is garbage.”

“Hey, you don’t always mess up.” Leo sits next to Donnie. “Like the little TV you made.”

“Or the pizza warmer!” Mikey bounces in place. “You made that out of an old toaster and it never blows up!”

“As long as Leo doesn’t use it,” Raph snarks, elbowing his older brother as he tjoins the circle next to Leo.

“It’s not my fault toasters hate me!” Leo elbows Raph back, then looks at Donnie again. “But, you also made that stuff for fires we could use without our dads knowing.”

“The self-dissipating fire suppression foam? I-I just formulated that off some stuff Papa Draxum and I were experimenting with.”

“And because of it, no-one even knows we set our skateboards on fire trying to add rockets,” Mikey says sagely. “... Hey, maybe we can do that again while we’re grounded! They can’t take away trash!”

Donnie looks at the makeshift screwdriver in his hand. “Hmm…” He looks at Shelldon. “Are you gonna tell on us if we do?”

“Programmed to, brah. Sorry.”

“Then… we won’t make any rockets out of trash.”

“Sounds good!”

Donnie grins, deviously, and looks at his brothers. Raph matches the mischief with his own grin, and Mikey whoops while rolling onto his back. Leo winces.

“I dunno… what if we get grounded even more?”

“What if I model yours after Jupiter Jim’s space-board from the Miami-Terra 4 trilogy?” Donnie offers. He looks at Shelldon. “Uh, in theory.”

“Cool theory, lil’ bro!”

Leo considers it… and then smiles. “With the turtle-shark shaped engine and everything?”

“Yes!” Raph and Mikey high-five over Leo joining in, and Raph pats Leo on the back. “Being grounded won’t be so bad after all!”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t believe we really grounded them!” Angelo wails, laying on top of a billboard and putting a hand over his eyes. “We’re the lame parents we always swore not to become!”

“HEY!” Splints lashes his tail, throwing a garlic knot between Angelo’s eyes. Angelo yelps as he tumbles off the billboard, catching himself with his mystic powers before he hits the rooftop– to save the building from harm more than himself.

“It’s true,” Raphie sniffles, holding a drawing Raph Jr. did for him a couple years ago of the two of them fighting some robots. “We must’ve done something wrong!”

“You have done nothing wrong, my sons.” Splints climbs up Raphie’s back so he can lay a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes, children just do things they are told not to, and they need to learn there are reasons they are told not to do some things.”

“But what if we’ve been setting a bad example?” Leon sits on the edge of the rooftop, dangling one leg over the side and using the other to rest his arms and chin on. “I mean, they want to fight so bad because we fight. What if we did jump into this parenting thing too soon, and because we don’t know what we’re doing, they’ll get hurt?”

“Not if I complete my full-body growth-acclimating armor,” Donald says, working on the blueprints as they speak. “I started working on it three hours ago, so I should have it done by… breakfast.”

“But if we coddle them it’ll be even worse!” Angelo chews on the chain of his ‘chucks. “If only we knew someone who knew what raising kids is like!”

Splints eye twitches. “I AM STANDING RIGHT HERE! I LITERALLY CAME ALONG TO GIVE YOU FATHERLY ADVICE!”

“That’s why? I thought you just needed a new robe again.”

“NO! Well, maybe. But the main reason is the advice! Listen, my sons. I, too, did not expect fatherhood to be a part of my life. I made many mistakes.”

Donald opens his mouth.

“Which we know without exact numbers!”

Donald closes his mouth.

Splints sighs, rubbing his forehead. “My point is, it is not easy. And you boys are already doing… a better job, than I did when you were their ages. It is impossible to be a perfect parent. But your sons love you, and respect you. They are good boys– they will understand why you had to do this, and learn from it.”

“But… they’ll be upset with us.” Raphie holds the drawing close to his chest.

“You have been upset with me, yes?”

“Plenty.” “Oh, sure.” “Upset is a strong word…” “You STOLE MY TURTLE TANK!”

“Okay, okay!” Splints huffs. “But you forgave me, didn’t you?”

“Of course we did!” “After a bit.” “We love you, Dad!” “What is your definition of ‘forgave’?” 

“So your sons will forgive you four.” Splints gestures for them to move in, and to the best of his ability hugs all four of his sons. “And as I said. They are good boys! They are likely regretting their actions, already.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donnie sticks his tongue out as he tightens the bolt using a pair of bent metal chopsticks he welded together out of a makeshift blowtorch. “Pliers?”

Mikey laughs and hands over a pair of “pliers” fashioned out of some old kiddie scissors. Donnie carefully attaches a wire to the tiny engine made out of old cameras, broken computer parts, and the remains of an old gas-powered stove.

Donnie wipes his forehead and sighs, then smiles. “I think they’re done! Behold, the ah… the shellboards!” 

He holds his hands out in proud display as his brothers’ eyes shine. Their little skateboards are now fitted with tiny rocket engines on the backs. Including a casing shaped like a turtle shell with a shark fin on top for Leo’s.

“AWESOME!” Mikey laughs widely as he grabs his and throws it down, flipping on top. “How does it work?!”

“This pedal turns it on, and to turn it off you just step on it aga-”

“TURBO TIME, DUDES!” Mikey steps on the pedal and blasts off.

“HEY, WAIT FOR US!” Raph hops on next and takes off after Mikey, the both of them whooping and cheering!

“GUYS! YOU’LL BREAK SOMETHING! … Well, uh, only one way to catch them.” Leo hops onto his own board and zooms!

“Maybe I’ll get in less trouble since I’m remembering my helmet.” Donnie straps it on, makes sure his knee and elbow pads are secure, and takes off after his brothers!

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let us bring home apology pizzas,” Angelo says as they walk through the sewers.

“At least wait until they’ve been grounded for more than a few hours!” Splints says with a groan. His ears perk up, and he stops. “Wait. Do you hear…”

Leon leans forward with a hand to his ear-hole. “Happy screaming?”

Donald sniffs the air. “Is that… gasoline?”

Raphie backs up. “And is it getting closer?”

Angelo peers down the tunnel as a light shines from around a corner. “They can’t be–”

“HIT THE DECK!” Splints yanks his sons down to the ground as four tiny figures nearly fly overhead- if not for Raphie’s spikes catching on the wheels of the skateboards, sending them all tumbling off to the ground. The boards, still on, carry on down the tunnel without their riders.

“Ow!” Mikey rolls over. “What was tha… oooh.”

Angelo scoops Mikey up. “Ohmigosh! Are you okay?!”

“I’m okay, Dad!” Mikey covers his shoulder.

“What are you hiding?”

“It’s just a scratch!”

“Raph!” Raphie picks his son up as well, dangling him at arms-length. “What are you guys thinking?! You don’t even have your helmets on!”

“I do!” Donnie looks up at his dad, who stares down silently with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. Donnie looks down. “Um, we didn’t use the TV?”

A robotic arm from Donald’s battleshell reaches down and plucks the helmet off Donnie’s head. “It would have been better if you did.”

Leon crouches down to look his son in the eyes. “I know being grounded sucks, but this was literally the worst way to deal with the boredom! And, as awesome as rocket-powered skateboard are, you should not be messing with fire and high speeds when we aren’t around!”

“They were working really well until we got knocked off!” Leo defends. “Donnie nailed it this time!”

“What do you mean ‘this time’?” 

“... Um…”

“Okay, new rules!” Angelo tucks Mikey under his arm like he’s carrying a football. “From now on, no anything technology while you’re grounded! Y’all can color, eat already-cooked snacks, or talk to your aunts and uncle and grandpas, but nothin’ else!”

“But Daaaad!” Mikey pops into his shell. “That’s so lame!”

“We wouldn’t have to be lame if you guys didn’t almost get yourselves killed today! Twice!” Raphie plunks Raph on his shoulders. “And you know what? No ninja lessons for the rest of the week!”

The chorus of four little “Noooooo!”s is almost enough to break Raphie’s resolve– until Leon puts a hand on his shoulder and nods.

“And you, young man.” Donald’s robotic arm holds out, awaiting something. “Hand over whatever tools you used to make your highly impressive skateboards.”

Donnie sighs, and reaches into his belt. He hands over the butterknife with the paperclip, the chopstick-wrench, and the scissor-pliers. Donald’s disappointed-dad look melts away as he examines the tools. 

“Did you make these yourself?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Ohmigosh! Look at how resourceful my son i-!” Donald’s sparkling pride ceases when he turns and looks into the faces of his judging brothers and father. He clears his throat. “I mean, uh, don’t do it again. While you’re grounded. I’ll put these in a completely not showing-off display case until you earn them back.”

“How did you even do that while Shelldon was watching?” Leon asks as they all trudge back to the lair. “I thought he had some kinda alert system.”

“We went in another room,” Raph grumbles. “Told him it was hide-and-seek but using the lair cameras was cheating.”

“You guys are too smart for your own goods,” Raphie says, pinching between his eyes. “Okay, no more lying to your robot-brother/uncle or your human one or anyone else!”

“We can’t lie, can’t ride, can’t fight.” Mikey pops out of his shell, dangling from under his dad’s arm. “What can we do?!”

“How about you write your own comic?” Angelo looks around. “That’s uh, not against grounding rules, is it?”

“Uh… I don’t think so.” Raphie looks at Leon. Leon shrugs, so Raphie looks at Donald. Donald also shrugs.

“I think that will be fine.” Splints nods once. “It will be a good outlet foooooOOOOOO- BOYS!”

The four children wince as their fathers and grandfather stand in shock at the state of the lair living/entry room. The beanbags are singed from the passing rockets, there’s rubber marks on the floor, and smoke hangs heavy in the room. Shelldon’s tablet lays on the floor, the icon of his face showing X’s for eyes as he groans.

“... Oops,” Leo whispers.

“The comic can start… AFTER YOU CLEAN THIS ROOM!” Splints shoves various supplies into all of their hands. The four children whine, and Splints growls and glares. 

“Yes, grandpa,” they chorus.

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

Pro-Castlereagh propaganda:

His good friend Mrs. Arbuthnot wrote that he was “a great favourite among women” as he had “retained all the personal beauty which had distinguished him in early youth.’” (Sexymanness!)

Lord Castlereagh was a major architect of the great coalitions which ultimately defeated Napoleon. (Yay for team players!)

He was also key to making military uniforms largely decorative rather than practical over the next century—meaning he was a great help to the development of other men’s sexiness.

Castlereagh was a huge and early supporter of the Duke of Wellington, helping to advance his career even when others were in opposition. (He was such a good friend!)

He was instrumental in founding the Travellers Club, a nonpartisan, non-high-stakes gambling gentleman’s club only for those who had travelled at least 500 miles in a direct line from Trafalger Square, a home for globe trotters and diplomats where calm, rational conversation helped resolve some of the great many political problems of the time. (Isn’t it nice to think of someone who was willing to have bipartisan conversation?)

He fought a duel, wounding his opponent in the thigh (he lived), and won, restoring his honor. (Courageous!)

Castlereagh spent a good deal of time being disliked in the post Napoleonic years, but his popularity rebounded with that of the rest of the government by 1821. He wasn't terribly happy about this popularity; “I am grown as popular in 1821 as I was unpopular formerly, and of the two unpopularity is the more convenient and gentlemanlike.”

Castlereagh tragically committed suicide in 1822. Making him ironically Romantic, given the Romantic poets hated him.

.

[theinfernalcollective]

Just a big rant. Just fucking sick of some aspects of life right now

Having DID is something that affects your life in all the worst ways possible. Going out into town? A stranger walking behind you will make you think they're going to hurt you or worse. People being overly friendly, being approached by strangers, open spaces with large crowds? It will almost always cause a trigger and more often than not a panic attack.

I personally love a con called Armageddon, I love going there and I love the space. And yet despite this it will always end in trying to calm myself down in the cosplay lounge or the toilet due to triggers from such a large space with 150+ people. I have been going for, 4 years now I think. And every single time I end up having a dissociative episode and panic attacks. Due to this I don't go out to places like that alone anymore. My girlfriend will be there with me or a close friend because the absolute horror of being in a dissociative state while having a panic attack and some strangers come up to you trying to help only makes it worse. I won't even go out into town alone anymore. Note that my town isn't huge like say Auckland or Wellington. But nonetheless it will still set me off. My girlfriend has to put up with so much of my shit, so many dissociative episodes and panic attacks I am so grateful that she is by my side. Always there to help me when I need it the most.

And then I see 14 year olds making a mockery of DID by "switching on camera" and "oh this specific alter has tics!" Or some of that bullshit. While saying they love all their alters and that half of them are dating each other. All the while being against integration and not wanting therapy because "oh its not bad enough". I am so fucking sick of it. I am sick of not being able to live my life without daily fucking interruptions. I hate how fucking vulnerable i constantly feel.

[ourdreamsareneon]

I'm sorry if you don't follow me for niche takes on gang culture but UGH I hate Christopher Luxon (NZ's PM) for many many reason, one of which is him saying this government is going to be "harder on gangs" BITCH HOW???

Sentencing is already harder if you're in a gang or gang affiliated. You already can't wear patches in most establishments. The cops already are harsher on people if they know they're patched/affiliated/just happen to live in an area like Cannon's Creek where gang crime is high. The government already busted most of the trap houses in the Wellington region back in 2013.

What more are you planning to do that doesn't involve just killing people in the streets? Or locking people up that haven't even committed any crimes (or that you don't have evidence of because mostly everyone who is patched will have committed a crime to get patched.)

Labour actually worked with gangs to reduce violent crime and give back to the communities that are struggling to prevent young people from entering gangs as a last resort. National/ACT/NZ First has no interest in making life easier for people living in poverty and actually seem dead set on putting more people into poverty - and what have we learnt from decades of gang culture? When shit is bad, people join gangs because a gang is a family that will put food on the table and a roof over your head, and a government is a cold, careless institution that will put you on the streets and starve you so that they have one less person to give health care to.

[mealvaan]

Morsel

TW. Domestic abuse, alcoholism, body horror.

There were so few bells in the day, and Viscount Adrant de Zaciere occupied all of them.

Almost all of them. The Viscountess found nooks of time out of the sun to breathe in the company of a cursed journal and a worn-down quill. Visits to the Durendaire demesne and Jeweled Crozier were savoured too, though she longed for someone to speak to her bereft of courtesy and title, and conversations died like fruit flies under Adrant's purview.

Dinnertime was upon them. The lady of the house refused the retinue of manor staff she'd been assigned; she would not have what little work she was allowed to be taken away from her. Adrant insisted only on choosing the wine, which she would allow; it was a pretentious drink, and she cared little what label got her inebriated.

She beat the dough before her with the vigor of the Fury. The beef, she dug into relentlessly with her carver, as a dragoon would worm under dragon scale. She unapologetically tasted sauces with a two-finger dip just because no one was looking. How she'd longed to be a Dame, once upon a time. Bovine meat bore the only blood she ever got to spill.

The house staff were permitted to present the food she cooked. She didn't like dining with her husband alone.

"Beef wellington," Adrant said, breathlessly impressed. He held her in his gaze like a caged bird of paradise, marvelling at the new feathers she'd grown after that she'd shed. "You've outdone yourself, Imogen."

"It's not that difficult. We're just raised to be afraid of kitchen knives." Imogen indulged in the bite she was permitted at their dinner table. To her persistent irritation, Adrant merely found her scathing remarks amusing. His laughter, the tumbling currents of the deep sea.

"Hahaha. True, that. That's why I married you, my dear."

The table fell silent, save the wet sound of silver to meat. Imogen spent the rest of her evening sipping the Caelumtree Red 1540, as she begrudgingly recalled from Adrant's rambling.

He was an insistent sommelier, asking her all manner of questions. How does it feel? What does it remind you of? What kind of person do you think the wine best suits?

She spun fanciful, sardonic stories, for all the wine tasted the same to her. It's gravel-esque. Reminds me of a four-bell homily at the Cathedral. Best suits someone who hates their life.

In excruciating time, the meal was over.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Often the Viscountess rose before the sun. It was one of those secrets she indulged in, basking in the time before dawn while Adrant had left to gods know where. She hoped, often, that he would find a new wife wherever he went and leave her an honorable old maid. Or at least knock some poor woman up so she would have an excuse to leave with the Lafontaine name intact.

How fairytales die when midnight passes. How many moon-eyed little girls no longer dream of prince charming?

Her vanity was remarkably sparse for her station. There was a hairy brush on one side and a set of tissues on the other. Powders and glosses were luxuries she once enjoyed, but then she learned that as Viscountess, they weren't for her. So she stopped wearing them, allowing the star to witness the dark circles under her eyes and the creases where grimaces oft lay. She wanted people to wonder, to care.

Perhaps she still believed in prince charming after all.

As she examined the crests and troughs of her face, she noticed something catch the light.

It was on the tail of her sideburns, tucked away under a tuft. She lifted her index finger and brushed the hair aside. It was a shard of obsidian. Rough to the touch. Just off the curve of her cheekbone. At its hems, it emerged from her skin, as if it'd punctured through the layers and embedded itself through the tissue. She ran her finger over it incessantly, trying to discern what it was.

Something about it made her uneasy. Rather than visit a chirurgeon, she felt the need to cover it up.

"Please fetch me a set of powders from the Crozier," she asked of the courier from a crease within her door. Excited for the Viscountess' final foray into glamour, the maid was bubbly. "Right away, madame."

The compact was slid through a crack in the door. What did they think she was afraid of them seeing? Though her mind raced with anxious intrusions, her hands were quick to work. She contoured light where the shard cast a shadow, worked its bumps out into an even tone. Then she clipped her hair that it would fall over the blemish, just in case. As her hair was pinned up with an elegant clip, a gift from Adrant that she had once forgone, she struggled to see herself in the mirror.

Tonight was another challenge: dodo confit, for which she'd sourced the ingredients to great toil. She retrieved the fowl from its preserve and marvelled at the beautiful marination she'd managed, after half a dozen failed attempts. The jelly would make for good stock.

A steaming platter of elegant dodo legs arrived at the dinner table, complete with a side of ornate asparagus. Adrant revered her with his sonnets of praise. She merely ate because she could, savouring her own internal congratulations.

Stereotypically, the Viscount had paired her dodo confit with a pinot noir.

"Chardonnay would've been more interesting," she's quick to remark, looking over yet another red wine with disdain.

"We should indulge in the richness of this dish, not shy away from it. Give it a try, dearest."

Imogen drank the wine despite her protests; she needed something to wash the richness down, even if it was a tart beverage that did little to rinse her palate. To feel light rather than gaudy.

"You've done your hair differently this eve. What is the occasion?"

Imogen brushed her bangs in front of her ear for good measure. "I just felt like doing something different."

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

She awoke to her lungs on fire.

"Adrant—!" She startled in their bed. His name ran her voice ragged. Loathe she was to beg him for help, but O Gods! Smoke claimed her inside and out! Every breath seared with Nald'thal's flame! She scratched her throat with her nails, begging the Fury for it to stop.

"My love," he awoke quickly, as if he was never asleep. "My love, what's wrong?"

"It hurts! It hurts!" She gasped and writhed in the sheets, pulling the duvet off him entirely. "Call the maids!"

Adrant's neck craned over her, his eyes the twin moons. Tears in her eyes, she could barely carve out the features of his face. Just a line for a mouth and hair hanging over his lashes.

"How does it feel?"

"Wh... What?" she made out before coughing and spluttering. Smoke was emanating from her nostrils, burning away the hairs within. What a sickening stench that she couldn't escape. Was she going to die here, burnt from the stake within, witch that she was?

All the while, Adrant merely hovered over her, not moving for the door, not ringing their bedside bell.

"What does it remind you of?"

"A... Adrant!" She was choking on her own air now. He was a pale bouquet of roses in her teary, gaze. She was going to die.

"What kind of person..."

How quickly her consciousness faded without the astral air. The last she remembered was his hand, brushing away her hair, and then it all winked to black.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

When she awoke then, it was like she had dreamed the whole thing.

The afternoon sun lanced through the window, her duvet peachy. She couldn't smell smoke or char, and she breathed clearer than she had in years.

Adrant wasn't in bed, but his briefcase remained at the foot of the bed. He hadn't left the estate. She heard, in the distance, the sound of a pot clanging to stove.

It was enough to send her running in her nightgown, a flurry of silk down the stairs and to the kitchen.

Adrant's shadow cast a deep groove along her counter. Along the marble lay several cutting boards of roughly chopped, vivid ingredients. Onion, popoto and spices. He was making some sort of Thavnairian curry, an easy dish if one knew the recipe. So little to wash. Though, cooking was an effort for Adrant.

"What are you doing?" she asked with such grave offense in the doorway. It was like she'd caught him in bed with another woman.

"After what happened this morning, I thought I'd give you a break, my sweet." His tone was airy and thin. No offense taken.

"But... I..." She had a carbonara planned, all the ingredients ordered fresh and to spec. She'd spent evenings preparing for the battle to come, whetting the cheese grater and pushing the pasta mold to its limits. How hard she'd trained and toiled...

"Go sit at the table," he chided, chipper. She relented. He was already making food and she didn't want to waste it.

The bell at the table felt agonising. She wanted to jump out of her itchy skin and do something, but no other chores suited her. Cleaning the house wasn't expressive; it was about maintaining the image Adrant had declared for the manse, keeping evidence of her existence out of his life. Nor was doing the laundry, a repetitive and banal act that never seemed to cease. As he indulged in her kitchen, she found herself territorial. That was her domain, and he'd crossed into it. The smoke emanating from him burning the pan, her pan — it bruised her lungs again.

The maids apologetically set the table around the Viscountess. In a large bowl atop steaming rice, she received a quaint, demure portion of hot massaman curry, paired with...

"Merlot?!" Imogen was aghast with offense. "Adrant, come off it! I want a white."

Adrant sat at the table and showed no change in his expression to Imogen's protests, as usual. "Merlot will enrich the body of the curry," he chided. "Think of it as a sauce."

"Like cranberry sauce? This isn't going to go together at all."

"We don't have any white in the cellar."

Her bottom lip jutted out. "Then we should get some."

"Sure." It mattered little to him how odd this was. "Tomorrow. For now, it's all we have."

Imogen considered water. The combination of the two would be sickening. She couldn't imagine a future where she didn't throw it all up. But wine was her only indulgence in this godsforsaken home. It was merlot or spending the rest of the evening sober, which she couldn't, wouldn't have.

Deep she drank of the grapesblood, and Adrant smile was warped in the body of her glass. Like he was smiling far too wide for his face, a monster's maw. When she put her glass down, it was merely a simper.

Adrant's cooking was passable. It was needed. It was just food. When he asked for her opinion on it, she made that apparent. It's fine. It will keep us alive. It fills the stomach.

That shut him up, for a mercy. The plates were shortly cleared (hers before his) and taken to the kitchen to wash. Adrant's tense jaw didn't move as he left to change into his nightwear upstairs. He did this when he was angry, so she tried to make him as angry as she could get away with.

The kitchen was a mess when she returned. She wanted it put back to how she remembered it, places where the implements made sense, cupboards that she could reach things in. She forbade the maids from helping her — "I need something to do today," she bristled, and they gave her a wide berth.

All the dishes to wash were to be stacked in the order they were to be washed; the smallest cutlery first, then the plates, then the massive pots and pans that Adrant had somehow amassed making a basic curry. She grumbled to herself as she started with the littlest of glass.

It was a clear vial which she'd presumed to be a spice container. On further inspection... She noticed dots of red liquid lining the membrane.

Imogen took the bottle away from the sink and held it up to the candlelight. The glow scorched it red, sending a shiver down her spine. It was not unlike the red of the cutting board she'd used to cut the bovine meat two suns ago.

It was so delicate, too. What could possibly be stored in here, if not a tiny amount of chili powder? It barely needed her thumb and forefinger to hold aloft.

Tentatively, she lifted the bottle to her lips.

It was immediately dizzying, the tinny, metallic smell that had pooled at the bottom. It assailed her nostrils as if rusting the hairs within them over, billowing iron into her throat like it was air. She coughed—

And the cough singed her hand.

She opened her eyes to a remnant of a plume from her very own lips. The glass dropped to the floor and shattered. It was a high pitched sound. Footsteps down the stairs followed as she stared at her prickling, red-hot skin.

"Imogen, my sweetheart?" Adrant was rounding the bannister. The blood was mercurial, seeping into the cracks of the kitchen tile. There was nothing coagulating within it, as if it were a smooth red.

"Imogen, how are you feeling?" Anticipation hammered in his voice. She couldn't find hers. There was fear that she would cough again, and she held her breath hostage in the back of her throat.

Eventually, the kitchen door swung open.

"What have you done, Adrant," she managed, voice hoarse. "What is this?" At her foot, he could see it, plain as day. The broken vial, the spilled contents.

Ever so gently, he shut the door behind them.

"Adrant," and then she was spluttering over the counter. Great fumes were squeezing out of her nose, her mouth, her ears, her eyes. O, Great Gods, kill her — O, Gods, end it all — !

"How does it feel?" He hunched over her, the pall that he was, running his hand along her back... no, her hair. He pushed her hair aside, running a finger along the nape of her neck.

There were bumps and ridges that became apparent when he pressed down on them, and only then. The feeling of hard chitin lining her spine, all the way up to her hairline. She gasped for life and for death.

Scales?

"What... What..." How her tongue smarted with every consonant, having been burned all along the top. "What have you d-done to me..."

"What does it remind you of? Dig deep, Imogen."

She didn't want to believe it, tears pricking in her eyes as she spoke the word aloud.

"M-m-monster—"

"Not a monster. A miracle." He traced circles along her spine that from anyone else would've been a calming gesture. Her father, perhaps. The highborn blood within her, so latent, yet dominating her every demesne at this moment. "Long did I await the miracle. What kind of person do you think you'll become? If a person, at all?"

"Stop it. St... Stop it. Take it ba— ack..." She hacked, trying to eject her lungs from her body.

"Breathe as normal, and you'll wield it better. You'll have the power."

She was clinging to the countertop now, trying to scrabble away from him. Towards the moonlight, where the curtains breathed fresh air. He accompanied her with the maddeningly slow clicks of his heels.

"Four in, four out."

In the small bells of the night, at the crest of the Pillar, there was a sickening scream — the cracking of bones — and then a silence permeated only by the occasional, gravelly sob.

But all knew better than to disturb the Viscount in the middle of the night. 'Twas an ill omen.

[bloomsinthespring]

I had a very plesant lunch with your beloved!

We started with a deliciously premium garden salad with a delicious spring herb vinaigrette: I used to complain about these things, but The Manacle has a truly amazing chef, he can turn shrubbery into a delight.

We moved on to an amazing deconstruction of a beef wellington and a surf and turf: it would be hard to explain real class to someone like you, but let me tell you, the pairing as fantastic. The wine was of course exquisite.

When I mentionned her lack of arm candy, however, she was puzzled! She wondered where you had been!

Well, imagine the shock on her face when I shoed her your blog! Your "girlfriend" has quite the poker face, but even I could see a little twitch in her eye when I showed her what you did last night. I said I'll fill you in, since she didn't know how this website worked.

Expect a phone call <3

you ruined everything, you know that? youre such a sick fucker what did you get out of it? do you want to fuck her so bad you had to do this? is that it? well i hope you enjoy it like you enjoyed this stupid lunch. do you think i care about your shitty fucking class nd your beef wheelington or whatver go to hell go to hell. i hope that salad was rotten i hope you throw up everything you ate i hope the seafood gives u poisoning i hope u shit ur intestines out i hope your toilet explodes i hope you have to pray for God to have mercy on you as you lie there dying in ur own shit you fucking miserable maggot i hate you I HATE YOU I HATE YOU IM NEVER GONNA SEE HER AGAIN AND ITS YOUR FAULT I HATE YOU I HOPE YOU SUFFER AND DIE