#oh mier-

[thorndamien1]

A que te refieres? 😰/What do you mean? 😰

[corroded-hellfire]

Finally His Year - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish Story

Collab with my soulmate @munson-blurbs 🩵

Summary: It’s Eddie’s birthday and what he really wants is you.

Note: In honor of JQ’s 30th birthday woohoo 🎉

Words: 4.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The Munson house is buzzing when you arrive. There are three unfamiliar cars parked in front of it, probably from the other people celebrating Eddie’s birthday with him. You have his gift tucked under your arm and a Tupperware of raspberry and white chocolate chip cookies in that same hand, using the free one to ring the doorbell. 

You barely have time to pull your forefinger back before the door swings open. Luke peeks his head around, grinning when he sees you standing there. 

“Good evening, madam-a-zell,” he says in a vague concoction of European accents—none of them even resembling French. “May I take your—ooh, cookies!”

Laughing, you reach over and ruffle his mop of curls. “These are for Daddy, Luke-miere.” When his face falls, you quickly add, “but maybe he’ll share.”

This placates him, and he skips off to announce your arrival. As soon as he says your name, you hear the sound of Eddie’s feet shuffling towards the entryway. 

“You made it!” He says with a huge smile. In your dreams, he pulls you in for a hug and kisses you tenderly. But this is real life, so he just stands with his hands in his pockets. 

“I made it,” you agree awkwardly. It takes a moment for you to remember everything you’re holding. “Oh, these are all for you.” You maneuver it all, handing him the cylindrical tube and then the plastic container. Luke loudly clears his throat, and you grin. “Unless you feel like sharing the cookies.”

Eddie takes the presents, shaking his head at his younger son’s interruption. “I’ll consider it. Thank you, Sweetheart.”

That stupid nickname. You love and hate it; as much as he calls you that, you know you’re not his sweetheart. Because he’s married. 

His wife—God, you hated that she held that title—was sipping a full glass of wine. Though she’s standing next to Nancy, the two aren’t exchanging any words. 

You should go over there. Brittany is technically one of your employers, so it’s best not to rock the boat. Unless, of course, you could ensure she’d fall overboard. 

Plastering a feigned smile on your face, you walk over to her. Before you can even get out a hello, she points towards Ryan and Luke. 

“They have to go to bed at nine o’clock, so just have them in their pajamas with their teeth brushed by then.”

Embarrassment crawls under your skin. “Oh, I, um, I’m actually here for the party. Not to babysit.”

Brittany doesn’t seem thrown off at all; she just rolls her eyes and turns to Nancy. “Didn’t realize people still needed parties after they turned thirty,” she quips. 

To her credit, Nancy just shrugs and walks to you, ignoring the snark hurled your way. She guides you over to where the rest of the group is chatting. 

“Can you say, ‘Uncle Dusty’?” Dustin asks little Tiffany Mayfield-Sinclair, gently bouncing her in his arms. “C’mon…Un-kul Duh-stee!”

“Elmo!” Tiffany claps her chubby hands together gleefully, unbothered by Dustin’s frustration. 

“I think your kid’s broken,” he grumbles, handing the little girl back to Lucas. 

“She was fine until you held her,” Lucas quips as he holds his daughter against his chest.

“Or maybe she just thinks you look like Elmo,” Steve offers with a shrug. 

“What is this, high school?” Dustin asks, looking between his friends. “Ganging up on me?”

Eddie shakes his head and gives a loud tsk. 

“It’s because you’re not part of the club, Henderson.”

“Oh, because I’m not a dad?” Dustin asks, gesturing with a motion that looks very similar to jazz hands. “That’s fine. Because I’m the coolest uncle these kids have. Someone has to be that figure in their lives.”

“Are they always like this?” you ask Nancy with an amused chuckle.

“Since high school,” Nancy confirms with a sigh. “The sad thing is, I can see how they’ve matured since then.”

You giggle at her response before there’s a weighted thunk against the front of your legs. Ryan’s chocolate eyes peer up at you, a huge grin on his round face. 

“Well hello, you,” you greet him, reaching down to ruffle his honey colored hair. 

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Ryan cheers. Warmth spreads in your chest at his words. You’re touched until he opens his mouth again to ask, “Luke said you brought cookies?”

“I did,” you tell him, tugging on a lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “But they’re for your dad. It’s up to him if he wants to share with you guys.” Of course he will, you think to yourself. Eddie loves these boys more than Luke loves his Hot Wheels collection; and as you’re reminded by the five-year-old almost every day you babysit, that’s a lot. 

“Maybe after he opens his presents,” Ryan muses, more to himself than you. “Or after we have the cake Aunt Nancy made.

“Ryan!”

A little girl’s call echoes around the room. The older Munson boy gives you a quick smile before running towards the kitchen where Natalie Harrington is drawing a picture. 

Something Ryan said sticks in your brain though. You turn towards Nancy, brow pinching slightly.

“You made Eddie’s cake?” you ask. 

The deep breath Nancy takes lets you know there’s more to the story than she’s probably going to tell you. After all, she hardly knows you. The two of you had only met a handful of times since you started watching the boys last year and none of the visits were particularly long. It's an annoyed sigh that Nancy heaves out, her petite shoulders falling with the release. She’s not annoyed at you, if her kindness and body language towards you are anything to go on. So, what’s got her so tense?

“I did,” Nancy affirms. She’s quiet for a moment and at first you think that’s all she’s going to say. But the way her head bobbles slightly from side to side and her jaw muscles tighten and release, you can tell she’s picking her words carefully before she speaks. To her, you’re her friend’s employee so how much should she reveal? “Steve, um, called Eddie yesterday morning to confirm the time for the party today. Eddie was headed out the door just as Steve called. He said he was going to the grocery store. To buy his own birthday cake.”

“His own? Why couldn’t his wife get it? Or better yet, why didn’t she make one for him with the boys?” Your mind floats back to when you and the boys made a cake for Ryan’s birthday over the summer. It was messy and overly sweet, but the love and care put into it are what made it special. 

“That’s what I said,” Nancy grits out through a clenched jaw. After a few moments, you see Nancy’s body deflate. The tension rolls off her like a wave returning to the sea. “So, I made him one. Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.”

“Carrot cake?” you ask, wrinkling up your nose. It’s not that you disliked the dessert, it just wasn’t what you would’ve pegged Eddie for on his birthday. 

“I know,” Nancy says with a small chuckle. She shakes her head in amusement, wavy locks of hair swaying at the movement. “He can’t be typical, right? Not chocolate or vanilla—or even strawberry, but carrot cake. That’s Eddie for ya.”

The party continues with casual conversations: milestones Tiffany is meeting, work updates for the “kids” (who were now full-fledged adults, but would always be freshmen to Eddie), and a tentatively scheduled reunion for their high school Dungeons & Dragons club. It only came to a stop when there was a crash in the kitchen. 

Everyone’s heads whipped around at the sound, worried that one of the Munson or Harrington children was causing chaos, but the reason for the clamor was none other than Brittany. She’d dropped the cheese and cracker board on the ground and was laughing like she’d just heard the funniest joke. 

“Oopsie daisy!” She cackles, nearly falling over with the force of her laugh. While the rest of you had been casually sipping wine or beer, she had been drinking like she was at a frat party. 

“Jesus,” Nancy mutters under her breath. 

Eddie glances at Steve, who nods at Lucas, and the two of them step in towards Brittany. 

“C’mon, time for bed, Britt,” Steve says as patiently as he can manage. He hooks an arm around her, and Lucas does the same on the other side. It’s obvious that this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. A well-oiled machine, ensuring that the kids are none the wiser.

Small miracles, you suppose. 

“We can do presents when they get back,” Max jumps in, trying to keep the attention away from the drunk woman stumbling away. 

Eddie nods in agreement, collecting the various gifts from the kitchen table and placing them next to his spot on the sofa. When he sits, he spreads his legs enough that you can imagine yourself between them, pressing kisses up his thighs to his—

No. Stop it. 

When Steve and Lucas return, Eddie reaches for the first package. Though the room is filled with excited murmurs and crinkling wrapping paper, you can still make out the quiet conversation between Nancy and her husband. 

“Did you hold a pillow over her head?”

“No, Nance.”

“Damn it.”

You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle a smile. 

Eddie pulls out a pair of sneakers from the box: white with a black check mark on the side. He immediately slides them on his feet, wiggling his toes around to ensure enough room. “These are perfect! My old ones were falling apart.”

“We know,” Nancy says wryly as Steve proudly announces, “You said you liked mine, so I got you the same ones.”

“Aww!” Dustin coos, pursing his lips exaggeratedly. “You guys are twins!

Eddie discreetly flips him off before continuing through his stash. Theo and Natalie Harrington made him woven friendship bracelets, which he immediately slid onto his left wrist. When he opens Dustin’s gift, a mug printed with the words “rock ‘n roll” underneath a cartoon rock and dinner roll, Wayne proclaims that it’s even cornier than the ones in the trailer. 

Eddie’s face lights up at the present from Max and Lucas—a new Walkman and some heavy metal cassettes. 

A pit forms in your stomach: is your gift going to be enough? Will he even like it? Was this whole thing a bad—

“Holy shit.”

You look up to see Eddie staring awestruck at the now-unwrapped present; specifically, the present you got for him. It’s an autographed Metallica poster that you’d spotted at the mall months ago, before his birthday was even a consideration. You’d bought it and kept it safely in your room, waiting for the perfect time to give it to him. 

“Sweetheart, this is…” He just shakes his head, blinking misty eyes. “Wow. I, um…thank you,” he finally manages. 

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie had seen that same poster just last week. He had Brittany’s shopping bags clutched in his hands when he walked towards the record store. 

Kirk Hammett’s signature called to him like a siren. 

Eddie was just about ready to pay for it when Brittany marched over, plucking it from his grip and mumbling something about not having room for any more of his stupid music shit. 

That had been the end of that. 

“You’re welcome,” you say with a small shrug, as if it was nothing at all. “I saw it and immediately thought of you.” That wasn’t too much to say, right? It’s normal to think of someone when you see something you know they’d love, right? Even if that person is your boss?

Once Luke stops scavenging through his father’s presents like one might be hidden there for him, he looks up at his dad with wide, pleading eyes that he most definitely inherited from the man. 

“Time for caaaake?”

Eddie snorts and playfully rolls his eyes. A ringed hand comes down to ruffle the little boy’s curls.

“I guess we could have cake now.”

The Munson boys and the Harrington sibling duo cheer in excitement and beat everyone else into the kitchen. All you can hear as the kids disappear into the next room is an I’m okay! from Luke.

Steve taps you on the shoulder as you step over the threshold into the kitchen.

“Hey, could you give me a hand with the cake?” he asks. 

“Sure.” You follow Steve over to the refrigerator, silently wondering how many women had actually denied the handsome man anything when he asked in such a smooth voice. 

The cake looks delicious as Steve pulls it out of the fridge. Nancy definitely put in some work to make sure it turned out this lovely. The cream cheese frosting is smooth on all sides with delicate piping lining the edge of the rectangular sheet cake. In a beautiful scrawl that is far nicer than your own handwriting, she had written “Happy Birthday Eddie!” in black gel icing. 

Steve sets the cake down on the gray granite counter and reaches for a drugstore bag that has a pack of candles and a lighter in it. The two of you work as a team to plug the cake with the multicolored striped sticks and take turns lighting different sides of the cake. 

“You got it?” Steve asks as he steps over towards the light switches on the wall.

“Yep,” you assure him as you carefully lift the flaming desert off the counter. Turning around to face the table proves the most difficult part as you slowly spin your body while keeping the cake steady. 

Eddie is seated at the table, kids surrounding him on all sides as they clamor about what’s taking so long with the cake. Taking so long? You thought you and Steve worked pretty efficiently together. 

“Watch out rugrats,” Dustin says, clapping a hand on Luke’s shoulder and pulling him out of your way. 

You give the curly haired man a grateful smile before you slide the cake onto the table right in front of Eddie. As you go to pull your arms away, pale, calloused fingers reach up and rest against your skin for a moment.

��Thank you, sweetheart,” Eddie says. 

All you did was carry a cake over but you’re more than glad to receive praise from your boss any time that you can. 

Steve flips the kitchen lights off and everyone breaks into a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. Ryan stands right in front of you as you sing, and you rest your hands on his small shoulders. 

“Make a wish!” Luke calls from Dustin’s side once the singing ended. He watches as his dad purses his lips, thinking of a wish. The dim lighting in the room may be playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn Eddie’s eyes flickered over to you before he took a deep breath and blew out all thirty-something of the candles on the first try. 

“Yay!” Luke cheers while everyone else claps. “Whatcha wish for?”

Ryan scoffs and rolls his eyes at his little brother. “He can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“For my last birthday I wished for a pet,” Luke says. 

“Is that why you dug up the worm in the backyard?” Eddie asks.

“Yep,” Luke announces, a proud smile on his face. 

“Wormy Munson is missed,” Ryan says, patting his little brother’s shoulder. 

The attention quickly turns from squiggly little pets when Nancy asks the room, “Who wants a piece?”

“Me!” Four children’s hands shoot up at the same time, but Nancy just shakes her head at them.

“Birthday boy gets first crack at it,” she says as she slices a piece and transfers it to a Darth Vader paper plate. Nancy delivers that and a plastic fork to Eddie before returning to the counter to cut slices for the rest of the guests. 

When you get your piece of cake, you slip into a seat next to Eddie’s at the table. 

“So, carrot cake, huh?” you ask him with a playful smirk on your face. 

“Hey, gotta get vegetables into these kids somehow,” Eddie says, reaching behind him to tickle Ryan’s belly. The older boy laughs and moves out of his dad’s reach. 

“Broccoli brownies next?” you ask, a shit eating grin on your face before you pop a chunk of cake into your mouth.

“Such a smart ass,” Eddie teases, scooping some of his icing onto his pinky and wiping it off on the tip of your nose. Both boys giggle as you try to reach it with your tongue, trying to stretch it out as far as possible to lick it off. Though the boys found it funny, Eddie had an entirely different feeling wash over him as he watched your tongue snake out to try and lick the white substance off your face. His pants tighten and Eddie shifts in his seat, trying to hide his crotch further beneath the table. 

Guests drift in and out of the kitchen with their plates of cake, mingling with one another out in the living room. You offer to collect the paper plates up for the garbage once everyone is done. You’re carrying the stack back towards the kitchen when you hear Steve and Eddie having a conversation in there. It’s pretty clear this is just meant to be between them, but when you hear Steve’s question to his best friend, your feet become glued to the floor. 

“Think you’ll finally get lucky tonight since it’s your birthday?” 

Eddie snorts. “It doesn’t seem like it.” You can practically picture him nodding his head in the direction of his bedroom where Brittany is probably snoring her ass off as she sleeps off her alcohol. You really hope she has a hangover tomorrow. 

“Not what I meant, dude,” Steve replies.

This catches you off guard. Who could Steve possibly be talking about if not Brittany? Does… A sickening thought winds its way through your brain, claws taking hold in those places that are already prone to insecurities. Does Eddie have a girlfriend? It’s not like you would judge him for it after Brittany’s whoring around is common knowledge. But it drives an ice pick through your heart just picturing Eddie with his own awful, evil wife. Knowing he might be with someone who could be kind and caring should comfort you—but it doesn’t. It makes you want to tear your skin off to think of Eddie with anyone else but you. Because if he wasn’t going to be with Brittany, you wanted him to be with you. And if you didn’t even get a chance to show him what the two of you could be together? The idea threatened to destroy you. 

“Watch it Harrington,” Eddie answers Steve, his voice low. It’s the closest thing to a warning you’ve ever heard from him. 

A familiar toddler’s cry abruptly ends their conversation and your now-agonizing eavesdropping. Eddie shakes his head, giving Steve one last glare as he walks out of the kitchen, and looks over at a wailing Tiffany Mayfield-Sinclair. 

Ryan scrunches his face. “Daddy, play her the song!”

“Yeah, play it!” Luke echoes, hands pressed to his ears. 

Now you’re intrigued. “What song?”

Eddie sighs. “Boys, I don’t think anyone wants to hear me play—”

“Au contraire,” Dustin butts in with a smirk. He hands Eddie his acoustic guitar, propped up in the corner. “I think we’d all love a little concert.”

Eddie gives you a look that pleads help me out here, but you’re already invested. 

“Concert! Concert!” You chant, laughing when the others join in. 

He doesn’t say anything, just slips the strap over his shoulder and quickly tunes the guitar. 

“If…you’re…happy and you know it, clap your hands!”

Everyone in the room claps twice. Everyone except Tiffany, who is still wailing. 

“If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands!”

Same result. 

“All right, all right. Let’s skip to a different verse.” Eddie takes in the baby’s squealing form. 

“If…you’re…angry and you know it, do a growl.” He lets out the most ridiculous roar you’ve ever heard, and you can’t help but laugh. 

From her mother’s arms, Tiffany lets out a roar of her own. Your giggle catches her attention, and she reaches out for you to hold her. 

For a moment, Eddie believes his heart is going to implode from the sweet scene in front of him. He wills himself to concentrate on playing, but the sight of you holding a baby girl weakens his resolve. How many times has he daydreamed about you holding his baby girl that he shares with you? Probably too many times on the job for someone who deals with heavy machinery. In his mind she has your hair and his eyes—though he knows she’d probably gets his curls since both boys have them to a degree.

Tiffany bounces in your arms, enraptured in the music. If Eddie plays Old MacDonald, she’ll be mind-blown. 

The soft timbre of Eddie’s voice, enthusiastic enough to capture Tiffany’s attention without riling her up, has your heart beating double time. Though you’ve known from the beginning that Eddie plays guitar, this is the first time you actually get to witness it. It’s as sexy as you’ve always imagined—even if he’s only playing nursery rhymes.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs as whatever had been bothering the little girl seemingly dissipates. He grins at Max and Lucas. “That should buy you about five minutes before the next meltdown.”

Sure enough, the crying starts up again, signaling the party’s end. Hugs are exchanged as everyone clears out; final “happy birthday’s” sent Eddie’s way.

There’s a small tug on your arm just as you’re about to grab your purse. “Can you tuck us into bed?” Ryan asks, eyes wide. Luke’s at his side, nodding in agreement. 

“Of course.” Always the babysitter, you think, but you truly enjoy being a part of their lives. The fact that they also enjoy it makes it even better.

The youngest Munson beams at you. “Maybe you can sleep over!”

“Uh, not this time. Sorry, kiddo.”

After teeth have been brushed and bedtime stories have been read, you retreat back to the kitchen. Eddie is clipping open bags of potato chips, and you start to gather any used paper platesto toss in the trash. 

“You don’t have to,” Eddie says, gesturing towards the stack of disposable cups in your hand. 

You cock your brow and smirk. “Do you really wanna clean all of this by yourself?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He smiles back at you, shaking his head when he notices icing smeared on the back of a kitchen chair. “Should’ve put the boys on clean-up duty” he grunts.

“Then everything would just get shoved under the couch and they’d call it a day,” you point out, and he readily agrees.

Once the floor has been swept and the leftover food has been placed in the refrigerator, you have no valid excuse to stay any longer.

“I should get going,” you say, plucking your keys from your bag and twirling the chain around your forefinger. “I hope you had a good birthday.”

Eddie nods as he walks with you to the front door. He holds it open for you, then follows you out to your car. “Yeah, it was great. Especially your gift. It, um, meant a lot.” A slight rosiness tinges his cheeks, and he pulls you in for a hug.

You return it easily, your arms wrapping around his torso. Both of you hold on a beat longer than necessary, but you can’t seem to pull away.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. He leans in; for a moment, it seems like he’s going to kiss the top of your head, but he takes a step back. Eddie’s done it so many times in his mind before that he almost forgot he doesn’t get to do it in real life. “Get home safe, yeah?”

“I will.” You duck into your car, giving him a small wave before you pull out of the driveway. As you drive, you watch Eddie trudge back into the house from your rearview mirror.

Once he’s inside, he closes the door and breathes out a sigh. He adjusts himself over his pants, painfully aware that he’s half-hard from a simple hug. Looking towards the bedroom he shares with Brittany, he pivots away and beelines towards the Tupperware of cookies you’d made.

Taking a big bite, he chews thoughtfully, delaying the inevitable. If only he could curl up next to you instead of her. He chuckles at the insanity of the idea and takes another bite of cookie.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 29: Seanchan

Let's get right to the point: Spoilers spoilers spoilers. This book, last book, next book, every book. Don't like? Don't read. I'm in a hurry, no time for big explanations.

We have a new chapter icon! This is the very buggy helmet of the Seanchan, which will be showing up whenever the Empire is the primary driver of events of a chapter.

Reining up before the inn, his eyes went past the prisoners his soldiers held near the village well to the long gibbet marring the village green. It was hastily made, only a long pole on uprights, but it held thirty bodies, their clothes ruffled by the breeze. There were small bodies hanging among their elders. Even Byar stared at that in disbelief.

Considering how awful the Seanchan are as a nation, you really have to appreciate how the Whitecloaks manage to be so deeply morally lacking as to be the bad guys during a colonial style invasion.

Also, I guess it's appropriate we're seeing these the Seanchan get introduced in a chapter that starts on a Whitecloak, since both represent the modern equivalents of Aridhol's paranoia to a large degree. The Seanchan also somewhat end up eclipsing them as the "With friends like these..." player of the setting.

“Cut them down,” Bornhald said wearily. “Cut them down, and make sure the villagers know there will be no more killing.” Unless some fool decides to be brave because his woman is watching, and I have to make an example.

Just so you don't think that Bornhald is a reasonable authority figure in all this. He's as good as Whitecloaks get in this time, but that's still not very much.

Bornhald’s requests for information from the Sea Folk had been met with silence. Amador did not hold the Atha’an Miere in good favor, and the attitude was returned with interest.

Oh no, I can't believe that Amador's irrational xenophobia is coming to bite them in the ass now that they need the xenos. Not even Pikachu could be surprised at this.

I would kinda like to know how the disdain was born though. Do Whitecloaks disapprove of boobies? Do the Sea Folk not let Questioners kill their sailors? What ridiculous pretext have the Whitecloaks come up with?

“My Lord Captain, he—he says you are moving too many men too close to Toman Head. He says the Darkfriends on Almoth Plain must be rooted out, and you are—forgive me, Lord Captain—you are to turn back at once and ride toward the heart of the plain.”

Oh no! The authoritarians who value unquestioning loyalty have been subverted by the very enemy they wish to destroy.

Even this Jeral dude knows this order is not a great one, poor dumb bastard.

“The sins of the mother are visited to the fifth generation,” Byar quoted, “and the sins of the father to the tenth.” But he looked uneasy. Even Byar had never killed a child.

Moms sin less because they've got less taint in them, I guess.

Also JFC Byar are you seriously okay with this?

“Has it never occurred to you, Byar, to wonder why Carridin has taken away our banners, and the cloaks of the men the Questioners lead? Even the Questioners themselves have put off the white. This suggests something, yes?”

It does! But even Bornhald doesn't dare say it, even as he plots his (completely justified except for how it doesn't go far enough) treason.

“Now, young man, you will tell me everything you know about these strangers, yes? If you need to think on what to say, I will send you back out with Child Muadh to consider it.”

Again, I cannot emphasize this enough: There are no good Whitecloaks. Not even Bornhald. Thankfully, we're done with them for now.

When Seanchan ships anchored off the coast, the villagers who drew up to defend their homes were rent by lightning from the sky while small boats were still ferrying the invaders ashore, and the earth erupted in fire under their feet. Domon had thought he was hearing nonsense until he was shown the blackened ground, and he had seen it in too many villages to doubt any longer. Monsters fought beside the Seanchan soldiers, not that there was ever much resistance left, the villagers said, and some even claimed that the Seanchan themselves were monsters, with heads like huge insects.

You gotta hand it to these Toman Head guys, in a world themed around the loss and corruption of information the further from its creation it gets, they manage to get just about every detail right.

New mayors were chosen by the Seanchan, and new Councils, and any who protested the disappearances of the women or having no voice in the choosing might be hung, or burst suddenly into flame, or be brushed aside like yapping dogs.

I wonder how the Seanchan are choosing to elevate the peasantry. Are they picking successful, rich types who seem compliant or something else?

The eruptions died as quickly as they were born, spray from them blown across the deck. Where they had been, the sea bubbled and steamed as if boiling.

Say what you want about the White Tower's failings (goodness knows I'm going to), for over 3,000 years they've kept their corner of the world safe from this crap. For all their failings, they certainly haven't been useless.

Then the armored figure removed his helmet, and Domon stared. He was a woman.

Domon is of course extra panicky about this because of the prophecy that no man of woman bo-

Wait, that was that other guy. JRR Shakespeare.

If this woman wore a dress, no one would look at her twice. He eyed her and revised his opinion, that cold stare and those hard cheeks would make her remarked anywhere.

She also probably doesn't have the body shape or way of carrying herself for the expected formalwear of the west, being far more muscled and disciplined than the average noblewoman.

The two women dressed as women were coming up from the longboat, one drawing the other—Domon blinked—by a leash of silvery metal as she climbed aboard. The leash went from a bracelet worn by the first woman to a collar around the neck of the second. He could not tell whether it was woven or jointed—it seemed somehow to be both—but it was clearly of a piece with both bracelet and collar.

There is so much to say here but since the sheer horror of this isn't evident yet, let's just all be disgusted by this form of chattel slavery for a moment and then move on. I don't want to use all my good invectives right now.

And I make no claim to be of the Blood. Not yet. After Corenne. . . . I am Captain Egeanin.

Well we'll see what you get after Corenne, Egeanin. But hello for now! It's funny to think how intertwined you and Domon are even now.

“To obey, to await, and to serve. Your ancestors should have remembered.”

Yeah god forbid things go weird after a thousand years. The Seanchan are way too high on their own supply, especially when you consider the textual evidence that the invaders themselves have been pretty fully absorbed into the upper echelons of those they've invaded and are thus barely even the ancestors of the High Blood.

A dark-eyed man in his middle years, with an old scar above his eyes and another nicking his chin, his name was Caban, and he had nothing but contempt for anyone this side of the Aryth Ocean. That gave Domon a moment’s pause. Maybe they truly do be. . . . No, that do be madness.

I'm impressed Domon got him to talk at all, to be honest. I'm also wondering where else Domon can think the Seanchan are from at this point. He knows all the major naval players.

“Oh. That is the First Watcher. Not the one who sat in the chair when we first came, of course. Every time he dies, they choose another, and we put him in the cage.”

One can't help but wonder how long Falme would have lasted against this initial Seanchan strike. One also wonders why people always remember the whole "They bring order" propaganda and never remember how they enforce that order.

He guided Spray to a place at one of the docks, and wondered, while the crew tied the ship fast, if the Seanchan might buy some of the fireworks in his hold. None of my business.

Moral cowardice, Domon. Though of course, his questions already show that he doesn't really think this. He wouldn't be our POV if he did.

A hulking creature with a leathery, gray-green hide and a beak of a mouth in a wedge-shaped head. And three eyes.

Have we met before?

The Seanchan captain had something wrapped in a piece of yellow silk, Domon noted warily. Something small enough to carry in one hand, but which she held carefully in both.

Domon doesn't even try to deny to himself what she has found, because there's really no point.

“Some of them be on your side?” Egeanin frowned over her shoulder at him, obviously puzzled.

"What other side is there other than Empire?"

The man’s hands went white-knuckled gripping his knees, and there was suddenly sweat in his voice. “I have sworn the oaths, Captain. I obey, await, and serve.”

And how many people had to be tortured and killed for him to come to this level of dedication so quickly? At least the First Watcher and their successors. Presumably more.

Domon understood why the Seanchan could allow the people as much freedom as they did. He wondered if he would have had nerve enough to resist. Damane. Monsters.

Something something monopoly on violence. Another thing that the One Power pretty handily provides, since even the "monsters" ultimately derive from its applications.

Two men appeared in the doorway at the far end of the room. One had the left side of his scalp shaved, his remaining pale golden hair braided and hanging down over his ear to his shoulder. His deep yellow robe was just long enough to let the toes of yellow slippers peek out when he walked. The other wore a blue silk robe, brocaded with birds and long enough to trail nearly a span on the floor behind him. His head was shaved bald, and his fingernails were at least an inch long, those on the first two fingers of each hand lacquered blue.

Since the Seanchan are a fictional culture, I have absolutely no regrets in pronouncing their fashion choices "ugly as sin".

Domon imitated her with alacrity. Even the High Lords of Tear would no demand this, he thought.

Something worth remembering when we meet them and have a chance to consider the things they demand that perhaps the Seanchan would not.

After the Return, new names will be called to the Blood. Show yourself fit, and you may shed the name Egeanin for a higher.

Or a lower. Just saying.

“I do collect old things, High Lord, from times past. There do be those who would steal such, did they lay easy to hand.”

Another great Aes Sedai lie. They're just so powerful.

“Unshaven dog! You speak of giving the High Lord what Captain Egeanin has already given. You bargain, as if the High Lord were a—a merchant! You will be flayed alive over nine days, dog, and—”

I have a suspicion that even in Seanchan proper, this particular rank exists in part to vent anger in place of the High Lords and Ladies while allowing them to seem merciful by not permitting such grandiose threats to be followed through. Sort of a hideously inverted version of the court jester.

Domon took one look at the girl and pulled his eyes away with a strangled gasp; her white silk robe was embroidered with flowers, but so sheer he could see right through it, and there was nothing beneath but her own slimness.

Not creepy at all. Also fun to note that it's been a mere six chapters since our last naked lady incident and while this isn't been "all ladies must be naked" it's still interesting how we went from a very chaste book one to this.

Ah well. Next time, we check back in with Rand as the plot remembers that we're only three-fifths of the way through the story and that he really shouldn't have the plot coupons just yet.

[bardcore-jaskier]

♡ Jaskier rant/vent ♡

Hiya, here is a long ass rant/vent about my Netflix Witcher frustrations with how the show-runners are treating Jaskier's character. Because even though I love the books and games, I couldn't give a rat's ass about the changes Lauren made to the witcher plot. Because if it were to be adapted into a show following the source material word for word, page for page, it wouldn't be worth watching because I already know the damn story. It's refreshing to see these changes, new ideas etc. But ofc, I do still have a bone to pick with them.

The venting part:

Ok, so you know how in my bio it says that this is a Jaskier centric blog and that Jaskier deserves to be loved? Yeah, that's because I'm salty AF, the saltiest motherfucker on Earth right now. Because the way Netflix or...mostly Lauren treat Jaskier as a character on this show is atrocious! A beloved fan favorite they intend to milk but know not how, using him instead as nothing other than comedic relief and the occasional tool to move the plot in a certain direction.

They're stingy with his character development, with his screen time, with complexity. When we see him in pain it is later dismissed, as if it never happened. Where are his bruises and burns from Rience's torture? He was bleeding from his mouth, he had probably taken a few punches to his face. And Rience held his flame to Jaskier's fingers for at least five seconds, the heat of which compares to a lit match, nobody could walk away from something like that without second degree burns that would take many weeks to heal. And in Jaskier's case? Walking around with an exposed wound like that, touching things all the time, crawling across a dirty floor under the table when the witchers were fighting Voleth Mier? He realistically should have had a serious infection by now.

Also, tell me I am not the only one who noticed this, and I ask myself this quite often: Why OH WHY does it seem like the ONLY people who enjoy Jaskier's company, his presence, him in general, are the audiences he performs for and the elves? Everybody else seems to either shit on him the moment they see him or keep him around because he's loyal and amusing.

Idk about you, but I don't take kindly to the fact that the only character to treat Jaskier with respect and dignity in season 2 was Yennefer. Although THANK FUCK for Yennefer, I fucking LOVE her so much! But yeah.....

Like sure thing, Geralt evidently trusts Jaskier a lot, he is obviously fond of him, but to be honest I haven't seen enough of that fondness on screen to get the impression that their friendship is just like their bromance in the books. In season 1 they only show us scenes of Geralt barely putting up with Jaskier, ignoring him, insulting his singing (which is basically Jaskier's core, his life, his everything, it's what he lives and breathes for), barely admitting to their friendship out loud and then blaming Jaskier for everything that went wrong in his life! Like dude, I know Jaskier isn't exactly a pure and innocent cinnamon roll, I'm aware that he is a slutty little trouble magnet who can sometimes talk too much, but he is also a good friend! Even with whatever little screen time he gets, he is every inch the good friend that Dandelion is in the books!

In season 1 it's very clear that he cares, he asked Geralt if he's ok, he said "Talk to me", he tried to help Geralt deal with Borch's fake death, he offered Geralt an opportunity to go on a vacation, because he gives a fucking damn about him. Even in Cintra, when he asked Geralt for a favor, aka guard him, he made a comment about rubbing chamomile on his body, aka most likely massaging Geralt's sore arse muscles after a hunt.

But Geralt? Just the bare fucking minimum, saving Jaskier's life a few times, a few fond smiles here and there, otherwise looking rather uninterested in Jaskier's life. A brick wall that barely says anything nice to him. Or well, looks like talking to him in general is a chore.

And season 2? Whoooo boy! Jaskier still cares! Though he has to pry basic human decency out of Geralt in that jail cell at Oxenfurt:

- "We don't have time, we need to go"

- "Are you sure? Because the last time we saw eachother, you basically told me to fuck off, remember? And you left me on a mountain!"

- "Jaskier.."

- "Don't fucking Jaskier me, I'm talking to you, this is how this works!"

Jaskier still makes do with Geralt's pathetic arse "I need your help" and leaves EVERYTHING in his life behind to be there for Geralt. He left his Sandpiper smuggling business, he didn't even get to pack a bag, trailing after Geralt like a loyal dog, still wearing the shirt he was tortured in, with his dried blood on it, because Geralt needed his friend.

Thankfully Geralt seems to be doing better by Jaskier in the second season, but not nearly enough to be enough! I mean, Geralt came for Jaskier only when he needed something from him, didn't apologize to him until Jaskier hinted at the problem (Via discussing Yennefer's betrayal, she's been pushed into a corner, she's desperate, it's why people do stupid things and SAY stupid things). And Geralt's apology was shit, because he didn't offer it until Jaskier had accidentally guilt tripped him into it. And Jaskier? Yeah, no, he might have forgiven his friend for the Mountain, but he is still human, he's still got feelings and knew he deserved an apology. However, right there and then it clearly wasn't the right time, whatnot with Geralt's apology being too simple and nonchalant, not nearly serious and earnest enough to undo the hurt that had given birth to Burn Butcher Burn. Not to mention the dwarves being within earshot and the dangerous mission ahead. Which is why I understand why Jaskier brushed off Geralt's pathetic attempt at making amends with a joke.

When I was watching the Rare Species episode of season 1, the expression on Jaskier's face after getting shouted at by his best friend honestly broke my fucking heart. So when season 2 aired, I started binging it with high hopes of getting to see Geralt apologizing, them becoming friends again, Geralt being a better friend to Jaskier while also being badass as shit with his child surprise, battling monsters etc. But I did not expect it to fall so flat and I did not expect for LITERALLY EVERYONE to treat Jaskier like absolute dog shit. INCLUDING THE SHOW RUNNERS!

Geralt was basically using Jaskier for his loyalty, the dwarves found Jaskier's presence as the most annoying thing ever, Ciri literally fucking ignored him in all of their scenes together, the show-runners fucking forgot that Jaskier was tortured and filmed every scene with Joey in it as if Rience never happened, then for some dumb reason Lambert fucking had to be more of a prick than necessary, effectively alienating Jaskier with one single word, when that man had done nothing to deserve it!

FUCK!!!

[hauntedmoors]

@damaneegwene oh, no, that was definitely my first instinct too! but like you said, of the myriad problems that rand faces in the books the taint and the threat of madness is really just *one* of them; saidar channelers are already very often subjects of fear, superstition and prejudice in the books; the sense of urgency that rand feels because of the threat of madness could easily be replicated onto a saidar channeler via the threat of the forsaken. and you’re right - political manipulation, grooming and multiple factions of leaders + aes sedai being manufactured from differing views on how to guide/control TDR are some givens; false dragons would still be a Thing and far more frequently without the threat of the taint; the black ajah would be a Very formidable threat; the tower would probably tighten its grip on all saidar channelers, making its relations with the atha’an miere fraught; its relationship with the aiel and their channelers could swing either way depending on what kind of dynamic you choose to write for story convenience. wrt to the breaking of the world, I’d say that the post-apocalyptic feel and sense of loss permeating the setting is kind of integral to the story (besides just. explaining why we don’t have age of legends tech lol) so the idea of the dragon being tied to forces of good and destruction is a tension that still carries over with plenty of nuanced discussions to be had in that respect (again, reasons for the breaking can be manufactured eg: using the cheodan kal/balefire recklessly). obv we can easily carry over the whitecloak and prophet plotlines too and have more discussions surrounding abuse of power and religion - in fact the whitecloaks disliking and hunting saidar channelers would probably be grounded in *more logic* in this respect! (this isn’t really a criticism of the whitecloaks in the books because a lot of hate ideology is always based on very flimsy reasoning).

[vrnicky]

*Aawwh. The poor dear is only succeeding at flustering himself more and more the longer he rambles. (Guess I ought to save him.... even if it is adorable)*

Hey, I knew what you meant Miere.

But umm, for the record. I.... err, if you..? Well, what I mean is...

*Uh oh. Guess I've fallen into the same trap.*

Miere is totally orange by now but totally understands what you mean, he's almost hiding in his hoodie.

Miere: uhm.....

He pulls out a small bouquet of sunflowers and gives it to you.

Miere: so..... I.. was thinking in... Confessing in a better way

He mumbles, not being able to look at you

[jurjenkvanderhoek]

IN DIERVERHALEN MAAKT TOON TELLEGEN FILOSOFIE OVERDENKBAAR

Heb ik het nieuwe boek van Toon Tellegen gelezen, zak ik lekker onderuit in mijn fauteuil. Behaaglijk in de stof dat me welhaast omsluit zo kruip ik er in weg. Sluit mijn ogen. De tekeningen van Thé Tjong-Khing doemen voor mijn toegedekte pupillen op. Deze illustraties laten de zojuist gelezen verhalen achter mijn oogleden tot leven komen. Dan droom ik weg op de woorden en de pennenstreken. Waan ik mij dat onschuldige dier dat vol met vragen zit waarop menselijkerwijs geen antwoorden mogelijk zijn. Wat zal ik graag die eekhoorn of deze mier zijn, de olifant of het nijlpaard. Leven zonder je zorgen te maken om de grote vragen des levens. Je verwonderen om details, je afvragen wat er is daar verderop. De mammoet zal ik willen zijn die op zijn beurt de olifant wil zijn. Om gelukkig te leven in het nu en niet dat toen.

De dieren stellen elkaar vragen waar wij mensen niet opkomen, misschien nog niet aan toe zijn deze te bedenken. Die voor ons gesneden koek zijn, menen we. Omdat het onwerkelijke gedachten schijnen te zijn, niet realistisch. Niet ter zake doend, maar voor de dieren juist heel hier en nu. Oh, wat zal ik graag zo blank in het leven staan, als een onbeschreven blad. Zo zoals de dieren die in de verhalen van Tellegen kinderlijke vragen stellen. Het mensenkind heeft die onbevangenheid van deze dieren nog. Grote vragen stellen, die boven hun macht lijken te gaan. Kleine antwoorden verwachten, die de wereld en het leven tastbaar maken, begrijpelijk.

Toon Tellegen maakt met zijn verhalen filosofische vraagstukken bereikbaar, begaanbaar en voelbaar. Het diepste mijmeren landt door zijn woorden eenvoudig in mijn denken. Ik doorzie aan de hand van zijn vertellingen, die welhaast voor kinderen geschreven lijken te zijn, het bestaan beter. Levensvragen die voor de kleine krekel antwoorden verdienen om het leven aan te kunnen en de wereld verstaanbaar. Wat is er achter de muur waarop eekhoorn en mier stuiten na een lange reis. Daar is niets. Ik vraag me weleens af of het heelal een einde kent. Het heel is al, het is de ganse ruimte. Maar naar menselijke maatstaven bestaat oneindig niet. Net zoals eeuwig geen optie is in het leven. En wat is daar dan na, wanneer die onmetelijke ruimte afgemeten is. Eekhoorn breekt er zijn hoofd over, terwijl de mier genoegen neemt met niets. Zoals de mol en de aardworm onder de grond op het einde van de aarde stuiten, niet meer verder kunnen graven en onverrichte zake terugkeren. Dat was zeker de fundering van een huis zal de lezer raden, want de mens wenst wel overal een passend antwoord op. Mol en worm zingen elkaar in slaap en praten nergens meer over. De muis deed een niet te geloven ontdekking: wij bestaan niet. Dus is de olifant verzonnen, die op zijn beurt ontdekt dat de toekomst een vergissing is.

In zijn boek laat Tellegen de dieren vragen stellen die ertoe doen. Vraagstukken waarmee de schrijver misschien al langer rondloopt, maar aan niemand heeft durven voorleggen nog. De kans dat hij voor gek wordt verklaart namelijk is niet gering. De mensen van nu zijn zo rationeel dat de fantasie uit haar voegen barst en vervliegt in de tijd. De werkelijkheid staat hoog in het vaandel en degene die daarvan afwijkt wordt met liefde afgeschoten. Daarom zijn het de dieren die hoger kunnen vliegen en dieper kunnen graven. Zij nemen geen blad voor de mond, maar vragen waar het opstaat. Daarom maakt Tellegen van de dieren net mensen.

Foto Michael van Uden

De verhalen zijn fabels waarin de moraal tussen de regels door gelezen kan worden. In de beeldspraak wordt een abstracte waarheid duidelijk gemaakt. Want is dat niet de kern van de filosofie, je bezig houden met fundamentele vragen over het bestaan, de werkelijkheid, de rede, waarden en het verstand. De dieren spreken met elkaar na diep nagedacht te hebben. Ze bevragen elkaar om het zijn te onderzoeken, mogelijkheden te argumenteren, op hun manier logisch te denken. De dieren van Tellegen zijn vrije denkers. Naar menselijk idee is er geen logica in te ontdekken, maar de vragen zijn steekhoudend en doen er zeker toe. De schrijver geeft overigens geen duidelijk afgepaste antwoorden. De dieren denken het te weten, maar de lezer blijft veelal in het ongewisse en moet dieper in de gelaagde verhalen duiken om een waarheid te bevestigen.

In de filosofie van Toon Tellegen zweeft de waarheid niet boven de werkelijkheid. Maar kun je wel in gedachten hoog boven de realiteit vliegen om de feiten te overzien. De dieren kijken in hun onnozelheid van onder op het zijn, maar spreken er over alsof ze het van boven bekijken. Ze maken de levensvragen beschouwelijk, handzaam en laagdrempelig. Ze spreken hun ongecompliceerde gedachten aan elkaar uit om meer te weten te komen van het bestaan en het doel, de zin van het leven: waar gaan we eigenlijk heen.

De verhalen in het boek zijn niet alle nieuw. Voor mij wel. De oude verschenen in eerdere uitgaven. Tellegen vulde het aantal voor deze uitgave aan met enkele onlangs geschreven  vertellingen. De filosofische vraagstukken ontroeren in handen van dieren. Door hun onlogische logica zetten de dieren de mensen aan het denken. En soms kan ik een omfloerste lach niet onderdrukken. Die dieren zijn net mensen. Met al hun belachelijke gedachten, ideeën en standpunten. Toon Tellegen houdt ons een spiegel voor. Een lachspiegel waarin we ons zijn vervormd weerzien.

Foto Martin Waalbeer

De verbeeldingen uit ons dagelijks leven projecteert Tellegen op de dieren in zijn verhalen. De eekhoorn en de mier gaan in het eerste verhaal naar de verte, de toekomst. Ze lopen urenlang door naar die verte en stuiten op een muur, kunnen niet verder. De mier klimt op de muur en ziet niets. Kijkt hij in het hiernamaals? Er zijn mensen die menen dat daar inderdaad niets is. En dan de vraag van de krekel aan de schildpad. Is hij er wel zeker van dat hij de schildpad is. Je bent wat je doet, of is dat niet het wezen van het zijn. En de mier kan alles denken. Zich alles indenken en uitdenken. Denken heeft geen geheimen. Verder doordenken dan tot oneindig. Overdenken, toedenken. Maar iemand wegdenken kan ze niet. De neushoorn en het nijlpaard, beide willen het eerst aan de beurt zijn in de winkel van de sprinkhaan. Ze voeren allerlei redenen aan om maar aan te geven dat deze voor de ander eerst aan de beurt is. “Mijn wil bestond eerder dan ik. Die hing al in de lucht toen er nog niks bestond, de hele wereld niet, de zon niet, het was nog helemaal donker en koud en stil, maar mijn wil om vandaag hier in de winkel van de sprinkhaan iets te kopen, die zweefde al rond.” Zijn wij alle niet zo kleinzielig om haantje de voorste te zijn, op de eerste rij te staan, te denken dat het nu onze beurt is.

Toon Tellegen bedenkt wonderlijke dingen, filosofeert zich een punthoofd. Geeft oplossingen voor onbestaande vraagstukken. Deze zijn echter wel heel werkelijk, wanneer je er goed bij nadenkt, het overdenkt. Er peinzend induikt. Wat te denken van de verjaardag van de eendagsvlieg. Hij heeft maar één enkele dag in zijn leven, dus kan hij slechts een veruurdag vieren. Logisch toch? De krekel is zo nieuwsgierig naar hoe zijn gevoel eruitziet dat hij zich binnenste buiten keert. En wat is de waarde van de tor. Hij is iets waard. Niet helemaal niets. En schrijft het op de muur. “Dat ben ik, dacht hij. Dat moet ik nooit vergeten.” Kun je de grootte van iets afmeten. Wat is groot en wat is klein. Verjaardagen zijn klein, want duren nooit langer dan een dag. Verdriet is groot, onherbergzaam en koud en stil. Maar het kan ook klein zijn, zo weg te blazen. De struisvogel steekt zijn kop in de grond en droomt ergens anders te zijn. Wat zal ik dat graag wensen, me ergens voor afsluiten en menen op een andere plek te zijn dan daar waar ik ben en niet wil zijn.

En soms praat ik net als de eekhoorn met de dingen in mijn kamer. Vooral nadat ik dit boek van Toon Tellegen en Thé Tjong-Khing heb gelezen en bekeken. Ik leg het voor me op tafel en richt mijn woord tot het boek. Stel de vragen die de dieren elkaar stellen, het boek geeft me de antwoorden. Zoals op iedere pot een deksel past, zo sluit elk antwoord de vraag af. Misschien niet altijd even bevredigend, is het een dooddoener. Nadenkend, in de diepte overdenkend, kan ik de vraagstelling wegdenken en me het antwoord indenken. Tellegen schrijft waarheden als koeien. Thé tekent er een levendige verbeelding bij. En ik zak nog dieper weg in mijn fauteuil. Is het een foute uil?

Waar gaan we eigenlijk heen. Tekst Toon Tellegen. Illustraties Thé Tjong-Khing. Uitgave Em. Querido’s Uitgeverij, 2023.

[minuy600]

A Quick Look at all Games on the Kruidvat Famiclone (Part 3)

I live for this shit, as John Justice would say. Despite not really finding myself too motivated to make blogs at the moment, this dinky ass handheld keeps calling my name. Regardless of it's extremely cheap build quality, I find myself extremely charmed with the design, some of the bootlegs and the Kruidvat packaging. Junk food gaming at it's finest.

#017 - Fairy 2001

Behold, a game I actually played in remade form! Dunno how you could spin 'Blaster Master' into 'Fairy', but hey, at least I recognise a lot about this game. Blaster Master Zero's first level is really close to the original's.

A giant 'Let's Go!' replaces the visual of Jason going out on his mission, way to make the story more interesting. This Fred censorship will not be tolerated.

Sophia looks like a turtle, shooting angry blue guys whilst the music is the original being flipped upside down. Now this is a new high of weird edits in bootlegs. Even comes included with the puke colors this system appears to use for all their more elaborate junk.

#018 - Happy Angel

Sorry, Happy Angel

Legend, as the game calls it, features a happy Teletubby, a pensive Teletubby and a winking Teletubby as they attempt to rescue Babs Bunny from blue Mickey Mouses. ...Did a 12 year old sneeze on Wattpad and make a game from it or something?

Good game by the way, would like to try Tiny Toon Adventures in non-fucked up form someday.

#019 - Inclement Trip

More like InCREment Trip, as you start this hack of Super Spy Hunter on level 2 instead of level 1. If you like having a power trip (hahaaaaaaaaaaa), you play as a guy in a jetpack blowing up all kinds of vehicles, including cars and helicopters.

#020 - Raider

Another Famicom hack which is neat, this time it's Saint Seiya that gets a hilarious Engrish translation. With the heroes Bik (hello Jerome), Roal, Mier (Dutch for ant) and Dum (the only playable female??? Nice sexism guys) in tow, you first play through a level.

Once you got that figured out, some random soldier tells you 'You haven't enough power,go!'. Displeased as you are of course, you yell 'Die to shame!' back as you duke it out in a tutorial battle. Which according to the soldier, is 'too absurd' and 'now unallowed!'. Pfft, laws, am I right.

#021 - Rosker

Oh ye gods, it's spreading. Now you play as Mario with a TELETUBBY HEAD. The Teletubbies on the title screen also have 'Y2K' on their chest, which only makes it scarier. The first boss is a frickin' Star Wars sandworm. Creepypasta games before creepypastas existed, huh?

The realisation that this is a hack of Joe & Mac settles in when you get rewarded for your efforts in the list of 'Best Cavemen'. Thanks, I know i'm ooga booga.

#022 - Soldier-Boy

This soldier boy is gonna partake in some Wacky Races. While looking more like a karateka than a soldier. Can karate moves be used in a war I wonder? Most early enemies are pink sludges and SMB3's Nipper Plants if they grew legs.

#023 - Space Soldier

Holy sh*t, Roal has returned! He has been called into action as planets suffer from severe climate issues like consuming storms or weirdies!!!! The Cock asks the amazing space soldier to eggwalk, which he (or she apparently, there's a female portrait in use the one time we see them up close) gladly obliges to.

Infamously, this Bucky O'Hare hack kills you when an enemy hits you even once. That's because of an anti-piracy gimmick by Konami, as the title screen got changed up a bunch, like you would expect them to.

#024 - Storm-1

Do I even need to say anything? This is peak. Cowards won't allow there to be an episode of Tiny Toon Adventures where Buster is a stoner and loses his marbles.

Conclusion

Next time, we'll cover not THE final games, but the last ones that are hacked from games that have some meat on their bones. After that, expect a style change with how I do these things.

[regulationbluebunny]

FFXIV Write Day 28: Blunt

Subject: Niryl can't handle hero worship. Featuring @duskwightdancer 's wol

Gen. Cws: none.

"I see," Niryl said, though he was referring to the woman's manner of address more than her words.  

"Wonderful!" She said with a smile that might've been considered charming. "You see, my own field is closely related to ambient aether.  I thought perhaps we could go over your suggestions on further study. With such interconnected fields, there is sure to be some overlap."

He couldn't handle this.  The blushing, the hand wringing, the giggles that were more suited to a girl than a woman in her forties.  She was interested in his chosen science, she had said. She had read their paper on the effect of celestial bodies on changes of atmospheric aether.  Never mind that Urianger had done practically all of the writing and most of it went over his head, Niryl didn't think he could handle a conversation with anyone quite so simpering. 

Niryl breathed carefully through his nose as she spoke. He didn't want to be the subject of her girlish admiration.  He didn't want to be anyone's hero. He had never asked people to bow and scrape as if they were somehow lesser than him. Perhaps a better man would find it in himself to reassure them and nurture their interest. A more patient man who was not running on five hours of sleep and who had not had nearly same conversation a dozen times tonight might find it in himself to extend her an offer to visit the laboratory.  But that would mean yet another future engagement he would have to hold himself to, and he was stretched thin enough as it was.  Best to leave politics like that to Alphinaud. Niryl had been told that he could be a bit blunt. 

"It is fortunate to have such dedicated scientists interested in our work," he said carefully.  "You work in ambient aetherology, you say?"

She nodded.  Her curls bobbed with the motion. One of them came dangerously close to her champagne. 

"That's correct.  I specialize in seasonal currents."

"Very closely related indeed," he said honestly, but new connections be damned. His fancy robes itched at the collar and the room was far too hot.  "I have a friend who is uniquely studied in tracking aether currents. Do you know Yshtola Rhul?"

Niryl knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he was going to suffer for this later, but changing the play now would only make things more awkward.  

"I know of her, yes.  Who doesn't? "

"You ought to call on her," he said. He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket that happened to be a half torn Ewer card and scrawled Y'shtola's name and laboratory number on it. Oh, she was going to kill him. "Here- I'm sorry, I think I see my son at the desserts table again. Tell her I meant to introduce you, she'd love to show you what we're working on.  Excuse me."

Niryl wove through the crowd before the woman got a chance to get another word in. A hand bearing a rim-full glass of La Noscean red placed its way directly in his path and Niryl had to make the decision to stop or wear it.  He came to a halt just in time to see G'raha, his forum robes bright in the light of the chandelier, grin up at him.  

"I had been on my way to aid you, but it appears you've managed to extricate yourself on your own," he said.  "If you're looking for Farim, Celestaux put the kids to bed a half a bell past."

Niryl groaned and stole a swig of the glass G'raha had used as a barricade.  The other man didn't seem to mind.  

"I know," Niryl admitted.  "He caught me before he left. There's no need to be so smug."

"My apologies," G'raha said, but his smile widened slightly. "I'm sure you're also aware that you were speaking to Renalia du Miere, recently sponsored by the forum." He punctuated the last bit as if it were of particular interest.  

Niryl groaned. "Sponsored by you, then?"

"She's very well written," G'raha agreed, "and her methods are sound."

"Hopefully she gets on with Y'shtola, then," Niryl muttered.  

G'raha snickered. "I'm beginning to understand why you didn't like me back then."

"What? I liked you fine."

"You absolutely did not," he laughed.  "If the two of us were left alone in a room together I would turn to find an open window and an overturned chair."

Niryl flushed.  "I wasn't that bad."

"You weren't," Graha admitted. "You did your best to be perfectly civil.  I know now what a struggle that must've been."

The well concealed jab assured Niryl that he wasn't in any hot water and he let his shoulders slump. 

"I have difficulty with," he waved his hand in the direction he'd left Renalia, "that. If a genuine conversation is what they want, then by all means.  I have no desire to talk to someone when they're treating me like I'm some kind of--"

"Hero?"

"Golden statue," he finished.  

Graha smiled sadly at him. This wasn't a new struggle. Gods knew there was a reason Celestaux had abandoned the festivities to put the kids up when it was barely eight. 

"I'm just glad you got over it," Niryl said.  

"I tend to lose most respect for a man when shows up on my doorstep before dawn only to sneeze at me."

"Excuse me! I recall it being Farim that did the sneezing!"

"It was both of you," Graha said, grinning with the confidence of someone who had far too much ammunition and the full intent to use it, "and in excess."

Niryl put on a show of pouting. It was true that he'd let Graha and Celestaux see him at his most terrified, ill, and once or twice inebriated. It was G'raha that he'd turned to when Farim had gotten their entire house sick with hand foot and mouth, G'raha who he begged advice when Farim cried so much and so easily.  And there was Celestaux, who knew better than anyone the horrible things he kept inside him but still let him hold Gwenette. It was worth the teasing to have friends he could rely on.  

"Go on," Graha said. "You needn't stay on my account. I'm sure your young man is wondering where you are."

"Very well," Niryl said. He didn't pretend not to be relieved by his dismissal. "Give Celestaux my regards. I'll stop by for Farim in the morning."

[ratsoh-writes]

Hans: single buddies

*he goes over you all "sad" lol. Nicky isn't surprised but that gets her off guard sometimes*

Nicky: you know Nayer cookies? No more for you

Hans: oh come on! Why can Miere get and not me? :(

Nicky: Miere doesn't insult my datemates

Hans: he doesn't even know them! *again pleading eyes*

I open my arms to let hans in for a hug

“Awwww Nicky!! But he’s so sad! Look!”

[cuentos-del-encanto]

Episode One: Threads

[microphone feedback]

[static]

MIRABEL: Is this thing on? How... how do you— oh. (a beat) Ohh...

[more static]

[dramatic clearing of throat]

MIRABEL: Have you ever looked at the world around you? I mean really looked at it? Everything is connected in some shape or form, with the threads of fate winding together to form complicated braids and tapestries of people's lives.

From where I'm sitting— the roof of the local tailor shop, if you're curious— I can see the threads that bind everyone together shining brightly against the dark streets. Above me, golden threads knit closely together represent the shield that was woven from a selfless sacrifice that protects us to this day. (a pause, then sheepishly) But I'm getting ahead of myself.

[soothing intro instrumental music begins to play]

MIRABEL: I welcome you, lost wanderer, to my lovely little radio show. I am your host, Mirabel Madrigal, and I do hope that you will stay put, at least for a moment. Rest your feet, dust off your clothes, and take a seat by the metaphorical campfire with me. Close your eyes and have a listen to Los Cuentos de la Selva Encantada.

[the music intensifies, transforming into something sweeping and majestic. in the background, leaves rustle in the trees and birds chirp loudly. a river can be faintly heard running in the background. slowly, the noises fade out into static]

MIRABEL: Our story begins inside the very shop I'm currently broadcasting on the roof of. It is a quaint little place, charmingly decorated and well versed in customer foot traffic with the store on the bottom and a small apartment sandwiched at the top, large enough for at least two people to live comfortably or one person to live in luxury if their financial situation afforded them so, but I digress.

[brief, jarring static, reminiscent of an abrupt scene change]

[the same soothing music begins to play softly. it sounds like an early morning sunrise, the calm moments before the bustle of the workday hits in full force and existing is all you need to do at the moment]

MIRABEL: Agustín woke with the sun, provided the sun was actually out and shining. Even if it wasn't, he would still wake at the exact same time because his alarm was set to go off at 6 am on the dot— rain or shine.

Some days, he could convince himself that another five minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt and he could trip his way through his morning routine with time to spare.

However, today was not the day he would succumb to the siren-like lure of 'five more minutes'— he had far too much to do.

With a groan and a stretch, he rose to his feet, grasping blindly for his glasses. His hands grasped the thin, wire frames and he succeeded in poking himself in the eye.

[the music abruptly stops]

[faint crashing is heard]

AGUSTÍN: ¡Miércoles! Pedaso de mier—

MIRABEL (faintly amused): Although he woke with the sun, Agustín was by no means a morning person.

He successfully placed his glasses on after two more tries— third times the charm after all— and carefully made his way to the bathroom.

[music starts up again, cheerfully whimsical and dorky, perfectly suiting Agustín's personality]

MIRABEL: The rest of his morning routine came with little mishap— he only managed to knick himself three times with his razor, instead of the usual five, so he counted the morning as an overwhelming win.

Some people thought Agustín was insane because he got up so early, usually with a smile on his face, but Agustín didn't mind.

There was something magical about getting ready as the sun slowly crested over the horizon. Something special about watching the tail end of the sunrise with a freshly brewed cafecito cupped between his palms.

It did not hurt that across the road from him the apothecary was already opening and the owner could be seen bustling around, rearranging plants and herbs with a gentle smile on her face.

[the music becomes slow, romantic, and wistful. the rustling of herbs and leaves clinking of pots can be faintly heard along with gentle humming.]

MIRABEL (with emphasis): Julieta.

Augstín sighed and propped his chin on his right hand, watching as she flitted from plant to plant. He forgot that he was currently cradling a steaming hot cup of café and only the pain searing through his left thumb and down the back of his hand and wrist alerted him to that fact.

Agustín (frantic and hushed): Ouch, ouch, ouch—

MIRABEL: A man in love, he was.

[the sounds of running water and muttered swears fill the air, blending with the music]

MIRABEL: Agustín swore to himself, as he cleaned up the spilled liquid, that one day he would work up the courage to ask her to dinner.

He went about his day, opening the blinds of his shop, unlocking the door, and greeting the early birds already going about their errands with a cheerful—

AGUSTÍN (with enthusiasm): ¡Hola, hola! ¿Cómo estás?

MIRABEL: The early birds responded in kind and went on their way. Agustín watched them go with a smile before glancing up at the brightening sky. The sun was almost fully up.

He managed one successful wave at Julieta, who happened to look up at the right moment before promptly tripping over his feet and faceplanting onto the wooden floor.

He grunted in pain and clutched his nose. Quick footsteps filled his ears and he shoved himself to his knees as his vision blurred with reflex tears. A familiar teal dress, its pockets bulging with herbs and salves, appeared in the corner of his vision and a musical, familiar voice entered his ears.

[the same slow, romantic music begins to play]

JULIETA (exasperated and amused): Ay, Agustín.

MIRABEL: Hands, strong and callused from endless work perfecting her delicious concoctions and meals, helped him into a sitting position.

JULIETA: We're going to need to wrap you in pillows if you keep up like this.

MIRABEL: Agustín tried to reply but found his mouth full of the cheesy texture of a freshly made arepa.

His nose snapped back into place and the only visible signs of his mishap were the droplets of blood on his shirt and the tears clinging to his lashes.

AGUSTÍN (breathlessly): Gracias, Señora. How can I repay you?

MIRABEL: Julieta smiled in reply and held out her hands to him. Gingerly, Agustín took them and, with a sharp tug courtesy of the healer, practically flew to his feet.

JULIETA (still amused but also slightly breathless): I... ah...

MIRABEL: Agustín looked down and noticed the sleeve of her dress was torn. A singular, surgically straight line from wrist to elbow, exposing the smooth, tan skin underneath.

AGUSTÍN (softly): ¿Que pasó?

JULIETA (sheepishly): My knife slipped and caught my sleeve. Comes with the territory, I guess.

AGUSTÍN: I can mend that for you, if you'd like.

JULIETA: Oh— no, I couldn't impose—

AGUSTÍN: It's no imposition at all. It's an easy fix and the least I can do after you fixed me up.

JULIETA: It was my pleasure. (a pause) I'd hate to see your handsome face remain injured when I can help it.

MIRABEL (in slight disgust): Agustín's heart soared at the healer's admission and he lead her over to one of the spare stools. Julieta sat primly, ankles crossed and cheeks faintly red. Agustín retrieved his travel sewing kit from under the desk and set it on the counter.

Carefully, he examined the threads available and picked the white thread, reasoning with himself that he could blend it in with the embroidered designs on her collar and cuffs.

Agustín expertly threaded the needle and extended a hand and Julieta took it. Their hands fit together perfectly and Agustín bent slightly over her arm, pushing his glasses firmly up his nose, and began to sew.

JULIETA: From what I've seen from you, I wouldn't think you'd be this graceful with a needle and thread.

AGUSTÍN (smiling): All my grace and coordination were poured into this one skill and left me nothing for everyday life.

MIRABEL: Julieta's laugh rang in his ear like an ever playing melody and Agustín knew that he wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life. At that moment, the courage which usually rested in the far recesses of his chest rushed forward and the question sprang from his lips, unbidden.

AGUSTÍN: Would you, perhaps, like to get dinner with me someday?

[the music grows tense with anticipation, almost as if it is holding its breath along with Agustín]

JULIETA (after a pause): I'd like that very much.

[the music grows triumphant, drowning out the rest of the conversation as it grows louder and louder]

[the music fades out to static]

MIRABEL: Threads, my dear wanderers, hold the world together. They bring warmth and protection. They bind people together, whether willing or unwilling, and act as a lead to an escape when trapped in an impossible maze. They are valuable and underappreciated, the silent, ever-present workers that hold this crazy, destructive, beautiful tapestry of a world together— for better or for worse.

[soothing outro instrumental music begins to play]

MIRABEL: I hope you enjoyed this episode of Los Cuentos de la Selva Encantada and that you find yourself sufficiently rested and warmed by our metaphorical campfire.

As for me? This roof is getting a little uncomfortable and the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon. I'd better leave if I want to remain uncaught.

I hope to see you again, dear wanderer, for I have many more cuentos to share with you.

[outro music fades into static]

[faint laughter can be heard in the background]

[the broadcast abruptly cuts out]

[zapatoni]

Fnaf HS enfeenfe

Freddy llegó a la HS como todos los días pero cuando llegó escucho muchos rumores que principalmente tenían que ver con la comida de la escuela diciendo que tenia iva a tener cosas podrídas que alguien mal de la cabeza le puso algo a la comida etc ese tipo de cosasFreddy no creía mucho en esos rumores y además tenía que ir a comer a la cafetería ya que si no quería morir de hambre por no tomar ni comer nada en el desayuno y encima no traer colacion tendría que ir a comer"Cres que sea buena idea" dice Fred"Yo creo que sí sabes que muchas veces que aquí se ase rumor termina siendo falso" Freddy le dice a Fred"Ok cuando te estés muriendo de dolor de estómago a mí no ni me miri"Dijo Fred Los dos llegan a la clase Freddy va a su asiento mientras escuchaba la clase seguíaEn el recreo"Hola Freddy!" Dice chica junto a Fox Bonnie y Golden"Hola chicos" Freddy se aserca a sus amigos feliz ya que no los avía encontrado por ningún lugar"Cómo estás escuchaste los rumores"Dice Fox a Freddy"Estoy bien y si no me digan que ustedes lo creen"dice Freddy"Ollé Freddy tu y yo sabemos que es MUY posible de que sea real"Justo antes de que Freddy respondiera tocan la campana y cuando terminó esa clase Freddy fue a la cafetería ya se estaba muriendo de hambre el come lo deja nada tan fuera de lugar tocan lo raro es que Freddy se empezó a sentir mareado y con dolor de estómago durante la clase pero no dijo nadaLa clase continuo pero Freddy se empezó a sentir Muy mal a medida que la clase continuaba Freddy levanta la mano pidiendo ir al baño el profesor lo deja y Freddy cuando llega al baño vomita en el inodoro"Te dije que eran verdad los rumores"Dice Fred frotando le la espalda a Freddy Freddy no dice nada se sentia mal ni siquiera eso se sentía HORRIBLE Freddy sostiene su estómago con lágrimas en sus ojos le dolía la garganta la cabeza y lo peor es que si se iba a casa se quedaría afuera ya que su mamá estaba trabajando y no podría ir"Mier#a"escucha desde atrás un chico de pelo rubio con-espera es Golden mientras el terminaba de vomitar Cuando Freddy termina Golden le seca las lágrimas y lo pone en una posición comoda"Ya Freddy está bien tu mamá está en casa porque como te vez y no dudó como te sientes no estás en condiciones de estar en la escuela""n-no" dice Freddy casi como un susurro"Ya y si te cuido en mi casa" "Mm tampoco es mala idea Freddy si a la final parece que estás como la mie#da" dice FredFreddy asiente en señal de Si a GoldenGolden lo carga asia la dirección ya qué la enfermería estaba fuera de servicio y le dice al director lo de Freddy el director le dice que también le iva avisar a la mamá de Freddy Golden asiente y en en auto(de lujo) de Golden se van a su casa El tenía llaves y sabía cuidar a alguien enfermo asique aunque tampoco estuvieran sus padres el acosto a Freddy en su cama Y fue por un paño y un tazón de agua sumergiendo el paño y poniendoselo a Freddy unos minutos después Freddy se levanta sobre saltado asia al baño a vomitar Golden le Frota la espalda a Freddy y cuando terminó lo puso en su cama de nuevo sacándole la mayoría de mantas y trayendo un balde para FreddyGolden le iba a aser una sopa a Freddy pero cuando se iba a ir Freddy lo agarro de la polera "p-porfavor no t-te vallas" dice Freddy "tranquilo voy a volver solo voy a aserte una sopa" Golden le da un beso en la frente y se va dejando a Fred cuidándolo por unos minutosDespués de que Golden terminara la sopa se la sirvió en un plato y ese plazo lo puso en una bandeja junto a un vaso de agua y unas galletas de trigo y va con Freddy y Freddy tardo en comer por los mareos pero logro comer Después de eso Freddy le pidió a Golden si podía dormir con él y Golden durmió con el junto a Fred Horas después la madre de Freddy fue desesperada por su hijo a la casa de Golden y cuando un Mayor domo le abre la puerta ve a su hijo y Golden acotados ella toma con cuidado de no despertar a ninguno de los dos pero sin querer despierta a Golden"Oh perdón Gracias por cuidar de Freddy" dice la madre de Freddy asia Golden "de nada Sr,a" Freddy y su madres se van

[drewschermickblindone]

New mixtape:

blindone- the acidic hasidic 11- The Old Test a ment Extended Vers Dax Pierson- snap Radioinactive- personnality theft Elucid- Burnt Sugar feat. Psychic Twin doseone- Big Bank Basik MC-One Verse Hearse v 1.2 DJ Signify- Costume Kids Mestizo & Controller 7- Lay Your Life Down Danny Brown- 3 Tearz (feat. Run the Jewels) Birdapres- Different Insignificant Elzhi- 1-14 Misright Dope KNife- The Message Feat. Dana Coppafeel De La Soul- The Magic Number Fatt Matt, Ira Lee, Chadio- Downtown mykill miers and pawz one- cult classic (feat. edo.g and dj romes) Factor Chandelier feat. Onry Ozzborn- black nasa Neek the Exotic- One Speed All Out (Feat. Satchel Page) living legends- communion Reks- Animal Kingdom (Prod. By Apollo Brown) Rocwell feat. Swamburger- Memories The Gumshoe Strut- # Stairaway Saukrates- Innovations Feat. Pharoahe Monch dj moves- morris day feat. tachichi rob sonic- gums john jiggs feat crimeapple- teflon manteca 2Mex- Can't Get With Us (feat. Riddlore) Sacred Hoop- Quiet, Im Dying Defcee & Messiah Musik- Shell Game feat. Alaska sixtoo- garbage rain shrapknel- acid vignette(feat. donovan days and the binary marketing show) Mad Kap- Escuse Me Brutha!-Jeff-Self Feat. Jeff Broadway El-P- Oh Hail No (Feat. Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire & Danny Brown) Bag Appeal- Knife Rips (Rich Jones, Jesse The Tree & MJC) Raw Produce- Up All Night Darko The Super- Boomerang (Prod. Steel Tipped Dove) Dr. Octagon- Flying Waterbed The Koreatown Oddity- Meditative Thought Esoteric & Stu Bangas- Blood On the Flowers (feat. Spit Gemz) CURTA- Sky High feat. Kenny Dennis (Serengeti) Farm Fresh- tylers in the coal room (weeping) Diamond D- K.I.S.S. (Keep it Simple Stupid) Defari- Deepest Regards (feat. B Real & J Ro) (prod. by Mike City) Deeskee- Motel Six sadistik- november aj suede and televangel- elysium DJ Muggs x Roc Marciano- Wormhole freestyle fellowship- hillcrest fatboi sharif and roper williams- prescription ODD NOSDAM- horse face anglo- Nine to Five Maximus Da Mantis - KALI-MA - TapeDeck Wizardry Ft Dangerous Dane main flow- dealing with the archives (ft dj greyboy) Controller 7- swallow (feat. Hemlock Ernst) The Nonce- Mix Tapes (1926 Sunday Night Remix) sign one- 2020 Hosannas (TGS Remix) ft. The Gumshoe Strut ddamage- insects are human Mr. Lif- Low Key (Feat. Murs, El-P, BMS & 3 Melancholy Gypsies) Demigodz- The Summer of Sam feat. Apathy, Blacastan, Esoteric, Motive, Ryu & Celph Titled AWOL ONE- REALLY MATTERS FEAT D-STYLES OLD SELF- Golden Rule (Radio Edit) feat. Lt Headtrip & BIG BREAKFAST One Be Lo- Phoenix Sons-HHB open mike eagle- ill fight you (prod. diamond d) Nolto & Factor- Making Out MF Grimm- earth prince po- bump bump (ft raekwon - prod by madlib) existereo- boyz in the hoodwinked DJ Quik- Speed jean grae & quelle chris- breakfast of champions OneWerd- What Living is For (variex. Remix) Moor Mother & Billy Woods- Portrait ft. Navy Blue alxndrbrwn- a boy nostalgic for the future (feat. cas one) Emad Saad Drastic Measures Hip Hop- Shatterd Light (feat. 2Mex & Negro Scoe) Short Fuze & Nasa- Master Peace Eric Bobo & Stu Bangas- Street Smarts feat. Ill Bill & O.C Five Deez- The Rock Rehab The Doppelgangaz- Taking Them Pills sandpeople- sapient and ethic- crown control kay the aquanaut and maki- the day the gods came back The Walrus (Interlude) Degiheugi- Keeping Memory Alive W Nolto, Andrre, Astronautalis & Nomad blue sky black death and ceschi- miracles Das EFX- real hip hop (pete rock remix) dj seinfeld- song for the lonely ERDA- SIGIL (prod. leftfordead) zoviet france- FICKLE WHISTLE, HAND OVER YOUR EARS Oldominion- Same Ol Same Ol (Feat. Barfly, Candidt & Peegee 13) Bike for Three!- First Embrace Eyedress- My Girl The Finest

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Monday 21 August 1837

7 ¼

11 ½

slept with A- very fine morning F65° now at 8 ¼ and breakfast in ½ hour – then out – about while A- got ready – off with her in the carriage at 9 40 and out all the day – in Stainland – at Marsden – returned thro’ Huddersfield, and back at 9 50 – fine morning but high wind – at Mr. Outrams’ in ¾ hour at 10 25 – A- went to see what ground he wanted off her holme – it turned out that he wanted room for a cart road into his garden and all his talk about the expense of moving the stuff was [hereby] for he had laid it where he wanted it for the purpose of making his road which road he had now hinted at before and it never came out by accident – seeing A- did not at all at once consent to let him take all he wanted he let out that she had no right of road to the holme along his Outram’s road – both A- and I caught at this – both of us supposed O- had given all necessary right of road in return for A-‘s giving him leave to change the goit-course, and so we told O- he explained that the right of road was given only the farm to [Ann hey] – oh! oh! thought I and gave O- to understand that now it seemed A- had a bargain to make, not a mere favour of grant – which she would have had much more pleasure in doing than in making  a mere bargain – of which A- said she would consider – O- saw all was not right – we went in for a few minutes to see his shawls but would not take wine or cake – ¾ hour there and off again at 11 10 thinking less highly of O- than we had done before – unhandsome to keep back the a right of road to the holme A- having no idea of it – she promised him the 200 yards of ground not knowing what he wanted it for, but believing that he had had handsome given her all the right of road she could want – she says she had right of road to the farm under the old agreement made by her uncle –so that O- with all his talk had given her nothing – stopped 10 minutes at the turnpike cottage near William Hirsts of moor [miers.] and off from the cottage at 11 50 – then a few minutes at William Hirst’s – A- promised him 2 or 3 new gates – then drove forwards and got out at the top of the Lane turning down to Stone Royde at 12 10 the carriage to wait for us at the public house the coach and horses close-by the son (Joseph Schofield) of the tenant soon joined us in the Lane, and walked with us past the plantation wants a little thinning and dressing and house all long the valley over the  grass and latterly rough heather to see A-‘s allotment of waste = about 9 ½ acres very near the head of the valley and opening on to the highroad at the top – wild country – A-‘s allotment partly walled round with stone and partly with sod-embankment – she comes down to ground bought about 18 acres+ for the top reservoir to be formed for the supply of water to the mills below – A- tired – Joseph Schofield’s older brother had joined us – on reaching the highroad sent him to the Inn (about a mile off) for the carriage – the Schofields get turf for burning at the top of the allotment near the highroad – A- thought Joseph S- had best be tenant as he was already partner with his father in the cattle etc. had paid ½ the last ½ years rent, and had offered security for the rent in future – but on Joseph’s wishing A- to mention this to the father, A- thought the father had best settle it himself – walked about ½ the way back to the carriage and got in at 2 5 – Joseph S- asked for something to drink, and A- asked me to give him and his brother 1/. a piece which I did – rough road down the Marsden or rather down to Slaithwaite at 2 ¾ A- being nervous we walked down the greater part of the rough steep descent – got into the great Manchester road on crossing the bridge from S- and alighted at the New Inn (a little distance from Marsden) at 3 5 – desired that George and William Wilkinson should dine and bait the horses, and we ordered trout and cold roast beef to be ready in an hour and set off to walk to the canal tunnel at 3 ¼ - went along the new road now making to save the steepness of the ascent of Stanedge (the equivalent in this place of Blackstone edge on the Halifax and Rochdale road) and crossed the river (Holme river I suppose) and then walked along the canal towing path  up to the mouth of the tunnel – seems about 9ft. wide? and 8 or 9 ft. high? 3 or 4 laden vessels lying about all belonging to Dowse – the great man here – a millar –a smoke smell of gas coming out of the tunnel – the woman living by (her husband takes care of the regulation of the water and sees that the boats start at the right hours) said it was the smoke of the fires and candles of the boats gone thro’ – tunnel 3 ¼ miles long – opens into Saddleworth 5 miles from Delf which us 12 miles from Manchester – a light boat with 4 laggers would go thro’ in 1 ½ hour – a heavy boat takes  4 hours –

Boats go from the Marsden end at 6am  2 and 10 pm

ditto -   -  Saddleworth ditto  at 2 and 10 am and 6 pm

the woman thought Mr. Dowse would let us have a boat and 4 laggers for 10/. and the carriage might meet us at the Saddleworth end

Back at the new Inn and dinner at 4 ¼ - A- dined on the trout and potatoes and a little cheese and I on the 2 first + a little hot apple tart – En route again at 5 20 – we had had a 2nd bottle of ginger beer and our own wine – and paid for ourselves 3/2 servants eating and ale ¾ Horses hay and corn 1/6. and gave the woman waiter 1/. – George asked for something for the ostler but I said I had nothing to do with him – paying for the hay corn and postboys’ eating and driving and taking care of his horses, what have I to do with ostlers? – alighted at Mr. John Haigh’s at Honely at 6 50 not at home then in 10 minutes walked up to his brother Mr. Joseph Haighs’ – not at home – a nephew there walked back with us till we met with Mr. Richard Haigh (tenants to A- for her Honley mills and to Lord Dartmoor for a profitable colliery) – Mr. RH. walked with us to shew the wearing of the water course they want doing – he said 2 men at 3/6 per day would do all that was necessary in 5 days (4 or 5 days) – and get the stones and all, for the stone would be got in the water course itself – it was 7 ¾ before we got into the carriage again – stopped a few minutes a little way before Huddersfield to give the horses oatmeal and water (8d.) and as I supposed George and the postoby took each a dam – drove thro’ Huddersfield and Halifax, and at home at 9 50 Mr. Gray lighted us into the house then retired and A- and I had tea and strawberries in the little dining room till 10 40 – fine day, but high wind, and much incommoded by dust

[angryatitall]

Effe Nederlands gaan..en dit is vooral voor mezelf

Maar Incorrect Quotes met de Fabeltjeskrant (2019 versie voor nu)

Juffrouw Mier: Niest

Meneer de Uil vanaf zijn tak: Gezondheid

Juffrouw Mier: God?!!

Lowieke de Vos: Juffrouw Ooievaar heeft geen idee dat ik high ben

Juffrouw Ooievaar: Je bent high?!

Lowieke de Vos: Oh sorry

Lowieke de Vos, tegen meneer de Raaf: Juffrouw Ooievaar heeft geen idee dat ik high ben

Ome Gerrit: Dat klinkt goed! Klinkt dat niet goed Stoffel?

Stoffel: Euh, nee?

Ome Gerrit: Ik denk dat ik voor Stoffel spreek als ik zeg dat het erg goed klinkt

Jodokus: We zien er allebei goed uit vanavond

Droes: Weet je, als je gewoon gezegt had dat ik er goed uitzag, ik gezegd zou hebben "Jij ook"

Jodokus: Die kans durfde ik niet te nemen

Meneer de Uil: Eigenlijk denk ik dat ik vooral wil zien wat er gebeurd wanneer deze plek uit elkaar valt

[foeniculi--vulpes]

"leeeeee where are youuuu :("

"mier i'm fucking next to you"

"oh right i just couldn't see you because of how short you are ^^"