#Granny Mend

[dathen]

Listened to Hallowoods’ midseason finale and I have THEORIES

So one of Diggory’s eyes is Granny Mend’s, and it being there must be integral to her taking over their body when they touch the Heart. @whatlizardry brought up the possibility of Diggory having to remove their own eye to prevent this from happening.

Second, I don’t believe Granny Mend for a second that Diggory touching the Heart will actually stop it from causing more harm. She only brought the idea up as a guilt trip to pressure Diggory to sacrifice themself, barely an afterthought to her original plan to resurrect herself. And why would she have any interest in stopping the heart once she’s immortal and reborn of the black waters? She’d be part of that world, then!

Which leads me to: I think after Granny Mend is dealt with, Diggory offers to activate the spells written on their skin to resurrect Rizwana. Cindy’s wife. There’s already so much built up this season to lead to that decision.

And with this last episode…I think Cindy is nearing enough character development to refuse. That would be the crux of her character arc: pushing back on the self-worth crisis she fueled in Diggory, and accepting Rizwana’s death even when handed a way to undo it. It would be the perfect way to conclude both Diggory and Cindy’s arcs this season.

#hello from the hallowoods #hfth #hfth spoilers #granny mend #diggory graves

[pensiveday]

Subject: Irene Mend/Granny Mend Art: Lizard @whatlizardry Writing: Dev @littlebreadroll

[ID: A page titled ‘Irene Mend’ and ‘Granny Mend.’ An illustration of a wide, void-black eye is labeled ‘Ethereal Eye.’  In the upper-right corner of the page is a sketch of an old woman with light cast over half her face and the rest of her in shadow. The eye in the light is closed, and the one in shadow is open and staring at the viewer.  The eye is alarmingly sharp against the softness of the drawing.  She wears a simple, old-fashioned black dress with a white collar, and has her hair pulled back and severely parted. In the lower-left corner of the page is a ghostly illustration of an old woman from the waist up, eerily shaded against a halo of shadow that deepens towards the bottom of the drawing.  She wears a shawl and an old-fashioned bonnet that shadows her face, leaving only the lower half of her face and the handle of a knife clearly visible.  She holds an embroidery hoop she is stitching on, and her hands are stuck with dozens of needles.  In red ink, the note “Can be summoned by saying her name three (double underlined) times in a mirror” is added, and in different handwriting, “scary but nice?”

The second page is written in blocky, all-caps handwriting on paper with scraps of thread and cloth fibers stuck to it. It is titled ‘Irene Mend (See: Granny Mend)’ and is followed by the below text:

Dangerous? No

Sentient? Full sentience--can be reasoned with

Encounter location: Mend Mansion

Description: An older woman with only one eye; seems to be getting on in years. She’s aged well, but moves slowly.  Arthritis? Just age?  Unsure.  She wears a leather apron when she works, and light clothes or evening wear otherwise.  Always carrying a silver bell and silver scissors.  Enjoys a good dinner, and treats the Mendies well.  Gave them funny names and has them help with housework (see: Mendies, connections).  They seem to be happy, or not mind serving her.  Seems a lovely woman aside from the revenant hobby.  House was empty last time I came through, moved out or moved on? (crossed out)  Killed by the Instrumentalist, after which he stole her bell and the Mendies.  (A note in red adds, “Pins says she was good.”)

Abilities: Creates revenants through unknown magic runes? Never did figure it out.  Only used bodies, never killed to make her Mendies.  Keeps them clean and preserved, filled with cotton and sawdust, and tied to a silver bell.  (A note in red adds, “The bell’s been hidden and buried.”)  

Connections: The Mendies, Townshend Rhodes, Huntington Waites, Cookery Potts, Leyland Blooms, Floris Scrubbs, Stitchery Pins)

The third page is titled ‘Granny Mend,’ and continues: 

Dangerous? Unknown

Sentient? Partial sentience--rudimentary communication

Irene Mend was a living human, Granny Mend seems limited in sentience or language

Non-sentient--entirely instinctual

Encounter location: Haven’t seen her myself, but she’s supposed to appear in mirrors? Say Granny Mend three times.

Description:  An old woman that sits in a rocking chair in the corner of your room and wears a bonnet pulled low over her face while she works on embroidery.  When she hums her lullaby and tucks you into bed, you cannot move even if you want to, and are dragged into sleep.  Supposed to be that her hands are pierced with needles, though not sure I believe she exists at all.  (A note in red adds, “Diggory saw her, says she has a dinner knife through her eye socket under the bonnet. Diggory says she didn’t answer their questions or stop singing except to tell them they were special and kiss their forehead.”)

Abilities: puts people to sleep with her lullaby when they suffer from insomnia.

Connections: Diggory Graves   /end ID]

#pensive day 2022 zine #hello from the hallowoods #hfth #hfth podcast #Granny Mend #Irene Mend #HFTH spoilers #needles cw #scopophobia cw #eye horror cw #eye injury mention

[fawndoodle]

propaganda moodboard for one of three new adoptables! see my original post for deets. $35 obo, dm me to adopt!

#the hat is by AssataZCreations on etsy #blanket is by CraftyKathysStore on etsy #furry #cat #crochet #adoptable #fiber arts #art #fawndoodle #anthro #visible mending #granny square

[magdaclaire]

coat of many colors can be so personal if u make ur own clothes

#granny taught me how to mend so i'd never have to throw anything still useable out #that's my great grandmother for the uninitiated #when i was 6 or 7 she taught me beginning piano (she couldn't read notes but she played for the church when she was young) and sewing #i spent a lot of time with my mama (her daughter my grandmother) and mama went over to granny's a lot #dolly parton is like if having good memories about childhood were for southern people #mer rambles

[theskeletonprior]

3 and 4 in personality and 6 in fun facts for Ravenot plz 😌💖

What are their hobbies and interests? Do they have any particular “favorites?"

Hobbies are hard for Ravenot to have. Anything that requires additional equipment simply isn't permitted. The Unmade must have no possessions. That said, Ravenot can nimbly escape this by borrowing things, and giving away anything that he might happen to make. They do collect and dry flowers, but in locales where his presence is welcome, and when his work allows, Ravenot likes to help with creative tasks, especially fibre arts. He's a wonder with a drop spindle, his stitches are flawless, and he is a masterful embroiderer. (In part, because maintenance is something that must be done from time to time, and Ravenot is often repairing their clothes and armor and so forth, and uses this as an excuse to make those repairs in a utilitarian, but beautiful way.) The flowers are his favorite thing, though, and he longs to have a garden again.

What are they bad at?

The more domestic the skill, the more likely Ravenot is to struggle with it. His world is travel, the outdoors, so the second Ravenot is placed indoors to do the kind of task one would have to stick around for awhile to accomplish? Completely lost. He is impossibly bad at baking, incapable of cooking anything that cannot simply be roasted over a pit, and while zealous, he makes a piss-poor scullion. The Unmade can barely--and I mean barely--peel a potato. Ravenot is also incredibly bad at being stealthy. They are not readily able to modulate the volume of their voice, which is bright as clarion and sharp as a flash of lightning. And their armor rattles against their old bones. He simply is not suited for avoiding notice.

Which emoji would they use the most?

Oh, this one: 🌸 but also this one: ✨ and these ones: 🎺🎶 but they never, ever, ever send a skull emoji.

#oc: RAVENOT #thanks for the ask <3 #I like to imagine Ravenot helping out village grannies from time to time #sewing and knitting and mending

[fuctacles]

I am so sorry but imagine Steve running accidentally into Eddie's "super metal hang out with the boys, Steve, you can't come" and they are just sitting around listening to Black Sabbath on low to still be able to talk, sewing kit on the table and each working on their own battle vest. Like a circle of gossiping grannies mending clothes but metal.

#Lmao i forgot to tag #Steddie #corroded coffin #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #steve harrington #st #stranger things 4

[sunshineandrosesnoraincamemyway]

thinking today about how much I love literally all fiber arts. I am hopeless at almost every other kind of art, but as soon as there is thread, yarn, or string I can figure it out fairly quickly.

I learned how to knit when i was eight, started sewing at nine, my dad taught me rock climbing knots around that age, I figured out from a book how to make friendship bracelets, I've made my own drop spindle to make yarn with, and more recently I've picked up visible mending. I've learned embroidery through fixing my overalls, and this year I've learned how to darn and how to do sashiko (which I did for the first time today). After years of being unable to crochet I finally figured it out last night and made seven granny squares in just a few hours.

I want to learn every fiber art that I can. I want to quilt, I want to use a spinning wheel, I want to weave, I want to learn tatting, I want to learn how to weave a basket, I want to learn them all. If I could travel through time and meet anyone in the Bible, high on my list are the craftsmen who made the Tabernacle.

I want to travel the world and learn the fiber arts of every culture, from the gorgeous Mayan weaving in Guatemala, to the stunning batik of Java, to Kente in Ghana. I want to sit at the feet of experienced men and women and watch them do their craft expertly and learn from them.

Of every art form I've seen, it's fiber arts that tug most at my heartstrings.

#Fiber arts #fibre arts #knitting #Sewing #Mending #visible mending #sashiko #Darning #friendship bracelets #Spinning #drop spindle #embroidery #crochet #quilting #Tatting #weaving #basket weaving #Mayan fabric #Kente #Batik

[imagines--galore]

||Homecoming||

Summary: The brothers finally come home.

Pairing: Edward Elric x Reader

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Family.

A/N: @infj08pellizzari​ This is for you! Hope you enjoy it!!!

You liked to believe you were born under an unlucky star. It had to be that and no other explanation.

Granny Pinako had told you the story. Of how your mother had stumbled to the Rockbell’s door, in labor and with no one else with her. Being doctors as well as the kind people that they were, Yuriy and Sarah Rockbell had rushed to help her. That labor had been long and hard, but in the end they were able to deliver you safe and sound. 

However, the same could not be said about your mother.

She died due to complications during birth and was buried in a nearby cemetery. You still visited her from time to time and left flowers there, wandering what kind of woman she had been.

Seeing as you had no one to claim you, and with the Ishvalan War ravaging the country, the Rockbells didn’t want you to get lost in the system by the government. So, they decided to adopt you and raise you alongside their biological daughter Winry, who was only a year older then you were.

You were treated and loved the same as Winry, who was excited about the prospect of a baby sister. You grew up healthy and strong, and from an early age showed an interest in your adopted parent’s profession.

While Winry was the automail lover in the family, you were fascinated by the human body and how you could help to fix it. Under your parents tutelage, you showed great promise in becoming a doctor, or even a surgeon if you wanted.

Life was happy and carefree. Full of love, laughter, friends and family.

But a dark cloud was looming over the horizon. And it would cast a shadow over you that would effect you your entire life.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of your best friends, Edward and Alphonse’s father leaving them. 

Within the same year, they lost their mother to the plague. You were devastated for both boys, whom you had known since you were able to walk. It hurt to see them so sad. You and Winry made a pact to look after them as best as you could.

But the tragedy did not stop there.

You were eight years old and Winry was nine when the news came about your parents demise.

How they had been killed in cold blood while helping a few Ishvalan citizens who were injured. Winry had hugged you and cried and cried, then again you were no better. You were lucky enough to have Granny with you, but that still didn’t help ease the pain that you had been orphaned a second time in your life.

It had to be some cruel trick no?

The both of you copped in different ways.

Winry threw herself into perfecting her automail craft and becoming a brilliant automail engineer for miles around. You on the other hand, took to studying your parents books for long long hours. Devouring every text in their small library, before ordering for more book via mail.

This was your way of being close to them, of keeping their memories alive. At times you could almost feel them standing behind you guiding your hands as you tended to a sick or injured individual who came to your home. It didn’t take long for you and Winry to gain a reputation. Granny was extremely proud saying that your parents legacies of helping people would live on in both of you.

And when Edward and Alphonse returned from their alchemy training, the little hole in your heart began to mend. The four of you, plus Granny and later Den your dog, were like a family. You would all eat together and play together. 

Though you were the third oldest of your group, with Alphonse being the youngest by a few months, that didn’t stop you from stepping up and taking charge when the situation asked for it.

You would be there to take care of Winry when she would work through the nights to create an automail. Ready with food and water or whatever else she needed. She was your sister, your best friend and the both of you loved each other like anything. For Alphonse you always helped him wherever you could. Given his kind nature, you were always ready to defend him should he get into a fight at school. On more then once occasion you had returned from school from a fight after having punched a bully who was making fun of Alphonse. He was your little brother and you protected him fiercely. 

And as for Edward?

The both of you shared the same protective streak when it came to your siblings. So it was no surprise that the both of you bonded over that. But it was more then that at times. You tried your best to be strong for Winry. She had always been kind and sensitive and allowed her emotions to rule her, just as Alphonse did. There was a certain innocence about her that needed to be protected. And you stood as a wall in front of your sister to protect her from it. You tended to hide your real feelings most of the time.

But when you were with Edward? Even at nine years old, you would share everything with him. From the smallest of thought that occurred to you during the day, to your most recent book of surgery. Edward was the same with you. He would share his own findings about alchemy and everything that was on his mind. It was no surprise that the both of you were best friends.

You told each other everything.

                                         ————————–

So when he and Alphonse performed human transmutation to try and bring their mother back, you were shocked to say the least.

But that part came later.

The part that shocked you the most was finding a suit of armor standing at your door and carrying a bloodied Edward.

An Edward who was missing an arm and leg.

You spent the entire night with Granny, tending to Edward and making sure his wounds did not get infected and were closed properly. Not to mention he had lost so much blood that he had to be monitored.

Once he was stable, Alphonse had told you what had happened. What they had tried to do.

And all you could do, was stare at the near comatose state of your best friend and wander where had you failed him?

Where had you failed as a best friend to have not picked up on something so important.

                                         ————————–

The question stayed with you for a long time. Years almost.

In those years, Edward began to use automail for his missing arm and leg. He also became a State Alchemist. And though you were proud of his accomplishment, and of his new mission of gaining back his and Al’s body, the question continued to haunt you.

Where there had been closeness, there was now always a gap between the both of you since that fateful day.

It was only ever picked up on when the both of you were in one another’s company. And since the brothers traveled so much no one really picked up on it. Or so you thought.

                                         ————————–

After the whole fiasco up North, you and Winry had to be smuggled away to be kept safe. It wasn’t easy, wandering around the countryside to keep out of the hands of the enemy. Enemy you still had no idea about since the brothers refused to tell both you and Winry much.

All you knew was that they were extremely dangerous. And if either Winry or you fell into their hands, they would use you both to draw out the two brothers. 

One of them, Kimblee, had already held you hostage, to try and get Edward to cooperate. Luckily you had been saved, but the haunting look in Edward’s eyes, the utter fear in his features lingered in your mind day and night.

You had been passing by Resembool when the urge to return home had risen within you. So, you had done the smart thing. You had left your sister with a note before sneaking out into the night and made your way towards home.

Of course you hadn’t been expecting Edward to be there. Along with some new people. But you didn’t care about them. Edward was your main concern.

And considering the last you had heard of him had been rumors about him falling to his death you had all but tackled him in a hug that had him nearly turning blue. One of the Edward’s friends, Ling or Greed or was it Greedling?, had called you Edward’s girlfriend, and how he never stopped talking about you.

The accidental confession had you blushing slightly, though it was nothing compared to the amount of blood that rushed to Edward’s face. You were almost afraid he would faint, or punch the man in the face. But he did neither.

Instead he took your hand and led you out of the house to get a little privacy.

Once the both of you were at a safe distance to avoid being overheard he finally turned to you.

And he did not look happy.

“What’re you doing here without any guards, Y/n? You know how dangerous it is for you to be alone. And where’s Winry?” You sighed, knowing this was going to be a long conversation. “Winry is fine, she’s with the guards. They’ll probably get here in a day or so and well.....” You suddenly felt a little unsure of your decision to come here. “I came back early because I-I missed home.” You finally admitted, raising your head to glance in the direction of the house from where you had just come from.

Though there were hardly any lights on, the house still looked open and welcoming. Because it was home.

Tears stung your eyes and you tried your best to wipe them away not wanting Edward to see but he did anyway. A feeling of guilt bubbled in his chest as he watched you. “I’m sorry. I know its because of me that you, Winry and Granny had to leave and go into hiding.” He said, to which you quickly shook your head. “No, Ed! Its not your fault. Its whoever is looking to hurt you through us. Its their fault.” You proclaimed passionately. Though that simmered down rather quickly as you turned your gaze towards the heavens to look at the stars that twinkled down at the both of you.

“Sometimes, I just wish that things could go back to what they were.” You admitted. “You. Me. Winry. Alphonse. Granny. My parents. Your mother. Life was so simple back then. None of us knew just how much we would appreciate it.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “If I could go back I would do it in a heartbeat. You were so happy. We were all so happy.” Even with Edward standing right behind you, you couldn’t help but feel.....alone.

So alone.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear or feel when Edward moved towards you. His arms came up to wrap around your torso, trapping your arms in the process. A startled gasp fell from your lips. You felt him lean his forehead against the back of your head. There was a momentary pause, where your brain seemed to wander when he had gotten so tall. But that was completely lost in the haze of feelings that took over your very soul as you shifted your own arms to wrap around his, squeezing them closer as you drew comfort from his embrace.

“I promise life will be happy again Y/n.” He whispered softly, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “We will all be happy.”

Despite the crushing weight of despair that had threatened you a few moments ago, in Edward’s arms, you felt at peace.

                                         ————————–

Since that night under the stars, you had begun to harbor a warmth within you. A warmth that only seemed to grow each time you thought about Edward. He had to leave soon afterwards, but not before promising, once more, to come back safe and sound.

It had been months since you had seen him or Alphonse, or even heard from them. Normally it would alarm you, but you had faith in your boys. Winry certainly did. 

On the plus side the both of you had shifted back to Resembool. Granny too. But with protection. The two guards were still around to make sure no stranger came along, but it proved to be a little difficult since your home served as your base of operations as an automail workshop and a makeshift hospital.

You had gotten rather good at treating people. And were even thinking of giving the exam that would have you earning the license you needed to become a professional doctor.

Which was exactly what you were doing that day. You had gone out early to post your application, and would probably hear back from them in a week or so. During your walk back, you marveled the countryside as it bloomed in the spring. The wind played with your hair and you could hear Den barking in the distance, probably playing.

A smile pulled at your lips as home came into view. There were three figures outside, something you could make out form the distance. One of them was Winry and the other two? 

As you drew closer, as your vision cleared, your eyes widened. Where you had been walking you slowly began to hasten your steps. One after the other. Until you were running.

Running

Running.

Running.

Before crashing straight into the arms of both Edward and Alphonse Elric.

You were sobbing tears of joy as you held the brothers close, as you kissed the top of Alphonse’s head and held his face in your hands to look at him closely. “Its you! Its really you! Oh! Alphonse! You’re back little brother!” You wiped at your tears before hugging him once more. Alphonse returned the hug just as fiercely as it was given.

“Hey he’s not the only one who got his body back!”

So maybe Ed was feeling a little left out.

You turned from Alphonse to look at Ed flexing his very human hand. With one arm around Alphonse, you reached out with your other to grasp Edward’s human hand and smiled at him. So full of hope and joy that Edward returned the smile with a tender one of his own. And as he intertwined your fingers together, Winry moved to throw her other arm around Alphonse and smiled through her own tears as they all simply sat there and basked in one another’s presence.

                                         ————————–

The house was quiet. Everyone had gone to bed. You stood in the doorway of Alphonse’s room, your gaze gentle as you watched the younger boy sleep. He was truly there. Well and truly there and your heart felt as if it would burst with happiness.

“Couldn’t sleep?” A voice from behind made you look up at Edward and give a small shrug. He too came to stand beside you. Your gaze flitted to his newly restored hand and you couldn’t help yourself as you reached out to hold it again. “I feel like I’m dreaming. That any moment I’ll wake up.” You admitted, not looking away from where your hand held his.

His grip around your palm tightened, but only slightly. “You and me both.” Edward admitted with a soft laugh. “But if this is a dream.” He turned to look at you the same time you did. Your eyes met, and you felt that warmth within you surge to a roaring flame.

“I don’t want to wake up.”

#edward elric x reader #edward x reader #edward x y/n #edward elric x y/n #edward elric #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist

[solarpunkani]

okay so pardon me as I wax poetic late at night about solarpunk again but like

and once again, I'm biased because I'm co-hosting the aesthetic week event, you know the drill, but

I feel like sharing our projects--big and small--are so important because they can inspire other people to do their own. And obviously this can be about sharing news about climate action, and scientific projects and progress and discoveries, but tonight I'm thinking about crocheting.

As we think about the future we want to create as solarpunks, we trade ideas. And oftentimes a lot of the ideas we trade are about futures with barter systems, where many many people do crafts like sewing and mending and knitting and the like. But--and I could easily be the only one but I feel like I'm not--I personally was too nervous to start many crafts myself. Because I didn't know what I'd do with the craft, if I was even capable of it, or if it was too big and complex for me. I'd been tossing around the idea of learning how to crochet for years, and my mom's been tossing the idea around just as long if not even longer for herself, but y'know what brought me over? You know what finally got me to give it a shot?

An online Solarpunk friend sharing pictures of a bag.

I saw that bag and I went 'huh maybe I could do something like that,' and within a few days I'd bought a bunch of yarns and hooks and was on a call (with a different online friend) learning how to do some basic stitches and knots to get started. By the end of the night, I was teaching myself how to make granny squares, with the help of a (different) online friend writing instructions to help me out as I got stuck.

And maybe I finish my bag, or my scarf, and I post a picture online--not even a professional, pinterest-ready photo, just a quick pic of it laid across my bed or something--and I inspire someone else to start crocheting. Hell, I've already inspired my mom to take a crack at it once the Christmas season is over.

But it doesn't even have to be me. It doesn't even have to be crocheting. Maybe someone posts a picture of a hat they just finished knitting, and someone else decides to pick up a loom or some knitting needles. Maybe someone crafts a birdhouse or a desk or a bench out of wood, and someone picks up a hammer for the first time. Maybe someone crafts something awesome out of clay and wire, and someone gets inspired for a new project. It can even be across artforms! Maybe someone sews an awesome dress, and someone else is inspired to write a short story by it. Maybe someone writes a short story, and someone else goes to paint a mural somewhere inspired by a scene in that story.

And in a sense I find it incredibly solarpunk. To inspire one another to learn and grow, develop new skills, to always find inspiration and hope to keep trying new stuff.

Some people laugh and scoff at the idea of posting ~aesthetique~ homemade clothes to the solarpunk tag, a handful think the whole aesthetic week event is pointless, but I find it the opposite. Solarpunk is about revolution, but it can't always be big revolutions. Sometimes its the small revolution of picking up a craft that changes your life, or creating an image that inspires others to fight for a better future. It can be about writing something that makes others question why things are the way they are, when they can be better. Sometimes the desire for a nice knit scarf can be the start of a mini barter system, or become part of the mutual aid we all dream of.

I feel like I had a point with this but I forgot. But uhm... yeah.

#out of queue #ani rambles #solarpunk #im probably not gonna put this in the aes week tag but yknow #anyways im gonna go work on this scarf while watching a video essay and maybe chill to the aes week playlist

[whositmcwhatsit]

AN: Yeah, here's part 3 of my "halloween one shot".... This is primarily for @thatbanditqueen who has been nudging me for months, patiently cheerleading, and reminding me that I used to write. Thank you to everyone who regularly pokes me to check if I'm still alive and patiently asks for updates on stuff. I appreciate you, so much. Chapter 2 Chapter Three Tiptoeing precariously and dripping across the carpet as she clutched a rough, thin towel to her front, Cheryl scrabbled for the lock and only just managed to stumble back in time to avoid having a door and a six foot man crash into her face. 

Elvis barrelled in and slammed the door closed behind him, leaning against it like someone was trying to barge their way in. Someone other than him, that is. 

“What happened?” she asked, trying to gather the corners of the towel around her.

“I…” He frowned at her and then looked back at the door, his eyes wide and wild. She waited for more, but he seemed to be finding it hard to get the words out. She finally went back into the bathroom to change into some clothes, leaving him standing by the adjoining door, eyeing it warily. 

“I-I- I thought it was you,” he said eventually, after she had returned and perched on the end of her bed, sitting there for about ten silent minutes. She waited for him to elaborate, but this seemed to be as much as he was prepared to say. “I thought it was you.” 

After a while, his shock seemed to transform into anger and she watched him start to pace in front of the door, his jaw clenched tight. 

“This is crazy,” he muttered quietly. “You about lost your damn mind, boy.” He shot her a glance that seemed to be measuring her up, like he wasn’t sure that it hadn’t been her in his room even though she had clearly been in the shower at the time. He glared back at the door and then nodded to himself, making up his mind about something.

Letting his cheeks puff up with air, he exhaled in a meditative pause, before reaching out and twisting the door handle. Cheryl craned her neck, trying to see around him as he stood, legs astride, in the open doorway, ready to confront whatever was there. She watched his shoulders drop, then he walked through the door into the empty room, touching the tangled blankets at the end of the bed. 

Cheryl followed and he turned his head slightly to acknowledge her, reaching back and snagging her hand with his fingers. 

“I weren’t imagining it,” he murmured to himself. “I’m touched in the head, but I ain’t that crazy, not yet. I know what I saw.” 

“What did you see?” she asked gently, feeling his hand sweating a little in hers. 

“I- You won’t tell no one about this, will ya, honey? Last thing I need is some gossip rag printing a bullshit story about ole Elvis seein’… Well, y’know.” 

“It’ll stay between us,” she murmured, but in her mind she was imagining the free publicity it could bring her. No more struggling to get bookings, no more playing to superstitious grannies and their drunk, heckling husbands. She focused back on the room and her heart lurched at the way his eyebrows were slightly knitted together and his upper lip curled as he studied her, like he could see exactly what she was imagining and he was hurt by it. She felt like she had kicked a kitten. 

“Was it a girl?” she asked instead, shifting uncomfortably. He looked down, nodded with a jerk. “Was she crying?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t really.. It weren’t no more than a shadow really, s’why I thought it was you. Only you didn’t answer and-” His expression changed, froze, and whatever he was about to tell her receded like the tide.

“I saw her earlier,” she revealed, offering it up as an apology, an act of contrition to try and mend the trust between them. “In my room. And I think I heard her screaming before that.” 

“Goddamn,” he breathed, sinking down onto the end of the bed and staring balefully at the carpet. “This is-” 

Cheryl didn’t quite know what to do. She felt almost guilty since this was her regular life and, though she didn’t know how, it had somehow spilled over into his. She patted his shoulder tentatively. When he glanced up though he was grinning, teeth biting into his plush bottom lip. 

“I knew it!” he cried. “I goddamn knew that there had to be more to this than-” He swiveled his hand around absently, frenetically. “-There had to be! Shit, the guys ain’t gonna believe this!” He jumped to his feet and moved towards his door, but then almost immediately stopped again. 

“They ain’t gonna believe this,” he repeated, his tone completely different this time. He reached up and brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “They’re good boys, most of ‘em, but they don’t have a thought that ain’t about their wallet, their belly or their pecker, and not in that order. This’d just… it’d be too much for their tiny minds to comprehend.”

Cheryl stared back at him as he finally looked at her, not sure that her input was required in this solo conversation he was having. 

“I- Why’s she crying?” He raised his eyebrows at her when she didn’t respond. 

“Sorry?” 

“You said she- the gho- the girl- she was crying? Why’s she crying?” He smoothed his hair again and adjusted his robe, trying to look like he was comfortable with the conversation, but his restless hands were giving him away. 

“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. Her eyes slid to the clock on the wall; it would be dawn soon and she was feeling the weight of the day before pressing down on her body and her eyelids. 

“Can’t you ask her? I mean that’s your racket- your job, right?” 

“Maybe?” She wanted to be honest with him and temper his expectations. This girl seemed to want to make contact, but the operator, who or whatever that was, might not feel like putting the call through. That was the way that she thought about it anyway. “I guess we could try.” She eyed the sparse mid century decor and furniture dubiously. “We might need to change the ambiance a little bit.” Cheryl wondered what Elvis’ guys thought about being woken at four am and told that they needed to procure candles and lilies. From listening to Elvis’ end of the call, she guessed they were unimpressed to say the least. 

She was in the bathroom changing into her stage wear, eavesdropping on Elvis as he made his demands sounding like a cross between a drill sergeant, a high school football coach and a spoilt prince. 

“I don’t know where you’re gonna get it from, son,” he was saying as she straightened the black crinoline sleeve around her wrist. “That’s what I pay you for. Now you wanna run with us, you wanna be part of the organization, you gotta pull your weight. Use some fuckin’ ingenuity for once in your goddamn life!” He slammed down the phone, dropped his shoulders and turned as she emerged from the bathroom, his calm face and grin belying the angry tone he had just used on the phone. “We’ll have what you need in less than an hour.” 

Eyebrows raising, he whistled, and she felt a flash of warmth- mainly embarrassment- as he took in her outfit. 

“Those are some threads you got on there. You go all out with the get-up and everything, huh.”  

Cheryl shrugged awkwardly, feeling silly, but he ran his hands down his silk robe contemplatively. 

“I gotta change.” 

With far too much energy and excitement for the early hours of the morning, he strode towards the adjoining door to his room and started to go through it, but he paused in the threshold, grabbing the edge of the door. 

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna leave this open,” he said haltingly. “Just in case you- you need me or anything, okay, honey?” The twinkle in his eye and his slight smirk was sly, acknowledging that they both knew why he wanted to leave the door open and that it had nothing to do with him looking out for her. 

Fifty minutes after the phone call, there was a brisk knock on Cheryl’s door and she opened it to find two sopping wet, angry-looking men. One was clutching a huge arrangement of white lilies and the other a brown paper bag that was almost just as wet as he was. Behind them, sheets of rain continued to pummel the asphalt. 

“How in the world…” she began, but they were not in the mood to talk, gesturing for her to step aside so that they could put their wares on the sideboard and storm back out. She gingerly opened the paper bag to find candles and wax polish. 

Again, there was a rap on the door and another guy, a lick of hair plastered to his forehead by the rain, was standing holding another bag. Cheryl sniffed the air in confusion. 

“Is that..?”

“‘Bout damn time,” Elvis remarked, leaning up against her back and grabbing the sack from his employee's hand. “These got mustard on ‘em?” 

“Yeah, E, I-”

“Well, I don’t need a running commentary,” Elvis returned, turning from the door. Cheryl gave the guy an uncomfortable smile and closed the door. 

Elvis was practically vibrating with anticipation. He grabbed one of the bacon sandwiches from the sack and opened it up cautiously with his thumb and forefinger like he was afraid of what he might find. Whatever it was, it seemed to meet his exacting standards as he hummed happily and took a ravenous bite. Cheryl shook her head and started her preparations. 

Elvis followed her around the room, just over her shoulder like an eager child, watching her position the lillies on the floor and set up the candles, using the plastic cups from their bathrooms as makeshift candle holders. 

“What's with the, uh, polish there, honey?” He balled up the grease-stained bag and tossed it into the wastepaper basket near the door. He had eaten the sandwiches without even offering her one. 

“There's no- That is, there isn't a reason as such. My grandmother, she was the one who taught me how to “listen”- that's what she called it. We'd practice for hours in her parlor. She was the real deal, had people coming to her from all over for séances and readings. She was also very house proud, every inch of her house gleamed. All my memories of her and my lessons are thick with the scent of wax polish.” She flushed. “I wish I had a better explanation for you.”

His face mirrored hers, a slightly bashful smile tilting his lips. 

“No, I get it,” he said softly. “I got some smells that remind me of home too. Not the way it is now, but before…” He shook his head, leaping slickly over vulnerability and tender memories like he was stepping over a puddle. “And all I have to do is get a hint of wood smoke and I'm back to freezing my ass off in maneuvers over in Germany. You think it's cold now? Damn near left all my toes over there!” 

“Well, I think I'm about ready,” she sighed, eyeing the little array she had created on the carpet. She did it just the way her grandmother had done it, the cards to her left, the slate and chalk, just the way Gran’s own mother had taught her. 

Elvis stood beside her and fluttered his fingers out at his sides.

“Where do you want me, honey?” She glanced up and smiled, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “For this, I mean.” He winked. 

Cheryl gestured to the other side of the candles and he tugged up the legs of his trousers before sinking down onto the floor with his legs crossed. 

Elvis’ excitement was palpable. She could feel it tingling against her even as she twisted open the tin of polish and took in a deep breath, inhaling wax and sweet cloying lilies mixed with the lingering scent of burnt bacon and Elvis’ cologne. 

“Don't you have to… say something?” he whispered after a minute. “Like invite them in or something? I saw a movie once where-”

“Shh!” She immediately regretted it, her eyes fluttering open and an apology on her tongue, but he looked chastised, his lips pressed together and his eyes watching her intently. She felt powerful, for just a second. 

That all fizzled out pretty quickly when she tried to tune in and heard… nothing. She frowned and focussed on her breathing. It just didn’t make any sense, because she could feel something, someone, and they clearly wanted to make contact. 

“Come on,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes closed and leaning down like she was trying to eavesdrop on a conversation in a crowded room. They were there, she knew it, she just had to try a little harder, reach a little further.

A couple of awkward minutes passed and she could feel her stomach dropping with each tick of her watch. It turned out that failing on a questionably clean motel floor sitting opposite Elvis Presley was just as humiliating as dying on a dusty stage in Eugene, Oregon, with people clearing their throats and scuffing their shoes, murmuring and whispering behind their hands. 

Finally, letting out a huff of embarrassment and exasperation, she said, “It’s not working.” 

She opened her eyes, prepared to see his suspicion and disappointment, but not the dark haired girl leaning over him, her drenched hair dripping ghostly drops that evaporated before they fell on his bent legs. 

“What?” Elvis said, his eyes widening as he took in her face. He started to turn, but Cheryl grabbed his hand. “What’s going on?”

“Stay still.” Her voice sounded a lot calmer than she felt being almost nose to nose with one of the clearest spirits she had ever seen. If not for the disappearing water and the fact that Elvis seemed oblivious, Cheryl could have assumed that one of the girls from the parking lot outside had sneaked into the room. The girl was clinging to his shoulders, fingers ending in vague dark smudges that seemed to grip, to claw into him. 

“Tell me what you can see, goddamnit!” he snapped through clenched teeth, nonetheless frozen in place. 

“It’s a girl. I think the same one I saw before, but I’ve never, uh, I…” Cheryl could not take her eyes away, convinced that something would happen as soon as she did. “Do you feel anything? Like a cold spot, or tingling?” 

“I-I… I don’t know, maybe, but then we’ve been sitting here for a while, so-” 

“Don’t move!”

“I can’t help it!” As he jerked his shoulder, the girl turned toward him and Cheryl could almost feel the hunger in her charcoal smudged gaze, the slow, unfurling smile radiating with possessiveness and desperation.  “Aren’t you gonna ask her? Ask what happened to her?” He kept glancing to his side as if he’d be able to see something if he looked at the right time. 

“Right, okay.” Cheryl looked at the girl, the spirit, and focused as hard as she could, trying to find the right wavelength, the right channel. When she asked for her name, the girl did not respond. She asked what she was doing here, nothing. There was only one person in the room with a connection to her and it wasn’t Cheryl. 

“Ask her if that sonovabitch downstairs put his greasy hands on her,” Elvis growled between clenched teeth, tapping the top of Cheryl’s hand with his fingertips like he was communicating through Morse code. 

The candles guttered violently as if the door had blown open just as the radio blared out, static almost like pins piercing their ear drums. The flames spilt onto the carpet, the cheap nylon melting faster than ice cream on a summer’s day. 

Cursing, Elvis scrambled to his feet, yanking her up behind him and stamped on the burgeoning fire. Cheryl scanned the room for the girl. 

A few minutes later, she was shivering on the upper walkway of the motel while Elvis pummeled a door, yelling for the occupant to open up. The rain was slicing down, penetrating their clothes and matting their hair, while the smell of melted carpet clung around them like a haze. 

Joe went through a litany of expressions as he opened the door and Elvis barged his way inside, groggy bewilderment, confusion, annoyance, and then resignation. 

“There’s been a fire,” Elvis announced in a very airy, casual way as if he hadn’t just hightailed it out the motel room, dragging Cheryl along like a toy on a string. “I took care of it, but someone’s gotta deal with the room. 

“A fire?!” Joe’s eyes scanned them both to ascertain that they were okay. “How- I mean-” He ran a hand through his receding hairline and sighed. “I’ll get on it. Whose room?”

“My room,” Cheryl told him, since Elvis had marched into Joe’s bathroom and was currently wiping himself off with one of Joe’s towels. “It was the candles. It must have been the candles.” 

Joe went to the phone and started mobilizing the forces as Elvis came out of the bathroom, grimacing as he wiped at his neck with the towel. 

“This goddamn rain,” he muttered, before his eyes settled on Cheryl and a strange, little smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t all bad though.” 

She glanced down and saw how the sopping crinoline had molded itself to her body, particularly her breasts. She promptly folded her arms over her chest. 

“Aw, I’m only playing, honey.” He stepped closer, his hips bumping into her. He wrapped his towel around her face like it was a head scarf and laughed softly. “And anyway, you should be sweet to me. I just saved you.”

“Oh, you did?” Cheryl half-laughed.

“Yeah, I sure did.” He twisted his arm and showed her the shiny red patch on his forearm with a huff of a laugh. “Paid the price for it too, boy.”

“You got burned?!” she cried. 

Reclined on one of the single beds, Joe’s head turned like a whip, the receiver falling from the crook of his neck. 

“Naw, just a little,” Elvis laughed, peering at it. “It don’t hurt that much.” 

“Want me to call the doctor?” asked Joe. 

“No, man, it’s nothing, just get my things brought in here and pay that little snake for the damage to his room.”

If Joe was confused about why he was being asked to bring Elvis’ things into his room when it was Cheryl’s room that had been burnt, he didn’t show it. 

By the time that she had persuaded Elvis to let her run some cold water over his arm, the cases were already inside the door, though Joe was nowhere to be seen. 

“And to think I thought this whole damn movie was gonna be a bust,” he remarked as they huddled over the small basin in the bathroom where she was holding his arm under the faucet. “I mean, it probably will, but it ain’t every day that… Whatever that was… happens to a fella. No sir, that is God's honest proof right there. And even you were scared, I saw your face, you were like a- a scared little lamb. Oh, you were, honey, you don’t have no poker face. And I was just thinking to myself, ‘Well, if she’s scared, we’re about done for, for sure.’”

Finally, he dropped onto the other, untouched single bed in the bedroom and sprawled out on his elbows, giving her a little beckon with his fingers. 

“C’mon, honey, we gotta get you out of the wet clothes,” he smirked. “Don’t want you getting pneumonia.” 

“You’re a true American hero,” Cheryl remarked, still moving towards him. 

“Don’t I know it,” he breathed, pushing himself up to sit by the side of the bed and tugging her forward by the skirt so that he could start unfastening the buttons. 

“We still don’t know who she is.” 

“That can’t be no big thing to find out. It had to have been in the newspapers or something. I’ll get one of the boys on it tomorrow.” 

The way that he was undressing her was almost tender, as if his primary concern genuinely was about her catching cold in damp clothes. After he had drawn her dress down over her shoulders, he rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms as she stood trembling in her slip. 

“I tell ya what’s bugging me though… That lowlife, no-count sonovabitch downstairs that did it. Someone should go down there and put a bullet between his fucking eyes.” 

“Well, we don’t really know if he had anything to do with it,” Cheryl said quickly, worrying that this was another thing he could arrange with just a quick phone call. “We don’t really know anything more than we did before.” He shook his head resolutely, his cheekbones brimming as his eyes twinkled. 

“Honey, we know everything!” he insisted. “Everything that’s worth knowing anyway. We got proof! Proof that there’s something else, after this, and there ain’t nobody that’s really gone!” His leg was bouncing as he beamed at her, as though she had reconstituted space, time and dimensions just to please him. 

In one smooth motion, he swung her onto the bed and she dropped onto the squeaky mattress with a muffled squawk. Her legs tangled across his lap as he leant over her, greedily clasping her jaw with his fingers as he kissed her. His kiss felt like a gift, a reward, an offering of thanks as though she had done something to earn it. If she had been a better person, more moral perhaps or stronger willed, she would have pushed him away, or at least felt bad for accepting his gratitude for something she had no control over, but she wasn’t. Cheryl had never been a good person. 

As she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his shirt still damp under her skin, she could feel his weight sinking onto her, his upper body flexing and twisting as his hand started at her knee and slid up her thigh, pausing at the hem of her slip. His kisses stopped. 

Opening her eyes, she stared up into his face wreathed in shadow, but his eyebrows clearly raised in a question. It was endearing that he sought her permission. She put her hand over his and pulled it up teasingly, the lace hem sliding with their tangled fingers.

“It does belong to you after all,” she whispered breathlessly. He surged forward and his weight crushed her into the mattress for a few seconds before he rolled over and pulled her with him. 

“You know, I was thinking, uh, Cheryl, honey.” He softly pressed his lips to the space between her brows and then the lip of her nose. “We’re both gonna be up Seattle way, uh, working. I’d like to see you again after we get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Sure, I’ll give you the number of my hotel..” She giggled. “Later.” She moved closer to kiss him and he met her halfway with enough enthusiasm that it felt a little like she was the movie star and he was the nobody. His thumbs massaged her hips as he exerted pressure, smoothing and cupping her ass, and pulling her into and against him. 

Cheryl’s body hummed with a low thrum of energy that usually only coursed through her as she was preparing to step out on stage. Her heart pitter pattered in her chest when she rubbed it against his. 

Suddenly, he pulled back, almost laughing.She found herself smiling even though she didn’t know why. 

“I guess we should be wondering if we’re being watched, right?” he whispered. “We might have ourselves some dirty little ghosts.” His eyes glittered with mirth and she wondered if he was making fun of her. “I don’t care, let ‘em enjoy the show.” She was still processing that as his luscious lips stole the breath from her. 

#elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #60s elvis #Easter/Halloween #same thing right #whositmcwhatsit

[citadelofmythoughts]

How’re the BY grandparents with their grandkids? Qrow included

Ghira and Kali adore their granddaughters. They've had the chance to watch them grow up since Blake & Yang settled in Menagerie.

Tai dotes on them whenever the opportunity arises. Now that they're students at Beacon he gets to see them more often and partially to try to make up for his mistakes raising Ruby and Yang, he can be a little overprotective.

Raven as always is...complicated. Even though she and Yang have largely mended fences there's some distance. But the girls LOVE her and are thrilled when Granny Raven comes to visit. She also watches over them in bird form whenever possible.

Qrow understands that they're their mother's daughters and gets along with them great (even though he's co-headmaster of Beacon now) and will try to find the time to hang out with them, tell war stories and play scroll games.

#bumbleby

[marzipanandminutiae]

Actually, the wise women/Cunning Folk system was Norse in origin and the rest of Europe had wise women replace their own ritualized medical systems (think sleeping at Asclepius's temple) because Europe was conquered by Danish tribes during the end of the Roman period.

No seriously, Scandinavians have (or had, it's dying out because of how good their healthcare system is) a long history of kloke folk that dates back to the pagan seidrmadrs.

Considering what the medical system was like back then, most of the wise women were in many ways a good deal less quackish than the men with MDs, considering they understood the wonders of antiseptics and MDs looked at the concept as some rustic superstition.

No, actually, I want wise women back because their services were free. I mean, yeah, they'd obviously charge a fee NOW, but Granny Weatherwax's comment that, "They didn't pay in cash, but rather in respect, which was cold hard currency" was actually a reality for these women, considering their communities protected them from the witchhunters.

Granted, the witch trials were a little more complicated, considering the word for witchcraft in Nordic countries was troldfolk (who were believed to send curses via illness), who were fought by the kloke folk. ("Sickness is curses sent by the Jotuns" is metaphorically true...) Wise women didn't get properly killed off until the Progressive Era, due to modern medicine finally being both effective, available, and doctors passing laws against "quacks".

Okay, so, by free admission, early modern Nordic history is VERY NOT my main area of expertise. This could all be entirely true for Scandianvian vernacular magic/folk healing practice. But I definitely now it wasn’t true for all practitioners termed “wise women” across Europe.

Just looking into the system of Scandinavian wise women superficially, though, it seems that they- like their British counterparts the cunning-folk, who I’m more familiar with -didn’t need community protection from witch hunters because they were seldom targeted by them. Based on the better sourced parts of the “cunning folk” Wiki page, a charge of “superstition” seems to have been brought against Scandinavian wise women more often, and they did get arrested and sentenced fairly frequently. But the sentence wasn’t usually capital, and for some of them it seems to have acted as good advertising.

(Also in Britain and British colonies, cunning-folk often acted as witch-hunters. So, sorry, granddaughters of the witches they couldn’t burn: you’re actually the granddaughters of the witches who threw innocent people under the bus to deflect suspicion. Or because they genuinely believed those people were evil. Or for the payout. Take your pick.)

I’m also not sure about the assertion that their services were free. In Britain, at least, cunning-folk definitely did not work for free as a rule- why would they, when this was their livelihood? They often received payment in trade rather than currency, but...they very much did expect payment of SOME sort, as I understand it. You have to eat somehow, after all, and I’m not sure one could run a totally self-sufficient farm and a folk medicine/magic practice at the same time.

And even if you could, still better to have Old Tom down the lane mend your fence in exchange for physicking his cow than do it yourself, right? Save yourself the work.

The assumption of total altruism is one of my big issues with this ask series, and the other is the idea that wise women knew Good Medicine and doctors did not. Obviously, yes, early medical doctors were often convinced that folk medicine practitioners had nothing to offer the field, and I’m sure some practices by some wise women/cunning-folk worked.

But.

Some of the latter were also, to put it bluntly, full of shit.

There WERE people, unfortunately, who used the title of “Wise Woman” or “Cunning-Man” or whatever to fleece their community out of resources in exchange for dodgy cures and ineffective charms. Because that’s just how humanity goes: some people are good, some people are evil, and some people are just out to make a buck (so to speak) however they can. I find it very hard to believe that all laws against Quackery(TM) were totally motivated by early modern doctors’ fragile egos, simply because bona fide quacks have been around forever. From my past research, it seems that that British cunning-folk at least seemed given to pronouncing illness that doctors could not diagnose, the result of curses or hexes. While many did practice herbalism, and some herbalism has medical value given that many medicinal chemicals now usually synthesized are found in plants...there was another side of it, too, that could frequently involve attributing medical problems to magical causes.

And I would be very surprised if that were a phenomenon exclusive to Britain and its colonies.

I understand the longing for a time of free, quality medical treatment from your local badass village wisewoman, protected by her reverential community from evil doctors and omnipresent witch-hunters. I really do. But it seems to me that, for a variety of reasons, that time never actually existed.

(Also I would definitely like a citation on the antiseptics thing. Just because they thought garlic could ward off evil or something doesn’t mean they understood that it had antiseptic properties, or advocated for using it in effective ways. And I can’t really blame doctors for questioning ideas like that- phrased that way, it does sound like rural superstition. If nobody knows the background logic behind why something works, and it only works some of the time, and the people saying it works are making that claim for reasons that fly in the face of then-current science...you might understandably think it doesn’t work at all.)

(It’s not like the cunning-folk were saying “use autoclaves for your surgical tools to avoid infection!” and the doctors shot back with “INFECTION IS A MYTH INVENTED BY SATAN!!!!” At least, not that I know of.)

#ask #anon #long post #history #medical history #sorry I just #I don't buy Burning Times or Burning Times-adjacent narratives anymore #The Bad Ignorant Doctor-Men Stamped Out The Skilled And Totally Selfless Wise Women Because Ego just seems #too easy and simple to jive with most of what I know about how complex humans and history are #(also a lot of doctors recognized the usefulness of herbal medicine too?) #I do believe in magic but. what's more likely if you have a stomach ache- that Pegleg Joan cursed you? #or that you're allergic to shellfish but nobody has a firm understanding of that yet?

[thegreymoon]

The Story of Minglan

Wreck shit, Rulan!

You're the only one with the social power to do so and I am so mad on behalf of all of you!

***

Oh, fuck off.

***

OMG, THE WAY I WOULD JUST LET HER!

I have no patience for this. I had one manipulator try to pull this on me. He was dating my (former) best friend and the whole relationship was a shameful disgrace. When she finally came to her senses and dumped him, his stupid ass started calling ME because she had blocked him, telling me how he would kill himself and how he had already swallowed a bunch of pills because he couldn't live without her 🙄🙄 He, of course, called again the next day, very much still alive and obnoxious as ever, and my first question to him was, "Why are you still alive? The next time I hear about you, you had better be DEAD!" He never called again. Smh.

***

I see everyone's point.

I too am starting to like Rulan more and more and she hasn't even done any maturing yet.

***

LMAOOOOO

Yesssssss, Momo! Go for the jugular!

I'm so sorry for every word of disrespect I've uttered your way! I'd absolutely take you as my teacher, even if it means learning tea brewing and flower arranging (neither of which I can actually do, lol, so classes would actually be beneficial)!

***

But here you are speaking anyway 🙄

***

The logic of this is going waaaaaaay over my head.

It may be because my own brother was already an adult when I was born and I was raised as practically an only child so I don't fully understand sibling relationships, but if I was repeatedly punished and beaten because of my asshole sister? What mending affections! I WOULD TAKE THE RESENTMENT TO MY GRAVE.

***

OMG SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP

On an unrelated note, I read the entirety of 2ha MULTIPLE TIMES and never reviled Song Qiutong as much as I revile her now that I actually get to see that sort of behaviour in action. I can only imagine the rage of someone who had more exposure to c-dramas and this particular character archetype.

Props to Meatbun for stomping her.

***

LMAOOOO, Momo, I love you!!

MADAM, I BOW BEFORE YOUR WISDOM!

Please forgive my prior arrogance and ignorance 🙏🙏

***

Shut up, you liar.

You haven't stood up for her in however many years it's already been, if it wasn't for Granny, who knows what would have become of her?

You only ever stand up for your own dick.

***

Good girl, Minglan.

Mourn the father you should have had and put no stock in this useless one 🙄

***

Go, Big Madam, go!!

But I doubt she will get a single strike in before her idiot husband comes in to stop her.

***

OF COURSE HE FUCKING IS.

Unfortunately, there is no authority short of the Emperor himself that can punish him.

***

You certainly are one big giant nothing in her eyes.

I bet she rues coming to your house and bearing three children for you every single day of her life.

Loser.

***

LOL, Minglan is the only one who will end up transcribing the poem.

Those other two are fast asleep already!

***

Are you implying that your conscience is clear?

LMAOOOOOO, please stop, I will laugh myself into an early grave 🤣🤣

#the story of minglan #tsoml spoilers #tsoml ep10

[krishna-sangini]

My Journey to Keshav

My journey to Keshav began when I was probably 2 or 3 years old. The tales that my grandpa and my great-granny told me; of Krishna's baal leelas, the cheer haran, His raas leela, His journey to Mathura, the slaying of Kansa, and then becoming the protector of uncountable people... All these tales I marvelled at as a toddler have the credit of hooking me onto my Keshav for the very first time.

This was just the start... Of a beautiful journey that would ultimately become my destination.

The toddler me grew up into a kid. That’s when the cartoon ‘Krishna Balram’ came onto the scene. And yeah, that show is 100% credited with making me fall head-over-heels for the sibling pair. I mean, y’all would be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely fall in love with Krishna and Balram after watching that show! Like, come on! Those two boys are simply sweethearts! Then came the ‘Little Krishna’ movie series. Ouffffff! My heart was completely occupied by the Makhan Chor by then. 

But then I entered teenage! The best phase of human life. You know, the phase everyone goes through where Westernization is considered cool and spirituality is considered ‘boring’ and ‘conservative’. Yeeeah… I fell into that ditch too. I pushed Kanha into the backseat. I got absorbed in the world of being ‘cool’ by shunning my religion and putting on the mask of atheism.

(This is not a dig at people who are genuinely atheists. Y'all are free to have your own opinions,  and I respect yours even if mine are different.) 

During those 5-6 years, I forgot all about my absolute bestie. The one who had stayed with me through every nightmare and sunshine. Needless to say, my life was a torment those years. Serious shitty family issues and my then school can be credited for that.

But again, once you’re into Krishna, he'll always find a way to bring you back if you go astray. That’s exactly what my Keshav did to me.

2020 saw the advent of the COVID-19 virus in India, and a long and tiring lockdown followed. Just as people were beginning to get frustrated to death, the good old Mahabharat and Ramayana started airing again. That was the turning point for me. Seeing Nitish Bhardwaj’s excellent portrayal of my Keshav, I was hit with the nostalgic memories of my childhood that I shared with Kanha. It was then that the thought struck me, “If a human can look so freaking beautiful, how much more radiant and divine must Kanha have looked in real life!”

And that was it. I called for Keshav after so long. He was waiting for me, perhaps. Waiting for me to call Him with all my heart, without my pride’s obstruction. I did, and He responded right away. A couple of days later was when I had that magnificent dream where my Keshav showed me a glimpse of Himself for the very first.

(I have posted about that dream here too; the link is in my pinned post. If you’re curious, you can check it out! Also, please share your Krishna story too!)

And since then, there has been no coming back.

I am now compensating for those 5 years by falling in love with my Keshav harder with each passing day. Not that I mind it. Because I absolutely love it. Now that I look back, it had been Him all along. All those times I sat crying alone in my room cuz of the mess our family was in, Keshav was there right by my side, caressing me gently. I was just too haughty to realize it. Had it not been for Him, the wicket of my life would already have toppled years ago.

Sooo, this is my journey to my Keshav. The journey that still continues; it will continue till we meet finally on the ultimate day… This journey has mended me in so many ways. It has shown me a whole new side of myself. It has helped me realize myself better. And best of all, it has made me feel my Keshav more and made me love Him much more. And I’m so so glad that I had people in my life who led me to the beginning of this journey. For this too, I thank our Manmohan.

Sooo, yeah. That’s it. How has your journey to Krishna been so far? Feel free to share!

Radhe Radhe, sakhis and sakhas! Kanha will stop by in your dream tonight~ (Yeah, he told me so himself!)

#my_musings #krishna #krishnablr #gopiblr #hinduism #my Keshav is so freaking beautiful y'alllll #i could go on and on and on about how He's gotten me wrapped around His finger #i love Him so freaking much

[y2kbugs]

Ultimate Showdown, but it's Discworld

A dragon was rampaging around

Ankh-Morpork like a big playground

When suddenly Sam Vimes burst out of the Mended Drum

And readied the crossbow’s trigger with his thumb

The dragon got mad and descended upon

But didn’t expect to be blocked by Hrun

Who took Kring the magic sword from out the corner

When Captain Carrot arrived, in shining armor

Then he beat up Hrun like he was on a mission

And Vimes felt like he was being watched by the Patrician

Before he could make it back to Sator Square

Bloody S. Johnson swooped in from nowhere

And took the Gonne out from under his coat

And missed Vimes, he instead got Cut-Me-Own-Throat

But Death caught up and said, “Today is not your day,”

While Sergeant Detritus rushed into the fray

This is the greatest battle in Discworld’s History

Wizards, Witches, and explosions as far as the eye can see

The gods are watching the scene from Cori Celesti

This is the greatest battle in Discworld’s History

The dragon unleashed fire upon the troll

Also igniting Gaspode, who was on a stroll

And then Hrun came back, ready to hack and sack

But the Librarian jumped out and landed on his back

And Sam Vimes was injured and trying not to swoon

When Bloody S. Johnson returned with the clockwork spoon

But suddenly something caught his leg and he fell

Angua took him out with her fluffy tail

Then she saw the dragon sneaking up from behind

And she reached for her sword which she just couldn't find

Cause Vimes borrowed it and he swung and he missed

And the Librarian deflected it with his fist (ouch!)

Then he jumped in the air and he went ook 

While Johnson got hit by a magic book

Where sparks of Octarine flew into the air

Then the Luggage gave them a big ol’ scare

This is the greatest battle in Discworld’s History

Wizards, Witches, and explosions as far as the eye can see

The gods are watching the scene from Cori Celesti

This is the greatest battle in Discworld’s History

Ravens crowed, and out of the sky they dived

While on her broomstick, Granny Weatherwax arrived

Who delivered a glare, which could turn babies old

Into the face of Angua von Uberwald

Who crumbled to the ground, convinced she’s made of dough

As Sam Vimes took out his crossbow

But Granny saw him readying a shot

And she caught the arrow, which was red hot

Then Susan Sto Helit, and Death of Rats

And Maurice and his amazing Rodents, running past

And Tiffany Aching with her frying pan

And lady Sybil Ramkin, Duchess of Ankh

Adora Belle, Moist von Lipwig and Lord Vetinari

Mustrum Ridcully and the whole Unseen University 

Leonard of Quirm and Cheery Littlebottom

Twoflower, Pretty Butterfly, Lotus Blossom

All came out of nowhere lightning fast

And they kicked Granny all the way into the past

It was the most magical battle that the Disc ever saw

With civilians looking on in total awe

The fight raged on for a century

Death was quite busy but eventually

The champion stood, the rest saw their last hope

Rincewind in his raggedy robe

This is the greatest battle in Discworld’s History

Wizards, Witches, and explosions as far as the eye can see

The gods are watching the scene from Cori Celesti

This is the greatest battle in Discworld’s History

#discworld #ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny #idk

[cao-the-dreamer]

@artsy-hobbitses Here is he, the boy, the gremlin, the feral critter, I named... Cliffjumper!

If Ben and Claude decided to swap their clothes, nobody would notice the difference… until Claude starts spouting Cajun insults and charging through the enemy lines with a gun three times his size. Claude is often defined by his urge to fight, his stubbornness, his daredevil personality, and his habit of literally jumping off cliffs (giving numerous heart attacks to his teammates), hence the nickname “Cliffjumper”.

Hanley/Hot Rod: Yeah, you’re definitely related. Claude/Cliff & Ben/Bee: Cause we look like each other? Hanley: *raises an eyebrow since he saw Ben knee someone in the balls and Claude bite someone else’s nose* Sure. That.

Having grown up in an all female household, he finds it pretty normal to wear skirts (and they’re waaaaay more comfortable and practical). During his calmer moments, he likes to settle down and mend his clothes (often torn because of his running and climbing), just like his grannies taught him. People meeting him for the first time often mistake him for a girl, which he absolutely adores and he decides to see how long before they actually realize on their own; it took a whole week for the rebellion to notice and he finds it hilarious (he could simply tell them but… nah).

He’s also a very good bait.

Starscream: What the hell are you wearing. Cliffjumper, with a very frilly, glittery, neon-colored dress: It’s my ass-kicking outfit, BITCH *effectively acts as a distraction, drawing fire away from the rest of the troops*

Although he pretends to be annoyed when people mistake him for Bee, he will go feral if anyone threatens his half-brother and, over time, starts to view him as the sibling he never had.

(He also definitely encourages Bee to release his inner gremlin)

More of his story below!

Jean Claude Frugé, or simply Claude for his friends and family, was born of a Cajun mother — as for his sperm donor, he is an “holiday souvenir”, and the one thing he shares with Benjamin/Bumblebee, making them half-brothers.

When his mother, Lucienne, discovered she was pregnant, she dropped her dream studies so she could keep the baby. To this day, Claude still feels like he wasted his mother’s life, and tries to “make it up” for her, no matter how much she told him it was unnecessary.

Claude was raised between the bayou, the rice fields and the farms of Louisiana by an army of aunts, grandmothers, grandaunts, and great-grandmothers. He learned English at school and French at home. At a young age, he was already a wild child and spent his free time running through the swamp and fishing all by himself, so he could bring food to his maman. Imagine an eight-year-old absolutely caked with mud, his clothes dripping swamp water and holding out a fish that’s half his size, while grinning despite the face covered in dirt. Lucienne couldn’t be mad at him when he looked so proud of himself, and the grannies encouraged this behavior by showing him the best fishing spots.

The town folks got quickly used to the child walking barefoot through the bayou, but it didn’t stop the whispers about Lucienne’s broken dreams; she had lost the opportunity to get out of here and study in a renowned university/city, which was a pity in their eyes.

The whispers were quiet, but Claude heard them nonetheless.

He didn’t know if his penchant from fighting came from the hurt these whispers caused, or from the paternal genes, but his fists and sharp teeth ostracized him from the other children. Although he belonged in the bayou, he didn’t belong with the people living here. At least he had his family and their gentle love.

But sometimes love wasn’t enough.

Thus he began to leave more and more frequently, going deeper in the bayou, learning how to avoid quicksands and recognize alligators in the water, spending time with the birds and climbing trees until he was so high he felt he could touch the sky.

Sometimes, he wondered if his family’s life would have been easier in the city; he thought he would probably be less lonely with a nuclear, intact family, and he cursed his faceless sperm donor for “running away”. The spite prompted him to look for any information about his progenitor.

He was surprised to discover his progenitor had made a family in one of the big cities, and quite disgusted he was a cop. He was unable to know how to feel about the existence of a brother, and decided to drop the research.

He didn’t want to shatter the peace of this family; they seemed happy like that.

He had never been so wrong in his entire life.

As time passed and unrest began to grow through the United States, the Frugé family took on an activist side; the house became a safe haven for protesters who needed to hide from the police, and the older women wrote down their testimonies, which they then hid in the walls.

They told Claude how powerful memories could be.

When the Clampdown started and more people hit the road, Claude used his knowledge of the bayou to guide refugees through and to Mexico, stopping at his house so the Frugé women could feed and clothe the Cold Constructs, Beast Men and other refugees. More testimonies filled the walls.

One night, as he was guiding three Cold Constructs who had fled from Texas, they made a remark about his uncanny resemblance with one of their previous helpers. He would have brushed the words aside were it not for them mentioning the other one’s name.

His half-brother’s name was the last thing he expected to hear.

Knowing he was risking his life for a stranger, he nonetheless decided to look for Benjamin/Bumblebee, with whom he shared a fight. At only 19, he joined the rebellion created by Omar Parvez (Optimus Prime), Jace Zayden (Jazz) and Preston Wan (Prowl); while it was a good outlet for his chaotic energy and thirst for danger, his true reason was still Bumblebee, but he didn’t dare approach him, fearing the anger shimmering within him would scare Ben away, like it has scared so many children before.

But at some point he had to stop running away.

Time only will tell whether or not the revelation of the lineage between Bumblebee and Cliffjumper will bring pain, as both boys have their demons and misconceptions about each other, but there is no denying a tentative bond is starting to grow.

(Bonus: His color palette)

#tttb #the ties that bind #artsy hobbitses #transformers #humanformers #my art