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kneelingshadowsalome · 3 months

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Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

#könig x reader #könig x you #mythology au #arthurian au #historical au

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chinesehanfu · 4 months

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[Traditional Chinese Festival] Customs of 臘八節(Laba Festival) in China.Eng Sub

Today(January 18, 2024) is the traditional Chinese festival,臘八節 Laba Festival.Let’s learn about some interesting traditions and customs about this festival.

【About 臘八節(Laba Festival)】

Laba Festival (Chinese:臘八節) is a traditional Chinese holiday celebrated on the eighth day of the month of La (or Layue 臘月), the twelfth month of the Chinese calendar. It is the beginning of the Chinese New Year period. It is customary on this day to eat Laba congee.

Laba Festival was not on a fixed day until the Southern and Northern dynasties, when it was influenced by Buddhism and was fixed on the eighth day of twelfth month, which was also the enlightenment day of the Buddha. Therefore, many customs of the Laba Festival are related to Buddhism.

The Laba Festival's name represents its date on the Chinese calendar. La is the name of the twelfth and final month, and ba means "eight/八". In ancient China, the "eight/八" referred to making sacrifices to eight gods at the end of the year.

In its original form, the festival was celebrated by making sacrifices to gods and ancestors to wish for good fortune, health, safety, and a good harvest in the new year. The word la originally referred to these sacrifices.

After Buddhism spread to China during the first century CE, the festival was used as commemoration of Gautama Buddha's enlightenment.It was given a fixed date (the eighth day of the twelfth month) during the Northern and Southern dynasties.

【Customs of 臘八節/Laba Festival?】

Laba congee/臘八粥

Traditionally, the consumption of Laba congee is an important element of the festival. There are multiple legendary accounts of the dish's origins. One story says that it originated in the Song dynasty with Buddhist monasteries giving congee to people in honor of the story that Sakyamuni (Gautama Buddha) reached enlightenment on the eighth day of the twelfth month after eating congee.

Laba congee or Laba porridge (臘八粥; Làbāzhōu) is very popular in many places in China. Different kinds of rice, beans, nuts and dried fruits are the main ingredients. People believe that it's good for health in the winter.

It is also known as "eight-treasure congee" (八宝粥; Bā bǎo zhōu)and is usually made with eight or more ingredients, representing good luck. Eight is a lucky number in China, and the ba in Laba also means eight.

There are many variations of Laba congee in different regions of China. Ingredients can include mixed grains, such as rice, millet, and barley; beans and nuts such as mung beans, azuki beans, lotus seeds, peanuts, walnuts, and chestnuts; dried fruit such as red dates, longan, raisins, and goji berries; and other ingredients such as vegetables and meat.

2.Laba garlic/臘八蒜

Another Laba food is Laba garlic, which is particularly popular in northern China.Garlic in Chinese (蒜; suàn) has the same pronunciation as calculate (算; suàn), and it is said that on the Laba Festival businesses should balance their books and calculate their revenues and expenditures for the year.Laba garlic is made by soaking garlic in vinegar. Laba garlic is soaked in vinegar from the Laba Festival until Chinese New Year. The garlic and vinegar are then used alongside Chinese dumplings (jiaozi) around Chinese New Year.

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🧚🏻‍Model/Makeup：@曾嚼子&@兔狲猫眠眠

📸 Photo:@逸群闲余

🔗 Xiaohongshu:http://xhslink.com/zlF8Hz

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#chinese hanfu #hanfu #Traditional Chinese Festival #臘八節 Laba Festival #chinese culture #chinese customs #chinese history #hanfu accessories #chinese food #china #chinese new year #song dynasty

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sainzfilm · 1 year

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charles leclerc x bookstore owner!reader pls? :)

pairing: charles leclerc x bookstore owner!reader

a/n: god….this trope is just the cutest thing and idk i love it and it’s such an adorable meet cute 🤭 hope you like this, lovely!! :)

taglist: @svechyaho @squderia @idkiwantchocolatee @koufaxx @melonunicornbby @myescapefromthislife @leclerclvr @slut-era @pachiibatt @nicolesainz @cosmicleclerc @sidcrosbyspuck @barzysreputation

join my taglist here!

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Charles took a sip of his coffee, waiting for his change from the cashier at the café he decided to spend his afternoon in. Breezy afternoon, kids and teenagers roaming around Monaco, the smell of pastries at the nearby bakery – it was a pretty perfect day.

Although, curiosity sparked inside Charles as he looked out the window to see children running across the street to what looked like a quaint little bookstore.

“Hey, uh,” Charles looked at the cashier momentarily before pointing at that store, “La librairie là-bas est-elle neuve?” Is that bookstore over there new?

“Ouais c'est ça,” The cashier nodded, handing the change and receipt to Charles, “Les enfants, les adolescents et les adultes l'adorent. J'ai entendu dire que le propriétaire est une gentille fille.” Yeah it is. Kids, teenagers, and adults love it. I heard the owner is a nice girl.

Charles shoved the change in his pocket, thanking the cashier with a smile and walking out the café and towards the bookstore.

The tiny bell attached above the door softly rang as Charles entered, making his presence known to the not-so-quiet bookstore. Children of different ages were gathered on the floor, seated on pillows, while they listened to what he thought could have been the most soothing voice he’s heard.

“And in the end, Goldilocks made sure that she will user her own chair, bed, and eat her own porridge,” You read to the children, closing the book and smiling at them, “As-tu aimé?” Did you like it?

As the children eagerly expressed their agreement to your question, you looked up to give the Monégasque a small smile before redirecting your attention to the children in front of you.

Charles figured out that you must’ve been the nice girl the cashier was talking about – he would definitely agree from how the children fawned over you. As he walked down the aisle of shelves, he hummed to himself and skimmed his fingers through the spines lined up.

“Bonjour! Tu dois être nouveau,” You smiled as you stood beside him, taking off your storytelling hat, “Vous cherchez un livre en particulier?” Hello! You must be new here, are you looking for a specific book?

It would be an understatement if Charles were to say he was…enamored. Maybe more of like ‘Oh my god, you have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen and perhaps you’re the most beautiful woman I laid my eyes on.’

“Bonjour, oui, je suis nouveau ici,” Charles chuckled, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “No no, I just wanted to see if anything…catches my eye.” Hello, yeah, I’m new here.

“Well, we do have a few books of the month right by the counter,” You replied, pointing towards the table, “Most people would make a beeline for it if they’re undecided.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He nodded with a smile, “So, are you new here? Around Monaco?”

Before you could reply, a little girl ran over and started tugging at your coat, “Mademoiselle Y/N! J'ai choisi ces livres de princesse pour que je les achète aujourd'hui!” Miss Y/N! I picked these princess books out for me to buy today.

“Claire, calme-toi,” You laughed, patting her head gently and turning back to Charles, “Sorry, my favorite customer seems to be eager today. I’ll be at the counter if you need anything.” Claire, calm down.

As Claire held onto your hand and dragged you to the counter, Charles laughed softly before following you to the counter and checking out the books lined up for the month.

“Il semble que vous ayez économisé beaucoup d'argent, Claire,” You grinned, scanning the books and looking down at the little girl, “Have you finished the other books you bought yesterday?” It looks like you saved a lot of money, Claire.

“Bien sur, Mademoiselle! Maman me récompense pour faire des corvées,” Claire giggled and tiptoed over the counter, “All done! Will I get a new bookmark?” Of course, Miss! Mama rewards me for doing chores.

“That’s good to hear, Claire,” You smiled and reached over to ruffle up her hair, “Of course, you will. In fact, get another book, my gift for you.”

Claire squealed in delight before running off back to the aisles, giving Charles an opening for him to approach you once more, “That’s actually real nice of you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Claire’s a delight to have here in the bookstore,” You smiled fondly, putting the bookmarks in between the books, “And to answer you, I moved here a few years back.”

“I guess I don’t end up on this side of the street often,” Charles laughed, “Odd that I’ve missed out on it.”

“Well, I guess things come in your life when you need it,” You shrugged with a smile, leaning over the counter to welcome back a smiling Claire, “What’s that you picked out?”

“It’s about a prince meeting this princess, mademoiselle!” Claire exclaimed, pushing the book up on the counter, “I read the back and it said, après avoir longtemps cherché l'amour, le prince l'a finalement trouvé au moment où il s'y attendait le moins.” After looking for love for the longest time, the prince finally found it when he least expected it.

“Maybe you’ll get your own prince, Claire,” You tapped her nose and packed the remaining book inside the bag, “Before you leave, quel est notre mot du jour?” What’s our word of the day?

“Notre mot du jour est le destin!” The little girl giggled, grabbing the paper bag from you, “See you on Thursday, mademoiselle!” Our word of the day is destiny!

Charles looked up from the book he was reading. Destiny. Would stumbling upon your bookstore and what you had just discussed with Claire be completely coincidental?

“So, what reeled you in here today?” You smiled and turned your attention back to him, “If you’ve said that you never crossed this side of the street.”

“Well, maybe destiny,” He nonchalantly replied with a small smile on his face, “It definitely won’t be the last time I’m crossing this side of the street.”

Leaning over the counter and holding your hand out, you smiled, “My name’s Y/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Charles smiled, shaking your hand and feeling a bit of butterflies erupting in his stomach, “I’m Charles.”

Who knew that an impulsive decision to visit your bookstore could lead to something magical – such as possible love? Charles mentally thanked himself and whatever Gods existed out there because he definitely believes in destiny now.

bonus scene!

Charles whistled as he leaned against the wall, rubbing his hands together and checking his watch. 7:48 am. You were supposed to arrive 18 minutes ago.

“I’m here! I’m here,” You exclaimed, panting and leaning over your knees as you caught your breath, “Why are you here so early?”

“The question is why are you late?” Charles chuckled, handing your morning coffee, “I told you, I’m helping out.”

“Overslept. I was looking at books to order online,” You grumbled, unlocking the door and taking off your coat, ��Is this your way to get me to say yes?”

“Oh please,” Charles scoffed, flipping the sign to signify the store was open, “I know you already will.”

“Can’t believe I’m dating a guy with a big ego,” You laughed, setting up the register, “What makes you think so?”

Grinning as he leaned over the counter, Charles replied, “No reason. A certain misdial could say so.”

Freezing in your place, your eyes widened as you groaned and covered your face in your hands, “Oh mon dieu. You jerk! You could’ve ended the call!”

“It was cute, you rambling about how you thought I was such a dashing prince,” He chuckled, reaching over to squish your cheeks and kissing your nose, “Nice to hear you call me your boyfriend though.”

Mumbling with a pout, you rolled your eyes and sighed in defeat, “I hate you.”

Charles shrugged, scrunching his nose and grabbing the feather duster to wander off to the aisles, “The more you hate, the more you love!”

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the-amethyst-artist · 5 months

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“I’m here spreading forment.” “Is that some kind of porridge?”

My most recent WIP is finally done! I was inspired by “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” by Frank Dicksee, I just love historical ineffable husbands content and I really hope we see more of it in season three!!

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breelandwalker · 4 months

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Heya! In the spirit of me becoming feral about La Fheile Bride/Imbolc/St. Brigid's Day, I was wondering two things: Do you have a favorite piece of art depicting Brigid, and do you have a favorite thing to cook for Imbolc? I like doing Bannock, but I kinda want to change it up this year.

I have a couple of favorite artworks depicting Brighid, mostly random paintings. I do have a print of this one by angelicshades on etsy hanging in my office. I don't know if it was particularly meant to be a depiction of Brighid, but that's how it hit me when I saw it. And I love me some Alphonse Mucha style art nouveau goddess art.

I don't usually cook a particular meal for Imbolc, but my offering on the day always consists of oatmeal, milk, and honey, sometimes with mead or whiskey as a chaser.

There are plenty of thematic options for Imbolc foods, like milk, cheese, eggs, honey, jams and preserves, oats, bread, beer, and wine. So you could try things like quiche, honey cakes, jam tarts, cheese and herb pinwheels, scones or muffins with honey butter, porridge with fixings, and sweet or savory pull-apart bread.

The foods that I see most often associated with Brighid in modern sources are blackberries, apples, potatoes, fish, cinnamon, and rosemary. So any dish using those might be appropriate as well. Perhaps a nice bit of salmon seasoned with honey, wine, and tart preserves and cinnamon baked apples for dessert. You can't go wrong with a nice bit of soda bread either.

Anyway, hope this helps and Happy Imbolc! 😊

#gamayunsteward #Imbolc #Brighid #food #cooking #witchblr #witch community #pagan #Bree answers your inquiries

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myeyesandheartadjust · 1 year

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3 Underrated Fictional Podcasts And Why You Should Listen To Them

The Two Princes

Queer fantasy podcast

Almost nobody is straight

There’s a dragon named Porridge and a goat, complete with a carrot horn, whose owner believes is a unicorn

The voice actors are amazing and many of them are well known in musical theater

You either love or want to thwap the characters

It’s 3 seasons and it still doesn’t feel like enough

Full of magic, cures and one foreboding prophecy

The 3rd season is a musical and the songs are amazing

Small fandom that needs more love

36 Questions

It’s a 3 act podcast musical!!!

Jonathan Groff

The songs are amazing!!!

There’s a duck named Henry

Original plot

It’s actually based off a real study

Relatable characters

Incredible voice acting

Subtle queer rep

Small fandom that needs more love

Case 63

Science Fiction podcast

Produced by the same podcast company as The Two princes

Oscar Issac

based off a Chilean podcast of the same name

Time Travel/ Saving the world plot

Julianne Moore

Uses current events (a la COVID) as part of the story

SOOO many plot twists!!

mentions so many things from real life

the two main voice actors are amazing

Star crossed lovers trope but with time travel

BIG CLIFF HANGER

Tiny fandom (like I’ve only seen it talked about on here)

#the two princes #the two princes podcast #36 questions podcast #36 questions musical #36 questions #case 63 podcast #jonathan groff #oscar isaac #julianne moore #musical theater #fantasy #sci fi #sci fi romance #gimlet media #gimlet

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beresimsdreamworld · 5 months

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La pequeña Rachel prueba nuevos snacks y comidas, eso le abre la puerta a nuevas experiencias y sabores bastantes distintos que los de la glutinosa e insípida papilla de siempre.

Little Rachel tries new snacks and foods, which opens the door to new experiences and flavors that are quite different from the usual glutinous and tasteless porridge.

#ts3 #simblr #sims 3 #ts3 gameplay #ts3 simblr #sims 3 gameplay #ts3 screenshots #s3 simblr #sims 3 simblr #sims 3 screenshots #ts3 current household #s3 currenthousehold #my sims

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marcogiovenale · 10 months

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oggi, 20 luglio: presentazione online di "errata porridge", di roberto cavallera (manufatti poetici, zacinto, 2023)

il libro: https://www.biblionedizioni.it/prodotto/errata-porridge/

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#Antonio Syxty #Biblion #cambio di paradigma #Errata porridge #La finestra di Antonio Syxty #Marco Giovenale #Marilina Ciaco #presentazione #prosa #Prosa in prosa #reading #Roberto Cavallera #scrittura di ricerca #scritture di ricerca #scritture sperimentali #Zacinto

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celestemagnoliathewriter · 1 year

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hello, tedoire 46 please? thank you :)

Tedoire - 46 is a kiss out of envy/jealousy. Get ready for some TOOTH ROTTING TEDOIRE FLUFF. Read below or on AO3. French translations below.

...

“You’re staring, Vic.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Dominique sticks her tongue out and points her nose toward the Hufflepuff table, where Teddy Lupin is grinning and laughing with that flirty Gryffindor sixth-year, Seraphina Podmore.

“It’s breakfast,” Victoire says primly, spreading jam on her toast. “No one wants to see that when they’re trying to eat.”

“You mean people being friendly?” Dominique goads. Victoire is tempted to smash her sister’s face into her porridge.

Victoire sits up straight and attempts to mimic her mother’s cool, indifferent aura.

“À quoi ça sert d’être une Veela,” she mutters, “si seuls les garçons moches vous aiment?”

Dominique rolls her eyes at the comment and returns to her porridge. Victoire knows she’s prettier than Seraphina. It’s not as if Seraphina had a pile of valentines delivered to her a week ago. It’s not as if the Gryffindor girl can make boys swoon with just a look.

What does precious Seraphina have that Victoire doesn’t?

“Maybe he sees you like a sister or a cousin,” Dominique offers, pushing a goblet of pumpkin juice at her. “We practically grew up together.”

Victoire frowns deeply. It’s true—there was never a time she didn’t know Teddy. He was always there in the background, at birthday parties, weddings, and weekly Sunday dinners. He isn’t a Weasley though, not like her actual cousins.

“He’s coming over, Vic.”

Dominique’s elbow in Victoire’s side makes her wince, just as Teddy comes to sit at the Ravenclaw table, right next to Victoire, with an apple in his hand.

“Wotcher, Vic,” he says, pushing the turquoise fringe out of his warm, brown eyes. He sees Dominique and musses her hair playfully, earning a scowl from the younger Weasley.

Perhaps the cousin or family theory is right, and that’s why Teddy’s never looked twice at her. Victoire suddenly remembers that cousins have been married before, without letting their familial relationships get in the way of true love. Besides, she and Teddy aren’t even blood cousins!

“You look like you’re laying an egg,” Teddy says, as he grins and takes a bite of his apple. “Bee in your bonnet?”

“O.W.L.s,” Victoire replies automatically, feeling decidedly unattractive and embarrassed after Teddy’s compared her to a bloody chicken.

“Need help with anything?” He takes another bite of the apple and wipes away the juice left behind on his chin and lips.

It’s so unfair that he’s fit, handsome, brilliant, and—

“Victoire,” Dominique says, stabbing her with a fork. “Teddy asked you a question.”

“Come again?” Victoire is certain her face is as red as Gryffindor’s crimson.

A class bell rings and students are leaving; Victoire’s got a study period first thing in the morning and Teddy’s not moving.

“Il est amoureux de toi, imbécile,” Dominique whispers rapidly and harshly into Victoire’s ear. “Ne partez pas encore. Les garçons sont des idiots. Embrasse-le pour qu’il sache que tu ressens la même chose.”

Dominique wags her finger at Victoire and the third year waltzes away, joining her friends on their way to Charms; Victoire wonders if she can get away with slapping her later.

“Don’t you have class?” Victoire says nervously, realizing she’s quite alone with Teddy at the Ravenclaw table.

“Not till the afternoon. Sprout’s got us monitoring the Mandrakes and they’re, er, getting busy this morning.” Victoire nods in understanding and he adds, “Besides, I wanted to see you. It’s been ages since we last talked.”

“Ages?” Victoire smiles nervously. “We saw each other the other day, at Hogsmeade.”

Teddy makes a funny sound and waves his hand. “You were with your girlfriends and I was on Head Boy duty. It doesn’t count. Two minutes isn’t enough with my favorite Weasley.”

Victoire feels fluttering in her stomach and heat radiates to the tips of her fingers and toes. “I’m your favorite Weasley? Not—Jamie or Al or Lily?”

Teddy arches a turquoise eyebrow. “Jamie, Al, and Lily are Potters. You’re a Weasley.”

“Oh, right.”

“Sera said the same thing,” Teddy tells her. “Jamie might be a Potter, but he does look an awful lot like a Weasley.”

“Sera,” Victoire repeats, sniffing disdainfully. “Seraphina Podmore.”

“Did you see her earlier? She’s wicked funny and clever—”

“—I did. She seemed to be having a good time with you.”

“She’s a good friend.” Teddy’s brows come together. His apple is down to its core and he swings his leg across the bench, facing Victoire directly. “Did I say something wrong? You’re—you look upset.”

Kiss him, Dominique said. Boys are idiots.

Teddy’s mouth is slightly parted and he’s got a confused, adorable look in his eyes. Victoire swallows hard, trying not to stare at his chiseled jaw, kind, gentle eyes, or his full, perfectly kissable lips.

“Seraphina—”

Victoire closes her eyes and cuts him off, covering her mouth with his so lightly, so briefly, she wonders if it happened, but when she tries to pull away, he growls and brings her face back to his.

He tastes like a tart apple and feels warm, but firm against her face. Victoire doesn’t know where her hands should go but they find his hips and settle there as he deepens the kiss and pulls her closer. She obliges and feels his fingers creeping away from her face, finding her arms, waist, and—

“AHEM.”

They break apart at once and Victoire’s jaw drops when she sees Professor McGonagall eyeing them sternly.

“Mr. Lupin,” she says briskly. “Miss Weasley.”

Victoire is mortified but Teddy is smiling.

“I apologize, Professor,” he says. “As you know, I took the matter of inter-house relationships very seriously when I became Head Boy.”

Victoire isn’t sure if McGonagall is amused or offended. The Headmistress takes five points away from both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and orders them out of the Great Hall, but doesn’t assign detention.

Teddy helps Victoire gather her things and they run out to the Entrance Hall, both pink in the face and glowing. She thinks, just for a moment, that she might have been dreaming it all.

“Room of Requirement,” Teddy whispers, his eyes flashing back to the Great Hall where McGonagall is watching them. “Eight o’clock. I’ll be done with rounds. That is—” A charming blush creeps onto his face. “—if you want.”

Victoire squeezes his hand and grins.

ship kiss asks

...

French translations: (correct if wrong, my dear Francophones)

“À quoi ça sert d’être une Veela si seuls les garçons moches vous aiment?” = "What is the point of being a Veela if only the ugly boys like you?"

“Il est amoureux de toi, imbécile. Ne partez pas encore. Les garçons sont des idiots. Embrasse-le pour qu’il sache que tu ressens la même chose.” = He's in love with you, you imbecile. Don't leave. Boys are idiots. Kiss him so he knows you feel the same way.

#tedoire #asks #send asks #teddy lupin #victoire weasley #fluff #tooth rotting fluff

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