#Wood Engraving Wednesday

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

Here are a few delightful wood engravings from a recent gift showing the various processes that go into binding a book. This little pamphlet is entitled A Short History of Bookbinding and a Glossary of Styles and Terms Used in Binding . . . .printed in London at the Chiswick Press for the bookbinder Joseph William Zaehnsdorf in 1895.These images were probably printed from metal plates that were made from the original wood engravings. The engravings are not attributed, as was the case for most commercial engravings.

Click or tap on the images to see the definitions for these activities as provided in the booklet’s glossary. 

View more posts with wood engravings!

#Wood Engraving Wednesday #wood engravings #commercial wood engravings #A Short History of Bookbinding #bookbinding #Chiswick Press #Joseph William Zaehnsdorf

[ykiwrite]

black and white

desc: first time meeting Addams mansion with unexpected turn

"Ma'am, we're close to arriving."

Addams private driver led you down the one way road surrounded by trees towering above the moving car going deeper and deeper into the woods. 

"Let me guess, you're off to plotting my murder and getting rid of my body somewhere?" you theorized not so jokingly upon seeing how far you're venturing from the city itself. 

"Truthfully, that wasn't on my mind until you now just mentioned it so thank you for giving me idea in case you annoy me today." Her shoulder bumping with your own as the road got rockier.

You found it fascinating why did she choose to share one seat with you instead of sitting on the one facing you like a normal human being, as if there's not enough space in this vast car.

You looked just the same as Mr. and Ms. Addams did. She made sure Thing secretly kept track of drivers behavior throughout this week. Never allowing herself for your conversations and their daughters remarkably harsh attitude turned gentle reach her parents ears. What happens in the car, stays in the car.

Movement slowed down as you approached big metal gate with shiny letter 'A' engraved on it followed by lines of spiky pickets. No wonder why it's hidden away. At first glance it would send even the most heroic person home but since you've been indirectly invited to visit by Wednesday gushing about her lavish Machiavelli literature collection. You had nothing to be afraid of. 

Holidays we're starting and weather was getting cold. Regardless of Wednesdays beliefs in utter nonsense of celebrating such thing she couldn't deny she was delighted to spend some time away from Nevermore.

Gates opening revealed the infamous stone made mansion with spacious entrance and gargoyle fountain in the middle. There wasn't much of life when it comes to plants but that was expected. It felt like a shift in time happened and you found yourself in far away history.

Car doors were opened by drivers manners letting you step out. "Your parents aren't home, right?" you asked to check one more time never letting your eyes go off the building in front. 

"I'm certain. As i already told you, my dear mother and father are on a trip just like my brother." she assured you. "They shouldn't be here for at least couple of days." Sending the driver a look was enough for him to realize he has nothing else to do here.

Making your way up to yet another grand entrance Wednesday picked up her pace strolling past to open the door for you with more force than usual needed.

It undoubtedly looked, smelled, felt like Addams residence. Candles were lit illuminating broad room made out of lacquered wood full of various paintings and carvings. Windows reaching the high ceiling hidden by a red Victorian style curtains. Compared to the outside, you were greeted with warmth you owed to a lit fireplace.

"Am i the only non-Addams that got to see this?"

"Perhaps." she answered nonchalantly carrying her bags up the spiral stairs leading to another floor, her room you presumed.

"Are you telling me you had other lovers here?" you gasped in a shock with attempt to get a rise out of her.

Stopping midway, she turned looking down to you who was still at the beginning of stairs. "You are unbelievable. Of course i didn't. You are the one and only since you wanted to hear me say it that badly."

Smiling to yourself and reaching the top you trailed behind her down the long corridor that ended with black doors.

Being opened with a creek due to not being moved for quite some time Wednesday felt at peace. Stepping in the first thing you saw was a cello standing in the very corner. In contrast to the Nevermore one, the four pillared bed in the middle was queen sized with dark covers neatly draped over it. The table in front of window was fairly simple and predictable with Wednesdays typewriter guarded by stack of books and empty trash bin accompanying it. Gaze moving to shelves jammed with books, most looking old and worn out.

"Not all of Machiavelli is here. Big part of it can be found in our library."

"You even have a library?"

"Yes, most of the books there was brought by my grandparents throughout the years of them being together and travelling. It passed down onto my parents and sometime it will be my turn." she stated as a matter of a fact.

"Huh," you mumbled watching her unpack belongings out, "who will you pass it down with?".

"Why bother asking when you know the answer? Besides, are you planning on staying the night?"

You thought your mind was deceiving you but you could hear the faint chatter mixed with footsteps getting louder heading towards the room.

Looking over to upset Wednesday she was already on her way to open the door, "I can't believe this."

"Wednesday!" a woman's voice cried out. "Oh, my favorite daughter-"

"You only have one daughter anyway. Mother, what are you doing here?"

"I knew there was a break from Nevermore so your father and i wanted to surprise you aware you're coming home."

The moment your eyes met her mothers she gasped completely stuck in one spot not used to seeing anybody else in this house. "Wednesday, who is this my dear?"

"Maybe if you weren't to come unannounced we'd have a proper introduction but i doubt it."

Her mother kept looking at you up and down in awe like she's trying to comprehend her daughter standing next to another living person, "Is it the one you talk about every time we get a call from you?"

"Can you please leave? This was not the way i planned it to go." Wednesday pleaded with everything she had in power.

Pointing with finger at you Morticia demanded "Both of you are meeting us at dinner, understand? I'll leave you alone now, please excuse me and my daughter dear. Hope i'll get to know you soon."

As Morticia closed the door and walked away she stopped Gomez from doing the same thing she just did. "Wednesday has a friend over." said with that type of look only two extremely close people could distinguish the meaning behind it.

"Oh does she?" turning his heel around agreeing with his wife it's better to leave it alone for the later.

"Yes, you remember the story of me and Ms. Weems i told you? It's a similar one." Turning corner of the corridor taking one more glimpse of the dark door. "Seems like history is repeating itself."

"Like mother like daughter."

part 2.

note: big thank you for each one of you liking/reblogging my works so far! it means a lot! if you have anything to say, complain about, give advice/idea about it, it wud be much appreciated!

#wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday imagine #wednesday addams

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Little WIP Wednesday

Decided to go ahead and do a little WIP Wednesday for chapter 3 of New Life Shall Prosper since I had a chunk of it written already. Couldn't post too much without spoiling much of the chapter so it's just a little one.

Thank you SO much to everyone that's read both chapters that are up so far and have been loving on it! I can't express how much I appreciate it and hope you'll enjoy this as well! Little more angsty than normal, but there's fluff for this chapter I promise.

You can find chapter 1 here. You can also find the newly posted chapter 2 here.

As the children murmured amongst themselves about what you had shared of your story so far, your breath hitched. A sharp, unfamiliar sensation shot across your lower abdomen; not exactly painful but surprising enough to catch you off guard. It wasn’t a movement from the child or a rumble from something you had eaten, but something else you couldn’t quite place. You lightly pressed your fingers against the source of the discomfort and adjusted yourself in your seat, hoping the change in position would take away the feeling. The pressure and seating changed helped for a few moments, allowing you to recompose yourself, but when another wave made its way across again, you realized what you were experiencing; a contraction.

“Please, little one,” you whispered, “just wait a little longer. Just a few more days, please, my little love.” Your hand rested along the tender spot of your belly as you pleaded with your child, begging them to wait until Halsin’s return. Another mild contraction rippled across, seemingly lighter this time. You prayed to the Oak Father that this was simply false labor and could still be allotted a few more days to wait for Halsin. He had been gone much longer than the promised ten-day and your faith in him returning in time for the birth was dwindling rapidly. 

You also offered a quick, silent prayer to Silvanus that Halsin would return and soon. He needed to be here; he deserved it. Halsin had expressed his excitement about the child to you in the months prior, the smile on his face had never been so big as he spoke of wanting to hold the baby in his arms with you by his side. He had also confided that he never realized just how badly he wanted a child of his own until he had figured out that you were pregnant. Centuries of duty and responsibility had barred him from starting his own little family, and given that he was the only surviving member of his family, he had come to terms with being the last of his line. But now that you were expecting, he was overjoyed with the idea of his very own little one running around.

And this excitement was present in everything he had done in the months since. Halsin put in a labor of love to hand craft a crib from the finest wood of the area, carving and engraving as if it would be his lasting masterpiece to this world. He had whittled toys for the child from similar wood and you always found him carving away when there was downtime and had started nesting almost immediately. There was a newfound youth and spring in his step that had only increased the closer you came to your delivery date. He no longer treated every day as if he was an old man pining for missed opportunities. Now, he was a young man bursting at the seams with anticipation. 

Along with this, he made sure that you wanted for nothing, until now at least. Right now, you wanted him home. Halsin deserved the chance to witness the birth of the child and be the first one to hold them in a loving embrace. You knew that was what he wanted as well. You both had been adamant that when the time came for your labor to begin, he would be there by your side to help in any capacity, but also be the one to deliver the child into the world. He was an accomplished healer so anything that could threaten either of your lives could be remedied by him, but also for the simple fact that he wanted to be there for every step. 

To see nature in action in welcoming the first bit of new life into this once barren wasteland would be euphoric to him; added satisfaction because it was his child that would break the curse of death in the lands. But, more selfishly, you wanted him home because you were terrified to give birth alone. However, given the circumstances and the new pain shooting across your abdomen, it was becoming more and more likely that your greatest fear would become a reality. 

Not edited and still needs the rest to go along with it, but at this point you know me in writing way more than I probably should. Also gives me a chance to update the tag list.

Tag List: @incrediblethirst @reignydeys @thoughts-of-bear @im-eating-rn @beardedladyqueen @simplysaying @emorylovescats @distelsterncat @cryingoverpixelsetc @knightofmight01

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #halsin #halsin x reader #reader x halsin #gender neutral reader #daddy halsin #halsin romance #halsin brainrot #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #halsin fluff #halsin fanfic

[alder-saan]

Her scent

Larissa Weems x gn! reader

tw: pure angst, death, loss, mourning, major character death, spoil Wednesday season 1

words count: 3k

enjoy :)

(thanks to @weemssapphic and @pro-weems-places who I harassed with angsty snippets :))

The thing you loved most in the entire world was definitely Larissa’s scent. Floral _you could distinguish orange blossom, jasmine, wisteria, and violet_ lingering on everything she ever touched, strong yet soft, but mostly, it was hers. It marked her belongings. The fragrances tinted the air of her home, like the first layer of a painting that would represent her. They covered her clothes, softly, almost unperceivable after being washed, but your nostrils were used to recognise them anywhere, and when you buried your face into the fabric, they wrapped you. They were hidden behind her doors, in each box or case, and would jump to your face whenever you would open one of them. They were scattered in her garden, between the orange tree, the jasmine bushes, the wisteria trellis arches, and the violet flowerbed. They anointed your skin, smeared by the so often wandering of her hands on your body, as the glorious elder of Larissa’s sacred heart, and even with no ring of the Fisherman, no tiara, no believers, you felt like a blessed priest when you were on your knees to worship her. It was her scent. It was her perfume. It was her very essence, in its little stained glass bottle, looking like liquid amber.

The bottle itself was one of the most beautiful things you ever saw. It was small, and had this beautiful very pale orange colour, so much so that the liquid inside was reminiscent of whisky. It had the shape of a sphere, a perfect sphere without any prominent line, testimony to the manufacturer, a sphere that had been cut at the bottom, for it to stay still, without falling on the floor, without cracking the cold shell and spilling the precious odorant fluid on the parquet, that would be stained by the fragrance, and that would have to be cleaned very carefully, for every little glass diamond to be removed, so as not to make this crime scene any worse. And if this glass bottle fell, the scent would probably stay forever on your floor, seeping into the rings of the wood, and staying here, like an old dog waiting for its master to come back. But if the bottle fell, no master would come back, and the old dog would die alone.

.

You had smelled this perfume for the first time at the Weathervane. This day was engraved so deeply in your memory, you knew nothing could ever erase it. And you already imagined yourself, old and wrinkled, forgetting your own name but not this day. It was Tuesday, the 17th of May, and you were in the Weathervane after your first day at your new job as a florist. You remembered this day was soft. It was sunny, and a little bit of wind was caressing the trees of the park. The rays were warming the table of your booth through the clean window. The door opened and the perfume flooded the room. The floral perfume, in which you automatically distinguished orange blossom, jasmine, wisteria, and violet, so strong but so soft, and which would linger in your mind so long after she would come out. But you didn’t know it yet. All that you knew then was that you liked it. 

Then she appeared in the sunlight. A divine apparition. An angel, a muse, a goddess. A tall, tall woman, with white, white hair, blue, blue eyes and a pale, pale skin. Her silver locks were perfectly pinned on her head, catching the evening gold light. You had held your breath, jaw agape, incapable of pulling your eyes out of her. She didn’t seem to notice you, although you weren’t discreet at all (you couldn’t even imagine being, your brain was focused on her and on nothing else). She was wearing a green dress with a matching green coat, and her hips swayed so deliciously as she was walking towards the waiter to order _your ear might or might not have heard she ordered a hot chocolate_. Takeaway. Her red lips twitched in a beautiful smile, and your whole body tensed. You wanted her to smile at you, not at that waiter. It was stupid, yes. You didn’t know her. And yet… And yet you couldn’t help but stare. She waited a couple of minutes during which you could detail her whole body. Her feet caught in those high-heeled shoes, her long legs in those tights, her dress under which you could guess the relief of the fat that hid her belly, creating this little shadow, the little bumps that made by her breasts, her cleavage revealing her collarbones, the golden necklace she wore, her hands in those black gloves, her long neck that would be the perfect refuge for the night, her so kissable lips, the creases that appeared when she smiled, her little nose, and those ocean blue eyes that were… looking right at you.

Your face went tomato red and you looked away, trying to concentrate on the coffee that was cooling in front of you. You had been caught staring. You tried to regain composure by taking out your phone, pretending you were writing to someone or something else. To be perfectly honest, you weren't sure what you were doing yourself. You could still feel her gaze on you, and it made you shiver.

“Larissa,” the waiter called.

“Yes,” the woman, Larissa, replied in her heavenly voice, walking towards him to take her hot chocolate.

You had a name to put on this pretty face. “Larissa,” you whispered, taking a little time to appreciate the very substance of the sounds on your lips. The “La” seemed to be withheld in your mouth, the “ri” was pleasant, like singing, and the “ssa” was escaping your lips so fast you couldn’t believe her name was already over. You heard her paying and then she passed in your visual field, heading out of the Weathervane. You looked at her again, from her back.

The door closed.

She had disappeared, but her perfume was still lingering in the room, in your nostril and your head.

.

The next day, you were sitting in the very same booth. You had paid particular attention to your appearance that morning, hoping perhaps to bump into Larissa (who didn't yet know your name) at the Weathervane after you'd closed the shop. You had almost finished your coffee, but you wanted to wait, to be sure you didn’t miss her. So you waited for a few minutes, watching the sun sinking on the horizon when the door opened and the scent invaded your nose. Orange blossom, jasmine, wisteria, and violet. She smiled at you as she passed your booth, and ordered her hot chocolate. On the spot. You heard her heels heading towards you. At first, you thought she was going to sit in the booth behind you, but she continued. Your eyes were glued to your nearly empty coffee as she stopped next to you.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked, pointing to the bench seat in front of you with her finger.

“Y-yes, I-I mean, no, you can sit if you want,” you stammered.

And she sat in front of you. She offered a big genuine smile, and the little scar above her upper lip deepened for a moment. You couldn’t pull your eyes out of her blue irises. 

“Are you new in town?”

“Very new, indeed. I arrived the day before yesterday,” you replied, smiling a bit.

She nodded silently, and her eyes wandered to your face. Your heartbeat in your ears, And for a moment, everything disappeared. It was her eyes, your heart, her perfume, and nothing. She was looking directly at your heart, at your soul. Those piercing blue eyes were magical. They were like the sea. They scared you. They seemed to attract you, and you felt yourself drowning for a moment. You were lost in the ocean, a deep blue ocean that smelled of orange blossom, jasmine, wisteria and violet. And if you died right there, it would probably be the best death you could ever think of.

The waiter came and brang Larissa’s drink. You found yourself back in the Weathervane.

“I didn’t quite catch your name,” she said.

“Uh… oh, Y/N.”

“Larissa.”

You knew it. You had heard it the previous day.

.

The following day, the scent entered your shop. You hadn’t still told her what your job was, and you looked at her, in her white dress, from the back shop for a few seconds before showing yourself. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of you.

“How can I help you, Larissa?” you asked.

“Well, I don’t know what flower to buy…”

“What occasion?”

“A date? … Sort of,” she replied

Your heart sank at these words. A date? She had a date? And she wanted to buy flowers for him… of for her… or for them. You suddenly felt cold and sad. It was probably stupid to think she was interested in you. She was just being friendly and you misunderstood the signals. She had already someone.

“Well, some roses or daisies are perfect for a date.”

“Then I will take some daisies, and if you could add violets, it’d be perfect.”

“Violets?”

“Yes,” and her cheeks turned pink.

Violets, huh? So she was… Anyway, it wasn’t your business. What she did in bed and with who was her life. Not yours.

You quickly picked the flowers and laced them together.

She paid and went out. You sighed. Her perfume was still there.

Later, you were about to quit your booth when you smelled her scent again. She went in the Weathervane, the daisies and violets in her hand. So she was about to have her date right there? You looked in the café, searching for someone that could fit her. But there was nobody. And she sat in front of you.

Oh?

Oh…

OH!

Your face went red at the realisation. You were her date.

“You should have told me you were the new florist! I wanted this to be a surprise!”

“Well, it is. I thought you were seeing someone else.”

She chuckled and handed you the flowers.

“That’s why you seemed… a bit lost? Were you jealous?”

“Not at all!”

And she laughed. And you loved her laughter.

.

And life went on. You would meet her every day. Sometimes she would go to your shop and buy flowers for you.

Months passed. You were partners.

After a year, you decided to live together.

.

That night, you were preparing yourself to welcome her back. She had had a hard time at her job, you knew it. She had told you about the Hyde, the traitor, and the Wednesday problem. You wanted her to feel better, to relax, at least for one night.

You had spent the entire day cooking for her. She didn’t know it, though. You never told her. It was a surprise. You had made some crab baozi, fried noodles, and beef dumplings because you knew she loved these. The table was made, you had placed a white tablecloth and put some red and white rose petals on it. A large bouquet _of orange blossom, jasmine, wisteria, and violet_ enthroned in the middle of the table. Some candles were lit, and you were waiting for her, sitting on an armchair in front of the chimney. She was a bit late, but it was okay. You were used to it.

The doorbell rang. 

Strange… She never did this...After all, it was her home.

You got up and went to open the door.

Two police officers were there, their car parked at Larissa’s spot. You didn’t like their expressions. They seemed confused and awkward. You were too, of course. Why would some police officers go to your home at 8 p.m.?

“Are you Larissa Weems’ partner?”

“Yes, I am,” you replied hastily.

Hearing her name escaping from the police officer’s mouth had tensed you. Your mind was racing. Was Larissa in trouble? What did she do? Where was she? Was it because of Wednesday? Did she… did she meet the Hyde? Or was it the traitor? You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining her in a hospital bed, injured and unconscious. How you now wish you were right…

“Larissa Weems was found in Nevermore’s greenhouse, dead by nightshade poisoning. We’re sorry.”

Your eyes widened. You shook your head. They got to be wrong. It couldn’t be her. Not tonight. 

“It’s impossible. She still is in her office, I’m sure she’s alright.”

“We’re sorry. She’s gone. This was confirmed by the coroner”

A shiver ran down your spine. No. You violently shook your head. No, no, no, no, no. No, she couldn’t. She was Larissa Weems. She was your 6’3 tall goddess. She could NOT be dead. You had planned to present her to your parents. Gone? How? You never even imagined one day without her. So how? How could she leave you?  Like that? No goodbye, nothing. No pathetic “I love you”, like in those movies you used to watch every Saturday night, cuddling under a cover on the sofa. She didn’t die in your arms, the last time you kissed her was this morning before she left to go work, her last message was “;-)”, which was… well pretty lame but so damn cute. And while she was dying alone in Nevermore’s greenhouse, you were making goddamn DUMPLINGS. You felt so stupid. You had put so much effort into making this evening go well that you never thought, even for a second, that Larissa could be in danger. You felt so stupid for never enjoying the moment, and always making plans. She was gone. All was over. She would never come back.

The police officers were gone when you came back to reality. You were standing in front of the house, cheeks drowned under your tears. You entered back, but it suddenly felt so cold. You looked at every detail of it and knew that if Larissa couldn’t come back, it wasn’t worth it anymore. Your loneliness was unbearable. The living room was full of void, the table in front of you seemed to laugh at your despair, and the kitchen smelled the food you had made for her. You locked yourself in the toilet and you grabbed your phone, calling the first person that came to your mind: your friend Cassie.

*Hello, y/n?*

“H-hey,” you said, sniffling.

*Is everything alright?*

“N-no, not really.”

And the nervous laughter you let out rang in your ears. You shook your head.

*What’s wrong?*

“It’s Larissa…”

*Did you argue?*

“No, she’s… she’s…”

*She’s what?*

“She’s gone.”

*What? It’s okay, love, she’ll come back, I’m sure. I don’t know what happened but she might need time…*

“No, you don’t get it.” you shook your head “She’s gone… dead.”

You had almost whispered. But you were not crying. Your mind couldn’t process this, it was beyond its limits. You did not believe it yourself. Dead. What did that mean, anyway, dead? You couldn’t imagine your life without her. It was impossible, it was absurd. Without her it meant nothing. It was like an anomaly. It was a dicotyledonous seed that grew with only one cotyledon. It couldn’t be Truth. You heard your friend’s gasp through the cell phone, and the silent seconds she let seemed hours.

*Wh-what do you mean? Is she really…*

You couldn’t reply. You couldn’t say it again. Because it would have made all of this Truth.

*Wait for me, I’m on my way. Don’t hang up.*

You nodded. It was stupid. She couldn’t hear it. But you nodded anyway, unable to tell another word out loud. A few seconds later, you heard a motor roaming. Cassie was in her car.

___

Now, she was gone. For good. No more impromptu visits to your shop. No more sweet sounds of her voice in your home. No more worshipping. She would never awake next to you again. She would never sing in the shower again. She would never make your favourite tea again, call you ‘dearest’, laugh at your lame puns, buy flowers for you at your shop _each time pretending it is for someone else_, come back late at night and kiss your forehead thinking you are sleeping, say she loves you. She would never read books in front of the chimney, her white locks loose, falling over her shoulders. All was gone. She was gone. For good. Killed. Murdered. The bottle was broken on the floor of your mind. And no matter how hard you scrubbed, the scent wouldn’t go away. The glass glitters were gone for a long time now. You had carefully gathered them, one by one, hoping that you would be able to fix it. Maybe one or two splinters were still in your parquet, but you had removed all that you could remove.

She was gone.

But all her belongings were still there.

Her scent, her home, her items, and you. You wanted to disappear like a tired dog stops eating when away from its master. She had left you.

It was strange because… She wasn’t there, but all that was making her was still here. Her perfume was still in your bathroom, her clothes in your closet, the music she used to listen to, and her favourite books. All. All were there. As if she were on a trip to a foreign country far, far away. You liked to imagine her on a plane, listening to one of the podcasts you introduced her to, on a beach, applying sunscreen to prevent her pale skin from tanning, maybe walking in a forest eyes wide open, trying to see a deer between the trees.

She wasn’t. 

She was dead. 

You knew it, but you wouldn't believe it.

During the day, it was okay. You had your friends who always kept an eye on you. One of them, Garry, who had no job, helped you for free in your shop, just to make sure you were always with someone. He talked to you, and occupied your mind so that you could never think about her. 

And in the dark hollow of the night, her absence burnt. By washing the sheets, the smell had disappeared. And to trick your mind, making it believe she was just there, near you although you couldn’t touch her, and only when the sun was knocked out of the sky, you would hold one of her jackets close to you, and bury your face into the soft fabric so that all you could smell was orange blossom, jasmine, wisteria, and violet.

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #principal larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #principal weems #lesbian #angst #pure angst

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Whenever

Fashionably late for this WIP Wednesday (I had scrounge something up 😅) Thanks to @tallmatcha for tagging me this week, as I could use any excuse to write something new or in this case, edit an old scrap into something slightly more presentable ✨

From my Oblivion fic, The Illusionist:

Nim didn’t remember the house being so brittle before, but every creak of the floorboards came hoarse, summoned from deep within the wood, a wail like each step she took was splintering a poorly set bone. A furtive glance around revealed the vista hadn’t much changed. At the window, the same moth-eaten drapes, grime clinging to the pane so thick that the light eking through was a jaundiced yellow the color of old paper. Its spotlight sharpened on her back, and she could feel it squinting, scrutinizing the opalescent glow bleeding freely from her pores, tracking her every movement with its lone and rheumy eye. 

One step, two steps, three through the basement door. Ahead of her, Arquen stood cloaked in shadows that hung off her long silhouette like a night shift. Nim felt a pang of envy. She missed blurring into nothing and blending away into the unseen, but as they traveled down another hallway punctuated by another moribund groan, she knew she could never return to these sunless spaces, that wherever she went her magic would veil the murk the way an oil sheen sat on dark water. Four steps, five, and on the sixth, her footfall echoed off the walls with too much resonance to be explained by her meager, mortal body. It gave Arquen pause, but they both ignored it to stare ahead. Beyond the hole in the far wall, the jagged passage to the sanctuary wended down like a withered vein.  

“I’ll open it,” Arquen said when at last they came to the Black Door. “I don’t know if it would open to you otherwise.”

Nim’s hand twitched involuntarily. She fought to lower it, feeling a flare of not quite anger, not quite curiosity. The sprouting seed of challenge, perhaps. “I could always try.”

Arquen placed her hand on the door like her warm, humming flesh was the key. "Let’s not," she said, and when the door whispered out its sibilant hiss, the visage of Sithis shone darkly.  “My assassins will wonder what you’re doing here. Best not give them reason to ask too many questions.”

“They know who I am?”

“This sanctuary bears a tainted legacy. It will always be a ripe breeding ground for rumors.”

“Oh. So you mean you’re just as bad as Lucien.”

“No," Arquen said. "Worse.” Arquen spoke softly and spoke to the door even softer. Nim pretended not to hear and fixed her gaze on the carved face of Sithis, each eye a hollow sun boring into the sky. Beneath him, the Night Mother cradled her children, offered them up like slabs of slaughtered calf, and this family portrait had been engraved by such a deft and loving hand, so detailed that Nim was certain there was a greater message etched within. But she couldn’t find it though she looked, and she looked hard. Where was it, the meaning, the message that had lured so many others down into this hole and tucked them smiling into their graves? She ran a hand along the shallow craters, feeling for a word, a secret, for something to touch her back, but she felt nothing more than the rough ridges of stone beneath her fingers, and like every time before, it was cold. Just once she wished it would burn.

I am very late on this and realize most everyone has already been tagged, so if you see this consider yourself tagged too. Woops, sorry. I'll get you next week :p

#wip wednesday #the illusionist #tes fic #the dark brotherhood #tes oblivion

[morrak]

Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 110

Depending on the week, anywhere between fifteen and fifty percent of my job is tracking down and organizing PDFs for other people. The problem with coming home tired from a searching-for-PDFs job and launching straight into searching-for-PDFs homework in preparation for doing research about how to better search for PDFs is that I seldom get the chance to track down or organize any for myself.

A recent exception: James Page’s Guide for Drawing the Acanthus, and Every Description of Ornamental Foliage in its 1886 reprint by Bernard Quaritch. Rather than slap in scans of the (blank) covers, I'll lead off with the title page and frontispiece. If you want to follow along, here's a version hosted on the Internet Archive.

The How

Because I’m up to my tits in end-of-term bustle, I’ve had no time to work on anything of my own lately. Hell, I haven’t even been able to scheme or plot in earnest. This is, I trust you’ll understand, quite frustrating. The best substitute I can afford is reading about the kinds of things I’d be reading if I were to be planning something serious, which usually, I trust you’ll recognize, means forums. This item came to my attention via a thread on The Engraver’s Cafe, which is a place I have no business being but still scavenge for references when the mood strikes.

The Text

A reference, but not as advertised �� this isn't especially a guide, nor is it only about ornamental foliage. It is somewhat those things, but spends a whole lot of its runtime dealing with other sorts of architectural ornamentation.

Neat, yes? Sort of. Mr. Page's focus being more diffuse than advertised is at minimum (to me, in my opinion, for my purposes, etc.) quite frustrating. More realistically, it's a fucking chore. His prose is...

...well, it's ornamented. Some of that ornament is to be expected for a text of this vintage and pedigree. Not all of it, though.

I should be more charitable. Page uses all this as a cushion for 'upwards of two hundred wood-cuts' (some in color!) and 53 copperplate engravings, all of which are his own. He also, so far as I can tell, printed all of the same for the first edition of this book. This is, at minimum, tremendous. For its purposes, the explanations (however generously so called) are mostly sufficient.

The Object

I can't speak to the printing and binding work, but I can admire the woodcuts and engraving. With the magic of portably formatted documents (via PNGs, anyway), you can too!

Nothing here is a masterwork, strictly speaking, but everything is at least an order of magnitude better than it needs to be for a book like this. This is a stunt, and an impressive one. The fact it doesn't stick the landing shouldn't convince you otherwise.

The Why, Though?

Most of my interest in this is engraving-flavored. While this is a book put together by engraving, it is not a book about engraving, not even really about drawing for engravings. The aim here is mostly architectural — design components for columns, molding, trophies, friezes, etc. — with a heavy helping of selling readers on the currency of Page's style and approach to teaching it. I care neither about nor for that stuff.

If you're willing to squint, there's plenty else to take home. This is a worse history of the acanthus in ornament than, say, this blog post by a living ornamental painter, and a worse visual reference than, for example, this Grammar of Ornament from the same publisher. For my purposes, though, this offers a decent couple dozen schematics to use while learning relatively simple motifs.

Lots of the linework and structural concepts exhibited translate in subtle and interesting ways to more modern styles of scrollwork (both engraved and especially tattooed), which seems like magic to me. One benefit of having no training or experience whatsoever is that even the fundamentals seem like cool secret knowledge.

#images #untitled wednesday library series

[theizzizzy]

Monday was his name

He wore the rainbow as well grey

At the start of every week he’d say it was new yet all the same

He knew that one day his body would stop and decay

If only the people knew of what he became

Lower him to his grave

Lower him to his grave

Watch as he stayed

On the wood his name was engraved 

Monday was his name

Tuesday was her name

She wore oceans of blue

The love she felt that day, it set her heart to flame

 She tried to ignore the heart but she had to pursue

An endeavor that broke her, a will she tried to reclaim

Now she shifts through life, her life changed to a new view

Watch as she lives on

Watch as she breaths on

On the wood her name engraved

Tuesday was her name

Wednesday was his name

He wore dim rays of yellow

He was once happy, but now their lives he blames 

His beloved’s words that echo

His shots once fierce, now weak with no aim

He yearns to one day tell his beloved “Hello”

Watch as he lives on

Watch as he keeps going on

On the wood his name engraved

Wednesday was his name.

Thursday was their name

They wore cloaks of purple

From the dark they see this world is not the same

Their own life, long and seemingly eternal

They danced to the drum wile their dark world caught flame

To them death is nothing, and life is but a circle

Watch as they dance and thrive

Watch as they dance and thrive

On the wood their name is yet to be engraved

Thursday is their name

Friday was his name

He wore hues of red

The star may set him aflame

Once alive, now dead

In it’s name, the darkness he will reclaim

Upon the altar, to death the many bled

Watch him live and thrive

Watch him live and die

On the broken wood his name was once engraved

Friday was his name.

Saturday was his name

He wore shades of green

In it’s name, the world he will reclaim

What powers he has yet to be seen

He will make them bend and sway

Bleed the blood of many, that is the routine

Watch him live and thrive

Watch it live and thrive

On the wood his name was once engraved

Saturday was his name.

Sunday was her name

She wore gradients of orange

Into this new world she came

Born from one who lacks courage

Her mind kept her from feeling shame

And now to it she holds a grudge

Watch her live and learn

Watch her learn and thrive

On the cherry wood her name engraved

Sunday was her name

#sam and max freelance husbands #sam and max freelance police #sam and max au #sam and max #sam and max fanart #freelance police #sam and max multiverse #Sam and Max Bridal Blood

[mysticstarlightduck]

Happy WBW! What kind of houses exist in your world? Mansions? Cottages? Single family? Duplexes? Apartments? Castles? Space ships?

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday! Thank you for the Ask, @writernopal!

This is such a cool question!

What kinds of houses exist in your world? Mansions? Cottages? Single-family? Duplexes? Apartments? Castles? Space ships?

IN THE LAST WRATH:

In Agrannor, the types of houses available tend to vary a lot - depending on many factors, including the social status of the person buying the house and the kingdom's own characteristics (such as weather, geography, culture, and architecture).

Let's start considering more widespread/common architecture between the kingdoms and then continue on to the more specific cases:

"Mainstream/Common" Architecture throughout most of Agrannor and its availability: (As in, the similar housing aspects that can be found almost anywhere in Agrannor)

One or two-story houses, often built out of wood and stone, are very common almost anywhere in Agrannor (with exceptions of course), for most of the population, especially the middle class. The most well-off often live in bigger, more intricately built houses, made of more expensive/rarer materials, usually with more rooms and better insulation. Meanwhile, those belonging to the lower classes often have to make do with single-room cottages/small houses. In some kingdoms, affiliation to a certain order or academy often comes with provided housing (for example, while living in Liranthis, after being accepted in the Liranthian Academies, Zephyr and Jamie were given a single dorm room provided by the academy), if the person is lucky enough. Most times, people buy their houses already done and properly built by talented stone masons and carpenters, but some opt to build their homes themselves.

NOW FOR CASTLES!

Castles, Palaces, and Estates are often only owned by the wealthiest and most powerful families in a kingdom, usually by those with a noble title. (E.g. Innara Renfelli grew up in the beautiful Spring Palaces of Nethilor because her father was the head of the House Regent and thus rightful ruler of that kingdom). They're usually very unique to the kingdom, each region's architecture and values shining through strongly in each detail of the castle/palace/estate.

In Kestrall, we would see mighty fortress castles carved straight out of the cold and unyielding mountain stone, deep into the hearts of the mountain and spiraling into mighty towers above. Dragon Spires can be found nestled high above the palaces, lit up by giant torches to lead the way for riders flying through blizzards.

In Vellamere, beautiful sandy-colored seaside palaces can be found nestled atop the high coves/inlets/bays, with long pilasters held high and colorful silk curtains flowing in the salty breeze.

In Etaruze one would find marble castles overlooking the shining city below in all its glory. Spires and delicate towers are paramount, thought to almost reach the clouds above.

Nethilor holds some of the most ancient palaces, built out of grey stone and colorful wood, with its marvelous gardens with the rarest and most beautiful flowers in all the land, something that grants them the name of "Spring Palaces".

Adrellios and its golden palaces and castles never fail to impress, the gold-plated walls shimmering like a jewel on the desert sun, lighting the city like a beacon even miles away.

The Forgotten Palaces of the Guild of Assassins, though - as the name might suggest - strategically hidden from the world, host some of the best architectural designs around, built for might but also practicality - with so many escape routes and hidden passages that it's said that one can never know them all. Plus, they're meant to test you, and some places within it are meant to be deadly, so good luck!

The Imperial Palace is made out of pure marble and plated in silver and gold engravings, but is also inspired by/reminiscent of (some aspects) IRL ancient Roman royal architecture. It is meant to highlight the might of the Emperor and his name, statues of the empresses and emperors of times gone by being a strong presence in the important halls of the palace. It is said that this palace was first built right after the end of the Ancient Wars, to house First Empress Seraphina herself, and it was conquered - and reformed - by orders of Draskhan Morosyn centuries later.

And so on!

Now for the overall architecture of some of the kingdoms:

In Vellamere, you will find many different kinds of houses, some built of carefully carved wood and painted with colorful paints made of sea Kraken shells, while others will be built out of stone and bricks. Often, establishments are decorated by sails, ropes, and helms of important ships, and handmade crafts are also an important part of their decoration. Most people choose to leave by the sea and near the port, where most of the bustling commerce and thriving businesses can be found, overlooking the colorful stone piers and the shimmering waters below where ships are anchored to the shore. Some people, sometimes, leave in their own boats/ships (especially if they are seafaring merchants), and make it their own traveling home.

+ which means that, in Vellamere, one might live in a boat-house (or a mighty ship), just as well as they might live in one of the carefully built colorful seaside buildings.

In Kestrall, much like the palaces, most of the houses are carved into the mountains themselves, built of pure stone and petrified wood from the trees of the Riven Pass. Due to the cold climate, the hearth or fireplace is an important part of the home, its architecture being centered around it so that the house is properly insulated from the cold, and some people sleep as closely to the source of warmth as possible, sometimes having multiple fireplaces across the house - if they can afford it. The furniture is often rustic and made out of pure wood, though it holds a certain beauty to its intricate carvings. Also, the house of a Forgebearer (a mage working under the employ of the crown or the army to make runic weaponry in Kestrall) always has its own forge.

+ in Kestrall, one might live in a stone-carved house, or any other kind of building, as long as it is carved into the mountain.

In Meruvvon, the Maze City, the houses are cleverly built to enhance the city's natural tendencies, creating an artificial maze of streets that can only be navigated properly by those who know it by hand. Blue and gold decorations, mixing with striking white walls, create a beautiful scenario, with most houses being built out of stone. For the style of the houses, Meruvvon's architecture is faintly inspired by Ancient Greek cities, but with a twist.

+ In Meruvvon, one would easily find themselves living in a white stone house with colorful highlights.

Midtaren is a forest kingdom, built in the heart of the most ancient woodland areas in all of Agrannor, where the trees grow as tall and large as towers. The houses, made out of pure wood, are often nestled onto the trees themselves, connected to each other by an intricate network of bridges, ropes, and branches as wide as streets. The Palaces are held by the strongest, and most entwined branches of the most ancient, and enormous trees, like a gigantic spider's web. The trees are so high and so unbelievably wide, that one can go their entire lives without truly seeing the extent of the forest floor and the spirits beneath.

+ Literally living in an incredibly mighty version of tree houses!

Adrellios is a desert city that strongly values beauty, grace, and secrecy. The houses are built to reflect that, but they're also built with the intention of keeping out the unrelenting heat of the desert sun. These two characteristics combined make for a truly intriguing city, with houses, apartments, and mansions built to keep a gentle and cool breeze flowing within and the sun shining outside. Using local materials - and a bit of magic - Adrellian buildings are able to keep out most of the unrelenting heat while giving off a sense of mystery and secrecy, with its silken ornaments and colorful paintings.

+ one could just as easily live in a sandy colored "apartment" within the heart of the city, or in a desert stone house near the marketplace

Etaruze and Faravvia are "twin cities" - as in they were originally one kingdom, but split into two a few centuries ago. As a result of this, its architecture and housing styles are intrinsically similar, but subtle changes are undeniably present. Etaruze is a city built around a series of freshwater canals that flow within it, with houses that prioritize open spaces and winding gardens. Meanwhile, Faravvia - while much similar - feels much more closed off and busy, an aspect that reflects strongly on its architectural choices.

+ a marble house next to a flowing canal or a wooden building above a busy street, where colorful paper street lamps hang down.

And so on!

About the other cultures of Agrannor!

Mageborn housing is very similar to human housing, and since they've lost most of their kingdoms a while back (plus in the Free Realms both kinds tend to live in harmony), they tend to take up human customs too, though their home decor varies distinctively depending on what kind of mage culture they follow.

Elves used to live in mighty forest kingdoms with beautiful houses within their homelands, some - the ones lucky enough to have reached the Hidden Cities - still do, but most have taken up a nomadic lifestyle to avoid capture within the Empire or choose to live within the human and mageborn cities the Free Realms.

Speaking of nomadic, there are plenty of nomadic human tribes in Agrannor, with ancient and respected cultures! Due to their nomadic lifestyles, their homes need to be portable for whenever the group moves on somewhere else, so beautiful tents are mostly the norm here.

Merfolk lives deep in the sea, their cities being a mystery to all humans - since they're completely out of human reach. Some say they live amidst the corals, others that they live deep within the shores near Sharpskull Bay, but little else is known about their home.

Faeborn used to live in cities within most of the forests in the Borderlands, in unison with the nature their magic came from. However, when the Morosyn Empire wiped them out, their entire civilization - and so most of the remains of their housing and architecture - was lost.

Important Detail (when it comes to housing in Agrannor):

Homelessness is - unfortunately - a very common situation in Agrannor, especially after conflicts like the Agrannorian Civil, and many characters of the main cast have - at least at some moment in their lives - lived either on the run or on the streets. The most notable characters to have gone through this are Zephyr & Jamie (who were street kids for most of their lives after fleeing the Fall of Eldon and only recently have managed to get a chance at a better life), Fabian & Luciya (they were orphans who had to become petty thieves to survive, living on the run through the many forests and backwater villages of the Morosyn Empire, and due to this, it wasn't rare that the two siblings found themselves on the streets on lean months) and Myrah Faron (before fleeing to the Free Realms she never truly had a home, though she almost always had a place to hide in, it was always a matter of moving away the next week or so, always running from place to place with her friends, trying to avoid being killed by the Radiant Hunts).

#writeblr #writers #my writing #character writing #my wips #writerblr #my characters #writing #worldbuilding wednesday #asked and answered

[hedgewitchgarden]

More than 57,000 years have passed since Paleolithic humans stood before the cave wall, with its soft, chalky rock beckoning like a blank canvas. Their thoughts and intentions are forever unknowable. But by dragging their fingers across the rock and pushing them into the cave wall, these creative cave dwellers deliberately produced enduring lines and dots that would lie hidden beneath the French countryside for tens of thousands of years.

Now, scientists have discovered that these arresting patterns are the oldest known example of Neanderthal cave engravings.

Authors of a study published Wednesday in PLOS One analyzed, plotted and 3D modeled these intriguing markings and compared them with other wall markings of all types to confirm that they are the organized, intentional products of human hands. The team also dated deep sediment layers that had buried the cave’s opening to reveal that it was sealed up with the engravings inside at least 57,000 and as long as 75,000 years ago—long before Homo sapiens arrived in this part of Europe.

This find, supported by the cave’s array of distinctly Neanderthal stone tools, identifies Neanderthals as the cave art creators and adds to growing evidence that our closest relatives were more complex than their dim caveman stereotype might suggest.

“For a long time it was thought that Neanderthals were incapable of thinking other than to ensure their subsistence,” notes archaeologist and study co-author Jean-Claude Marquet, of the University of Tours, France. “I think this discovery should lead prehistorians who have doubts about Neanderthal skills to reconsider.”

La Roche-Cotard is an ancient cave nestled on a wooded hillside above the Loire River. It was first uncovered in 1846 when quarries were operated in the area during construction of a railroad line. When it was first excavated in 1912, the array of prehistoric stone implements and cut-marked and charred bones of bison, horses and deer within revealed that Paleolithic hunters had frequented the site many thousands of years earlier.

Scientists first noted the finger tracings, with their organized appearance, as early as the 1970s. Beginning in 2016, the authors of the new study diligently plotted the various distinct panels and created 3D models for comparisons with other known examples of Paleolithic engravings. They also identified the cave’s many other wall markings made by the claws of animals, like cave bears, and by metal or other implements during modern incursions into the cave after 1912. Marquet says this process helped to show that the engraved panels were created in a structured and intentional manner. “These panels were not produced in a hurry, without thought,” he says.

The results also suggested that the designs were created by human hands, working the soft chalk wall, a material known as tuffeau, made of fine quartz grains and ancient mollusk shell fragments. The rock is permeable and covered with a fragile sandy-clay film.

“When the tip of a finger comes into contact with this film, a trace is left in the shape of an impact; when the tip of the finger moves, an elongated digital trace is left,” Marquet says. He knows this process firsthand. The team reproduced this method in a nearby cave made of the same type of rock. They marked walls using tools of bone, wood, antler and stone, as well as with their fingers, which produced engravings very similar to the ancient examples.

Co-author Eric Robert, an archaeologist at the National Museum of Natural History in Paris, says the graphics are impossible to interpret because they were made by a vanished people for viewing by their contemporaries.

“These images are not for us, and we do not have the keys to understanding their meaning, their possibly diverse and multiple functions,” he says.

Scientists know that the cave’s assemblage of discarded stone tools are of the Mousterian technology, sophisticated flake implements that are typically associated with Neanderthals. This suggests the cave was in use exclusively by Neanderthals, who in turn created the carvings on the walls. However, the authors note they can’t establish a direct relationship between those discarded tools and the engravings.

But another strong line of geological evidence comes from analyzing nearby sediments. During the Paleolithic, the Loire River, once closer to the hillside, flooded the cave numerous times and helped to carve out parts of it. Eventually those floods deposited thick sediments that, aided by erosion from wind and the hillside above after the river changed course, completely sealed off the cave. Clear evidence remains showing how layers of sediment were put down over the years, which would have completely covered the slope and cave entrance to a depth of more than 30 feet.

This covering persisted in place until 1846, when material was extracted for the railroad embankment, exposing the cave entrance. The sediments above and around the cave entrance, part of the layers that covered it before 19th-century excavations, were dated by optically stimulated luminescence dating, which can determine how long it has been since grains of sediment like quartz were exposed to daylight. A total of 50 sediment samples collected showed the cave was very likely sealed up at least 57,000 years ago, well before humans lived in this part of France. Previously, the oldest cave engravings attributed to Neanderthals were an abstract cross-hatching pattern found in Gorham’s Cave, Gibraltar, and dated to some 39,000 years ago.

Robert notes that several lines of evidence—the presence of Neanderthal tools, the geological evidence and the analysis of the engravings themselves—converge to demonstrate that the cave walls were adorned by Neanderthals.

“The authors present as convincing a case as can be made from a site disturbed by early excavations that the animal and human marks on its walls were left long before the arrival of our own species in Europe,” says archaeologist Paul Pettitt of Durham University in England, who wasn’t involved with the research. “Given that the cave’s archaeology is exclusively indicative of Neanderthals, with no evidence of subsequent Upper Paleolithic occupation, presumably because the cave was by this time inaccessible, this provides strong indirect, cumulative evidence that Neanderthals produced the finger markings.”

Humans from our family of ancestors began expressing themselves visually a very long time ago; Homo erectus carved zigzag patterns onto a shell more than half a million years ago. A series of handprints and footprints, which may have been deliberately placed by hominin children some 200,000 years ago, has been found on the Tibetan Plateau.

Neanderthals, or Homo neanderthalensis, may also be responsible for the world’s oldest known cave paintings. Pettitt was part of a team that found 65,000-year-old paintings in three Spanish caves that they attribute to Neanderthal artists. The early humans left red pigmented designs by drawing around their hands or pressing stained fingertips to the walls.

Examples of Homo sapiens’ very different style of cave art appear later. A purplish pig found on the walls of a cave hidden in a highland valley on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi was painted an estimated 45,500 years ago. If that date is correct, the Leang Tedongnge cave could be the earliest known work of figurative art, in which painters recreate real-world objects rather than producing abstract designs. The collections at Spain’s El Castillo cave and France’s Chauvet cave, where sophisticated lions and mammoths were painted perhaps 30,000 to 40,000 years ago, are notable early examples of this complex, figurative art that is unlike anything Neanderthals are known to have produced—at least so far.

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But that distinction doesn’t necessarily mean that Neanderthal creations should be regarded as products of simpler minds or thought processes. Robert believes that comparisons between Neanderthal and Sapiens traditions aren’t necessary. For each species, he believes, the appearance of prehistoric carvings and paintings is less about when people were capable of making them and more about when social dynamics created a need for them at a specific time—even if those needs are a mystery to us today.

Brian Handwerk is a science correspondent based in Amherst, New Hampshire.

#archaeology #ancient history #neanderthal

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"KRAFCHENKO IS NAMED BY THE CORONER'S JURY," Winnipeg Tribune. December 9, 1913. Page 5. ---- Finds That From Evidence Submitted Suspicion Points Strongly to Him as Plum Coulee Bandit --- Plum Coulee, Man., Dec. 8 -The verdict brought in by the coroner's jury enquiring into the death of H. M. Arnold, late manager of the local branch of the Bank of Montreal, shot on Wednesday last by a bandit was as follows:

"That the late H. M. Arnold came to his death by the reason of a bullet wound through the ribs and the left lung and was shot from a revolver used by a disguised man, unknown to him, but the evidence that has been produced points strongly to the fact that saiddisguised man was one John Krafchenko. We would also recommend that in future the bank authorities should provide better protection for the bank staff, stationed here, especially as to the interior of the bank building."

Evidence of a most important nature was brought forward at the inquest, but contrary to expectation, Wilham Dyck, owner and driver of the automobile in which the bandit made his escape with of the bank's funds, not called. Coroner Miller announced that Dyck would not be called and asked the jury men if they considered they had sufficient evidence on which to bring in a verdict. On receiving an affirmative reply, the coroner gave instruction as to the extent In which he believed John Krafchenko was implicated in the crime.

The evidence which was of a circumstantial nature tended to strengthen the already strong suspicion that John Krafchenko was implicated in the murder and robbery. Witness gave testimony as to the ownership of a watch found in the body of the motor car, and in the flight, and all agreed that it resembled greatly the watch in possession of Kratchenko. Other witnesses who know the suspect well, add that the disguised man seen on the streets was Krafchenko.

Important evidence was given by Mr. and Mrs. William Humboldt. The husband told of having brought a rifle from Winnipeg. Mrs. Humboldt confirmed the evidence.

George Mackay, a provincial police officer, told of finding a watch, a bag of silver and some buttons in Dyck's car. He also told the coroner that Dyck had $19 worth of sliver in in his pocket when searched and that the latter had told him the robbers had thrown the money into his pocket before releasing him.

Evidence Hard to Obtain The evidence of Mennonite witnesses was hard to obtain as they appeared scared and it was very contradictory. The municipal hall was throughout the sitting.

William Humboldt a former witness, was recalled to the stand. He swore that the watch on exhibit was similar to one worn by John Krafchenko. It was a 21-jewelled watch and the face and numbers were similar. He did not remember whether or not there was a chain on the watch. He thought John Krafchenko's watch had an engraving on the back, but was not sure on this point. He said: "I would take the watch to be that at Krafchenko's." Witness said he had brought a rifle from Winnipeg for John Krafchenko and that the latter had received it him, a week ago last Thursday night. The rifle belonged to John Krafchenko and was in a canvas case. Krafchenko had told the witness that he was going to give it to a friend to go hunting with. The grain of wood in the gun was cracked.

Bernard Unger, a farmer living two miles out of the village said that last Wednesday at noon as he was driving out of town on the road about three quarters of a miles east of Plum Coulee, Dyck's car had hurriedly paced him. He was sure it was Dyck's car, but could not tell who was in the car. The car had the top up and side curtains on two other teams on the road in that neighborhood at the time.

Unger placed the time of the above happening before 12.30, hut a mistake in the time might have been made on account of his excitable condition.

Mrs. Demetroi said that she had gone of Montreal, after 12 o'dock to cash a cheque, and that the manager had told her that the chequе was not properly endorsed. She had sent her little girl to get the cheque endorsed right. She had remained outside of the bank until the girl had returned with the cheque and on going back into the bank, had seen Arnold leaning upon the counter talking to a man. The man left and the manager cashed the cheque for her. There was another man, who shouted in te door at the time she was in the bank, but that he went right away. Witness said she had only lived in Plum Coulee about a month and did not know Krafchenko.

Believed it Was Krafchenko Fred Montery said that he knew John Krafchenko well, and that he had seem him about three weeks before the murder and robbery had taken place. He had seen a man in the village last Wednesday he said, who, although in disguise, he thought was Krafchenko. Witness had asked another boy in town, Roy Ault, If Krafchenko was in town. Witness stated there was also group of small children who saw this person.

These children been questioned and have given the same descroption of the mans the witness. Witness alto wrote that he had never told any one that John Kraichenko had spoken o to him that day. Krafchenko had spoken to him nor had he phoned from central that day.

Oliver Lee, relieving agent of the G.N.R. swore that he knew John Krafshenko and that the watch on exhibition was similar to that of Krafchenko. He had been shown Krafchenko's watch one morning in the hotel, and had a good chance of examining it.

'I noted that it was similar to this on account of it being a 21-Jewelled watch with open face, and solid back and gold letter," said the witness. Witness thought Krafchenko's watch was engraved on the back. Krafchenko did not appear to have a chain or fob attached to his watch.

Herman Hemstock said he had gone to the post office after 12 'clock on the day of the murder, and on his way home parsed the bank. He saw a man, who appeared to be sick, walking along the sidewalk. He thought was sick, because he had his coat collar turned up and a handkerchief over his forehead.

Told of Gun Incident. Mrs. Humbolt, wife of a former witness, stated she knew John Krafchenko and had seen him in Plum Coulee last October, and in Winnipeg last month. She said she had seen John Krafchenko's watch and when given the watch on exhibit to examine stated he thought it was larger and heavier than his watch. Krafchenko's watch was newer and had the back-engraved, she thought. Mrs. Humbert stated that her husband had brought a rifle from Winnipeg for Krafchenko and that the latter had taken it from their room in the hotel, a week ago, last Thursday night. Krafchenko had brought the rifle to their rooms in Winnipeg, but that she had been away from him at the time

In his evidence the husband had stated that his wife was home at the time and at this point explained to the jury that his wfe might have been at home and not known the rifle had been left. Witness, continuing, said she had not seen Krafchenko since the night he got the gun, did not know how he came to Plum Coulee, when he came, where he was staying or where he went to that night.

Cornelius Theisen said he was a farmer living at Honenbrau, and that he had been in town the the day of the murder. He was on Main street, when he saw the robber and Arnold come out of the bank and go north. Arnold had caught up with the robber about the middle of the bank and grabbed him, but the robber shook again and ran away. Witness said he had not heard the shot, but when he got to the back of the bank, he saw Arnold laying dead. The robber, he said, had started on a run, and then had slowed to a walk. Witness said the robber entered an automobile at the end of the lane, from the far side and drive away.

Roy Ault said that in the day of the murder he had spoken to Fred Monterey, just prior to Arnold's death. Fred had told him he had seen a man he thought was John Krafchenko in town, but that he had on a false beard and a moustache and a big overcoat with handkerchief tied around his face. Witness stated he had seen a car like Dyck's going away from the village in a hurry.

George Mackay, a provincial police officer who resides in Morden, stated that the vaten on exhibition had been found under the cushion of the front seat in Dyck's car, after the car had returned from taking the robbers away last Wednesday afternoon. The search as revered a bag of silver which he had given to the bank official to look in their safe. An empty revolver shell, which was found in the of the curb in the front and two buttons which had been found in the back of the car were placed on exhibition. Witness stated he had searched Dyck and had found over $15 worth of silver in his outside left-hand over-coat pocket. Dyck had told him that the robbers had thrown the money in his pocket before they let him go.

Coroner Addresses Jury. Today's evidence was concluded at 5 o'clock and Coroner Miller told the Jury that one other witness, William Dyck, was not and would not be present, and that if he considered there had been sufficient evidence to bring in a verdict, he would give them the results of the post mortem examination. The Jury agreed on this point and the result of the the post post mortem was given. The coroner addressed the jury referring to the extent he thought John Krafchenko was implicated in the crime. He said the evidence proved that it was Dyck's car that had been used and that the car was in waiting at the time that the robbery and murder was committed. The evidence also showed, he said, that the rifle had been brought from Winnipeg to Plum Coulee for Krafchenko.

Coroner Miller also drew the Jury's attention to the poor precautions for safety in the bank, although the proper authorities had been notified of the condition.

The description of the robber which was given to the witnesses today were practically the same as those given by the witnesses at the opening of the inquest.

#winnipeg #plum coulee #bank robbery #bank robbers #coroner's inquest #robbery gone wrong #armed bandits #coroner's jury #romanian immigration to canada #krafchenko case #murder #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

LAWRENCE KEATY

In this wood engraving entitled Taipei, American artist Lawrence Keaty (b. 1986) offers us a vision of the city he was born in and where he lived when he made this print in 2020. The print is made from six separate blocks and together measure 65cm x 35cm (25.5" x 14"). The print was selected by my Wisconsin colleagues Tracy Honn and Jim Moran for inclusion in the Fourth Triennial Exhibition 2020-2022 of the American American wood engravers society, the Wood Engravers’ Network (WEN). This image is from the catalog for that travelling show.

Lawrence Keaty received a BA from Kenyon College with a major in Studio Art and he earned his MFA from Washington University in St. Louis in 2010. He taught English in Taiwan and South Korea from 2011 to 2019 and then worked as a writer/editor for Global Village Organization in Taipei for a year before returning to the U.S. (New Mexico) where he currently works as a UX/UI designer as well as a professional artist.

View other posts with engravings from the WEN Fourth Triennial Exhibition.

View more engravings by members of the Wood Engraver’s Network.

View more posts with wood engravings!

– MAX, Head, Special Collections and juror for the WEN Fifth Triennial Exhibition.

#Wood Engraving Wednesday #wood engravings #wood engravers #Lawrence Keaty #Taipei #Wood Engraver's Network #WEN #WEN Fourth Triennial Exhibition #exhibitions #exhibition catalogs

[nathandiary]

Week 8 breakdown

Monday:

Portfolio Workshop:  we were shown portfolios from previous students and asked to grade them. One particularly stood out as you could tell the student worked really hard on his project, with a lot a digital illustrations and some use of blender. That inspired me to keep working in my project.

Worked on my art history essay.

Tuesday:

I finished my essay

Wednesday:

I went to consult private press books from the school of art collection. I really liked being able to see and touch the books, the leather cover and the paper. I picked which book I would do my research project on, it has to do with the Gregynog Press and wood engravings illustration the Fables of Esope.

I set the letters and printed my half cover for the poetry book. It felt really nice to see the title with my name under it, it is starting to look like a real book.

I recolored some of my illustrations from the ‘important statements’ series to include them in my magazine. This was not something I planned. At the moment, the project is evolving and becoming something different than what I had in mind when the semester started.

Thursday:

I worked all afternoon in the relief printing workshop and I got a lot of linocuts printed, I only need to print four more and then all the rest will be letterpress. I also set the letters for a poem.

I figured out the correct way to build my chase for the letterpress. I never really researched it, I always winged it every time, but now I think I will do some research to do things properly.

I took an important turn for the magazine and decided to remove a lot of parts I hadn’t done, mostly comics, because they were not as good as I wanted them to be, and they were getting boring to make. The whole look of the magazine is supposed to be bright and fun, and I think you could tell I wasn’t having fun making those comics. I also made some new pages, and I am going to show them during the group crit on Monday.

Friday:

I printed two more linocuts and two poems. I am getting much faster at setting the type and building the chase which is really nice because I can focus on things I enjoy, like how I am setting the letters, including spaces and rhythm.

#25/11/2023 #studyblr

[matchdinghy36]

Burberry Verify Belt

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[only-johnny-deppp]

NEW ANNOUNCEMENT! DIOR’s SAUVAGE ELIXIR!

Sauvage Elixir is the new spicy/woody Fragrance for men launched this year under Dior Sauvage collection for men, that THANKFULLY continues their collaboration with Johnny Depp. This will be the 5th item from the Sauvage perfume Collection, after “Sauvage”, Sauvage Eau de Parfum”, “Sauvage Parfum” and “Sauvage Very Cool Spray”. On the other hand, this will be the smallest and most expensive perfume released from the collection. Sauvage Elixir is expected to be launched this Wednesday (August 11) and expected to available on stores, later on August 20th. The full photo/Poster and more photos are expected to be released soon!

 > “Sauvage Elixir” Description:

Sauvage Elixir is the Dior fragrance with a Dior unique and extreme concentration, like the quintessence of Sauvage. Created by the perfumer Dior Francois Demachy, Sauvage Elixir, this beautiful liqueur with special ingredients fragrance for men unleashes an unexpected and surprising scent trail with notes of grapefruit, spices, organic AOP lavender and rich woods. It is an olfactory composition with astonishing strength that explores uncharted territory.

Its fragrance boldly reinterprets the iconic freshness of Sauvage by embracing a trail with new custom-crafted facets. Woody, fresh or spicy: each olfactory note of the fragrance exults, explodes, grips and engulfs. 

Sauvage Elixir is a unique and rare perfume, like a red moon in the night sky, that concentrates all its energy in a 60ml dark blue lacquered glass bottle. This beautiful flacon-shaped bottle features an exquisitely designed logo: the perfume magical name is engraved in shiny silver on a label etched into the glass. The dome-shaped background engraved with the CD logo marks your silhouette.

> FURTHER DETAILS: What’s to expect from Sauvage Elixir scent:

* Top notes (the scents you detect first after spraying a perfume): Grapefruit note and heart of spices. Top notes burst with a lively grapefruit and spices. Some, like the essences of cinnamon and nutmeg, play with warmth and sensuality, whilst others are refreshing, like the zesty and aromatic cardamom. Top notes usually evaporate quickly, lingering around for only the first five to fifteen minutes. 

* Heart notes (the truest nature of the perfume): Essence of AOP lavender from Nyons. François Demachy, Dior Perfumer-Creator, chose an essence of lavender tailor-made for Dior. A blend of several carefully selected harvests, this AOP essence from Nyons reveals unique* facets and notes that are as close as possible to the wildflower exclusive for Dior. Heart Notes comprises of around 70 percent of the total scent and usually last longer than top notes. 

* Base notes (the perfume’s foundation): Sweet and smooth Woods. The ambery accord which is the powerful Sauvage signature reveals its full range of velvety and sensual nuances. It envelops the base and heightened with a sweet, smooth liquorice note. Haitian vetiver and heart of patchouli form the link between these rich Woods. Base Notes are very rich, heavy and long-lasting. They kick in after about 30 minutes and work together with the Heart Notes to create the full fragrance’s scent.

AND AGAIN. THANK YOU SO MUCH, Dior, for supporting Johnny Depp after all this years!

#Johnny Depp #Dior Sauvage #Dior #Sauvage Elixir #Upcoming Projects #Coming Soon #August 2021 #Thank You Dior

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 17

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 2640

Summary: Another memory from the trenches claws its way to the surface after the Lees leave behind wire cutters. 

by @adventuresintooblivion

Thomas was shaking so badly he was convinced that he was rattling Finn to his core. His ears rang from the explosion they’d narrowly avoided.

“This is why you never pretend to be me. Ok?” Finn vigorously nodded his head. Maybe Thomas wasn’t the only one shaking. He ushered his youngest brother off to join the rest of the family. 

Those damned Lees! How am I going to end this without us all getting killed?

It wasn’t until he’d made it a few feet down the road before he froze. If they had enough knowledge to place the grenade in his car, they had to have been watching him. If they were watching…

“Y/N.” He launched himself down the street. His feet pounded against the ground, the soles of his shoes skidding against the gravel or sliding through the mud as he bolted towards the Garrison. 

Men dove out of his way, some of which had seen the grenade. Shouting grew up around him as innocent onlookers saw something for the first time. A Shelby sprinting through the streets. Thomas Shelby of all people. The crowd didn’t follow, only gazed in wonder at the gang leader that hadn’t shown an ounce of fear since coming back from the war.

He didn’t twist the door knob when he arrived, only shouldered the wood. It was well into operating hours and the wood gave easily as he skidded to a halt in front of dozens of men. His eyes scanned the room. He refused to wait long enough for them to adjust, but soon enough he didn’t have to.

“Thomas?” Y/N asked, a hand reaching out to him in the dark as he gasped for air.

He clapped his hand over hers, some irrational part inside him screaming that she wasn’t real. It was telling him that these last few months had been some fever dream, that he’d finally overdosed on opium and was holed up in some bed somewhere, while Arthur ran everything into the ground.

Y/N squeezed his hand, “Tommy what’s going on?”

Tommy. No, she was real. And she was in danger.

His voice cracked as he answered, “Have you seen any of the Lees around? They booby trapped my car.”

Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. His eyes had finally adjusted enough that he could see that everyone was staring at them. Even those who tended to keep to themselves had peeked over their tankards. It took every ounce of discipline he had not to draw Y/N closer, to hide her from the prying of Birmingham.

“You can guarantee no one’s been upstairs besides you?” 

Y/N glanced at the stairs, then back at him, “I guess I’ll have to go check.”

Before he could stop her she strode towards her room, “Y/N!” He followed quickly. 

She was already checking the floor of her bedroom when he caught up. It wasn’t until he found himself glancing to his own rooms that it occurred to him that, instead of her, they were after just him.

He began towards his room as he absently asked, “Where’s Grace?” He didn’t need her following them and getting in the way.

Thomas was answered by a loud thunk and a curse, “She took the day off.”

Y/N sounded more annoyed than usual, but he couldn’t lose focus as he quickly opened his door. As no explosion greeted him, he slowly made his way further and further into the room. After a few minutes, he was startled by Y/N leaning against his dresser.

“I think the Lees don’t know about this place just yet, Tommy.” There it was again. A sense of warmth coiled in his chest as his muscles relaxed. If he could have one thing for the rest of his life, it would be Y/N saying his name like that. With a deep sense of familiarity that made it sound like they’d known each other for a lifetime, maybe even longer.

He cleared his throat, “You’re probably right.” 

Thomas glanced up at her, only to be answered by that playful look in her eyes. He took a deep breath as he stood. The room was actually clear. God, I need a cigarette.

He grumbled idly as his fingers closed around a rectangle of cool metal. He quickly pulled it out and barely registered the feel of it in his hand as he jammed a cigarette into his mouth. Thomas could already taste the nicotine, a part of him buzzing to life as it demanded the satisfaction of the burn going down his throat. 

“Holy shit.” He barely heard Y/N, but after a pause he turned to face her, cigarette still dangling out of his lips. 

Y/N’s eyes had gone wide, her posture rigid as she stared down at his hand. He glanced down, as horror gripped his heart. Did she see a wire?

Her voice broke when she spoke again, “You kept it.” She pressed her hands over her heart, as if to rub away the sting. 

That’s when he realized what he had grabbed. In his hand was his “ring”, a cigarette case with Y/N’s initials engraved on the face in elegant swooping letters. The silver box was heavy against his calloused skin as he reflexively rubbed his thumb over the engraving, more out of habit than anything, over the only spot where it’d tarnished from human touch. For the first time in years, it felt foreign in his hand.

Thomas was at a loss for words until, with shaky hands, Y/N pulled out a familiar lighter from her pocket and lit his cigarette for him. While it could’ve been a part of a matching set with the case, one thing set it apart. Instead of engraved initials, they were inlaid gold that spelled out “T.M.S”.

He nearly choked on the smoke as it filled his mouth. Then, taking a shuddering draw, he reached out and brushed his thumb over his initials. There were a thousand things he could say and a thousand more he could deny. But in that moment, after being rubbed raw by the events of the day, he didn’t much care.

“Of course, I did. Do you really think you mean so little to me?”

Y/N took a deep breath, “I was dead, Tommy. You had every reason to get rid of it.”

His hand closed around hers, and the lighter within, “And get rid of the last piece of you that I had left? No, it’s a part of me now. Just like my cap, even my own name. I am Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, and I carry around a cigarette case that has the wrong initials.” 

He’d stepped closer during his little speech. One small step, on right after the other until he wasn’t even an inch from pressing his forehead against Y/N’s. His lips, hovering nearby in some sort of limbo, between the need to kiss her or to keep talking and fill the silence. 

“Do people think it belonged to an enemy?” Y/N chuckled breathlessly. He could hear the sound of tears in her voice as she desperately tried to lighten the mood.

Thomas shrugged, “It’s an easy rumor that helps with my image.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as she finally rested her forehead on his shoulder, “Everyday?”

“Everyday.”

〜

It was the next day; Thomas resisted the urge to pace as he waited for the Inspector to arrive. It’d been a long day of pulling strings, but with the communist’s address in his pocket, he felt oddly hopeful. Now he just needed Ada and Freddie to be anything but stubborn.

Inspector Campbell rounded the corner. In the rain it was difficult to see, but something about the man seemed more haggard, more animalistic. It wasn’t until farther in the conversation that Thomas realized how wrong he was to bring an innocent man into this. But he’d offer up all of Birmingham, if it meant Ada wouldn’t get caught up in all this.

The officer began his tirade, threats against his family. Each one was something he’d anticipated before coming here. The Inspector somehow managed to always ride the line between predictable and problematic. Though, even Thomas had to admit he was seeing red a little by the end. It wasn’t until the Inspector made his last comment that he was caught off guard.

“You know, despite our little feud over these guns, I’m actually surprised by your restraint Mr. Shelby.”

Thomas blinked away the rain, “Pardon me, Inspector?”

He shrugged, “Well, after we grabbed your little friend off the streets, I was expecting more retribution than getting off scot free. Maybe Ms. Y/L/N isn’t as important to you as we thought. Oh well, what’s one more broken girl in Birmingham.”

Inspector Campbell turned to leave and in that moment that it took for his words to sink in, Thomas’ world exploded. 

It was HIM.

Thomas’s gun was out of it’s holster before he could stop himself. White hot rage coursed through his veins, his finger twitching on the trigger. Aunt Pol’s voice in his head, reminding him of something called consequences, was the only thing that gave him pause. Then the Inspector was gone.

Thomas knew he looked wild as he lowered the pistol. The image of Y/N shuffling toward him, supporting herself with garbage, burned itself on the back of his eyelids. She was there when he closed his eyes. She was there when he opened them, shadowed by the rain. Her face was turned up in pain. Then it was Arthur he heard, first telling him about the copper that had ambushed him outside.

He stood there for a long time, rain soaking through his coat. It wasn’t until a shout from down the road caught his attention. Y/N, not the ghost, was striding closer beneath an umbrella.

“Tommy? You ok?”

He forced himself to nod, “What’re you doing out here in the rain?”

She raised her eyebrow, “Did you forget? It’s Wednesday.” 

〜

[Two Months before Somme]

“Christ Tommy, you’ve got that stupid smile on your face again.” Freddie elbowed him with a grin.

Thomas blinked, “What smile?”

Freddie didn’t answer, only rolled his eyes. The day had actually been a slower one for once. Something in the air had changed and a hush had settled over the soldiers in response. Everyone knew something big was on the horizon, but only a select handful would know for certain. And it definitely wasn’t Thomas.

Instead, Freddie asked a question, “So, when is Y/N gonna become queen of the Peaky Blinders?”

“Queen, huh? What’s that make me?” Thomas snorted.

“You’re dodging the question. I know you’ve got no one back home waiting. And I’ve got that little thing called eyes.” 

Thomas ducked his head. He didn’t like talking about the life he could have had. But then something else about what Freddie had said caught his attention.

“It’s that obvious?”

Freddie nodded, “Hopper’s convinced you have a thing for the blokes. Even he sees how you look at her.”

Thomas grimaced, “Well, as long as he’s paying attention to me.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

“What question?” Y/N huffed as she tossed a bag down beside the two men. Thomas could already smell the cured meats, she’d been “acquiring’ again. 

He quickly shook his head, “Nothing. What’s all this for?”

Y/N flopped beside him, “Made a deal with a regiment or two. If I can get them tasty food, they can get us better guns that aren’t falling apart.”

“And how do you know they won’t turn you in?”

She flashed him a feral grin, “Last time they asked me for whiskey, remember that?” He nodded. “Well, I’d gotten it from their commanding officer. Who is still pissed about that by the way.”

Thomas found himself laughing. It was then that Freddie glanced between them.

Freddie gracelessly stood, “Well, I gotta head out and do the thing. I’ll see you two later.”

“There’s a thing?” Thomas waved away Y/N’s question as Freddie squelched away in the mud.

Queen of the Peaky Blinders.

Thomas ran his fingers through his hair, “So besides wrangling up stolen goods, what have you been doing all day?”

“Christ, don’t get me started.” When he gestured for her to continue she settled in to explain her little misadventure. “Turns out that the Acquisitions Officer is on the hunt for whoever has been taking socks from the stores. He assumes it’s me, which is fair, but it’s not for once and I’ve been dodging that man all day. Not to mention I got a letter.”

He glanced at her, “That’s a first. From who?”

Y/N grimaced, “My dad, the coward he is.”

Thomas scooted closer, his arm brushing against hers, “What’d he do?”

“Idiot didn’t realize he was too old to draft. So, instead of there even being a possibility of him going to war, he smashed his own knee cap. I’ll give him credit for the no hesitation.”

She took a steadying breath, “However, could you imagine what would happen if you’d done something similar? Everyone was already terrified of what would happen to them. So when word got out about what the Old Man did, other’s tried to do the same thing. Except, most people can’t just break their own knees, so they got drafted anyways. And for everyone else? They’d given up before they were even shipped out.”

“He’d rather cripple himself than go to war?”

Y/N nodded, “It’s why I’m here. Almost everyone who worked for my dad got drafted, but upper management was too old. I was the only one left to look out for them.”

“And that’s your job why?”

“I’m the Boss’s daughter, it’s always been me.”

He nodded, “So what’d you do with the letter?”

Y/N flashed him a grin, “Burned it. Got myself a bit while doing it though.”

“Oh you poor thing, if we make it through this will you marry me?” the question was out of his lips before he could stop himself.

Y/N raised her eyebrow, “Are we going around using that for every little inconvenience now?”

He shrugged defensively, “Maybe I just like to say it.”

Y/N barked with laughter, “Keep this up Shelby, and you’ll actually have to get me a ring.” He stared at her for a moment stunned. Had that been an actual ‘Yes’?

Thomas groaned, “Where the hell am I gonna find a ring in a war camp?”

“That’s up to you.”

“You’re the one that usually finds things,” he grumbled exasperated. 

She reached down and pulled something out of her pocket, “Here. This can be your ‘ring’.” 

He gazed at the cigarette case for a long moment before producing an almost matching lighter. The air had almost grown solemn, the whole world was holding its breath to see if either of them were brave enough.

With a reverence he didn’t even show Aunt Pol’s God, he placed the lighter in Y/N’s hand. And in return, the cold metal of the case slipped between his fingers. Something about the moment felt final, monumental almost. As if these two trinkets had actually been rings exchanged in a church.

“How is it that we even have the same taste in accessories?” Y/N joked, but he could have sworn her grip tightened around the lighter that was once his.

He tugged on his cap, “Dunno, I had mine made after my first job. At least the first one that went right.”

Y/N gasped in mock horror, “The great Thomas Shelby making mistakes?”

“That’s no way to talk to your husband.”

She curled over laughing.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #reader insert #peaky blinders imagine

[morrak]

Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 67

The surfeit of Chancho pictures this week is primarily a consequence of some very dull commission carpentry I’m using my parents’ garage and (imagine here a shudder) wood saws (table saws are screeching dust banshees and I hate them) to stage. To make the most out of the trip, I’ve been swapping some books into storage over there, which means I finally have room for new acquisitions like this.

Joseph Banks’ Florilegium: Botanical Treasures from Cook’s First Voyage, a 2017 Thames & Hudson volume ‘with texts by Mel Gooding, commentaries on the plates by David Mabberley, and an afterword by Joe Studholme’.

The How

This arrived in my mailbox apropos of nothing in particular other than @the-real-numbers’ generosity. Thanks, bud. Get yourself a damn copy already.

The Text

Some background is helpful, I think. The illustrations on exhibit were prepared by Joseph Banks (or rather, a team of artists overseen by Banks) after his voyage with Cook based on material he and a handful of others prepared along the way. For a variety of reasons none of it was published as intended.

Some (maybe all? I don’t know) appeared as lithographs in the monochrome 1905 Illustrations of Australian Plants, but it wasn’t until 1990 that the plates were brought out of storage for a full color printing by Alecto Editions. This version, the self-styled ‘Florilegium II’, calls that one Florilegium I.

Other than being more affordable bookshop fare, II adds some essays and a commentary spiel on each of the 181 plates by (the one, the only, the utterly humorless) D. J. Mabberley himself.

The Object

Literally my only complaint is the unforgivably shitty registration of the sticker on the front. I don’t mind them cheaping out by not printing the cover since the binding is so solid, but come on. Tragic given the beauty of everything else.

The meticulously (in some cases re-)colored engravings are rendered here at 2/3 original size. I can only imagine how arresting the true proofs are. Stunning work either way, and technically exceptional. The fact that these sat ignored for so long is hard to think about.

The Why, Though?

Not for the essays, I gotta say. Gooding and Studholme are more than a little congratulatory of not only the voyage’s expeditionary and scientific merit (yawn) but also of Cook and of the gentleman scientists. Not so keen on the sailing crew, mind you, but mostly they just love talking about the adventure. Nothing flagrantly off-color, but the tone really set my teeth on edge.

Mabberley’s work, though? Mwah. Two or three or four or five paragraphs per plate, usually with reference to the accompanying notes and logs, and closing with historical background and taxonomical flourishes as you’d expect from the author of The Plant Book. It’s all been arranged in order of encounter, so his additions also work as a running commentary on the state and misadventures of Endeavor. I was very relieved to see his inclusion of common names in local languages, plus some — not many but some — well-attended current ecological and cultural notes.

Living where I do, and not living where I don’t, and havingn’t been where I haven’t, most of these genera and many of the families are alien to me. For the original’s faults of sampling and presentation, this preparation was a very fun way to encounter them for the first time. Plus it was a gift, so there’s that.

#images #untitled wednesday library series #on botany