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astrum-aetherium · 10 months

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ astrum's the secret history & henry winter thirst masterlist ⋆｡°✩

hi, all! because we are slowly but surely approaching the 200 posts mark and this blog hasn't even been up for a full month, i've decided to provide all those who are new to my page a handy tool to facilitate orientation. when you expand this post, you will be greeted with a summary of all of my original posts and asks regarding the topic of my blog — incessant, tenacious, shameless thirst for the secret history's very own henry marchbanks winter.

admittedly, i am a complete sucker for lists and organizational tools, which is why this will simply be a heavenly experience for me — even more so because i'm currently procrastinating writing my term paper. however, without much further ado — find the list below the cut.

-> IMPORTANT NOTE: due to the link limit on this post, i can no longer expand it to my liking. because i don't want to create a second masterlist (just yet), however, you will find any newer uploads linked in my own reblog of this post (look in the notes).

˚₊· ❥ general — sfw, informative, personal

my opinion on tsh / addressing the problematic aspects of tsh / henry's middle name being 'marchbanks' and a possible explanation / what henry might've whispered to camilla / my opinion on whether or not henry and camilla were in love / my fancast(s) for henry / my favorite books / my opinion on dorian gray as a character (+ parallels with tsh) / comparing henry to marble statues / modern media henry would be into / elaboration on camilla macaulay / will i be writing about other tsh characters? / tips on getting into classical studies / country house daydreams

˚₊· ❥ henry winter nsfw scenarios

general headcanons about henry's sexual preferences / summer thigh riding / car sex / study date sex / mating press position with henry / riding henry / scratching his back during intimacy / bondage with henry / henry being into bdsm / henry's dirty talk part one / henry's dirty talk part two / neck teasing & biting / henry and cnc / dumbification with henry / henry sucking his partner's fingers / sucking henry's fingers / henry & cigarettes after sex / henry physically responding to pleasure / henry being distracted by your moans while studying / henry & the smell of gasoline / henry muffling you due to your volume / relentlessly teasing henry / cockwarming during studying / sex at bunny's funeral / henry calling you 'good girl' / henry and aftercare / giving henry head to cure his headache / size kink with henry / ignoring henry while he gives you head / clit spanking with henry + coming from your clit being spanked / you and henry at the beach / doggy style position with henry / henry with an inexperienced partner / inexperienced henry with an experienced partner / being bratty with dom!henry + being bratty and fighting henry back / henry burning you with his cigarette / shotgunning a cigarette with henry / jacking henry off with pretty nails / henry using his diary for dirty entries in latin

-> own category — sub!henry: general headcanons / ignoring needy sub!henry / sub!henry punishing you back / making sub!henry beg + reaction to his begging / mirror in front of sub!henry / henry still being dominant while subbing

˚₊· ❥ henry winter sfw / mildly nsfw scenarios

henry & hanahaki disease au / henry with a polar opposite partner / henry with a partner similar to judy / spoiling his partner / getting off on spoiling his partner / enemies to lovers with henry / best friends to lovers with henry / academic rivals with henry / henry being soft(er) with his partner / henry during your period / henry's birthday party at francis' country estate / falling asleep on henry whilst reading / owning a locket with henry's face in it

˚₊· ❥ general satiric / amusing scenarios

gay hampden / list of pop culture scenarios flea wants the greek class to go through / henry holding a baby / playing roblox with the greek class / greek class barbenheimer feud / locking the greek class in a room with the percy jackson movies / the greek class' opinions on percy jackson / being locked in a room with henry / henry watching reality shows with you / henry turning up at your house / showing the greek class colleen ballinger's apology video / keeping the greek class in a glass terrarium / forgetting henry in the cereal isle at walgreens / the greek class being actual people (+ bunny shitting headcanon) / bunny possibly being okay (they revoked their statement) / henry writing smut in his diary

˚₊· ❥ henry winter scenarios inspired by songs

taylor swift — last kiss / taylor swift — illicit affairs / dead girl walking part one + part two

˚₊· ❥ bonus: prose and poetry shared by my saturn anon

one — marble / two — divinity / three — dancing in the rain / four — intimacy overseas

#astrum masterlist #astrum asks #the secret history #dark academia #henry winter imagine #henry winter x reader #henry winter thirst #indulgent thoughts #henry winter smut

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purplekissinger · 5 months

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~ Masterlist ~

here's my AO3 (this is where i post ✨serious✨ stuff)

A picture above is me offering you this questionable texts. Yandere themes (a lot), but little to no nsfw (i just don't do that). Feel free to send me a request ^^

I DO NOT support yanderes irl. It's not love, it's a disease. Please, read tws.

I use pics to illustrate my drabbles, and although I usually make sure that it's not someones art, this can happen. If see your art on the cover of one of my texts and want it taken down, please contact w me, I'll do that.

Tom Riddle

x deardiarydeardiarydeardiary

Y/N’s been acting strange lately. She may contain the urge to run away, but Tom holds her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks.

x Five times when you were stronger than Tom Riddle and one time when he was stronger than you

“Maybe you are taking in turns to look, and keep missing each other,” said Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards.

x That day no farther did we read therein

wordcount: 300. warnings: none. Tom: will definitely corner you as soon as the lesson is over.

x amalgam

The night Tom told you about Horcruxes. Soulmates au.

x The roads we take, the collars we choose

Y/N is a werewolf in the servitude of the Dark Lord.

x I am the pretty thing that lives in the castle

Y/N became a ghost instead of Myrtle. She couldn’t care less about Tom. He wishes he could say the same.

x The girl with the snake tattoo

‘Give me your hand, Y/N,’ he will say softly.

x hypnosis

'Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.'

x The tower, the princess, the snake

Soulmates AU.

x Death and the Maiden

Y/N revives the Dark Lord. “why, I am growing quite sentimental… But look, Harry! My true family returns…”

x Hansel and Gretel

Siblings au. Platonic.

x Thirst

Y/N Malfoy is Draco's older sister, this takes place in 1998, nsfw implied but no details.

Bunny Corcoran

You’re the entire circus

Bunny Corcoran being sliiiiiiightly obsessed with you

Henry Winter

Seven deadly seeds

Henry Winter being heavily obsessed with you

Yandere OC

x Hungry heart

Your yandere is the ‘hide the zombie bite’ type of guy.

x Yandere zombie x reader headcanons

#harry potter #tom riddle #harry potter x reader #tom riddle x y/n #yandere x reader #masterlist #yandere tom riddle

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buckgasms · 10 months

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Pom Recommends

I really enjoyed doing this before because there is some hot stuff out there and it needs to be seen!

It's a very random mix and some for different fandoms but they are all pure joy!

Thirst Trap @cevansbrat0007

Astride his Chariot @rookthorne

Werebear Henry Cavill @imyourbratzdoll

Ari Levinson + Size Kink @imyourbratzdoll

CEO Bucky & his stressed out secretary @buckyalpine

Dumb Bunny & Dark Winter Soldier @lunarbuck

Fluffy Bucky @bowersbubbles-pt2

Dark Steve & Bucky cuckolding and other delightful things @fineanddandy

Overstimulated Bucky @goodgirlofglory

Just Like That @theeleggymeggy

Captain's Birthday @witchywithwhiskey

Dark Andy Barber x college professor @labella420

Bucky & Thigh fuckin @becca-e-barnes

I very much encourage you to enjoy, share, comment and follow these talented folk

#pom recommends

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druigprotectionsquad · 2 years

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||WHERE ARE YOU?|| Bucky x F! Reader WHUMP

Inspired by my own whump prompt that you can read here

Summary- You are captured on a mission by a HYDRA agent from Bucky’s past, a dangerous man with a thirst to inflict pain. You are tied to a tree miles out where anyone could find you, forced to face the harsh elements and no food or water. It’s days before the team find you, and when they do you are weak, severely sun burnt and freezing cold.

WARNINGS- whumpee reader, caretaker Bucky, reader is tied and gagged to a tree and left for days, reader suffers from sunburn, sunstroke & almost hypothermia, stab wounds,VERY VERY BRIEF MENTIONS OF IMPLIED SEXUAL TORTURE BUT NOTHING ACTUALLY HAPPENS

“Bucky she’s not here”

Steve sighed out in frustration as he looked at his friend. You had been missing and presumed captured on your last mission 5 days ago. You had gotten cocky and went after a HYDRA Agent who was closely involved in The Winter Soldier Program. Before the mission everyone could see how unnerved Bucky was, but he insisted on coming because he knew what the agent was capable of doing.

One second you were there, the next you were gone from Bucky’s sight without a trace. There were too many agents and the team were forced to retreat, much to Bucky’s pleas for them to stay.

It had been days. Your tracker was knocked off during the fight but it was the only lead the team had, according to the tracker you were still in the building. Tony received word from SHIELD that the base they stormed had began to evacuate. They had to move now or risk loosing you forever.

“Yes she is, Steve” Bucky said through gritted teeth, he doesn’t know if he believes his own words but he can’t bring himself to think otherwise. He and Steve stood in a room full of unconscious agents, each one were questioned on your whereabouts, and the agent who took you. You were both gone, which Bucky knew meant only one thing, that you weren’t going to survive much longer.

5 days ago

You were stood by Bucky’s side against a wall, waiting for the right moment to strike the room full of agents ahead. You looked up at him, he was focused but you could see the deeper fear that resided in his eyes. The night before he told you about the horrors he seen at his time at HYDRA, the torture this specific agent, Agent Henry Cassidy, had committed. Bucky has never told you what he himself had suffered, and he swore he never would, but he made it clear that this agent had done despicable things to him. He did not want to see this mans face again.

“James, it’ll be okay, we’ll find him and bring him in” You whispered, putting a hand on his upper arm.

He gulped and nodded, he couldn’t find the words to speak.

When you finally struck it became a struggle, fighting every agent who came your way. Dodging punches and bullets was no easy task, even for an Avenger like you. You had taken care of most of them, while Bucky was fending off the remaining four. You were ready to rush in and help him but a clatter in the opposite direction caught your attention. It was Agent Cassidy. He had slipped into the room, presumably to surprise attack his former victim but as soon as he was noticed he took of running.

You looked back at James who had 2 men left to take down, he caught your eye and new exactly what you were about to do.

“Y/N don’t you dare!” Before he could finish you were sprinting to catch the agent. Your mission was to capture him for questioning then release him to SHEILD’s custody so he could no longer cause anymore harm. You were alone running down the corridor, Bucky’s shouting getting fainter the further away you got.

You stopped for only a second, but that second allowed him to get the jump on you. Before you could register what was happening you were unconscious.

“Any luck?” Tony’s voice rang through the comms, hoping that they had found you yet. Both men winced at Tony’s words. No one had found you.

“Check the perimeter”

“We have Bucky-”

“-Well then check again!” Bucky’s words cut through Tony’s, but he agreed to check again.

Bucky placed both hands on his head and trembled, trying his best not to burst in anger. You were here, you had to be.

4 Days ago

Bright light from the setting sun blinded you as you attempted to open your eyes. Waking from unconsciousness you found yourself tied with thick rope to the shaft of a thick tree. You had been gagged with thick silver duct tape that was wrapped several times around your mouth. Realizing your predicament you began to shout and thrash, but no luck. The rope was tightly secured from your chest to ankles, keeping you firmly stuck against the tree.

A sinister laugh brought your thrashing to a halt. Squinting ahead you saw the figure who put you here, Agent Cassidy.

“Struggling is useless, Y/N.” He laughed again. Bucky had no idea that his worst nightmare was playing out at the same time he was begging Steve not to leave without you. You were miles outside the base, further than the team would think to look, just like Agent Cassidy had planned.

You huffed and whined through the tape in anger. A million thoughts were running through your head;

What is he gonna do? is Bucky okay? where are the team? Did he hurt Bucky? God what is he going to do?

The sun was setting in the sky and you were tied to a tree miles away from your team...was he going to leave you here?

You looked around in despair, searching for a way out when the agents voice cut in again.

“You look just like how he did when I tortured him for the first time” He waited in silence with a horrible evil grin on his face. You huffed out in anger again, knowing he was talking about Bucky.

“He screamed, he cried, he begged. He begged for the pain to stop while he was strapped down, as a peeled of his fingernails one by one-”

“MMHP!” you tried to scream through the gag for him to stop. You couldn’t take hearing the pain Bucky went through, he never wanted to speak to you about it and as much as you wanted to help him you were happy not to hear about the things he went through.

“You however...” He trailed over to you as he spoke

“will be subjected to a different kind of torture, a method I have been just dying to try out. I didn’t think you’d be in my clutch so soon but you made it so easy to lure you out.”

You were wishing you had listened to Bucky, he knew better than you. He knew immediately that you were being lured out, but was unable to stop you in time from taking the bait.

Tears ran from your eyes, he was now face to face with you, scanning you quietly to think about all the things he could do to you, if only he had the time.

The sun was setting fast and the cold would be taking over the night. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and twirled it in his hand.

“I wish I could witness all this in person for longer, but I can’t risk the Avengers finding me, I have too much work to do. So until they find you-if they find you, you’ll be here tied to this tree fighting the hot sun and the freezing nights. There are cameras hidden in the trees that are connected to the base and my residence, so I can take notes on how effective this torture is, understand?”

You couldn’t help but scowl at the satisfied look on his face, he had lured you into a torture trap and you let him, any one could have seen the bait from miles away. You were so caught up in being the one to catch him so that Bucky could have some peace that you abandoned all protocol and logic and put yourself in this situation.

A car horn beeped in the distance and the agent turned to leave.

“One last thing, hold this for me” Before you could try to respond, the knife in his hand was forcibly driven into your inner thigh. As you screamed out in pain he disappeared into the night, leaving you in the cold with blood streaming down your leg.

For the next 4 days it was you versus nature.

Day 1 you started with little energy, not being able to sleep from the night before due to the discomfort of the rope, gag, and knife that was still firmly in your leg.

Day 2, an unforgiving sun and unforgiving heat. Winter was still here but spring was approaching. The sun wouldn't have been such a big issue had you been at the other side of the tree, but you felt it was deliberate to have you in direct sunlight. With no clouds and no coverage, the sun was focused on your face and neck, you couldn’t see your reflection but as the day progressed you were being left with serious sunburn, and sunstroke developed. By night the sunstroke kicked in and you were getting weaker. With no food or water and your mouth still taped shut it was beginning to dawn on you that the Avengers weren’t going to find you as soon as you hoped.

Day 3, you had passed out during the night and woke up to heavy rainfall and wind. You were feeling the affects of hunger and thirst, frustrated that you couldn’t try to catch the rain drops on your tongue. The wind was irritating the dagger in your leg and you hoped it might be knocked out if you tried to move it, but to no avail. The rain stopped in the afternoon, you were completely soaked and starting to freeze as the wind battered your skin. You were beginning to loose the little strength you had left as you could no longer feel your hands. The night of the third day was the worst of it, still ill from the sun you were struggling not to throw up, but couldn’t expel it due to the tape. The wound in your leg had become infected without you noticing, and you were nauseated from the pain of hunger in your stomach. 3 days tied to a tree in the woods, you were cursing out your team for not finding you yet, you were cursing out yourself for being so incredibly stupid.

You wondered where the cameras were, you wondered where that bastard was and if he was watching every minute of your struggle.

At the same time, on the third night Bucky was pacing around the living quarters of the tower, while Bruce was attempting to calm him down. The search never stopped but it was too dangerous to return to the base, which Bucky exploded with anger when Natasha said that to him. He wasn’t listening to anyone, only listening to the terrible thoughts in his head.

The only thing Bucky was thinking about was how sick and twisted his mind was. Bucky failed to mention how much pleasure Agent Cassidy got out of torture. He never wanted to tell the team but Cassidy was driven by a pure sexual desire, he got off on the torture and pain of others, especially when he was the cause of it. He was pacing in fear knowing this information, fearing what things Y/N could be subjected to at this very moment. The team knew something deeper was wrong with Bucky, but Steve urged them not to push him for more information. All they knew is that this agent was good at torturing his victims, and that he enjoyed doing it.

Day 4

You had passed out during the night loaded with a fever, you were too weak to stay awake and hold your head up any longer. You were struggling to breathe through your nose because you began to panic that you would die out here if no one found you. It was in that panic your head felt light and you were out. The sun was just rising, and unbeknownst to you, Bucky and the team had come back and were only miles away.

Bucky and Steve had left the room of unconscious agents and ran to every room in the base, screaming your name until their throats were raw, until Clint’s voice rang through the empty base speakers.

“Guys I have good news and bad news. Good news I found the control room cameras, bad news she’s not on any of them.” Clint and Wanda had found the control room filled with security camera’s but most of them had been smashed or damaged.

Bucky had reached the control room while Steve split up to find Tony outside to continue the search. He was loosing all hope, he merely sat down in the middle of the floor and wrung his hands.

“I don’t recognize that location.” Wanda pointed to the the small cluster of trees on screen.

Bucky looked up and observed, still saying nothing. Clint squinted at the trees.

“If it’s on the cameras then it must be close right? maybe it’s a few miles further out”

Wanda and Clint turned to look at Bucky who had turned his head to the side as if he was figuring something out. He stood up suddenly and walked over to the camera.

“What are you doung there, Buck?” Clint questioned.

“I’m turning the sound on” Bucky replied in a grumble.

“Security Cameras don’t have sound-”

“-These ones do!” Bucky shouted back at him. After fiddling with buttons on the back of the monitor showing the trees, the light whistling wind picked up. Wanda and Clint looked at each other and back at their slightly unstable teammate, unsure what his plan was.

Bucky held his finger to the comms system,

“Everyone be on standby, I have a plan”

“Copy that” Steve’s voice came strong through.

Bucky searched his pockets for his phone and the plan became clear. he had no idea what he would do if this didn’t work, this was the last shot he had.

He opened his phone and clicked on your number, everyone was silent...

A faint ringing came through the screen, Wanda held her hand over her mouth, Clint sighed and Bucky let out a cry of relief. He informed the team to fly out as far as possible until they reach the end of the woods then start working inwards, Tony took the North, Wanda the East, Thor took off west, while Wanda flew south with Bucky and Steve in a HYDRA jeep they found just outside the base. Bucky was behind the wheel driving at a furious speed.

“I found her!” Wanda’s voice echoed through the sky, Bucky finally reached Wanda who could only stare at the state her friend was in.

“Y/N!” Bucky had never shouted so loud in his life, he ran towards her, mind completely blank as his legs carried him to his injured lover. Steve stood behind them to talk through the comms telling the team to get the Quinnjet ready, and to contact Doctor Cho immediately. Bucky took a small blade from his pocket and slowly cut the tape around your head, carefully peeling it off as gently as he could to avoid hurting you any more. He went to cut the rope as quickly as he could before Wanda stopped him.

“She’s injured, she’ll collapse as soon as the rope is cut. Hold her up, Steve will cut it and I’ll get Tony to read her condition.” She flew off to find Tony and Jarvis to help. Steve noticed the knife in your thigh and carefully pulled it out so when you fall it doesn’t cause more damage.

“It’s infected.” Steve spoke and Bucky nodded.

Bucky put both his hands on your face and gently tilted your head up, now seeing the burns on your face and the paleness of the rest of your skin.

“Shit” Bucky inhaled under his breath as Steve came to see the damage. He held it together to keep Bucky calm, but he was just as distressed to see his teammate and friend in such condition.

“She’s gonna be okay Buck, get ready I’m cutting the ropes”

Steve cut through the ropes, careful not to cut them all at once to avoid giving you a fright. Your body was finally free and you fell into Buckys arms, he lay you down on the ground with your head in his lap to take the strain off your neck.

“Y/N, c’mon wake up” Bucky repeated, lightly tapping on your cheek to try get your attention. He placed his hands lovingly on your cheeks and put his forehead against yours.

“James?” You spoke out softly, the words came out as barely a whisper. You didn’t have the strength to open your eyes but you knew the touch of your boyfriend anywhere. He smiled and lifted you up slowly, carrying you in his arms to place you in the backseat of the jeep.

Consciousness was beginning to fade again, but with the little strength you had left you reached your arm out to grab Bucky before he pulled away.

“He can see-see us, Buck” You struggled to breathe let alone speak, before you could see his reaction you had promptly passed out again. The cameras had not been spotted by him or Steve, but agent Cassidy had a full view of your torment, and now he could see just how much The Winter Soldier cared for you...Now he had a plan to bring The Winter Soldier back

#fanfiction #buckybarnes #buckyxreader #whump tropes #whump blog #whump prompt #bucky fanfic #injured reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky being a sad mess #the winter soldier #x reader #whumpee #marvel fanfiction

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toms-cherry-trees · 2 years

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A Piece Of Me || Michael Gray Flashback

Summary: Not every search ends in a gain

Word Count: 2062

Warnings: Violence, mentions of canon death, implied past child abuse and possible PTSD, you know the drill

Author’s note: I have no justification for this one. Enjoy!

Let me know if you wanna be in my taglist

The car jolted gently every time the wheels hit a bump on the road, causing the passengers in the back seat to rock rather abruptly from side to side. Charlie kept dozing off in Michael’s lap, unable to fully fall asleep with the noise from the engine and the perpetual bumping. Or perhaps he felt uncomfortable with the vice tight grip his uncle kept around his little body, as if he feared the little child would slip again at the smallest chance.

Or perhaps it was Michael who needed someone to hold onto.

The events kept replaying over and over again in his mind. Not those of the last 2 hours, but in fact the last 17 years. Every single thing he had been through since he was ripped from his mother and placed in foster care, with the so-called “holy fathers”. Holy my ass, he thought to himself, his arms tightening a bit more around Charlie. They shielded behind their white cassocks and golden crosses, bathed in their feigned purity, when they were as rotten and dirty as the worst ones the world had to offer. Michael wasn’t sure there was a God up there, because no God would stand his envoys behaving the way these men did.

He entered the parish house, but never left it. The boy who walked out of the orphanage, hand in hand with Mrs. Johnson was not him. Not quite. He had something missing. Something deep and meaningful he had brought with him when the parish took him, but had been lost along the way, bit by bit, every time he saw a child who was not himself leaving with a new family, and every time Father Hughes summoned him to his office for confession, every Monday before bedtime. A little something he had been searching for ever since.

He could not recall what life had been before. He didn’t have any memories prior to his life as Henry Johnson. They had indoctrinated him until he didn’t know who he was anymore.

And he could not recall a single moment in his life in which he didn’t feel angry.

Even in times he truly felt joyous, like sharing with his classmates in the schoolhouse’s little yard, or kicking the ball with his little brother under the scorching summer sun; picking fruits in the orchard with his adoptive mother until the skin in his palms cracked, all of those memories were obscured by the shadow of resentment. Seemingly unjustified, focused on nothing and no one in particular. Just a never ending, seething fury against the world.

How many hours he spent sat in the meadow, his gaze fixed in the wishing well with the white bricks. Surrounded by little colourful flowers, buzzing with life in the summer, and withstanding the elements in winter. His “mom” used to tell his little brother that fairies lived in the flowers, and the buds closed down in the winter so they could take shelter from the rain. Michael felt like snorting when she repeated that story, every single day when they passed the well on the way home. He wanted to go up and stomp on the dainty little flowers until only roots remained, and then rip the roots off the earth with his bare hands, and spread them all over the bright grass for everyone to see. And then he’d load up the pretty little well with explosives, just like his father had told him they did in the western front, and blow it up to smithereens. He’d probably get blown up too, but it would be worth it just to see it gone.

But Michael never destroyed the flowers, nor did he try to damage the wishing well. Because the only thing he wanted more in this life than ruining that pretty meadow was fitting in. He wanted to belong, fit in, just a regular teenager in a regular world. And for the sake of it, he kept it all inside. All his rage, his resentment, his eternal thirst for revenge, all carefully stored within the depths of himself; far from reach, where no one would ever be able to find it. Buried between the shadow and the soul, where it would hopefully one day wither and die, and he’d finally be able to fit in.

But destiny had handed him an opportunity. A new family, although it didn’t exactly count as new. They were his family, the one he had been unjustly taken from; the one where he truly belonged. Where he didn’t have to change himself to fit in; he didn’t need to struggle to find a place. What had Tommy said to him? “You are Polly’s son alright” And he had just proven it, twice in one day. He may carry the Gray surname, but he was a proper Shelby now.

The gun had felt natural in his grip, an extension of his own arm, just like they told him that night in Arrow House, when John and Arthur filled him with liquor and thrusted a pistol in his hand. He felt all the boundaries built over the years melt away in a wave of whiskey and testosterone. All that pent up rage, bubbling from the bottom of his soul like a shaken up champagne bottle, ready to pop the cork and spill out. He had tethered so close to the edge that night, so fucking close, he had tasted it. They drove him to madness, and he had played along. He could have let loose and released the beast, but fate and his nosy mother had stopped him last second. But who knew, perhaps it had been better that way. He had saved his first time for something bigger.

But that first shot had been nothing. Just a blur, and act without thought, something which entered his brain and immediately slipped away. All he could remember was a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He didn’t even see the face of that man; he didn’t know his name. All he saw were a pair of large hands holding Tommy’s collar, and then a hole right through the skull. He didn’t falter, didn’t stutter and didn’t miss. As if he had been meant to hold onto that gun all along. As if he had been meant to kill someone.

The real deal came later on.

When he left the parish home, he never expected to encounter any of them again. Not any of the orphans…nor any of the fathers. When he laid eyes again on Father Hughes, an icy coldness spread down his body. His muscles tensed and his pulse picked up; he walked on the tips of his toes, ready to sprint into a run at the slightest hint of danger. Fly or fight mode, acquired over long nights where the boys took turns guarding the door at night, perking up their ears in anticipation of steps going up their stairs. They had learned to distinguish between the low heels of the sisters and the polished shoes of the fathers, and could tell the priests apart by the sound of their gait and the smell of their clothes. He could recall Hughes smelled of cheap cigarettes and dampness.

He could still remember the crack. A crack in the wall behind Father Hughes’ desk, right in middle, almost reaching the roof. It was shaped like a spiderweb. When Michael stared long enough, he could imagine a big spider, with long legs and a big red splotch on its back, crawling out of it, its pincers clicking and its beady black eyes fixated on him. The idea of something coming out of that crack terrified him, but he still stared. Because he didn’t want to look the priest in the eye. Because he wanted the big black spider to come down and eat him whole.

But he had no crack to stare now to distract his mind, nor any hopes that a magical creature would aid him in his cause. Just his gun, the life of his nephew on the line and an unclenched thirst for revenge.

He could have shot, point blank, the moment he set foot through the door. He had him, right in his line of vision, no obstacles in the way. The gun uncocked, the bullet in the chamber. But he couldn’t. Because he wanted Hughes to know it had been him. He wanted to stare at him, right in the eye, in the same way he was forced to do while he “took confession”, while the bullet went through his brains. He wanted Hughes to know he had come back, like the ghost from Christmas Past, to claim what had been taken from him.

But even there, with the upper hand, with the surprise factor, the barrel of his gun shoved right into Hughes’ eye, he couldn’t help but shiver. His own body betrayed him, his palms sweating and his heartbeat quickening. His mouth dried up like sandpaper. And for a moment, for a split, fateful moment, he was once more little Michael, aged just five years old, sitting in front of a big desk, his feet dangling from the chair, while a grave looking priest told him that he had been given up by his mother for being a bad boy, but that they would help him atone for his sins. The priest had placed a big, coarse hand in the back of his head and given him a piece of candy, whispering that he would take good care of him.

Just for a moment, his determination faltered. Fear had overpowered his determination. And in that brief hesitation, he had lost his upper hand. Hughes had beaten him and trashed him around, and now he had him on a table, his hands tightly wrapped around Michael’s throat. He could see black spots dancing on the edge of his vision. The images in front of him blurred and he seemed to be slipping away…

And then the splash.

Michael couldn’t even recall putting a knife in his pocket. He didn’t know why, or how he got it. But he felt so thankful at the moment. Yes he had brought a knife to a gun fight and not he did not care it was honourable. He wasn’t honourable. He was a gangster through and through. And the satisfaction he felt, pushing that blade through the priest’s neck, couldn’t be compared to anything in this world. He felt again that coursing of adrenaline through his veins, stronger than any drug they could offer him. It got to his head and warmed him from the inside out. His pupils dilated and his cheeks flushed. He could breathe easier, a heavy weight finally being lifted from his shoulders. He stood on top of the world.

But like all highs, afterwards came the drop.

He had not noticed the car halting to a stop, nor the driver opening up the door for him. He moved like his body did not belong to him; like a puppet, with an unknown puppeteer. Charlie had calmed down, clinging to his uncle’s shirt with his head propped on his shoulder.

Somehow, Michael had found during the journey the integrity of mind to wipe his face, but that only left a dried red smear across his cheek, with dark specks dotting his skin and the collar of his shirt.

When he crossed the threshold of Shelby Company Limited, in less than a heartbeat he had two crying women on him, prying Charlie away and making the boy cry too. He stood there, a dumbfounded grin tugging at his lips as his mother finally locked eyes with him. Their shared glance made up for unneeded words. She knew. She knew he had taken a step that could never be undone, one she had hoped and prayed he would never do. Something she didn’t believe her darling son was capable of. Her fingers caressed his face, and Michael only smiled, and walked away, his grin never faltering as he moved past Polly.

He may have gotten back what the holy fathers took from him. What he spent his whole life searching for. But he had lost something else, and that one, he’d never get it back. No matter where he went, nor what he did. That piece of him was forever lost.

#michael gray #michael gray fanfic #michael gray one shot #michael gray imagine #michael gray x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders s3 #father hughes #michael gray solo #michael gray x oc #marsie writes #marsie posts #finn cole #Michael gray x you #charlie shelby

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fuzedatti · 1 year

Text

II. Primordial Alagadda

───── ❝ 𝐀𝐧 𝐒𝐂𝐏 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 ❞ ─────

Masterlist

──────────────────

Lucifer banishing from heaven gave him a kingdom of his own, a reality far away from God. If pride is hereditary, then Meská is the descendant of Lucifer.

Being exhiled, Meská was stranded for decades under the burning sun and melancholy winters. It took a long time for someone to finally find him. No matter who was destined to find him, he just wanted to go explore the New World and see how to get more power. 9th Earl of Northumberland, or Henry Percy, was the lucky one to encounter the entity, immediately recognizing its potential.

The sorcerer Earl, as he was known, had been imprisoned in the Martin Tower of the Tower of London, although he enjoyed privileges such as books and other research material. Being a famous alchemist, he had to quench his thirst for knowledge, and the mask seemed to be the missing piece. His magnum opus, The Iron Gate, was being completed.

Meská had no idea what the alchemist was doing, but he saw that on his walls there were three other masks hanging similar to him. He figured out the situation; An imprisoned alchemist with delusions of grandeur and unlimited resources? He was up to no good. Memories are somewhat diffuse, Percy was building something inside that door that radiated sin. He joined the masks and placed them delicately on the ground to preach these words:

Nigredo. We will confront the dark night of the soul - the pineal gland will be freshly extract'd. fire evokes the shadow within.

Albedo. Wash aroint the impurities - rain cleanses all sin and prepares the soul f'r Elysium. Divide, not as dictat'd by the rigors of harmony, but rather into two opposing principles to be later coagulat'd to form a unity of opposites.

Citrinitas. Victory coincides with the yellowing of the lunar consciousness. the white surrenders to dawn; the travelling lamp slays the moon.

Rubedo. Red alludes; instead, surrender upon the apparatus a sanguine sacrifice.

It seemed to be the steps to create the Philosophal's Stone. Though his voice was poetic, it didn't work. There was no paranormal event or anything like that. The sorcerer was disappointed in himself, abandoning his experiment after a short time. Meská, now trapped in that dark room surrounded by inanimate masks, cursed in his mind for the next 1000 years of eternal boredom that awaited him... Until something happened.

A God-shaped hole opened into the room. Radiating arrogance, it negligently took the masks and handed them over to another, even more imposing presence, but this one generated fear, despair. In the blink of an eye, the room stopped being small and became an entire kingdom. As if it were a cosmic expansion, the place seemed to keep growing. The masks began to gain consciousness and grow a physical body, including Meská.

Now together with their companions they went to the two previous figures. Firstly, the one who had rings on his neck and a crown for his head, introduced himself as The Ambassador of Alagadda. At his side, there was a king with a veil completely covering his face, bent over and chained, this was The Hanged King.

Curiously, no one spoke, everything was a change of essence between them. The four masks were named Masters and Lords of Alagadda, in charge of advising the King. Each one was given a name and position. Meská found the whole thing rather intriguing, so he went with the flow this time.

The yellow mask was given the name of The Yellow Lord, bearer of the Odious mask. The white one, The White Lord, bearer of the diligent mask. The one in red, The Red Lord, bearer of the mirthful mask. And finally, Meská, The Black Lord, bearer of the anguished mask.

They Lords accepted their titles, entering the now complete palace. Out of the corner of their eyes, they could see the non-Euclidean constructions. The previously mentioned four Lords seemed to be the only ones in that little universe. The ocher yellow sky was painted with distant black stars. The Black Lord was beginning to like this place, big, glorious, and creatures similar to them could be seen emerging from the ground; A new kingdom ready to be led.

Meská tried to talk with his companions, but was only rebuffed by his enthusiasm. Bored again, he went to prowl the streets of this new world. Among all the "citizens" he found one with a picturesque appearance. Tall, covered in plumage and a curious raven-shaped mask.

—A rather perfect city, shall I say– The entity petrified upon hearing it, trying to pass it by. —Wait!– He took his arm.

—My master and Black Lord, you must not speak to a mere subject like me.–

—Ugh, barely two minutes into my existence and they already treat me like a God...– He paused. —It brings me so much joy!–

Confused, he freed himself from his Lord's grasp but not before hearing him yell: "What is your name?" and the crow, tense, would answer: —Herald, Herald of Kul-Manas.–

"What a curious name" he thought. The idea of leading such a submissive people seemed incredible to him. There was only one problem, there was no chance that the Hanged King would want to resign his position. He would need a plan, something would occur to him to overthrow the King and be able to have everything at his mercy, for now he would be just discovering more of this mysterious world and what it has to offer.

He wonders if ravens were always this beautiful.

────────────────────

This chapter has a fragment extracted from SCP-2264.

#olympus scp #scp #scp 049 x scp 035 #scp 035 x scp 049 #alagadda #scp 2264 #the black lord #the white lord #the red lord #the yellow lord #the hanged king #the ambassador of alagadda #scp fanfiction #scp fanfic #fanfic #scp 035

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 7 months

Text

Frankenstein

The Modern Prometheus

By Mary Shelley

CHAPTER II.

We were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in our ages. I need not say that we were strangers to any species of disunion or dispute. Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and the diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us nearer together. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated disposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense application, and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge. She busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets; and in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss home—the sublime shapes of the mountains; the changes of the seasons; tempest and calm; the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of our Alpine summers,—she found ample scope for admiration and delight. While my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the magnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their causes. The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine. Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature, gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among the earliest sensations I can remember.

On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave up entirely their wandering life, and fixed themselves in their native country. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a campagne on Belrive, the eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a league from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and the lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion. It was my temper to avoid a crowd, and to attach myself fervently to a few. I was indifferent, therefore, to my schoolfellows in general; but I united myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them. Henry Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of singular talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger, for its own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. He composed heroic songs, and began to write many a tale of enchantment and knightly adventure. He tried to make us act plays, and to enter into masquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of Roncesvalles, of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous train who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from the hands of the infidels.

No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My parents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence. We felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to their caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights which we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families, I distinctly discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted the developement of filial love.

My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some law in my temperature they were turned, not towards childish pursuits, but to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things indiscriminately. I confess that neither the structure of languages, nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states, possessed attractions for me. It was the secrets of heaven and earth that I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of things, or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man that occupied me, still my enquiries were directed to the metaphysical, or, in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.

Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral relations of things. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes, and the actions of men, were his theme; and his hope and his dream was to become one among those whose names are recorded in story, as the gallant and adventurous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home. Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of her celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us. She was the living spirit of love to soften and attract: I might have become sullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that she was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness. And Clerval—could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval?—yet he might not have been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his generosity—so full of kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for adventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of beneficence, and made the doing good the end and aim of his soaring ambition.

I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, before misfortune had tainted my mind, and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides, in drawing the picture of my early days, I also record those events which led, by insensible steps, to my after tale of misery: for when I would account to myself for the birth of that passion, which afterwards ruled my destiny, I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost forgotten sources; but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent which, in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys.

Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire, therefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age, we all went on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon: the inclemency of the weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this house I chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it with apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate, and the wonderful facts which he relates, soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new light seemed to dawn upon my mind; and, bounding with joy, I communicated my discovery to my father. My father looked carelessly at the titlepage of my book, and said, "Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste your time upon this; it is sad trash."

If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me, that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded, and that a modern system of science had been introduced, which possessed much greater powers than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while those of the former were real and practical; under such circumstances, I should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside, and have contented my imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my former studies. It is even possible, that the train of my ideas would never have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was acquainted with its contents; and I continued to read with the greatest avidity.

When I returned home, my first care was to procure the whole works of this author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me treasures known to few beside myself. I have described myself as always having been embued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of nature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern philosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied. Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking up shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted, appeared even to my boy's apprehensions, as tyros engaged in the same pursuit.

The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him, and was acquainted with their practical uses. The most learned philosopher knew little more. He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal lineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect, anatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes in their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him. I had gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep human beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and ignorantly I had repined.

But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew more. I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their disciple. It may appear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth century; but while I followed the routine of education in the schools of Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self taught with regard to my favourite studies. My father was not scientific, and I was left to struggle with a child's blindness, added to a student's thirst for knowledge. Under the guidance of my new preceptors, I entered with the greatest diligence into the search of the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an inferior object; but what glory would attend the discovery, if I could banish disease from the human frame, and render man invulnerable to any but a violent death!

Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a promise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of which I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I attributed the failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake, than to a want of skill or fidelity in my instructors. And thus for a time I was occupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand contradictory theories, and floundering desperately in a very slough of multifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish reasoning, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas.

When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunder-storm. It advanced from behind the mountains of Jura; and the thunder burst at once with frightful loudness from various quarters of the heavens. I remained, while the storm lasted, watching its progress with curiosity and delight. As I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an old and beautiful oak, which stood about twenty yards from our house; and so soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing remained but a blasted stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found the tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the shock, but entirely reduced to thin ribands of wood. I never beheld any thing so utterly destroyed.

Before this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of electricity. On this occasion a man of great research in natural philosophy was with us, and, excited by this catastrophe, he entered on the explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of electricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me. All that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa, Albertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by some fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my accustomed studies. It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever be known. All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew despicable. By one of those caprices of the mind, which we are perhaps most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former occupations; set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed and abortive creation; and entertained the greatest disdain for a would-be science, which could never even step within the threshold of real knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the mathematics, and the branches of study appertaining to that science, as being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration.

Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity or ruin. When I look back, it seems to me as if this almost miraculous change of inclination and will was the immediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life—the last effort made by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that was even then hanging in the stars, and ready to envelope me. Her victory was announced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soul, which followed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting studies. It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with their prosecution, happiness with their disregard.

It was a strong effort of the spirit of good; but it was ineffectual. Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction.

#frankenstein #the modern prometheus #mary shelley #october #spooky month #halloween #book club #read along

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puppetbilly · 1 year

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The Cook Family, 1316-1320

Family portrait, 1316

Births: Arthur and Gwendolyn Landgraab (1319)

Deaths: Katherine Cook (1317, famine), Arthur Landgraab (1319, stillborn), Malcom Landgraab (1320, consumption)

Marriages: Miriam and Malcom Landgraab (1318)

Summary of events and updated family tree under the cut:

1316

The mysterious noblewoman attacks Martha outside of their home !

In the following days, she falls ill to a vicious stomach sickness that leaves her unable to keep down most foods. Though they pray for her recovery, the family is secretly grateful at the thought of one less mouth to feed during this difficult famine.

As her condition worsens, Henry sets to the painful task of preparing a coffin for his daughter.

In the middle of the night, Martha's fever breaks. She seems to have made a miraculous recovery...

Until she viciously attacks Miriam! It appears she has been transformed into an undead beast...

Henry is furious at the transformation, but grateful not to lose his daughter. To keep up appearances, Henry and Katherine tell the world that Martha died from her illness.

For her safety, the cellar is converted into a hiding space for her to rest in during the day. Countess Vatore, the mysterious noblewoman who turned her, gifts her an instrument to pass the time.

When Martha complains of thirst, Henry offers himself as a meal; the pain and weakness is preferable to him, rather than put his other children at risk.

Disaster strikes as a stray ember from the cookstove causes a fire! Luckily, Henry is able to extinguish it.

1317

This year we had to roll for the fate of each sim in our household to see if they survived the famine.

Unfortunately, Katherine failed her roll, and passed away at the beginning of the year. While Henry mourns the loss of his second wife, he takes comfort knowing she is buried beside her sister and their stillborn children. Katherine is survived by her two sons, Geoffrey and Richard.

(Out of character here my save got corrupted so I had to put the family in a different save file so I had to rebuild their house and sadly lost Katherine and Adelaide's graves. in context of the story idk the famine was hard on their finances so they were evicted off their land)

As the famine comes to a close, Beatrice survives her childhood and becomes a teen.

1318

Geoffrey celebrates his birthday in the spring.

Henry teaches his son to work on the farm as their crops finally begin to flourish again.

As the summer heat reaches its peak, Henry celebrates his fortieth birthday. He's lived a long life by the standards of his time, though he hopes to keep living long enough to see his daughters grow up and get married.

With the threat of the reaper hanging over his head, Henry makes arrangements with Baron Landgraab for his son and Miriam to be betrothed. Though the dowry payment will be substantial, the two love each other, and such a marriage will assure she is looked after when he is gone.

In the autumn after her seventeenth birthday, Miriam and Malcom are married. She will leave her father and siblings to live in Castle Landgraab with her new husband and in-laws.

Winter of 1318 sees Miriam and Malcom expecting their first child.

1319

In the summer of 1319, Richard reaches childhood. For the first time since Miriam's birth, the Cook household is free of diaper changes and helpless toddlers.

Meanwhile at Castle Landgraab, Miriam gives birth to twins Arthur and Gwendolyn in the fall. Unfortunately, Arthur is born weak, and dies hours after birth. His frail body reminds Miriam of Margaret, the unfortunate twin of her younger sister. She hopes her daughter can go on to lead a better life than Martha...

After recovering from labor, she visits the family home to catch up with her siblings.

1320

Beatrice becomes enamoured with Matias Herrera, the youngest of four brothers who moved to the hillside.

In the summer, baby Gwendolyn becomes a toddler.

Unfortunately, Malcom caught consumption, and passed away around the same time, leaving poor Miriam a widow and single mother at such a young age. The Baron, harboring resentment that his male grandchild was the twin to pass away, blames Miriam for his son's death and threatens to throw her out, but the Baroness has grown fond of her and convinces him to allow her to stay. Tensions are high between the broken family, though.

Updated family tree:

Though the famine may be behind them, the next decade seems uncertain for the Cooks; will Miriam remarry? How many years does Henry have left? Will Benedict be prepared when the time comes to lead the family? Only time will tell....

#ultimate decades challenge #sims 4 #every baby born is racing to be the last bassinet object baby before the infant update comes out and i never play with the bassinet again #i think gwen might genuinely be the last one bc i wont have miriam get pregnant again for a while and i cant afford beatrice marrying #but in 1324 Benedict will be old enough to marry so his heir might be born before the update depending on how much i play before then #also ignore that malcom died NAKED i didnt realize he was naked until i had already pressed the kill button and i couldnt change his fit

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handeaux · 2 years

Text

Root Beer: Cincinnati’s Temperance Quaff Came With A Moral & Medicinal Kick

Prohibition did not swoop unheralded from the skies in 1920, ejecting alcoholic beverages in some sort of surprise attack. No, the roots of Prohibition go deep in American history, stretching well into the early 1800s. For a time in the 1850s, in fact, Ohio was technically a dry state, voted into mandatory abstinence by the General Assembly in 1854 and upheld by the state Supreme Court in 1855.

At least one Cincinnati newspaper editor cheered such temperance efforts as he promoted his favorite beverage, root beer. Scanning the Daily Cincinnati Commercial from the 1840s, a modern reader can almost taste Editor Lucius G. Curtiss’ thirst for his beloved root beer. Here he is in the 8 May 1846 edition:

“Henry Arthurs’ Root Beer suffered some in this office yesterday; at least one dozen bottles were completely ‘sucked in.’ Arthurs says, he is determined to make his root beer make its way into public favor. Go ahead.”

Toward the end of the year, Mr. Arthurs brought another case around, receiving additional praise from Mr. Curtiss [13 November 1846]:

“Yesterday our boys regaled themselves on a dozen of Arthurs’ Root Beer, left at the Commercial office, and they do say it was very fine. We can hardly have a doubt of it, from the way the popping of corks was carried on for a time. Mr. A intends manufacturing it through the winter.”

Interestingly, Cincinnati’s root beer bottlers, at least the several who popped up (so to speak) in the 1840s, brewed non-alcoholic beverages as a sideline. Almost every Cincinnati root beer brewer was primarily engaged in making and selling vinegar.

We tend to forget that root beer was called root beer because it was produced, like vinegar, through fermentation. All the early root beer recipes called for yeast and some sort of sugar – usually molasses – to promote fermentation and, of course, carbonation.

The old recipes also called for a veritable witch’s cauldron of herbs that would have generated a taste quite unlike the sassafras-heavy formulation that is standardized today. An 1873 version called for hops, yellow dock, burdock, sarsaparilla, dandelion and spikenard roots, along with infusions of spruce and sassafras oils. A 1909 recipe is based on sassafras, but also contained sarsaparilla, tansy and wintergreen.

Naturally, with all these roots, herbs and oils involved, purveyors were going to claim medicinal properties for their beverages. Cincinnati’s root beer merchants were no exception. Hiram Nash, yet another vinegar boiler caught up in the root beer craze, recruited Daniel Drake and four other medical doctors to affirm the healthful effects of his root beer in fighting cholera during the 1849 outbreak. While the herbs and other ingredients may not have actually helped fight intestinal bacteria, Nash’s customers at least drank something other than Cincinnati’s water, through which cholera was most certainly transmitted.

Similar claims for herb-based soft drinks at this time claimed they could prevent, even cure, everything from scrofula, king’s evil, tetter and blood impurities to cancer, syphilis, leprosy, salt rheum, crysipelas, mercurial disease and neuralgic affections.

Editor Curtiss was so fixated on the virtues of root beer that he believed it could also cure society’s ills. On 6 October 1845, the Commercial printed a brief review of the Cincinnati police blotter. Sarah Wallace was charged with vagrancy, William Gillman for disorderly conduct, and Michael Crowley for being riotous. Editor Curtiss could not constrain himself from opining:

“If the above named individuals had taken some of Durfee’s famous Root Beer, instead of indulging in brandy or whiskey, the consequences would have been more to their advantage.”

Well, maybe. Or maybe not. As root beer gained popularity, Cincinnati saw the opening of several root-beer parlors who attracted their own sort of unsavory crowd. The Commercial [30 November 1849] reported on one such fracas:

“James Ratcliff, John Mather, Pierson Ishworth and John Fish, went into a kind of ‘root beer shop,’ and made themselves too familiar about the house. After ‘hoeing it down,’ for some time, the officers were sent for and the dancers taken to the watch-house. Each were fined $5 and costs.”

Other reports involve root-beer drinkers being thrown out of the shops and pelting nearby homes with rocks and street fights involving knives and root-beer bottles. Root beer also figured into traffic accidents. The Cincinnati Enquirer [12 July 1845] reported:

“A horse ran off on the 4th and injured a carriage, being frightened by the pop of a root beer bottle. The Mayor should include ‘ginger pop’ in his firecracker proclamation.”

Despite its attendant problems, root beer consumption sky-rocketed in Cincinnati. In 1847, vinegar king James Durfee sold 31,287 bottles of root beer in one week, with Saturday sales alone reaching 8,906 bottles. All of this made Editor Curtiss very happy although he did not live to see the full flowering of soft drinks later in the century. The Cincinnati Gazette [11 July 1881] noted the “soda craze” at Peebles grocery store:

“If there was ever an excusable mania following as it does roller skating and other hot fashions, it is the present one of drinking cool and refreshing Soda Water. The run on the fountain of Jos. R. Peebles’ Sons Pike’s Opera House, has been enormous. It has come to such a pass that ladies and children can not be accommodated at the usual counter, and orders have been given to have them promptly served in any part of the store with Soda and the kindred beverages of the season, such as the famous Birch Beer, Root Beer, Cherry Beer, Spruce Beer, Ginger Ale, New Orleans Mead, and the various mineral waters.”

A standard root beer flavor did not begin to infiltrate Cincinnati until the arrival of Hires’ root beer in the 1880s. When first introduced, Hires’ appeared as a small bottle of flavoring in a box. Customers had to mix the flavoring with five gallons of water and bottle it themselves. Hires’ limited its medicinal claims, noting only that its root beer kept the blood pure and cool and the stomach in a “normal” condition.

#root beer #james durfee #lucius curtiss

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the-broken-quill · 8 months

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Season Headcanons for the Small Magics gang

Spring // Thomas Flarety: I think there isn't a better season to assign to Thomas than spring. Spring not only signals a conclusion (the end of winter), but new beginnings (the start of spring, duh), and I think this symbolism works really well with Thomas. It's kind of hard to put into words, and I think you'll only really understand what I mean if you read the books yourself (shameless plug here: GO READ THE DAMN BOOKS, THEY'RE PHENOMENAL). Thomas Flarety is everything and nothing all at once: he's the son of a merchant in this small town who's gets fucked over astronomically by an entire religious institution and then becomes the sole target of said institution for literal YEARS and is only able to fight back because he can see (and use) magic. Aside from that, he's also just an aspiring student with a thirst for knowledge and a love for old books just trying to make his family proud. Did that explain anything? Yes and No. TL;DR: Thomas Flarety is spring, try and change my mind.

Summer // George Gobhann: While it might seem like the most contradictory, I think summer fits well with George if you squint hard enough. George, to me, is the stereotypical 'tough guy/brawn over brains' kind of guy who uses brute force or physical action to solve his problems (I mean, he did punch a guy so hard he died in the first book so...). He maintains this kind of, guarded and stoic front for most of the series until the final book where his walls start crumbling and everyone is able to see the full extent of just how everything that happened has impacted him. I think assigning the season of summer to George also kind of draws attention to the fact that he kind of comes full circle; it's summer when Thomas returns home and meets Bishop Malloy, which is what sets off the events of the series, and it's summer (I believe) when everything gets "resolved" (don't quote me on this, I might need to re-read the series again).

Autumn // Eileen Gobhann: She's got red hair and a fiery personality to match, which I think works well with the overall visual aesthetic of autumn; the trees start changing around this time of year and I think pairing the season of the harvest is appropriate for Eileen. While everyone in the gang changes dramatically throughout the series, I think Eileen is the one who changes the most, and in the most ways as well. Based on the social/cultural norms of the time period in which the books are meant to be set (I always thought of them as being like, slightly medieval/fantasy era-esque), Eileen experiences the most radical change and I think that aspect of her character development coincides the best with the shock of fall when you step outside one day and all the trees are swathed in fiery golden hues. There's a lot more I could say about her character overall because she's really just fantastic, but I do want to keep these (relatively) short.

Winter // Henry Antonius: He's the son of the Duke of Frostmire, so while I might normally assign him to summer, and George to winter jut based on their personalities, in terms of actual character I feel like winter is more fitting for Henry. As much as he is a flirtatious bastard, Henry is tough and resilient. He's able to keep a cool and level head in unexpected situations, and he's incredibly smart. At the same time, though, he also exhibits the same playful lightheartedness that comes with the winter season; I can definitely picture him getting into some gnarly (and also extremely competitive) snowball fights. He's also just a cool guy (pun absolutely intended) in that he's kind of that stereotypical “everyone wants me” popular guy. He'd be like, the hot love interest in a shonen anime, I think; he's handsome, wealthy, intelligent, and good with a sword. If you overlook his drinking habits, he's a total catch! What more could anyone ask for?

#the small magics series #small magics #the small magics gang #thomas flarety #henry antonius #george gobhann #eileen gobhann #blorbo #blorbos from my books #character study #kind of #headcanons #I love my blorbos so FUCKING much #please go and read the books #I am begging #I need more people to scream about this with #this is literally my favourite book series in the whole world

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men-for-calli · 2 years

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