i dont “write”, i put my blorbos in a pan at medium heat with olive oil garlic and onion and stirfry for 5 mins
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
$LAYYYTER
Mike Driver
hello vonnie
Keni
trying on a metaphor
Show & Tell
i don't do bad sauce passes
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
taylor price

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

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occasionally subtle

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@holyromanmemes
i dont “write”, i put my blorbos in a pan at medium heat with olive oil garlic and onion and stirfry for 5 mins
Vv. 155- 203
Something terrible has happened! I have spilled ink across my manuscript, and though I can be relieved that most of my notes were stowed quite safely in their leather case, I am devistated to have lost so much of the revisions which I wrote. I still have the one which my Lord Heinrich gave me, which is fortunate, but I have not the heart to put my pen to paper and re-pen the superior speech. Perhaps I will touch upon the speech again in another time, but for now, my soul cannot help but shrink from such a task. What's more, the revision may cause greater trouble. Upon describing his tale to me, my Lord Heinrich has allowed me artistic discression, so long as the story keeps its cohesion and relative correctness. However, this speech of his--this particular next point, is very important to him. He has demanded of me that I leave it as it is, with barely any room for flourish or thematic molding. I find this undesirable; it hardly reinforces the heroic notions of his character, and dare I say, lacks taste. But my Lord Heinrich will hear nothing of it, and frowns most furiously when I bring up the subject of its modification. As stated earlier, I imagined I could simply record two versions: one which better fits the vision of the questing tale, and one which fits his narrow vision, believing he would be none the wiser. But today, while I wrote on a cushion by his tent, I noticed him peering at my table and making shapes with his mouth! When I leaned in, I heard him sounding out the letters of each word with the latin pronunciations, consider the letters, and then turn them into the cooresponding German! Where on the \lord Almight's Holy Earth did so brutish a nobleman learn how to read Latin? I suppose he doth hail from ages past, and in those many life times, may have had the opportunity to sit down with a scribe or holy man and go over each letter. But to what end? I have not known him to be a curious man. When I arrived in his employ not too long ago, I found myself discussing rumors of a flourishing heretic cult with one of the other brothers in his employ. During my travels, word of the impending trials and confessions caught up with me, and they were such claims! Cannibalistic Eucharists, blood baptisms, wild orgies with the devil! I assume any good Christian lord would, for obvious reasons, take interest in these beliefs, such that he might prepare to defend his clergy and his people from such heresy, or at least know to avoid such heresy himself. But my lord Heinrich showed no interest when he overheard us; if I could speculate from his countenance, I might assume he was irritated with our discussion of it, and would have stopped our discussion. Another time, I heard him scoff at a knight's description of an Ostrich seen in the Byzantine Emperor's menagerie. Surely such a splendorous bird would spark some interest? Furthermore, he has no reason to learn writing for any pracitcal reason. Everywhere he goes, he is surrounded by Chaplins with sufficient literacy and memory to record all that he needs noted and to dictate any text that crosses his path (I should know, as this is the role I fill between praying and writing this text for him. It is quite a demanding task, if I do say so).
What an odd man, that he should know how to read despite this. Perhaps I can glean a reason from him, if I press. Hence, I guard my personal notes carefully, and only grant him pages should he ask. That spill makes a good excuse if he should ask why.
Of King Charles's plan to destroy the boars, and how they attempted to rally the townsfolk
A forward
Vv. 1-17
Firstly, how Charles King of the Franks came to a town and was sent to its bathhouse
Vv. 90-97
And so, King Charles and the boy returned to the boy's home and knelt on the floor. Charles smoothed over the dirt and drew in it with the wooden end of his spear. With the aid of the boy, he created the shape of the bathhouse and its halls. The two gathered some stones and arranged them such that they were placed, generally, where they assumed the boars to lay. Charles explained himself thus: ''I heard, while listening, that many of the beasts gathered in one area (though there were some stragglers throughout the building, guessing by their echoes). Many of them sounded quite high in pitch, thus we can assume they are young. The deepest squeals, presumably the mother, came from here. With a boar spear and a few strong arms, we will hunt it like we hunt all boar.''
The boy, palid from fear, exclaimed, "but what of the children? Will they, in the chaos of their mother's slaughter, not turn their tusks on us? And to hunt so large a boar--is that not wishing death upon ourselves?" ''Nay, I say to you,'' Charles said, ''They are no trouble. Young as they are, and not yet weaned, they lack the strength of conviction of their mother. At the first sign of of danger, they will flee to the woods and cause no further trouble.'' This brought the boy little comfort, and upon his protestations, Charles continued, ''if the blackness in their hearts should prevail, and the piglets, once grown, come back to your village in search of vengance, then they shall return as adults, some years hence. By then, you will have rebuilt your walls and fortified your town, and then, what worry will you have? Once you have learned to stand on your own feet, and defend your own, they stand no chance at invasion.'' He places his hand upon the boy's shoulder, as a father might, and in a soft voice said, ''have faith, young man. When you fight for righteousness, you fight with the \lord on your side, you cannot fail. Even if thou should fall, you will fall into His waiting embrace.'' With some reassurance, the boy learned to accept these words and find comfort within them. With this taken care of, Charles embraced him, and said, ''now, we must find a way to scatter the piglets. I find that noise and food, and other such distractions, are often lacking. It may be best to flush them out with fire, and drive them to the woods as they flee.''
Resigned thus, the boy steeled his heart and asked, ‘‘my Lord King, what is it I must do?’‘
And the King said, “Go to your people, young men, and gather them in the
[and this is where a big ol ink stain should start to cover most of the page, and I refuse to figure out on tumblr, bc that sounds like a mess. Imagine ink got spilled all across the bottom of this post and like dotting the top part IG]
I'm about to enter monk mode
[The hair on the top of my head violently explodes off my body, resulting in a perfect TONSURE]
Vv. 90-97
A forward
Vv. 1-17
Firstly, how Charles King of the Franks came to a town and was sent to its bathhouse
My Lord Heinrich has prepared for the next section of this story a grand speech, which he delivered unto the townsfolk in the course of fulfilling King Charles's plans to eradicate the boars. However, I found it lacking somewhat, and in need of translation to be understandable to readers of epic poetry, and thus have decided to embelish and interpret the speech thusly. I will not include a translated version in the final product, but will keep a copy onhand that I might substitute it in while reading aloud to him, so he is none the wiser. After all, a nobleman of his stature surely has never had the time for instruction in reading.
Firstly, how Charles King of the Franks came to a town and was sent to its bathhouse
A forward
Vv. 1-17
It befell in the days of Adrian I, when he was Pope of all Christendom, that there was a small bathhouse town on the Main River, and by some means King Charles of the Franks came to pass through it on his path to the great city of Rome. There had been, for some time, no great families residing within the city and no great armaments to defend the towns people, and so the wild boars of the forest came to wage war against the settlement. So when the King came unto the townsfolk, they could provide no great hall, no feasting, no noble house, no safe place to reside while he rested from the road and celebrated his own feast day. They stayed within their homes in shame, and left the King to wander the town paths and call for hospitality like a beggar. It seemed there was nary a soul to receive him, until he came to the last house, whose door opened when he rapt upon it. A young man stood in the doorway, and asked who it was who knocked. King Charles said, ”my son, dost thou not know? I am Charles, King of the Franks. I have come to thy humble town on the long path to Rome, where the Pope has called me to. Wherefor have ye not come to my call?” The boy replied, ”In truth, my lord, though I have heard of you, I know you not. In the days before the Ostrogothic Kings, this was a prosperous town of the empire where many gathered to visit the baths and rest together. But now that the Imperial Armies have fled, now that the merchants and the engineers and the laborers have abandoned us, the forest has encroached on our lands, and a plague of boars has befallen our good Christian town. We dare not go out for fear of their wrath, and for fear that they will devour our provisions for the winter.”
Upon hearing of the town’s woes, Charles was moved, for these people were once kin to his by tribe, and now kin to his by creed. He was compelled by by the needs of Pope Adrian I, the charge of his father Pepin the Younger, and by the call of his father in Heaven to bring aid to these townsfolk. Resolved thus, he clasped the boy’s arm and proclaimed, ”I am duty-bound to offer aid to you and your people in this time of need, and will do all that is within my earthly power to free you from this menace. I know the boars well; I met them before, lurking among my liegemen of my father and my father’s father. On their roads I see boars lurking in the underbrush, where they root in the dirt and commune with devils. I know how they take, and how they pillage. It has been my calling to bring them to justice, and I swear I will rid the world of their heresy. Pray, tell me where I might find them, that I may free your people of them and bring an end to their curse.”
And the boy, wrought with grief, wept, and the King wept with him too.In time, the boy asked how he might support Charles’ quest. He gave Charles lodging for the night, and shared his meager provisions with him, and that night they rested together, as well as they could with the sounds of squealing boars in the distance.
On the dawn of the first day, the boy took Charles into town. Townsfolk shambled about, trudging through the snow to gather their water and meet their fellows. They regarded Charles warily, which the King was unaccustomed to, but the boy assured him that they meant no ill will. ”We have reason to be wary of strangers,” said he, ”but you are with me, and will not be challenged.” He lead the King through the ancient cobbled streets, past the huddled masses and wary eyes of thin-faced children, until they came to a great limestone building, taller than all that surrounded it and green with moss. Its once-imposing columns stretched skyward to flat roof which collapsed long ago, and its door hung open on rusted hinges. With his voice low, he boy explained how the Empire built the bathhouse, and how it fell out of favor and became a breeding place for the boars which now infested the town. Charles considered the building, circled it once, caught the gleam of an eye through a hole in the wall. He pressed his ear to the hole and strained to hear the squealing inside. After some moments, he said to the boy, ”I hear several piglets, and perhaps one grown boar. Let us retire for now, and I will tell you of my plans.”
tumblr needs an imbedded pdf reader
I think that would greatly improve the functioning of the website
Vv. 1-17
A forward
My immortal lord of Germany overheard one of his liegemen sighing over the glance of an unknown lady. Believing that the knights of this era are, at times, easily swayed by popular romantic tales, he has asked me to write a more cautious tale, that he might remind his knights not to lose themselves in the fantasy. That he has asked this of me while we are on campaign is distressing; I share his concerns, but cannot help but wonder at his insistence that I keep this project secret from the court, particularly from his lady whom we are on campaign to liberate from her nefarious captor. Lord Heinrich has given me a quill and ink, a surface to write on which fits neatly in my lap, and a scant packet of paper and promises I will have more soon, all just for this project. I have a cushion near his tent, and from here I can hear him discuss tomorrow’s plans with his knights. I shall endeavor to produce what he asks of me, despite the difficulties that come with producing texts on the war march. My Lady, I beg of thee, forgive thy servant of his trespasses. The material and the treatment of thee are given unto him by his Lord, and he is simply trying to carry out his intention. Here he begins the story:
okay so like I feel like these posts, this story (if I keep with it for long) comes with a forward
I’ve had a long running love of like, the goofy 14th century translations of chivalric romance for a long time now. I think they’re great? I’m not gonna get into it here but it’s cool and I’m glad that it got a little boost from the Green Knight movie.
And I’ve been wrestling with this plot line for a while. I think I’ve figured out how to make it work (finally) but like who knows? Maybe it won’t work as well as I’m hoping.
In the great tradition of fanfiction, I am blatantly ripping off two works: the le Morte d’Arthur text on my shelf from Penguin Randomhouse (which has mostly been edited, as far as I can tell, for spelling and paragraph structure), and the W. W. Comfort 1914 translation of Chrétien de Troyes‘ Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart, which I found in pdf form from a google search. And like I’m definitely siphoning the vibes of Umberto Eco’s the Name of the Rose because I like it and am reading it at the same time that I’m writing it. Later on (like way down the line) I’ll be pulling from the Emily Wilson translation of the Odyssey (you’ll know it by every mention of “wine-dark” and “rosy-fingered dawn” that I use). I don’t expect this to be a good story at all, but it’s been fun banging my head against it
fanfiction is so unbelievably stupid you’ll be like oh i want to write about some finctional dudes and suddenly you’re knee deep in two hundred year old inheritance laws
boy life busy
I have a thing I could post but I’m debating how to do it
It's about the Vindication and the Power Fantasy
Asking Different Nations about their Spear of Longinus
There are a few different Spear of Longinus-es floating around out there, and I had a very dumb idea for a doodle.
TLDR: the Holy Lance is supposedly the spear that pierced Je.sus’s side in the gospel of john; a roman soldier named Longinus (which might be a corruption of the Latinization of the Greek word for “spear”) did it. He may or may not have been dismembered by a lion afterwards. Obvi the Armenian Church thinks that their spear is the real one, (some) Protestants tend to think the one in Austria is the real one, Orthodox churches tend to think the one lost in Antioch was the real one, etc. Funnily enough, the Polish one is openly called a replica (but was still used by a saint ofc), and for some reason the Catholic Church refuses to make any claim as to whether or not theirs is real. You can read about the one in the Armenian Church here, the Antioch one here, and I’m too lazy to find links to the others but they’re pretty well known so have at it
Armenia’s design is stolen lovingly borrowed from @gleepglorp (I mean, u can’t do much better than that) and I do not think she would agree but Austria is inspired by @gebrochener-adler
@ fic authors what do you personally consider a successful fic? What’s the bar?
actually writing the fic down
opening up my own fanfiction document on my personal laptop to see if the author has updated it yet
I love hearing modern historians comment on like, accusations from historians who wrote thousands of years ago. Was Justinian I a demon in human form? Did his head pop in and out of existence? IDK but watching this lecturer suggest that it’s probably not true is very funny to me
trying to figure out who in my roster would have the biggest collection of weird things they’ve kept over the years
you think it’d be rome but the vibes tell me it’s someone else