SUMMARY: an excerpt of letters exchanged between you and aerion during his time with the second sons. or, a collection of aerion being the fakest idgafer of all time.
WARNINGS: fem!reader. reader comes from Valyrian lineage but no physical traits are mentioned/described. Aerion typical threats of violence and possessive behavior.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A shorter part today! The next part is likely going to be quite long & rather intense, so it will take a while, please be patient with me!!! I'm considering putting a taglist together for the next part just because I anticipate it will be a handful of weeks before I post it, so if you'd like to be included on that taglist, please comment below! I had a lot of fun with this part because it was different from what I usually write, so it was fun trying to convey both of their deteriorating mental states without any internal narration. BUT WE'RE ALMOST BACK TO WESTEROS!!! I have two more parts planned set in Lys, and then we are heading across the Narrow Sea, and things are going to get #complicated for our favorite toxic couple. Comments and reblogs always appreciated! I hope you guys enjoy!
READ: IKSAN AŌHON, IKSĀ ÑUHON
Wench,
I find myself despising you more and more each passing day.
I have spent the better part of four moons surrounded by filthy mercenaries who smell of sweat and blood, and somehow you remain the most aggravating creature I have encountered in all of that time. I blame you entirely for the state of my mind. The men here seem convinced I am moments from slitting someone’s throat over a misplaced goblet, and perhaps I am. If you had not made me so accustomed to your company, I would not find everyone else so intolerable by comparison.
The fighting is dull now. It was enjoyable at first—I am sure you would understand. There is a clarity in battle that Lysene politics lacks. But the novelty has worn thin. We spend more time waiting than fighting, and idle men are irritating company.
The captains insist that this contract is a worthwhile endeavor, but I fail to see how squabbling over half-starved bandits is meant to impress anyone. The men here fight well enough, I suppose, but they lack refinement. Most of them are brutes with more scars than sense. They stare at me after battle as though they have never seen a man fight with real skill before, which, considering the company they keep, may very well be true, but it is at least preferable to the simpering cowardice of Lyseni nobles. I have carved through enough men these past weeks to satisfy lesser appetites, yet I remain in poor temper regardless. Curious, that.
You, meanwhile, have written almost nothing of substance. Three lines in your last raven, and one of them was mocking me. You do not even bother to properly address or sign your letters. If you insist on corresponding so infrequently, you might at least have the decency to be detailed when you do so. It is nearly time for the midsummer festival, is it not? I wish that I were there. I am tired of this.
You’d best not entertain that pretender too heavily during the festivities either. You may think yourself clever for provoking this sort of reaction from me when I am too far to do anything about it, but I warn you now that my patience is not infinite and I do not forget insults easily. In fact, I forget very little where you are concerned, which is precisely why one particular detail in your letter has… stuck with me. You wrote that you returned to your chambers “late.” A curious choice of wording. Late with whom? Late doing what? You see how readily such vagueness invites suspicion. If you wish to avoid interrogation, you should be more precise.
Regardless, I suppose if you insist on tormenting me from afar, I deserve some form of repayment. Tell me exactly what you plan to wear for the festival this year. In detail.
Do not take too long responding this time. If your next raven contains another useless two sentences, I will see to it that the next time we meet, you will not have hands to waste with your mediocre writing skills anymore.
Yours,
A.T.
————————
My most illustrious and brilliant dragon prince,
You are becoming terribly dramatic in your exile from exile. I returned to my chambers late because the festivities lasted late, as festivities tend to do. There’s naught to do here but drink and fuck. Am I not allowed to entertain myself anymore? Haegon remains alive and moderately entertaining—he is enthralled by the tales of my campaigns in the east. Though I must say, your fixation with him is becoming somewhat concerning.
I plan to wear the black silks I wore to Magister Lorento’s revel—I am sure you recall the ones. You were quite fond of them.
Your most beloved wench
(I do hope this address and signature suffice.)
————————
Wretched woman,
I send you half a dozen paragraphs detailing my days, and you only respond with barely two, and that loathsome address and signature? I would almost prefer the letters without them.
You are fortunate that this raven reached me after battle rather than before it, otherwise I might have gutted the first man who spoke to me out of sheer irritation. “Moderately entertaining,” you say, as though that is meant to reassure me. I know precisely the sort of man Haegon Blackfyre is—vain enough to mistake your attention for affection and stupid enough to think himself special because you allow him near you. I dislike him more every time you mention his name. In fact, I am beginning to suspect that you only bring him up because you enjoy imagining how foul my temper becomes while reading your letters.
And yes, it does concern me. I am stranded on the mainland while you lounge about Lys in black silk beside a Blackfyre pretender who is apparently “moderately entertaining.” I think my fixation is entirely justified under the circumstances. Frankly, I find your lack of concern for my deteriorating state somewhat offensive. Another man is hearing stories that ought to be told to me and receiving smiles that ought to be directed elsewhere. Meanwhile, I am left in the company of mercenaries and whores. I find myself missing your incessant insults and aggravation—that alone should convey the severity of the situation.
As for the black silks, you should not wear them while I am away. I am entirely serious. The thought of you walking through the festival dressed in them while that Blackfyre whore trails after you has already ruined my evening. I hope this pleases you.
I miss you,
A.T.
————————
It pleases me immensely. You should not be so needy, prince—it makes you ugly.
Though if it soothes your deteriorating state at all, you need not concern yourself with the black silks anymore. The First Magister’s guards caught a thief in my chambers several nights ago. A thief who curiously did not take any of my jewels, but instead tossed my favorite silks into the hearth. I assume this was your doing. Frankly, I find it difficult to believe anyone else would be deranged enough to send someone sneaking into my chambers over a dress.
Anyway, the festival was boring. Too much incense, too many musicians, too many people trying far too hard to impress one another. Haegon spent the better part of the evening attempting to convince me to accompany him back to Tyrosh after all of this is over—I’m sure you will enjoy imagining that. I drank enough cherry wine to tolerate the conversation and watched the First Magister interrogate half his household over my poor, murdered silks.
You would have hated it. I almost missed you enough to become sentimental about it.
————————
Wench,
I did warn you that the Brightflame’s reach is endless, once, did I not? You only have yourself to blame, and you ought to consider yourself fortunate that I had them destroyed when you weren’t wearing them. Honestly, I thought the restraint displayed was admirable.
In fact, I resent that you sound so amused by the entire affair. You accuse me of derangement while describing the incident with enough fondness that I suspect you enjoyed knowing someone was possessive enough to burn the damned thing in the first place.
As for Haegon Blackfyre, I am beginning to suspect he suffers from some lingering injury to the head if he truly believes you would willingly follow him anywhere. The fact that he asked at all offends me on your behalf. Even tolerating the offer was idiotic of you.
The company has become insufferably dull these past few weeks. The men drink, gamble, whore, boast about battles I could have won half-asleep, and then expect me to sit amongst them as though I find any of it remotely engaging. I have taken to sleeping later simply to avoid them.
One of the captains attempted to drag me into some tavern two nights ago because he claimed I looked “morose.” I nearly split his skull for the observation alone. I am not morose. I am simply tired of sleeping in hot tents and waking to men shouting before sunrise. There is no conversation worth having here, no one capable of holding my attention for longer than a few minutes, and the whores have become intolerable now that I know what it is like to share a bed with someone who actually bites back.
Do not let this inflate your ego too terribly. I am merely observing that exile is considerably less entertaining without someone nearby to aggravate me properly.
A.T.
————————
Dragon prince,
You have become alarmingly soft, haven’t you? Complaining about lonely tents and disappointing whores in writing now? I’ll keep the proof of this tucked away safely, don’t you fret. What would your captains say if they knew the terrible Bright Prince spends his evenings sulking because no one nearby can keep up with him properly?
Still, I understand the feeling.
I miss you. Try not to die of boredom before you return to me.
————————
Wench,
I have reread your pathetically short letter so many times over the past three days that one of the men finally asked whether the raven had delivered battle plans or a love confession. I nearly fed him his own teeth for the question. You should feel honored. Very few people survive long after becoming irritating in my presence lately.
Your timing, as usual, was atrocious. The raven arrived shortly before dawn, just as I was preparing to ride out with the others, and I made the mistake of reading your letter immediately.
Do you have any idea what it does to a man to march into battle after reading the words “I miss you” in your hand?
Things here have worsened. The waiting is the worst part of it. Battle at least occupies the mind for a few glorious moments, but the hours before and after drag endlessly. The men drink and shout and boast while I sit there wondering what you might be doing in Lys. I find myself imagining your chambers with alarming frequency—whether you have filled them with half the city, or whether you are draped across that ridiculous nest of cushions on your balcony, a cup of wine in hand. Most days, I suspect you have found some unfortunate magister to torment for your own amusement.
It has become a genuine problem. I wake in foul moods now for reasons that have nothing to do with the campaign. Every morning, there is a brief moment where I expect to hear your endless complaints, only to remember that you are several hundred leagues away, making yourself everyone else's problem.
I dislike it immensely.
Before you, solitude was uncomplicated. I was perfectly content with my own company. Most people were tolerable only in small doses and became tiresome shortly thereafter. Then you appeared and ruined the arrangement entirely by insisting on inserting yourself into my life.
Now I know things I never wished to know. I know the sound of your footsteps in a crowded hall. I know when you are drunk before you have spoken a word. I know the look you get when you are about to say something outrageous simply because you know it will irritate me. I can tell the difference between when you are genuinely angry and when you are merely seeking attention. Do you understand how disastrous this is for me?
And despite all of that, I think the truly humiliating part is that I would endure every miserable mile of this exile twice over if it meant returning to find you still waiting for me at the end of it. You see what you have reduced me to? It is revolting, and you will pay for it.
Do not take too long writing again. I find myself growing restless whenever the ravens are delayed now, and I dislike the sort of thoughts that begin occupying my mind in the silence between your letters.
Lamentably yours,
A.T.
————————
Aerion,
I received a raven from my brother this morning. The first in six years.
Lys suddenly feels very small. Everyone keeps speaking to me, and I can scarcely hear them properly. Even Haegon has noticed something is wrong, which is irritating in its own right.
I do not know what to do anymore. I think things are changing. I am so tired.
————————
You are being terribly vague again, and ordinarily I would accuse you of doing it intentionally just to worsen my temper, but I suspect this time you scarcely realize you are doing it at all.
What did your brother say? More importantly, what do you intend to do now?
You write as though the ground beneath your feet has suddenly shifted. I do not like it. I like it even less because I am not there to see your face while you write these things.
The men here have begun speaking of movements within the Golden Company at last. I would ask directly whether you intend to leave Lys with them, but I suspect you would only become evasive out of spite if I did. So instead, I will simply remind you that disappearing without warning would be a very poor decision where I am concerned.
Write again soon.
A.T.
————————
Your silence is beginning to aggravate me beyond reason.
At first, I assumed you were merely being cruel again. After several days, I concluded you had most likely become distracted by some revel or you were ignoring my ravens for your own amusement. It has now been twelve days, and I am running out of explanations that do not involve either catastrophe or deliberate malice on your part. I find both possibilities equally offensive.
I warned you before that I dislike silence where you are concerned.
Answer me immediately, even if it is only to insult me properly.
A.T.
————————
You are testing my patience now.
Four ravens unanswered ceased being amusing weeks ago. If this silence is meant to provoke me, then congratulations—you have succeeded. Now answer me.
If your brother has filled your head with dreams of home and you intend to leave Lys with the Golden Company, then say it plainly instead of vanishing like a coward. I expect you to tell me yourself before I hear it from anyone else. Gods know you have never lacked for cruelty before, so why begin sparing me now? Do not make a fool of me.
And if you have truly decided to disappear from my life after spending months convincing me that I mattered to you, then I swear to every god still listening that I will never forgive you for it.
A.T.
————————
Wench,
It has been two moons. I have sent over half a dozen ravens.
If you are alive, write back.
If you are angry, write back.
If you have decided to abandon Lys and chase whatever ghost your brother’s letter awakened in you, then write back and tell me that, too.
Just do not leave me waiting in this silence any longer.
A.T.
————————
“Oi, Brightflame,” a familiar voice drawls from his left as Aerion finishes cleaning his blade—your blade. The one you pressed into his hand before he left Lys a full year ago. His gaze flicks up, already incensed by the thought of you crossing his mind, and he raises his eyebrows questioningly. “We received word from Lys.”
Aerion’s heart skips a beat, grip tightening on the hilt of the sword. He rises to his feet, casting a questioning look over to the sellsword. A letter from you, maybe? You stopped sending them three moons ago, but what else could—
“The Golden Company raised their sails at dawn. Every ship in the harbor has sailed east.”
East?!
————————
The only free city east of Lys is Volantis ………. JK our girl will be there when he returns, but fun fact: this is where I headcanon that the timelines split, so to speak. There is a universe where our girl is not there waiting for him when he returns to Lys, and war breaks out between Volantis/the Blackfyres and Westeros
── ✶ before you read: 1.4k words ; female reader ; established relationship ; very unserious influencer reader ; pro hero katsuki ; fluff and banter ; masterlist.
based on this post and amira’s hilarious comment
“Get ready with me to dump my pro hero boyfriend!”
You grin into your phone camera as you prop it up against a bottle of moisturizer on the bathroom counter. Beside you, Katsuki is brushing his teeth. The brushing immediately stops. You watch as his eyes narrow at you through the mirror, stifling a giggle.
“The fuck did you just say?”
You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. “Hi, guys!” you continue cheerfully, waving at the camera. “Today I’m getting ready to break up with my pro hero boyfriend. Some of you might know him as Dynamight—”
“Is this some bullshit new trend online?” He crosses his arms, toothbrush hanging in his mouth as he looks at you unamused.
“—who I’m leaving because, unfortunately, he’s become a huge burden in my life, and I need to cut him loose.”
The toothbrush leaves his mouth, falling into the sink as he gapes, “What?”
You reach for a makeup sponge. “Normally, I would start with skincare, but he buys me the expensive stuff, and since I’m dumping him and won’t have his wallet anymore, I have to make it last. Can’t be wasting it on him, you know?”
“Hah?” he snaps, inching closer as he stares into the camera with furrowed brows. You easily ignore him.
“I’ve been meaning to break up with him sooner, but I just didn’t want to handle all the crying and stuff—from him, not me, just to be clear.”
“I’m not gonna fuckin’ cry over your stupid ass video—”
“Unfortunately, he’s a very emotional person. Very clingy, too.”
“I’m not clingy. You’re the one who spams me with texts while I’m on patrol!”
You dab concealer beneath your eyes as he defends himself against every accusation you make, and it becomes far too difficult to hide your laughter. You let out a soft giggle, and he throws you a very offended glare. (Yes, Katsuki is smart enough to know that this is a silly little joke on your part just to be funny. No, that does not stop him from treating this as a serious matter in which he has to protect his dignity. Lucky for you, that only makes for better views.)
“Now, some people might think breaking up with a pro hero wouldn’t be very smart for my brand, but luckily, mine is very easy to replace.”
“Easy to replace?”
You have to look away from him because the expression on his face is making it ten times harder to pretend to take this seriously, and you’re barely keeping a straight face. “There are lots of blonde men in the world, so I’m sure I’ll easily find someone else to fit the role.”
“Who the fuck are you gonna find better than me, huh?” He challenges, particularly irritated by that statement.
“As you can see, he’s already in denial.”
“Oi! Don’t ignore me!”
“Anger is the next stage of grief.”
The phone is grabbed before you can dab on your blush, and he spins you around, pinning you against the bathroom counter as he gives you a dirty look. You break into a fit of giggles, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press an innocent kiss to the tip of his nose.
“Hi, baby,” you hum.
He raises a brow. “Don’t hi baby me, dumbass. You make sure you tell that camera that you’ll never dump your boyfriend and that there’s no other man—blonde or not—like him, and—”
You roll your eyes, hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him into a soft, slow kiss, cutting his words off effectively. He melts into you, kissing back as soon as your lips touch his, and you like to think that your silly idea only makes him kiss you a little more seriously. A little more meaningful, just to prove something.
“Don’t worry,” you peck the corner of his mouth, “I was just kidding. I’d never dump someone with pro hero money from the number five spot.”
— — — — —
“Get ready with me to get proposed to by my pro hero boyfriend!”
You beam at your phone camera from your vanity. Behind you, Katsuki is sprawled across the bed, one ankle hooked over the other, scrolling on his phone while sipping on his morning coffee. The coffee immediately goes down the wrong pipe.
He chokes, and a terribly strained coughing fit erupts from behind you. You almost feel bad for disrupting his peace on his day off—almost.
“Now, the proposal hasn’t been planned yet,” you explain to your hypothetical audience while reaching for your moisturizer, “but I’ve decided I want it to happen today.”
Another coughing fit. “What?”
“Katsuki, are you okay? You’re coughing a lot today. Do you have a cold?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, woman—what the fuck are you up to this time?”
You give him an innocent smile as you say, “Nothing!”
You’ve decided to keep this little game going for as long as you can—a new scheme whenever you can to keep him on his toes. Partially because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his reactions, but partially because, truthfully, you think seeing a softer, more human side of Katsuki will do him some wonders in the public eye. And what sort of doting girlfriend would you be if you didn’t take your chances at helping his public image?
“Why do you keep lying to your audience through these stupid videos?” he demands.
You gasp. “Lying?”
“Yes, lying,” he gives you a flat look, eyeing you like you’re crazy for denying the accusation.
“Why would this be a lie?” You challenge. Then, dramatically, you gasp, clutching your chest in mock hurt as you hiss, “So are you saying that you don't want to marry me?”
“W-what? I didn’t fuckin’ say that—don’t put words in my mouth—”
“So, I guess this video is now becoming a get-ready-with-me to get dumped, because apparently Katsuki wants to break up with me because he fell out of love with me and found someone new. I think he’s been emotionally cheating on me with someone—a sidekick, I’d bet. Always trust your gut, ladies—your gut never lies.”
“Hah?! You—” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he exhales tiredly and gives you a dry look. “You know what, that’s right. M’fuckin’ dumping your ass.”
You clap a hand over your mouth dramatically. “Everyone cancel him!”
— — — — —
“Get ready with me to make out with my pro hero boyfriend!”
You beam at your phone camera yet again. But today, for the first time in the history of these videos, there is no Katsuki behind you that is staring at you in disbelief or glaring at you in irritation. Instead, Katsuki is sitting on the bed, looking up from his phone as a wide, smug grin spreads across his face.
“Finally,” he says, setting his phone aside. “You thought of a good one.”
You blink. “Wait—”
“No, no, you can’t take shit back now. You wanna make out with your pro hero boyfriend, so that’s what your video is gonna be, baby.”
“Katsuki—”
He stands, hastily walking over as he says in approval, “Now we’re talkin. I like this video idea.”
He materializes in front of you, easily grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you up before he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. His lips start peppering kisses up your throat and along your jaw as he works his way up to your lips. You melt against your will, giggling a little as you hiss (weakly), “Kats! We can’t…you can’t kiss me yet!”
“And why the fuck not, huh? You got some other boyfriend to kiss? Bring ‘im here, I can fight.”
“I have to get ready first,” you huff, shoving him lightly, “that’s the point of a get-ready-with-me? You have to wait till my makeup is done.”
“What’s the point in that?” He hums, pressing a soft, delicate peck to your lips before he murmurs, “s’just gonna be a waste of all your hard work when m’done with you, yeah baby?”
You shiver at the tone in his voice, pupils dilating as you stare at him. His eyes are twinkling with amusement as he gives you a wolfish grin, reaching over and locking your phone, and cutting the camera off from recording. This video might not end up getting posted at all, you think—this one might just break community guidelines.
𝐉𝐉𝐊!𝐀𝐖𝐄𝐀 — Kamo clan outcast and bearer of Blood Manipulation. Quiet and withdrawn beyond the battlefield, she is rarely seen without one of her feline friends lingering at her side. Would not hesitate to give her life for those she holds dear.
Born into the Kamo clan without showing any sign of a cursed technique, she was deemed defective and considered a bad omen by both her family and the clan itself. Isolated from the outside world and hidden away from the rest of the clan, she spent most of her life neglected, abused, and punished for failing to meet the expectations placed upon her.
Her cursed technique finally awakened at eighteen, during a near death experience caused by severe blood loss. It manifested in the form of what she needed most: a friend.
After escaping the clan's cage, she was eventually discovered by Megumi, who brought her to Jujutsu High. (04.2016 age 21)
Leaves Jujutsu High, feeling unworthy when the higher ups learn that the only reason she was able to escape was because she killed her parents—an accidental result of losing control over her technique shortly after its awakening—and deem her unstable and dangerous. (04.2017 age 22)
Eventually taken in by Suguru Geto, despite her initial refusal and reluctance. With his family, she found a sense of belonging she’d been seeking her whole life. (05.2017)
Dies in Shibuya trying to protect Mimiko & Nanako. (10.31.2018)
CURSED TECHNIQUE — BLOOD MANIPULATION
𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒. Cat shikigami sculpted out of the user's blood. Summoning can only be activated once a wound is self inflicted.
Their true form is grotesque and they come in different sizes depending on the user’s emotions, but she has learned to mask them, making them look less intimidating to avoid scaring others. Masking shikigami can also be used to trick opponents into letting their guard down.
‘Fur’ can be harden, giving them the ability to protect allies by wrapping around them.
Can track targets ‘scented’ with blood, even if they’re not visible.
User can summon a maximum of 2-4 shikigami at once (depending on size) before experiencing blood loss effects.
𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖. Blood is hardened to create sharp, cat-like claws on the user's hands.
𝐂𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄. Blood is spun into thin strands resembling thread to restrain opponents. The more they struggle, the tighter the stands become. Tension can harden the strands to a degree sharp enough to sever flesh and limbs.
𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐕𝐎𝐖 — 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒. Grants the ability to convert cursed energy into blood—which is otherwise impossible for humans—in exchange for thinning out one's life source. Effectively negates the physical limitations of blood loss.
Allows the user to summon 8 shikigami at once.
To do so, the user must split her life force between herself and her 8 shikigami—this makes them stronger, but also leaves her body vulnerable.
If a shikigami is destroyed, so is the portion of life that was poured into it, permanently reducing the user’s lifespan.
If the user's true, weakened body takes a fatal hit, she will die.
However, a shikigami can be unsummoned to return its stored life force and reconstruct her true body, resulting in a 'revival.' This also permanently reduces her lifespan.
In essence, the user can cheat death multiple times, so long as her true body or at least one shikigami remains standing.
Ultimately the cause of her death.
+ Blood manipulation also allows the user to close her wounds, but she rarely utilizes this ability, instead choosing to endure the pain and use her remaining cursed energy to keep her feline friends around longer.
connections: friends w megumi & maki ﾉ looks up to shoko & nanami ﾉ choso sees her as a little sister ﾉ best friends w mimiko & nanako ﾉ complicated relationship w suguru...
all art by me!! a huge thank you to my beloved ari @cullinggame-mycullinggame for encouraging me and helping me develop my ideas;; jjkawea wouldn't exist without u :'3 and thank you to my cubbie @knightsexual for helping me w her timeline and pixie @pixiespond for giving me inspiration for her uniform design!!! <333
you wanna see some badass shit from the early 20th century?? The Lumière brothers created the first full color photograph… in fucking 1903! So these dudes dyed potatoes (in red, blue, and green), mashed them down into just pure fuckin’ starch, and used these dyed potato starches as filters to block out/let in certain wavelengths of light. They coated one side of a glass plate with the starches and sensitized the other side with a mixture of gelatin and light sensitive materials (silver nitrate) and loaded these plates in their cameras.. This is a really simple explanation of the process and I may have missed some things
A few of my favorite autochrome photos:
but lets not forget sergei prokudin-gorskiy, who developed a similar process in 1902, published in 1903 and then toured russia to take hundreds of color photographs:
AND the guy developed color slide processing as well. as a person fairly familiar with modern b/w processing at home, but never EVER stepping into color (negatives or slides) territory, i’d say, BAMF to the highest degree.
Here are a few more Prokudin-Gorskiy / Gorskii shots, and a reminder once again that these aren’t recently colourised BW images but original colour photos taken about 120 years ago. Many colourised pics don’t look this good. Some modern colour pics don’t look this good (as I know all too well. “Delete image Y/N? Y!”)
This is Leo Tolstoy, author of “War and Peace” and “Anna Karenina”.
Alim Khan, Emir of Bukhara…
…and his Minister of the Interior.
A Type B-15 steam locomotive…
Another of those peasant girls with guest-gifts of berries…
The Church of St John the Baptist at Staraya Ladoga…
…and a Sergei Prokudin-Gorskiy self-portrait.
Unlike some current selfies ;-> he’s not dominating the image, so here’s a closer shot.
they are sexually mature at ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS OLD.
their (live!) young gestate for. wait for it. eight to eighteen (??) YEARS. can have up to 10 at a time. good grief.
longest lifespan of any vertebrate, up to five hundred years
toxic flesh
has giant eyes but is usually blind because of a weird little crustacean that's evolved to live on and eat their eyes. this doesn't seem to bother them much.
lives in deep cold water and has the lowest swim speed and tail-beat frequency for its size across all fish species. just generally lives life in extreme slow motion
largest genome of any shark
eats everything including moose and polar bears
ma'am you are delightfully strange and I'm privileged to share a planet with you
going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl large condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.
pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”
and he just laughs a huff out his nose.
when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”
“how many do you need?” he hums when he pulls out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.
“about ten thousand.”
“how many do you have?”
“three hundred.”
he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow, cocked jaw in disbelief look. then he hands the money over to the cashier.
“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.
then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”
he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can open it now and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.
“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”
takes your hand with his free hand and pulls you under his arm.
“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”
annaxmalina
blakekathryn
izzy806
janainaart
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
