Nandos Queer

Personal blog and shit posting. :)

[garthnightmare]

200: alt-text

Snidingsgate is a village in the borough of Greater Sniding in Snetterton. It was formally recognised as a major settlement after the Birkenhead and Alderborough Railway Company completed the Knaresbrook Line (Bishopsbottom- Ramgate Parkwell) in 1893.

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An old photograph showing a town hall. There are clouds in the background. Flower arrangements on the lawn. Peter click the next image.

History

A settlement on the site has existed since the late 13th century, but was not deemed significant enough to be featured on many maps of the region- the closest thing to a record of Snidingsgate we have is the Clerkenwell Record from 1532, which notes in the bottom- right "Here ys thee Shiredynge Gate." This record was hidden under a dropped crumb of fruitcake when the first survey of the record was taken.

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Ok, I'm sure no-one is reading this anymore. Peter, darling, I love you.

Alright, I don't just love you. I'm bewilderingly in love with you. I worship you. I have done ever since we were at school together. Back then, of course, one didn't talk about That Kind Of Thing. Boys loved Girls and That was That. But now, I can finally be free and happy and

Offical Recognition

In 1834, Snidingsgate was offically upgraded from "sub-hamlet" to "dwelling," as a result of the Marchioness Report published that same year. In 1888, the Birkenhead and Alderborough Railway Company began to survey the region in order to route a goods line between the Brickworks at Bishopsbottom and the Victoria Limeworks in Ramgate. Initial clearing began in autumn 1888 and was concluded in the winter of 1889; the line itself took five further years to build. Snidingsgate proved a useful stopping-place for locomotives travelling on the line, and a small halt was constructed in 1891.

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RED OCTOBER

THE "EAGLES" WILL "FLY SOUTH" IN "AUGUST."

FOLLOW THE "POACHER" ON ST SWITHINS

P.S. Please ignore other messages. Do not know how to delete.

First Lord Mayor of Snidingsgate

John Blenkensop (1856-1910) was the first lord mayor in the wake of the town's formal acession into the parish records. Born in Kidderminster to a dairy-maid and an alderman, he occupied the position of treasurer on the village council for a number of years. When the position for Lord Mayor was created, he stood unopposed largely because it had not been possible to find anyone else willing to put their name down. He held the position until his death, and in that time, Snidingsgate managed to double in size and score bronze in "Snetterton in Bloom".

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A picture of an award which reads, "Snakes- buried it at 53.32 -3.83. Can't say much more than that without compromise. Hope the page is as hidden as they say."

Snidingsgate in the Twentieth Century

The rapid development of many areas around Snidingsgate led to the opening of a post office by the 1920s, and a garage in 1934. The railway station closed in 1945, before the decommissioning of the Knaresbrook Line in 1952. During the war, a single bomb fell on St Jude's Church, injuring the vicar.

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A picture of a man wh I have sinned against God and the Father. I did cavort with the devil and commit multiple sins of the flesh with a good many souls, many of them young, and not all of them entirely ull recovery.

Snidingsgate Today

Today, Snidingsgate is a small village, hosting one pub, the "Red Lion." As of 2026, there is a population of 1,245 reported. The climate is temperate. One of the largest manufacturers of low-cost roofing materials has Snetterton's largest warehouse.

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An image depicting Sandra, If you're reading this, then I'm sorry. You were right all along about me and Martha. We kept it hidden from you for so long- and it killed me to do it, it really did- but the guilt finally got to me, so I have to tell you now. We had a daughter. Peter

Notable Residents of Snidingsgate

Lionel Quail, presenter of "Oh What A Sports Night,"

Roger Billcock, under 16 curling champion for Snetterton United (2nd league)

Linda Potter, inventor of the watt-and-bevell concrete bollard.

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A picture of Lionel Qu£%45#£

…age repeats. This is urgent. I say again, urgent. Do not engage with any downed craft bearing oval markings on their wings. The pattern resembles two interlocking ovals with hatching behind. Any craft bearing these markings to be considered hostile and extremely dangerous. Do not attempt to engage. Do not open communications. Simply relay co-ordinates of downed craft to Section Commander, citing angle of descent. This message is being broadcast on eve%20££*@ anded the award for "Top Broadcaster" at the Snetterton Media Awards.

[chez-gatsby]

FERRET SUPREMACY

[heimai]

waterfall edition of sick freak art bc i can and its free

[vague-space]

The Ladies #2 (2004)

[garthnightmare]

201- bardic tradition

The sound of rapping at the door, in a brisk 4-4 signature, rouses me from my bed, where I've been trying to sleep off the hangover from the previous night's festivities.

Opening it discloses a thin, nervy, worried-looking boy, bent double under the weight of an immense lute strung haphazardly on his back. It's Trenton, my only friend in this rotten place.

"Have you seen, yet? They've posted the match-ups in the Concert Hall."

"The match-ups?" I say stupidly. "What are you talking…?"

But before he can reply, a horrid flood of memory issues forth and burns the answer into my brain.

In the bardic tradition, it is required that you compose for someone who has done heroic deeds. Some questing adventurer or wandering rogue who has accomplished things worthy of immortalising in song.

As a bard in training, we were obviously going to need to test this skill above others, and so our College, in its infinite wisdom, had decided to collaborate with the nearby Adventurer's Guild and assign us each a partner to work with.

And by the look on Trenton's face, it was bad news.

"You'd better hurry and get dressed," he hisses. "We're supposed to be at a meet-and-greet within the hour!"

"Can't you just tell me who-"

"I didn't see the name," he says, hand worrying at his chin, "but I saw one of the others clock it, and she sort of snorted and said, "Eugh, him."

"Great. That's just great.Thanks for the heads-up! Look, I'll be out in a minute, alright?"

I slam the door on his anxiety-stricken face and hurry back into my dorm, aware that it smells pretty foul. There's a further complication that I need to deal with, and it's currently sprawled out in my single bed, blankets tossed over its handsome shoulders.

You see, it's also considered a bit of a bardic tradition to be…well…something of a slut. Some of our cohort have chosen to reject this, some have embraced it, but I think it's safe to say that no-one's embraced it quite as much as I have. This is part of the reason the hangover is as bad as it is- he insisted on buying me drinks all evening, even though I told him I was as good as bedded anyway.

Now I grab the nearest piece of exposed skin I can bring myself to touch, on his back, and prod.

"Psst. Hey. You." I wish I could remember his name. A flush pricks my cheeks as I realise there are far too many options. He stirs, his body undulating attractively, and he stretches like a cat, his flexed foot knocking a kettle over that I'd left. His shock of curled brown hair sits atop his brow, oddly pointed, making him look like an inverted mountain.

'Mmm. Morning, Blondie. What time is it?" He mumbles.

"Late," I snap. "Way too late. Get dressed. Get out of my room."

"Wow, Blondie, someone's grumpy in the mornings. Whatever happened to "make me sing, baby, I'm yours?"

"It's a lyric," I spit. "It's from a song. You shouldn't take it so personally."

"Sure, whatever you say."

I squat down and search with increasing despair in the tangled pile of our clothes. His clang and clatter, and mine thump softly, and that becomes the best way to figure it all out.

"So, we're still doing the nickname thing, are we?" I say as I pry my underwear loose from his, stand, and chuck it at him. "Because, if I'm being honest, it was sort of cute last night, for a bit, but it definately is starting to wear on me."

He looks at me- his gaze deliberately dipping down from my face to check me out- and grins. "Oh, it's not meant to be cute. It means I don't gotta remember names." Then he starts stepping into them, without missing a beat.

Part of me is offended to have invited such a man-whore into my bed. Part of me thinks that's a genius idea and wishes I'd thought of it first.

"Oh, what, so, because I'm blond you went with…"

He's shaking his head. He grabs his trousers. "Nah, nah, it's a reference to Blondel? The famous minstrel who followed a king? It's just, I never really had a bard before. Been with plenty of wizards and mages and a barbarian, once, but you're the first bard."

He mustn't have been trying very hard, then. I shrug, and try and stay icy. I want him gone. The last thing I need is someone getting dippy about me.

"Come on. Get going!"

"Alright, alright. Jeez. Do you treat everyone you fuck the same?"

"Only the ones who don't get me off," I spit. I'm actually lying- I think- it's all a bit hazy. But I don't feel like flattery, today. I have some lunkhead to meet who I'm going to have to suck up to for the best part of this term, and I don't want to waste it on a bedpost notch.

Is it my imagination, or does he geniunely look a little hurt? I can't tell. But to his credit, he does hurry things along a bit. He dons the rest of his clothes and heads to the door. "Well," he says causually. "This was, uh, fun. And it's true what they sat about bards…"

"What? That we're good at plucking and fingering? That we have good breath control? That we nail the high notes?"

"That you're, you know. Fun to party with," he adds with bitter sarcasm.

"Oh," I say, stupidly. "Right."

"See ya, Blondie," he grins, and heads out.

"Not if I see you first," I mutter under my breath.

The next fifteen minutes are a frenzy of fixing myself- my hair, my clothes, my teeth- all need attention, but another thing they say about bards is that they're good at timing, and we are, (I've managed a good few simultaneous orgasms before) so I manage to hit my mark with it, and I'm only about sixteen minutes late.

The Concert Hall is pretty crowded, and I have to hope no one notices me slink shamefacedly into the room. Hopefully they're too busy doing the same thing.

I find the sign-up boards easily enough. There's just one problem; he's there. The mountain that I climbed last night. He's leching on some of my classmates, quite brazenly. The fucking nerve of him.

I spend a little time hiding out, rather hoping that he'll move on, stick to someone else's ass, but no dice, and soon it becomes apparent that our confrontation is somewhat inevitable. I akwardly step toward the board, hoping he won't do what he inevitably does, which is say, "Oh hey, Blondie, fancy seeing you here!"

I ignore him and scan the list for my name, and find the hero I've been assigned.

"Ivar Magnusson?" Who the hell?

My man-mountain laughs. "Oh hey, that's me! Are you psychic or something?"

Well. Fuck. This is going to be a really awkward assignment, isn't it?

[therozanov]

1.03 | 3.01

[the-sweaty-toothed-mad-woman]

today’s the only day you can reblog this

“There Will Come Soft Rains”, Ray Bradbury

[starielreadinglog]

Happy There Will Come Soft Rains Day to all who celebrate!

[abyssalaquarist00]

Merfolk across the globe have been seen recently; even the amphibious type more commonly found in the Eastern part of the globe. Not sure we have record of interaction with the amphibious folk, but the pinnipedals used to be much more known around here from the last Great Calamity 8kya to around 4kya.

edited my previous commission graphic because i still really like it. it was always for my short story project The Radio Organ: Tales & Transmissions from The World of Reckoning but I needed something to show my prices/TOS. It's styled after my traditional work; there's something therapeutic drawing exclusively in pens and markers.

[red-garden]

MAGA boomers SHOCKED by 20y/o commie speaking fluent hog

[red-garden]

Hog 201 for anyone interested in trying this:

Bodily autonomy (like abortion, anti draft, etc) -> “The government shouldn’t be able to force anything on my body I don’t want.”

Anti surveillance -> “I don’t trust big government/big tech (big brother if you’re feeling frisky) with the ability to spy on me and my family.”

Immigration -> “Next to all of us immigrated at some point, I don’t see why the elites get to decide who’s allowed to be where. What’s to stop them coming for me?”

Climate Change -> “Big oil shouldn’t get to determine whether or not I get to go places. I don’t want to be dependent on some big business to survive.”

State Violence -> “I don’t want the goddamn secret police breathing down my neck! I trust my community a whole hell of a lot more to help me than I do the state!”

The vast majority of conservatives think of themselves as underdogs being repressed by the government/the elite, and they value personal freedom (specifically their personal freedom, they don’t care about other people). The will almost always agree with leftist points if you can find a way to blame the problem on their vague enemies (useful, since rich people are the root of most problems), and tie it back to their ability to say fuck everyone else. NEVER appeal to science, theory, logic, or human goodness. Make it seem as if you are a paranoid lunatic who trusts no one. They love it.

[corrodedparadox]

I am a Sturgeon print club

[witch-breaker]

A wild goat is crowned king for three days in one Ireland's oldest pre-Christian festivals. The ritual draws crowds each August to celebrate the symbolic reign of "King Puck."

[abyssalaquarist00]

لتكن نفسك - To Become Yourself

A self portrait imagining myself as a fantasy, medieval Muslim alchemist for @worldbeyondzine. I had lots of fun doing some research for this piece; those are real alchemic devices in the back!

Close-ups in the cut.

[organiczine]

A mini zine I made about the importance of bats in agriculture.

If you’d like the printable version, drop a DM and I’ll send you the file. Let’s break the stigma and support our only flying mammal together!

[thewittyphantom]

[bathylychnops]

myyy my yaoi attack for @ufophy of our ocs youvenever seen before what... hes doing evil advisor style psychic tricks... smiles... flirts by getting in ur head makingyou hallucinate scary things makesyou scared on purpose... smiles... the creepy smiler...

[the-mad-prince-of-denmark]

If you follow my horror sideblog you know that sometimes when I get hyperfixated on media I start making dedicated playlist that I put way too much thought into and drawing fanart, and sometimes those things intersect

Totally unrelated—here are some of the songs I’ve been listening to as I obsessively reread Brokeback Mountain for the millionth time

Wouldn’t It Be Nice by The Beach Boys

You And Me On The Rock by Brandi Carlile

Let Me Drown by Orville Peck

Choosin’ Texas by Ella Langley

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