ladyshadowdrake | Feb. 7th, 2018

Feb. 7th, 2018

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How is everyone doing this evening?
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I have a new Bingo card, but I actually still have 3 requests from the last Bingo card, so I’m going to see about doing one of those tonight.

Sorry if you are one of those 3 individuals and have been waiting so long. >.<
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potrix-the-queerschlaeger:

Tony becomes a dad at 18 after a one-night stand. It’s his wakeup call, and he decides to raise the baby himself when the mother says she doesn’t want to do it. It’s the last straw for Howard after first finding out that Tony’s bi, and then Tony telling him he’s not going to work for SI, that he wants to stay in college for a little while longer to finish his PhD. So, Howard—still reeling after the accident he caused which killed Maria—disowns Tony, and kicks him out.

But Tony isn’t stupid, he always knew something like this was possible, so he has some savings. Not much, but just enough. And, really, it’s not like MIT is going to kick him out as well, he’s Tony Stark, their star pupil. And Tony isn’t about to let Howard win whatever twisted game they’re playing, he just won’t. He stays with Rhodey until he finds several part-time jobs, and a small apartment for him and his son. It’s difficult, and frustrating, even with Rhodey and Pepper and his lovely, elderly landlady helping out as much as they can, but Tony powers through it. He can do this.

Enter Steve, a couple of months later. Tony has the shittiest day ever at work; a customer yells at him for a full fifteen minutes for supposedly screwing up her order—which Tony didn’t, excuse you—he drops a tray full of trash all over himself while cleaning the tables, and then he burns himself while cleaning the coffee machine. Which is when Steve walks into the café, and Tony realises that, on top of all the other crap, he’s forgotten to close up, and will now have to explain to a potential customer that he can’t serve him, because everything’s been shut down already.

But the customer turns out to be really nice about it, and even fixes up Tony’s burnt hand. They talk, flirt a little, and it’s basically a crush at first sight for both of them. But, obviously, Tony doesn’t think he has a chance with the gorgeous, clearly wealthy, older man, and is super surprised when Steve asks him out, but agrees enthusiastically. But then Steve stuffs a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar—he means to be nice, he’s just clumsy about it—making Tony think he’s looking for a hook-up/casual thing/means to pay Tony for his, uh, services. Tony is disappointed, but he likes Steve, and answers when Steve calls a couple of days later.

Tony and Steve start a sort of relationship, and it’s good, it really is, even though Tony is starting to fall in love with the man he’s pretty sure has become his sugar daddy. Because Steve—in a desperate attempt to keep the beautiful, clever, witty, younger man interested in him—spoils Tony rotten; he takes him out to fancy restaurants, dresses him in expensive clothes, and buys him a shitload of stuff. Tony feels crappy about it all because he really likes Steve, but he doesn’t dare say anything either, afraid Steve will leave if he realises Tony’s getting attached. Or, you know, finds out Tony has a kid, whom Tony’s been hiding as not to put Steve off.

Meanwhile, Steve is pining, thinking Tony’s the one who doesn’t want to tie himself to some old, boring architect. Bucky can’t stand Tony, thinking Tony’s taking advantage of Steve, and the fact that Steve’s head over heels in love with him. Steve has a really bad couple of days—it’s the anniversary of the accident that killed Peggy and their unborn baby girl—and meets up with Sharon, Peggy’s sister, like every year so they can support, and help each other through the worst of it. He also completely forgets about having had plans with Tony.

Tony, who’s arriving at Steve’s apartment—he was worried about Steve, okay, Steve is never late, he’s not checking up on him or anything, jeez—just a moment after Sharon and Steve, and sees them hug, and kiss—it’s a friendly peck, they’re like siblings, and they’re fucking sad and need the comfort—and just kind of stares in shock. Once he unfreezes, Tony tries to leave quietly, but Steve spots him, and waves him over. He introduces Tony as a friend, which Tony takes as confirmation that Steve isn’t serious about him at all. Once Sharon leaves, Tony tells Steve he can’t do this anymore, and goes.

Steve has a mini breakdown, and calls Bucky, crying and sniffling and generally being absolutely miserable. And Bucky freaks the fuck out, because he knew Tony was just screwing Steve over, that fucking gold digging asshole! Bucky, furious, calls up his friend Nat—without telling Sam, his boyfriend, what he’s up to, because Sam is usually reasonable, and Bucky can’t use that right now—and asks her to help him find out where Tony lives. Nat agrees after Bucky tells her what’s happened, and they go to confront Tony together.

Tony has been moping around for the last couple of days, feeling like shit, and to top it all off, the letter he’s sent to Howard, his olive branch, has been returned unanswered. Which is when Bucky, Steve’s friend who could never stand Tony anyway, and some scary redhead suddenly turn up on his doorstep, and storm into his apartment, looking absolutely livid. Bucky starts yelling at Tony, throwing accusations around, asking him how he could’ve done that to Steve, and it’s just too much for Tony; he starts crying. Under tears, Tony apologises, and says he never meant to fall in love with Steve, that he’s sorry, and please, Bucky’s free to take all the stuff Steve’s given him back, Tony never asked for any of it anyway. Tony swears he never took any actual money from Steve, and apologises, again, for selling some of the gifts Steve’s given him to pay for bills and groceries, and promises he’ll pay everything back.

Nat’s just kind of standing in the background, slowly realising that, yeah, some sort of miscommunication has happened here. Which is when they all hear the baby starting to cry from the other room. Tony excuses himself, and Bucky and Nat share this ‘shit, I think we’ve fucked up’ look when Tony comes back with a small boy in his arms. He introduces his son, apologises yet again because he has to change him, otherwise he’ll never quiet down.

Once the baby’s taken care of, Nat tells Tony to pack a baby bag, and come with them. And Tony’s exhausted, and done, so he doesn’t protest, just goes with them. Everything’s fucked up already, it can’t really get worse anyway. Nat drives everyone to Steve’s apartment, plants Tony and the baby on the couch, and does the thing they should’ve done from the beginning; she calls Sam.

Sam arrives a little while later with Steve—they’d been at the gym, trying to get Steve’s mind off Tony—to find a sheepish Bucky and Nat sitting in the kitchen with a baby, and Tony passed out on the couch. Steve gets pissed because wtf, Bucky, there was no need to bring Tony here, what the hell? But Bucky insists Steve talk to Tony, so Steve does, albeit reluctantly.

Tony wakes up to Steve gently touching his cheek, and just starts crying all over again. He apologises—really, it’s his thing here—and tries to explain the situation, confused when Steve starts crying as well. They finally figure out that everything’s been a huge misunderstanding, and that they’re both idiots who are very much in love with each other.

Sam plops the baby down in Steve’s lap, congratulates them on figuring their shit out, and shoos Nat and Bucky out of the apartment. Steve immediately falls in love with the baby—the huge softie—they all have dinner together, and then curl up in Steve’s bed together, finally happy.

THE END
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nikexiphos replied to your post: How is everyone doing this evening?

Snug in a blanket nest and bemoaning the fact that telecommuting means tomorrow will still be a work day despite the expected big snow. You?

Snug in a blanket nest sounds amazing - impending big snow and work tomorrow does not. I will also be at work uuuuunfortunately, but no snow here, so you’ve for sure got me beat. Stay warm and cozy!

I am waiting for my tea to cool down to Drake-approved temperatures. :D
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damej replied to your post “How is everyone doing this evening?”

doing alright! how’re you?

I had a frustrating day, but for once I decided to funnel my frustration in a productive manner and got a bunch of cleaning done, so actually feeling okay. :D
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elvenavari replied to your post: How is everyone doing this evening?

I got my big girl pants on. Just finished filing my taxes. Woot, woot.

Well look at you, Ms Fancy Big Girl Responsible Pants.

I have not, omg. I’m afraid. This year is going to be such a pain - it is the first year my husband and I are filing together, I was on unemployment for half the year, and had 3 jobs for the other half. I am… I am really not looking forward to it even a little.
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rhube:

qqueenofhades:

So, I recently saw a post on my dash with someone lamenting the fact that in the medieval era, they would have been considered ugly as there was no makeup, and someone else offering a well-meant attempt to reassure them: that since they’d have no pox scars, rotten teeth, filthy hair, etc, all medieval men would think they were amazingly hot. While I appreciate the sentiment, there’s…. more than a little mythology on both sides of this idea, and frankly, our medieval foremothers would be surprised and insulted to hear that they were apparently the stereotyped bunch of unwashed, snaggle-toothed crones who put no care or effort into their appearance, and had no tools with which to do so.

(Or: Yep. Hilary Has More Things To Say. You probably know where this is going.)

I answered an ask a couple weeks ago that was mostly about medieval gynecological care and the accuracy of the “mother dying in childbirth” stereotype, but which also touched on some of the somehow still-widely-believed myths about medieval personal care and cleanliness. Let’s start with bathing. Medieval people bathed, full stop. Not as frequently as we do, and not in the same ways, but the “people never washed in Ye Olde Dark Ages” chestnut needs to be decidedly consigned to the historical dustbin where it belongs. “A Short History of Bathing Before 1601″ is a good place to start, as it follows the development of bathing culture from ancient Rome (where bathhouses were known for their use as gathering places and influential centers of political debate) through to the modern era. Yes, common people as well as the nobility washed fairly frequently. Bathing was a favored social and leisure activity and a central part of hospitality for guests. Hey, look at all these images in medieval manuscripts of people bathing. Or De balneis Puteolanis, which is basically a thirteenth-century travel guide to the best baths in Italy. Or these medieval Spanish civic codes about when men, women, and Jews were allowed to use the public bath house. There was also, as referenced in the above ask, the practice of washing faces, hands, etc daily, and sometimes more than once. Feasts involved elaborate protocol about who was allowed to perform certain tasks, including bringing in the bowls of scented water to wash between courses. They associated filth with disease (logically). Anyway. Let’s move on.

Combs are some of the oldest (and most common) objects found in medieval graves – i.e. they were a standard part of the “grave goods” for the deceased, and were highly valued possessions. Look, it’s a young woman combing her hair (that article also discusses the history of medieval makeup for men, which was totally a thing and likewise also suspected of being “unmanly.”) The Luttrell Psalter, now in the British Library, includes among its many illuminations one of a young woman having her hair elaborately combed and styled by an attendant. There were extensive discourses on what constituted an ideally attractive medieval woman, and the study of aesthetics and the nature of beauty is one of the oldest and most central philosophical enquiries in the world (as were beauty standards in antiquity). Having a pale complexion was a sign of wealth (you didn’t have to work outdoors in the sun) and women used all kinds of pastes and powders to achieve that effect. Remember the Trotula, the medieval gynecological textbook we talked about in the childbirth ask? Well, it is actually three texts, and the entire third text, De ornatu mulierum (On Women’s Cosmetics) is dedicated to makeup and cosmetics. What weird and gross sort of things do they advocate, cry editors of “7 Horrifying Medieval Beauty Tips You Won’t Believe!”-style articles? Well…

First come general depilatories for overall care of the skin. Then there are recipes for care of the hair: for making it long and dark, thick and lovely, or soft and fine. For care of the face, there are recipes for removing unwanted hair, whitening the skin, removing blemishes or abscesses, and exfoliating the skin, plus general facial creams. For the lips, there is a special unguent of honey to soften them, plus colorants to dye the lips and gums. For the care of teeth and prevention of bad breath, there are five different recipes. The final chapter is on hygiene of the genitalia. […] A prescription said to be used by Muslim women then follows.[…] The author gives detailed instructions on how to apply the water just prior to intercourse, together with a powder that the woman is supposed to rub on her chest, breasts, and genitalia. She is also to wash her partner’s genitals with a cloth sprinkled with the same sweet-smelling powder.

Wait so… hair care, skin and facial creams, toothpaste, lipstick, and sexual hygiene?? With the latter based on that used by Muslim women??? Zounds! How strange and unthinkable!

L’ornement des Dames, an Anglo-Norman text of the thirteenth century, offers more tips and tricks, and explicitly references the authority of both the Trotula and Muslim women: “I shall not forget either what I learnt at Messina from a Saracen woman. She was a doctor for the people of her faith […] according to what I heard from Trotula of Salerno, a woman who does not trust her is a fool.” So yes. The beauty regimes of Muslim women were transmitted to and shared by Christian women, especially in diverse places like medieval Sicily, and this was valuable and trusted advice. Gee. It’s almost like women have always a) cared about their appearance, and b) united to flip one giant middle finger at the patriarchy. (You can also read more about skincare and cosmetics.) Speaking of female health authorities, you have definitely (or you should have) heard of Hildegard von Bingen, a twelfth-century abbess and towering genius who was the trusted advisor of kings and popes and wrote treatises on everything from music to medicine to natural science (she is regarded as the founder of the discipline in Germany). This included the vast Physica, a handbook on health and medicine, and Causae et curae, another medical textbook.

Did the church grumble and gripe about women putting on excessive adornments and being too fixated by makeup and the dangers of vanity and etc etc? You bet they did. Did women ignore the hell out of this and wear makeup and fancy clothes anyway? You bet they damn well did. Also, medieval society was fuckin’ obsessed with fashion (especially in the fourteenth century.) The sumptuary laws, which appeared for the first time in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, regulated which classes of society were allowed to wear what (so that fancy furs and silks and jewels were reserved for the nobility, and less expensive cloth and trimming were the province of the lower classes – the idea was that you could know someone’s station in life just by looking at them). These were insanely detailed, and went down to regulating the height of someone’s high heels. So yes, theoretically, the stiletto police could stop you in fourteenth-century England, whip out a measuring tape, and see if you were literally too big for your britches.

(”But, but,” you stammer. “Surely they had rotten teeth?” Well, this is probably a bad time to note that in addition to the five toothpaste remedies mentioned in the Trotula, there are even more. Jewish and Muslim natural philosophers and herbalists had all kinds of recommendations – see Practical Materia Medica of the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean. Also, since there was no processed sugar in their diet, their dentistry was far better than, say, the Elizabethans, and white and regular teeth were highly prized. There would be wear and tear from grist, but since fine-milled white bread was a status symbol, the wealthy could afford to have bread that did not contain it, and thus good teeth.)

Of course, everyone wasn’t just getting dressed up with, so to speak, nowhere to go. What about sex? It never happened unless it was marital rape, right? (/side-eyes a certain unnamed quasi-medieval television show). Oh no. Medieval people loved the shit out of sex. Pastourelles were an immensely popular poetic genre which almost always included the protagonist having a romp with a pretty shepherdess, and anyone who’s read any Chaucer knows how bawdy it can get. Even Chaucer, however, is put to shame by the fabliaux, which are a vast collection of Old French poems that have titles so ribald that I could not say them aloud to an undergraduate class. (”The Ring That Controlled Erections” and “The Peekaboo Priest” are about the tamest that I can think of, but I gotta say I’m fond of “Long Butthole Berengier” and the one called simply “The Fucker,” because literally people are people everywhere and always. And yes, you perverted person, you can read the lot of them here.) This was incredibly explicit and bawdy popular literature that was pretty much exactly medieval porn (and like usual porn, did not exactly serve as any kind of precursor of feminist media or positive female representation, but Misogyny, Take a Shot.)

So yes. Once more (surprise!) the history of cosmetics goes back at least six thousand years, and is one of the oldest aspects of documented social history in the world. It existed broadly and accessibly in the medieval world, where women had other women writing books on it for them, and was just as much as a concern as it is now. People have always liked to look good, smell good, accessorize, dress fashionably, try weird beauty trends, and so forth. So if by some accident you do stumble into a time machine and end up in medieval Europe, you’ll have plenty of choices. Our medieval foremothers, and the men who loved them and thought they were beautiful, thank you for your time.

This is amazing. So many facts and links! Hope this post blows up big style :)
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digitaldiscipline:

adulthoodisokay:

prettybonesandvultureprose:

He’s so fucking valid I love him

Pigeon Status: SICK
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shinywaka:

bundyspooks:

1.) Swaddled Babies

2.) Flying Duck Orchid

3.) Hooker’s Lips Orchid

4.) Ballerina Orchid

5.) Monkey Orchid

6.) Naked Man Orchid

7.) Laughing Bumblebee Orchid

8.) White Egret Orchid

Orchids kinda don’t wanna be flowers, huh.
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