#Milk is a healer at the citadel

[goldenlol]

Dw guys, I got us 6 chocomilk lovers

[lexi-the-demon-69]

I made another CRK OC-

No reference for today. Just her default sprite.

This is Toasty Marshmallow Cookie: Dark Cacao Cookie's personal maid and massage therapist! She's a Healer and Rear cookie! I don't have the best idea for her skill just yet tho, but I do want it to relate to her job in massage therapy lol.

Personality-wise, she's basically the Isabelle of Cookie Run Kingdom. Just like the dessert she's based on, Toasty Marshmallow Cookie is a very sweet, warm, and happy young lady. She's an exceptionally hard worker, always prioritizing her king's needs with a smile. If you ever need to talk with Toasty Marshmallow Cookie, you'll likely find her scurrying about the Citadel to appease her king or beside him.

Here's her backstory:

Ever since she was a young cookie, Toasty Marshmallow Cookie always wanted to help other Cookies overcome their aching pains through the art of healing instead of facing their pain on their own with no one to come to their aid. However, her kingdom was built on a foundation of stubbornness, whether it be for better or worse, and was openly criticized by her friends and family that her softness would get her nowhere in a world of hardship and frigid cold.

Determined, Toasty Marshmallow Cookie continued forward, not letting anyone stand in her way of achieving her goals. One day, Toasty Marshmallow Cookie came across a severely wounded Dark Cacao Cookie, having just fended off many foul beasts of the forest, with no one to come to his aid. Upon realizing this, she managed to drag her king back to the black citadel to provide him with the proper care he needed.

However, a bruise deemed irrelevant by the pharmacists caught Toasty Marshmallow Cookie's attention and requests to aid the king's injury, to which he agrees and has it tended to through a massage. Soon revealed that the bruise was in a very vital spot in the king's dough and if left untreated could have left a kingdom with no king. Upon recognizing her talent, Dark Cacao Cookie offers her a position as his personal masseuse and she has been working for him ever since.

Silly fun facts about her:

-Whenever Toasty Marshmallow Cookie walks around, the sound of jingle bells can be heard. -Is in a relationship with Choco Marine Cookie (@foxatron-ze-geek132's OC) -Loves collecting scented candles for her sessions. Her favorite scents are fresh vanilla, peppermint, pinecones, and (of course) marshmallows! -Has her own studio at her cottage in the Milk Village and one in the Citadel (Dark Cacao set it up for her) -Even tho she is very sweet, she is a no-nonsense kind of girl and she'll shut down anything if she has to -Will follow Dark Cacao around like a puppy sometimes. Just to make sure that Dark Cacao doesn't pull his back out. (I like to headcanon that Dark Cacao has terrible back pain if he gets too angry) -She accidentally flirts a LOT and poor thing is oblivious about it

That's it lol

[amekonocternia]

Wanted to find a way to involve Milk in the update

When hearing about the pale ailment he went straight to the kingdom to offer aid and medical knowledge and specifically to check on the milk tribe

He had to force Yam to stay put and had Mala keep tabs on him when he left because Yam was insistent on going with him because "if you're gonna go do something stupid and die I'm not just gonna sit back and wait". Much to Yams dismay he lost

Milk was smart enough to completely cover up (apart from hair) before he entered the kingdom so he never got sick, however due to his getup he did scare the shit out of a couple people

When he first visited the citadel he ended up being pretty harsh on them for the standards since he was so used to the standards of medical spaces in other places and ended up becoming a sort of mentor/authority figure to the citadel healers due to his amount of outside medical knowledge

[queen-rainy-love]

Man, Dark Choco has too many admirers.

I mean all good choices. Purple Yam and Milk are excellent fighters, along with Milk being a healer on the side. Whipped Cream is an excellent dancer and (usually) cheerful person, might have connections to see powerful people. Caramel Arrow is a childhood friend and is extremely loyal, plus a good head on her shoulders.

Curious idea tho, what if the choice Dark Choco made was outside the choices Dark Cacao had picked? Not sure what other ships for Dark Choco you have, but just a thought.

Also I am very curious about how Red Velvet will react? I bet it will be downright hilarious.

I'll be honest, I don't have any other ships for Dark Choco. I did have Dark Cacao pick all the suitors that Dark Choco really likes. (I even have a plan that you may have already guessed. (:)

But if I have to pick a different Cookie that Dark Choco could pick...either Crunchy Chip or Mala Sauce. Both of them are great fighters who ask later, fight first. (I think Dark Choco has a type teehee!)

And I want to write Red Velvet's full reaction in a few weeks. So here's a summary of my thought process for this:

Doesn't matter WHERE he is, doesn't matter WHAT time is it, doesn't matter WHAT he's doing, doesn't matter WHAT he's wearing! The moment he hears Dark Choco having a suitor competition, Red Velvet would run all the way to the Dark Cacao Kingdom and do the following: yell at him for not telling him about it earlier, ask him if he's alright with this, ask who the suitors are, and decide to help him pick one. All the while...Dark Choco is wondering how he got into the Citadel a.k.a. how he got passed all the Watchers.

[outofangband]

The Cavalry of Maglor’s Gap and Lothlann and other world building for the region (Part One)

World Building Masterlist

Like my other Fëanorian World Building posts I focus mainly on layout/hierarchy, population, resources and trade, and homes and construction.

Please always feel free to ask more! For this location or any others! And feel free to suggest locations for world building posts

Maglor’s Gap is an area of Northeastern Beleriand. It lies at the Southern end of the plains of Lothlann with the March of Maedhros on the West and Mount Rerir and Thargelion at the East.

We sadly know very little about the horsemen of Maglor other than that they were burned alive in Lothlann during the Dagor Bragollach. But as Tolkien World Building is my favorite thing, here’s some speculation

The cavalry is made up of over 300 Noldorin riders though duty is cycled so there is usually a group of twenty to fifty inactive or in less intensive tasks They are primarily a defensive measure, protecting Eastern Beleriand from invasion from the North.

Most carry a sword though there are a significant number of archers as well. The cavalry is highly disciplined and trained in both solo and smaller missions as well as coordinated combat operations involving large numbers

The Cavalry live in a number of low, wooden halls located in the foothills. Smaller, cabin like stations dot the route North towards Ard Galen where some stay during longer missions

The horses are bred in Lothlann and graze largely in the wild plains and meadow steppes. About forty elves are involved full time in their care during the watchful peace. The number drops during more dangerous times

The organization and governance of the gap is somewhere between that of the highly organized and fortified Himring and the loosely governed Himlad with no central citadel. Few records are kept and non military positions outside healers are largely temporary and shared ones, the exception being a few who deal primarily with trade and the acquisition of resources

On that note, resources primarily come from Eastern Beleriand with some imports from East of the Ered Luin and elsewhere in Beleriand. Fiber crops are not grown in the Gap and materials for clothing are accessed through trade with Thargelion*. The material is generally already processed and cleaned and requires only fashioning into clothes. Linen, wool, and silk are the most used with other furs going into linings. Leather is also imported from Himlad and Thargelion.

Some clothing is made by individuals who acquire the materials through hunting

*who also get many materials from elves, men and dwarves East of the Ered Luin

Maglor’s Gap does have a small fortress in the more mountainous Northeast near the border to Thargelion. This served temporarily as Maglor’s own home too. It was built from stone and earth to blend into the surrounding landscape (though most was above ground unlike Nargothrond

Fish from the two nearby rivers and various streams are caught often for food and are eaten more than other meat. Seeds and bread made from various flours are also eaten along with often bitter wild vegetables such as wild spinach, purslane, lamb’s quarters, red and green dandelions, etc. Salt is another traded resource. Butter and any other dairy products are somewhat rare. Goat milk products are available somewhat more than cow as goat and sheep are more common in Eastern Beleriand

The majority of the Cavalry perished during Dagor Bragollach. The rest fled towards Himring with a small number traveling further South

[readbookywooks]

Eddard

Pain is a gift from the gods, Lord Eddard," Grand Maester Pycelle told him. "It means the bone is knitting, the flesh healing itself. Be thankful." "I will be thankful when my leg stops throbbing." Pycelle set a stoppered flask on the table by the bed. "The milk of the poppy, for when the pain grows too onerous." "I sleep too much already." "Sleep is the great healer." "I had hoped that was you." Pycelle smiled wanly. "It is good to see you in such a fierce humor, my lord." He leaned close and lowered his voice. "There was a raven this morning, a letter for the queen from her lord father. I thought you had best know." "Dark wings, dark words," Ned said grimly. "What of it?" "Lord Tywin is greatly wroth about the men you sent after Ser Gregor Clegane," the maester confided. "I feared he would be. You will recall, I said as much in council." "Let him be wroth," Ned said. Every time his leg throbbed, he remembered Jaime Lannister's smile, and Jory dead in his arms. "Let him write all the letters to the queen he likes. Lord Beric rides beneath the king's own banner. If Lord Tywin attempts to interfere with the king's justice, he will have Robert to answer to. The only thing His Grace enjoys more than hunting is making war on lords who defy him." Pycelle pulled back, his maester's chain jangling. "As you say. I shall visit again on the morrow." The old man hurriedly gathered up his things and took his leave. Ned had little doubt that he was bound straight for the royal apartments, to whisper at the queen. I thought you had best know, indeed . . . as if Cersei had not instructed him to pass along her father's threats. He hoped his response rattled those perfect teeth of hers. Ned was not near as confident of Robert as he pretended, but there was no reason Cersei need know that. When Pycelle was gone, Ned called for a cup of honeyed wine. That clouded the mind as well, yet not as badly. He needed to be able to think. A thousand times, he asked himself what Jon Arryn might have done, had he lived long enough to act on what he'd learned. Or perhaps he had acted, and died for it. It was queer how sometimes a child's innocent eyes can see things that grown men are blind to. Someday, when Sansa was grown, he would have to tell her how she had made it all come clear for him. He's not the least bit like that old drunken king, she had declared, angry and unknowing, and the simple truth of it had twisted inside him, cold as death. This was the sword that killed Jon Arryn, Ned thought then, and it will kill Robert as well, a slower death but full as certain. Shattered legs may heal in time, but some betrayals fester and poison the soul. Littlefinger came calling an hour after the Grand Maester had left, clad in a plum-colored doublet with a mockingbird embroidered on the breast in black thread, and a striped cloak of black and white. "I cannot visit long, my lord," he announced. "Lady Tanda expects me to lunch with her. No doubt she will roast me a fatted calf. If it's near as fatted as her daughter, I'm like to rupture and die. And how is your leg?" "Inflamed and painful, with an itch that is driving me mad." Littlefinger lifted an eyebrow. "In future, try not to let any horses fall on it. I would urge you to heal quickly. The realm grows restive. Varys has heard ominous whispers from the west. Freeriders and sellswords have been flocking to Casterly Rock, and not for the thin pleasure of Lord Tywin's conversation." "Is there word of the king?" Ned demanded. "Just how long does Robert intend to hunt?" "Given his preferences, I believe he'd stay in the forest until you and the queen both die of old age," Lord Petyr replied with a faint smile. "Lacking that, I imagine he'll return as soon as he's killed something. They found the white hart, it seems . . . or rather, what remained of it. Some wolves found it first, and left His Grace scarcely more than a hoof and a horn. Robert was in a fury, until he heard talk of some monstrous boar deeper in the forest. Then nothing would do but he must have it. Prince Joffrey returned this morning, with the Royces, Ser Balon Swann, and some twenty others of the party. The rest are still with the king." "The Hound?" Ned asked, frowning. Of all the Lannister party, Sandor Clegane was the one who concerned him the most, now that Ser Jaime had fled the city to join his father. "Oh, returned with Joffrey, and went straight to the queen." Littlefinger smiled. "I would have given a hundred silver stags to have been a roach in the rushes when he learned that Lord Beric was off to behead his brother." "Even a blind man could see the Hound loathed his brother." "Ah, but Gregor was his to loathe, not yours to kill. Once Dondarrion lops the summit off our Mountain, the Clegane lands and incomes will pass to Sandor, but I wouldn't hold my water waiting for his thanks, not that one. And now you must forgive me. Lady Tanda awaits with her fatted calves." On the way to the door, Lord Petyr spied Grand Maester Malleon's massive tome on the table and paused to idly flip open the cover. "The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children," he read. "Now there is tedious reading if ever I saw it. A sleeping potion, my lord?" For a brief moment Ned considered telling him all of it, but there was something in Littlefinger's japes that irked him. The man was too clever by half, a mocking smile never far from his lips. "Jon Arryn was studying this volume when he was taken sick," Ned said in a careful tone, to see how he might respond. And he responded as he always did: with a quip. "In that case," he said, "death must have come as a blessed relief." Lord Petyr Baelish bowed and took his leave. Eddard Stark allowed himself a curse. Aside from his own retainers, there was scarcely a man in this city he trusted. Littlefinger had concealed Catelyn and helped Ned in his inquiries, yet his haste to save his own skin when Jaime and his swords had come out of the rain still rankled. Varys was worse. For all his protestations of loyalty, the eunuch knew too much and did too little. Grand Maester Pycelle seemed more Cersei's creature with every passing day, and Ser Barristan was an old man, and rigid. He would tell Ned to do his duty. Time was perilously short. The king would return from his hunt soon, and honor would require Ned to go to him with all he had learned. Vayon Poole had arranged for Sansa and Arya to sail on the Wind Witch out of Braavos, three days hence. They would be back at Winterfell before the harvest. Ned could no longer use his concern for their safety to excuse his delay. Yet last night he had dreamt of Rhaegar's children. Lord Tywin had laid the bodies beneath the Iron Throne, wrapped in the crimson cloaks of his house guard. That was clever of him; the blood did not show so badly against the red cloth. The little princess had been barefoot, still dressed in her bed gown, and the boy . . . the boy . . . Ned could not let that happen again. The realm could not withstand a second mad king, another dance of blood and vengeance. He must find some way to save the children. Robert could be merciful. Ser Barristan was scarcely the only man he had pardoned. Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys the Spider, Lord Balon Greyjoy; each had been counted an enemy to Robert once, and each had been welcomed into friendship and allowed to retain honors and office for a pledge of fealty. So long as a man was brave and honest, Robert would treat him with all the honor and respect due a valiant enemy. This was something else: poison in the dark, a knife thrust to the soul. This he could never forgive, no more than he had forgiven Rhaegar. He will kill them all, Ned realized. And yet, he knew he could not keep silent. He had a duty to Robert, to the realm, to the shade of Jon Arryn . . . and to Bran, who surely must have stumbled on some part of the truth. Why else would they have tried to slay him? Late that afternoon he summoned Tomard, the portly guardsman with the ginger-colored whiskers his children called Fat Tom. With Jory dead and Alyn gone, Fat Tom had command of his household guard. The thought filled Ned with vague disquiet. Tomard was a solid man; affable, loyal, tireless, capable in a limited way, but he was near fifty, and even in his youth he had never been energetic. Perhaps Ned should not have been so quick to send off half his guard, and all his best swords among them. "I shall require your help," Ned said when Tomard appeared, looking faintly apprehensive, as he always did when called before his lord. "Take me to the godswood." "Is that wise, Lord Eddard? With your leg and all?" "Perhaps not. But necessary." Tomard summoned Varly. With one arm around each man's shoulders, Ned managed to descend the steep tower steps and hobble across the bailey. "I want the guard doubled," he told Fat Tom. "No one enters or leaves the Tower of the Hand without my leave." Tom blinked. "M'lord, with Alyn and the others away, we are hard-pressed already—" "It will only be a short while. Lengthen the watches." "As you say, m'lord," Tom answered. "Might I ask why—" "Best not," Ned answered crisply. The godswood was empty, as it always was here in this citadel of the southron gods. Ned's leg was screaming as they lowered him to the grass beside the heart tree. "Thank you." He drew a paper from his sleeve, sealed with the sigil of his House. "Kindly deliver this at once." Tomard looked at the name Ned had written on the paper and licked his lips anxiously. "My lord . . . " "Do as I bid you, Tom," Ned said. How long he waited in the quiet of the godswood, he could not say. It was peaceful here. The thick walls shut out the clamor of the castle, and he could hear birds singing, the murmur of crickets, leaves rustling in a gentle wind. The heart tree was an oak, brown and faceless, yet Ned Stark still felt the presence of his gods. His leg did not seem to hurt so much. She came to him at sunset, as the clouds reddened above the walls and towers. She came alone, as he had bid her. For once she was dressed simply, in leather boots and hunting greens. When she drew back the hood of her brown cloak, he saw the bruise where the king had struck her. The angry plum color had faded to yellow, and the swelling was down, but there was no mistaking it for anything but what it was. "Why here?" Cersei Lannister asked as she stood over him. "So the gods can see." She sat beside him on the grass. Her every move was graceful. Her curling blond hair moved in the wind, and her eyes were green as the leaves of summer. It had been a long time since Ned Stark had seen her beauty, but he saw it now. "I know the truth Jon Arryn died for," he told her. "Do you?" The queen watched his face, wary as a cat. "Is that why you called me here, Lord Stark? To pose me riddles? Or is it your intent to seize me, as your wife seized my brother?" "If you truly believed that, you would never have come." Ned touched her cheek gently. "Has he done this before?" "Once or twice." She shied away from his hand. "Never on the face before. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life." Cersei looked at him defiantly. "My brother is worth a hundred of your friend." "Your brother?" Ned said. "Or your lover?" "Both." She did not flinch from the truth. "Since we were children together. And why not? The Targaryens wed brother to sister for three hundred years, to keep the bloodlines pure. And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said. When he is in me, I feel . . . whole." The ghost of a smile flitted over her lips. "My son Bran . . . " To her credit, Cersei did not look away. "He saw us. You love your children, do you not?" Robert had asked him the very same question, the morning of the melee. He gave her the same answer. "With all my heart." "No less do I love mine." Ned thought, If it came to that, the life of some child I did not know, against Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, what would I do? Even more so, what would Catelyn do, if it were Jon's life, against the children of her body? He did not know. He prayed he never would. "All three are Jaime's," he said. It was not a question. "Thank the gods." The seed is strong, Jon Arryn had cried on his deathbed, and so it was. All those bastards, all with hair as black as night. Grand Maester Malleon recorded the last mating between stag and lion, some ninety years ago, when Tya Lannister wed Gowen Baratheon, third son of the reigning lord. Their only issue, an unnamed boy described in Malleon's tome as a large and lusty lad born with a full head of black hair, died in infancy. Thirty years before that a male Lannister had taken a Baratheon maid to wife. She had given him three daughters and a son, each black-haired. No matter how far back Ned searched in the brittle yellowed pages, always he found the gold yielding before the coal. "A dozen years," Ned said. "How is it that you have had no children by the king?" She lifted her head, defiant. "Your Robert got me with child once," she said, her voice thick with contempt. "My brother found a woman to cleanse me. He never knew. If truth be told, I can scarcely bear for him to touch me, and I have not let him inside me for years. I know other ways to pleasure him, when he leaves his whores long enough to stagger up to my bedchamber. Whatever we do, the king is usually so drunk that he's forgotten it all by the next morning." How could they have all been so blind? The truth was there in front of them all the time, written on the children's faces. Ned felt sick. "I remember Robert as he was the day he took the throne, every inch a king," he said quietly. "A thousand other women might have loved him with all their hearts. What did he do to make you hate him so?" Her eyes burned, green fire in the dusk, like the lioness that was her sigil. "The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister's name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna." Ned Stark thought of pale blue roses, and for a moment he wanted to weep. "I do not know which of you I pity most." The queen seemed amused by that. "Save your pity for yourself, Lord Stark. I want none of it." "You know what I must do." "Must?" She put her hand on his good leg, just above the knee. "A true man does what he will, not what he must." Her fingers brushed lightly against his thigh, the gentlest of promises. "The realm needs a strong Hand. Joff will not come of age for years. No one wants war again, least of all me." Her hand touched his face, his hair. "If friends can turn to enemies, enemies can become friends. Your wife is a thousand leagues away, and my brother has fled. Be kind to me, Ned. I swear to you, you shall never regret it." "Did you make the same offer to Jon Arryn?" She slapped him. "I shall wear that as a badge of honor," Ned said dryly. "Honor," she spat. "How dare you play the noble lord with me! What do you take me for? You've a bastard of your own, I've seen him. Who was the mother, I wonder? Some Dornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I'm told. Why was that? For the brother you slew, or the child you stole? Tell me, my honorable Lord Eddard, how are you any different from Robert, or me, or Jaime?" "For a start," said Ned, "I do not kill children. You would do well to listen, my lady. I shall say this only once. When the king returns from his hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You and your children, all three, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I should take ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles or the Port of Ibben. As far as the winds blow." "Exile," she said. "A bitter cup to drink from." "A sweeter cup than your father served Rhaegar's children," Ned said, "and kinder than you deserve. Your father and your brothers would do well to go with you. Lord Tywin's gold will buy you comfort and hire swords to keep you safe. You shall need them. I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert's wrath will follow you, to the back of beyond if need be." The queen stood. "And what of my wrath, Lord Stark?" she asked softly. Her eyes searched his face. "You should have taken the realm for yourself. It was there for the taking. Jaime told me how you found him on the Iron Throne the day King's Landing fell, and made him yield it up. That was your moment. All you needed to do was climb those steps, and sit. Such a sad mistake." "I have made more mistakes than you can possibly imagine," Ned said, "but that was not one of them." "Oh, but it was, my lord," Cersei insisted. "When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground." She turned up her hood to hide her swollen face and left him there in the dark beneath the oak, amidst the quiet of the godswood, under a blue-black sky. The stars were coming out.