#castle malting

[randomberlinchick]

I spent some of the best (and most challenging) years of my life in Scotland, and so it was lovely to receive this beautiful bottle (#375) of Speyside Single Malt Scotch Whisky Signatory Vintage (featuring Stirling Castle) for Christmas. According to the label, the wood was first fill sherry butt finish...Okay, while we're on the subject, y'all need to drink more sherry, so that whisky can mature in sherry casks...Don't look at me, I'm doing my part 😂 Thanks again @skaphander!!

[knightofleo]

Just wanted to say I appreciate your updates and reactions on the playthrough of elden ring. Brightened up my day more than expected

Thank you! They'll keep on popping up, hidden in the tags here and there, I just thought they would be fun to look back at.

[maltrunners]

Knappogue Castle 1995 (1995) Very Special Reserve

Review by: TOModera Continuing on with the highly popular, never doubted, and generally treated with respect Irish Whiskey min-binge! So I ordered a bunch of Irish whiskies from Flaviar. They ship to Canada, so that leaves them as my only option. Also it’s not too bad compared to having to hunt it down at bars and restaurants. So today we have Knappogue Castle 1995, or as I call it ‘The one I…

[youweremyversaillesatnight]

tula and her journey

(as a note, this is incredibly long so i've put the vast majority of it under a read more. please open it all the way if you want to see the whole thing)

@/atticfish // The Oresteia, Aeschylus // C.S. Lewis // Clearest Blue, CHVRCHES // Howl’s Moving Castle (2004) // I See Boats Moving, Fernando Pessoa // Deep End, Holly Humberstone // The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, Rainer Maria Rilke // Tired, beabadoobee // Sarah Kay // Half-light: Collected Poems 1965-2016, Frank Bidart // (could not find) // Zinaida Gippius // Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides, Anne Carson // Don’t Swallow the Cap, The National // When Did It Happen?, Mary Oliver // Holy Wild, Gwen Benaway // Manhattan is a Lenape Word, Natalie Diaz // Dead Stars, Ada Limón // The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell (1988) // How to Cure a Ghost, Fariha Róisín // @/CrowsFault (twitter) // Spring, Mary Oliver // @/jb-blunk // (could not find) // @/roach-works // Tales From Earthsea: Dragonfly, Ursula Le Guin  // Some are Always Hungry, Jihyun Yun // All About Love: New Visions, bell hooks // Notebooks 1951-1959, Albert Camus // @/podencos // The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath // Waiting, Marya Hornbacher // The Summer Day, Mary Oliver // Burrow’s End (2023)

and, as a bonus if you made it this far:

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

I HAVE AN obsession with the color green. It’s a color of opposites. Green is life, growth, and health. It’s also sickness, greed, and envy. It’s good and bad at once. And it’s everywhere this afternoon as I sit down with actor, producer, author, and entrepreneur Sam Heughan — most recognized for his starring role in the Scotland-based time travel drama “Outlander.” His shirt bears a green tartan pattern, somewhere between jade and emerald. To my right, the glass bottle of his new gin is a transparent seafoam. Above my head is the leafy expanse of a tree, planted in the courtyard of New York’s Crosby Street Hotel. The gin we sip tastes green: grassy and alpine, fresh as menthol and bright as a sour apple. Most vividly is the green in my mind’s eye: the wet, rich, misty green of Scotland, a place Heughan speaks of with rapture.

Missing home is what drove Heughan to launch his spirits brand Sassenach, after the Scottish Gaelic word for an English person, or rather, an “outsider.” “When I was in London away from home, a jobbing actor, missing Scotland, I remember my first time trying a single malt whisky and I had such an emotional reaction,” he recalls from across the table, his bright blue eyes wide. “It reminded me of Scotland.”

I remark on the gin’s legs, thick and viscous, streaking the sides of my glass. Heughan nods, “I increased the strength. It just gives it a bit more weight. I love a bit of weight on my tongue.” Toasted oats give a creamy feel to the cornucopia of flavors present in the liquid: pine resin, heather, blackberry leaf, blaeberry — and, again, that sour green apple. “There’s no citrus in Scotland. That’s why I chose apples,” Heughan explains. “I remember as a kid, picking them and throwing them at people, eating them, then being really ill because they’re so sour.”

Heughan’s family — his mother, brother, and uncle — still live in Scotland. His uncle used to have a ceilidh band. “[Ceilidh is] a traditional Scottish dance,” he explains. “It’s madness. Everyone’s drinking whisky and the dancers get faster and faster and there are lots of spinning people around.” Heughan listens to a lot of Scottish music. He later sends me a song called “Blackbird” by Martyn Bennett, known for mixing dance tracks with traditional Celtic music. I tear up at its aching slants. “It makes me homesick for a home that’s not mine,” I message him. “That’s Scotland,” he writes back. “It does that to people.”

Sam Heughan Is in Good Spirits Image Float

Heughan was raised by a single mother in the south of Scotland — the rural stretches of Dumfries and Galloway. “Spent a lot of time on my own pretending I was a knight or Robert the Bruce.” The land’s botanicals now flavor his gin. Courtesy of Sam Heughan.

“It’s one foot in the present, one in the past,” muses Heughan about his country, adding a splash of tonic to my gin, whose flavor now reveals a pleasant salinity. “The castles. So many great battles. You

can feel the history. I think that’s what makes it so magical.” This history is inextricably linked to ritual, observed in Scotland to this day. Take Beltane, a pagan ritual beginning serendipitously on Heughan’s birthday, April 30. “You’re supposed to stay up all night and wash your face in the fresh dew when the sun rises, then go to bed and dream of your future spouse,” he describes. “It’s all about rebirth and nature.”

We talk about other parts of the world that have shaped him, as I remark on his fusion accent: a bit Scottish for sure, but mixed with something else, sort of American and British, too. America’s opportunity and diversity captivate Heughan. He came here for the first time at 18, hostel hopping in San Francisco. “I remember looking at the Golden Gate Bridge for hours, playing my cassette of ‘(Sittin’ On) the Dock of the Bay’ by Otis Redding over and over. I was living on $5 burritos — one a day. It’s all I could afford.” He speaks of Hawaii with reverence — the local culture’s connection to wildlife and the sea. He spent time with a fisherman and his family there who taught him the Indigenous way to fish: “Gut it straight away. Take out the heart, say a prayer, and throw it back into the ocean immediately to allow the soul of the fish to live on.” New Zealand also moves him. He was there recently and learned about tā moku, the art of Māori tattooing. “You sit with an artist and tell him your story. He chooses where it goes on your body and makes it there and then. He stuck [the initial sketch] on my left forearm here, and it was all about my mom and my brother and the absence of my father.” He wants to return to New Zealand and get the tattoo next time.

My gin has opened up even more, spreading out into softer, aromatic florals as Heughan uncorks a bottle of his whisky. “People have called you a global heartthrob.” I begin, “Is that a role you’re —”

“Who has?” His eyes grow bigger in feigned shock. (Fun fact: the Sam Heughan fanbase even has their own name — “Heughligans.”)

“Someone I talked to in the subway.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely, pouring new glasses.

“Do you,” I continue, taking a sip, “feel comfortable in that role?” The whisky tastes like a spicy Werther’s caramel.

“My character is what some people aspire to, and I understand why. He’s this incredible human being who’s just so in love with his wife and does the most romantic things. Selfless. People then think you might be that person. I’m certainly not. But it’s something to aspire to.”

“Are you comfortable,” I press, “being an object of desire?” Heughan shares that in earlier years, he was treated in a way that would no longer be tolerated. “I’d be asked, ‘What’s under your kilt?’ or ‘How do you get your abs?’ I wish I did have abs! We were just in a different industry. I don’t have resentment or a grudge. But I would like to be seen for the work that I do, rather than my looks.”

While he’s still based in Scotland, Heughan also has a house in LA, a city he’s not exactly sold on. He toys with the idea of New York as his next home base. He loves it here. “The cocktail bars. Cycling along the West Side. SoHo. The river. Getting a ferry. I’m so into ferries! I’ll go to Staten Island, then come back again. We got a helicopter the other day back from the Hamptons — I don’t like helicopters. They’re not meant to fly. However, seeing the Statue of Liberty from there, it’s so good. New York could be my city.”

I show Heughan around some local spots that evening. We sit at the bar of Superbueno for mezcal drinks and tacos. The music gets louder and so do the crowds. Mouth full of al pastor, I semi-shout a question in Heughan’s direction, asking if he ever gets overstimulated. “No, not really,” he replies simply, between chewing. At 6 feet, 3 inches, Heughan towers over seemingly everyone. Maybe it’s calmer up there. There’s an overall good-natured quality to him; it’s soothing to be around.

We head to another bar, Mr. Fongs. The air is thick with the smell of trash and rats dart to and fro. A subway thunders overhead as we walk below a bridge in Chinatown. “This is awesome,” Heughan murmurs. We order the bar’s specialty: salty plum old-fashioneds. “I want a place where the second I walk out my door, I’m right in the center of all of it,” he says decidedly, whistling a little at the (notoriously strong) drink. “Right in the middle.”

Heughan is noticeably unadorned. I suggest some rings and an ear piercing for his New York era. A candle light flickers against his cheek, evoking another world — someplace old and rural and rugged. At this moment, I see his character, a fantasy projection of the leading man. But really, we’re just in Chinatown, weighing the pros and cons of earrings on men. “Sadly I don’t think I’m quite cool enough,” he sighs, “to pull that off.” ▪️

Our Contributors

Sophie Mancini Writer

Sophie Mancini is an editor at Departures. Born and raised in New York City, she holds a degree in creative writing from Johns Hopkins University and has a background as a writer in brand and editorial.

Diana Markosian Photographer

Diana Markosian (born in Moscow, 1989) is a Russian-American photographer of Armenian descent. Her work explores memory and place through a layered, interdisciplinary process that uses photography and video. Her photographs have been published in National Geographic, the New Yorker, and the New York Times.

Robert Ormerod Photographer

Robert Ormerod is a photographer interested in telling stories. He is based in Scotland, working across the U.K. for titles such as National Geographic, The Guardian Saturday magazine, The New York Times, T Magazine, The Wall Street Journal, and Bloomberg Businessweek.

Tom Craig Photographer

Tom Craig is a photographer and director whose work has been featured in Vogue, i-D, and Vanity Fair. His work is driven by a desire to tell stories and the urge to travel. His work often blurs the line between fashion photography and straightforward reportage.

**Full article from @departures www.departures.com

[emilykaldwen]

Shop talk!! Where did the inspiration for Abby as a character come from? Are there any characters or people who have inspired what makes her ✨her✨? And how do she and Aegon compliment each other?

(apologies, this came in after I went to bed and then I spent the last five hours driving across three states)

Oooh! I haven't gotten an ask like this in so long and I forget there are new people who might be interested!!!

(@selfproclaimedunicorn did the first Abby fanart! and @murmel-malt did this one for xmas!)

So in Fire & Blood, it's stated that Lyonel Strong became Master of Laws when Viserys took the throne, brought his sons Harwin and Larys and two maiden daughters to serve as Rhaenyra's ladies. So Abby was originally a friend of Rhaenyra and Alicent, and stayed by Alicent's side when she became queen because show-wise, Alicent is so fucking isolated. Like it HURTS to see how isolated she is, and I wanted her to have a friend, and someone who would try to be peacemaker between the two.

Right from the start, Abby was always meant to be kind. She's what I call proto-Sansa Stark: just embodying a lot of the traditional ladylike qualities I would always see Sansa getting lambasted for. I really wanted to create a character who could be kind and strong and that be just as valid as someone scheming or good with a sword. I wanted to write a girly-girl to embrace that femininity that I rejected as a teenager cause yay internalized misogyny!

But man, lemme tell you, I was struggling with her. I had this framework, but I didn't have a story for her. Frankly, for awhile, I thought that Alicent might encourage her to marry Otto for protection or something. I just didn't know what was going to happen to her.

So I decided to try roleplay her in some roleplay groups and toss her against other characters and see what I could come up with. It's something I've always done with original characters and I wasn't committed to writing a fic yet. and then my friend Ramses goes 'what if we did an AU and you throw her at Aegon?' (so age down Abby so her and Aegon are the same age vs her being his mother's age) because the type of character she was, she might be good with Aegon.

And then... the rest is history. Putting Abby against Aegon basically unlocked that third eye and suddenly Abby's story and her place in the world of Westeros clicked: She's someone the Team Green kids needed.

With Abby, Helaena could have a friend her age who accepted her for who she was, Aemond had a nerdy friend who enjoyed books, and Aegon? Aegon had a friend who always supported him, who he got to play conquering hero to her damsel in the games they'd play as children. a young!Abby took one look at the wet eyed cat boy and immediately went I'll love you and I'll show you how wonderful I think you are.

Aegon and Abby are definitely foils for each other. Abby thinks of others first, Aegon doesn't. He goes in on himself in his melancholy, she goes outside of herself. They are both desperate to please in their own ways, they are incredibly hungry for love. They are both outsiders in their worlds, and alone except for each other. Abby has the patience that Aegon needs, and Aegon has the ego to push Abby to be more 'selfish' and look out for herself more. In Abby, Aegon can take care of someone, he can look outside of himself and be there for someone. In Aegon, Abby can let herself be cared for. There's patience and there's drive, there's possessiveness and feralness from both of them. Both of these kids are unwell, Abby just... masks it better? It's not as obvious? (she's named for an Asshai blood priestess and is heiress to the haunted castle of your nightmares my happy sunshine baby is not well)

As for characters that inspired her and make her HER, the number one is very much Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket. Fruba is one of my favorite stories of all time, and it's a story about the cycle of abuse and generational trauma, and Tohru is the sunshine bubbly light girl... who is hiding her own grief and guilt at the loss of her mother. The fear that finding happiness again meaning she'd forgotten/lost her mother. And she takes on everyone's pain but does not share her own. And that always really resonated with me. It's very real. And it's a story that resonated to me along with Sansa's that I could appreciate as I was older.

I'm so sorry there's SO MUCH RAMBLING and I have no idea if this makes any sense. I don't know if I talk about Abby enough - I'm not used to getting questions about her LOL so thank you for this!

[rainwingmarvel7]

✍ WIP WEDNESDAY SUNDAY ✍

Tagged by @neonshrike thanks so much! I didn’t have as much time to write this week as I’d hoped, but I managed to squeeze a little something out for ATRF!

She was greeted with a cool summer gust, brushing through her long dark hair and fluttering through the skirts of her dress. Dirt crunched beneath her boots as she walked through the courtyard, past the usual bustling activity of the castle staff around her, to the small archery range nestled into one of the corners.

As her handmaidens had promised, the Stark boys were already there. Robb and his bastard half-brother, Jon Snow, stood together watching young Bran with his bow.

Tagging: @selfproclaimedunicorn, @rottengrowls, @writingwenches, @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct, @sikudastoner, @murmel-malt, @emilykaldwen, and @alicent-boleyn

[rockybloo]

Silly ask, but between your main ocs, has some of them ever struggled with loneliness?

Loneliness is one of my top favorite bits of angst to write honestly so all of them have struggled with it.

Every member of the Fabled Five have dealt with loneliness.

Jack truly doesn't have any friends prior to the comic aside from Malt because he never really got along well with other kids his age. Throwing in the fact his eyes went green when he got too emotional and he's do irrational things occasionally and you have plenty of parents who didn't care too much about having their children around him. He spent a good chunk of his childhood just on the farm being homeschooled or wandering around the forest exploring.

Pinokuni is an automaton, and one made under special circumstances so he felt outcasted by both actual automatons and humans because of his origins. His family was the only one to really be there for him, especially after he started to hang out with Romeo and his group of troublemakers where he learned the hard way some humans will really never truly see him as a being with emotions. Plus, Pin spent a good while in the stomach of a sea monster before getting fished out by the giant and being rescued by Jack so he had rather long stretch of solitude.

Nana didn't grow up with any friends. The closest she had was her father and when he passed, she was devastated. Her mother was rather sheltering...a bit too much so she never really left the Lupine Forest save for going to Briar Patch. And even then, she is very introverted and isn't the type to really start conversations with people she doesn't know if it isn't important. Toss in the fact she has a resting face that looks like she doesn't want to be bothered and many people tend to hesitate on approaching her. The people in Briar Patch are very nice but it really takes Jack's oblivious ass to help build a bridge between the two.

Kai was a very sheltered prince back in his home kingdom. When he got cursed and winded up having to flee for his life due to a misunderstanding, he winded up going from a castle full of friendly faces to a world that often screamed at the first sight of him. Up until he encounters the Fable Five, he spent a good chunk of time by himself just trying to make it by via foraging and finding safe yet isolated places to use as shelter for the nights.

Ashe grew up practically outcasted by by her step family because she was Bookmarked and awakened her Märchen at an early age. She was limited to the house and her room was the literal attic. She didn't have ANY friends growing up because her stepsisters would spread around lies and rumors about her that'd scare people away.

Nova, after the situation with her ex where she found out he was using her to cheat on his girlfriend he had been dating WAY longer than her, was outcasted by the online world due to a slander campaign run by him to paint her like the homewrecker. Due to him and his girlfriend being big internet influencers and having large follower counts, many believed them over Nova who was just starting with her singing career. The only friends she managed to keep were the ones she had prior to meeting her ex but even then, they couldn't save her from the isolation of knowing damn near everyone had a screwed up false image of you.

It's the reason she's so quick to snap now because prior to the incident, she was literally a sweetheart and "cinnamon roll" as the kids say.

Pluto didn't even have the benefit of having friends as as kid as they grew up sheltered by their parents. And not in the good way where they worried about their safety but in the "We want to make sure you only hang around the people we want you to" and often that meant they were limited to only interacting with business partners to try and strengthen relationships for their parents. After the alien goop experiment which lead to them becoming their cyborg self we know now, those interactions stopped...as well as any actually. They went from being the neglected child to a research subject in a containment room.

Toss in the fact their parents had a new child over to replace them and Pluto was not in the best space mentally as a teen. Especially one who literally had their body torn apart and put back together for an experiment just to get their parents to love them and see them less as a hassle.

Bitterbat's time as a baby was tragic to be real with ya'. His dad didn't want anything to do with raising him until he could walk and talk so he spent much of his time crying in his crib without anyone to come in comfort him. And if someone did come, it was often a servant that snuck into his chamber because his cries were so pitiful and saddening that they felt the need to do something. It was important that these servants snuck in because if Lord Vile discovered they were "babying" his living weapon, he would make quick work of them. The man had a very strict "You will interact with this thing only when I tell you to" policy.

Bitterbat was fed and bathed to keep him alive and healthy but even as a grown man he still has nightmares about his time as a baby and toddler due to just how isolating it was.

Sweetheart was also deemed a bit weird as a kid. Not too weird it was concerning but she did struggle a bit with maintain friendships at an early age. It took her becoming Charmed, leading to the eventual creation of the Beloveds who each have their own struggles in social situations leading to them being known as the weird kids, that led to her having an eventual lifetime friendship. After Angel's death and the team breaking up, Sweetheart threw herself into a solo hero career. And going from having a big squad to being just yourself is a big jump. Especially when you winded up separating from someone from an entirely different dimension who you thought was the one for you with a single digit percent of a chance to ever meet them again.

Sweetheart's has stated that her solo years prior to Bitterbat's returned have been the worst years of her life.

[coffeeandmagicaltales]

The Auror & the Devil part 23

AesopSharpXadultMC

DISCLAIMER: idication of a foreplay, fluff

Once again, he found himself aboard the ship in Scarborough.

The rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull and the groaning of the wooden boards underfoot echoed around him. For a moment, the line between reality and memory blurred, his mind drifting as if caught in a tangled net, unable to free itself from the overwhelming flood of sounds and images. But this time, instead of the familiar ending—where a trap awaited behind a door at the end of the ship's corridor—he was suddenly standing atop a towering cliff and frost-biting fogg. Disoriented, he scanned his surroundings and spotted a familiar figure amidst the turmoil of stormy skies.

Morana was running toward the cliff’s edge, her path illuminated by a silvery creature... a Patronus? His heart raced as he shouted, "Watch out!" But she neither slowed nor hesitated, leaping into the arms of the dark clouds, transforming mid-air into a raven that soared higher and higher. Where was she going?

In an instant, the storm had vanished, the threatening skies chased away by the gentle embrace of a blissful, sunny morning. Morana now stood bathed in the first beams of dawn’s light.

"I'm home," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the distant castle.

Hogwarts.

He suddenly opened his eyes, waking from a restless sleep, his body was completely limp.

Thoughts swirled in his head, shadows crawling on the dimly lit ceiling above him. He heard a buzzing in his ears, sounds he couldn't identify... flowing water? He squinted, blinked several times, feeling how his eyelids were terribly heavy, resisting as they tried to retreat back into sleep. He fought this feeling for a moment, moving the muscles of his face, which finally woke up, and gradually, he regained sensation in the rest of his body.

He tilted his head to see where he was.

An enchanted tent? Yes, most likely. He lay in a small bed covered with a blanket, surrounded by books, suitcases, scattered women's clothes, herbs... With difficulty, he turned his head in the other direction, seeking the source of the sound of flowing liquid.

His heart leapt to his throat.

Opposite him, near a makeshift stove, Morana sat on a small stool, washing her hair in a small basin, pouring beer over her head, rubbing it into her scalp, and rinsing it with water from a bucket. Shielded by the curtain of wet strands falling onto her dark dress, she was completely unaware that he had woken up.

"So that's why she always smells like malt..." he smiled blissfully, as if solving this mystery was some extraordinary discovery. Only after a few seconds did it hit him that nothing he was seeing made sense. How did she get here? She was supposed to be in Durmstrang! What was she doing in this cursed forest? What did all this mean? Confused, he began to scrutinize the room.

Behind her, in a corner, a large portrait stood propped against a pile of books, empty. Next to it, on a clothes rack, hung a fur and a mask made from a deer's skull, empty potion vials scattered on the floor... The place was in disarray, as if it was more of a... temporary hideout? He started to worry more. Was Morana hiding something? Had she done something wrong... Merlin, those Aurors hit by the Unforgivable Curse... Morana surely knew this spell from Mr Sallow... Did she use it?

Suddenly, a shadow in the corner of the room moved and approached Aesop quickly, as a giant acromantula the size of a dog jumped onto his stomach, its hundreds of eyes dangerously close to his face.

"Alive, but weak. Can eat?"

The spider spoke in a hoarse voice, making Sharp's eyes widen in fear and fascination. He had read that acromantulas could speak, but he had never encountered one...

"What!? Absolutely not!" Morana shouted, and she pushed her hair back so violently that she fell off the stool, spilling the bucket of water. She clumsily stood up, using a staff for support, and with a tap of its end on the ground, made the puddle disappear and her hair dry. She then addressed the spider in a sharp tone, which was still sitting on Aesop, probably pondering which part of the man to start its meal with. "Tertius, no. Use your three legs and kindly go back to your nest, NOW."

Only now did Aesop notice that the spider was missing some of its legs: some had sad stumps, others were completely gone. The insect grumbled in anger and, insulted, crawled back to the tangle of webs in the corner, indicated by Morana's finger.

She has changed so much.

How long had it been since they'd last seen each other? A few months, maybe a year, or even longer? He had no idea; he’d lost track of time lately… It felt to him like at least a few decades had passed…

Long black curls tumbled uncontrollably down her back, looking as if Mora had combed them with branches rather than a brush; tangled, streaked with glistening silver strands that looked like decorative threads woven into them... Stress, changes, or genetics—any of these could have caused premature graying… Her body had taken on beautiful curves, a few wrinkles had appeared on her delicate, freckled face, her neck and hands were marked with hundreds of runic symbols, and she was dressed in black. He had to admit, she made quite an intimidating impression… She intrigued and fascinated him more than ever.

She stood still, barefoot, uncertain, her gaze fixed on the floor as if ashamed to come closer, nervously clutching the fabric of her dress in her hand, unsure of what to say...

“That gas…” Aesop began in a hoarse voice. “Now I know why I couldn’t recognize it… The elixir that induces anxiety takes on the consistency of a thick fog… and a distinct scent… citrus… You must have added something to mask it… I’m guessing Graphorn urine. Very clever.”

With difficulty, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his wand lying on the small table beside him. With a tap on his uniform, he transfigured it into his everyday, more comfortable clothes. “Krampus, that was also a smart move…” he continued in a somewhat stern tone. “I once received a card from Torq from Austria for Christmas when he was on assignment with other goblins. I was surprised to see a devil whipping children with a stick, and the caption: Gruß vom Krampus…” He stood and grimaced in pain as his injured leg moved after a prolonged period of stillness, then hobbled closer to her, glaring at her menacingly. “Everything about this clearly points to the fact that, as I suspected, you’re trying to scare others away from the Forbidden Forest… My question is: what is going on here, Morana? What the hell does all of this mean?”

“If he comes closer, I’ll eat him…” growled Tertius warningly from the corner, but Morana calmed him with a wave of her hand. She still couldn’t bring herself to look Aesop in the eye.

Aesop grimaced in frustration and quickly grabbed her chin, lifting it upwards. His unfriendly expression softened slightly when he saw those familiar large, watery blue, kind eyes of the woman, which immediately filled with tears. He trembled, feeling a pang in his heart, which began to race. “Say something, please.” he pleaded with a breaking voice, not knowing what to do, certain that without an answer, he would simply go mad. “People have died, and you’re involved in this… I want to know why…”

Morana bit her lip and confessed with pain, “I lied to you.”

Aesop stepped back, surprised, with even more questions swirling in his mind.

“I’ve been here for several months…” she explained hastily, Sharp stood motionless, listening to her intently, his face marked with surprise. “I lied in the letters so you wouldn’t suspect anything… I hated Durmstrang, it's politics, I missed y... ehm... I decided I could be more useful here, protecting magical creatures… I quickly devised a plan to scare off the Dark Wizard who’s been lurking around here, to somehow track him and cut off the Forest from others… I came up with the idea of Krampus because I was afraid of him as a child; he used to come to the orphanage each Christmas… When I arrived, I encountered Aurors who were fighting an acromantula struck by the same magic as Mr. Moon, the hippogriff, the thestrals… Tertius can talk; he defended himself, begged them to stop… They… When they cast Crucio, I intervened… You see, by lifting curses from others… I’ve become saturated with Dark Magic and am, well, ‘immune’ to it… I warned the Aurors, but they didn’t listen to me, two of them were hit by Avada Kedavra when… it simply bounced off me… I didn’t know what to do, I scared the rest away and immediately cut the Forest off from the World… Things are bad here, Aesop, I’ve had nightmares again… I didn’t tell you about them either… I didn’t want to worry you… I just…” she swallowed her tears and continued. “Isidora helped me make that potion and, yes, I added Graphorn piss to it… I haven’t been able to wash the smell out of my hair for a week… I wouldn’t have come up with that myself, I’m hopeless at potions, you know that well… All the animals are living with me in the tent; I enlarged it, I’m healing those attacked by that scoundrel, I don��t know why he’s so fixated on the Forbidden Forest…”

Morana burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. “I didn’t know you would be here…” she sobbed. “The feather I gave you was a Portkey; it would take you to ‘The Three Broomsticks’ in case of danger… only Sirona knew about it, she wrote to me about Ammit… He’s fine…”

“Well, maybe none of this would have happened if I had been honest with you, if I had admitted that I had been called back to duty… I didn’t want to worry you either.” Aesop sighed deeply, feeling a sense of relief as he realized that Morana hadn’t changed at all and had acted in good faith. A weight lifted from his heart. “I have to admit, you gave me quite a scare… A very clever idea… Now, now… don’t cry.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and was about to hand it to her, but Morana stepped back and lowered her gaze to the ground again. Her fists clenched. Aesop looked at her questioningly.

“There’s… something else…” she confessed, trembling. “Something that has been bothering me for a long time… and that I’ve started thinking about again recently…” Aesop frowned, not knowing what she was referring to, watching with concern as Morana struggled to confess what was on her mind. Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke:

“When I returned, I went with Isidora to talk to the Keepers… I burned the canvas down, so they could never manipulate anyone again, but before I did…” she swallowed hard, and Aesop felt his legs start to tremble with stress. Unfortunately, he slowly began to realize what Morana might be getting at, and his heart pounded in his chest with fear. “I found out that you went to them right after I left Hogwarts…”

“Morana, I…” he interrupted hastily, trying to defuse the situation, but when Morana lifted her gaze and looked him straight in the eyes, he lost his train of thought, seeing the turmoil in her soul, on the brink of madness. He couldn’t read any emotions in her, except desperation.

“Is it true what you confessed to them back then?... That you fell in love with me?”

Aesop felt as if he’d been doused with boiling water, barely able to stay on his feet as his knees buckled.

This was the end, she knew the truth, there was no point in lying.

He stepped back to sit on the bed, knowing he couldn’t hold back, that he was about to cry. He collapsed onto the cot, staring blankly ahead, trembling with fear.

“I’m so sorry, Morana…” he whispered with a heart full of sorrow, feeling the weight of his guilt. “I-I never wanted to hurt you. Never. I’m and old fool… I meant no harm, forgive me. I’m so very sorry…”

Morana stepped closer, piercing him with her gaze.

“D-Do you love me?” she asked again with a firm tone, impatient, demanding a clear answer. Aesop looked at her pleadingly, hoping she wouldn’t make him humiliate himself further, and quickly wiped away the tears that had begun to stream down his thin cheeks, nodding.

“Yes, with all my heart,” he confessed with sadness, and just as he was about to offer her a detailed explanation and assure her that he would never tarnish her honor, she whispered, “Oh, just come to me!” and suddenly found herself on his lap, clinging to his chest, and burst into tears of joy repeating: "Aesop, Aesop, my Silly Aesop..."

He held his breath, surprised, confused, as a pair of small hands cupped his face, wiping his wet skin.

She alternated between smiling and crying, and in her eyes, thousands of sparks flickered as if the entire sky had found a home in her pupils. In them was his entire world, his heart, his soul…

“I had lost hope of seeing you again…” he whispered, completely stunned by the heavenly sight that made everything else meaningless to him. His age, principles, disability… All of it vanished, lost its hold on him. “I wasted so many chances to tell you how much you mean to me and how much I care about you… I was so afraid you’d reject me…” His voice broke. “I never thought that despite everything, fate would give me another chance… To confess my love to you...” he sighed, admiring her beauty, enchanted by some divine magic that Morana seemed to emanate.

She listened to him intently, blushing as she brushed his hair aside, then, finding his ears, she smiled at him as if to say, "Here they are!" She touched his beard, traced the wrinkles by his cheeks, and let her fingers glide along the arch of his brows, until finally, she tenderly touched his scar with one hand. With her free hand, she took his and guided it to her cheek. As Aesop felt her delicate yet marked skin, he instinctively caressed it with gentle strokes of his thumb.

"Oh... Mora," He let out a soft murmur of pleasure and closed his eyes, savoring the moment, feeling the weight of Morana on his lap, the warmth of her body that had never been so close to him before. His heart fluttered, his breathing quickened as a tingling pleasure flowed through his veins, and for a moment he doubted that what was happening was real.

Morana leaned closer, moving even nearer to him. He tenderly wiped away the tears that had slipped from her eyes. He saw she wanted to say something but lacked the courage. He smiled softly, stroking her face and hair, patient.

“Aesop…” she whispered, and the man shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips. “Back at the ball, when I saw you with Miss Flint... And then one of the owls brought me her letter... I followed you, I trailed behind, and when I saw you together in the snow... I startled the Diricawls... They must have caught the werewolf's attention... I didn't mean to... Ugh, I could've harmed you... I'm so sorry.”

Aesop blinked, his mind foggy from Morana’s intoxicating scent. Only after a moment did he recall that "date," which he had gladly erased from memory, and he had to muster all his strength not to burst into laughter. Oh, Mora...

“Silly bird,” he whispered, looking at her kindly. “Were you really that... jealous of me?”

It was probably the least clever question he had ever asked in his entire detective career, considering that the most wonderful woman in the world was sitting on his lap, her hands loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, and exploring his Adam's apple, moving lower down his neck, sending blissful tingles and waves of warmth through him.

He wanted to hear it from her lips. He needed to know. He wanted to be sure…

“Yes,” Morana said softly, the last sentence nearly inaudible. “I saw you kissing... I couldn’t bear to watch, because you see, I wanted to be in her place…”

She blushed deeply.

“Hmm... It wasn’t a pleasant experience at all, and one could say the werewolf was a bit of a relief... Because, you see... I only want to kiss you,” she said quietly, with a slightly mischievous tone, feeling as if he was slowly talking nonsense, smiling gently as she caressed his cheek, trying to stifle the shout of delight that filled her chest like air inflating a balloon. He was on the verge of bursting, of dancing with joy, of pure madness...

Morana’s eyes lit up and she said:

“I came back only because... I learned the truth, that everything good in life seems to lead back to you, every single time, so I ran to you, because when I'm beside you I...” LINK TO AURORA's SONG

Aesop trembled, enchanted by her words, and he stared at her lips, longing to kiss them... to taste them. He moved closer, hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, but as her body yielded to his touch, he pulled her even closer, feeling her thighs glide against his, burning his skin even through the thick fabric of his trousers... She was in his arms, only his. He didn’t want any other woman in them, only her. The person with whom he felt like himself, with whom he was safe, and whom he wanted to protect.

“I feel like I exist for your love…” Morana confessed, their breaths mingling together. “Only for your love.”

Aesop placed the gentlest kiss on her soft lips and felt a wave of elation blossom within him, the same elation that made Morana wrap her arms around his neck, basking in the warmth of his body, her heart pounding in her chest. They held each other so tightly, as if they feared they might lose one another, that this moment might evaporate, their hands clutching at each other’s clothes... Mora took a deep breath, brushing her lips against his chin; the tickling of his soft, scruffy beard, with its intoxicating scent, made her head spin, her stomach twist, and her thoughts drift aimlessly, presenting her with new ideas that she immediately acted upon: touching the hair on his chest, brushing her lips against his neck, stroking his belly and hips... She was amazed that he allowed her to do all of this, and every touch of hers was reciprocated; his fingers slid the strap of her dress down and caressed her shoulders, then her back, gently massaging her nape, creeping toward her waist, stroking and encircling it... She melted under his every touch, moving like blades of grass swayed by the breeze...

Aesop licked his lips slightly, fearing they were dry, and kissed her again, and again, pressing her tighter to his chest... She yielded to him with a blissful smile, knowing he was shy, that he was uncertain, returning even the briefest kisses...

Aesop felt a growing warmth, a rising excitement that began to cloud his mind, like a strong drink... He brushed Morana’s lower lip with his tongue and gently caught it with his teeth, sucking for a fraction of a second. The soft moan of pleasure that escaped her lips made him feel a bit bolder... He did it again...

Morana giggled and unexpectedly parted her lips, and their tongues intertwined in a kiss. He let out a deep groan, feeling a bolt of pleasure surge through his body, awakening his masculinity... Morana, too, felt the growing excitement, and each time he plunged into her mouth, a pleasant tingling coursed through her body, from her tongue through her chest, ending in delightful sensations in her nether regions. She felt herself growing wetter, longing to shed her dress... But this was their first moment of such closeness; it was too soon for something more... At least for him. He was still afraid of intimacy... It had been so many years. She sensed that despite the hardness in his groin, he avoided her touch, moved his hips away... When he could no longer shift away, and Morana felt the steady, strong throbs against her thighs through the fabric of his trousers, she broke the kiss, gently stroking his cheek, watching him closely. She knew his fears. She understood, though she was herself aroused to the point of madness, longing to sink her hand into his pants, from which heat radiated against her body. But she restrained herself, wanting him to feel safe with her.

Confused by his body’s reaction, he shifted in place, and the movement made his knee suddenly ache. He hissed in pain. Morana immediately got off his lap and, concerned, sat beside him on the edge of the bed.

He took her hand, caressing and kissing it apologetically, then took a deep breath and confessed, bewildered, “I definitely wasn’t prepared for you to return my feelings... The way you look at me, the way you touch me, Merlin, it makes me want you more and more…” He shifted and, with a quick, almost imperceptible movement, adjusted his trousers as if trying to hide the obvious bulge. “I need to learn that wanting to make love with you isn’t something to be ashamed of… Oh, Merlin, I fell a bit pathetic...”

Morana felt a pang of disappointment that today they won't be more intimate, but only for a fraction of a second... Seeing how embarrassed and distressed he was getting, she quickly said, “That gas must have really worn you out.... You slept for several hours, Isidora said you might still feel unwell and anxious...”

“Hmmm, good work,” Sharp acknowledged and swallowed tears, nodding in approval of Morana’s potion. “I’ll have to contact the Ministry tomorrow. report everything and, oh, Merlin, lie a bit, but first… Can we just cuddle for a while? And then... Would you have dinner with me and tell me everything that’s been happening with you during this time? I’ve missed you so much...”

Morana smiled broadly and helped him take off his jacket and tie, and settled him comfortably in bed, then lay down on his chest, which lifted her a few centimeters as he inhaled... She listened to his heart, his breathing, relishing the melody they created as they blended together. Aesop grabbed her by the waist and pulled her higher as if she weighed nothing, placing her head on his shoulder, then covered them both with a blanket and gazed deeply into her eyes, holding her close like the most precious treasure.

Though the excitement that had coursed through their veins a moment ago had cooled, the warmth that kindled their chests from within continued to grow.

After a dinner eaten sitting up in bed (Merlin, neither of them had eaten much lately, and the mushroom soup tasted like a gourmet dish), they lay together for several hours, talking about their feelings, their current affairs, about what they had been doing while they were apart, cuddling until sweet kisses lulled them to sleep.

They were overcome by a strange sensation, as if they had been together for many years already, for the caresses came as naturally to them as the shared sleep.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Returns and Reruns ||

Frank Castle x Matt Murdock

Tags/warnings: sort of hookup, ongoing whatever this is, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex. E.

A/n: Fratt Fratt Fratt Fratt Fratt Fratt Fratt... For @bernthirst-events Filthy Friday, could be filthier I guess :p

It had been a while, but Matt would recognise that scent anywhere. Subtle woody aftershave mixed with a hint of gun oil, pizza from a couple of hours ago from the place down the block, the single malt whiskey on his lips. Sure enough when he turned around he could sense Frank leaning at the bar looking his way.

"It's been a while, Castle. How've you been?"

Frank made room for him at the bar, giving a slight smile as Matt waved to Josie for two more measures.

"Been quiet, you didn't notice?" He replies.

Matt scoffs. "Trying to be a good boy?"

Frank tilts his head and shakes it, chuckling slightly. "When am I ever? Nah, I'm sure somethin'll come along, someone will step outta line. They always do."

He takes a sip of his drink looking over to the pool table where Foggy is undoubtedly getting his ass kicked at pool by Karen. She still looks beautiful.

"You uh, with Karen now? She know about…" he gestures between them with a slight nervousness.

"No, no we're just really good friends. And no, she doesn't."

Matt wasn't trying to hide whatever it is he has with Frank, it just never came up.

"And Nelson?"

Matt takes a hefty swig of the whisky, swirling it around his mouth for a moment. He can feel Frank's eyes on him watching his throat work as he swallows. "Hell no. The thought of trying to explain… not sure I'm ready for that yet."

Frank hums as he drains his glass.

"You out later, doin' your thing?" He asks. Matt knows it's a loaded question.

"Not exclusively…"

.

"Fuck…"

Matt's arms span across the back of the couch, fingers gripping around it almost white knuckled, his head thrown back panting curses up to the ceiling. Clothes are strewn over various surfaces of his apartment wherever they were torn off, a couple of things knocked over on the way up to this point. He's naked, his legs spread wide, and Frank's between them, his hot, wet, dirty mouth wrapped around Matt's cock. He tries not to move his hips, as much as he wants to, but it's as if Frank's encouraging him to fuck his face, grasping underneath his buttocks and pulling him up towards him but Matt resists.

He moans and pulls off him for a moment, a slick string of spit connecting them for a few seconds until it breaks.

"You gonna let me take care of you?" Frank rasps.

Matt's chest heaves as he tries to catch a breath. "...yeah I just– aw jesus christ!" He's cut off as Frank starts sucking one of his balls into his mouth as he strokes him with his hand.

"Frank, fuck! Please…"

Frank grins releasing him from his mouth before licking his way right up the underside of his shaft to the tip, tasting the leaking precum there as it spreads over his tongue.

"C'mon Red, tell me what you want, it's been a long time… I forget."

Matt's eyes screw shut. "Just, fuck me."

Frank raises an eyebrow with a grin. "Yeah? Gotta get you ready f'me first baby, ain't just gonna fuck you right off."

He straddles Matt's lap, taking his hand in his and curling it around his thick cock. "Gotta open you up so you can take it, huh? You forget how big it was?"

Matt whines as he pumps him slowly, desperate to feel him inside. "Lube's in the bedroom." He murmurs as Frank's mouth works under his jaw to his mouth, kissing him hotly and making him melt.

"C'mon then lil devil." He says, getting up and offering his hand to pull Matt up and follow him.

When Matt's settled on his bed Frank wastes no time finding the lube and loosening him up. He missed hearing those sweet little grunts and moans of need as he worked his fingers inside him, teasing him with a little brush over the spot that he'll be pounding hard against in a short while.

"Fuckin' missed you, y'know that?" Frank admits as he kisses over Matt's neck and collarbones, skirting over the twin scars and down to graze his teeth over and suck at his nipple. "Missed this." His voice lowers as he scissors his thick digits making the other man's back arch gorgeously.

"Frank please, I'm ready, I'm ready."

Frank smirks. He loves how he begs for him, how open and honest he is with his needs now. No longer unsure, no longer ashamed.

He squirts more lube on his hand smearing it all over his cock, pressing his large hands on the underside of Matt's thighs, pushing them back and apart. When he lines up Matt's already trying to push back on to him.

"Woah, easy…" Frank shushes him as he slowly and carefully presses deeper, the fat flared head of his cock disappearing inside as they both groan with pleasure.

It still burns for Matt but he wants that bit of delicious pain, it seals the memory of Frank into him like a brand for when he eventually leaves. His hands wrap around the back of his thick neck, pulling Frank over him and down so he can taste him again as keeps on sliding inch by inch inside him.

He's such a big man, he surrounds him and it feels good to give in to it and submit. This isn't so different from when they used to fight, used to beat seven shades of shit out of each other on the streets. It was still a dance then and they got to know each other's steps and moves. He much prefers this dance though, slow and easy. All he has to do is not think, just feel, and those feelings and sensations are like nothing else.

Frank's watching him closely, can see him slipping into that subspace already. It always takes a bit of to and fro before he just lets Frank in, lets him take care of things for him. He thrusts in slow and deep, he feels so damn tight and looks like one of those fuckin' religious statues with the way that pained pleasure is painted on his face. It's not just the sex but when he's back with Matt in Hell's Kitchen he feels home. It's not love but it's damn close to it.

He can't keep his lips off him, kissing and nipping wherever he can reach, wherever makes him whimper and tilt his head back and Frank can see that glazed look in his hazel eyes as they open again.

"I-I'm close, Frank…"

Frank hears that desperate confession and snaps out of his reverie, fucking his devil the way he's waited to for so long, hitting that sweet spot that makes him howl and cry and stripe his release between their writhing bodies as he follows him, cumming deep inside and holding him so damn tightly as he gasps out his name.

Not Red, not D, not Altar Boy.

"Matt…"

Frank tags: @divinearchangel @saintmurd0ck @castlesnchurches @mindidjarin @hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @briefcasejuice

@father4giveme @stress--relief @e-dubbc11 @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @munsonownsmyass

[spookyreviewpops]

@blooper-malte *you stand before my castle, the gates closed and your powers have been vastly weakened by the main barrier.*

[ladiesofhpfest]

Geminio by @turanga4

Our next Ginny mini is here from turanga4! A poignant moment between Ginny and Cho, post-battle.

Snippet and link below!

The tea smell suffuses her as Ginny leans in to stroke her mum’s hand—earth and malt and cream. Her nose scrunches against it as she pulls back from the cup’s warmth. Ginny fights the memories of chipped mugs at the Burrow as she blinks the Great Hall back into being. “I’ll be back before your second cup. Promise.”  A weak nod in response; she figures it’s enough.

The castle doors have been left open. Light through shattered windows, light through gaping doors.  

Ginny runs.

The courtyard, again. Spots of blood where she’d found the girl. Everything was still broken. Too quiet and too loud.

None of them had planned for this—the first day of peace. In her mind, Ginny ticks all the boxes just like her mother does, bending her fingers as she counts the family off. Then Neville. Luna. Seamus. (Harry.) Everyone, she knows, is with everyone else.   

What does it mean that I’m here on my own?

[scotianostra]

On June 22nd 1725 the Malt Riots, took place in Glasgow.

The Malt Riots led to fatal shots being fired in Glasgow with unrest rippling through the streets of the land, from Elgin to Dundee and Stirling in the summer of 1725.

Scotland became “virtually ungovernable” as the riots spread but the unrest came with perhaps an unlikely consequence – the dawning of a new age of the legal Scotch whisky industry.

Protest flared, both among the people and politicians, when Westminster wanted to extend a tax on malt bushels to Scotland. It had been paid in England to help fund the wars against France with the 1707 Treaty of Union at first exempting Scotland from the levy.

By 1725, the tax was brought in across Great Britain at a price of 3d a bushel – half of what had been paid in England. The price of everyday goods, including beer - drunk by the gallon as a safer alternative to water – faced a hike and an “explosive, two stage reaction” shook the country, according to historian Christopher A Whatley, author of Scotland and the Union, Then and Now.

It was perhaps Glasgow that felt the full force of the anti-tax riots with the unrest spreading and to the mansion of Duncan Campbell of Shawfield, Glasgow’s first MP at Westminster, who supported the tax.

His home, which sat on the corner of Glassford St and the Trongate, was broken into and ravaged by a mob armed with hatchets and other weapons.

Attempts to control the crowd only served to inflame it with soldiers shooting eight members of the crowd in which “stone-throwing females and butchers were prominent”, Whatley said. A further 18 people were wounded.

The soldiers were forced to flee for their lives and took refuge at Dumbarton Castle with General Wade sending 1,300 troops into Glasgow to restore order with the city living under a military presence. Protests followed over the summer in Ayr, Dundee – where a merchant’s house was sacked – as well as Elgin, Paisley and Stirling.

“The fact is that Scotland had become virtually ungovernable,” Whatley said.

Duncan Campbell was compensated by the City of Glasgow for the damage to his home with £10,000 paid to the MP – around £2.1 million at today’s values – with some of the money raised by selling common land.

With the compensation, Campbell went on to buy Islay and Jura.

Emily Coyle, brand development manager at Glasgow Distillery Companysaid : “Campbell took the compensation to buy Islay and Jura, where he encouraged local farmers to seed extra barley which ignited the production of Scots whisky.”

Following Campbell’s death in 1753, his estate passed on to his grandson Daniel who set up the village of Bowmore. The Bowmore Distillery was founded shortly thereafter and a new era of legal whisky production began with the spirit, arguably, funded by the riot of the people.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Ewan McGregor To Auction Arran Whisky For Charity

The 26-year-old Arran single malt was distilled in 1998

Scottish actor Ewan McGregor is auctioning 150 bottles from his private cask of 26-year-old single malt whisky from Lochranza Distillery for charity.

McGregor has partnered with the distillery to bottle and auction 150 exclusive bottles from his 1998 vintage single cask, which the distillery gifted to him. All proceeds will go to Children’s Hospices Across Scotland (CHAS), a charity that supports children with life-limiting conditions and their families.

Ewan has been involved with CHAS and visited their hospices many times over the years, so He knows the unwavering care that both [hospices] Rachel House and Robin House provide children and their families during their hardest moments. “ He hopes this auction can raise a significant amount to ensure that these wonderful places can continue providing the service they do.”

The auction offers whisky enthusiasts and fans of Ewan a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to own a piece of whisky history and contribute to a worthy cause. Whisky Auctioneer will auction the limited edition bottles from 27 September to 7 October. The auction is open to bidders globally, and the first 24 bottles have been personally signed by Ewan McGregor.

The first 24 bottles auctioned will be personally signed by McGregor

The rare 26-year-old Arran single malt was matured in an ex-Sherry hogshead cask and is offered at 46% ABV. The expression is one of the oldest whiskies ever produced by the Lochranza Distillery, each bottle features a unique, specially designed label, making each bottle hugely desirable in its own right.

Stewart Bowman, distillery manager of Isle of Arran Distillers, stated: “In 1998, Ewan McGregor joined us at Lochranza Distillery to toast the first cask of Arran single malt, which was the first legal cask to be laid down on Arran for over 150 years. We presented him with his ex-Sherry hogshead that day, and it has matured in our warehouse.

Andrew Currie and Ewan McGregor toast the good health of Arran single malt on the shore of Lochranza castle in 1998

Bowman added: “Like Ewan, we remain close to our roots and are passionate about giving back to the community. We have looked after Ewan’s cask for the last 26 years, and we are delighted to work with him, Whisky Auctioneer, and Leith to raise money for CHAS.”

Creative agency The Leith has partnered with Ewan and his brother Colin McGregor to bring Ewan’s Cut to life, pro-bono. The bottle design and name have been inspired by McGregor’s career, featuring references to his roles in films including Trainspotting and Star Wars, as well as his Long Way Round television series.

Each of the 150 bottle labels is said to read like a mini film script, with no two labels alike. The ‘Ewan’s Cut’ labels were created and written by Rob Petrie (head of design at Leith) and Colin Montgomery (senior copywriter) with support from Beth Lauder (senior account manager).

Each bottle of Ewan’s Cut contains a refernces to McGregor’s impressive career. Credit: Isle of Arran Distillers

Joe Wilson, head curator and spirits specialist at Whisky Auctioneer, said: “At Whisky Auctioneer, we take great pride in supporting charitable causes, and we were honoured to be approached to bring Ewan’s Cut to auction. The launch of Isle of Arran Distillers nearly three decades ago was a landmark moment in the whisky industry, ushering in a new era of independent Scottish distilleries. We are proud to play our part in this exciting chapter of their story and look forward to sharing this remarkable whisky with enthusiasts globally.”

(:Lochranza Distillery)

#EwanMcGregor i#auction #26yearsold #charity #singlemaltwhisky #LochranzaDistillery #Arran #Scotland #IsleofArran #ScottishDistilleries #WhiskyAuctioneer #Ewan’sCut

Posted 11th September 2024

[emilykaldwen]

WIP.... Whenever!

I was tagged by @rainwingmarvel7. New snippet of Chapter 21 of Maiden!

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, the chirping purr he made one full of confusion and concern, his great head turning to look back at him. Aegon remained slumped over the saddle horn as the dragon flew aimlessly above the God’s Eye and the rolling hills of the Riverlands. It would be so easy to unhook his belt and let himself roll off and plummet into the depths below. To escape the machinations and lies and secrets of his family and replace it with the depths of blue would be a simple escape. Whatever violence his mother and grandfather saw in the future, could he simply… make it go away? If he went away? He could not. He would not. Not now. Not when he was so close. He could not leave Abby here alone in this world; he would not abandon her the way she had been left behind by everyone else.  Aegon looked up from his staring at the pink frills along Sunfyre’s neck to blink up, eyes stinging, as a warbling, undulating call echoed from the east. The warbling call echoed over the rolling green fields and the forest that hugged along the banks by the castle. It was a distant sound that sent a shiver down his spine. His stomach swooped and dropped uncomfortably, and the half bottle of wine he’d drunk last night threatened to slosh up. Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, a growl in his throat as he whipped towards the east with a screech. There was no other dragon in the sky; his sister must have gone further to meet the carriage that held the children and the Velaryons. The blood red of Caraxes’ scales glinted like garnets in the sky. The distant sound of laughter joined the dragon’s call as the red pitched and turned north.

tagging: @murmel-malt, @theladyelizabeth, @ewanmitchellcrumbs, @corporalicent, @toms-cherry-trees and anyone else who'd like to!

[ravens-inquisition]

SESSION 2

II. A Funeral of Flowers and a Birth of Beginnings

A leather-bound journal was found, with an outline of a feather stamped on its cover. Though humble in appearance, the insides are tidily preserved.

~ Personal Entry, Swan Knight Calandrius

Alek managed to scrounge up a flute and an unused journal from the quartermaster. I will have to remember to thank him later, a bottle of Yartar malt should do, though knowing Alek perhaps I should get two. -- I am one of six survivors from the prison wagon. An eclectic group, as one would expect from a wagon of recusants. I think Marazel would like them, they ought to liven things up in the Hells.

A series of harsh and alien symbols divide these two paragraphs

Mara, if you are reading this, their souls are off-limits. I've sent more than enough souls to the Styx for Zariel's damned war. Tumble soon the next time you're in Toril <3

We entered the valley by way of a fortified gate, passing by Voronian refugee camps and a few settlements here and there. I am told we are headed towards a castle. Alek said something about missing a funeral. Apparently, it was the funeral of Queen Ravenovia, said to have passed on the journey here from Voron. -- We arrived to a castle in mourning. Greeted by an imposing elf, black of hair and sunkissed skin. I know of no sun elf with such complexion, though I've heard people refer to him as General. The soldiers have treated us courteously and with respect, despite how.. difficult our little crew makes it, this General must run a tight ship. Good on him.

I could have sworn I saw a vein or two pop out in Alek's forehead. It appears that he has assumed the role of shepherd for our merry herd of black sheep. Better him than me. -- To kill some time, Alek took us to a chapel of the Morninglord holding Queen Ravenovia's wake. We see Prince Sergei at the front, presiding over the funeral, flanked by an imposing knight in a dark suit and a cleric of sorts. His handler perhaps? Poor lad, 'tis a horrible thing to lose a parent. There seems to be a mix of Voronians and local natives at the funeral. The Voronians are deep in mourning, and the natives -- Tergs I'm assuming -- seem understandably indifferent. The Queen's body was presented in a casket adorned with flowers, white lilies, or lilacs perhaps. Some violet clematis would have made her hair shine some more. All in all, she was preserved beautifully, almost as if she was asleep. Cain accompanied me as we paid our respects, he looked like he could use the distraction. Shame I can't do anything about his limp, but I've always neglected my healing lessons, I suppose it can't be helped. -- I've been told after the fact that Pike and Omen went off to the gardens for some grub. Pike was nice enough to bring treats for us later, I could've sworn I saw a scratch or two on Omen's face. Something about a dog, we shall have to give it a name the next time we find it. Frank as usual terrorizes those in close proximity, boredom I suspect. Though why he would terrorize an old coot who has seen too many winters is beyond me, looks near-blind by the coloring of his pupils. Alek was on Violet duty for most of the wake. Probably wanted to study the Queen's body, though she looked bored towards the end. Some local leader talking to Prince Sergei seemed to have been leaving in a huff. Wondering what kind of hurry they would be in, I attempted to trail them. Unfortunately, we are still under watch, though the castle guards seem to have it handled. -- We were finally summoned to Strahd von Zarovich's personal study. A man of grim repute if the stories are to be believed, doesn't sound like your typical Voronian noble, but I have been proven wrong before. -- Apparently, we have been summoned by Strahd von Zarovich himself, the master of this castle. But we have some time to kill, though we are still watched. Made our herd of murder-sheep more presentable without all the mud and blood.

It appears that Strahd had extensive dossiers for me and the others from the prison cart. I wonder just how much he knows. He seems a military man through and through, from the papers strewn about on his desk and the pieces on the map, he seems intent on making this Barovia of his a reality.

He has a sense of justice quite unlike old Barov, refreshing to see a noble so devoted to his people. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, heavier so are the burdens of a people; he has chosen to carry both.

Strahd extended an invitation towards us to join his court, should we complete the task, whatever it may be. He claims to have exhausted every option in settling the valley, and he needs unconventional means to secure it. We are dubbed Inquisitors, for what purpose we have yet to discover. I only hope that the road we walk does not lead to more blood nor senseless death.

All this rumination is doing a number on my mood. I'm taking this flute out for a spin in the town outside.