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sp00kworm · 3 years ago

Text

Black Oak (Part 2)

Pairing: Alcott Glyn (Headless Horseman) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Body Horror, Murder

PART 1

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The police arrived about an hour after you had woke-up the whole village screaming. Peswick was far away from the nearest city’s response, and you sat shivering, wrapped in a blanket from the house, clutching it close as Mrs Shaw rushed to bring you a hot drink. She and her husband were dressed, but neither went into your house. They rushed back home, bringing you a cup of tea from their own kitchen along with a foil blanket for the shock. You weren’t allowed to touch the body, and you tried to ignore the swinging noise of the corpse as you sat perched on the front doorstep to your home, sniffling into the cup of tea. The police took off their hats as they stepped past your gate, and you watched as the crime scene investigation and forensic van pulled up behind them. The two officers nodded at Mr and Mrs Shaw before smiling as best they could.

“Would you like to come with us, please?” The male officer asked gently, “Lets go inside and we’ll get your statement of events, okay?” The female officer with him looked back at the tree and swallowed hard as Forensics suited up to remove the body and take evidence.

“Come on, Sully.” He ushered his companion as he helped you to your feet and nodded to your neighbours. He whistled and smiled as he opened the door for you, “Nice old place you’ve got here.” He complimented kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with crows’ feet, “Mrs Finch used to live here. Are you a relative?”

You shook as the officer led you gently into the front room, “It…She was my aunty, distantly.” You whispered as you eased yourself back onto the sofa, clutching the lukewarm tea tightly, as though it was a lifeline in your grasp.

“She was a kind woman. Made a lot of oils out of her garden, but she had nothing but trouble and vandalism with this place. Kids used to make a mess of the sides of the house regularly.” He tipped his head to the wall where the fireplace was, “It was always on the chimney. She never did anything, but the kids called her a witch and all that trollop.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t introduced yourself.” Sue gave him a lopsided smile as she pulled out the clipboards full of paperwork to be completed.

“Ah, so I haven’t!” The officer dipped his head, “I’m Officer Perks.” He pointed to the blond woman with him, “And this is my partner Officer Sullivan.”

You nodded shakily licked your lips, “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I know...Its far.” A breathy sigh left you as Sullivan took out her pens from her vest and smiled.

“We just need an account of what you did this morning and if you knew the victim.” Percy offered as he sat on your couch, “Spare no details. Even something small to you might be important to us.”

Conflict burned in your throat and gut as you thought about what had happened, “I don’t remember anything of relevance from last night. I spent the night in bed. I’ve only just moved in, so I was exhausted.” You took a shuddering breath and continued, “I went out this morning to the tree and…and I looked up… and he was hanging there, without his head.” You looked into the tea in your hands, noting that it was now ice cold.

“How long have you been here?” Sullivan asked as she shorthand filled in the details on the paperwork, “You said you moved in recently?” Perks looked from the paper to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I moved in yesterday afternoon.” You whispered and Sullivan gave you a pitying look.

Perks shifted against the cushions, “Did you have anyone with a grudge against you or motive from where you used to live?” He asked.

“No one that I know of.” You answered as you put down the cup of tea, fighting the tears and upset.

“Okay so what time did you find the body?” Perks asked. You took a deep sigh and continued to answer the police officer’s questions well into the afternoon.

Perks and Sullivan could drink their weight in tea, it turned out, and you offered them many drinks over the course of the few hours. They had a couple each, pens scratching papers as they took notes and an official account of the events for the records. You looked out of the window as Sue and Percy signed the bottom of the page. Crime Scene Investigations were hoisting the body down from the thick black branch of the oak, working to preserve the noose he was swinging by. Three people held the corpse up as they cut the rope carefully, keeping the knot intact and bagging the rope before they got the body down into the bag on the stretcher.

“He’ll need to go to pathology to determine cause of death…though I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sullivan whispered, trying not to be heard as she eyed you sat across from them. Perks rolled his eyes and elbowed his colleague.

“Here. Let me draw the curtains.” Perks stood and reached for the curtains before drawing them over the forensics team dragging the body into the bag, impassive to the blood that stained their tunics and gloves.

“I think we have everything.” Sullivan announced as she stood up and took hold of both their mugs, “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.” She offered with a small, pathetic smile.

Perks nodded his head as Sullivan as she left towards the kitchen. You heard her bang the cup on the countertop before you tugged the blanket closer and shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you for your cooperation today.” Perks took his hat and tucked it under his arm, “I know these kinds of cases are very difficult to talk about. I have this card for you.” He held you out a green printed business card, “That’s the helpline for a couple of organisations and the other side has someone you can seek out if you would like some help talking through all this.”

You looked at the numbers vaguely before nodding and placing the card on the coffee table, “Thank you.” You replied quietly before Perks replaced his hat on his head.

“We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you once again and good afternoon.” He looked at his watch before he opened the lounge door and quietly exited.

Sue scoffed at him in the hall, “Come on. We’ve got these reports to write up.”

“Coming, coming.” Perks grumbled, “Nothing wrong with being nice. They just witnessed a damn corpse…” The voices trailed off as the front door closed behind the two of them with a bang.

Silence.

You looked to the curtains and stood up, letting the blankets finally fall from your shoulders as you fisted each side of the heavy curtains. They were old and embroidered with curling leaves. You tugged them open with a heave and watched the police vans trundle away back down the old stone roads, back towards the hills where they had come from this morning. With a deep breath, you tied the curtains back before taking one last long look at the gnarled, black oak in the garden, and heading towards the stairs for a shower and to get dressed. You hoped that a shower would wash away the sticky feeling of malaise on your skin and mind. Hot water usually purged bad thoughts, or so you hoped as you tried to erase the memory of the swinging corpse from the shrivelled branches of the old oak tree.

You shivered through the house after your shower, wrapped in a jumper and heavy jeans as you tried to navigate the halls without looking out into the garden. The memory of the body lingered with the burning feeling of the heavy box in the other room, filled with an old skull. It was a skull inside. A perfectly preserved ivory skull. The teeth were yellow with age on the enamel, and you looked to the table where the muddy box sat with the key in the lock. The headless creature had moaned and groaned as its head screamed from the other room. You turned and looked at the ornate metal decorations before daring to turn the key again. The lid popped open and flew back to reveal the skull again.

It sat perfectly still on the cushion, staring at you with empty eyes. With a deep breath, you dared to reach out and touch the skulls surface. It didn’t move. No magical energies tore out of the eye holes. It was perfectly still. It was just a skull. But the memory of it screaming and cursing inside the box was burned into your memory and you carefully picked the skull up, cushioning the bottom of its jaw before your strokes over the place where the eyebrows had once been when it was a man. It had to belong to the headless horseman, but why your aunt had it locked away in her home was another question entirely. You held the skull up to your eyes and peered into the bone of the eye sockets as you pondered your decision. There was a glimmer of gold inside the mouth which caught your eyes, and you dared to open the jaw wide enough to snatch at the shiny object. It was a single heavy golden coin which had been wedge between the back teeth. You looked at the old print and then quickly replaced it, wedging the jaw back shut as you placed the skull away on its pillow.

It sat and stared at you, and you stared at it, wondering what happened last night as you clutched at your head and sighed. You slammed the lid closed and snapped the lock closed before you placed the box in the centre of the table.

“What the fuck were you up to aunty?” You asked the air as you rushed to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. As you set the water to boil you continued to curse, thinking about the headless man who what invaded your home chasing the poor man who had ended up hanging from the tree in your front yard. The head had screamed ‘witch’ from its confines, but you had no knowledge about what it could mean. You took the hot water and made a drink before looking at the last few boxes of unpacking and scoffing, deciding that the day would be better spent researching what had slaughtered the man and hung him from your tree.

The village library was barely a few bookshelves put together and you sighed looking at the poor collection of books before you dated to approach the old librarian sat next to the desk. She had her own book open, some trashy romance novel set in the Victorian era, and she looked engrossed as she flipped the page and took another bite of her current tea cake.

“Hello?” You asked quietly in front of her.

The librarian jumped in her seat before she clutched at her chest and adjusted her glasses, “Dearie me! You scared the soul right out of me, love.” she took a moment to take a breath and close her book before she stood with a small wince and smiled, “What can I do for you?”

You could see the questions burning in her eyes. She no doubt knew you were the new person in town, and about what had happened at your home.

“I’m looking for some history books about the town. I wanted to try and get to know the place, but I don’t think there’s anything on the shelves.”

Her face pursed a little before she smiled again and pointed to the last one of the small walls of shelves, “There isn’t a lot but there’s a couple of books on the bottom shelf of the end one. For the records and such I’m afraid you will have to ask at the village hall. Rose keeps them in good nick there, lovely woman she is.”

“Ah, thank you.” You returned her smile and left her to her book as you went to the last set of shelves in the wall and started to rummage through the folklore and history books.

There wasn’t a lot, she was right, and you sighed after about twenty minutes of pulling out books. You tugged the last, thick history book from the shelf and dusted the cover to reveal a history of the local mines and hills. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You peered at the shelf again and huffed before there was a glimmer of silver lining at the back of the bookcase. You squirmed your hand to the back and plucked the small book from behind the tattered paperbacks. It was a pocketbook, stencilled with an old name in cursive, faded and marred with cage.

‘Maria Theresa Glyn’

You dusted the front and followed the name before looking around and tucking the book into your bag. You felt bad just taking it, but obviously the Librarian had no idea it was there, and the name was familiar to you. You remembered the coat of arms on the old teapot. If this was the diary of someone with the same name it might have clues, or so you reasoned as you plucked a few books from the shelf and took them to the counter after replacing the rest.

“Did you find what you were looking for, pet?” The librarian asked as you placed the books on the counter. She smiled and pulled out an old paper ticket to write your name onto. She poised the pen over the paper, and you told her your name before she copied it onto another for you and jotted the book codes down. She tutted at the date stamper and fiddled with it to get it to the correct date. Obviously not many people used the library.

“Yes, I found a few interesting things to have a flick through.” You told her as she stamped the tickets inside the books and stacked them in front of you.

“Well, you have fun...and be careful, huh? There’s a lot of weird and wonderful things that go on around here. It would be a shame if you forgot that, and something happened.” She smiled sweetly, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. I’ll try.” You smiled awkwardly back at her before you took your arm full of books and made a quick exit back into the chilly air.

The village seemed to watch you as you wove between the avenue of trees, crunching autumn orange and brown leaves underfoot. The chill in the air mimicked their icy feelings. You were the outsider among them, and soon enough they’d come to hound you out of their home. You only hoped to solve what you had seen. There was no way a headless man was riding around taking heads...right? You tried to console yourself as you made it to your home, and past the gnarled black tree in the front garden. It was twisted and old, and the branches seemed to creak as a greeting on your return. A glare silenced it, or so it seemed, perhaps it was just the wind dying, but the tree went silent as you walked up to the door with your keys in hand. The door swung open when you unlocked it and you clutched at your books as the wind howled into the mouth of the house, screaming down the hall like a ghost before you kicked the front door shut, shivering. The old back boiler chugged in the background as you kicked off your boots and placed the books in the lounge on the small table by the chest.

When the chest remained still and silent you left to place away your bags and get a drink. You returned, rubbing your eyes as you opened the little journal you had found. It was penned with ink and quill, that much was obvious, and you ran your fingers over the woman’s name again before you touched the crest and went to find the teapot. You grabbed the porcelain handle and placed the two together over your lap. They were the same. The Glyn coat of arms. You placed the teapot down and opened the diary to look at the first passage. It was dated back three centuries ago, back when the alliance was beginning to form between the different races, monsters and humans alike, though you could tell this village hadn’t had such luxury. The entire populace was human, apart from the dairy farmers four miles outside the walls of the village. They were large goblins of some kind, cave dwelling and gangly limbed from years in the dark, but you had only seen them.

The first passage was written in neat, printed cursive, echoing the care the woman had taken to write her feelings and events down.

‘Today is the day of my birth. My birthday rather. I was given this journal by the kind Mister Glynn, as a gift, and so I find myself beginning to write down the events of my daily life, so perhaps I can look back on it and reminisce when I am old and grey.

Mister Glyn is a kind soul. He is part of the King’s Royal Entourage and the Commander of a large cavalry unit. Why he is in this small village is unknown to us all, but my father suspects it is because of the Wood Witch. Perhaps he has been tasked with taking her head? It is rumoured the armour he has is enchanted against such magic, but I feel as though those are rumours made about a dangerous and powerful man to excite fear.

He is nothing but polite to me. I suppose my father will want to marry me off to this one as well.’

The passages were perhaps a couple of pages maximum, and you flicked through the dates quickly, watching her words change from cold and indifferent to soft and loving of the man see always called Mister Glyn. It wasn’t until a year later in the diary that you saw his true name.

‘Alcott escorted me to the capital atop Mallor, his beast of a horse, though the creature seems to like me now that I bring him sugar lumps. Alcott wished to show me the city and its fruits though there is rather less fruit and more muck and grime. I am used to mud on my shoes, but I despised the odour of the place, much to his amusement. As I write, I can hear him snickering at me across the table.’

There was a few blotches of ink and another set of handwriting.

‘She stood in a man’s excrement.’

Their trip seemed peaceful, and Maria even attended a gathering at court. It seemed well until you found the final page in the diary, written across a page in shaky ink.

‘They took his head.’

There was no fond farewell at the bottom of the page or a cursive signature. It was stark and naked on the yellowed paper, like a bad omen forever preserved. You ran your fingers over the words before you flicked through the last pages seeing nothing but blood splodges and blackened dark blood at the corners. It smelt faintly of rot, and you recoiled from the smell as you looked at the empty bare pages. The back of the book was burned across the inside of the cover. It was mysterious but it seemed like Alcott Glyn had been killed. But by who? You had no idea but as you looked at the chest again and thought of the head inside you shuddered.

Alcott Glyn. There had to be a grave. You tugged your bag open and stuffed the book inside before you rushed out of the door, locking it quickly as you rushed towards the little church. It was at the top of the hill, sat in a mound of earth, subsiding on one side with props and scaffolding to try and hold it up. It wasn’t used anymore, the town hall was used to any religious needs, but it was haunting. The stained glass was dirty, and the front doors bolted and chained to prevent anyone entering. You rushed around the side of the church and looked at the dates on the graves and the dates in the diary. It had to be the 1700s. You thought back to your history lessons and tried to recall the date of the alliance war. 1774. You rushed around the small paths and glanced at the years, 1770, 1772, 1773... you looked at the gap where the 1774 stone should have stood. There was nothing, just unchurned earth and a set of roses growing from the floor. A troubling feeling settled in your gut as you meandered down the path to the back of the overgrown graveyard. There were old stones, crumbling and forgotten under blackberry vines and leaves. It was chance that you leaned down next to a short stone and looked at the faded name.

Alcott Glyn.

The name was chipped and faded, like the memory of the man. Vines grew in wild abandon over the grave, and the blackberry vines had taken over the base, winding around the whole stone with wide dying leaves. It was perfectly hidden and forgotten about. The village’s little secret in the secluded corner of the graveyard, forgotten and buried. Or apparently, not buried completely. The earth was turned over, like something had ruptured from the ground and burst free. It was a long patch of upturned soil, as long as you were tall, or even longer, and the earth and stones were wet, fresh with the rain from the evening and being upturned, as though someone had run a plower through it. Carefully, you ran your fingers through the earth, feeling the soil between your fingers before you took a steadying breath.

“Someone came out of this…” You breathed into the chilly air, your breath making mist with the cold as you stood and looked over the grave. You said it again before turning and bolting from the graveyard before the night could fall over the village.

When you reached home, you threw your bag onto the couch and grabbed the chest, prising the lock open to peer at the skull inside. It was sat, still as a statue, on the cushion, with the glimmer of gold between its jaws. You lifted it from the cushion, carefully, pulling it up to your face level as the sun set over the horizon, bathing you in a golden glow with the skull clasped between your hands. There was nothing but the distant hum of the hot water pipes in the old house to answer your stare. The skull did nothing. It sat in your hands as the sunlight died over the horizon and the night began to settle in. In your gut, disappointment settled with the cold reminder that you were holding a dead man’s skull. A real human skull. Carefully, you placed it back down on the cushion and sighed as you went to draw the curtains, ignoring the creaking of the gnarled oak tree outside your door.

The wind blew as you looked back at the head in the chest, positioned slightly skewed on the cushion. You chewed your lip and sighed before you stood over it again.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered to the skull. Nothing. The old electrics flickered for a moment, dimming before they brightened again. Silence, except for the hum of the back boiler. The breath you had been holding escaped and you turned away with a grumble before the lights surged bright and yellow, like the sun, before the bulbs exploded in a sudden thunder of noise. Glass shattered and flew across the carpet in a shower, and you gasped, covering your ears before you looked back at the cushion.

The head was sat, jaw agape, with two lights in the blackened sockets, rolling side to side. The little lights rolled like stoned before they settled on you and the open jaw began to jitter, chattering the yellowed teeth together loudly. The skull didn’t move, just snapped it’s teeth like a scared dog before it stopped, and the eyes dimmed. It was only a moment of silence before there were three heavy pounds on your door. With a gasp you rushed to draw the curtains, and gazed upon the creature stood on your doorstep, his steed kicking and throwing it’s head by the twisted roots of the black tree. The body stood there, breathing, its undead chest moving as though it needed the air.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered again with a dry mouth. All the moisture dried up from you and you tried not to shake as the skull slammed against the side of the box, it’s eyes glowing.

It shook and chattered its teeth before a voice screamed from between the open jaw, “Let me in, witch!”

Fear twisted your guts as you rushed to slam the chest shut on the screaming skull. It chanted inside the decorative metal, hollering about burning you at the stake before you took it to the front door. The horseman slammed his fist on the door again, repeatedly, as though he was going to tear it open, and you shivered as your fingers shook by the latch and keys.

The horseman began to bang repeatedly and the head in the chest slammed around, shaking your arms as you struggled to keep hold of it. You took a stuttering breath and unlatched the door, turning the keys before you wrenched it open. The headless horseman heaved puffs of misty breath up from the stump of his neck, his trachea flexing with the movement as the nerves of his spinal cord twitched and thrummed behind it, imitating life in his corpse body.

“Witch!” the skull screamed again, his head you realised as you stepped back, and the creature followed. His boots left muddy smeared marks on the wooden floors, and you looked down to see the crushed blackberries over the soles. Your heart pounded as you realised, he had crawled from the grave you had sat by earlier.

“I saw you by my grave. I will not do business with you again.” His voice came from his body this time, contorted and dark as it leaked from his lungs like a wisp.

“Business? What business have you?” You asked, voice shaking with fear.

The skull laughed in its box, a malicious and evil noise, dark and tempting, as though you were truly stupid for asking, “What business did we not have? Have you forgotten in your age, crone? Death and blood, that’s what you wanted, and I delivered it.”

“Who did you have the deal with?” You steeled yourself.

“You, you pathetic soothsayer.” He droned before his dead fist slammed the door closed, “Now give me my head. Our bargain is met.”

“I am not my aunty.” You tried, “I have no deal with you.”

The horseman stopped, his body stiffening as his horse brayed and screamed outside, kicking its hooves at the black oak with a great smash. The tree shook, shedding twigs, but didn’t fall. He stalked closer, the bulk of his frame blocking out the light from the moon and the electric fitting overhead.

“But you have my head.” The skull whispered from inside the box before he grabbed for the chest. He touched the metal of the latch and screamed, the noise escaping the corpse before you and the skull inside the box. It was an ear piercing, unholy noise which burned your ears and made your head swim in agony. The horseman clutched at his chest and the stump of his neck, his gloved fingers pressing into the gored wound of his neck as he wobbled towards the wall and grasped at it for balance.

“Fuck.” You cursed before you whipped the chest open and grabbed his skull by its eye sockets, hanging it over him as he slid down the wall and screamed again in agony, twitching against the wood.

“If I give you your head, horseman, will you indebt yourself to me? Your previous contract will be null, and you will only serve me.” You announced.

The horseman writhed before going deathly still. He laid like a corpse for a moment or two before shakily he braced his arm against the floor and pushed himself up. With a shudder he got onto his knees and kneeled before you, his neck dipped to expose the sore, congealed wound of his decapitation.

“I... I will serve.” The horseman gurgled.

“Then I give you your head to end your torment, Alcott Glyn.” You promised before you held his skull between your palms and lowered it to the spinal column of his body.

There was a great groan as the spine extended from Alcott’s body and snapped to the skull, holding it in place as the eyes burned bright with purple light, the colour of blackberries, rolling in his skull as he reached and clasped at the bone, howling as light burned from the base of his neck and enveloped his skull with a whoosh of purple fire. The fire abated quickly as the moonlight disappeared behind the curtains and the skull shimmered as muscle and tendons swarmed the bone, linking and covering the surface before the he howled, and skin crept from his neck to his face, covering the surface in a perfect alabaster coating. His eyes however, remained voids of black, the centres beautiful blackberry lights in the dimness of your home. Black waves of hair grew from his head, dripping over his shoulders like ink as he howled, leaned against the old wallpaper. They finished growing with a crackle of fire, purple flames licking at the ends before it disappeared, leaving a heaving, black eyed creature curled against the wooden floor.

Your mouth hung open as you watched the horseman shake against the wood, heaving as he reached to clutch at the hair that draped from his previously naked skull. The inky waves slid through his gloved hands and was quickly marred with dirt and blood before he peered at you through the curtain, looking at you with the purple lights in his irises which were sunken back into his skull. His lips parted before he took a deep breath, wheezing out dust and muck, coughing like a goose before he kicked the chapped skin and crawled closer to your feet. He only looked at you, staring before one gloved hand whipped out and snatched your ankle, holding it tightly in an iron grip.

“Bound to your bloodline again...” he growled, “Humiliating.” Before he pushed himself back and stood, swaying on his legs like a new-born deer as his balance came back to him. Having a head was a heavy burden.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You breathed as Alcott slammed the side of his head and beat dirt out of his ears.

“Of course, you don’t. None of you ever do. Now I’m bound here to you until the day you drop dead and rot. Why can you never let me die?” He growled in a worked-up fury, flinging his hands to the windows before he stalked to the door, his boots slamming against the wood. He swung it open, and his mount brayed in greeting, throwing its giant head back before it caught sight of you and snorted, bowing it’s neck like a graceful Swan.

“You are all the same!” The horseman shouted before the moon was revealed, a cloud moving away from its white surface. He shuddered and you watched the skin on his face disappear with the muscle, revealing the purple lights in a bare, burning skull. As the cloud recovered the moon, the base of his neck flared with purple smoke and fire, revealing the scar where he was decapitated, and his face reappeared.

“I gave you your head back, Alcott!” You shouted after him.

The horseman shivered and turned back to you, looking at you with his haunting eyes, both hands gripping the pommel and stand of the saddle, “How do you know my name?” He whispered in questioning.

With a small breath, you locked your lips nervously and ducked back to the table, grabbing the little diary from you bag before you stood on your porch and held it out to the wraith, “Maria wrote about you.”

He growled and snatched at the book, and you let him take it with a painful smile, “I know the townspeople killed you. They betrayed you. I don’t know what happened to Maria.” You confessed.

Alcott opened the diary and flicked through it before he looked at the night sky, “She lived in mourning the rest of her life. They institutionalised her after they found her carrying my head, wailing through the town. She died, high on cocktails of medicines, with her head buried in the soft soil of a flower bed.”

The revelation was something of a shock and you looked at the undead man in front of you with a bitter, pitying look.

“You watched her die, didn’t you?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

The horseman scoffed, “That was the curse after all. To terrorise the town for their betrayal. But not her. I used to try call to her from the window, but she never could bare to look at me. Eventually they gave her more cocktails and she stopped coming to the window all together.”

“Jesus Christ.” You cursed.

“Such foul language.” Alcott sneered as he snapped the diary shut in his gloved hand, “She died from the madness and grief. That is the fault of the town and its yet another reason to run into each of these homes and tear their heads from their bodies.” Alcott spat furiously. As fury overtook him you could see the white scarred seem of where his head had been replaced burning with smoke the purple fumes puffing from it like a new wound before his neck popped and cracked, sending his head to the left, hanging on by a thread of flesh to the other side. You let out a screech and clasped your mouth as the horseman gurgled and reached for his head, grasping it by the hair before he groaned and dragged it back into place, snapping the vertebrae back into place with a twist and a squelch of bloodied tissue. It cracked again quickly, and Alcott held the top of his hair tightly with a groan as the smoke poured from his mouth and his head twisted backwards like a ghoul, spinning on his neck before it snapped again and came free, rolling over the floor to your feet as a skull. The flesh and hair melted in waves of muck from its surface, and you shakily took hold of the skull again.

The horseman stumbled left and right as he reached towards you for his head.

“MY HEAD, WITCH!” He howled at you, but you dashed back up the porch steps and held it protectively.

“You are under my command. Anything against my wishes is against our contract...so you lose your head. Do you hear me horseman?” You blagged, hoping you were right, “So there will be no killing.”

“Evil, corrupt creature. I'll hang you by your feet and bleed you from the neck!” Alcott threatened as fire and smoke poured from his throbbing trachea. The smoke puffed before he went sent to the floor in agony, the black oak behind him creaking and swaying left and right as though the roots were snaking towards him. Sure enough, the ground rumbled, and the black oak’s roots exploded from the ground, snagging the horseman by his wrists and ankles hoisting him into the air as the branches hissed and his mount, Mallor, brayed and screamed, blood spraying over the fence from the horses broken throat.

It was a curse. You should have expected as much, but you shook as the tree cinched the man’s limbs, holding them tight before it pulled, making him scream in agony as his joints were pulled tight.

“Stop!” You screamed, and the tree stopped pulling, holding the horseman aloft still as it swayed and bent towards you, its branches touching your head as though trying to figure out who you were.

“He is mine.” You told the tree, “He will obey and submit to the laws of his contract.”

The tree groaned, it’s roots wiggling in the cold, hard earth for a moment before it dropped Alcott like a sack of grain and settled down quietly, smacking at the horse inching closer to its trunk.

Alcott touched at his neck as he rose, swaying as he cracked and snapped his joints back into place like a disjointed puppet.

“Are you going to play nice now?” You asked as the man wheezed in front of you. When he nodded you offered him his skull back and watched the skin and flesh cover its surface again before he snarled behind his curtain of overgrown hair, blackberry-coloured lights burning the void of his eyes.

“You truly are her kin if that disgusting thing listens to you.” He snapped as he headed for his horse and mounted the saddle with a quick bounce on one powerful leg, his thighs locking tight around the beast’s sides as it bucked and brayed. Alcott turned his horse and tipped his head with a wave of purple smoke and fire, “Call on me then, witch, and see what havoc I can wreak for you.” Alcott laughed bitterly as he turned Mallor onto the cobbled drive and rode onto the road, his face becoming bone and flesh intermittently as the clouds passed overhead.

“I’m not a witch!” You screamed after the horseman, but he was gone into the mist and the trees, unlikely to have heard you cursing against the stairs of the porch as you collapsed.

#headless horseman x reader #alcott glyn x reader #headless horseman x gender neutral reader #headless horseman #alcott glyn #dullahan x reader #dullahan #dullahan x gender neutral reader #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster boy #monster bf #monster boyfriend x reader #monster reader inserts #reader inserts #my writing #original works

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xbreezymeadowsx · 4 years ago

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A Telford Tea Party

A/N: Pure, unadulterated FLUFF. Inspired by my favorite thirsty Flanagan obsessed girls and what’s said in our chat.

Chibs x Reader

This has not been proofread and therefore may contain spelling or grammatical errors. Oops.

TW: Nothing should be triggering unless you hate daddies having tea parties with their little girls.

PREPARE YOUR OVARIES!

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(this gif just seemed appropriate somehow. Not mine, credit to the maker.)

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Dada... Chibs grumbled burying his face in his pillow. "Dada." He cracked one eye open and squint, scanning the bits of room he could see when a little face was suddenly taking up his whole view. "Daddy." The four year old girl said firmly, letting him know he wouldn't be going back to sleep. He smiled sleepily and moved an arm from under his pillow to tuck some of her silky brunette hair from her face. "Mornin', Tilly." He graveled. Her hazel eyes lit up and she giggled. "Goo monin'!" She smiled brightly. Chibs groaned as he rolled to his back again and stretched as his daughter knelt on the bed, the empty half of the bed. "Where's yer Ma?" He asked with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Da movie place." She told him. "Aun'ie Lyla as'ed her fo' sum'tin. Baby Mal wen', too." "Oh, okay." He thanked her for explaining it further. "Daddy, can we have a tea party?" She begged, giving him puppy dog eyes. "Do we hafta?" Chibs grumped. "Pweeeeeeease?" The little girl plead and clasped her hands in front of herself. He sighed, it didn't take much for the little one to get her way with him. "Fine." He huffed, scoffing at his lack of will power. "Lemme take a shower quick, okay?" "O'tay!" "Go ge' yer sissy an' set up in the playroom." He told her, tickling her side and making her squeal and jump off the bed. "BRINNNNAAAAAAA!!!" She hollered as she raced out the bedroom door. After showering and quickly dressing in black jeans and black SAMCRO t-shirt, Chibs went into the kitchen to grab a jug of sweet tea and tin of shortbread. However, as he turned the corner, he was greeted with the sight of his six year old standing on the counter next to the fridge, the four year old standing on the chair they'd pushed over there, and their six year old brindled shepherd mix Jameson prancing excitedly in place watching his little humans going after something near the treats he couldn't reach and hoping they'd knock the container down. The pajama clad girls- the pair looked nearly identical save for the elder being a head taller- froze in place and stared wide-eyed at him. "Sabrina Rose. Matilda Mae." Chibs said sternly, setting his fists on his hips. "Uh-oh." They gasped in unison. Chibs scooped them up and set them on the hardwood floor. "Couldn' wait ten minutes, eh?" He asked in amusement. He shook his head, chuckling and ruffled their long hair. He reached on top of the refrigerator and took the blue tin the girls had been after, handing it to his oldest. "I'll get the tea." Y/N opened the truck door and reached in to get the three month old out of his carseat as he babbled and waved his orange rattleball around. The neck of his green dinosaur onesie was covered in slobber and drool. "Yes, yes, yes. We're so happy, aren't we? Yes, we are." Y/N cooed as she picked the baby up and held under his butt as he leaned into her shoulder. "Auntie Lyla and the girls spoiled you, didn't they? I saw them sneaking you whipped cream. All that damn sugar's got you wound up." She slung the Harley Davidson diaper bag over her shoulder and grabbed the bag of groceries she'd picked up on the way home before heading to the front door. Once inside, she set the bags on the kitchen table and shift her son to her other arm. "Now, where's Daddy and the girls, huh?" She asked the baby. He looked at his mother curiously before letting out a shrill scream of joy. Y/N cringed. "Malcolm Robert Telford, you're gonna make my ears bleed." In the playroom, Chibs shift uncomfortably in his tiny, tiny pink chair. He would've liked to have sit on the floor, but his girls insisted he had to sit at the table like a proper gentleman. He watched Tilly- a sky blue fairy costume on over her pajamas including wings with an Anna from Frozen glittery tiara- pick up the little plastic pink teapot in the middle of the round white table and pour nothing into a mismatched tiny purple teacup in front of one of their guests. "Mo' tea, Mr. Bear?" She asked the large teal teddy bear. She turned to her other side and poured some into a large blue teacup for her sister's yellow lab, Jax. "May I have more tea, Daddy?" Brina asked in a horrible attempt at some kind of European accent. While her younger sibling was clearly a typical girly-girl, Sabrina wasn't. She, too, wore a costume dress but her's was black velvet with gold trim. She looked like a regal witch or vampire... if it weren't for the mini felt top hat and the headband that made it look like she had an arrow through her head. "Of course, sweethear'." He replied warmly and picked up the larger stainless steel teapot. Clinking came from inside from ice cubes sloshing around as he poured iced tea into her cup which was actually a black enamel camping mug. "Can I have a'nudder cookie?" Tilly asked sweetly, not bothering to fake an accent. "Haven' ya already 'ad three?" Chibs asked, raising an eyebrow and already knowing the answer. "Nooooo." His younger daughter trailed off not looking her father in the eye. Sabrina cackled at her sister's bad acting. Chibs pretend to wipe his face to hide his smirk. "How abou' we split one?" He compromised and picked up a shortbread from the Santa platter the girls had piled them on. Tilly nodded eagerly and held out her little plastic Disney Inside Out Joy dessert plate. Chibs broke the cookie in two pieces as even as he could and set one half on her plate and the other on his red Elmo face plate. "Daddy! Your hat!" Sabrina exclaimed realizing Chibs had taken it off at some point without them noticing. He reached up and felt his head. "Oh no! It's gone!" He cried, faking shock. "Someone stole it!" He shout, so clearly upset at this revelation. Tilly started frantically looking behind the plushies and lifting plates up as if the rainbow striped pinwheel hat would be hiding under them. Brina searched in the nearest toy chest, suspicious. The last two times the hat went missing, that's where it was. She slammed the lid shut hopelessly when her search came up empty. "Sissy, look'it!" Matilda ordered pointing a little index finger across the room. Chibs internally cringed and prayed the hat was destroyed by now. "Jamie, no!" Sabrina rushed the dog and began tugging the hat from him. He growled lightly and tugged back, wagging his tail and thinking she wanted to play. Unfortunately for the mutt, he'd done enough damage already that one more solid yank and the fabric seperated with an audible rrrrrrrip. The little girl flopped on her behind with a thump. "Bad dog!" She reprimanded him. Jameson spit out his half of the rainbow and whimpered, approaching the little girl and snuffling around her head. He licked her cheeks and she scrunched her shoulders, shrieking with laughter at his tickly whiskers and unable to stay mad at the innocent beast. "Wha's Daddy supposed to wear now? He needs a hat!" The young toddler declared before scurrying to the dress-up closet. Chibs whistled and called the dog off his daughter, her face having been slurped on enough. "Go lay down, ya mongrel." He chide goodnaturedly. He helped his daughter wipe her face off with a napkin. "I found a hat, Daddy!" Matilda proclaimed, emerging from the closet and holding something up triumphantly. Chibs face feel momentarily at the sight before changing his expression to something neutral. "Maybe no' tha' one, princess." He denied gently. The green plastic bowler hat was missing a chunk of hat and the white ribbon with four leaf clovers that usually wrapped around it was dangling over the edge of the rim like a graduation cap tassel. The little girl frowned and studied the hat. "I guess not." She agreed sadly and chucked it in the small trash bin between the girls' drawing tables. Seeing her sister on the verge of crying, Sabrina hurried over and ushered her back into the closet to help her find a more suitable hat. Y/N stood in the doorway watching her husband interact with their girls. Malcolm was quietly sucking on his thumb, head laying on her shoulder. It melt her heart every time she saw them all. Filip was always so good with his children and the girls had him wrapped around their little pinkies most of the time. He was stern when he needed to be, but honestly the girls were rarely brats. She swooned when she saw Matilda run to her father and hold up a plastic gold crown with colored jewel beads adorning it. Chibs gushed at how perfect the item was and scooped the girl up, standing her on his knees so she could place it on his head. Thrilled, Tilly set the crown atop his head and declared him king of the tea party. She hopped back to the carpeted floor as Sabrina joined her and the pair curtsied before their king. "Greetings, my liege." Chibs snapped his eyes up and found his wife and baby boy watching them from the doorway. A loving smile gracing Y/N's face. "Miladies," He addressed his daughters. "Look! Tis my Queen returned from her travels!" The girls curtsied to her. Y/N curtsied back with a soft giggle. "I do apologize for missing tea time. I needed to acquire more covers and a rash tincture for Prince Malcolm's royal fanny." Her daughters roared with laughter, falling to the floor in a pile of wiggly court jesters. The baby picked his head up and watched his big sisters before giggling sleepily. Chibs groaned as he stood. He pressed his hands to his lower back, leaning backwards to stretch his aching bones. He carefully skirt around the flopping sillies on the floor and held his hands out with wide eyes and big smile. "There's ma'boy!" He cheered. His smile threatened to split his face in two when he saw the baby boy excited to see him. Malcolm screeched and giggled, trying to fling himself from his mother's arms towards his father. "Hiya! Were ya good fer yer Mama?" He questioned in a voice he reserved for babies. "Didya go see Auntie Lyla? Was she filmin'?" He heard Y/N scoff as she fixed the little one's cotton shorts. "Ha! No. Say we didn't see any of that naughty stuff, Daddy." Y/N told her son to say knowing he'd just babble or blow a spit bubble instead. She looked to her husband as he kissed the light haired, blue-grey eyed bundle of joy all over his head and cheeks. "They were on lunch... brunch, I guess? when we got there. Everyone in robes, dirty bits hidden from innocent eyes." "Tha's a shame." Chibs joked earning a backhand on his free shoulder. He snickered and winked at Y/N before leaning in for a kiss. "Missed ya." He muttered against her lips. "Mm, you missed sleeping till noon." Y/N teased. "Tha', too." He agreed with a cheeky grin. "Daddy, can we go to the park?" Matilda asked, the girls' laughing fit having subsided finally. Chibs turned to his wife. Before Y/N could answer Malcolm started grunting, his face going red before the unpleasant sounds of a much needed diaper change filled their ears. "EEWWW!" The girls exclaimed, faces scrunched up in disgust. "We can go later, okay?" Y/N told them. "It's lunchtime now, then naptime." The girls started whining. "Hey, no whining." "No nap, no park." Chibs said, backing up his wife. The girls scowled, knowing it was too late to try to persuade him otherwise now that he showed he was with Mom. "Keep makin' tha' face an' it'll stick like tha'." He threatened, a sideways glance to Y/N who gave him a mischevious half-grin. "I'll ge' the lad changed an' down fer his nap." He told her, kissing her cheek. Y/N sighed softly, leaning into his lips. "Okay. We'll clean up in here and get lunch going." She decided, stepping aside to let the boys out of the room. "Come along, ya wee bug. We'll get a fresh nappie, read tha' book abou' a wee mouse an' a biscuit, play some o' tha' Celtic lullaby music ya love, an' have a bit o' dreamin'. Sound good?" Chibs spoke softly to his son as he moved down the hallway to the baby's room. Y/N turned to her daughters, taking out her phone and snapping a picture of the dressed up pair before smiling at them. "Shall we have chicken fingers for lunch?" She quiered. The girls nod enthusiastically. "Anything else?" "Neeps an' tatties!" Chibs called down the hallway. Y/N rolled her eyes, but the girls were already getting more excited. The girls loved her homemade mashed potatoes and turnips. "Alright, then. I think we have some mash leftover from dinner." She sighed. "Start cleaning and I'll get the chicken in the oven." She told the girls. "Okay, Mama!" They agreed as she turned and made her way to the kitchen. Once the food was warming up, she was jotting something down on the grocery list on the counter when the sounds in her house distracted her. Sabrina and Matilda were giggling with each other, toys and make believe sets were clattering here and there as the siblings no doubt were throwing everything haphazardly into random toy chests, the rumbles of Chibs' Scottish brogue float down the hallway as he read a bedtime story to their baby, and the sounds of yipping and collar tags jingling were heard from the living room as Jameson dreamed of chasing squirrels. Y/N breathed deeply and sighed, content. This was her favorite thing in the world. The sounds of home.

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slytherinknowitall · 4 years ago

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Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 18: Hogsmeade Rendezvous

(Click here for chapter 17!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

“Where are you going?”

Already halfway out the hole in the wall that made the entrance of the Potions professor’s chambers, Hermione turned around surprised. “Um, I was just going to the lavatory.”

Snape gave her a calculated look from his seat in front of the fireplace. “You could just use mine, you know. It’s the door to the right.”

“Oh, o-okay …” Hermione trailed off, feeling terribly abashed by how much she was stuttering. “Thank you.”

And with that, she staggered through the room to said door before disappearing into the bathroom behind it.

Once inside, however, the witch immediately had to gasp in amazement. The bathroom itself was not special; if anything, it was rather dilapidated. In the middle of the room, a big, round bathtub was embedded into the floor. It had most likely not been used in a really long time as it was covered in a thick layer of dust. The left corner of the room was home to a huge walk-in shower, one of its faucets leaking heavily at its base, and opposite of that, there was one of those outdated, eggshell white toilets with a flush chain, its lid slightly crooked. The only piece of furniture was an elongated wooden cabinet that extended from one end of the wall to the other. On top of it, there was a washbasin, with its enamel already starting to chip in some places.

But the one thing that made the room extraordinary was that one of its walls was not made of stone – instead, it was just one big window looking out into the depths of the Great Lake.

Her mouth wide open, Hermione took a few steps towards the glass just as a school of small fish swam by. The murky water gave the entire bathroom an eerie, greenish tint – how amusingly fitting for the quarters of the Head of Slytherin. Taking a closer look, she could see the amazing panorama that was normally hidden away within the depths of the lake: the ground mostly consisted of natural boulders covered in seaweed, with countless aquatic creatures either swimming around freely or using them for hiding. A small Grindylow could be seen; it had apparently repurposed a lost suitcase as a nice, little home. Above it, a group of Selkies was patrolling. And maybe it was just imagination, but Hermione thought that she could even make out the shadow of the friendly Giant Squid dancing around in the background somewhere.

The Muggle-born waved her hand around, trying to catch the attention of the creatures; but they paid her no mind. She soon realised that the glass must be enchanted in some way, acting as a sort of magical one-way mirror. Regardless, she was mesmerised. She had always loved the water and how it gave her the freedom to move around weightlessly. So unsurprisingly, she had fallen in love with the Great Lake during that first boat ride she had taken as an incoming first-year. But while she had spent many beautiful hours by its shore, she had never once seen it from this perspective before. After all, she had been unconscious during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

She was so captivated by the beauty in front of her that a sudden loud knock at the door made her jump.

“Hermione? Is everything all right?”

Shit. She must have been staring out of that window for too long!

“Yes, I’ll only be a minute!” she called back and could soon hear footsteps walking away from the door.

Quickly using the toilet, the thing for which she had originally came here, she washed her hands and was just about to leave the bathroom, her slender hand already on the doorknob, when she suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of the Floo Network coming from the other room. Hermione pulled back hesitantly. She did not know who the mysterious visitor was, of course; but at any rate, it would be better if no one saw her in her teacher’s quarters and started to ask questions.

I really should have taken Ginny’s advice to heart. What if Professor Snape’s guest needs to use the loo, too?

She carefully placed her ear on the door, not once thinking about the fact that she might be eavesdropping on a very private conversation.

“Severus, my boy!” The cheerful voice obviously belonged to Professor Dumbledore.

Hermione’s heart missed a beat. Had she returned to the sitting room just one second earlier, she and Professor Snape could have been in a really sticky situation!

“Headmaster.” Snape’s voice was almost too low to understand. Hermione had to smirk when she thought about the long face he was certainly making right now; she knew all too well how much he disliked the older man’s antics. “What brings you here today? Unannounced, if I might add …”

There was a thud-like noise, and Hermione assumed that it came from Professor Dumbledore sitting down in the wing chair she had occupied just minutes ago. She prayed to the gods he would not notice that the seat was already warm.

“I came to enquire your expertise, of course! You see, I’ve recently received an interesting flyer from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and immediately felt intrigued by one of their products, the WonderWitch’s Everlasting Eyelashes. Now, with how busy I am right at the moment, I can’t just get up and leave to take a quick trip to Diagon Alley, and with Christmas right around the corner, shipping would take ages. But then I thought, ‘Well, Severus is such an intelligent and capable brewer, I am sure he could help me out!’”

“So let me get this straight … You are asking me, a Potions Master who could brew you everlasting life in a bottle, to throw together a simple eyelash serum?”

“Yes!”

Hermione let out a silent laugh. Sometimes, it really was hard to believe that Professor Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard of his time.

For a few seconds, no one said anything. “I am not even going to get into how ridiculous this is,” Snape then said in an impassive voice. “But even if I wanted to fulfil your request, I couldn’t. Any magical cosmetic product requires Mooncalf oil which I do not have in stock right now.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I thought as much which is why I already placed an order at the apothecary in Hogsmeade. It should be ready to be picked up right about now!” The next part made Hermione perk up her ears. “Why don’t you take Miss Granger with you? Ordering potion ingredients is something she should familiarises herself with during her apprenticeship, and I am sure that it would also be good to get out and away from the seventh-year stress for a bit.”

“May I remind you that students, regardless of their age or position, are not allowed to leave school grounds just like that?”

Hermione heard what sounded like footsteps on a rug.

“You have my special permission,” replied Dumbledore with a chuckle before once again, the sound of flooing resonated through the wizard’s quarters. Still, Hermione waited another minute or two before emerging from her hiding spot.

Professor Snape was still sitting in the exact same spot as earlier and did not even look up as she walked past him. But when she finally arrived at her chair, she noticed a small mug filled with plain black tea hovering above it. Her face immediately broke out into a smile. The first few times he had prepared a cuppa for her, she had just figured that he had not been considerate enough to offer her any milk or sugar. But during one of her visits – the professor had just left to get something from his office – a small house elf had appeared and handed her the beverage with the words, “One black tea straight up, just like Master Snape says Miss Hermione likes it!” It was only then that she had realised that he had been paying attention to her, after all.

“Looks like we are going on an outing today,” Snape suddenly said before taking a sip of his own cup without lifting his eyes from the book on his lap. He liked his tea disgustingly sweet with at least half a dozen spoonfuls of sugar and enough milk to make it have an almost white appearance – Hermione had been paying attention to him too, of course.

*************** *************** ***************

“What do you mean it’s not ready yet?!”

“Ze delivery arrived just a few minutes ago,” explained the young apothecary at J. Pippin’s Potions in a thick Eastern European accent. “I still need to veigh it and carry out ze usual tests to prove ze content’s auzenticity.”

“I’m a bloody Potions Master! I can do that myself!” Severus growled threateningly, but the man did not even bat an eye; he had obviously not been a student at Hogwarts and therefore had never learnt to fear the bat of the dungeons. Severus could not help but feel a tiny bit uneasy. He knew that he had softened up a lot over the past few months, and now, he was afraid that at some point, he was going to lose his innate authority completely.

“As one, you should be avare of ze laws and regulations dictating zat I am not allowed to give you any goods vizout checking them zoroughly beforehand.”

Severus snorted in disgust. “Well, how long will it be then?”

“If I ztart right now,” the apothecary answered. “Probably about an hour.”

“AN HOUR!” The only thing that outburst got him was a nasty look. “What am I supposed to do for an hour?!”

“It’s okay, Professor.”

So far, his apprentice had kept in the background. But now, she took a step forward and positioned herself between the two wizards, blocking their direct view of each other and therefore immediately reducing the tension in the room. She looked him directly into his eyes, a slight smile on her face as she gingerly placed her hand on his forearm. Severus instantly felt like he had a gigantic lump in his throat.

“When you think about it, an hour is not even that long. We could have a look around the other shops or maybe even get a drink somewhere.”

“With all due respect, I can’t just go to the Three Broomsticks and have myself a butterbeer. Merlin forbid someone should see me in there!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a smirk. “If you want to be absolutely certain that you won’t meet anyone you know, then I have just the place!”

At first, he was rather confused and also a bit intrigued by her smug expression; however, that feeling quickly died down when about ten minutes later, he found himself jammed between the wall and a small gaudy table in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop.

Severus felt extremely uncomfortable, almost like a fish out of water. He had known about the place, of course. It had always been the dating hotspot for Hogwarts students, even back in his days. But unsurprisingly, since he had never been one of the popular kids and thus had never scored a date, he had not once set foot inside the infamous tearoom.

Looking around, he felt overwhelmed by the seemingly endless amount of tacky and frilly décor covering every single inch of the small room. All corners were filled with ridiculously small, round tables pilled with cheap china and fake flowers, the walls were plastered in a terribly ugly floral wallpaper, and there were a few random bright pink garlands hanging from the ceiling here and there. The man did not understand how anyone would ever voluntarily frequent this establishment and thanked the universe that he and Hermione were the only customers at that moment; he did not even want to imagine the weird stares the two of them would otherwise have got.

Speaking of Hermione, he turned his attention to the young woman sitting across from him. She looked so pretty with her cheeks flushed red from the cold and her brown hair all fuzzy from the fluffy woolly hat she had been wearing earlier as she studied the menu in absolute concentration. Severus could not help but be a bit flustered – this was feeling suspiciously like a date, and that made his stomach do somersaults.

“I think I’ll just have a cup of coffee,” Hermione finally spoke up. “But I’ve heard that their tea selection is also quite good if you’d rather have that.”

When he shook his head, she put down the menu to signal that they were ready to order which in turn set Madam Puddifoot in motion. She was certainly an interesting character – her greasy black hair tied into a strict knot at the top of her head, the corpulent witch had quite a bit of trouble navigating through the cluttered salon without knocking over a bunch of chairs. When she finally reached their table in the far back, she proclaimed in her screeching voice, “What can I get for you, my darlings?”

Severus raised one of his black eyebrows – no one had ever called him that.

“Could I get a caramel macchiato with an extra shot of caramel syrup, please?”

“Oh, good choice! You must have quite the sweet tooth!” The older woman let out a deafeningly high laugh before turning around to face Severus. “And what about you? The same or –“

“Black.”

The short and crisp reply seemed to throw her off for a second. “A-alrighty then … I’ll have your beverages with you shortly.”

And with that, she staggered away, knocking over a nearby gilded statue of an angel in the process.

For a few minutes, there was an awkward silence. Stealthily studying her through his lashes, Severus noticed that as Hermione was letting her look travel around the room, she was fiddling with the bracelet she was wearing around her left wrist. He had seen it before; it was the very one she had received from Dumbledore for her birthday. This made him think of his own gift, the one he had so stupidly gone overboard with. He realised that he had never got the chance to explain himself regarding that foolishness. But just as he was about to open his mouth, he was interrupted by two cups of steaming hot coffee suddenly appearing on their table out of thin air.

Surprised at first, Hermione let out a small squeak. Severus then watched as she carefully pulled her cup closer before taking a rounded sugar bowl from the table next to them and adding about three teaspoons worth of white sweetness to her beverage without tasting it even once. Afterwards, she took her small spoon and used it to gingerly skim off the heavy layer of whipped cream topping off her drink, devouring it little by little.

Severus was observing her so intently – almost as though he was mesmerised by her trivial movements – that he had to force his eyes away from her form in order to finally take a sip from his own mug. He took a few seconds to savour the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Miss –“ He quickly scanned the room and only continued when he saw no sign of the café’s owner. “Hermione, do tell how you thought of this place? I never took you as the sappy type.”

“Oh! Well …” She seemed a little nervous all of a sudden, a bit of whipped cream still stuck to the corners of her mouth. “I’ve actually been here before.”

Severus tilted his head just ever so slightly – he did not like where this was going. “Have you then?”

“Yes …” Why was she suddenly avoiding eye contact? “With Viktor Krum.”

BANG – it was like a bullet straight to his heart. He had completely forgotten about the fact that she had been that Krum bloke’s date to the Yule Ball three years ago. Of course – any woman, even a bookworm like Hermione, would be incapable of resisting the famous foreigner’s mysterious charms. Severus began to feel nauseous. How could he ever compare to someone like that?

“How romantic,” was all he managed to squeeze out, his gaze fixated on the floor.

“Not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Viktor is a really great guy, not at all what you would expect from a student of Durmstrang, and I enjoyed his company greatly.” BANG, BANG – another two hits right to the chest. “But while we certainly took a liking to each other, the real spark was just never there. And either way, it would have never worked out in the long run. That whole Quidditch thing is so not my cup of tea and a long-distance relationship at that age? No, at the end of the day, it was for the better that we separated on friendly terms.”

What?! Could it really be true that the Bulgarian was not in her life anymore?

“Plus, Ron kind of ruined it with his jealously anyway.”

The Weasley boy! Severus would have never in a million years thought that he would one day be thankful for that brat’s existence.

“I guess that Viktor was just not the guy I’m looking for.”

Not thinking rationally, Severus decided to be bold. “So what are you looking for then?”

Her cheeks somehow became even more flushed than before.

“I don’t really know,” she said quietly. “I guess I want someone who cares more about academics than sports. Someone who would not get annoyed with me for spending hours reading, because he would be just as immersed in the pages as me.”

There was a short pause.

“But I think that most importantly, I want … I need someone who understands what I went through during the war. Someone who has felt the same pain that I have felt. Because how could I ever explain that to an outsider?”

(Click here for chapter 19!)

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homebrewandherbal-blog · 4 years ago

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Healing With Herbal Tea

home brew and herbal tea supplies

Herbal tea, also referred to as an herbal infusion or tisane, is the process of selecting medicinal plants, flowers, or roots and steeping them in hot water to extract their healing properties. Teas have been used by just about every major lifestyle throughout the world and throughout the span of history, and in the modern day they are making a significant comeback in the natural healing fields. Using herbs for tea is an easy way to convey the natural and delicate powers of plants in to your life without having to have tons of information or expertise driving you. Many herbal tea varieties are equally healthy and attractive, and also the process of having fun with a hot cup of tea is often the most relaxing and pleasing part of your day!

Selecting An Herb To Use In Your Tea

It's a smart idea to start using herbal teas one herb at a time. Test the internet or review textbooks on herbal healing to see which specific, individual herb matches your individual healing needs most effective. For example, if you have a sore throat and so are a supporter of sweets, a good anise seed herbal tea may be just the thing you need. If you have other health worries, are pregnant, nursing, elderly, or are working with a baby, make sure to check with an herbal professional along with your medical doctor to make sure the herb you decide on is absolutely safe for you.

Picking out Which Herbs To Purchase

When it comes to selecting herbs to get for tea, the options are endless. The greatest way to buy herbs is in bulk so that you can save money and store them for future use. If you aren't in a position to get bulk organic herbs where you live, try to discover out pre-packaged herbs in tea luggage for use in your own home. If you drop in love with the process of brewing and steeping tea, you may want to think about the best way of getting healing plants - growing them on your own!

What You'll Need To Brew Herbal Tea

You'll need to have just a number of simple primary on hand to produce the perfect healing consume at any time. A solid, heat proof mug, a kettle, and also a spoon should do the trick! traditionally, enamel or stainless steel kettles are preferred. Pick out an earthenware, porcelain, or ceramic mug for consuming your teas. The spoon can be used to mix up your tea, press surplus nutrients from a tea bag, or help great your consume off following steeping it.

How To Brew The Perfect Cup

Bring fresh spring water to the point where it is just about to boil, then remove it from the heat. This temperature is ideal for most all tea varieties - even though some roots and rhizomes may need to be prepared in a unique way for very best results. Pour the water gently over about one measured teaspoon of your herb, or over your pre-packaged tea bag. You should be using about one cup or 8 ounces of water. Immediately protect your tea mug with a lid or small plate and allow it to steep for six minutes. Once the time has passed, remove the plate, take the teabag from the cup, and give your drink some time to awesome.

Remember that tea is hot! Take treatment in ingesting, carrying, holding, and placing your tea - and prevent having small young children or pets nearby if they are prone to remaining interested in the things you are interacting with. Also, make sure to turn off your heat source and empty out any remaining hot water from your kettle.

Enjoy the Advantages!

References Herbal medicine https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herbal_medicine

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wenchofthescullery · 4 years ago

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Grass Underfoot, Part 2

Cooking gear

Coffee percolator -- done Preground coffee -- done Enameled dishes with flatware set -- to get tomorrow Cast iron skillet -- need to find my smaller one(s) Excellent coffee mug -- done Small cooking pot with lid -- done (do I want a special set?) Large bottled waters -- done (3 gallons, and a dozen 8ozs) Tub for washing up -- need to find this, it's stored Dish towels and bar cloths -- done Larger serving utensils -- will set aside tomorrow Propane (x4 small cannisters) -- will get tomorrow

I'll sort out the dry goods later, but I have plenty of pasta, dried fruits, and canned tomatoes. Also some tinned soups. Since I'll be at a campgrounds, I will be parked close by and can pack things in the car. I’ll get fresh fruit and bread or tortillas closer to the time.

There’s already a lot of canned beans in the pantry, and beef and chicken in the freezer. I might cook things in advance and just reheat. There’s plenty of room for both the larger and smaller cooler. I have a couple of wicker picnic basket that could be preloaded with gear and dry good, for easy transport on the travel day.

It would be nice to make campfire breakfasts fresh, though. I could pick up some wood when I get there (the convenience store sells it), and take lint for starting the fire.

I used to set up picnics with full china and silverware. I think I would like to do that eventually, but I’m a big believer in setting up for success. I want this to go well the first time -- that comes with a natural momentum for looking forward to and planning the next time.

I’m willing to invest in this. I don’t buy new clothes, or new shoes, or have my hair done, or so many other regular expenses, but I really, really want this. If I have things set aside and ready to go, and I make it easy for myself, it will happen.

Maybe I’ll bring a real teapot and tea cup & saucer set, as a nod to history. :)

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jual217harga · 5 years ago

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Enamel Mug Mockup Free 0896•6848•7220[wa]

Mengenai kapan netizen memerlukan makalah tentang enamel mug mockup free juga sangat beraneka. Sebab separuh orang menginginkannya tergesa-gesa, akan tetapi terdapat juga yg tak terlalu tergesa2. Entah sebabnya, di sini anda dapat melongok informasi tersebut dengan cuma2. Kakak tak perlu membelanjakan duit, selain jaringan online serta listrik. Apalagi selain tulisan enamel mug mockup free, anda pastinya boleh menelisik beragam arsip informasi berbeda yg terkait. Tiada terlalu kalau sebagian netizen berlama-lama menjelajah website yg ini. Pabila hendak mengkontak admin, segera aja whatsapp di nomor yg telah terpampang. Sajian referensi waktu ini, kami akan menyerahkan sebagian wahana / toko jual-beli gelas bening dan plastik yg bisa dikau temukan di daerah metro bandung dan sekitarnya. Pabila anda mampir ke metro bandung / mampu dinamakan bagi metro bunga, disana kamu akan mengamati lanjut sekali pedagang gelas yg menawarkan berbagai jenis gelas dg banderolan tarif yg cukup terjangkau. Kecuali itu, dikau serta mampu membeli gelas-gelas tersebut cocok keperluan anda, oke tersebut dengan grosir maupun eceran. Dan guna anda yang mau mengetahui sebagian tempat pedagang gelas bening serta plastik, kamu dapat mendatangi keliru satu pasar didaerah kota bandung. Tentang bilamana orang memerlukan artikel enamel mug japan pastinya sangat beragam. Karena separuh orang membutuhkannya tergesa-gesa, tetapi terdapat juga yang tiada terlalu tergesa2. Apapun alasannya, di sini kau bisa memperhatikan informasi tersebut secara cuma2. Kau tidak perlu mengeluarkan duit, selain jaringan internet dan listrik. Apalagi kecuali makalah enamel mug japan, kau juga boleh menelisik beragam koleksi informasi berbeda yg berhubungan. Tiada berlebihan kalau sebagian orang betah menjelajah website yg ini. Apabila ingin chat dengan pengarang, segera saja whatsapp di nomor yg telah disediakan.

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wellntruly · 6 years ago

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Your non-traditional Thanksgiving stuff looked amazing!! If you could point the way to the juniper soup and pumpkin bread recipes, I’d love to host my own fancy winter feast (it’s really just me and wine but still).

Oh a GREAT combo, I fully support this!

Recipes after the read more

NORDIC APPLE JUNIPER SOUP

From Darra Goldstein’s Fire + Ice cookbook

Full disclosure (?) or humble brag? Darra Goldstein is a professor at my alma mater. I actually never had her, but Jen took a Russian lit class from her and at one point she invited the whole class to her house and fed them on shots of her infused vodka. Darra is great and her recipe is perf. This is a fancy yet comforting smooth sipping soup. I always drink it out of a mug.

Note: Go to the bulk section of your grocery store and I bet you can find all the whole spices, including the juniper, and you only have to buy the little amounts you need! Or you can buy lots and just make this soup all the time, that’s also an option.

Ingredients

2 Tbs olive or other neutral oil3 Granny Smith apples2 shallots2 small stalks celery1 inch fresh ginger root1 Tbs juniper berries4 cardamom pods3 allspice berries1 small stick cinnamon8 large sprigs parsley1 large frondy sprig thyme1 cup apple cider (pressed kind not the alcohol kind)4 cups broth (Darra calls for chicken, I’ve also used vegetable to make it vegan)Salt and pepper to taste

Directions

Peel the apples, core, and chop into ½ inch pieces. Peel the shallots, trim the celery, and chop those as well. Peel the ginger and mince small. In a large soup pot, warm the oil over medium heat, then add the apples, shallots, celery, and ginger and cook, stirring occasionally, for 7-10 minutes or until softened.

Meanwhile, cut a square of cheesecloth (you can find this with the muffin liners and parchment paper and twine and stuff in your grocery store; grab some twine too you’re gonna need it soon), and place the parsley and thyme in the center. I always lightly bash the whole spices with the bottom of a glass while they’re still in their little bulk bags before adding them to the sachet, but Darra doesn’t specify that, so u do u. Anyway, once you’ve got all these flavorings piled in the middle, gather up the cheese cloth around them and tie it secure with twine.

When the apple mixture is soft, add the cider and broth or stock. (Okay one more way I’ve diverged from Darra’s text in the past: added a tablespoon or two of sherry first, and let that cook down for a minute before adding the liquid. Very optional, non-canon.) Nestle your herb & spice sachet down in the pot, cover with a lid and let simmer gently for 40 minutes, checking occasionally to make sure it’s not bubbling too hard or not enough.

Remove the spice bundle and discard. In a blender or food processor (in batches) or with an immersion blender (no batches needed! just make sure you don’t scrape your pot if it’s nonstick or an enamel-coated cast iron), blend the soup until smooth.

Now here’s the step that you’re gonna think is too finicky but I promise you this makes the texture divine and not like you’re drinking savory apple sauce: strain the soup through a fine mesh sieve into a new pot, stirring and pressing on the solids to get most of the liquid out.

Warm again before serving. Salt and pepper if needed. Honestly, I’ve never found that it does.

PUMPKIN SAGE STAR BREAD

Now this recipe is a hybrid of two different ones. It began with this cheesy herb star bread, though I was making mine without cheese in consideration of having an entire cheese fondue in the previous course, only I could never seem to get this dough to work. I failed two times before giving up on it and switching to the dough from these pumpkin cinnamon rolls, which has never let me down! Scaling the sugar back to just two tablespoons keeps enough sugar in the mix for the yeast to rise, without it tasting sweet, and the pumpkin is really subtle. Plus it’s this nice warm orangey color now, win/win.

Dough

½ Tbs instant yeast (half of a packet, usually)2 Tbs warm (not hot) water½ cup milk½ stick (4 Tbs) butter2 Tbs sugar½ of a 15 oz can of pumpkin2 ½ cups all purpose flour1 heaped teaspoon kosher diamond salt (less if you’re using a fine grained salt)

Filling

1 stick (8 Tbs) salted butter, very room temp and mashable2 Tbs finely minced fresh sage (or herb of your choice!)2 Tbs dry sage (ditto!)½ tsp garlic powder

egg wash

Directions

The day before or several hours before you want bread, begin your dough. Add the instant yeast to the warm water and let proof for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, melt the butter into the milk in a small pot over medium heat. Keep an eye on it so it doesn’t boil, and once the butter is all melted add the sugar, stir until dissolved, and remove from heat. Stir in the pumpkin until smooth and fully combined. The timing always seems to work out that your yeast timer will go off right about now, so stir it in as well. In a large bowl, combine the flour and salt, then add the still-warm pumpkin mixture and stir until it comes together in a slightly sticky blob (you may need to knead a little bit with your hands to get it to come together in a ball; if it’s too sticky to work with add a little more flour). Cover with a damp towel, and let rise for 1-2 hours in a warm place until about doubled in size (I always do the full 2 hours).

Punch the dough down. At this point you can proceed to the assembly stage, or let the dough rest in the fridge overnight (which will result in better flavor, but isn’t essential).

Combine all the filling ingredients until they make a smooth spread. If your butter isn’t soft enough, microwave in very short, 5 second bursts, stirring after each, to make sure you don’t just melt it into liquid. The goal is something the consistency of a soft frosting.

To make the star: separate your dough into four equal pieces. On a floured surface, roll one piece into a circle 10 inches in diameter. Lay the first dough circle on a parchment lined baking sheet, and gently spread with 1/3 of the butter filling, leaving about a 1 inch margin around the edge. Roll out the next circle, lay it on top, spread with the next 1/3 of the herb butter, and repeat like this until you’ve added the fourth and last circle over it all. Trim the edges a little if needed so that it’s pretty much an even circle, but don’t stress about it being perfect.

Set a glass or teeny bowl about 2-3 inches diameter in the very middle of the stack. Using your sharpest big knife, carefully cut out from your guide into four equal quarters, then each quarter again, and again, until you have 16 sections. Pick a pair of strips, and twist them each away from the other twice, then pinch the ends together (check this recipe for process pics – arrows on the top photo). Repeat the rest of the way around until you have 8 points on your star.

Let the bread rise again while you heat your oven to 400 degrees F, or for 20 minutes, whichever comes first (old ovens-havers high five!). Brush with a beaten egg so that it bakes up shiny and beautiful, and slip into the oven for 20-25 minutes, rotating midway through for even baking.

#replies #valkyrieskyy #recipes #food

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slurpyway-blog · 6 years ago

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The Slurpy Way

Here are a few concerning facts to remind you about the need to save our planet:

· 500 million plastic straws are used every day in the US. That’s enough plastic straws to wrap around the planet 2.5 times.

· The cumulative presence of plastic debris in the oceans, including plastic straws, is well over 268,000 tons. It is important to teach your children about the dangers of plastics and the number of innocent animals they kill every year.

Plastic straws are a dime a dozen. They are cheap, single-use and ultimately discarded away, regardless of whether they’ve been in use or not. Like most plastic products, plastic straws find their way into our oceans and damage the ocean life. Our waterways get cluttered and choked while jeopardizing the lives of the local habitat.

Worse still is the fact that a single plastic straw can take up to 200 years to fully decompose.

In an average 200 years, a single plastic straw will likely kill several hundreds of animals. An unfortunate animal that comes in contact with the straw will decompose, and the plastic straw will be released, often in its original condition to affect another victim. The cycle keeps on repeating.

It’s time to dump plastic straws to the recycle bin and introduce reusable silicone drinking straws. There’s no better way to introduce environmentally friendly alternatives than with the Slurpy Straws: the fun, planet-friendly way to drink.

Here are the top 6 features of the Slurpy Straws.

1) Angle Design

The Slurpy Straws feature an angle design that makes it easier to suck up liquid from hard to reach areas of the cup.

2) 8.5 Inch Length

These extra long drinking strawsare suitable for use with travel mugs and tumblers, making them a helpful ally wherever you go.

3) BPA Free

These tumbler strawsare made from food grade BPA-free materials that are FDA approved. BPA has been linked with mental disorders in children and can increase the risk of physiological disorders such as obesity and diabetes.

4) Naturally Bendy

These silicon reusable strawsare naturally bendy, making them safe for use by children without the fear of getting bent out of shape.

5) Compatible with Safe Lids

If your loved one struggles to consume beverages independently, these flexible reusable strawscan be used to prevent embarrassing spillages.

6) Suitable For All Temperatures

These straws are designed for all temperature ranges and can be used any combination of hot and cold drinks.

Take Larger Sips Through Straws

It is more efficient to drink through a straw than positioning and repositioning the glass or water bottle. This is possible due to the creation of vacuum which means you’re only ingesting pure liquid, and not the surrounding oxygen when taking a normal slip.

Makes Children Drink More Water

Children are competitive and are always locked in a race with each other and themselves. This is why psychologists believe that viewing the water level encourages them to finish their drink. Another good strategy to encourage this behavior is by drawing timelines on water bottles, giving children a quantitative measure of how much water remains in the bottle before they finally reach their new milestone.

Beverages Taste Better With Straws

Some things are better experienced through a straw. While there are several factors that ultimately create the sensation of ‘taste’ on our tongues, it has been proven that straws go a long way towards enhancing the taste. This can be explained with a simple observation: when you drink without a straw, you get a large chunk of the liquid at once.

The taste buds don’t get nearly enough time or contact with every molecule in you just slurped in. Compare this with a straw when you sip just a small quantity at a time, minimizing the effects of what a big mouthful feels like. That little sip allows the drink to melt in the mouth faster and release more flavor.

It Is Healthy To Drink Through Straws

Dentists frequently encourage their patients to use a straw to drink any sugary, carbonated sodas. The straws protect the teeth and its enamel because of how they minimize the contact time between the beverage and the teeth. It is important however to point the straw in such a way that they point away from the teeth, and a good location in this regard is the back end of the mouth.

Protect Your Environment “The Slurpy Way”

We all have to play our part in reducing plastic waste and protecting the environment. The Slurpy Way is a great initiative to educate your child about the dangers of plastic and its alternatives. This pack of five colorful silly strawsis designed for just about any occasion including birthday parties, neon parties, mermaid parties, and even office parties.

Click here to get introduced to the Slurpy Way.

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persianhandicrafts · 3 years ago

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The Tea Mug with Lid is Hand Painted with Azure Colour Ornamented with Toranj Eslimi Design. The Enamel Painting is Glazed & Coated on Copper Dish. Minakari is the art of colouring and ornamenting the surface of copper by fusing brilliant colours that are decorated in intricate designs. Usually, copper is chosen and shaped by an expert coppersmith. The patterns of Iranian enamel work is traditional designs depending on the taste of the artist. It is then outlined by the engraver to make the enamel adhere firmly to the metal. ⏩Follow the link in our story to buy this craft _________________________________ Shop online Great Selection of Iranian Handicrafts & Souvenirs, Gifts & Décor from Persian Bazaar ✔️ Free Shipping & 5⭐ Customer Service . . . . . . . . #persiada #persianhandicrafts #teamugs #teamug #mug #teaparty #teatime #greentea #tea #cup #crafts #artcraft #art #artshop #artgallery #paintedfurniture #homedesign #kitchendesign #decatur #birmingham #tuscaloosa #alabama #montgomery #columbus (at Birmingham, Alabama) https://www.instagram.com/p/CZnJIbRrrOn/?utm_medium=tumblr

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islandpcosjourney · 4 years ago

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Day 2 - Spring ‘21 challenge

16th March 2021

Today I woke up freezing and with a headache. Not the best way to be aware of my alarm going off, but my doggy cuddling me certainly helped. I did what I normally do, started by clearing all the juice bottles off the draining board which had been drying overnight and getting all of the produce out that I need. The juicer was all set up last night and ready for me to just get going. In went my apple and a rather large thumb piece of ginger today (perhaps more like Kevin’s thumb than mine haha) so it was a very hot shot to start the day today! I’m not a big ginger fan usually but I can tolerate it with the apple included and it certainly does give you a zing to wake you up – better than any caffeine hit I can tell you! Probably worth stating at this stage than other than my Juice, spearmint tea and water, I’m consuming nothing else. I gave up coffee back in 2011 when I realised that stimulants were bad for PCOS and I had a huge caffeine addiction! When I think back to those days when I relied on coffee hits it makes me very grateful that I had the drive to let it go. I did miss it, I used decaff instead for a wee while but in the end I got bored of carrying decaff sachets around with me or asking wherever I went if they had decaff (remember this was a decade ago and actually, unless it was a coffee chain, places didn’t generally stock decaff, you certainly couldn’t rely on it so I eventually just gave up). I also don’t drink regular tea or much, if any, alcohol anyway so making sure I eliminate those like JV insists on during the programme isn’t an issue for me. Those reading this who knew me more than a decade ago, will remember that I liked my wine and gin and especially Southern Comfort but when we started TTC when we got married, I significantly cut back on alcohol and since also becoming addicted to Coca Cola (oh yeah! BIG addict here! years after giving up coffee it slowly became my replaced form of caffeine!) and consequently giving that up too, I haven’t touch SC in I don’t know how long! I’m not saying I NEVER drink a glass of wine, of course I do, I did at Christmas but I’m not overly fussed about it and I’ll gladly choose to be a designated driver, not that we’re currently going anywhere just now anyway!

I had my rather large travel mug with me as usual today – a 750ml insulated coffee cup with a straw through the lid which keeps my juice cold and also my teeth protected by drinking the juice through a straw. Perhaps that could be something I touch on another day? I suppose folk will be thinking “but what about all the sugar and her teeth?” Yes quite, but what about all the potential sugary drinks I could be drinking instead that would not only wreck my teeth but also my insides? Or all the chocolate & sweets I could be consuming which would rot away my teeth too, and my insides and my hormones and sit as a nicely shaped form of fat on my abdomen 🤦🏻‍♀️ ok I’m getting defensive now. The fact of the matter is that yes I am aware that drinking my food could be potentially harmful to my mouth acid or teeth enamel but I am taking precautions by brushing daily (as anyone should anyway) and using a straw like I said; by-passing my front teeth certainly but I always find that drinking through a straw makes me swallow faster anyway therefore reducing the time that potential sugars would be lingering in my mouth. There will have been research done into this so I will look it up and report back but also, my teeth have never been whiter since I started juicing 🤷🏻‍♀️ That’s good enough for me right now! Here’s what JV’s site says about sugar, not specifically about it affecting teeth, more about the consumption but it’ll do for now:

Sugar is finally receiving the bad press it deserves. Unfortunately, however, fruit sugar is being tarnished with the same brush as white, refined sugar. The sugars are simply not the same, and if you use your common sense, you will appreciate this. Science may say otherwise, but if all sugars were the same, then people could switch chocolate for an apple without any problems.

Think about yourself or someone you know who is a real sugar head – who must eat cakes, biscuits, pastries, sweets or chocolate. If you offered them an apple or a piece of pineapple instead, they would soon tell you where to go! ‘Live’ fruit and vegetable sugars are not the same as white, refined sugars and do not cause the same harm. However, there’s no need to worry in any case, as all the recipes are predominantly vegetable-based, with apple, pear or pineapple added to make sure the juices and smoothies taste good – pure vegetable juice is an acquired taste! The thickies also have either avocado or banana, and the additional insoluble fibres help to slow down the absorption of sugars into the bloodstream.

Ah haaaa I found the teeth section further down!

If you were having purely fruit juices then it could be a cause for concern but the juices/blends featured on Jason’s plans, are a balance of fruit and vegetables so there is not high concentration of fruit. If you wanted to make sure you are looking after your teeth you could drink your juice through a straw and always wait at least 1 hour before brushing your teeth after having a juice.

So there you go, JV’s take on it. I will look more into it to get proper facts or the science behind it but I’m no dentist so who knows what I’ll be able to find!

So as I am on a 28 day journey, I would encourage as many of you who read this to comment on the post or ask me any questions or topics you’d like me to cover! I’d quite like to get other people’s takes on their juice journeys too so I’m going to get in touch with some Juice buddies to see if they’ll give me some of their insights too. Any juicers out there though, please just get in touch to say HI 🙋🏻‍♀️

I am looking forward to a better day tomorrow, hopefully without a headache but I don’t mind it as I know it will recede and it’s a good feeling (an oxymoron!) because I know that it means the toxins are leaving my system. Many in this world are overfed and under nourished (I need to look up the statistic for the numbers) but I’m happy to have my eyes opened and to not be one of them anymore. Goodbye toxins!

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blockbustersgang · 4 years ago

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Practical tips to more eco friendly set work

Need some tips for more eco friendly on set work? Our 2nd AC Reetta Somppi gathered a list of some solid ones to start with - here they are!

Lunch box and spork

On set lunch is usually served on paper plates with disposable utensils and with water on a plastic cup. Of course this makes sense when there aren’t many productions where the catering staff has time or resources to carry porcelain tableware around and time to wash them at the end of the day. If 40 people eat lunch from disposable tableware throughout 30 day shooting period, the total consumption is 1200 plates, forks and knives. Not to mention all the paper cups. One pack of disposable plates (25 pcs) costs 2,19 € in Tokmanni, which means a 30 day production uses a total of 48 packs costing 105,12 €.

So, what to do about it? For lunch break, you can get yourself your own, firmly lidded lunch box, spork, reusable coffee cup and water bottle. Lunch boxes are easy to clean at home or even at the hotel. Lid makes sure the gravy and salad dressing won’t leak in your bag and if the lunch was tasty, you can even use it to take some leftovers with you back home. With your own box, you alone can save 1,2 packs of paper plates! Now because of Covid19, lunches are individually packed so in these times all you could’ve done is to bring your own spork.

My lunch box, bought from Lidl and spork From Partioaitta.

Water bottle and coffee cup

How many water bottles do you have? One you may have bought, some you have gotten as a gift and maybe as a freebie. For me, I’d say I have 6 - 8 of them. So, finding a bottle isn’t the problem, moreover it’s about which is the most suitable kind for you. For some, a sports bottle where you can quickly take small sips every now and then is the best option. Others like sturdy, metallic kinds that are durable and easy to dangle with you from carabiner, or maybe you like a small, lightweight bottle that hangs from your belt.

I myself prefer size over anything, so I don’t have to run to fill it up all the time. My favourite right now is big, plastic, one litre bottle with a cap, so I can drink big gulps. Second runner up is a metallic bottle that was a wrap gift. Store bought water bottles are of course good to have in any production, but the less the crew members need to use them, the better it is for the environment and for the prop master. I do admit being one of those people myself who has stopped writing their name on the bottle, but substituted it with some sort of a scribble only I can recognize. That way I don’t get caught having my bottle ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time, like it always does eventually.

My trusty coffee mug (red, front) and two favourite water bottles

Same principle works with coffee cups, though free roaming water bottles are nothing compared to the wandering army of paper cups. Coffee is way more personal matter for many people, so it’s important to figure out what kind of cup is possible for you to keep with you. Enamel or steel cups are nice to use, but for me they are very inconvenient. I can never set them safely anywhere and I hate the smelly coffee drops that they spread around. My favourite is a super tightly sealed contigo thermos flask I can throw on a magliner even as full, and I can be sure it won’t leak.

You also should consider getting everything in double or at least make sure you remember where you got the best products for yourself. You are sure to lose one and forget to wash the other one at the end of the day. If you know what yesterday’s milk smells in the mug, I recommend you get accustomed to oat milk.

Face masks

Covid19 has brought us new trash plague and prop masters horror in the form of face masks. You don’t always need to throw the disposable masks away, they are at least as effective as cloth masks even after wash (link to YLE´s news about it). I noted that the easiest way for me to clean them is boiling, because you can do it while eating your supper and I can clean just the amount I need for the next day. After melting a hole in a few masks I also learned not to stuff all week’s masks in the pot at once.

Doing things ecofriendly might feel cumbersome at first, but with time and routines they can become a fluent part of your everyday life. Don’t force yourself, good deeds are no good if all they bring is stress and strain your nerves. It’s best to start with things that feel the easiest.

This post is part of BBG’s ”Focus on the environment” campaign in Feb 2021.

#blockbustersgang #ecotips #sustainability

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purkinje-effect · 7 years ago

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 7

Table of Contents Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

(Updated 2019.01.29. Minor name tweaks.) Bugs, insect gore, and food squick tw’s.

Not again.

Seeking his face, the two-foot-long RadRoaches flowed up Carey’s legs. He’d contended with these insects in Vault 111 as well, and defrosting and awaking to their thinking him an intruder had punctuated the jet lag. Here, it was less a rude awakening and more a rude greeting. He should have known better. What kind of oversight to think, when he found no humans or even ghouls, that this building had no inhabitants!

He smacked the barrel of his cane over the one in the lead. Its carapace over his thigh cracked not at all unlike that of shucking a crab, and the insect generously splattered its oleous innards. Though half the vermin scattered upon this one impact, the rest dove around their fallen ally in hot pursuit of the invader’s sweet face-flesh. The light from Carey’s Pip-Boy swung about in the fray as though a dangling light bulb in a shaking building, its illumination frenzied, dizzying, and uneven. A second light source came right at him--the source of the chartreuse glow he’d observed from afar before he’d entered.

Steady, Carey. Remember, one solid hit is all these fucks take.

Radiation imposed from the seams of this one’s exoskeleton, and he misconstrued the sputtering clicks of his Pip-Boy’s Geiger counter as threatening emanations from the enormous roaches. Carey kicked the glowing vermin in the face, and it reeled a few feet away before flying right for him along the ground. He cried out and fumbled to whack it away with the crook of his cane. Its body broke against the foot of a nearby lab desk.

A forceful hammering of his heel against the floor crushed a third, but the remaining two went for his forearms. He flinched as he shielded his face. The cane dropped to the enameled metal floor. When the RadRoaches would not relent, he laid down with his hands to his face, and stupidly hoped they would get bored if he stopped struggling. They persisted; but in falling over, he recovered enough to catch them off-guard, and he smashed both of them against the floor.

Ragged wheezing slid out of Carey as he recollected his faculties and belongings. The altercation had knocked off his glasses, and he felt around in the dimness for them and his cane. When he sat up, he winced at the deep nicks in his left forearm, left by the roaches’ blade-like mandibles. He sooner prioritized finding the breaker box for the floor than tending his injuries. Somehow, he appreciated that he’d had his sleeves rolled: for a feeble chemist, repairs of the flesh came more easily than those of fabric.

He pushed off with the cane to stand, and shambled cautiously along the walls of the room, his shaky eyes ever vigilant for the RadRoaches that had retreated. There had been twelve of them at the start, hadn’t there? Carey counted five dead. Only his dress shoes and hard rubber cane tip traversed the floor with any sound, so surely the rest must have fled.

Or, maybe he just couldn’t hear over the blood pressure surging in his ears.

Light and electricity soon returned to this floor of the building, and he turned off his Pip-Boy screen. The familiar fluorescent overhead lighting soothed him, its faint humming the lie of comfortable sterility. Now that he could see unimpeded by a windowless room, he navigated the lab readily.

He encountered two long, small confection tins on one of the lab desks and sighed in exasperated relief at the trademark label. Mentats.

“Oh, thank fuck.” He groaned and slid the lid off one tin to dispense a small white seltzer-like tablet, which he promptly chewed up as he continued investigating the lab. “Maybe now I can focus.”

He’d gone two hundred years without a fix. All the chemists at both his jobs in the States had relied on them by requisite of their positions: nursing an appetent addiction to the minty chem’s boons of neurological efficiency and productivity gains came naturally to anyone in a medical manufacturing field, it seemed. Maybe he’d get lucky and put his hands on a few syringes of Daddy-O, too. Or, better yet, some barberry syrup and ethylene glycol--so he could whip up a few batches of intensely potent Berry Mentats. Albeit alarmingly experimental in perspective, the Deenwood chemists all seemed to rely upon what they all endearingly termed a special edition flavor.

Everything carried a collectedness, a clarity, his mind abuzz. A sense of normality, familiarity, returned to him, standing here in a lab, standing here like this. His mind felt like his own now. For now. Carey’s gaze halted upon the wall-mounted locked glass-front gun case near the security door he’d entered.

A Syringer.

He whet dry lips and hooked his cane over his left arm, to ineffectually wipe the grime from his hands with his crusty kerchief, then worked at picking the lock with his screwdriver and one of his hairpins. It gratified him, his formed habituation of having pocketed the tool, half a two-part skeleton key. He could go and take as he pleased, provided sufficient time and patience. The kerchief hadn’t quite done the trick, so he compulsively smeared his hands along the backside of his legs to knock off further oily residue from the insects’ guts, then kept at the gun case until he had it open.

He admired the weapon in both hands as he extricated it from its place. His fingers traced along the rifle-styled copper blowgun, which most commonly utilized tranquilizers, and his eyes followed its sights down the barrel. Subduing threats often proved more effective than simply shooting them, depending on what chem piloted them in the moment. The all-too-familiar Psycho came to mind, and how security on base had relied upon Syringers to subdue without killing subjects puppeteered past their thresholds of pain, injury, and self-preservation. As predicted, he put his hands on a few boxes of Pax Syringes at the bottom lip of the case.

Melancholy would have to play with the notion of what else might be more effective--or more fun--than the Pax tranquilizer. He nearly lamented that it had not been Calmex, which evinced a low smooth enough to afford self-administration, but reminded himself the two had very different applications. His nostalgic grin washed into self-consciousness when he could hear his Handy’s thrusters approaching the lab. Angel came up beside him and eyed the rifle he still held.

“My word, what happened here?”

Carey murmured, “I intruded.”

Reminded of the carnage, he set down the rifle and rounded back to identify from which pieces of the RadRoaches he might ideally isolate useful compounds. He cracked off legs, and collected abdomens wherever they remained in tact. With the Glowing RadRoach, he also scraped together its slime into a chemistry jar and stoppered it.

“These samples will have to suffice for now. Maybe their friends will return later. They scattered like cockroaches.”

A grimy hand to his his mouth stifled a licentious chuckle.

“They certainly roughed you up. What a mess.” The Handy promptly descended upon the broken coffee cup with its housekeeping attachments, and deposited the bits of ceramic in a nearby waste bin. It looked to its owner with knowing concern, recognizing the Mentats in his tone and behavior. “Sir... You really should reconsider bringing your work home with you.”

“What can I say? It’s a calling, and its calling me?” Wryly, Carey piled up his findings on a medical tray, and placed it on the nearest lab desk. Lost in thought, he repeatedly stroked his fingertips over the scraping slices the roaches had taken out of his forearm. He raised his chewed-up forearm level to his head as he spoke next, his tone uneven but hardly composed. “I was fortunate the Pip-Boy provided me a bit of protection. Angel, would you... be a dear and... administer a Stimpak to my left arm?”

“--Certainly.”

Without hesitation, the robot produced the requested medication and took ginger hold of his wrist to press the pneumatic syringe to this antecubital fold. An astringent pleasantry, Carey spectated as his wounds healed in real time. Angel didn’t feel like the more enticing option, but still it tried:

“Could I impose upon you to take a break for dinner, Sir? It’s late, and you ought to rest up your injury. Remember, we found Yum Yums! I could use them to make you an egg salad perhaps? And I could... freshen your coffee...?”

“...Mm, I suppose pacing myself couldn’t hurt. Besides, now that I’ve got an idea of the lab’s amenities, I ought to assess what from the store room I could make use of here.” The cool derangement in his grinning eyes grazed Angel, and the robot’s ocular lenses stuttered. “Egg salad sounds exceptional.”

Jerking at the unexpected success, it flew animate and excited.

“Come join me whilst I prepare it? You can catch me up what all you’ve discovered up here, if you like. I’d love to hear what all you’re scheming!”

“Mm. You would, then, wouldn’t you.” Carey retrieved one of the tins of Mentats to take with him, then walked out into the receptionist’s office to retrieve the carafe. “Shall we?”

“--Sshall,” was the best it could muster. The Handy never had liked this side of its owner.

Carey sat in the break room with the catalog from the store front register, and pored over it with a new cup of the same coffee. One hand fidgeted with the mug, the other with the publication, and both eyes glued indifferently to the catalog.

“Say Angel, how many doses of Melancholia are left?”

“Twenty-seven, Sir. Hm!”

“Hm indeed...”

Angel added a few ingredients to the blender and puréed them. Then it poured the pale purple concoction into a tall glass, and, with the tongs which terminated one of its trio of mechanical tendrils, it presented it to its owner, who accepted the stuff in a tempered confusion.

“What say you of a smoothie?”

Unperturbed by a testing sniff, Carey took a drink of it. His face scrunched a bit. Chalky, salty, heavy, and inexplicably sharp. He took a second sip anyway.

“You didn’t happen to find sugar in the pantry, did you? What is this?”

“Why, I blended a Mutfruit with one of the eggs, and a few other things I happened upon in the cabinets. Vitamins and protein in one convenient beverage! The sweetest thing we have is the sweet rolls, I’m afraid. And-- the Halloween candy! Do you think that might suit you?”

The image of intention came to mind, of adding pulverized licorices and ribbon candy to... whatever this was. The chemist narrowly kept himself from retorting couldn’t possibly make it taste any worse, instead shoving the ill-placed sarcasm into taking another big sip. Christ, this isn’t a smoothie or an egg salad, and it’s nowhere between the two either. I didn’t program it to do this. Was this a result of deteriorating algorithms, or has it somehow learned this compulsion?

“It’s wonderful as is, Angel. I do think I’d still like the Yum Yums themselves--an accoutrement to your fancy beverage here.”

Brutal honesty then would have merely excused unwarranted meanness and crassness. What point was there, in verbal cruelty towards a machine? His Handy was trying its best. At what, he couldn’t be certain.

Angel brought over the half-dozen carton of deviled eggs, and he opened it to pluck out one for himself. Their whites had transformed dark and translucent, their yolks now a waxy heterogeneity of ashen grey and rusty gold. He sniffed at one, and noted its pungency did not evoke the same manner of gag reflex as something which had rotted. Cautiously, he nibbled it, and, intrigued, nodded as he chewed slowly. Muskiness clung to his mouth, something like accidentally having tasted cologne. Where the other components in the smoothie previously masked this note, an attempt to wash down the bite of egg with the concoction only served to overwhelm all other flavors. He coughed, disguising his displeasure by faking food going down wrong, and chugged at his coffee.

He definitely owed Angel long-overdue repairs and firmware tweaks, and this experience underscored the need for it. He made a mental note to scrutinize to what extent he could provide such care with the extant resources on premises. At the very least, he could try to program definitions into its algorithms so it had updated knowledge on what post-apocalyptic food tasted like. Not that it could understand flavor.

Carey finished the other half of the Yum Yum anyway.

He couldn’t subsist solely on Melancholia. Could he?

Appetite spoiled, again he pored over the pages boasting the company’s orthotics offerings, compared those he’d found to the variety advertised. The most basic provisions for minor infirmities and sprains. Unavailable at most locations, the sturdiest and most rigid binding Walden carried seemed nearly excessively so: fan-laced surgical orthotics. The company stocked everything from pharmacies to dementia wards. A quick thumb to the locations index designated that the hospital branch of their warehouses lay in Nashua, New Hampshire.

Constitution. Stability. Disposition.

His nostrils punctuated a breath, and he cursed in Russian at his coffee under his breath.

These braces are fine. A trek like that, on foot. It’s both excessive and out of the question.

They’re fine.

I’m fine.

He looked at his Pip-Boy and pretended that seeing it was after midnight had caused his irritation. He then slammed back the last third of his coffee in one go and put down the cup beside the egg carton. Mentats in hand, he shuttled himself off to the lobby couch.

“I’m turning in for the night,” he told Angel on his way out the door. “The day I’ve had is... catching up to me.”

“Rest well, Mister Carey! I’ll be sure not to disturb you.”

The Mentats went to one of the side tables with his glasses, and he sat on the couch while he struggled to remove the braces, which he set in the floor beside the couch before buttoning his shirt back up and curling up under the hospital blanket. The thorough oily coating in his mouth, and his nettled confidence, persisted throughout the night.

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#fallout 4 fanfic #fallout 4 oc #fo4 oc #fo4 fanfic #fallout 4 #sosu #sole survivor #it's somewhere between pidan and ambergris lmao #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #insects tw #insect gore tw #food tw #drugs tw #food squick #disabled sosu #trans sosu

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