#i just remembered the goat spider milk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hillnerd · 4 years ago

Text

puppies for sale

Rating: PG AO3 ff.net Summary: Ron goes to pick up the kids from the Burrow, which should be an easy thing- but there are puppies for sale down the road. Domestic Weasley-Granger family fluff. not beta-ed. we die like men ;) ------------------

“Mum, I’m here!” called Ron, as he stepped out of the floo to his childhood home, spelling away the soot before he tromped it all over and got an ear-full for it. The Burrow always remained the same, the only sign of the passage of time was the people inside, and the occasional photo or children’s artwork being changed out on the walls. A fragrant baking smell wafted through the house, and he could faintly hear the sound of children laughing.

“In the kitchen, dear!”

He happily trounced over to see what his Mum had been baking, hoping she wasn’t saving it for anyone. He hadn’t gotten in much of a lunch and his stomach was fiercely growling.

“Something smells good.”

“Fig rolls,” she said with a satisfied smile. Like his dad and all the rest of their older redheaded relatives, her hair wasn’t graying, just fading into a pale rose color with little white streaks here and there. “You look hungry. Help yourself to some rolls and a glass of milk.”

Ron gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking a still warm fig roll from the plate and quickly tucking in. He gave an appreciative sigh. “Can you write up the recipe for these?”

She took out a card from her recipe box and quickly duplicated it onto a spare slip of parchment.

“How was the shop?”

“Chaos as usual,” he said, wiping some crumbs from his beard. “But we’ve been working on some ideas recently that really have potential in defense and business markets, so I’m feeling rather good about that… Where are the kids at?”

“With your father near his shed. Don’t worry, I don’t let them go inside it!”

Ron furtively rolled his eyes. No matter how many times they all assured her of the shed’s safety, she remained staunchly convinced that everything in there could spring to life with ‘ekeltrickedy’ and murder any visitors. Why she thought only her husband could survive the death trap was beyond him, but he knew better than to question her at this point.

“Thanks for the food and the recipe! I’ll take a whack at it after the Halloween rush,” he said, heading out to find the children.

His dad was sitting in a Muggle folding camp chair Hermione had gifted him. He’d been giddy about it for months, and took it out so regularly it got banned from the house itself after he’d set it up in the dining room one too many times.

“Watch out, you might be accosted soon,” he warned Ron, twitching his head near the garden wall. There stood a few lean-tos, made from pieces of apple boxes, sticks, and decorated with a great deal of leaves. Magic was surely holding them in place, because they looked incredibly structurally unsound.

“Halt!” cried Rose, jumping from behind a tree. She jabbed a wand-shaped stick in Ron’s direction as he approached. “This is our society!”

“Yeah! Our sosety!” Hugo repeated from inside an apple box. He laid on his stomach and poked the dirt with his ‘wand.’

“It’s society,” Rose harshly whispered at her brother, making Ron shake his head at her tone. She sounded just like Hermione when she’d been a snooty first year. He’d have to work on that with her. Last thing he wanted was his little girl getting bullied for the same stuff her mother had. If Hugo had seemed at all upset Ron would have intervened, but instead Hugo had a gleeful grin on his face.

“SOCIETY!” Hugo boldly bellowed, pointing his own ‘wand,’ before laughing and flapping his hands in excitement.

“Careful now. Don’t put your eye out,” Ron said, flicking his wand to keep the flailing stick away from Hugo’s face, narrowly avoiding an accident.

“We made our own society!” Rose proclaimed. “You need to ask permission to come in.”

“Ah, well, may I enter your society?”

It wasn’t that hard to get into their society. Rose immediately took him by the hand and started giving a tour.

“Over there is our ministry, and a museum, and over here is the hospital, and over there the jail. Hugo’s been there a lot.”

“Oh? Now why is that?” Ron asked, looking over to his dad in concern. He didn’t want Hugo being picked on.

“He just liked that box the most,” Dad replied for them, as Rose had lost interest in the tour and was decorating the ministry roof with more leaves. “Rosie dubbed it a jail, and Hugo didn’t much care until she said it’s where ‘bad men go’. There was a spot of caterwauling about that, but then he found he’d rather be in a spacious apple box jail instead of the other buildings that were so cramped and falling over. Also, no spider webs in the jailhouse.”

“There are spiders in these?” Ron asked, voice going high. He began to tromp towards the ‘museum.’

“No no, only webs,” Dad laughed, patting Ron on the arm.

Not feeling as amused about the society Rose had created, he announced, “alright, kids. Time to wrap it up and head home.”

“No! We can’t go home yet!” Rose yelled, accidentally knocking her precarious ministry decorations to the ground as she ran over. “We were supposed to go look at puppies!”

“Daddy, we hafta see the puppies! We hafta!” Hugo whined, shimmying along his belly to work his way out of the apple box.

“Puppies?” Ron repeated.

“The Watsons have some puppies down the road,” said Dad, polishing his glasses. “They have them for sale right now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Nooo, they might all be sold and gone by then!” Rose practically wailed, her face starting to turn red. Hugo’s brown eyes started to fill with tears at the idea.

Ron gave a sigh and looked to his father, who gave a shrug. He’d never hear the end of it if they didn’t get to see them.

“The Watsons…” Ron asked. “They’re the ones to the West with the goats?”

“That’s right.”

“Pleeeease can we see the puppies, Daddy?” Hugo asked, pulling at Ron’s trouser leg.

Unable to think of a reason to disappoint his children, Ron promptly told them yes. He made sure to bundle them up, as a crisp fall wind had picked up, then the three of them walked to the Watsons’ small farm.

Sure enough along the dirt country road was a cardboard sign stating ‘puppies for sale.’ Rose read the sign out loud for Hugo, and Ron had to quickly grab their hands before they dashed into the property. He helped them over the cattle guard, then walked them to the barn door where he could see old Mrs Watson shaking out a blanket. She was a stout hardy looking old woman, who had a genial face with deep craggy smile lines all over the place.

“Hello, dears. You must be one of them Weasley boys, aren’t you?” she asked, straightening her apron in a way that reminded him of his mother. Rose politely smiled at her while Hugo quietly hid himself behind Ron’s leg.

“That’s right, Mrs Watson. I’m Ron, Molly and Arthur’s youngest of the boys,” he said with a smile. “And these are mine. Rose and Hugo.”

“Goodness! I remember when you were just a sprout of a thing toddling about behind your other brothers. Can’t believe you’re old enough to have your own children!” She gave a shake of her head then squinted down at Rose and Hugo. “I imagine you want to see some puppies, don’t you?”

“Yes please,” Rose said in a burst of enthusiasm, as Hugo’s hands began to tug at Ron’s trouser leg.

“Well you go on in. We have them in the birthing stall to the right. Feel free to let yourself into it and pet them, just don’t let them out,” she said. Without prompting Rose hurried into the barn, while Hugo stayed attached to Ron’s leg. “Would you all like some hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“What do you say, Hugh?” Ron asked, craning his neck to see Hugo’s face.

Hugo pulled his father’s hand until Ron was leaning over, and whispered in his ear, “I wanna have chocolate and puppies.”

“You can do both,” Ron assured him, in a low voice. Hugo gave a small smile.

“Hot chocolate sounds lovely, Mrs Watson, thank you.”

“Alright me lovers, you go see puppies and I’ll have some hot chocolate in no time!” she said with a kindly look at Hugo.

Once Mrs Watson was gone Hugo enthusiastically pulled Ron into the barn, with Ron stooped the whole way.

Rose had waited outside the pen, though Ron wasn’t sure if it was for Hugo’s sake or because she wasn’t sure how to open the two-way gate latch.

Toddling about the hay were seven or so adorable fluffy puppies, some black and some brown. Rose and Hugo immediately were all giggles and squeals, kneeling down and enthusiastically getting investigated by the curious pups. They spent a long time getting licked and playfully nipped at, and Ron felt immensely grateful he’d decided to let them visit the pups, despite one chewing on his shoelaces and another whizzing on him. He surreptitiously spelled it away, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Oooooh, look at its little paws!” Rose cooed, holding one in her lap, not noticing it enthusiastically teething her messy braid.

“I like this one!” Hugo said, holding a much more calm pup, who looked smaller than the rest of them. It happily nuzzled into Hugo’s arms.

“I have some hot chocolate here,” said Mrs Watson, bringing over some throw away mugs with plastic lids. “Figured if you couldn’t drink it all, you could bring it home for later.”

“Quite thoughtful, thank you,” said Ron, accepting the drinks, noting the kids had little enthusiasm for anything but the puppies still. Not wanting to be rude, he stayed next to Mrs Watson to chat, while the kids continued to play.

“How are your mother and father doing?” she asked.

“Mum’s still cooking away, Dad’s still working, but they watch the grandkids a lot. That’s why we’re here today.”

“How many grandkids are there now?”

“Hard to keep count!” he said with a smile. “But I think it’s... twelve now? I don’t think I’m leaving anyone out.”

“Christmas must be spectacular!”

“A bit crowded, but yeah, it’s quite nice.”

“I’m sure it is. I only have two grandchildren, but I love it when they visit. Had them up last weekend to get one of the puppies. Started with twelve puppies, same as your family, but now all are spoken for but one.”

“Which one?”

“The littlest one, but that Clark White down the road’s been saying he might come by to get one.”

Ron bristled a bit. He remembered Mr White, a sinister old bugger of a man. He never tended his fences, was always in disputes with neighbors, and his animals all had a forlorn look about them.

Just then there was a brisk knock on the barn door, and in came the man himself, looking surly as ever. He resembled a dried fig that had been bleached by the sun, and his thin lips were turned down in a permanent frown that only served to emphasize his jowls. He and Mrs Watson exchanged pleasantries, though neither looked particularly pleased about it.

“Which ones are available still?”

“I’m afraid only one,” answered Mrs Watson.

“Ain’t the runt, is it?” He snorted.

“It is, but he’s a hardy little thing. I doubt he’ll end up much smaller than the rest of the pups when he’s grown.”

The old man peered into the stall, and pointed a gnarled finger.

“That’s it, yeah?”

Hugo looked up at the old man and his eyes widened. He clutched the little puppy closer to himself.

“That’s the puppy, yes.”

Without preamble he opened the stall door and reached toward the puppy in Hugo’s arms.

“Now wait a second,” Ron began, but it was too late.

Hugo gave a small cry and the dog gave a sharp yipe, jerked by the scruff of his neck by the savage Mr White. Rose looked to her father with pleading blue eyes. Hugo let out a sob and buried his face in Rose’s stomach.

“Looks healthy enough,” Mr White said, roughly opening the puppy’s mouth to inspect its teeth. “I’ll take—”

“We’ll take him!” Ron cried out. Rose gasped, while Hugo kept his face safely tucked into his sister.

“What?” Mr White snapped, his severe face contorting into a nasty mix of shock and rage. Ron used the man’s surprise to pluck away the puppy and bring it to his own chest.

Ron found it hard not to smirk at the old sour faced prune. “I said, we’re taking him.”

“Really?!” Rose cried out, patting her brothers russet curls. “Hugo! It’s ok! Daddy’s getting the puppy!”

“I’ll give you five hundred cash, right now,” said Mr White, reaching into his mangy work coat to bring a wad of Muggle paper money out.

Ron’s self assured smile began to falter when he realized he wasn’t sure if he had any Muggle money on him. He patted himself, but realized there was no wallet. He didn’t have so much as two pence on him, just some knuts and galleons he decidedly could not give Mrs Watson. Panic reeled as his daughter looked at him with nothing but confidence in her beaming freckled face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr White, but I’m afraid the puppy’s spoken for already,” said Mrs Watson, shaking her head. “Plus, as you said, it’s the runt. I’m just trading it for a few of Molly Weasley’s pies.”

“You’re joking,” Mr White snarled. “This is ridiculous! I told you I wanted one last week!”

“Well you never said which one, that I recall, but my memory’s not what it used to be… Sorry to disappoint you, Clarke,” she said with a large smile.

He gave an ugly look at them all before stomping out of the barn and slamming the door behind him. Hugo’s hands went to his ears and he further buried his face in Rose’s stomach. Not wanting to overwhelm Hugo further, Ron turned to Mrs Watson.

“I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” he said, with an apologetic look.

“Oh it’s no trouble. Any excuse to slight Clarke White makes my day a little bit brighter, truth be told.”

“Well, I can’t let you give away the puppy for a few pies. How much is the pup, really?”

“Well, I’ve been asking three hundred. They’re purebred, good guard stock, with all their shots and de-worming and such. But I meant what I said. You just have two of Molly’s pies here some time before Christmas and we’ll call it quite even.”

“I’ll make sure you have them whenever you want. Thank you, Mrs Watson. And I’ll add in something more than just the pies,” Ron said, before slowly approaching the children.

Rose was still stroking Hugo, whose hands were firmly stuck to his ears. Ron knelt down and brought the puppy up between them. “Let’s sit down and sip our hot chocolate, and pet this new puppy of ours. We don’t have to deal with that mean, scary old man again, I promise you.”

It took some coaxing, but Hugo finally removed his hands and stroked the puppy’s fluffy little head, worrying the ear of the dog between his fingers. After some more calming down they drank most of their hot chocolate, bid Mrs Watson a fond goodbye (she was kind enough to give him a collar and enough kibble for a few days), and walked back to the Burrow, puppy buried in Ron’s coat. Even being a ‘runt’ and ten weeks old it was too heavy for the kids to carry for long.

Both his mother and father shook their heads at him for buying the puppy, but he didn’t want to bring up Mr White in front of the children so held his tongue. They flooed home, and Ron set about making a nesting box for the pup. Hugo and Rose were eager to help make it as cozy as they could with long abandoned stuffed animals and blankets.

“What should we name him?” Ron asked them, as the little pup sleepily walked in a circle before toppling onto his side to sleep.

“Broomstick,” said Hugo.

“Quaffle,” Rosie offered.

“I’m sensing a theme…” said Ron, looking about the nearest shelf for a quidditch book. “Perhaps we can name him after a famous quidditch player?”

“We could name him after Aunt Ginny!”

“He’s a boy, though,” Rose protested.

“Names are just names, they don’t have to be ‘boy or girl’ names,” Ron supplied, remembering an article Hermione’d given him to read about it a few years prior. “But I don’t think Aunt Ginny wants to share her name with a dog.”

“Why not name him after Viktor Krum?” Rose said with a smile.

Ron couldn’t deny the idea of having his dog named Krum wouldn’t be that bad, but then again he didn’t want to deal with Hermione’s wrath should she find it insulting.

“Hmm… Someone we don’t know?” he prompted.

“The Cannons!” Hugo crowed. “Wait I know!”

“Chudley!” they all three chorused together.

Ron gave a hearty laugh that made Chudley open his eyes before promptly falling asleep again. “You definitely are my children!”

Hugo lettered, with help from Rose, Chudley’s name across the side of the box. Only one of the letters was backwards, which was quite the accomplishment. Rose decorated it with a variety of stickers and hand drawn flowers, stars and Cannons logos.

Hermione owled to say she was running late. He would have preferred the ‘we have a dog now’ reveal to happen with the children present so she couldn’t give him as much of an earful, but her schedule had been quite mad at the Ministry recently.

The children were exhausted from all the excitement, so he managed to get them fed, bathed and asleep early and without much fuss.

Ron put on the radio, sat on the sofa and took out a notebook to make some notes for the Wheezes marketing campaign for Halloween. Chudley was curled up in his box with old Crookshanks curiously peering down from the hearth.

“You be nice, you old ginger bastard,” Ron said with a warning look. Crookshanks turned his yellow glare at Ron before jumping from the hearth onto the sofa, butting his head against Ron’s leg. He rolled over to show his old pudgy tummy.

“Oh I know that’s a trap! But nice try,” said Ron, remembering quite vividly the last time a vindictive Crookshanks had pretended to want tummy rubs.

The flames of the fire brightened, and he smiled knowing Hermione would be home in a moment. Crookshanks quickly schooled himself into a ‘good cat’ position for her, giving Ron the opportunity to rub the cat’s fur the wrong way tail to head.

“That’s what happens when you try to trick me into getting stabbed by your claws.”

Hermione flooed into the house, and a smile curled his lips. He hated when she was kept at work longer, but the one silver lining was that it always led to her hair going a bit mussed and wild. Today was not an exception.

“Hello, love,” he murmured, eyeing the ringlets around her face. “Did you already eat? I have Hugo’s favorite ‘spagooters’ ready and can heat it up in a jiff.”

She gave a tired but contented smile and collapsed onto the sofa beside him, giving Crookshank’s chin a scratch as the cat purred and preened for her, pitifully meowing for attention.

“We should call it spaghetti. I don’t want Hugo learning the wrong words for things.”

“Hugh knows it’s spaghetti,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Plus there’s nothing funnier than seeing that look on your face when we chant for spagooters.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see them tonight... It was horrible at work. That abuse allegation mess I was telling you about last week is really coming to a head and some of those damn Wizengamots are just… I thought I couldn’t be shocked anymore by anything awful that happens, but then they really just prove they can sink to an even lower level than I’d ever thought possible! The way they sit there and act like over one hundred and fifty allegations of abuse is nothing is beyond me. They’re so bloody corrupt and uncaring I’m left truly shocked and speechless!”

Despite being speechless, she was able to rant about the Wizengamot for another fifteen minutes. While she ranted, he managed to get her shoes off, find out she had not eaten, and bring a meal. She ate around the ‘spagooters’ while nearly flinging tomato basil sauce onto his shirt as she gesticulated about the injustices in the world.

“So is there anything in place for victims?” Ron asked, taking her plate into the kitchen.

“You mean for victim support?” He nodded at her. “Nothing official yet, but I’m seeing what we can do. The Wizengamot has many in denial of there actually being victims, let alone that they need help and counseling.”

“Maybe we can figure something outside of the Ministry. Perhaps we could do a fund or something through Wheezes? I could talk to some other businesses or something... Have the proceeds go to some foundation or other?”

“That’s a lovely idea,” she said with a small sniff.

He leaned over the couch and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll talk to George in the morning.”

Chudley’s box gave a bit of a shudder and she finally noticed it.

“What’s that?” she asked looking over to the box.

“Er…” His hand went to the back of his neck. “That would be Chudley.”

“I gathered that much, since Chudley’s written on the outside of the box,” she said, raising her eyebrow at him and walking over to peer inside the box. “Ron…”

“So… I didn’t get a chance to ask if this is alright, but I bought us a puppy.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing as she stared into the box.

Ron felt a small touch of frenzied dread at how quiet she was.

“Normally I wouldn’t make such a big decision without you, but we were with Muggles and this old bleeder Mr White was about to buy it and I just knew he’d be treating it like shit because I’ve known him since I was a kid and he always treats his animals horribly, and the kids were crying as this old man made the puppy cry and buying it was the only way I could save it from him in the moment. I didn’t have my mobile on me, and even if I did I don’t think I could have reached you in time. It all happened really fast, and the kids were looking at me like ‘you can fix this!’ and I just had to, and Hugo had his little hands on his ears and- and if we have to find it a new home I completely understand and will make sure it’s all on me with the kids and not you at all, because this is really truly on me and—”

“Hush,” she said with a small laugh. “I think you’re upsetting Chudley.”

With that she reached into the box and gently cradled the little pup. She rubbed his little snout and scratched behind his ear making the dog’s tiny tail wag something mad.

“So you’re okay with us keeping him?” Ron asked hopefully. She nodded and continued to pet the small pup, who was crawling up her body to lick her jaw. Ron’s face split into a grin. “You won’t have to lift a finger for him. It’ll be me doing everything! Well me and maybe the kids a bit.”

“I can’t turn down a deal like that, can I Chudley?” she asked as the dog continued to lick at her. Crookshanks went to the top of the mantle to glare at them. “Be nice, Crookshanks! From the sound of it he was rescued from a dire situation!”

“He really was. I’m not just making excuses to have a dog.”

“I expect to hear the whole harrowing tale of why we needed to save Chudley later,” she replied, putting the pup in his box before casting a calming spell and accident-proofing his blanket.

“In bed?”

“I was thinking we could expand the tub tonight and catch up there.” She had a saucy smile on her face he couldn’t resist. He quickly took her hand and they laughed all the way up the stairs.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

author’s note- let me know what you think! :) or reblog if wording is hard

#romione #ronald weasley #hugo weasley #rose weasley #fanfiction #hermione granger #next gen #chudley #puppies #dogs of tumblr #my writing #fan fic

121 notes · View notes

mozelledeliond · 4 years ago

Text

To: Cerusani Duskbinder

As with last time, it is a manila envelope which arrives addressed to one Cerusani Duskbinder, Baroness of the Lost Woods, but this time the simple circle-stamped wax is the color of the ocean off of Stranglethorn and dusted with golden shimmer. Within is a small envelope and a blank-covered booklet sewn together with soft purple thread.

Lady Duskbinder,

I hope this reaches you in good health. I have gone through a few recipe books, and at times rattled the cage of memory, and I think I have produced a fair collection of recipes for you to peruse at your leisure. I hope you find at least one you enjoy.

Remember to take care of yourself.

— Mozelle

Cream-colored paper and rich black ink in neat handwriting make up the booklet of recipes.

Bread, Cheese Loaf

3 cups wheat flour 2 teaspoons baker's yeast 2 teaspoons salt 1 cup cheddar cheese, shredded or grated 1/2 teaspoon minced onion 1/2 teaspoon minced garlic 1 egg 1/2 cup buttermilk 1/4 cup olive oil

Sift flour to remove clumps, then stir in cheese, onion, and garlic. Beat egg, milk, and olive oil in a separate bowl until air bubbles form. Slowly add liquid mix to the solid while stirring. Cover bowl with damp towel and let proof half hour. Add into loaf pan greased with butter. Depending on oven temperature, cook time may vary. Bread is done when crust is golden brown and toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Bread, Potato

1-2 russet potatoes 2 cups milk Very generous dash of salt 2 teaspoons honey 2 tablespoons baker's yeast 2 tablespoons olive oil 5 cups wheat flour

Peel potato(es), cut into large chunks, and simmer in hot water until fork easily passes through. Remove from water and mash. Pour milk into saucepan with salt and honey and heat until milk just barely begins to bubble. Remove from heat, whisking in the mashed potatoes and olive oil. Let cool until warm enough to safely touch. Add in yeast and 2 cups of wheat flour and begin to incorporate the mixture with a paddle or heavy whisky. Add remaining 3 cups of flour and roll dough onto a floured surface to knead until loose and tacky. Wrap dough in damp towel and let proof for 2-3 hours. When dough is proofed, knead it and separate it half. Grease two loaf pans and add dough to each. Bake until golden-brown and toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.

Carbonara

1/2 cup sliced salt cured boar belly 1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese 1/2 clove finely minced garlic 3 eggs 2 tablespoons butter 1 pound of spaghetti Salt Optional: dash of ground black pepper

Bring pot of salted water to a boil. Whisk together the eggs, garlic, and grated parmesan. In a saucepan, fry the salt cured boar belly in the butter until the edges crisp. Remove from heat and put the boar belly into a small bowl. Save the drippings left by it. Cook the pasta. Shortly before pasta is finished, remove from heat and use a measuring cup to obtain about a cup's worth of pasta water from the pot and add that to the saucepan with the boar belly drippings. Place saucepan back over heat. Use the measuring cup to obtain about half a cup of pasta water to keep in reserve. Drain pasta, then place the drained pasta in the saucepan with the drippings and stir for one to two minutes until al dente. Remove from heat. Slowly pour egg mixture over top of pasta, using tongs to fold and stir pasta for even coverage. If necessary, use reserved pasta water to adjust the consistency of the egg mixture. Serve, seasoning with black pepper and additional salt and/or parmesan to taste.

Duskwood Spider Cake

1 pound spider meat 3/4 cup bread crumbs or finely crushed crackers 2 tablespoons chopped parsley or basil 1/3 cup mayonnaise 1 egg 2 tablespoons verjuice mustard Dash of salt Dash of ground black pepper

Whisk together mayonnaise, egg, and mustard. Season with salt and pepper. In separate bowl, mix together spider meat, bread crumbs, and chopped herbs. Fold in the mayonnaise mixture to the spider meat mixture. Form into small cakes. Add cooking oil of choice to a skillet until the bottom is fully coated; when oil is hot, add in the cakes. Fry until golden and crisp on both sides, approximately 4 minutes on each side.

Hoe Cakes

1 1/2 cups cornmeal 1 teaspoon salt 3 tablespoons wheat flour heated water cooking oil (butter, lard, or bacon fat is ideal)

Heat cast iron pan on an open flame. While the pan is heating, prepare the batter: Thoroughly combine all dry ingredients in a bowl. Add heated water until the batter reaches the desired consistency. When oil added to the pan sizzles, the pan is ready. Add batter into the pan in small circles. Add additional oil to pan as needed. Cook and turn hoecakes until browned on both sides.

The Light Has Probably Forsaken You, Or, Things Which Seem Like a Good Idea When Completely Out of Ones Mind at Four Bells in the Morning and/or Drunk

1 slice white bread 1 - 1 1/2 tablespoons butter Mixture of three parts brown sugar to one part cinnamon

Optional: cut crust off of bread. Roll bread until it reaches desired thickness. Use knife to spread butter over bread. Sprinkle desired amount of cinnamon sugar over buttered bread. Roll bread as if a cinnamon roll. Cut horizontally and serve. Regret your entire life leading to this moment, probably.

Lo Mein

3/4 pound by weight of egg noodles 2 cloves of garlic, minced 1 red bell pepper, sliced 1/2 cup peas 2 1/2 tablespoons soy sauce 2 teaspoons brown sugar 1 teaspoon sesame oil 1/2 teaspoon chili sauce Optional: 1 Dalapeno pepper, sliced Optional: 1/2 cup sliced or diced meat of choice

Cook noodles in a pot of boiling water until done. In a bowl whisk together soy sauce, brown sugar, sesame oil, and chili sauce. Add cooking oil to a skillet until skillet bottom is coated. Add in garlic, bell pepper, and any optional ingredients, stirring frequently until they start to turn tender. Stir in peas. Add noodles and soy sauce mixture, stirring and folding to combine, then serve.

Omelette Magnifique

2-3 eggs 1 tablespoon milk Salt Ground black pepper 3 tablespoons butter 1/4 cup shredded aged cheddar cheese or crumbled goat cheese 1/8 cup diced or sliced red bell pepper Optional: 1/8 cup diced meat of choice; ham or bacon suggested

Beat eggs together until yolks are thoroughly incorporated into the whites. Add milk and desired amount of salt and pepper, whisking vigorously until mix is frothy. Melt butter into heated skillet and pour in the omelette mix, tilting pan to spread the egg over its surface. When omelette sets at the bottom but is still wet on top, top half of the omelette with cheese, peppers, and meat. Use a spatula to fold the untopped half of the omelette over the topped half and let cook several more seconds. Slide omelette out of pan onto plate.

Rabbit & Potato Stew

2-4 pounds rabbit meat, diced into chunks 1 1/2 cups flour 3-4 tablespoons butter 1/4 cup olive oil 1 cup diced celery 1 cup diced carrots 2 diced onions 2-3 potatoes, diced into chunks 1 clove minced garlic 1/2 cup chopped parsley 1/2 cup chopped basil Salt 10 cups water OR vegetable broth OR rabbit broth Optional: 4 cups red wine (only use 6 cups water/broth if adding wine)

Lightly coat rabbit chunks with some of the flour and shake off excess. Add oil and butter into large saucepan and quickly brown the rabbit. Add all ingredients but the potatoes and the remaining flour and let simmer approximately two hours. Approximately 45 minutes into simmering, add the potatoes. About twenty minutes before stew is done simmering, if thickening is desired, mix together remaining flour with water until a paste or slurry is formed and stir it into the stew.

Rice Pudding

2 cups milk 1/3 cup uncooked white rice Dash of salt 1 egg 1/8 cup brown sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla extract or vanilla bean paste 1/4th teaspoon cinnamon

Rinse rice in clean water and drain. Add rice, milk, and salt to a saucepan and bring to a boil then reduce to a simmer, stirring frequently, until rice is tender. Whisk together egg and brown sugar, then add to the saucepan and stir to integrate. Continue to stir frequently until mixture is just shy of desired consistency. Remove from heat completely and stir in vanilla and cinnamon.

Tea, Dreamfoil (Sleep Aid)

3/4 - 1 ounce dreamfoil blossom per 1 cup water Optional: honey

Bring water to a boil. Rinse dreamfoil with cool water to ensure it is free of dirt or bugs. Pour boiling water into desired tea recepticle and place dreamfoil in an infuser. Steep 2-3 minutes. Remove infuser and add honey to taste if desired.

Note: May cause an increase in vividity of dreams. Do not combine with other sleep aids.

Tea, Ginger (Digestion Aid & Nausea)

1 - 1 1/5 tablespoon ginger root per 1 cup water Optional: 1 slice lemon Optional: honey

Clean and peel desired amount of ginger root before slicing thinly. Add to water and bring to a steady simmer, then move it from the heat until it is a gentle simmer. After about five minutes remove it from heat and strain. Add lemon and/or honey if desired and serve.

Tea, Honey-Lemon (Sore Throat)

2-3 teaspoons honey 1-2 teaspoons lemon juice 1 cup hot water Optional: ginger slice

Heat water until steaming. Add honey and lemon juice to taste. If desired, add ginger and let steep a minute or two.

Thalassian Toast (Sweet)

2 thick slices white bread 1 egg 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon Dash of nutmeg Splash of vanilla extract or vanilla bean paste 1/2 tablespoon brown sugar Splash of milk 2 tablespoons butter Optional: maple syrup or molasses Optional: confectioner's sugar

Whisk eggs, milk, vanilla, and spices together in a wide bowl. In a skillet, melt the butter; add more if necessary to thoroughly coat bottom of skillet. Dip bread into egg mixture, ensuring both sides are coated. Fry eggy bread in skillet until both sides are golden brown. If desired, powder finished product with confectioner's sugar and/or serve with molasses.

Thalassian Toast (Savory)

2 thick slices white bread 1 egg Splash of milk Salt 2 tablespoons butter Optional: 1 egg, fried with 1 sprig chopped parsley Optional: 1/8 cup parmesan cheese

Whisk eggs, a dash of salt, and milk together in a wide bowl. In a skillet, melt the butter; add more if necessary to thoroughly coat bottom of skillet. Dip bread into egg mixture, ensuring both sides are coated. Fry eggy bread in skillet until both sides are golden brown. Parmesan cheese can be added on top of the toast shortly before it is removed from the pan. Toast may be served topped with herb-fried egg or parmesan cheese, or as a side to another dish.

[ @cerusaniduskbinder ]

#correspondence #[sits on throne of real cook books I never use]

5 notes · View notes

sunvault · 5 years ago

Text

halcyon summer

@songofthestone (from here)

Harry had spent far more time than he’d care to admit, timing this particular pounce.

The morning had been spent exploring, which was vital work and important to everyone, no matter what Raphael said. He had found a peculiar little creature, blacker than the thickest obsidian stacks and perched as still as a shadow on the tuft of a drooping stalk. It was patient enough to allow Harry to lie down beside it, the long grass tickling at his nose, seeds sticking in his ever-lengthening mop of hair. He’d had to be very firm with himself about not sneezing.

Harry had watched the insect, its fine antennae nodding lazily in the blinding heat, the dark of its body seeming to swallow up the glare of the sun. There was no shine or gleam of a shell, just lumped segments bunched too close together. It was terribly unpleasant looking, he supposed, but there was a gentle sort of beauty in the stillness, the thin legs, the oddly inverted tail. Raphael would have turned pale at the sight of it.

He had wondered then where his friend was, and found him scarcely feet away, perched on a rounded chunk of quartz. He had decided to watch him instead, propping himself up on his side and tracing the lines of his body, which seemed too solid in the glare of the sun. He was sitting with his back as straight as a rod, knees supporting his arms, eyes lifted skywards, gazing at the sun. His body faced the row of Markayuq, and Harry wondered whether he was praying.

He had decided to wait until he twitched, or sighed, but the sun was creeping higher in the sky, the tips of his ears were prickling with heat and Raphael was making no sign of moving. It really was too cruel, Harry decided, to provide a temptation of that sort. And wholly unfair to expect him not to satisfy it. He had leapt, ramming his good shoulder against Raphael’s side and knocking him triumphantly into the long grass. Some muttered protestation result, but he is very pleased with his efforts, and angles his body to pin him down properly.

Straddling this solid man, his quiet strength trapped beneath him, feels tremendously satisfying. He leans his weight forward a little, watching Raphael, and taking in the steady gaze as those eyes focus on him. A hot moment pulses between them, thicker than the sun burning through the back of his shirt. He grins down, enjoying the sticky intimacy, and the gentle flush brushing at the edge of Raphael’s cheeks. Hot, frightened, or enticed, Harry isn’t certain.

But he’s certain that there is a fondness there; something wild, and solidifying daily in his friend’s impenetrable mind. Long dark lashes leave shadows beneath his eyes as Raphael looks away from him. Harry hums fondly, dropping his hand to his chest, pressing a flat palm over his heart, remembering the Markayuq, and the peaceful breath it had given him when they had blessed his own body.

Perched on top of Raphael, he lets himself drink in the curious features, rather eager to trace them with his fingertips. He might have to draw him again, he thinks. To get the curve of the brows more faithful to these. He brushes away a little spider, who had settled in the thick line of one of them, letting his thumb trail down and frame his eye.

“I’ll help you milk the goats,” he grins, “if you’ll let me draw you again.”

He can’t entirely tell if Harry knows what he’s doing or not: if he knows that Raphael is not immune to the closeness, or the heat, or the press of Harry’s hand. He thinks he might: Harry is a remarkably observant man by nature, and he’s been around Raphael long enough that he must have noticed something. It’s a frightening thought. But if there were anything to truly be afraid of, he doubts Harry would be pressing him down into the grass like this, grinning at him, still as pleased with him as ever.

He nearly shies away when Harry brushes at his brow, eyes flicking back to him. He doesn’t feel the spider, only the unexpected touch, Harry’s lingering, warm fingertips. With the sun behind him he’s unbearably golden, too bright, too handsome. Looking at him, it’s hard to remember to breathe.

He is going back to his family, Raphael reminds himself firmly, And you can’t go with him.

He huffs, taking Harry’s forearm to push his hand gently away from his face, glad to be dragged back to thoughts of irritating goats and the irony of sitting still for an eternity again. “I haven’t changed since the last time you drew me,” he points out, still holding Harry’s wrist. “What’s the point?” He shifts under him, itching where the grass tickles at his ear and neck.

He can’t ask for anything without also giving in return, and Harry knows it. Raphael doesn’t have it in him to be irritated: it would be worse to receive a favour without reciprocating, anyway. There were worse things he could have asked for. Like for Raphael to accompany him into the woods, to search for horrible, crawling things to look at.

“Fine.” He lets go of Harry’s wrist. It really is too warm to be this close to him. He hates that he wishes they were closer. That it feels good to be under him. To be the focus of his attentions. “But if you start taking hours, I’m moving whether it ruins your bloody drawings or not.” Raphael starts to sit up again, pushing at Harry’s chest. “Off, you useless lump. I’m melting.”

#ic: raphael #threads #v: 1782 (raphael)#[ me titling a thread for the first time in like a year?? yes ]#songofthestone #songofthestone: harry #[ muffled screams ]#[ harry....... HAVE MERCY ]

3 notes · View notes

dearophelia · 6 years ago

Text

a (probably incomplete) list of warnings for Sabrina

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina was delightful, but also has a lot of things that I know are not-good content for some of my friends, so I have compiled a list.

(spoilers below)

I’m happy to give more detail about anything, and if there’s anything not listed that you want to double check about (like I said, this is probably incomplete), just ask!

It’s horror, so horror tropes should be expected (jump scares, scare chords, things in mirrors that weren’t there a minute ago, gore, blood, general creepiness).

I personally did not find it scary. Occasionally creepy, and at times deeply unsettling, but never truly scary. YMMV, but if you know my feelings on horror, you can probably get a good “is this going to make me sleep with the light on” vibe from that statement. Mostly I found it immensely campy, and I enjoyed Miranda Otto utterly failing at an unnecessary American accent.

Things that are present throughout the series (episodes 1-10):

Demons and related activity, including possession (both short-term and long-term)

Hazing and bullying

Hanging

Nonbinary/trans/queer characters being called slurs or derogatory terms; it’s made clear from the context that this is unacceptable and the people using those terms are assholes

“Half breed” and other fantastic racism

Voodoo dolls

Cannibalism (mostly in reference/implication, except for episode 7)

Weird camera work (edges of the shot are skewed or blurred quite a bit; it’s not your eyes or in your head, it’s some asshole in post-production)

Creepy teacher/student relationship (not sexual or romantic; it makes sense in context, but it’s creepy and literally nobody calls this out)

Spiders (regular-sized)

Satan is a monstrous goat man and he shows up a lot

Things people were eating just fine get dropped to the ground and are now covered in maggots (I think this only happens twice: once with an apple and once with a glass bottle of milk)

Episode-specific:

Episodes 1 & 2 (it didn’t occur to me until after episode two that some of my friends would want to watch this and should probably be warned of a few things, so I don’t remember which episode these things happened in)

Implications of sexual assault and harassment of female students

Physical assault of a canonically and explicitly nonbinary character

Reference (not on-screen) to sexual assault of said nonbinary character (in the context of bullying)

Thoroughly useless male authority figure

Unreality/mindfuckery as retribution for all of the above (non-permanent)

One instance of said mindfuckery includes a lot of spiders. A lot. A lot

A fucking horrifying scarecrow

Memory manipulation (non-malicious)

It’s not a cult, but it’s cult-ish

Episode 4:

Explicit demonic possession, including bodily contortions

Episode 5:

The “nightmare demon gets inside their minds, makes them all think they’ve broken free but they really haven’t” episode

Torture

Body horror

Facial horror

Cannibalism

Quite a bit of very explicit gore

This episode was a disaster and completely unnecessary, you could skip it and be fine

Episode 6:

Spiking someone’s drink with a love potion (the person doing the spiking is not the person who’s in love with the person whose drink it is). The love potion literally never comes up again, and the resulting relationship appears to be completely normal and not the usual love potion stalker disaster (I have a lot of anger for the existence of this scene because it’s totally fucking unnecessary; with like six seconds of script editing they could’ve had the same relationship just as happily without the rapey overtones).

Episode 7:

Cannibalism is basically the entire plot of this episode (she wants to be eaten, if that helps?)

Truth serum (of sorts)

Explicit and gory on-screen cannibalism

Suicide (both on-screen and referenced)

Episode 9:

Reference to past childhood assault (perpetrated by other children); implied to be sexual in nature

Said assault is referenced somewhat unfortunately, as a “leave this person alone or I’ll tell everyone about it” tactic

Came back wrong

Episode 10:

Pet death (pet murder by owner, actually)

Two minor female characters of color die

The very last scene is a pretty effective jump scare (the one moment in the entire series that trended genuine scary for me; still didn’t make the cut, but tried really hard), and then immediately cuts to black and the credits

Important list of good things:

The nonbinary character survives

The nonbinary character is played by a nonbinary actor

The cat survives

All main queer characters survive

All main non-white characters survive

All main characters survive, actually

No on-screen sexual assault

No love triangle

#oph texts #(yes rebloggable)

5 notes · View notes

seasons-of-ceres · 6 years ago

Note

Speaking of writing, are we ever gonna hear about that spider paper you had to write? -English Major Anon

Oh shit yeah

So, the assignment was for one of my creative writing classes. Beyond submitting one piece of original fiction that would be critiqued twice by the class, and a third time by my prof, the other assignment was mid-sized essay on the etymology of a word. Truth be told, I had no clue what the fuck I was going to write about.

My initial idea was to go way back and look at Middle English cuz I’d been studying the Canterbury Tales in a medievalism class. The word I wanted to do was “queynte” which predates “cunt” and had the double meaning in Chaucer as “quaint”. Like, you could have a line where a guy grabs a woman by her “queynte”, but then have a house or person being described as “queynte”

But I gathered a lot of people might go down the curse word route, so I wanted another word.

I don’t…I don’t really remember how I went with “web”. I think I wanted to know if there were other types of webs beyond “spiderwebs”, and this led me to do a real quick deep dive into different kinds of spiders - wait, no, “cobweb”. I wanted to know what the hell “cobweb” meant, what the hell was “cob” doing in that word. Did this have anything to do with corn…

(I don’t have the essay on my computer, I’ll look for it in the morning)

Long story short, the “cob” in “cobweb” is an obsolete word for spider. I distinctly remember quoting “The Hobbit” because Tolkien was familiar with Middle English.

Oh right, different spiders. So, you know the webs you sees hanging out in the corners, looking like dusty clouds? Those webs are made by cobweb spiders.

Remember Charlotte from “Charlotte’s Web”? She is an orb-weaver spider, her webs are found outside and look like the spokes of a wheel.

And there was a bunch other stuff but I freaked myself out writing it. Because I was looking around my area and going “hey, I know what made this web!” followed by “shit, I have cobweb spiders all over the damn place”.

and there was like, one article talking about how spiders used to have…a fucking tail that controlled their web stream, and then there was the article about spider goats whose milk can be made into silk cuz apparently spider’s silk is super strong….I went down a lot of avenues and just went “yeah, no, this is enough.”

walked away with an A-, my prof wanted more of (and I quote) “the stickiness of the word web”.

Like, there is a legit reason I cowered in the theatres during Return of the King because fucking Shelob is fucking terrifying (also, “lob” is another term for spider, haha, very clever J.R.R).

It was a fun experience though. Lots of free range. Got to really explore a topic of my choosing. Prolly wouldn’t do it again if you asked me. I’d pick a much tamer word :)

#Storytime with Hex #English Major Anon #long post #morning me lookie here

5 notes · View notes

ladynoveldragon · 3 years ago

Text

The spider silk goats are so cool. I remember when I first learnt about this reading a book on genetic engineering. That was so cool.

(Also, being a genetically modified organism doesn’t hurt the goats at all. They are just goats. Their milk is just a bit different.)

honestly even the highest concept sci-fi seems tame once you learn BioSteel™ Goats exist irl

38K notes · View notes

goddamnitaisha · 7 years ago

Text

Hey dear @asreoninfusion,

remember a time before you were a popular blog Sefikura BDSM Kink Queen?

When you were too afraid to make a blog? And were too afraid to message me because you worried you would annoy me? Before we met in real life.

Hahaha you sent me anon messages in a time I received multiple anons a day. I had to give you a nickname because I wanted you to sign your posts. I gave you name options, you chose the name anon-sundown. I wanted you to continue talking to me, because you were cute enough to be adopted. You suggested writing about your funny life experiences.

Now, I kept all these messages for years. READ THEM BOTTOM TO TOP. You might want to copy them and put them on your own blog.

Love,

your friend Aisha

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago You couldn't actually see the driver; all that was visible were two hands sticking out through this massive bunch of bananas, clutching the handlebars with a white-knuckled grip, and a little face peering round the edge.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago But the favourite two-wheeler incident was the banana man. People would often cart around huge amounts of food or stock for the local shops they owned; this man was transporting bananas. A /lot/ of bananas. To this day I have no idea how he managed to balance them all on there, but it is safe to say there was significantly more banana than man.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago We used to see all sorts of insane things on two-wheelers. Across the road from the Croc Bank there lived a man who would regularly drive a fully grown goat around on his bike, with the animal casually draped over the back. One time we saw two men driving along with an eight foot length of PVC pipe... lengthways. They were holding it /across/ the bike, taking up almost the entire road and forcing everyone to swerve all over the place to avoid them! (Fairly standard driving for India, then.)

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago Let's have a non-animal related story for a change. In India they were big on their motorbikes - or two-wheelers, as they call them. They tend to be a lot cheaper and more accessible for most people, so they made up about 40% of the traffic. And the amount of stuff people would cram onto those things! It wasn't at all uncommon to see a family of four or five squashed onto the one bike.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago One other thing the macaques used to do - and I have no idea where they learnt to do this, if it was instictive or they had learnt it from someone - was floss their teeth. The zookeeper would pull out a strand of their hair and hand it to the monkeys, and they'd start flossing! That soon became an integral part of the feeding show, getting them to clean their teeth afterwards for the visitors to see. We were often the ones doing that, so it's a good thing both my mum and I have very thick hair!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Even if they weren't playing with the hose, most of the monkeys would still stop and stare while you cleaned, then try to imitate what you were doing. My mum once brought in a little toy broom to give to them while she was sweeping, see if she could get them to copy her and do some of the work! (They weren't buying it.)

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago In the complete opposite of the spider monkeys, the macaques loved water. The cleaning always took twice as long as it should have, as the monkeys would come and play in the spray when you were trying to hose down the floor and rocks. On more than one occasion a zookeeper (usually my mum) was caught playing skipping rope with the monkeys and a stream of water.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Cleaning their enclosure was always a two person job; one to do the cleaning, and the other would stand there with a hose, keeping the monkeys at bay. Fortunately, the macaques monkeys were much friendlier. You had to make sure not to get too near to any of the babies - the mothers were very protective of their young - but other than that they were quite happy to have company in their enclosure.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Most of the time the spider monkeys would grudgingly accept an intrusion at feeding time. They weren't pleased that someone was in their space, but they knew that they got food out of it. Even so, they could be vicious buggers, so the zookeeper would always carry a water pistol in with them. If the spider monkeys got too close or too aggressive, you just squirted them with the water pistol and they would back off!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago At the Hunter Valley Zoo in Australia there were also monkeys, although these were part of the zoo rather than the local wildlife! We had two species; macaques and spider monkeys. The macaques were a big friendly group, playful and generally very nice. The spider monkeys, on the other hand, were not. Their enclosure was /their/ territory, and hoo boy, they did not like their territory invaded. Oddly enough, the only thing they liked less than having someone in their territory was... water.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago Fortunately, he missed the food. But he did knock over a bottle of milk belonging my little sister (who was very little then). Somehow he managed to set it spinning right around, squirting milk out in every direction at everyone while we dove for cover. Having very successfully got our attention, the goat then hopped back down and made for his balcony, only to run straight into the closed glass door. We let him out there just to get some peace!

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago He's obviously gone for my apple cores, sticking his head into the bin to get at them... but then his horns had got caught, and he couldn't get himself back out past the swing lid. So he just pulled the whole thing off. and then, flailing around like a mad thing trying to dislodge the lid, charged upstairs and jumped right up onto the dinner table.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One final piece of background information; I like eating apples. I used to sit at the computer in the front room downstairs, happily munching away, and throw the cores into a little bin with a swing lid just by the desk. This is relevant. So, the goat sneaks into the house. The family is all sat down for dinner, minding our own business, and the first we know of it is hearing a huge ka-clop, ka-clop, ka-clop as the goat comes absolutely flying up the stairs with a bin lid stuck around his neck.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago As it turned out, we needn't have worried. The goat's reaction to the big scary dogs was to headbutt them, full in the face. The German Shepherd was the one scared of the goat! After the goat had grown a bit and become too big for the balcony, he was relocated to a nice little shed outside. But he still believed the balcony was /his/ balcony and his home, and thus would regularly sneak into the house and charge upstairs to try to get back there.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago When the goat was just a little thing, it used to live out on the balcony on the second floor of our house. This was because we also had two dogs, an Australian Cattle dog and a fully grown German Shepherd. The former was about twice the size of the goat, and the latter three or four times bigger. We introduced them regularly, but didn't want them to share the same living space until the goat was a bit more grown up and less likely to be intimidated by the big scary dogs.

anon-sundown answered you: a day ago rp-sephiroth asked:

Hahahahaha, I loved the story of the goat. It made me really happy on a less than happy day! xD You're so full of good things, I can't imagine why you still hide. Over the past few weeks you've come across as a pretty rad friend. xD <3 Yes, you make me happy!

Ahhh, thank you! I’m so happy I can make you happy. ^_^ I have another tale of the goat for today’s silly story.

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago Oh! And just out of curiosity, how are you making the keyblade? I cosplayed Aqua one time and made Stormfall for her. It came out... okay, I guess, but a bit fragile. Someone leant on it and snapped it. orz So anyway, I'm interested to see what method/materials you're going to use. :)

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago I know what you mean about the self-acceptance thing. v_v And for me it never seemed reasonable or fair to expect anyone else to like you when you don't even like yourself. (This thinking is a significant part of why I'm always so terrified to talk to anyone new; it just seems so rude to impose my shitty self on them. orz) But I like you, and I'm sure the other people you mentioned who send you messages like and accept you too! It's probably not worth much, but there's that at least. ^^'

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Then the goat came trotting along, looking pleased as punch with himself, with three or four cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. Ah, of course. The builder took off after the goat to try and get them back, but alas, it was too late for the cigarettes. They were chewed to pieces and covered in goat slobber. And the poor builder never did get to have a smoke that day.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago The goat was also around. And goats, as you may know, will eat just about anything. On this particular day, 'anything' was the builder's entire packet of cigarettes that he had left out. He came asking us if we knew where his cigarettes had gone, and for a good while we were all searching around the area he'd misplaced them, scratching our heads.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Originally, Avoca Drive was bought as a plot of land, and my mum and stepdad had a house built on it. We moved in as soon as we could, with just a few finishing touches like carpets to go down and a concrete path to lay outside the front door (the latter of which meant we had to climb out a ground floor window to get out the house for a day or two while the concrete set, that was fun). So there were a few builders around, just finishing up whatever they needed to do.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago While we were in the same house as the wombat incident (henceforth to be known as Avoca Drive, if I need to reference it again) we also owned a goat. And this goat-- oh Goddess, this goat. It was a donation from another family; they had won the goat in a charity auction, raising money for African villages and 'Give a Goat' sort of projects (hence why they were auctioning a goat, I suppose). But they discovered after the fact they didn't have the time/space to look after a goat, so it came to us.

I perched on the back of the sofa (up out of reach of marauding wombats; I wasn't taking on that thing either) and laughed at everyone. Eventually my brother joined me up on the sofa, and the wombat was led away to its overnight bunk in the cupboard under the house, where it the proceeded to keep everyone up all night trying to dig through the foundations.

anon-sundown asked you: 2 minutes ago He tried to shake the wombat off, changing direction and speeding up. The wombat only sped up after him. They ended up running round the room in panicked circles with my brother shouting for mummy. Mum swept in for a rescue attempt, but was not very successful. They /both/ ended up running round the room being chased by the wombat.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 minutes ago Now, this wombat had been trained at Taronga Zoo to follow people around, so the zoo keepers could easily get it to go where they wanted. So when we let it out to have a wander in the front room it began to follow around my brother. He was only ten at the time, and not terribly pleased by the large hairy creature tailing him at a distance far to close for comfort.

anon-sundown asked you: 5 minutes ago Okay, so back when we lived in Australia (as my stepdad is Australian; everything is always his fault), he and my mum owned a zoo in the Hunter Valley, several hours drive north of Sydney. We had acquired a wombat, a transfer from Taronga Zoo. Since our house was directly along and right in the middle of the route between Taronga in Sydney and the Hunter Valley, it was decided the wombat would stay a night at home to break up the journey.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago We eventually got the noodles back after my mum went and yelled at the monkeys, though it wasn't terribly effective until the monkeys hissed back and scared my little sister. Then my mum actually got angry with them, and she is rather scary when angry. The monkeys dropped the jar and ran off, and thus victory was ours.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One time the door to the house was left open and two monkeys broke in. One stood guard at the door while other darted into the kitchen, jumped up on to the counter and proceeded to raid the cupboard. They made off with a jar of pot noodles and took to a nearby tree to try and prise the thing open (without much succes).

#hahahahaha #asreoninfusion

14 notes · View notes

surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

Text

Survey #478

“i get pretty just to fuck my face up”

If you were dying who would you say goodbye to first out of everyone? My mom. Are you someone who actually likes to babysit children? NO. Do you find any of your friends’ parents creepy or really mean? No. Do you have things on your mind right now? My weight is very, very much on my mind. I dared to weigh myself yesterday and I'm the heaviest I've ever been. So that's comforting. Are you at all stressed right now? ^^^^^^^ hunny I wanna pull all my hair out What was the last stuffed animal you bought? I don't know. What’s the last new good song that you discovered? "The Devil's Rejects" by Rob Zombie. I've been really into him lately. Felicity, Fiona, or Flavia? (with the “v” pronounced like a “w”–it’s Latin) "Felicity" is beautiful. I love the word in general. Which biblical name do you prefer: Naomi, Esther, Rachel, or Joanna? I love the name Naomi. Do you own a cowboy hat? No. Have you ever unfriended a sibling on social media? No; she unfriended me. Has someone let you down recently? My goddamn self. What are you looking forward to? Mom to get better so we can force ourselves back into the gym. Also Girt's mom to get better so we can see each other. For the weather to actually feel fall-ish. What’s your favorite Lady Gaga song? "Bad Romance." Skeletons or scarecrows? Skelly boiz What type of tree is the most common where you live? Oh, absolutely pine trees. Where did your last kiss take place? My living room. Name of your pet? Venus and Roman. How was your summer? Shitty. I hate summer. Do you miss anyone right now? I really miss Girt. Covid's gotta go. What size is your shirt? *feral hissing noises* Who was the last person you held hands with? Girt. Do you get out of bed on the left side or right side? Left, because I sleep mostly to the left. Do you like to be closer or farther back to the wheel when driving? Neither, I think? I haven't driven in so long that I'm not sure, but I'm quite sure I position myself pretty ideally. When eating dinner, do you eat foods in order or just inhale it? It's usually kind of in order, but occasionally I'll mix it up. When you lose your phone, where is the first general place you look? My bed. Do you fall asleep with your mouth open or closed? Usually closed. I tend to breathe through my nose unless I'm stuffy. What was the last bug you killed? An ant. Do you keep items in your front or back pants’ pocket? Front. What was the last item or location you cleaned? My glasses. Do you own a pet spider? No, but I REALLY want a number of tarantulas. :( The more time that passes, the more I want some, ha ha. I'd also love a jumping spider or two, but Mom won't allow even that. Have you ever gone on a cruise? No. Is there a rocking chair in your house? No. Have you ever been stood up? No. Do you like elevators or escalators? I'm scared of both. I'm afraid of getting stuck in an elevator, or falling down an escalator/tripping on one. Which do you prefer: M&M’s, Skittles, or Reese’s Pieces? Reese's Pieces, yum. If you could be the sidekick of a superhero which superhero would you pick? Uhhhh maybe Spider-Man, if I could web-sling too? lol Where on your body would you never get a tattoo? ... Can/do people get genitalia tattoos? Because I would fuckin never- Do you think that you could ever win a food eating contest? Hell no. I would puke. Honestly, have you ever thrown garbage out of the window of a car? Absolutely not. Never. What is the first song that comes to mind when I say: Michael Jackson? "Billie Jean." Which would you find more menacing: dinosaurs or dragons? Dragons are just dinos that can fly and breathe fire, so... you tell me which is more dangerous. I'd still try to befriend one tho lmao. Can you say “hello” in another language? Yeah; German is easy. It's just "hallo." Do you like licorice? NO omg Did anybody ever read bedtime stories to you when you were younger? Mom did. Do you have a favorite Johnny Depp movie? What is it? I really like his roles in Alice in Wonderland and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Were you ever force-fed as a child? My parents tried to enforce always finishing our plates. My mom is very against that now, considering the issues it can cause. Should kidneys or other organs be able to be bought and sold? No????? That's some black market bullshit for a reason. What is one of your most important rules when going on a date? Especially if it's your first date with a person, watch for red flags. Will children today have better or worse lives than their parents, and why? Well, it'll probably go in both ways depending on the topic. The environment is dying, the economy is horrific, but I'm sure there will be things like medical advancements. What's the most ironic thing you've seen happen? I dunno. Would you rather go ice skating or roller skating? Roller skating. The blades on ice skates scare me. How many different types of guns have you shot? (water, Nerf, real, etc) Uhhh just water and Nerf, I think? Which of the three meals a day are you most likely to skip? It's very unlikely you'll see me miss a meal... I don't handle the feeling of hunger well. What's something lots of people are afraid of, but you aren't? Snakes, some spiders, I don't THINK I'm scared of deep water, the dark... Do you know anyone who is tolerant of some on the LGBT spectrum but not all? Yes. Do open casket wakes freak you out? I've only been to one, as a child, when I didn't have a full grasp on death, so it was... oddly more fascinating to me, as weird as that sounds? I think going to one now, especially if it was someone close to me, it would make the wake more upsetting. When's the last time you slept in your parents' bed? No clue. What's something that will always be in fashion? Skinny jeans, checkered Vans... What "old person things" do you do? I regularly say "back in the day," lol. And I can go to sleep very early, like 7, but that's uncommon. I complain about soreness in my back and stuff. Do you live in the same hometown as where you were born? No. Did you dorm at college or commute from home? I commuted from home. Do you prefer the thin blue and white masks, or decorative ones? Well, who wouldn't prefer decorative ones? They're more personal to your interests and stuff and I feel is more encouraging to make people wear them. I however don't want to spend money on a mask, so I'm chill with just the blue surgical ones. Have you ever witnessed someone have a seizure before? My dog, yes. Have you ever rode on the back of a shopping cart, or a Home Depot dolly? Yeah, as a kid. Does everything you buy have to be organic? No. I don't buy the groceries, but I also don't care much about that. Do you support more small businesses or chain restaurants/stores? Habitually, chain ones. I wish I paid more attention to small businesses. Have you ever been crowned king or queen at a school dance? No. How old were you when you first started wearing a bra? Am I supposed to remember that? Are you more invested in computer games or video games? I don't care what the game is on; I can be equally invested in either. I prefer to play console games, though. Are you a fan of pumpkin spice everything? Noooo. I'm not a massive fan of it, actually. Is there any holiday that you don't decorate your house for? We only really decorate for occasionally Halloween and always Christmas. Mom may put up some Thanksgiving stuff. Tell me something your parents don't know about. They don't know certain places I've done sexual things at/on. What's the last table food you fed your pet? Roman doesn't get human food. He learned at a young age that's a no-no. Have you ever peed in the water at the beach? Ew, no. Even if it's incredibly vast, people still swim in that. Have you ever scored a winning goal for a team you played for? I doubt it. Have you ever participated in LARPing? No. Have you ever gotten a divorce? Never been married. Do you prefer "regular kissing" or French kissing? I mean that depends on the place and the mood. Are you more likely to give a hickey to someone else or get one? I haven't done that in many years, and when it happened, I don't think one of us did it more than the other. Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? I HATE sprinkles. Have you been in more car accidents as a passenger or a driver? I've only ever been in an accident as a passenger. Have you ever been wrongfully convicted of a crime? No. Was any of the cafeteria food at your school actually any good? I actually didn't mind a good number of things. Have you ever wanted to become a lifeguard? No. What's the highest fever you've ever had? I'm unsure, but over 100. Have you ever kissed a dog on the mouth? Well, dogs have kissed ME on the mouth. al;sdkfjalksdjkf so gross When you were born was the umbilical cord wrapped around your neck? Uh, I don't believe so. I feel like I would know that if I was. Would you enter a burning building to save a kitten? I feel like I would, I think. My intense love of animals would probably force me to kick into action. Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John? Haaaa, I have a bias for "Mark," of course... but if we're talking which name I find most appealing, it's probably John. Or Luke. Have you ever been told that you talk too much? As a child, yes. Do you like to clean? Does ANYBODY enjoy it? Do you know of anyone who went into labor at the baby shower? Uh yikes. No. When's the last time you did a hand game with someone? (ie: Mary Mack) Probably not since I was little. Do you know anyone who was not born in a hospital, unexpectedly? No. Does anyone you know have dual citizenship to live in multiple countries? Possibly? Do you still have a landline phone/phone number? No. Name a fad that was popular when you were growing up, that you miss. Oh, I KNOW there's some things, but I don't recall right now. Have you ever gotten to milk a cow or a goat? No. I'm not sure I'd want to.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''bottom is a rock'' by mother mother

1 note · View note

humanwithherpes-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Herpes Whoredom

January 6th, 2018.

Candidness is key.

I had sex in the university’s science lab. Actually, the place where they genetically engineer goats to excrete spider silk. Like, these little guys produce milk that has copious amounts of one of the strongest, most indestructible materials made by nature. So I guess you can say I’m intricately woven into the larger scientific community.

Back to the sex. I was having sex in the science lab. Exciting as it sounds, I actually realized I had left my tampon in after a couple of minutes. Extracting it wasn’t too difficult, but it left me extremely sore.

The following day, I continued feeling a burning itch down there, which was unsurprising, and I assumed I had gotten a UTI, or yeaster infection, or at the worst, maybe even TSS (which I actually know nothing about), but the pain got more intense as the weekend went on, and I noticed a couple of bumps in my genital region. I remember lying in the bathtub with Epsom salt, and my roommate came into the bathroom to pee. I even had her take a look, and she commented that it might just be bacterial vaginosis, something she had gotten a while back. “Yeah, that’s kinda what it looks like. Just go to urgent care and they’ll give you antibiotics. You should be fine. It’s probably because of the whole tampon sex thing.”

“Thank you, wise roommate! I indeed shall go to the doctor first thing in the morning.”

January 8th, 2018.

The nurse led me to the examination room, and I declined to sit in the chair; instead, I squatted on the floor because that was the only position in which I felt semi-comfortable. She took my pulse and got my weight and asked me the normal questions, and I told her about the Tampon Sex and how I had self-diagnosed with Bacterial Vaginosis.

She was honestly kind of bitchy. She was making this kind of sour expression on her face the whole time and rolled her eyes at me when I was telling her that I was in pain.

Maybe she was having a bad day, or just like, has RBF, but she rubbed me the wrong way, and when the male doctor had me put my feet in the stirrups so he could peer into my aching vagina, she stood in the corner, with the stupid pinched look on her stupid bitchy face, all I could think was Does this bitch have to be in here right now, and the doctor, right away, in a low voice, said, “Hmm, yeah, that looks like it’s herpes.”

He wouldn’t make eye contact with me, and that stupid nurse stared at me with her nose wrinkled up and did a little eyebrow lift before she left the room.

I wanted to punch her.

And then I was like, okay, so what now? And he was like, “’kay, here are some meds, good luck, and bye!”

The Next 10 Days

were the worst of my life.

This was the first week of the semester. I tried going to class one day, but I had to walk so slowly and gingerly that I got there 30 minutes late, and then I had to pee, and I ended up just crying in pain on the bathroom floor until a friend could come pick me up.

What started out as little bumps turned into fiery little sores and even open lesions that extended all the way into my cervix and around my urethra. Yeah, the acid in my piss burned the hell out of me every time I had to pee. Eventually, I figured out this routine where every time I would go, I would get on all fours in the bath tub and kind of splash water on myself when the pee would come out to relieve some of the pain faster, screaming in pain the whole time, and then I would rinse out the bathtub and just lie in there for like half an hour.

I didn’t want to drink fluids because I didn’t want to pee. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t sit down. Everything was painful.

And I was like, holy shit holy shit, no one is every going to want to have sex with me again. I’m a modern-day leper. I have this nasty little virus inhabiting my body and it will never go away. It’s invaded me. Like, it thinks that it can just use me as its home and hurt me and just basically fuck up my life.

Most of my friends were supportive. My mom sounded shocked and appalled, but she was really nice, and my best friends brought me over soup and candy and books almost every day. I did have one friend, however, when I disclosed to him about my STI, that looked me in the eye and told me, “I will never see you the same.”

I contacted the men I’d been with in the last six months, encouraging them to get tested. Many ran into the same problem: the clinics were unwilling or reluctant to test them since they had no symptoms. (Even though 85% of HSV-positive individuals DON’T HAVE SYMPTOMS.) And can herpes be spread asymptomatically? YES IT CAN. I got my herpes from a person with no symptoms.

Stuck at home, with nothing else to do, I did a lot of research. I have to give a shout-out to Ella Dawson, whose herpes blog provided a lifeboat to my mental and emotional health.

I dedicated my time to several online support groups, and I educated myself on everything there is to know about HSV2.

And then life went back to “normal”

The Valtrex eventually did its thing and the pain of the herpes went away, but I was left to deal with the negative social stigma that accompanies it as I dove back into the dating world.

There was this Tinder dude who was trying to have sexy talk with me, and this is how the conversation turned:

Okay dude, you don’t want herpes but A. who even said that we were going to have sex and B. don’t be an asshole.

And while we are talking about douchebags, here is another unrelated, non-herpes conversation I had with a tinder dude:

Jesus, like I DON’T WANT TO SEND YOU NUDES AND IF I DO I WILL BUT BE HAPPY WITH WHAT YOU GET.

Sidenote: I have met many lovely, kind, respectful gentlemen on tinder and bumble.

I started seeing this guy, we’ll call him Marty, for a couple of weeks, and he seemed to handle the herpes thing pretty well. In fact, it didn’t bother him at all. We were going to have sex, but I could tell he was uncomfortable. He started acting weird, and finally admitted that he was afraid of contracting HSV2 through my blood. If he couldn’t handle it, that’s fine, but I can’t handle being around someone who can’t handle it, so I told him goodbye.

Yes, I faced the cold sting of rejection, as certain men decided I wasn’t worth their time, which is fine, because ultimately, those type of people aren’t worth my time either. I’m honestly a very fit, sexy, funny, intelligent, kind, successful 25-year old woman and anyone that can’t see past my herpes can go bury their head deeper in the sand where it belongs.

I came to some realizations:

1. I can’t break the stigma if I stigmatize myself. As an HSV2-positive female, I have 3 choices: add to the shaming of herpes by putting myself down, hide from the shaming of herpes by keeping it a secret, or fight the shaming by telling people my story. In sex ed they show you gross, scary pictures of genital infections, but where was the part about those parts belonging to a human being whose identity is bigger than an STD? What about her likes and dislikes, her community of people she loves, and in return loves her? What about her career, what she does to pay her bills, her vices, her habits, her passions?

We aren’t just looking at an STD, we are looking at part of a multi-faceted individual.

I am an individual. I love coconut water and I hate Chili’s southwestern eggrolls. I like karaoke and game night, and I like sitting in the sun while I draw or read a book. I’m a waitress, a student, a transcriber, a musician, an artist, a lover, a sister, a friend.

I am HSV2-positive, but it does not change my value.

2. The bad reputation society has given herpes comes down to sex shaming.

Though it is a popular Christian belief that sex should be saved for the sanctity of marriage, or used only for reproductive purposes, it is not a consequence or punishment of “promiscuity.” Having herpes does not make one gross or undesirable. Any individual with one, none, or multiple partners, does not “deserve” to get an STD. Sex is a part of life, therefore, STD’s are a part of life, and it is nothing to snub or look down upon.

3. STD-screening and Sex Education needs some serious reform, folks.

You are not a “dirty, used shoe that has been worn by the entire football team” if you’ve had sex. That was the video I was shown in my sex-ed class, and it made me feel like shit about myself for a long time.

Maybe instead of pushing for abstinence, we can be realistic and talk about safety and condoms and create an UNDERSTANDING of sex, rather than FEAR.

If you don’t have symptoms, get tested. If they refuse, get tested somewhere else.

Don’t let your doctor be a dick-wad. I went to get a Valtrex refill the other week, and he told me, “If you got herpes at the beginning of the year, and you’re already sexually active again, maybe you should reconsider how much sex you’re having.”

Maybe you should reconsider your right to comment on my sex life, mister. I reported him. Don’t let them say shit like that. It’s not okay.

But you know what is okay? Having herpes!

I have herpes, and it’s actually pretty okay.

(me rn, typing this in the library)

7 notes · View notes

venteast · 7 years ago

Note

hey, long time no talk ;) here is for the ask game, burro’s tail, aloe, pussy ears, string of pearls, lithops, blue elf,moonglow

some succulent asks 🍓

burro’s tail: what was the last dream you had?

I can’t remember my latest dream but it was probably some weird shit, like that time I dreamt I was facing a spider with the face of a goat. Jesus.

May I go back to dreaming SG and JK taking a nap together on a quiet Summer day? Thanks, @brain.

aloe: what is your favorite season and why?

Spring! It makes me feel warm and the weather is so nice. ♡

pussy ears: how do you take your coffee?

I take my coffee with a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk. :)

string of pearls: do you prefer soft pastels, warm neutrals, or cool darks?

Soft pastels. ♡

lithops: how do you spend free time by yourself?

I usually read fanfictions, manga, and books [rarely], listen to music, browse on Tumblr, play with my cats and my dog, watch anime or random videos on YouTube, draw, sleep… Nothing special, really.

blue elf: do you have any favorite scent?

I do! I’m very sensitive to scents, actually. My favorite is the smell of Winter: of melting ice, of approaching rain, of snow blown down from the mountains, but also of rotten vegetation in the fields, plowed earth, wood smoke, bonfires.

moonglow: how do you relieve stress?

Watching Bangtan’s silly videos is the fastest way for me to forget about the world, even if just for a few minutes.

If I’m feeling really productive, taking my time to do my morning routine helps, or just drinking a cup a tea while I watch an episode of Natsume Yuujinchou – the latter is strongly recommended, 10/10 you won’t regret it.

#ask #min-yungii #ask game #hello :D #long time no see #lmao #thank you for asking ♡

2 notes · View notes

joyfullynervouscreator · 7 years ago

Text

The Lost Pebble

Thraín was not the first among Thorin’s family to get lost in Mirkwood; Long before Thorin's Company entered the Forest, another dwarf shared that fate.

She was treated better than the Company, however, and this is the story that explains why Thorin did not get the reception he expected when he stood before the Elvenking.

Catching sight of the Forest Gate, Rhonith drew in a sigh of relief, feeling slightly unsteady. Her side was soaked in blood, making the guards cry out when she was spotted.

“My Lady!” one of them exclaimed, reaching her in a few steps and taking the small pack she carried. “Were you attacked in the forest?”

“Magoldir…” Rhonith replied sluggishly, recognising the younger ellon. “Spider… very big.” Swaying gently, she let him prop her up, hardly protesting when he swung her into his arms, setting off towards the Healing Halls while barking orders that someone inform the King and the Prince of her condition.

Putting the injured elleth down on a cot, Magoldir stepped back, watching as Nestor swiftly cut off her tunic, revealing the bloody tear in her flesh. He winced.

“It’s not too deep,” Nestor murmured, shaking back his green sleeves as he examined the wound, tracing the jagged edges with a finger. “You’ll need to limit use of the arm until it heals, however.” Washing it out with a herbal solution made Rhonith wince, but she did not cry out. Singing a slow tune, Nestor halted the bleeding, gathering up a wad of bandage material and a roll of linen, securing it tightly around Rhonith’s upper arm. “I’ve never seen such a cut before,” he mused, “what made it?”

“A spider, she said,” Magoldir replied, “but sure that was the blood loss talking?”

“No, Lieutenant,” Rhonith replied dreamily, “I said a spider… about as tall as your waist. Quick, too.” The guardsman gasped. With a swift bow, he left the Healing Halls, seeking out the Captain of the Guard to report.

“A spider?” Nestor asked, tying off the bandage. He frowned. Rhonith just nodded, yawning. Removing her undershirt carefully, she frowned at the bloodied state of her breast-band.

Her consideration – Nestor had politely turned away, though it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her in varying states of undress before – was interrupted when the corridor outside the Healing Halls suddenly resounded with loud wailing.

“Healer!” A frantic patrol-guard cried out, bursting through the door holding what Rhonith slowly recognised as a small… dwarfling? Trying to make sense of what her eyes were telling her, she missed most of the elleth’s explanation. “… we don’t know what to do, the babe won’t take milk; we even tried bringing her to Seregiel for nursing!” The name distantly rung a bell, but it took Rhonith several minutes to remember the name of Dúmon’s wife.

“It’s a dwarfling,” Nestor replied wonderingly, but the wailing only increased when he reached out to touch a cheek.

“Give her to me,” Rhonith murmured, having to repeat herself when the two elves simply stared at her.

“Hiril vuin[1]?” the elleth asked, looking between Rhonith’s half-naked and bandaged form and the stern visage of Nestor.

“My Lady, you need rest,” Nestor objected, but Rhonith just scowled, reaching for the small dwarf with her good arm.

“Give her to me, Alacthel,” Rhonith repeated.

“My Lady, you are injured. We don’t know what the spider’s bite may have done,” Nestor cautioned, but Rhonith waved away his concerns.

“It’s a dwarfling; can you think of anyone more knowledgeable in that area in these Halls?” she asked, reaching for the small pebble. Nestor bowed slightly, accepting the argument, but he still looked wary when Alacthel handed the little girl over, happily fleeing. “Shosh, kafnith, astû nusus[2],” she crooned, bringing the small body close to her chest and holding her securely. Fingering one of her longer braids, she flipped it over her shoulder until it brushed against the dwarfling’s hand. The small hand instantly wrapped tightly around the braid as the pebble turned her face against Rhonith’s chest, mouthing at the bindings covering her breasts. The wail that had lessened with the soft khuzdul words began once more. “Nestor, remove my bindings, please.” Rhonith’s voice brooked no argument.

A breathless runner from the Front Gate had interrupted Legolas’ meeting with Captain Bronwe, and the Prince had quickly made his way towards the Healing Halls, speeding his steps at the sound of wailing. Entering the Halls of Healing, he came to an abrupt stop, staring at the display that met his eyes. Rhonith’s breasts were bared, a small golden head nosing against her, still issuing loud cries. He gasped. “Shosh, abadith[3],” she murmured, stroking the pebble’s hair. “Aslâtul[4]?” The tiny dwarfling unerringly sought her nipple, one hand still wrapped firmly around the braid of hair, the other kneading Rhonith’s breast wilfully. Behind her, Nestor was stacking pillows, until Rhonith could lean back in a half-sitting position. The child continued crying when her efforts did not yield milk. “Ai, Legolas.” Rhonith looked up with a smile, when she noticed the intruder. “Go fetch a small pail of goat’s milk and a spoon, please,” Rhonith said. Her attention was focused on the small dwarfling in her arms; otherwise she might have paid more attention to Legolas’ dumbfounded expression.

“What did you want this for?” the prince asked, when he walked back through the door, looking at the things he’d been sent to fetch. When he lifted his head, he was struck once more by the sight of her completely uncovered breasts; too late did he remember to avert his eyes, knowing it was a sight that would haunt his dreams for years to come. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. He wondered if he had entered a realm of fantasies brought to life; would her next command be ‘touch me’? A fierce blush stained his ears cherry red and made his cheeks glow at the idea. Part of him felt ashamed for his lustful thoughts, but another – much larger – part felt nearly crippling jealousy staring at the small golden head of the Dwarf-child.

“You’ll have to help me feed her, I’m not...well,” Rhonith admitted, her eyes half closed, and suddenly Legolas remembered that he’d come running because he had been told she was wounded. “Get one of Nestor’s linen squares and put it on my shoulder,” she yawned, “a corner should reach her mouth and my nipple. Then dribble the milk down the cloth slowly so she can suckle.” Rhonith finally lifted her head from her wailing bundle, only to see the princeling standing in the middle of the room looking lost. “Sit behind me,” she barked. With a slight jolt, Legolas did as he was told, taking position with his back against the mound of pillows and pulling her into his arms, praying she wouldn’t notice his physical reaction to her closeness. With a small sigh, Rhonith settled between his legs and leaned back against his chest.

Lifting the spoon, Legolas felt entirely uncomfortable with his new task, but began steadily dribbling milk onto her chest. When the first drops reached the hungry child, she began suckling happily, snuffling slightly until her tears abated. Rhonith’s left hand was busy holding the corner of the milk-sodden cloth to her nipple and cradling the dwarfling with her right. She closed her eyes, her head falling back to rest on Legolas’ shoulder. Murmured Khuzdul kept falling from her lips, and though Legolas didn’t understand a word he thought it might be a lullaby. Rhonith’s breasts lay uncovered, a sight he had fantasised often, yet reality was far superior to his paltry imaginations. Spread out in front of his eyes was delectable pale flesh, soft rounded breasts with small pink nipples. The sheen covering one from the dwarfling’s mouth and a few stray drops of milk made him convinced he was dreaming. How else would he explain that he had been granted – if not permission for, then at least implicit consent to – this mesmerizing view? Legolas swallowed hard, focusing his shaky hands on their task, not on how much he wanted to touch her bared flesh. The elleth resting against his chest – and this was the part that made him accept that this was reality – did not notice. Nor did she notice his rather obvious interest pressing against her. Legolas tried to block the images stumbling through his head but it was an exercise in futility, he had to admit. As time passed, she relaxed more and more against his chest, her words slurring with fatigue, but Legolas hardly noticed, lost in a daydream of recurring fantasies; Rhonith spread across his bed, hair in disarray and breasts caressed by his own lips, flushed in pleasure; sitting just like he was, but the child being a small elfling with his hair and Rhonith’s eyes. The last image stole his breath in a sharp exhalation of surprise, but Rhonith ignored it in favour of continuing to croon Khuzdul phrases at the dwarfling.

When Thranduil entered the Halls of Healing, it was to the sight of his son sleepily cradling a dozing Rhonith, whose arms were carefully holding a small child to her breast.

“Legolas… what are you doing?” Thranduil’s bemused voice cut through Legolas’ fantasy like a knife through butter. The younger elf winced, automatically tightening his arms around Rhonith, moving a hand up to shield her bare breast. The possessive gesture was almost mindless in its swiftness, as though the sight of her naked was his alone already. Legolas blushed. Thranduil’s smirk widened.

“Saving… pebble…” Rhonith said, sleepily, nuzzling against Legolas’ neck with a sigh. “Pebble was hungry.” With that, she went limp and boneless in Legolas’ embrace. Nestor cursed, bending swiftly to take her pulse. The two royals stiffened in worry, though Legolas kept careful hold of both elleth and Dwarf child – apparently they were called pebbles?

“She came in because a spider bit her…” he gestured to the bandage, “perhaps it carries a sleeping toxin? She claimed it was far larger than a spider should be able to grow.”

“A spider?” Thranduil asked with a frown. “I did not think a spider could take my daughter by surprise, Nestor.”

“This one was apparently the size of a large wolf, Aran-nîn,” Nestor demurred. Both sets of royal eyes widened, staring at the sleeping elleth. The pebble smacked her lips, her small pink tongue making an appearance as she yawned, burrowing against Rhonith’s chest and falling asleep easily, one hand still tightly clenched around a mithril braid. “Magoldir went to report to Captain Bronwe.”

“And the dwarfling?” Thranduil asked. “This does not explain why there is a tiny dwarf in my Realm, Nestor. Where are the parents?” the King barked. Nestor could only shrug. The answer came swiftly, however:

“Thranduil Aran, I have received a raven from Erebor.” Thranduil’s Seneschal Galion interrupted, coming through the door. “The king asks that we keep an eye out for a small child, lost from a Dwarven caravan due to an ambush by what the Naugrim claim were giant spiders.” He frowned at that, seemingly in disbelief, but Thranduil just nodded. Galion continued, “King Thrór asks only that we keep an eye out, and if any small bones are found, to send them to the mountain for proper burial.”

“Well, then,” Thranduil replied, staring at his son. “That explains how…”

“Send a messenger to Erebor at once.” Legolas interrupted, one hand unconsciously supporting the small sleeping pebble. “Tell King Thrór that we have found the child and that we will care for her until her parents can fetch her,” he demanded. His arms remained firmly around their precious burdens. Galion nodded, throwing a glance at his King, though Legolas did not raise his head to see it. Thranduil simply smiled, saying nothing. “When Rhonith is better, I’m sure she will want to meet the parents of Lothig[5].”

“Lothig, ionneg?” Thranduil asked mildly, making Legolas look up sharply. At the questioning looks from his Ada, he blushed deeply.

“Well, we can’t just call her ‘the dwarfling’, can we?” Legolas replied mulishly. “Lothig is a fine name for a small girl.”

Galion frowned, “You’re sure it’s a girl? I can’t tell.” The Prince ground his teeth, but Thranduil interrupted before he could vent his sudden anger.

“You can hardly tell the difference between the genders of elflings, Galion,” the Elvenking mused, mirth glittering in his aged eyes, “if Legolas says the babe is a girl, the babe is a girl.” He stepped forwards, running his finger across the sleeping dwarfling’s ear. “Welcome to Greenwood, Lothig.” Legolas nodded, throwing a glare in Galion’s direction for good measure. The Elvenking turned to the Master Healer, who was only a few millennia younger than him and had been one of Nínimeth’s students so long ago. “Nestor, do make sure my daughter recovers quickly,” he smiled, “the pebble seems quite attached to her temporary ‘parents’.” Thranduil made to leave the Healing Halls, but turned back once to look at his son, “I expect you to take responsibility for Lothig’s welfare, Legolas,” he said, and though his voice was mild it was a clear order. The King did not laugh at the look on his son’s face, but only because long years of experience had taught him better self-control. Legolas had the same panicked look on his face he had seen on many of his subjects when told they were to be a father. Oh, ionneg, this will be good for you… and most amusing for me, he thought, chuckling under his breath.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I can probably find someone else to help feed her,” Rhonith said, when Legolas once more took up position behind her, certain that his ears were giving away every lustful and embarrassing moment of pining he suffered during the course of feeding the pebble, “but it is the only way to feed a pebble this young.” Leaning back against his chest when he didn’t reply, Rhonith spoke softly, her eyes focussed on the tiny red mouth seeking sustenance her body could not provide but latch on nonetheless. “Dwarflings are very attuned to sound and feel, as their eyes are very poor until they reach about three years of age. They orient mostly by hearing, and the sound of a heart beating is very soothing. I’ve never known a dwarfling who would feed in a different manner than what we are doing if separated from their mother, and I can only try to provide her with the comfort she seeks.” Rhonith continued crooning soft Khuzdul words he didn’t understand, but she made the gravelly syllables sound like the softest lullaby. Legolas smiled, stopping himself just before he pressed a kiss against the tip of her ear and ruthlessly returning his focus to his task, providing a steady stream of milk for the pebble to suckle.

“I don’t mind helping with Lothig,” he blurted, delighted by Rhonith’s happy smile and soft laughter.

“Lothig?” she smiled, turning to look at him as his hand crept close enough to caress the tiny ears of the dwarfling. She was much smaller than the elflings he had seen, but her gently waving limbs were perfectly proportional. He had already fallen just a little bit in love with her.

“She needed a name. And her mouth looks like a tiny red flower,” he explained, blushing slightly. Rhonith’s soft smile eased his fears and he returned to rubbing Lothig’s back carefully. “Ada said she was my responsibility until her parents arrive.” Legolas didn’t think it was a hardship – beyond the constant haze of lust he found himself in whenever he thought about Rhonith – but he was determined not to let her see how much she affected him. “I am supposed to keep her safe, and look after you while you heal from the spider’s poison,” he murmured, shuddering at the thought of the massive beast that had attacked her. Magoldir’s patrol-group had gone out to find the carcass, and though it had been mostly scavenged by the time they found it, there had been some very large pieces of exoskeleton left that had convinced the inhabitants of Thranduil’s Halls that they had been invaded by descendants of Ungolianth of legend.

“Thank you, mellon,” Rhonith murmured; she felt weak, still, though Nestor had promised that it would pass within a week or so.

Ten days later, Legolas was still trying to convince himself that his extended exposure to Rhonith’s gently sloping bosom rendered him immune from obsessing over the allure of the pale skin. It was a lie, but he tried to convince himself otherwise. The first day had been the most awkward, until Rhonith had taken pity on him and told him not to feel embarrassed for having been caught looking. Legolas had simply nodded and praised any Valar he could think of that his deeper desires, spurred on by such lovely visions as had been plaguing his dreams, had gone unnoticed by the oblivious object of his affections. It was better that way, he knew, reminding himself of the vow he had made several centuries earlier regarding the elleth who held his heart in her flighty hands.

Currently, they were in his chambers, resting on a reclining divan as Lothig suckled down another meal. Legolas had been astounded to realise how much and how often Lothig would need feeding, but considering the countless benefits, he didn’t really mind; among these he did not count his almost perpetual erection that resurged every time he thought of or glanced at Rhonith’s naked bosom, though he did count the way he was allowed to hold her against his chest. Breathing softly, he inhaled the sweet, flowery scent of Rhonith’s hair, absentmindedly trailing his fingers across her side as she dozed off. Lothig had finished her suckling for now and was resting peacefully in the arms of her surrogate mother. Legolas dared not think of himself in the role of surrogate father except in his most private thoughts and dreams, but the images of his Rhonith, rounded with his child, nourishing his elfling… those images were hard to keep at bay.

When the door burst open, interrupting his pleasant daydreaming, pure instinct had him instantly up off the divan, crouched in front of Rhonith and Lothig, and armed with his two short swords, hissing menacingly at the intruders. The Dwarf who had thrown the door open gasped, an axe springing to his own hands until he caught sight of the half unclothed elleth behind the angry elf. With a curse, he turned his back to them, holstering his weapon with a fluid motion.

“My apologies, fair maiden, for seeing what is not for mine eyes,” he rumbled. Rhonith rose, making her way to Legolas’ side and placing her hand on his arm in a calming gesture.

“No dishonour intended, Master Dwarf, and none done me or mine,” she replied. She had wrapped a small blanket loosely around her chest, but kept Lothig cradled in one arm. Lothig cried softly, the sound Legolas had realised meant she needed reassurance. He sheathed his swords, taking the dwarfling from Rhonith and letting her resettle her impromptu covering. Another dwarf peered anxiously around the doorway, giving a small happy cry when she caught sight of the child.

“Frís! My pebble!” the anxious dwarf cried, reaching for the small dwarfling, whose cries suddenly increased in volume, unsettled by the commotion. Legolas hummed softly.

“You are Lothig’s naneth[6]?” he asked, holding the small dwarfling towards the crying dwarf, who pulled her close to her – his? – chest. Legolas personally could not see the difference between Dwarven sexes, but he had been told, by a patient but bemused Rhonith, that Dwarrow tended to play up the similarities around strangers and outsiders for their own protection.

“Her Amad,” Rhonith explained kindly, when the dwarf looked puzzled. She smiled, “And you must be the worried Adad.” She directed her words toward the tense dwarf whose back was still turned. Legolas moved behind her, retying the laces of her gown which had been undone while they had been feeding Lothig. “You may turn around, Master Dwarf.” The ghost of a laugh played across her face. “I am decently attired once more.”

“I offer my apologies, my Lady…” he trailed off, though he didn’t cower under Legolas’ strong glare.

“I am Rhonith, daughter of Narví, at your service,” Rhonith bowed, one hand fisted over her heart – the gesture must mean something different among Dwarrow, Legolas realised – and placed her soft fingers on his forearm again. “This is Prince Legolas – the son of King Thranduil – who has been helping me care for Lothig,” she introduced.

“Again, my sincerest apologies, Lady Rhonith, Prince Legolas. We were told only that our pebble was in this room,” he ran his hand through his dark blond hair sheepishly, while his wife – Legolas recognised the look on her face as that of exasperated wives everywhere – glared at him. “I am afraid I was a little… eager… in my haste to see my child safe.”

Legolas bristled, his eyes glaring daggers at the rude Dwarf, “I assure you, Master Dwarf, no elf would mistreat a child!” Rhonith’s hand on his arm once more stilled his simmering temper and he limited himself to a slight snarl at the Dwarf.

“Hanar!” the wife hissed. “Apologies, my Lord Prince. We have been out of our minds with grief until your messenger arrived and with worry ever since then. Your messenger did not mention that our daughter was being cared for by someone who knew dwarrow… we feared her half-starved.” She swallowed back tears, clutching Lothig a little tighter. Legolas winced, reaching out to pat her shoulder compassionately. The Dwarf called Hanar tensed slightly, but seemed to realise that the motion was not a threat. The wife smiled slightly, “I am Vrís, daughter of Rekkr, and this is my husband, Hanar, son of Hadar, Master Blacksmith of Erebor.” Hanar bowed, earning him a smile from Vrís, who continued, “This is our daughter, Frís.”

“Frís…” Rhonith murmured. Legolas silently preferred Lothig. “Legolas took to calling her Lothig,” she chuckled, breaking the tension in the room.

“I’m sure Ada would like to meet Lothig’s parents,” he found himself saying, remembering his manners. “Why don’t you join us for the evening meal? I will take you to our guest chambers where you may refresh yourselves and we will see you later.” Legolas offered. Hanar nodded, while Vrís – was it common to give pebbles names that rhymed with their parent’s? – smiled. “I insist you stay for a few days, to recover fully from your ordeal and what I’m sure was a hasty journey here.” Legolas said, well aware that he was offering mostly because he didn’t want to leave the small bubble fantasy he had constructed for himself while Lothig was theirs. “I sent Horthonion to speak to your King when we received his raven, and he is aptly named.” Rhonith kept her hand lightly resting on his arm as the way out of his rooms and down the corridors towards the Guest Wing. Galion would have readied rooms for them even if Legolas had not asked him; the Seneschal was never caught off guard, which was a good quality in a Steward, Legolas admitted, even if Galion lacked imagination.

“Horthonion means son of speed,” she explained, when the two dwarrow looked confused. “He is the fastest messenger in King Thranduil’s Halls, but he is not known for compassion with travelling companions who cannot keep up.”

“Truthfully, Lady Rhonith,” Hanar replied, “once we knew our pebble had not been eaten by those horrible spiders,” both dwarrow shuddered at the thought, and Legolas could sympathise with their revulsion. He had had several nightmares about Rhonith facing one of them alone, and he had only seen pieces of a corpse, not the actual creature, “we were ready to leave within five minutes. Your messenger did not push us harder than we pushed ourselves.”

“If I may, my Lady, how did you know how to care for Frís? I did not think the Eldar much experienced with children of other races,” Vrís asked, lifting her head from the once-more sleeping face of her daughter with marked reluctance. Legolas thought it would be a long time before she relinquished the pebble from her arms, feeling oddly bereft at the thought; he had grown used to holding her small warm body while Rhonith dozed, humming gentle lullabies into her tiny ears.

“Amadê Khazdûna[7],” Rhonith said, turning back to her guests with a smile. A fingernail pinged softly at the bead woven into her hair. Hanar gasped.

“M’imnu Durin![8]” he exclaimed. Vrís smacked his arm, while Hanar turned dark red with embarrassment. Rhonith’s clear silver laugh filled the small corridor. Legolas chuckled.

“E nâthu Narví kafanâlu ‘abban, Zarakâl Niddînabanu Khazad-dûmu. E iraknâtha Durin.[9]” Rhonith’s expression gentled at the almost reverent look on their faces. She switched back to Westron, “My father was an elf, Celebrimbor, Smith-Lord of Eregion, but I spent a lot of my formative years in the great Dwarrowdelf, and I was taught how to care for pebbles… same as any other Dwarf.”

“We thank you, Lady Durin.” Hanar’s voice was hoarse, and beside him, Vrís nodded heartily. Legolas felt slightly amused by their awed expressions, but he knew better than to mention it. He had never truly considered Rhonith’s status among her Dwarven kin, but the mere mention of the Durin name – he remembered her speaking of the name as that of the last of the Kings in what was now called Moria – had made them almost reverent. Opening the door in front of him, he waved the two Dwarrow through.

“Your guest rooms, for as long as you stay here,” Legolas smiled gently. “You will remain undisturbed here and I will send someone to fetch you for dinner.”

“Lothig should not be hungry again for a few hours at least,” Rhonith added with a calm smile. Hanar bowed politely, gratitude still shining brightly in his deep hazelnut eyes.

“If you need anything, speak to one of the elves in the corridors,” Legolas added. “If they do not speak Westron, they will know to find someone who does. Welcome to the Woodland Realm.” With a bow, he closed the door, turning to Rhonith, to offer her a small smile. “How do you wish to pass the time until dinner?” he asked, not quite ready to give up the monopoly on her attention he had enjoyed during this visit. Rhonith opened her mouth to answer, but instead she collapsed against the wall, shaking with laughter she tried to contain by biting her fist. Legolas cocked his head, realising suddenly that their new guests were oblivious to the keen hearing of Elven ears. Behind the door, Hanar and Vrís were whispering furiously.

“How did Narví’s daughter end up in Mirkwood?” Hanar began, “I did not think their King was overly fond of our folk-”

“Oh, simple,” Vrís chuckled, interrupting him breezily. “You saw them together, it was obvious how much love they have for each other,” she laughed. “You fool of a Longbeard.”

Outside the door, Legolas could feel his ears burning. Rhonith was still leaning against the wall, laughing softly. He revelled in the sound. In the back of his mind, however, he wondered how, if a Dwarf, who had known both of them for less than an hour, could see how he felt about her, he had managed to hide his heart from her. Another thought followed swiftly on the heels of that one, however: perhaps Rhonith did know… and she had chosen to ignore his love for her? Suddenly, her laughter stabbed at him, like shards of ice in his heart. He spun swiftly, walking off with a half-hearted goodbye curtly tossed over his shoulder, needing to think, needing to carefully rebuild the shields around his heart he had let slip over the past two lefneir. He might be aware that his love would never be returned; she was too free a spirit to chain her to him, to keep her beside him always, he knew, the words hollow comfort after so long, but no less firm in resolve.

He did not see the way she winced as she watched him leave before she, too, whirled, hurrying back to her own rooms with a soft Khuzdul curse.

When his adopted daughter and his son joined the Elvenking for dinner, Thranduil sighed, tempted to pinch his brow in exasperation with the stubbornness of them both. He had hoped, based on the sight he had walked in on and how protective his son had acted towards both Rhonith and the dwarfling, that either one of them would have found the courage to speak of their obvious love for each other. Instead, he was greeted by his son, looking as close to sulking as he would permit himself in public, and his daughter, looking as though she had raided her wardrobe and jewellery boxes for the most Dwarven outfit she could find, glaring challengingly at Legolas when he happened to look her way and sending him sad, almost hurt glances when he didn’t.

Once again Thranduil cursed the decision he had long ago made not to push either of them, feeling tempted to do something drastic to break the tense atmosphere. It was obvious that Legolas had done something to upset Rhonith, though he couldn’t work out what it might have been. The King’s musings were interrupted by Galion showing in the three dwarrow, little Lothig still held tightly in her mother’s arms. Thranduil knew that she would not soon let go, recognizing in her face the lingering fear of a parent’s worst nightmare, remembering the times he had felt the same when one of his sons were hurt or lost – he still shuddered when he thought of the time Legolas had run off into the Forest alone and lost his way as a small elfling. Thranduil had briefly seen the two Dwarrow running through the corridors, but he had not had the heart to stop them, and he’d warned the guards on duty to tell them where to find their daughter as soon as Horthonion returned with them.

“Thranduil Aran,” Galion began, solemn as always. Thranduil had to hide a smile. Even after nearly three millennia in his post, Galion still felt he needed to be seen as worthy of it, coming off haughty and arrogant to most people who didn’t know him. “These are the parents of Lothig, Hanar, son of Hadar, the Master of the Blacksmith’s Guild of Erebor, and Lady Vrís, daughter of Rekkr.” The steward bowed, leaving the room silently.

“Welcome to the Woodland Realm of Greenwood, Master Hanar, Lady Vrís.” Thranduil nodded at the two dwarrow, gesturing grandly to the empty seats around the table. As they sat, the servants began carrying in steaming platters of food. Roast venison joined golden dishes of baked tubers covered in cheese and the fluffy rolls that had long-ago earned Maeassel the spot as his head cook. “Of course, you have already met my son, Prince Legolas, and my ward, Lady Rhonith, who have been caring for Lothig during her stay here,” Thranduil said, gesturing to the two younger elves on either side of him. “It gladdens my heart to see you reunited once more.” His words were a little stilted, but Thranduil meant every one. As he finished, the one who had been called Vrís seemed to want to say something, but then think better of it. Instead his greeting was answered by Master Hanar.

“Thank you my Lord Thranduil,” he said, standing once more to bow towards Thranduil, who returned the respectful gesture with a polite nod. “How can we ever repay you for the service you have done to my family?” the dwarf continued. At first, Thranduil waved off the words as simply an expression of gratitude, not missing the flash of hurt in the Dwarf’s eyes, but misunderstanding the meaning. Rhonith’s sharp elbow in his ribs made him turn to face her.

“You have to name a service, Atheg. Otherwise, you are saying that the life of his child has no value, a grave insult, and worse for her being a girl,” she hissed in soft Sindarin. “As patriarch of the clan who took in the child, you have to claim something of Hanar, something you hold in equal value to the life of his child.” Thranduil could only boggle at her, but her insistent expression convinced him that she was quite serious about this. No matter how many years he had had interactions with Dwarrow, he thought, he would still never understand their ways completely.

“My apologies Master Hanar, I did not mean to offer you insult,” Thranduil said softly, catching the dwarf’s brown eyes. Beside him, Rhonith relaxed slightly. “Dwarven culture is unlike ours, and at times concepts will be misunderstood. Believe me when I say that we consider your daughter a precious joy to be treasured by all who meet her,” Thranduil bowed his head to the flustered dwarf, who seemed a little lost for words.

“Even so, King Thranduil, you must allow us to repay your generosity,” Vrís spoke softly, but authoritatively. Beside her, Hanar nodded. “My husband is a Master of his craft; perhaps we could make something for your house.”

A flash of an idea popped into Thranduil’s head, and he nodded solemnly. “Indeed, my Lady, I shall think on that. Perhaps you might – during your stay in my Realm – see if you have ideas? I am afraid I have never much cared to learn the ways of smith-craft, and I doubt I would be able to assess Master Hanar’s work adequately. My daughter is a jewel-smith herself, she would know better than I what your kin can do.” He paused, pleased that the Dwarf had not taken his words as an insult to his race. “If you truly wish to repay my family for your daughter’s care, I will ask one thing of you, however, Master Dwarf.” Hanar perked up, swallowing his bite of succulent venison quickly.

“What is it you require, King Thranduil?” he asked, doing his best not to seem wary. Thranduil had lived for many centuries, however, and though Dwarven faces were harder to read than those of Men, they were still not so stoic as Elves. He smiled gently, trying to set the dwarf at ease.

“Elves have a saying, Master Dwarf,” he explained – feeling no need to tell him that it was a Noldorin custom, and not one of his own people’s. Rhonith was part Noldo anyway, he reasoned, it was only fitting. “When an elf saves a child from death, he is bound as its family evermore. I wish for you to follow our custom as you wish me to follow yours, and let the Lady Rhonith be welcome in your home as a sister to your daughter.” Thranduil paused, studying the dwarf opposite him keenly. Master Hanar seemed lost for words, but Lady Vrís smiled gently.

“I accept your demand, King Thranduil,” she said, solemn as a vow. “Lady Rhonith will be welcomed as our honoured sister in Erebor whenever she wishes.” Thranduil bowed, while beside him Rhonith beamed happily.

“I accept your pledge, Lady Vrís, Master Hanar.”

With that, business seemed to be concluded to the satisfaction of all parties and Thranduil breathed a silent sigh of relief, raising his goblet of Dorwinion in Hanar’s direction; a silent toast. He knew that the Master of any Guild would be a considerable power in Erebor; it wouldn’t do to snub the dwarrow too badly and harm the trade his people enjoyed.

“What of your son, King Thranduil? You tell me your family shared responsibility for my daughter; what boon would Prince Legolas ask of me for his kindness?” Hanar asked. Thranduil groaned internally. He had celebrated the end of this awkward business of rewards for kindnesses he felt should be expected of any decent being in Middle-Earth too soon, it seemed. They weren’t Orcs, for Eru’s sake!

“You claim to be a Master smith, Master Hanar,” Legolas said, and Thranduil breathed a slight sigh of relief that Legolas seemed to have an idea; he was coming up blank. “Do you craft weapons? I would feel better not using the blades I almost attacked Lady Rhonith’s new kinsmen with. It seems fitting to me that you replace the blades with which I would have defended your child.” A glance to his side made Thranduil feel exasperated with the two younger elves all over again. Legolas’ eyes were firmly on Master Hanar, but Rhonith and Vrís both looked at his son with expressions he could only call soppy. Sometimes, he wondered how he had raised such a wilfully blind ellon. He hadn’t been nearly as incompetent at winning his own Lady, and he had been burned by a dragon and half-dead at the time! Legolas had no such excuse! Nor, for that matter, was Rhonith blameless, but he at least understood her reasons for keeping silent on the topic even if they had never discussed it openly.

“A fitting tribute, Prince Legolas. Consider it done.” Hanar said, smiling, “I shall make you the finest blades Erebor has ever seen.” Vrís had now turned her soppy look on her husband, who seemed to be blushing slightly under his thick blonde beard. Thranduil drained his goblet, while Rhonith seemed to remember that she was mad at Legolas and changed her soft expression to an angry scowl. Thranduil felt a distinct need for more wine.

A year later, Rhonith returned from a visit to Erebor in the company of Master Hanar, who presented the two short swords he had crafted to Legolas with a solemn face. The grin he hid in his beard at the expression on the Prince’s face went unnoticed by all but Rhonith, who chuckled, admiring the exquisite details of the two swords. Thranduil had to admit that he had rarely seen finer blades wrought by elves, and he was quite pleased with Hanar’s gift for his son. He was even more pleased when the dwarf managed to lay out pipes of plumbing throughout the caves, letting the heated water from their underground pools run freely into several bathing chambers on the upper levels, a remarkable feat of engineering. Most of the Woodland Elves still used the pools, but the Royal Quarters now sported a bathing pool of Thranduil’s very own, which he enjoyed immensely.

Over the formative years of Frís’ life, she would spend time in Thranduil’s Court or Rhonith would stop by Erebor on her travels, building the kinship between the two. Thranduil often praised her for increasing the frequency of Rhonith’s visits, which had tapered off during the last few centuries as Legolas continued to deny his own heart – and hers. He even managed to build a fond friendship with Hanar, whose brand of quirky and inventive craziness continued to surprise the Elf – something rarely found after such a long life. Not all his ideas were equally practical, of course, but even the ones that proved intrinsically flawed were amusing to the Elvenking, who continued to allow the Blacksmith entry into his Realm even after relations with Thrór were strained beyond repair.

Before she married Thraín, Frís could often be found assisting in the meetings of trade delegations between the neighbouring peoples, becoming a valued member of the court, and after she wed the Crown Prince, Princess Frís still maintained the most cordial relations with the Elven delegations and emissaries. Thrór’s advancing goldsickness hampered her efforts at cordial and peaceful relations between the two people, but Frís did the best she could to keep feuds and grudges to a minimum.

When the Dragon came, Frís – as well as the genuine friendship he had built with her father over the years – was the true reason Thranduil went along with Rhonith’s hare-brained scheme to help the Dwarrow behind Thrór’s back. His mischievous side revelled in spiting the Dwarf-King’s edicts; despite his anger at Thrór’s carelessness and calumny, he had no wish to see his neighbours starving and homeless.

[1] My Lady? [2] Hush, little carving, you are safe. [3] Hush, pebble [4] Hungry? [5] Little flower [6] mother [7] My mother was a Dwarf-lady [8] In the name of Durin [9] I am the daughter of Narví, she who is a carver of stones, Master of the Brotherhood of Stone in Khazad-dûm (exclusive guild of engineers). I am the niece of Durin.

#rhonith #fris #Dwelf-'verse #parent thranduil #thranduil is not an arse #legolas #baby dwarf #interspecies friendships

20 notes · View notes

residualnotes · 7 years ago

Text

Mini Reviews - BPAL’s American Gods Waves I and II

So far, there have been two waves of American Gods-inspired scents from BPAL. I've been reading the book and got very excited for the show and perfumes coming out. I jumped on both waves of the release, going in with a friend on the scents. Ajevie, of course, decanted these, and most (except Believe, which was backordered) arrived at my door about three and a half weeks later.

They've had about two weeks to settle, and so here are my early impressions of these. My friend took a few of them off my hands before I could really swatch them, but I've swatched most of them:

America's New Gods - Scorched wires, silicone, tar, chlorine, wax, rubber, and exhaust. I was freaked out by these notes. It’s very … chloriney on first sniff. Mostly, this smells like cleaner.

Becoming Thunder - Skin musk and 20-year aged frankincense, a sprig of asphodel, a spalsh of soma, a lightning streak of sharp ozone, and a stream of ambrosia. This is another scent my friend took from me; it was musky and a little (but not overly) sweet.

Believe - The heart of the land: roots plunging ever deeper into thrumming black soil through the graves of faith, disillusion, and skepticism. This hasn't come yet, as it was backordered. It should be arriving to me sometime this week.

The Best Lies - Sugar-swept honey and rose. Ah yes.. .BPAL honey and rose. Since I amp honey, the honey is overwhelming the rose here :(

Bilquis - Honey, myrrh, lily of the valley, rose otto, fig leaf, almond, ambrette, red apple, and warm musk. This was one my friend wanted. I did not skin swatch this, but it was a warm, honey/rose blend that smelled fairly spicy and sweet to me.

Black Hats - Gunpowder residue, patent leather, pomade, and aftershave. I smell some leather and gunpowder/gray musk. It's not unpleasant. On skin, it's a bit smoky with a sweet undertone very reminiscent of aftershave. After about fifteen minutes, it's strongly gunpowder/leather, which is too strong for me.

The Buffalo Man - Warm dark brown musk, woodsmoke, and deep pools of labdanum. Very dark 'brown' smell, very woody and harsh. On skin this becomes a little lighter, warmed by the labdanum.

Cigarettes and Offerings - Cigarette smoke overlapping with the resonance of long-forgotten incense. There's that smoke note again. It's not really cigarette so much as the unpleasant bacon-ish smoke note I dislike. But it's quieter on skin, with a sweet edge from the incense. After twenty minutes when this warms, it is amping the cigarette smoke now. It's overtaken any hint of incense.

Coin Trick - Glittering gold and silver, rolling over knuckles--concealed in palms--and pulled from the moon and the stars. This is a very bright scent. Without knowing the notes, I might have said it's amber with a citrus element. Honestly, it smells like a man's cologne almost, in the best way (to me). On skin it's bright but musky, if that makes any sense. This definitely has a warm but gold impression to the scent.

Eostre of the Dawn - Jasmine and honeysuckle, sweet milk and female skin. Lightly floral honeysuckle with a milky, sweet musk. This reminds me of nice/high end shampoo or lotion. I will say it leans a little baby powderish at points as it dries down.The jasmine comes out stronger on skin. The throw is pretty strong here as it warms. Now it's more an even jasmine/honeysuckle. Very floral and nice.

For the Joy of It - Whiskey, mead, honey, gold, sweat, and blood. Rather pungent, sweetish. I'm smelling the honey very strongly, and (most oddly), this reminds me of bubblegum and/or bananas. Very odd, and I feel like my nose might be broken except my friend said the same thing as we sniffed this. On skin, I don't smell any of the notes actually in it, but it has a weirdly sweet yet slightly woody scent underneath it. After twenty or thirty minutes, this is oddly spicy--I think the honey tempers the whiskey. I don't really get any 'blood' or 'sweat.

Glass Eye - The depths of Mimisbrunnr: mugwort and frankincense, grey amber, and ash. Bleh. Something really strong up front that smells like cleaner/medicine. On skin it becomes even more unpleasant to me, smelling like a cough drop. I wonder if it's the mugwort. The weird cleaner/medicinal quality to this stays.

The Ifrit - Desert sand, red musk, blackened ginger, dragon's blood resin, black pepper, cinnamon, and tobacco. Very red/sweet in the vial. Reminds me of red gummy candy. I don't really get dragon's blood here though. Finally after an hour or so, the gummy quality/sweetness dies down and I get a red musk.

The Jeweled Spider - Cigarillo smoke, spatters of ice cream sundae, a supersized mug of coffee, a pile of fruit, and a little bit of curried goat. This is weirdly sweet ice cream/coffee. I think… there is probably some curried goat in there which gives this a grounded scent instead of being just pure sugar. It's very odd because this smells like nothing I've smelled before but it's undeniably foody somehow. My nose/stomach is very confused.

Laura - Violets, upturned earth, mothballs, formaldehyde (mixed with glycerin and lanolin, and the memory of the taste of strawberry daiquiris suspended in twilight. A sniff of this is all strawberries with…something… underneath of it. Sniffing closer on skin, there's definitely something underneath of the strawberry, although the strawberry itself is very pure (not sugary at all). After a few minutes on skin, this is sort of medicinal/mothball-y, I think. In about half an hour, this is an oddly biting but light floral.

Low Key Lyesmith - Black clove and cassia flung onto glowing cinders and mingled with slow dripping poisons. I get mostly cinders that burn my throat a little bit. This is bitter and dark. I think this is supposed to be clove, but on my skin it's just extremely bitter/burning ash. After about five minutes, this burn dies off and I can smell the clove a little bit. Then it's just clove clove clove. It's kind of bitter on me.

Mad Sweeney - Barrel-aged whiskey and oak. Weirdly sweet…something. I think that's supposed to be whiskey without the alcoholy tinge. On skin this definitely is more whiskey/oak.

Mama-Ji - Spices, cardamom, nutmeg, and flowers. I didn't skin test this, but I remember it just being very warm and spicy. This is one my friend ordered.

Media - A news anchor's cologne, a soap star's perfume: perfect, pixelated, and glamorous; aglow with cathodes and anodes, coated with phosphor. This actually smells very mainstream, florally and clean, like good shampoo/conditioner. I very much like it, but I feel like I've had many mainstream scents like this before. I see why they describe it as having a phosphorous/glowing quality, because it's very warm and bright.

Mister Wednesday - Sleek cologne, the memory of a Nine Herbs Charm, gallows wood, and a splash of Whiskey. I don't really know with this one. It smells like something bright and crisp to me. On skin it's cologne with a little bit of wood. Overall, this is so soft with very little throw, like the memory of a man's cologne.

Mr. Czernobog - Unfiltered cigarettes, the leather and metal of sledge hammers, aortal blood slowly drying, and black incense. Another one my friend ended up grabbing; I remember this as a pleasant, masculine cologne with a bit of a smoky/incensey edge.

Mr. Ibis - Papyrus, vanilla flower, Egyptian musk, African musk, aloe ferox, white sandalwood. Very light and clean in the vial. On skin, I get a sweet, slight floral with a little musk and aloe. It is beautiful.

Mr. Jacquel - Golden amber, hyssop, North African patchouli, and embalming spices. This is one my friend took. Sorry, but I don't remember it other than it was rather 'brown' and sour smelling to me.

The Norn's Farmhouse - Dusty, ancient wood, horehound and sage with viper's bugloos, mugwort, chamomile, nettle, apple blossom, chervil, and ashes. Apple with a really spicy herb. It reminds me of something I've used in cooking… almost like a pickling herb. I don’t enjoy this, as it's almost … tart and lingers in my nostrils after sniffing. The unpleasantness dies away after thirty or so minutes, leaving something reminiscent of a food cellar.

Search Engine - Dark metal and sour grapefruit creeping over a field of bones. I don't actually have this one in my inventory; I'll have to see if it's somewhere in my bag or if my friend ended up taking it. I remember not liking it though as it was strange citrus over a gray musk (metal).

Shadow - Grey oudh and bay rum luminous with amber. Amazing amber. If Mr. Wednesday is the memory of an older man's cologne, then Shadow is the memory of a new boyfriend's cologne on a cozy flannel. I want to wrap myself in this forever. I actually am ordering a bottle for my SO to wear. It's that good.

Take the Moon - Silvered musk and lemon peel, white fir needle, frosted apple blossom, and mugwort. Lemony, almost in a medicinal way. On skin it's more tart lemon with a very slight apple. Over time, this amps to a pleasant citrusy lemon, very bright. I don't get other notes here.

Technical Boy - Vape smoke and burning electrical parts. It's just what it says it is. Electronics with a smokey edge. This reminds me of Alkemia's Deus ex Machina. Very reminiscent of plastic. The plasticky/electrical parts scent loses its potency within an hour though, and is a little bit of smokey musk.

Zorya Polunochnaya - Pale amber and ambergris, gossamer vanilla, moonflower, and white tobacco petals. Light vanilla. It's beautiful. Hours later, this is pale amber and tobacco against light vanilla.

Zorya Utrennyaya - Sweet black coffee and a touch of ambrette seed. It is sweet coffee without any cream. I don't get any ambrette seed. It's not bad for a coffee scent, but it's nothing unique in my collection. This may have to do with where I skin tested, but this doesn't last very long at all (less than an hour).

Zorya Vechernyaya - Red musk and wild plum, orange blossom and jasmine, juniper berries, sweet incense, and vetiver-laced sandalwood. Sorry, but orange blossom is a BPAL death note of mine and I could smell it from outside the vial. My friend took this blend and I made her open it well away from me.

#perfume reviews #indie perfume #black phoenix alchemy lab #BPAL #american gods #neil gaiman #AG #mini review #wave I and II

2 notes · View notes

chokemeseokjin · 8 years ago

Note

for that ask thing... do em all... all 170... do it 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

OK LET’S DO THIS

1: How tall or short do you wish you were? I wish I was like 5′6″ tbh i’m too tall2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not) fucking dragon mate3: Do you have a favorite clothing style? I like kinda cute pastel shit but not really girly? does that even make sense?4: What was your favorite video game growing up? Nintendogs?5: What three things/people do you think of most each day: My gf, bees and flowers6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say? Approach with caution, cries easily and afraid of loud noises7: What is your opinion on Mo being unfaithful to Jimin? Unsurprising and relatable (ily)8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic] IDK9: Are you ticklish? incredibly pls don’t touch me10: Are you allergic to anything? I’m lactose intolerant so… yeah11: What’s your sexuality? bi bi bi12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa? tea i am a brit after all13: Are you a cat or dog person? B O T H14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson? vampire fam that’d be so cool15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber? either Dan and Phil or Tomska, Dan and Phil are one in my head ok shut up16: How tall are you? 5′10″ :)))17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to? Evie bc that was what i was going to be called and I would prefer it,,,,18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!] idk fam19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits? kinda?20: Do you like space or the ocean more? S P A C E FAM THE STARS ARE JUST !!!!21: Are you religious? nah22: Pet peeves? When ppl walk really slowly in the middle of the fucking pavement23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]? nocturnal24: Favorite constellation? gemini obviously where my hoes at25: Favorite star? Kim Seokjin26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls? the fuck are they?27: Any phobias or fears? the dark n clowns28: Do you think global warming is real? yes???29: Do you believe in reincarnation? yeah i guess I do30: Favorite movie? Super 8! Pls watch it! support my kids!31: Do you get scared easily? yes like seriously easy32: How many pets have you own in your lifetime? 233: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.] BEST BLOG EVER 10/10 WOULD LOVE UNCONDITIONALLY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE AMEN34: What is a color that calms you? Pastel blue35: Where would you like to travel and/or live? Japan and Hawaii! 36: Where were you born? hospital in my home town37: What is your eye color? very blue38: Introvert or extrovert? introvert39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs? I think they’re interesting but the ones in magazines n shit are bullcrap40: Hugs or kisses? hugs pls41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now? my gf :(42: Who is someone you love deeply? ur mum43: Any piercings you want? more on my ears and maybe my nose44: Do you like tattoos and piercings? yes!!!!45: Do you smoke or have you eiver done so? i have yh46: Talk about your crush, if you have one! how to describe min yoongi,,,,47: What is a sound you really hate? metal being like dragged along something u know what i mean48: A sound you really love? kim seokjin when he gets lines :))))49: Can you do a backflip? no i’m not jungkook50: Can you do the splits? nearly lol51: Favorite actor and/or actress? I lov Andrew Garfield with all my heart 52: Favorite movie? u asked this already but I’ll chose another one soooooooo um Breakfast Club bc i am a white girl53: How are you feeling right now? sleepy54: What color would you like your hair to be right now? same colour it is now tbh55: When did you feel happiest? sleeping56: Something that calms you down? watching youtube videos specifically gaming ones idk why but it’s rlly calming57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!] probably lmao58: What does your URL mean? i want. kim seokjin. to choke me. ok? are we clear? 59: What three words describe you the most? a fucking loser60: Do you believe in evolution? yeah61: What makes you unfollow a blog? posting rude/mean stuff or just if I don’t enjoy their content anymore, i don’t mean any harm or anything lol62: What makes you follow a blog? if it’s pretty/memes63: Favorite kind of person: nice people who’re funny and caring and actually give a shit about me and other ppl, not just themselves64: Favorite animal(s): meerkats, giraffes n bees65: Name three of your favorite blogs. @oh-no-its-mo @jinsasleep @taechy66: Favorite emoticon: i’m on my laptop!!!! the sparkly heart!67: Favorite meme: um idk? the in tarnation one is p funny atm tho68: What is your MBTI personality type? fuck i can’t remember the rarest one i know that for sure69: What is your star sign? Gemini, come fight me70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog? no jfc she wont even sit when i ask the hoe71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most? denim mini skirt thing, tights n some cute top 72: Post a selfie or two? no73: Do you have platform shoes? i am tall enough74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself? I hate potatoes 75: Can you do a front flip? no jfc76: Do you like birds? yah77: Do you like to swim? I’m baically Rin tbh78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you? Swimming i have no balance 79: Something you wish didn’t exist: donald trump80: Some thing you wish did exist: free traveling 81: Piercings you have? 5 in ma ears82: Something you really enjoy doing: writing and dying83: Favorite person to talk to: my gf84: What was your first impression of Tumblr? yo it was awful i was superwholock bullshit asshat i still hate myself for it i’ve been here too long85: How many followers do you have? 983!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHY86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes? FUCKING HELL NO87: Do your socks always match? no88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely? yes89: What are your birthstones? emerald 90: If you were an animal, which one would you be? dragon91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be? oh fam a fuckin scabious they’re the shit92: A store you hate? superdrug93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day? i had 6 one day it was a mistake94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds? flyyyyyyy95: Do you like to wear camo? yes sir96: Winter or summer? summer97: How long can you hold your breath for? i can swim a length of the pool underwater98: Least favorite person? donald trump99: Someone you look up to: is it cheesy to say namjoon?100: A store you love? the fat ass topshop on oxford street101: Favorite type of shoes? cute ballet flats102: Where do you live? LDN 103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why? bacon104: What is your favorite mineral or gem? i just thought of that fucking goat meme bye105: Do you drink milk? no i would die106: Do you like bugs? some107: Do you like spiders? small ones108: Something you get paranoid about? e v e r y t h i n g109: Can you draw: a little tho i’m sure others would disagree110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked? idk fam i haven’t rlly been asked one111: A question you hate being asked? is ur hair naturally that colour112: Ever been bitten by a spider? no113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach? yah114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days? sunny!115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now: my gf jfc how many times have i answered with that 116: Favorite cloud type: penis shapes ones117: What color do you wish the sky was? pink118: Do you have freckles? yah 119: Favorite thing about a person: their laugh120: Fruits or vegetables? fruit121: Something you want to do right now: sleep tbh122: Is the ocean or sky prettier? sky123: Sweet or sour foods? sour? i dont rlly like sweet stuff much124: Bright or dim lights? in between aaaaaye125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature? unicorns i read a book when i was little that convinced me126: Something you hate about Tumblr: drama and ppl caring too much about shit that dont matter127: Something you love about Tumblr: making friends and seeing ppls amazing art!128: What do you think about the least? what a weird question um idk slugs?129: What would you want written on your tombstone? fucking finally130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now? Saitama? to see how much it would hurt131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself? my entire being132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures? i dont smile at all if i can help it133: Computer or TV? computer134: Do you like roller coasters? sort of135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness? motion yess not sure about sea136: Are your ears lobed or attached? attached137: Do you believe in karma? yes138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are? a strong -4139: What nicknames do you have/have had? El, Ellz, Petra, Sharpay, bitch, hoe, shut up ellen140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends? yeah141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink? nope142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others? Good most of the time143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help? giving!!!!!!144: What makes you angry? rude people145: How many languages do you speak fluently? two146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries? anyone who’ll have me tbh147: Are you androgynous? no148: Favorite physical thing about yourself: my eyes?149: Favorite thing about your personality: i guess i’m kind idk150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person. my gf (again), Jess and Ellie151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose? dinosaurs, i would make them my children152: Do you like BuzzFeed? their snapchat thing always makes me laugh153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.] through this god damn website thanks to pepekwan, romance at it’s finest kids154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons? yes155: Do you like to play with others’ hair? yes156: What embarrasses you? literally everything157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious: again, literally everything158: Biggest lie you have ever told: i’m straight 159: How many people are you following? too many160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)? 46,715 JFC161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)? none162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)? 1,758163: Last time you cried and why: i can’t actually remember 164: Do you have long or short hair? medium!!!!!!165: Longest your hair has ever been: nearly to my waist166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religon? never really affected me tbh, people can believe what they want to beleive as long as they’re not hurting anyone/ pressuring anyone to believe in it too167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created? not really no168: Do you like to wear makeup? yeah u dont wanna see me without it169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds? no?????170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully? yes I have ur welcome Mo ily

i didnt check this so sorry if there are mistakes lol

#this was kinda fun ngl #ask #mo

2 notes · View notes

readbookywooks · 8 years ago

Text

Tyrion

If you die stupidly, I'm going to feed your body to the goats," Tyrion threatened as the first load of Stone Crows pushed off from the quay.

Shagga laughed. "The Halfman has no goats."

"I'll get some just for you."

Dawn was breaking, and pale ripples of light shimmered on the surface of the river, shattering under the poles and reforming when the ferry had passed. Timett had taken his Burned Men into the kingswood two days before. Yesterday the Black Ears and Moon Brothers followed, today the Stone Crows.

"Whatever you do, don't try and fight a battle," Tyrion said. "Strike at their camps and baggage train. Ambush their scouts and hang the bodies from trees ahead of their line of march, loop around and cut down stragglers. I want night attacks, so many and so sudden that they'll be afraid to sleep—"

Shagga laid a hand atop Tyrion's head. "All this I learned from Dolf son of Holger before my beard had grown. This is the way of war in the Mountains of the Moon."

"The kingswood is not the Mountains of the Moon, and you won't be fighting Milk Snakes and Painted Dogs. And listen to the guides I'm sending, they know this wood as well as you know your mountains. Heed their counsel and they'll serve you well."

"Shagga will listen to the Halfman's pets," the clansman promised solemnly. And then it was time for him to lead his garron onto the ferry. Tyrion watched them push off and pole out toward the center of the Blackwater. He felt a queer twinge in the pit of his stomach as Shagga faded in the morning mist. He was going to feel naked without his clansmen.

He still had Bronn's hirelings, near eight hundred of them now, but sellswords were notoriously fickle. Tyrion had done what he could to buy their continued loyalty, promising Bronn and a dozen of his best men lands and knighthoods when the battle was won. They'd drunk his wine, laughed at his jests, and called each other ser until they were all staggering . . . all but Bronn himself, who'd only smiled that insolent dark smile of his and afterward said, "They'll kill for that knighthood, but don't ever think they'll die for it."

Tyrion had no such delusion.

The gold cloaks were almost as uncertain a weapon. Six thousand men in the City Watch, thanks to Cersei, but only a quarter of them could be relied upon. "There's few out-and-out traitors, though there's some, even your spider hasn't found them all," Bywater had warned him. "But there's hundreds greener than spring grass, men who joined for bread and ale and safety. No man likes to look craven in the sight of his fellows, so they'll fight brave enough at the start, when it's all warhorns and blowing banners. But if the battle looks to be going sour they'll break, and they'll break bad. The first man to throw down his spear and run will have a thousand more trodding on his heels."

To be sure, there were seasoned men in the City Watch, the core of two thousand who'd gotten their gold cloaks from Robert, not Cersei. Yet even those . . . a watchman was not truly a soldier, Lord Tywin Lannister had been fond of saying. Of knights and squires and men-at-arms, Tyrion had no more than three hundred. Soon enough, he must test the truth of another of his father's sayings: One man on a wall was worth ten beneath it.

Bronn and the escort were waiting at the foot of the quay, amidst swarming beggars, strolling whores, and fishwives crying the catch. The fishwives did more business than all the rest combined. Buyers flocked around the barrels and stalls to haggle over winkles, clams, and river pike. With no other food coming into the city, the price of fish was ten times what it had been before the war, and still rising. Those who had coin came to the riverfront each morning and each evening, in hopes of bringing home an eel or a pot of red crabs; those who did not slipped between the stalls hoping to steal, or stood gaunt and forlorn beneath the walls.

The gold cloaks cleared a path through the press, shoving people aside with the shafts of their spears. Tyrion ignored the muttered curses as best he could. A fish came sailing out of the crowd, slimy and rotten. It landed at his feet and flew to pieces. He stepped over it gingerly and climbed into his saddle. Children with swollen bellies were already fighting over pieces of the stinking fish.

Mounted, he gazed along the riverfront. Hammers rang in the morning air as carpenters swarmed over the Mud Gate, extending wooden hoardings from the battlements. Those were coming well. He was a deal less pleased by the clutter of ramshackle structures that had been allowed to grow up behind the quays, attaching themselves to the city walls like barnacles on the hull of a ship; bait shacks and pot-shops, warehouses, merchants' stalls, alehouses, the cribs where the cheaper sort of whores spread their legs. It has to go, every bit of it. As it was, Stannis would hardly need scaling ladders to storm the walls.

He called Bronn to his side. "Assemble a hundred men and burn everything you see here between the water's edge and the city walls." He waved his stubby fingers, taking in all the waterfront squalor. "I want nothing left standing, do you understand?"

The black-haired sellsword turned his head, considering the task. "Them as own all this won't like that much."

"I never imagined they would. So be it; they'll have something else to curse the evil monkey demon for."

"Some may fight."

"See that they lose."

"What do we do with those that live here?"

"Let them have a reasonable time to remove their property, and then move them out. Try not to kill any of them, they're not the enemy. And no more rapes! Keep your men in line, damn it."

"They're sellswords, not septons," said Bronn. "Next you'll be telling me you want them sober."

"It couldn't hurt."

Tyrion only wished he could as easily make city walls twice as tall and three times as thick. Though perhaps it did not matter. Massive walls and tall towers had not saved Storm's End, nor Harrenhal, nor even Winterfell.

He remembered Winterfell as he had last seen it. Not as grotesquely huge as Harrenhal, nor as solid and impregnable to look at as Storm's End, yet there had been a great strength in those stones, a sense that within those walls a man might feel safe. The news of the castle's fall had come as a wrenching shock. "The gods give with one hand and take with the other," he muttered under his breath when Varys told him. They had given the Starks Harrenhal and taken Winterfell, a dismal exchange.

No doubt he should be rejoicing. Robb Stark would have to turn north now. If he could not defend his own home and hearth, he was no sort of king at all. It meant reprieve for the west, for House Lannister, and yet . . .

Tyrion had only the vaguest memory of Theon Greyjoy from his time with the Starks. A callow youth, always smiling, skilled with a bow; it was hard to imagine him as Lord of Winterfell. The Lord of Winterfell would always be a Stark.

He remembered their godswood; the tall sentinels armored in their grey-green needles, the great oaks, the hawthorn and ash and soldier pines, and at the center the heart tree standing like some pale giant frozen in time. He could almost smell the place, earthy and brooding, the smell of centuries, and he remembered how dark the wood had been even by day. That wood was Winterfell. It was the north. I never felt so out of place as I did when I walked there, so much an unwelcome intruder. He wondered if the Greyjoys would feel it too. The castle might well be theirs, but never that godswood. Not in a year, or ten, or fifty.

Tyrion Lannister walked his horse slowly toward the Mud Gate. Winterfell is nothing to you, he reminded himself. Be glad the place has fallen, and look to your own walls. The gate was open. Inside, three great trebuchets stood side by side in the market square, peering over the battlements like three huge birds. Their throwing arms were made from the trunks of old oaks, and banded with iron to keep them from splitting. The gold cloaks had named them the Three Whores, because they'd be giving Lord Stannis such a lusty welcome. Or so we hope.

Tyrion put his heels into his horse and trotted through the Mud Gate, breasting the human tide. Once beyond the Whores, the press grew thinner and the street opened up around him.

The ride back to the Red Keep was uneventful, but at the Tower of the Hand he found a dozen angry trader captains waiting in his audience chamber to protest the seizure of their ships. He gave them a sincere apology and promised compensation once the war was done. That did little to appease them. "What if you should lose, my lord?" one Braavosi asked.

"Then apply to King Stannis for your compensation."

By the time he rid himself of them, bells were ringing and Tyrion knew he would be late for the installation. He waddled across the yard almost at a run and crowded into the back of the castle sept as Joffrey fastened white silk cloaks about the shoulders of the two newest members of his Kingsguard. The rite seemed to require that everyone stand, so Tyrion saw nothing but a wall of courtly arses. On the other hand, once the new High Septon was finished leading the two knights through their solemn vows and anointing them in the names of the Seven, he would be well positioned to be first out the doors.

He approved of his sister's choice of Ser Balon Swann to take the place of the slain Preston Greenfield. The Swanns were Marcher lords, proud, powerful, and cautious. Pleading illness, Lord Gulian Swann had remained in his castle, taking no part in the war, but his eldest son had ridden with Renly and now Stannis, while Balon, the younger, served at King's Landing. If he'd had a third son, Tyrion suspected he'd be off with Robb Stark. It was not perhaps the most honorable course, but it showed good sense; whoever won the iron Throne, the Swanns intended to survive. In addition to being well born, young Ser Balon was valiant, courtly, and skilled at arms; good with a lance, better with a morningstar, superb with the bow. He would serve with honor and courage.

Alas, Tyrion could not say the same for Cersei's second choice. Ser Osmund Kettleblack looked formidable enough. He stood six feet and six inches, most of it sinew and muscle, and his hook nose, bushy eyebrows, and spade-shaped brown beard gave his face a fierce aspect, so long as he did not smile. Lowborn, no more than a hedge knight, Kettleblack was utterly dependent on Cersei for his advancement, which was doubtless why she'd picked him. "Ser Osmund is as loyal as he is brave," she'd told Joffrey when she put forward his name. It was true, unfortunately. The good Ser Osmund had been selling her secrets to Bronn since the day she'd hired him, but Tyrion could scarcely tell her that.

He supposed he ought not complain. The appointment gave him another ear close to the king, unbeknownst to his sister. And even if Ser Osmund proved an utter craven, he would be no worse than Ser Boros Blount, currently residing in a dungeon at Rosby. Ser Boros had been escorting Tommen and Lord Gyles when Ser Jacelyn Bywater and his gold cloaks had surprised them, and had yielded up his charge with an alacrity that would have enraged old Ser Barristan Selmy as much as it did Cersei; a knight of the Kingsguard was supposed to die in defense of the king and royal family. His sister had insisted that Joffrey strip Blount of his white cloak on the grounds of treason and cowardice. And now she replaces him with another man just as hollow.

The praying, vowing, and anointing seemed to take most of the morning. Tyrion's legs soon began to ache. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, restless. Lady Tanda stood several rows up, he saw, but her daughter was not with her. He had been half hoping to catch a glimpse of Shae. Varys said she was doing well, but he would prefer to see for himself.

"Better a lady's maid than a pot girl," Shae had said when Tyrion told her the eunuch's scheme. "Can I take my belt of silver flowers and my gold collar with the black diamonds you said looked like my eyes? I won't wear them if you say I shouldn't."

Loath as he was to disappoint her, Tyrion had to point out that while Lady Tanda was by no means a clever woman, even she might wonder if her daughter's bedmaid seemed to own more jewelry than her daughter. "Choose two or three dresses, no more," he commanded her. "Good wool, no silk, no samite, and no fur. The rest I'll keep in my own chambers for when you visit me." It was not the answer Shae had wanted, but at least she was safe.

When the investiture was finally done Joffrey marched out between Ser Balon and Ser Osmund in their new white cloaks, while Tyrion lingered for a word with the new High Septon (who was his choice, and wise enough to know who put the honey on his bread). "I want the gods on our side," Tyrion told him bluntly. "Tell them that Stannis has vowed to burn the Great Sept of Baelor."

"Is it true, my lord?" asked the High Septon, a small, shrewd man with a wispy white beard and wizened face.

Tyrion shrugged. "It may be. Stannis burned the godswood at Storm's End as an offering to the Lord of Light. If he'd offend the old gods, why should he spare the new? Tell them that. Tell them that any man who thinks to give aid to the usurper betrays the gods as well as his rightful king."

"I shall, my lord. And I shall command them to pray for the health of the king and his Hand as well."

Hallyne the Pyromancer was waiting on him when Tyrion returned to his solar, and Maester Frenken had brought messages. He let the alchemist wait a little longer while he read what the ravens had brought him. There was an old letter from Doran Martell, warning him that Storm's End had fallen, and a much more intriguing one from Balon Greyjoy on Pyke, who styled himself King of the Isles and the North. He invited King Joffrey to send an envoy to the Iron Islands to fix the borders between their realms and discuss a possible alliance.

Tyrion read the letter three times and set it aside. Lord Balon's longships would have been a great help against the fleet sailing up from Storm's End, but they were thousands of leagues away on the wrong side of Westeros, and Tyrion was far from certain that he wanted to give away half the realm. Perhaps I should spill this one in Cersei's lap, or take it to the council.

Only then did he admit Hallyne with the latest tallies from the alchemists. "This cannot be true," said Tyrion as he pored over the ledgers. "Almost thirteen thousand jars? Do you take me for a fool? I'm not about to pay the king's gold for empty jars and pots of sewage sealed with wax, I warn you."

"No, no," Hallyne squeaked, "the sums are accurate, I swear. We have been, hmmm, most fortunate, my lord Hand. Another cache of Lord Rossart's was found, more than three hundred jars. Under the Dragonpit! Some whores have been using the ruins to entertain their patrons, and one of them fell through a patch of rotted floor into a cellar. When he felt the jars, he mistook them for wine. He was so drunk he broke the seal and drank some."

"There was a prince who tried that once," said Tyrion dryly. "I haven't seen any dragons rising over the city, so it would seem it didn't work this time either." The Dragonpit atop the hill of Rhaenys had been abandoned for a century and a half. He supposed it was as good a place as any to store wildfire, and better than most, but it would have been nice if the late Lord Rossart had told someone. "Three hundred jars, you say? That still does not account for these totals. You are several thousand jars ahead of the best estimate you gave me when last we met."

"Yes, yes, that's so." Hallyne mopped at his pale brow with the sleeve of his black-and-scarlet robe. "We have been working very hard, my lord Hand, hmmm."

"That would doubtless explain why you are making so much more of the substance than before." Smiling, Tyrion fixed the pyromancer with his mismatched stare. "Though it does raise the question of why you did not begin working hard until now."

Hallyne had the complexion of a mushroom, so it was hard to see how he could turn any paler, yet somehow he managed. "We were, my lord Hand, my brothers and I have been laboring day and night from the first, I assure you. It is only, hmmm, we have made so much of the substance that we have become, hmmm, more practiced as it were, and also"—the alchemist shifted uncomfortably—" certain spells, hmmm, ancient secrets of our order, very delicate, very troublesome, but necessary if the substance is to be, hmmm, all it should be . . . "

Tyrion was growing impatient. Ser Jacelyn Bywater was likely here by now, and Ironhand misliked waiting. "Yes, you have secret spells; how splendid. What of them?"

"They, hmmm, seem to be working better than they were." Hallyne smiled weakly. "You don't suppose there are any dragons about, do you?"

"Not unless you found one under the Dragonpit. Why?"

"Oh, pardon, I was just remembering something old Wisdom Pollitor told me once, when I was an acolyte. I'd asked him why so many of our spells seemed, well, not as effectual as the scrolls would have us believe, and he said it was because magic had begun to go out of the world the day the last dragon died."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I've seen no dragons. I have noticed the King's Justice lurking about, however. Should any of these fruits you're selling me turn out to be filled with anything but wildfire, you'll be seeing him as well."

Hallyne fled so quickly that he almost bowled over Ser Jacelyn—no, Lord Jacelyn, he must remember that. Ironhand was mercifully direct, as ever. He'd returned from Rosby to deliver a fresh levy of spearmen recruited from Lord Gyles's estates and resume his command of the City Watch. "How does my nephew fare?" Tyrion asked when they were done discussing the city's defenses.

"Prince Tommen is hale and happy, my lord. He has adopted a fawn some of my men brought home from a hunt. He had one once before, he says, but Joffrey skinned her for a jerkin. He asks about his mother sometimes, and often begins letters to the Princess Myrcella, though he never seems to finish any. His brother, however, he does not seem to miss at all."

"You have made suitable arrangements for him, should the battle be lost?"

"My men have their instructions."

"Which are?"

"You commanded me to tell no one, my lord."

That made him smile. "I'm pleased you remember." Should King's Landing fall, he might well be taken alive. Better if he did not know where Joffrey's heir might be found.

Varys appeared not long after Lord Jacelyn had left. "Men are such faithless creatures," he said by way of greeting.

Tyrion sighed. "Who's the traitor today?"

The eunuch handed him a scroll. "So much villainy, it sings a sad song for our age. Did honor die with our fathers?"

"My father is not dead yet." Tyrion scanned the list. "I know some of these names. These are rich men. Traders, merchants, craftsmen. Why should they conspire against us?"

"It seems they believe that Lord Stannis must win, and wish to share his victory. They call themselves the Antler Men, after the crowned stag."

"Someone should tell them that Stannis changed his sigil. Then they can be the Hot Hearts." It was no matter for jests, though; it appeared that these Antler Men had armed several hundred followers, to seize the Old Gate once battle was joined, and admit the enemy to the city. Among the names on the list was the master armorer Salloreon. "I suppose this means I won't be getting that terrifying helm with the demon horns," Tyrion complained as he scrawled the order for the man's arrest.

#ClashofKings

0 notes