#imperial brown ale

[brandonsdrunkagain]

Hit up Grain Creations Brewing for a few, Rusty Cage Brown Ale, Technicolor Bliss IPA, Second Death Imperial Stout. Tasting a few thing from Gilla Brewing, Goose Island, Jester King and others!

[petermorwood]

I COULD MURDER A CURRY... Well, at least commit a certain amount of violence on one.

In other words, I wanted something curry-ish the other day without taking much trouble over it, so I threw this together from what was in the cupboard, fridge and freezer.

(There was rather less than I expected. That's been fixed.)

When I discovered we had no lamb or chicken it ended up as unintended vegetarian, and can as easily become vegan; just leave out the ghee. If my result is anything to go by, all variations will taste great.

NB #1, there's no salt; the preserved lemon has plenty.

NB #2, metric measurements are correct, Imperial are approximate, but this whole recipe was pretty vague from start to finish, so wing it.

That's what I did. For instance, preserved lemon is Moroccan not Indian, yet it worked just fine.

Lemon and lime lentil curry

Ingredients

1 tablespoon ghee or coconut oil (I used a 50-50 combination)

2 onions peeled and chopped fine

2 tablespoon hot curry powder

1 tablespoon mild curry powder (or 1 hot / 2 mild if preferred)

6 cloves of garlic peeled and chopped fine

2 400g / 14oz tins chopped tomatoes in juice

1 400g / 14oz tin kidney beans, drained and rinsed

250 g / 1 cup red lentils

250 g / 1 cup each of red, green, and yellow peppers, sliced and coarsely chopped (optional; we had them in the freezer)

2 heaped tablespoons lime pickle, chopped fine (hot or mild as preferred; Patak brand is good. I used home-made hot)

2 heaped tablespoons preserved lemon, chopped fine (again, I used home-made) *

1 tablespoon garam masala

* If you can't source preserved lemons, use the zest and juice of at least one fresh lemon (two might be better). If you've only got bottled lemon juice, add 125ml / 1/2 cup of it when the tomatoes go in.

Method

Heat your preferred cooking fat in a pan (a wok is even better), add the chopped onions, and cook until soft and translucent. If desired, cook until starting to brown (this may take up to 45 minutes).

Push the onions to one side, allow the fat to flow into the centre of the pan, add the dry spices, combine well with the fat and cook for about five minutes.

Add the garlic and cook for a further five minutes.

Add the kidney beans and lentils to this mixture, stir well, add the peppers, lime pickle and preserved lemon, and stir again.

Add the chopped tomatoes, and one tomato-tin full of water. (Also add the lemon juice (and zest), if that's what you're using instead of preserved lemons.)

Stir well, turn the heat right down, cover, and simmer for about 30 to 45 minutes. (This is where I'd have added 2 cubed chicken breasts, if I'd had them).

Check occasionally to ensure nothing is sticking, adding a little water if required. Taste during this process, and adjust the seasoning. (Which means, if you're using fresh lemon or bottled lemon juice, this is when to add some salt.)

When the lentils are done (I like them a little al dente), sprinkle on 1 tablespoon garam masala, stir it in then serve.

Accompany with Basmati rice, or chapatis (flour tortillas / wraps will do just fine), or naan bread, or any combination of these. I did a mix of 1/3 brown Basmati / 2/3 white Basmati.

@dduane pointed out that what with the carbs, protein, dietary fibre etc., this is also quite healthy. That's an unexpected bonus for something I just thought was no trouble to make, tasted good...

And didn't involve committing even a minor felony, though a slice of apple tort to follow would have been nice... :->

[drabblesandimagines]

Warm Palms

Clive Rosfield x afab reader Fluffity fluff, slight spoilers, mentions of period

Clive has always been a light sleeper from a young age. From his training as a Shield of Rosaria and later a captured soldier of the Imperial Army he knew sleeping left you vulnerable. Any slight noise was a threat that needed to be assessed, then either dealt with or dismissed.

He would admit, however, that he had been sleeping somewhat easier since you’d started to join him in bed.

Too long had both of you ignored the feelings bubbling under the surface, only coming to a head after a pint too many of Molly’s brown. Molly had headed off to bed when the two of you were her only remaining patrons, and to avoid your voices echoing around the ale hall Clive had invited you up the stairs to his room to finish off your drinks. It was only when the two of you entered, he realized he didn’t have anywhere to sit - the chair at the desk being the only seat in his room. So, the two of you had sat on his bed, knees knocking, until a combination of the sweet smile on your face as you listened to him speak and a surge of confidence had resulted in his lips meeting yours before escalating into a passionate, frantic kiss.

You’d spent your nights in his bed ever since – whether he was there or not, he’d discovered, returning late one night from an excursion and finding you fast asleep in his sheets.

It takes him a minute to realize what’s woken him up. The waters of the blighted lake lapping upon the walls of the hideaway, the soft hoot of the stolas in his chambers, and then a soft grunt of pain coming from your side of the bed.

Your breathing is different, not the steady state of one asleep, but that of someone trying to tolerate discomfort. You shuffle ever so slightly, obviously trying not to disturb him and wince as you do so.

“Darling?” He whispers.

“Sorry,” you mutter back. “Go back to sleep.”

He leans up, slightly – you’re facing away from him. “What troubles you?”

“It’s nothing,” your voice hitches for a second. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, tilting you towards him so he can see your face, catching a wince.

“Love?”

You open your mouth but take a moment to say anything. “It’s my monthlies.”

“Ah.” He nods, as if he knows much of the subject. The truth was, you were the first woman he had been intimate with and though you had been together a fair few months now, he hadn’t heard you mention them previously, assuming they had happened in times of his absence. “Painful, I take?”

“Mm. It’ll pass.” An unconscious grimace crosses your features once more. “Please, go back to sleep. You never get enough – I feel guilty for disturbing it.”

“I can hardly sleep easy knowing my lady is in discomfort.” He sits up then, reaching for his discarded linen shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll go down to the infirmary, I am sure Tarja will have something…”

Your hand grasps his arm, stopping him before his feet touch the wooden floor. “No, Clive. Please don’t wake half the hideaway on my account. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He frowns – he doesn’t want to go against your wishes, but he can’t lie back down knowing you’re in any amount of pain. You’re so precious to him, every wince or soft noise of pain is like a dagger to his heart.

“Please.” You reiterate, and he concedes, dropping his shirt back.

“I must do something.”

“Just stay – that’s enough.”

But there must be something more he can do, he thinks, as he leans back against the wall slightly, taking you in his arms and pressing his lips to your forehead in what he hopes to bring momentary comfort.

A conversation overheard dredges up in his mind – a time in the infirmary, after Tarja insisted he sit still for ‘at least ten minutes’ after she had stitched up a gash on his arm and he’d complied to save her the stress. From the other side of the curtain, he heard her speaking to one of the young girls of the hideaway who’d started her monthlies, providing her with information, talk of painkilling draughts and herbs and also a mention of a warm compress upon her stomach to relieve the cramps.

He looks at his palm in the dim light. Since the reawakening of Ifrit all those years ago, he’d tamed the flames that ran underneath his skin more and more, able to change the intensity at will. He concentrates hard, just enough to bring an imperceptible layer of warmth to his palm and touches it experimentally to his face – he’d never wish to burn you. It feels soothing upon his skin.

“Do you trust me?”

“You know I do, love,” you mumble from your place on his chest.

“Roll onto your side a moment.”

You don’t question, doing as you’re told. Maybe if you hadn’t been tired and uncomfortable you would’ve questioned it more. Once you’re on your side, Clive readjusts himself onto his own side, his broad chest pressing onto your back and he slips his hand around your waist, dipping below the slip you wear to bed, up your thigh and eventually landing on your stomach. You’d gone to protest, unsure of what he was thinking, but when his palm pressed upon your skin it was comfortingly warm, soothing the rolling waves of pain in your stomach.

“Does that help?” He asks, tentatively, but he had already felt your tense muscles relax at his touch.

“Very much so.” You sigh into the pillow. “How…?”

“Thank Ifrit.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head, before rubbing soothing circles upon your stomach.

“Thank you.” You reply, softly. “It feels wonderful.”

“Anything for you, my darling.”

Clive continues to rub his palm on your stomach until he hears your breathing slip into the rhythm of sleep he knows so well. He nuzzles his face into your neck, feeling content. His palm remains in place all night, the warmth keeping the pain at bay and granting the two of you a restful sleep.

--

Ghostdog: I'm on my period and I can't find my hot water bottle, so Clive's imaginary palms will have to do.

Thank you so much for all the requests! I am working on a few at the moment <3 Wrote this more for me but I will have some requests up in the next few weeks. There's some other characters I'd be happy to write x reader fics for in FFXVI, so do let me know! x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Fma is my favourite anime of all time and its so insane to think that it came out when it did because if it came out NOW it would be heavily criticized for being "too woke" like. It's the only anime I can think of that

- criticizes the military

- talks about imperialism and genocide (ishwal)

- has highly capable female characters (olivier Armstrong, Wendy, riza, etc)

- has a brown character who actively seeks revenge for the genocide against his people

+ SO much more

Like.. oh my god I cannot tell you how amazing fma is and I cannot wait to see your live reaction to it

I look forward to it. It's blown me away so far, and it's so masterfully done. I really appreciated the approach on the episode where Ed and Al first go back to meet Izumi, and the respectful way losing a child was treated. And in the previous episode the celebration of birth! Beautiful and painful.

[cuchufletapl]

sacrifices we're willing to make

Double drabble for Edling Week 2024. Day 3: flame / solstice / time loop / redamancy

@edling-week

AO3

As the sun’s orange light caresses the horizon of the Xingese Imperial capital, Ed finds the courage to bring it up.

“Remember after we fought Father, when I was trying to find a way to bring Al back?”

“Yes?”

“You— When you—“ A frustrated sigh. “Before I came up with trading my alchemy, you offered to use the philosopher’s stone you had.”

Ling sits up, his fancy robes pool around him.

 “Would you ever expect me not to?”

“The fate of the Yao clan, of all of Xing, depended upon that stone.”

“Saving your brother was more important then.”

An incredulous look.

“I would’ve found another way to become Emperor.” His brown eyes gleam with the sunset. “What kind of leader would I be if I disregarded my friends, the people that I care about, like that?”

Ed stares at him for a beat, then looks forward. A convenient breeze shifts his bangs and hides the sentimental quirk of his lips. “A pretty crappy one, huh.”

Ling hums.

The balcony they’re in is secluded, none of the bustle of the palace reaches them here. The silence is full nonetheless.

“You would’ve done the same for me.”

“Yeah. In a heartbeat.”

[a-queer-seminarian]

"Tickets" by Palestinian resistance poet Samih al Qasim (1939-2014)

The day I'm killed my killer will find tickets in my pockets: One to peace, one to fields and the rain, and one to humanity's conscience. I beg you - please don't waste them. I beg you, you who kill me: Go.

Find more info about al Qasim under the readmore.

Samih al-Qasim very much believed in the power of poetry as a tool of revolutionary change, seeing it as water that drips and drips until, at last, a stone is worn down.

Al-Qasim was born in 1939, making him 8 or 9 for the 1948 Nakba, when over 700,000 Palestinians were driven from their homes by Zionist militias.

His family remained, and Al-Qasim actually had Israeli citizenship — which means that he was expected to serve in the Israeli army. He very publicly became the first member of the Druze faith to refuse to serve, writing a letter to the prime minister to say that he was born for poetry, not the gun.

Across the years, his poems were often banned, he was imprisoned multiple times, and he experienced the terror of being hounded by the Shin Bet, the Israeli secret service. In the end, he died of cancer, not Israeli guns or bombs — but it’s clear from "Tickets" that he knew death by murder was all too possible.

This article by Liam Brown, which shares one of al Qasim's last interviews, is definitely worth reading. Here's one quote from it:

"I am a resistance poet, and not only Arab and Palestinian resistance. I am a poet of international resistance. ... I always say racism, Zionism, imperialism - they will beat us only in one condition: that they make us give up our humanity. I will not allow anybody to take from me my humanity…that is my trench. It is there I fight and nobody can ever take from me this barricade.”

[atopvisenyashill]

So disguting to see Martells white stan acting like anti racist & POC allies because they stan fictional brown people (lbr Martells are clearly Catholic Italians) but so many of them are silent on the Palestinian genocide (but thankfully that means they wont use anymore the screenshot of GRRM saying he based Dorne on Palestine).

the martells are not "clearly" catholic italians, they are actually based on the moors, which was a shorthand for "muslims" regardless of race, so it refers to an entire religious-ethnic group of the maghreb, al andalus, and malta, which is a wide swath of area but if you'll notice - it does not include Italy because we are in the Iberian Peninsula and not the Mediterranean. If we're talking "people we consider white that Dorne is based on" the answer is Wales not the Italians. There are Welsh Marches and Spanish Marches, Welsh rulers called themselves "Princes", they were culturally different from the rest of the Isles, etc. Also, being a hypocrite about Palestine isn't going to stop people from saying that Dorne is based on Palestine because that's not a fandom thing people made up, that's just the truth. It's literally right there in plain english on so spake martin:

And beyond that - idk why you would say Dorne is Catholic Italy as if Oldtown and the Hightowers aren't right there being Medici as FUCK like come on now.

As for your other weird ass point...a lot of people in the imperial core - no, not just the USA, I will not let Canadians and Brits get away with pretending like they don't have western privilege, thanks - are uncomfortable with the idea that they benefit from the suffering of PoC in the third world, or that they may yet have some unlearning about their own complicity and ignorance to the sufferings of others. Yes, I find it annoying, frustrating, infuriating that someone can spend all their "fun" time critiquing the Targaryens for the Dornish Conquest or Dany for the mess in Meereen and Astapor yet are incapable of turning that criticism inwards because it might mean they have to think about parts of themselves and their privilege they don't want to, but you can say this about every fandom because what you consume does not necessarily mean you understand what you're consuming. Look at how Bojack Horseman essentially had to turn to the audience and say "Bojack is not a man you want to be like you fucking freaks" because the subtext was not sinking in. Look at how a bunch of Broadway stars got together to sing "Bring Him Home" as if Les Miserables isn't based off a true story where a group of oppressed people rebelled through violent action including kidnapping nobility and those of the royal family for ransom. The dissonance is everywhere; when I notice someone who seems too far gone into some bs racist colonizer mindset, I simply unfollow and/or block. It's just not worth my time to debate whether a genocide is a genocide.

Also, this is a really weirdly worded ask and I would deeply appreciate if people didn't do this in my ask box. If you want to genuinely discuss politics, fine, go hit up my main, if you want to genuinely discuss fandom racism or asoiaf in general, also fine, but whatever this ask is? It's tacky and I need you to really think about the way you're bringing a real life genocide going on right now that your tax dollars are paying for into this fandom nonsense.

[klarionthewizard]

Imperial Headcanons: Thrawn

Thrawn:

-can't draw a stick figure to save his life

-writes lovely poetry if you don't mind an excess of blood, war, death, tactics, and hunting instincts metaphors

-his best work is in his native language, his Sy Bisti stuff is decent, some of his favorite metaphors don't carry over that well into Basic

-hates the idea of eating bugs

-is deathly allergic to capsaicin, the way he finds this out is very unfortunate

-bleeds white, this makes his uniform convenient for him and hell for his medics

-can and will bite, every bite leaves scars

- has a rumor circulating about him that says that his bite is poisonous. It's not true but Thrawn does nothing to correct it

-in the end, all the rumor manages is to confuse Thrawn about the difference between being poisonous and venomous

-mostly carnivorous but adores jorgan fruit

-has a ridiculous sweet tooth even by Chiss standards, could and would eat an entire crate of licorice by himself if you let him

-his favorite licorice is the salty brown kind, this information nearly caused a mutiny on the Chimera

- can't see as well in the dark as a human without his infared sight

-his range of vision is something like 425-1200nm, this means he can't see most shades of purple

- actually likes the taste of bacta

-also adores lum ale (which is an actual canon thing, the ale anyway, and apparently what bacta tastes like)

-likes strategy games, his favorites are Rack and Ruin, Stay the Course, and Alterstar

-thinks dejarik is over rated and not challenging enough

-wears subtle red and very occasionally gold eyeliner

-when he can be convinced to do something elaborate, his skill with eyeliner and eyeshadow art is ridiculous

-loathes the texture of lipstick

-his office has an arcane organization system that appears messy to the outsider. the only thing that looks organized is his art collection

-will walk off being shot, absolute baby about getting anything more serious than a three day cold

-the piece of Chiss tech that he misses the most are the blasters. the Imperial ones are atrocious to everyone but Thrawn has a special hatred for them that's infamous among Imperial command

-least favorite art styles: suprematism and pop art because he's a major art snob

-favorite art styles: specifically Chiss impressionism and Denon's neoclassicism, though he has a fondness for street art of any flavor because of how inventive and interesting it can be

-seems like he would be a sad drunk, is actually very inquisitive and impulsive. this is a problem because his basic is very bad when he's drunk

-is one of the few people Piett knows that can outdrink him without cheating (aka: using the force to filter the alcohol out of your blood, my lord)

[fandomshatepeopleofcolor]

Sometimes, I feel like death of the people's princess outshadowed the fact that Dodi Al Fayed died alongside her as well. But, I guess the public did not care about the death of a Brown man nor the grief of his Brown family.

- mod sodapop

[laz-laz-ace-pilot]

I keep thinking about Wilmon Paak.

How his father was murdered by the Imperials to be a show of force, which ultimately led to Wilmon throwing the bomb at their hotel base. How the same egotistical officer wanted the Empire's weapons displayed outside for the same show of force, and how that exacerbated one bomb into many.

How he closely mirrors Cassian at that age, but with the support of the community behind him.

How we don't know if his father got a funeral, if the Imperials ever returned his body for cremation and bricking. Given that he was publicly hanged and deemed a traitor, I doubt they'd allow anything on the scale Maarva recieved.

But also how this is the first time I've seen a brown child fighting back against oppression that doesn't demonise him, or belittle or pity him. Years and years of NCIS bullshit and the like, with racist narratives of child terrorists who were misled, who were intrinsically more violent, who attacked the people 'who were only there to keep the peace'.

And this subverted that. Andor said actually no, the invaders are the aggressors and they murdered his father. His actions are the rational conclusion of unjust oppressive control he's under. The Imperials are never redeemed, there's no 'good people on both sides' - instead we see his father's murderer disheveled, crawling on his hands and knees, before demanding more violence against civilians.

Because historically, most rebels didn't look like Luke Skywalker. They looked like Variamkunnatha Kunjahammid Haji, or Omar Al Mukhtar, or any number of SWANA and Asian rebels faced with European invasion. They looked more like Wilmon Paak.

And Wilmon is protected by his community, gets evacuated out. No 'all terrorists get their justice' ending. He lives.

And I can't stop thinking about that.

[spilledbutter]

shining in your light (a knight, my love, a knight)

Summary: Jaskier's days as a single man are numbered. With family obligations knocking at the door and no escape in sight, he knows he will soon be forced to marry.

Things are further complicated when he meets a beautiful, brown-haired witcher by chance in a tavern one night.

Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: M | WC: 3k+ | CW: coarse language, implied sex

--

A (very) belated Witcher Writers Winter Gift Exchange 2022 (@witcherficwriters) fill for @matrixfairy! I hope you enjoy, friendo, and sorry it's so late!

Also on AO3! I anticipate at least two more chapters, if not three, to finish everything up.

--

When he was younger, Jaskier imagined life to be a fairytale.

Grand adventures, beasts to be slain, and knights in shining armor. 

“Yeeugh,” the man groaned out from the tavern floor where he’d stumbled before him, covered in mud and smelling of horse dung. 

Real life never was quite like he imagined it would be.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Jaskier’s hands fluttered uselessly in front of him, wanting to help but not quite sure if the other man was injured. He hastily put aside his tankard of ale and lute. 

“Sir? Can I help you with anything?” He called when he received no reply. It took a moment, but the man finally raised his head, turning surprisingly keen, golden eyes on Jaskier. He’d thought he was dealing with a drunkard.

He knew he should feel exposed, perhaps intimidated, under such a sharp gaze. Jaskier had never been prone to the reactions of normal people, however, so he felt nothing of the sort.

Surprisingly, he only felt warm, heat pricking his collar. 

Warmer still, as he took notice of the strong jaw, full lips, and long lashes cradling those honeyed irises. His eyes scanned over a set of broad shoulders, topping off a barrel chest, and what he was sure were delectable abs underneath a ruby-colored gambeson. 

Covered in mud he may be, but a pig he was not. 

“You talkin’ to me, pretty thing?” The rumbling, rich baritone shook him out of his stupor. Jaskier planted a charming grin on his face, casually running his hand over his chin in a thoughtful pose to check for drool. Gods above.

“Ah, but the man does speak! Are you sure you’re alright?”

The other man sat up, leaning against the wall. “Just peachy,” he grunted, leaning his elbows on his knees. “No need to worry, pretty thing. My kind are made for a bit of wear and tear.”

Shit. And a smile meant to break a man’s heart, to boot. 

Well. Jaskier had never been one to resist a pretty face.

“Can I help you? Buy you an ale, maybe?”

The grin turned devilish, topaz eyes shimmering with mischief. “Aye, and a bowl of stew if you’re going to bed me,” he winked. “Probably need the energy. You seem like a wild one.” 

Jaskier flushed, shocked and pleased all in one. He returned the wink with a provocative smile of his own. “A gentleman never tells, my dear.”

He held out a hand. A little flirtation did not an acquaintance make. Jaskier was no fool, either.

Two swords on his back. Heavy traveling cloak, worn at the hem and tattered. Scarring on his face and forearms - from some beast or other, no doubt. 

A witcher. Very interesting indeed.

Those discerning eyes stared him down, assessing, before seeming to make a decision. A strong hand clasped Jaskier’s own.

He pulled the other man up with only a little effort and noted the surprise on the witcher’s face. He felt no small amount of pride. He didn’t have a witcher’s bulk, but he wasn’t a small man by any means.

Now that he was standing, Jaskier took full stock of the other man’s form. His new friend had about three inches on him and at least a hundred pounds. Jaskier felt a pleasant tingle run down his spine. It was rare he met a delicious man like this on accident.

“Jaskier,” he announced in his most imperious voice with a courtly, sweeping bow. “At your service.” 

The other man quirked his lips, amused. “Eskel.”

Jaskier felt giddy. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Eskel. I believe I promised you an ale?”

That lovely half-smile doubled in size. “Aye. I believe you did.” 

###

There wasn’t much talking after they went upstairs. Jaskier’s rented room was small, the bed smaller, but it would do the job. 

“Darling,” Jaskier purred once the door was shut, “That armor is quite dashing, but I have to say you’re a tad overdressed.” 

Eskel’s warm body pressed against his with a mouthwatering pressure. With the wall at his back and the absolute boulder of a man at his front, he’d never felt happier about being cornered. A rough hand grasped his jaw, calloused thumb brushing against his bottom lip.

“Pretty words from a pretty mouth,” Eskel rumbled in his deep baritone. Golden eyes bored into Jaskier’s own, pinning him with their intensity. “D’you sing just as sweetly?”

Jaskier smirked wolfishly, wrapping his arms firmly around Eskel’s neck. “I’m sure you’ll find out.”

A husky chuckle, followed by a throaty moan. And then the night was silent.

###

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open, moonlight filtering through the tiny inn window. 

He quietly took stock of the pleasant soreness in his limbs, aches in places which meant he’d had a very good night indeed. It took a few moments for him to become aware of the hard chest beneath his ear, carpeted with smattering of dark hair.

He came fully into awareness, remembering his night with Eskel and feeling a goofy smile bloom across his face. He was almost too comfortable using the witcher as a pillow. He would be perfectly content to lounge around until Eskel woke up. Maybe convince him to go for another round… But loathe as he was to move, he knew he needed to get back home.

As quietly as possible, he disentangled himself from the body below him. He dressed in silence, distinctly aware of every swish and rustle of fabric making their way to sharp witcher ears. He put on just enough clothing to be decent for the trek back, not wanting to delay any further.

Jaskier looked back at the man on the bed. He truly had the body of a god, looked absolutely delectable with a sheet just barely covering his exquisite cock. Blessedly, he’d had the skills in bed to match, which Jaskier was quite thankful for.

He looked oddly vulnerable, soft brown curls falling into his eyes and face lax with sleep. The moon’s rays danced across his striking features and made his tanned skin glow. He was the picture of inviting.

He was beautiful. It was a shame this was only for a night.

“May our paths cross again, Eskel,” he spoke softly.

Jaskier slipped out the door, unaware of the witcher watching him leave.

###

His nightly outings were becoming more common the closer he got to his impending doom. Since he’d passed his twenty-first birthday, Jaskier knew he was living on borrowed time. He knew his father would make things as unpleasant as possible.

Men of the Pankratz family were honor-bound to marry by the end of their twenty-first year. If they had not made a match by this time, a match would be arranged for them by the head of the household. The legend (or so he was told, although it all sounded like horse shit) went that were this rule not met, a curse would befall their house and lands, blighting all who lived within them. 

Or something. He’d never really paid attention during his governess’s lessons, dreadfully boring woman that she was.

But he was damned sure everyone in his house believed in the legend. Without a doubt, he’d be turned out on his ass for the first respectable gentleperson that came calling for him. He was under no illusions that his father had his best interests at heart–far from it, in fact. The sooner they’d be rid of him, the better.

Nothing like a parent’s love, eh?

He bitterly chuckled to himself as he stepped into the shadowed gardens below his quarters. Right turn at the archway. Left at the lavender bushes. Two steps and a hop across the charming little pond with the frogs he’d played with as a child. Now just a shimmy up the trellis to his open window and he’d be home free. 

He should really look into doing this professionally. He’d make an excellent spy.

Jaskier crested the windowsill, feet on the warmed stone floors. The embers of the fire were still hot in the hearth, no doubt stoked by his diligent valet. let out a yawn, feeling his eyes start to droop. 

“I imagine I’d be tired too, after an acrobatics routine like that.”

He jumped about a foot in the air. He did not shriek, thank you very much.

“Jana, you witch!” He hissed, blue eyes blazing. “Perhaps I should put a bell on you!”

She smirked, green eyes glinting maliciously. “And where would be the fun in that?” 

She was the devil incarnate. Evil in the flesh. He loved her to pieces.

“Sister dear,” he hummed, stepping towards his wardrobe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just checking on my dearest Julek. Thought you might be tossing and turning tonight, is all.”

Jaskier squinted at her before turning back to his clothes. He grabbed a nightshirt and stepped behind the changing screen. “And why ever would I be restless?”

He didn’t need to see her face to know she was laughing at him. “Just a… feeling I had.”

He quickly stepped out from behind the screen, more comfortable now in his loose night clothes. He stepped towards the basin to wash his face. Jana was sitting primly on the bench, legs crossed daintily, looking serene as ever. 

Something was definitely wrong.

“Oh?” He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of true curiosity. She was unbearably smug about this little talent of hers.

She got like this, sometimes. Jana was prone to feelings—no one in their family called them premonitions, per se, but it was hard to find a different word to describe them. Sometimes it was small things, like an unexpected change in the weather, but there were other times, too–like when she’d gotten a bad feeling about Aunt Margot’s cold, and she’d passed within a fortnight.

Jana hummed, noncommittal, and tossed her long, chocolate locks over her shoulder. “Something is going to happen tomorrow. Something big. And it concerns you, brother dearest.” 

Jaskier didn’t respond, mind racing. He schooled his features, maintaining the indifferent mask he’d learned as a son of the peerage. The tournament tomorrow was for the benefit of the Pankratz House. It didn’t, however, directly impact Jaskier in any notable way–not more than it would impact them all.

“We shall see, I suppose. Now, if you don’t mind,” he pointedly shuffled towards his bed, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he passed. “I need my beauty rest.” 

He’d turned down the covers and was just about to snuff the light when Jana approached him, ruffling his hair. He huffed. She turned away toward the door with a smile.

“Indeed we shall, little brother. Tomorrow.”

###

The morning dawned bright, trumpets and birdsong intermingling with the fresh dew. The sunlight was dappled through the trees in the clearing and the air smelled of late spring blossoms.

It was far too fine a day for such nonsense.

“Hark! Hear ye, hear ye! On this day commences the Tournament of Koselig, attended only by the most honorable of knights and lords!”

The opening speeches were always dull as watching paint dry. The Pankratz family was seated in the box with the best view of the action at the head of the field. He was expected to smile and nod as the competitors passed their box, acknowledging the brave souls fighting and potentially losing life and limb. All for the sake of their entertainment–and today, the dubious honor of ruling the shittiest parcel in the province.

It made him sick, to be honest. 

“You don’t suppose we could slip out after the announcements, do you? I’m sure Vincent could be convinced to cover for us with the right motivation.” He winked at Jana, earning a giggle in return.

“You know we can’t, Julek. Besides–I really do have a good feeling about today. Something important is going to happen, I just know it.” 

Her feelings were not to be dismissed. It was sure to be an eventful day, for one reason or another. He just hoped it wasn’t at his expense.

“Jana, Julian, do be quiet. Where are your manners?” His mother tutted, one elegant brow arched. She was the spitting image of his sister, with a few more lines around her eyes and streaks of gray through her hair.

“Apologies, mother. I seem to have forgotten my patience today,” Jaskier smiled sweetly. “Must these things be so terribly tedious?”

“It would do you well to watch your tongue, Julian. Comes with the territory. A Viscount is expected to behave and attend events such as this.”

“Only a Viscount in name, father. Don’t you worry–you’ll never have to bless me with more responsibility than that with our dear Jana here.”

The tension between father and son was palpable. Jana discretely squeezed his hand in support. 

Jaskier’s relationship with his father had never been the greatest, but they had reached an all-time low recently. He felt like he was on a tightrope, closer and closer to falling to the brink as each day passed. Who–or what–his father had in store for him was a great source of anxiety. And two of them weren’t exactly the types to have heart-to-heart chats, so his fate would inevitably be a surprise. Joy of joys.

In other circumstances, he’d be filling the gaping pit of anxiety with a glass of wine and a warm body, but alas. Duty called, as his father liked to remind him.

“We have the honor of being hosted today by the esteemed Pankratz family: the Earl Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove, Lady Maria Pankratz of Lettenhove, Lady Jana Pankratz of Lettenhove, and Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove,” the herald carried on. “The knights and lords present will compete today for the honor of overseeing one of his Lordship’s properties in Hygge, a parcel of land which…”

Jaskier found his attention drifting beyond the stands, the announcements a tiresome buzzing in the background. From the looks of it, every person in the city of Koselig had turned out for the event, and probably the neighboring cities too. They were practically giving away a prize today, wrapped up in a neat, entertaining package and decorated with a ball. It was no wonder it looked like the entirety of coastal Redania had arrived on their front lawn. 

He wasn’t surprised. His parents were well-liked for their fair ruling of the lands they controlled, but they were equally liked for the lavish parties they liked to throw. It wasn’t all a front, but every event, gift, and act of service was part of a carefully calculated plan to keep the populace happy and maintain appearances.

His mother, for all that she was kind, was incredibly shrewd and good with people. She knew what would keep them happiest (and what would shut them up). His father was a strict man, committed to the principles of duty and obedience. At the same time, he wouldn’t hesitate to manipulate a situation in his favor. Jaskier loved them, but he didn’t always like them.

Hygge was a sizeable estate just shy of a week’s ride north of Jaskier’s home in Koselig. Its accompanying village was full of fishermen and farmers alike, with the coast nearby and plenty of fertile land to till. The former Lord who’d ruled over the property for the last twenty years had died two months prior. Rather unfortunately for everyone, he passed without an heir. Even more unfortunately, he had done a poor job managing things in the last five years. Much work would need to be done by the new proprietor.

His parents needed someone to manage the property and township. Jana, as heir to their family estate, had been assisting with the property in the months since the former Lord’s passing. This obviously wasn’t a long-term solution as she would take over in Koselig one day.

They had decided to select a new proprietor, ideally a knight looking to settle down or a lower member of the peerage without many responsibilities. And because his mother had a flair for dramatics, what better way to find someone willing than a tournament?

It was great marketing, he had to hand it to her. Undoubtedly, they would find someone today.

“Gentlemen! Please present yourself to the venerable Pankratz family!”

Jaskier put on his most polite and courtly smile for the introductions. One by one, the assembled lords and knights stepped up to the box. There was a Lord Valdo from Cidaris who seemed utterly obnoxious–-gods, he hoped he didn’t win. A knight from Roggeveen with a peculiar mustache. Another Lord So-and-So from Denesle who sounded absolutely drunk off his ass—that would make for a good show. 

He almost fell out of his chair when he spotted a familiar red gambeson and mop of brown hair. Flashes of last night sent a rush of blood to a very unfortunate place as he locked gazes with a familiar pair of golden eyes. 

Their bodies meeting in an intimate embrace. Eskel’s calloused hands gripping his hips tightly. Deep, rumbling groans as Jaskier rode him. The insatiable desire for more. And afterward, those same work-worn hands stroking soothingly down his back. Sweaty bangs tenderly brushed off his forehead. A gentle hand cleaning him up with a rough-hewn cloth. A handsome face, enhanced by scars, relaxed and sated in sleep.

Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

Eskel dipped into a formal bow. “Sir Eskel, Witcher of the Wolf School.” 

“Ha!” His father burst out, with great amusement. “A witcher, competing in my tournament! Surely you can’t be serious.” 

“Deadly so, my Lord,” Eskel’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes cool. Despite this, he gave no outward signs of annoyance, his posture remaining relaxed and easy. 

“Oh?” His father raised an imperious brow. “And do you meet the entry requirements? One must be an established member of the peerage or a knight to compete. This isn’t a tournament for just anyone.”

“How fortunate, then,” Eskel drawled, “that I am knighted. His Royal Highness, Windhalm of Attre, knighted me four summers ago. Dealt with a rotfiend problem he was having, nasty business.”

Alfred did not say a word, but one look at his face said enough about his frustration. Eskel paid no mind.

“Convenient as well that he granted me the title Baronet of Attre, as a personal honor for my services. Still a peasant at heart and in title, but the words are pretty, yeah?”

Eskel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in a seemingly bashful gesture. “Aye, a shame I turned the land down at the time. After all, a witcher? A proprietor? Can’t be serious.” He gave a deep belly laugh at the thought, throwing his head back. “Changed my mind, though. I’ve rather come to like the idea of settling down.” 

The tension could be cut with a knife. Jaskier, his sister, his mother–hell, even the herald–all waited, staring at Alfred in suspense.

“Well then, my Lord? Do I pass the test?” The witcher gave a winning smile, the epitome of mannerly but possessing an air of cold detachment Jaskier knew his father detested. It was the same persona his father used at court.

Color crept up Alfred’s collar. Jaskier could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He hid a smile behind his hand, biting his lip. Entertainment, indeed.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Well, Sir Eskel of the Wolf School, Baronet de Attre, it certainly seems you do. We look forward to seeing you… compete.” Alfred gave a stiff and reluctant nod, dismissing him. The moment was over.

Or, well, Jaskier thought it was.

Eskel gave his family another formal bow. His eyes met Jaskier’s with intention as he rose back to his full height. Jaskier felt his breath catch in his throat as gold met blue. 

There was something there, in his gaze. A heat–not the burning kind, no, but something pleasant. Like hot cider on a winter’s night. Like a fire to warm cold bones--or an aching heart. Jaskier felt a shiver down his spine.

He felt trapped in that stare, unable to look away. He gave a coquettish smile, unable to resist his natural flirtation even for a moment, particularly with the witcher. Eskel gave a charming, boyish grin back, inclining his head deeply before turning away.

And oh, what a lovely sight he made. Although his trousers really did look better off…

“What the hell was that?” Jana hissed into his ear, breaking the spell Jaskier had fallen under.

“What was what?” Jaskier asked in his best attempt at innocence, rubbing sweaty palms against his knees. 

“You know what. Do you know him?” 

“We may have met before - hard to say, I meet a lot of people.”

Jana scoffed, pushing against his shoulder with her own at his non-answer. Jaskier laughed, fondly, and turned his attention back to the field.

Neither of them noticed Alfred’s piercing stare as he eyed them with suspicion.

(1/3)

[fromthedragonswake]

i've never kept a ldb beyond their initial playthrough bc i tire of them so easily BUT i finally have one i'm keeping i think

info on her below the cut

GENERAL

Name: Liavinne Varro Alias[es]: Vin is what she introduces herself as, less out of necessity and more just the fact she's not a fan of her full name. friends get to call her Vinnie Gender: female Age: 28 Race: half breton, half imperial. she's got some bosmer & nord ancestry in there as well Birthdate: 4E 173 Place of birth: Cyrodiil Hometown: Bruma Spoken language[s]: tamrielic [common tongue]. gods help her if anyone tries to communicate with her via anything else Sexual preference: bisexual Occupation: is "Dragonborn" an acceptable professional occupation? if not, she'll write herself down as adventurer

APPEARANCE

Eye color: light blue [relevant] Hair color: very dark brown Height: 5'7" / 169 cm Scars: several on her face, received during her time in the synod conclave via an altercation with a summoned scamp

FAVORITE

Colour[s]: can't pick a favourite, maybe purple and red shades? Instrument: drums! lutes and flutes are nice and all, but nothing soothes her as much as the sound of a steady drum Food: plain meat stews. if you give her anything with seasonings she may keel over and die Drink: ale

HAVE THEY

Passed university: she comes from Bruma, she has no formal education LMAO Had sex: no Kissed a boy: yes Kissed a girl: yes Gotten tattoos: she's thought about it but no Gotten piercings: no, the idea of having a hole in her skin frightens her Been in love: not truly Wanted to kill someone: barring out of self defense? yes, and she feels terrible about it

ARE THEY

A virgin: ya A cuddler: yes A kisser: sure Scared easily: yes Jealous easily: no Single: i made her with the intention of romancing Taliesen or Gore but idk! she's single for now

RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have / had a job: nothing formal, just odd jobs here and there Have any fears: loneliness, death, vampires, daedric influence, having no purpose

FAMILY

Parent[s]: Jullus Varro [father] and Florianne Maborel [mother] Sibling[s]: she's an only child Children: in this economy? Other immediate family: Lyon Varro [uncle] and Marius Varro [grandfather] Notable ancestor[s]: Martin Septim [great great grandfather], Cyella Stenric [great great grandmother and my HoK], Uriel Septim VII [great great great grandfather I GUESS]. she doesn't find out until she meets Sheogorath Pets: no. maybe in the future when she's settled down, right now she'd feel too bad leaving a pet at home while she adventures

MISC TRIVIA

Song[s] I associate with her: Your Answer - Masayoshi Soken, Close in the Distance - Masayoshi Soken

[littlehen]

Recipe: Butternut Squash Macaroni Cheese

This is based on a recipe for Brown Butter Sage Butternut Squash Mac & Cheese, by Palestinian home cook Mariam (aka Mxriyum):

I saw it on soothifying-sounds-asmr tumblr: link

Mariam's website with the written recipe: link

Having tried it, it was delicious! These are just my notes on how I would make it next time. The quantities were for 8 servings, in imperial measurements. I cross-checked with a very similar Nigella sweet potato mac & cheese (link) that I love, to create metric quantities for 4 servings.

Shopping List:

300g dry pasta - rigatoni, but I'd like to try it with a little shape like spiralli next time 60g butter Fresh sage, handful - didn't have fresh, so I used 1/2 tsp dried 400ml warm water - could add a little stock/bouillon/dashi

500g butternut squash (1 small squash) 1 garlic bulb 1 onion Olive oil, S&P, 1 tsp oregano I also added some brown sugar

60g grated mild cheddar 60g grated gouda/emmental 75g parmesan or feta (Plus another 25g of your favourite cheese to sprinkle on top)

Greens to serve (e.g. tenderstem broccoli)

Method:

1. Make the vegetable puree. You could do it in advance, either in the morning or the day before.

Pre-heat oven to Gas 6. On a baking sheet, lay out the vegetables. Squash: I sliced it in halves like in the video, but I think it'd cook more evenly (be softer, easier to mash) if chopped into big chunks. Onion: quartered. Both vegetables should be drizzled with olive oil, S&P, oregano - I also sprinkled some fine brown sugar because the recipe mentioned caramelisation, and I thought sugar might help with that.

Garlic bulb: slice off the top, so the tops of the cloves are exposed. Rub with oil and S&P, then enclose in a square of tinfoil.

Roast the veg for 35-40 mins. When ready, let it cool for 5-10 mins.

Blend all the veg, add splashes of warm water as needed, may need to do in batches.

You can now store the vegetable puree in the fridge until later.

The recipe emphasises saving the pasta water, but this means you can't make the puree until you've cooked the pasta, i.e. you have to do this complex and lengthy recipe all in one session. The only reason to use pasta water is because it contains starch that would thicken the sauce - I reckon the squash already has plenty of starch, and the liquid's purpose is to loosen, not thicken the puree. Therefore I think a jug of warm water would be fine here. You could flavour it with bouillon/dashi, but the veg is already so flavoursome after roasting, it doesn't need it. (If concerned about thickening, just use a little slurry of cornstarch or flour.)

Along with the salted pasta water, the recipe suggests onion powder and garlic powder. Again, if you've roasted an entire bulb of garlic, I'm not sure what garlic powder is adding? Plus, those powders usually contain salt - to reduce salt and keep it simple, I omitted those.

2. Grate all your cheese.

(I bought it ready-grated because I have weak wrists and I hate grating, lol.) Buying more than one kind of cheese is expensive, this would still be delicious with 120g of cheddar, but the Continental cheese adds a fun stretchy texture. The recipe also calls for a lot of parmesan (originally 4 oz / 113g for serving 8). I had some parmesan to use up, so I did use it, but parmesan is salty and expensive! The Nigella recipe uses feta, I think this would be an acceptable substitute, as it adds flavour but is cheaper.

3. Cook the pasta until al dente (1 or 2 minutes less than the cooking time on the packet).

Meanwhile, melt the butter over a medium heat in a light-coloured pan, so you can see when it's browning. When it starts foaming, add the sage. When the butter starts to get brown particles in it, remove to a heatproof container.

Strain the pasta, then add it back into the empty pasta cooking pot. Toss in the brown butter.

(Less washing up this way! Also: the brown butter certainly adds a lot of flavour, however you could do the whole recipe and skip the brown butter and it would still be a very tasty meal. Dairy products in the UK currently cost a small fortune, plus there are the calories - but then if you're worried about those, you probably should make a different dinner.)

4. In a large cooking pot, warm up the vegetable puree and simmer on low. Slowly add the cheese, and splashes of warm water as needed (pasta water here?) Taste and salt as needed.

5. (Step 4 is also a good time to start cooking your side dish of broccoli.)

6. Add the buttery pasta to the puree/sauce. Mix all together. Simmer 1 min.

7. Serve with leftover cheese on top, sage to garnish, broccoli on the side.

[johnathan-armanithan]

Grab your favorite from the fridge, crack it open, and be sure to reblog so someone else can grab theirs.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Ioke (Kingdom of Ichor)

Age- 45 (immortal)

Location- Lunar district, New Olympus

Personality- An observant individualist, she's comfortable being in the background, noticing the details of her surroundings that most people overlook. She's also resourceful, independent, & a self described feminist. She's dating.

She has the standard abilities of a goddess except shapeshifting. As the goddess of pursuit, tumult, & battle rout her other powers/abilities include enhanced speed (not to the extent of other messenger deities like Hermes or Iris, but far greater than her sister-in-law), invisibility, enhanced combat skills, and power/energy redirection.

Ioke is the younger sister of Homadus (god of the battle-din). She has one child- a daughter Alala (goddess of the war cry). Other members of Ioke's immediate family include her sister-in-law Proioxis (goddess of attack, onrush, & battlefield pursuit), her niece Anaideia (goddess of ruthlessness, shamelessness, & unforgiveness), and her nephew Olethrus (Olly) (god of havoc).

She lives on the outskirts of the Lunar neighborhood in New Olympus in a sturdy log cabin house (which she built herself) near the Nightfall Forest. The interior design is casual & athletic with leather furniture, metal furniture pieces, and various animal fur rugs & decorative pelts. The sword that Ioke used during the war (which was forged from Imperial Gold) proudly hangs on display on the main wall of the living room. Its name is Lightstriker. The color scheme of her place is neutral shades of ivory, steel blue, pastel green, & gray. Ioke has a few pets- a few vizslas and siberian huskies. Their names are Dash, Echo, Kai, Timber, Ghost, Amber, Sienna, and Zara.

She can run throughout Olympius in less than 10 minutes compared to Hermes who can make the distance in a few seconds tops!

Ioke always starts off her mornings with a run along with her dogs through the forest. She'll then go on a walk with them through Eaglepoint Park before stopping by the Power Zone gym for a high intensity cardio workout. Because of her overzealousness in running, she has unintentionally damaged a few treadmills!

She used to be married to Polemos (god of the war cry). Their initial relationship started from a brief hookup and before Ioke knew it, they were married & expecting a child. They both grew comfortable with the fact that their marriage was a loveless one. She was well aware of the fact that he was carrying on with Hybris (goddess of insolence, hubris, & reckless pride). The only shared moment of genuine care and mutual respect between Ioke & Polemos was the birth of their daughter. She views her divorce as a "second birthday."

A go-to drink for her is coconut water. She also likes beer, cola, coconut milk, ginger ale, Strengthify ionized water, red wine, gin & tonics, classic martinis, and mojitos. Her usuals from The Roasted Bean include an olympian sized dark roast coffee, a large iced tea, & a large iced green tea.

Ioke and her daughter have never been super close, not even when Alala was a kid. Sometimes she feels insecure and envious over the close bond Alala shares with her father. Ioke once jokingly remarked that Polemos was her daughter's "true mother." She still makes the effort to reach out to her daughter with a check-in text here and there as well as a bimonthly visit. A small stride has been made with Alala inviting her Ioke to a "girl's trip" of sorts to Lemnos in the summer!

A typical breakfast for her is a large bowl of Golly Grains salted caramel curls cereal. Her other favorite flavor is the s'mores one. She also likes the chorizo breakfast hash she makes that has scrambled eggs, diced jalapeños, scallions, chopped hash browns, sour cream, salsa, & potatoes as well as slices of toasted wheat bread topped with fig jam.

Ioke loves her brother, even if she feels like he's behaving like a "total asshat." She was the one who came to Homadus' defense when he got into financial trouble and even offered for him & his family to stay at her place till they got back on their feet. Now, she knows better than to offer her brother a loan or anything that resembles financial help. A pasttime that they both partake in that fade away all their stresses is cooking, especially when Ioke stops by the motorhome park for a visit. They'll usually end out the day pigging out on jibaritos & beer while watching wrestling on their smartphones.

Her favorite frozen treat is rocky road ice cream.

She loves listening to rap and rock music.

Ioke is a HUGE fan of indie and professional motor racing. Every year she looks forward to the Olympian Grand Prix, the most widely known & exclusive motor racing event in all of Olympius. Even with her status as a minor deity, pictures of her taken by the paparazzi has been at these events. She also frequents auto shows too!

A guilty pleasure for her is an olympian burger along with olympian sized onion rings from Olympic Chef.

A secret desire of hers has been to start up a car collection.

Ioke is the common shoulder to cry on for her sister-in-law Proioxis when she laments about her financial situation and marriage. She doesn't try and give advice, instead remaining non-judgemental & supportive.

Though she lives frugally, she doesn't mind splurging every so often on her dogs, racing events, auto shows, and sneakers.

Her favorite thing to get from The Bread Box is the french dip sandwich (with extra dip).

For income she models for/endorses Momentum & Vita!, the athleisure brand of Nike (goddess of victory).

Ioke's best friend in the pantheon is Ichnaea (goddess of tracking). She's even the noná to her daughter Phyge (goddess of escape) who's a couple months old. Ioke loves visiting Ichnaea and her family in Phrygia, where the two go on hunting trips!

She's also friends with Dyssebeia (goddess of ungodliness & impiety), Axiótimos (god of honor), Palaestra (goddess of wrestling), Lelantos (Lantos) (Titan god of air, the unseen, & hunting), Nárkosi (goddess of sedation), Pallas (Titan god of battle & warcraft), Auge (goddess of first daylight), Limos (goddess of starvation & famine), Taygete (one of The Pleiades), and Lycana (Titaness of lycanthropy).

She's aware of her ex-husband's new wife Enyo (goddess of war, destruction, bloodlust, & devastation) having briefly met her. Ioke holds no ill will towards her.

Her all time favorite dessert is the coconut cake from Hollyhock's Bakery.

As for her love life, Ioke is currrently dating an up-and coming mortal race car driver named Valerio Baros. They first met at a high class auto show and she asked him out on a date a few weeks later at a racing event. She's enjoying her time with him and not placing any expectations on both of them. Ioke says that his kisses makes her go weak in the knees.

In her free time Ioke enjoys boxing, working out, go-karting, basketball, archery, football (soccer), rollerblading, playing pool, cooking, reading, spending time with her dogs, spending time with her friends, swimming, and spending time with her family.

Her all time favorite meal is pastelón.

"While we are postponing, life speeds by."

[nwbeerguide]

Their 27th edition Firestone Walker Brewing releases Anniversary Ale XXVII.

image courtesy Firestone Walker Brewing Company Press Release Paso Robles, CA: Firestone Walker today unveiled “XXVII”—the latest edition of its storied Anniversary Ale, blended once again with the help of local winemakers.   “This beer was created with experience, passion and collaboration, sparing no expense to celebrate our brewery’s 27thanniversary,” said Brewmaster Matt Brynildson. “This may be our most eclectic Anniversary Ale to date—a testament to the blending skills of our winemaker friends.”  The result is XXVII—a masterwork of flavor and complexity, blended from five distinct ales aged in bourbon barrels. XXVII (single boxed 12-oz bottles) is rolling out now in limited quantities to all Firestone Walker markets. It is also available at each brewery location and online at FirestoneBeer.com for a limited time.  Blended to Perfection Firestone Walker resides in the Paso Robles wine country, home to some of California’s most decorated winemakers—many of whom Brynildson has befriended over the years. Ever since making the brewery’s inaugural Anniversary Ale in 2006, Brynildson has leaned on his winemaker friends to help create a complex and harmonious beer from a variety of distinct barrel-aged components. This year’s blending session took place on the afternoon of June 28.  “These winemakers are practicing experts in the art of blending, and it’s always amazing how they help us create a beer that is greater than the sum of its parts,” he said. “It’s a fun, competitive and spirited experience whenever we get together.”   This year’s blending session marked the 18th occasion of this annual summer rite. As always, the winemakers broke into teams to create their own candidate blends from a variety of barrel-aged components. Next, the winemakers and brewers blind tasted all of the candidate blends, then voted as a group to crown the winner that would become XXVII. XXVII: The Final Blend Brewmaster’s Tasting Notes: “The finished blend is deep dark mahogany in color and expresses decadent up-front barrel aromas with notes of toffee and cocoa powder close behind. The mouthfeel is smooth and silky with rich caramel flavors complemented by toasted nut, vanilla and coconut accents. There is a beautiful balance between a rich malt character, a top-shelf bourbon spirit and chocolate truffles. An absolutely stunning barrel-aged beer and a true testament to the winemakers’ skill in blending not only for aroma and flavor, but also for texture.” DDBA Batch 10k - Aged in Wheated Bourbon Barrels (33%) Imperial Special Bitter Dividing Time - Aged in Wheated and Rye Bourbon Barrels (29%) Munich Wine Made in Collaboration with Private Press Bravo - Aged in Bourbon Barrels (13%) Imperial Brown Ale Rip This Joint - Aged in Bourbon Barrels (13%) Imperial Stout Made in Collaboration with Side Project Velvet Merkin - Aged in Bourbon Barrels (12%) Milk Stout The Winemakers Molly Lonborg – Alta Colina Kevin Sass – Halter Ranch Along with Beer Club Member Ezekial Palmer This team created the winning blend that became “XXVII” Sherman Thacher - Thacher Winery Janelle Dusi – J Dusi Wines Billy Grant – McPrice Myers Russell From - Herman Story Wines Jesse Juarez – Desparada Wines Steve Martell – Kaleidos Bastien Leduc - Seven Oxen Estate Wines Pete Turrone and Kyle Jury - Booker Wines Pete and Alex Slosberg – Pete’s Wicked Ale Cassi & Nigel King – Beer Club Members Mark Smolyar – Hopped.com from Northwest Beer Guide - News - The Northwest Beer Guide https://bit.ly/3QJhlOv