#panbread

[flock-keeper]

"I mean...if I saw someone panbread (dead) I dunno what I would do in that situation, especially twa people?"

"I've seen some traumatic stuff before. I've lived in Spikemuth for a while, but I dunno...I have a complicated relationship with the polis...they do fuck all most of tae time where I live. I would talk tae a private investigator instead."

[ystel]

Mixing sweet and savory spices

Lufasan cooking can be very plain, such as simple buckwheat panbreads consisting only of flour, milk or another liquid and salt, but there are also many dishes that have a large amount of seasoning, often mixing sweet and savory-aligned spices and flavors. Black pepper is often added to rich desserts to give it an extra kick and sharpness that prevent them from being just overly sweet. Sugar is often added to herbs and garlic, while spices like cinnamon as well as licorice frequently find their way into savory dishes.

Often, plain food is combined with flavorful ones to give a rounded taste. Particularly popular is slightly salty buckwheat porridge with sunflower seeds or less sweet, bready Juniper cookies with sweet cinnamon peanuts. Another example is sweetened garlic curd, often eaten in soups and on buckwheat groats, or both combined.

Many spice blends and condiments exist that combine other popular flavors, and restaurants will often offer a lot of them at the table or as options on the menu.

Image sources: Franz Eugen Köhler, Köhler's Medizinal-Pflanzen (Pepper and cinnamon), Public Domain; William Woodville: „Medical botany“ (Garlic)

[torontoseoulcialite]

The best part of @stk.toronto was the pan bread and the blue cheese butter. Seriously. Everything else lacked flavour and was served cold. I know it's #Yorkville, but for the price I really do expect a wonderful experience, not a lackluster, cold, flavourless meal. 🥩 // #stk #steak #steakhouse #steakdinner #panbread #caesarsalad #yorkville #toronto (at STK - Toronto) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9J1t2BBX9C/?igshid=kq8nc0cz4fln

[rubensnemitzjr]

Sourdough clássico ancestral. Água, sal, levain, farinha branca, e lá está o trigo dourado 🌾 . . . . #homemade #artisan #breads #sourdough #trigo #paescaseiros #paocaseiro #artisanbreads #panbread #levain #wheat #flour #panificamentos https://www.instagram.com/p/B0woTvfgy6j/?igshid=rl4a86im7eh7

[tinatamale]

#indiantaco & #friedmeat w #panbread was our #breakfast on the #Miccosukee tribe reservation at this little restaurant. I love fry bread dressed w ground beef, beans, lettuce & cheese. The other dish was like #chicharrones but of #pork belly & the bread was kinda like #arepas. Our full bellies then made our way to our airboat tour. #FIPCFL19 #latepost #tinaandruthtakeflorida19 #indigenouspeople #indiansofflorida #traveltoeat #travelingtina #adventuresoftinatamale (at Pam & Ted's Restaurant) https://www.instagram.com/p/BxdP9PeBtJR/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=17gd4s6t2fmje

[lamechellephotog]

I also found those red bean custard buns Minnie loves! 😻😋💕 There's several variations of it. 👀 I plan to try them ALL! 👏😂 Thailand 7/11 mini food tour!🍽️ Pt5 Ok that's it for now! I'll post more items later! 📸 @7.eleventhailand _ _ _ _ _ #EXO #엑소 #시우민 #Xiumin #김민석 #EXOL #redbeanpastebun #minseok #baobuns #redbeanbun #foodie #custard #lotus #blacksesame #panbread #sweets #desserts #foodadventures #baozi #thailand #bangkok #dinner #7eleventhailand #snacks #conviencestore #myminnie #seasia #yummy #asian https://www.instagram.com/p/BvzPwrqBfir/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=173v75f303ge3

[einfachleckerschnell]

Hey,

Here Is an panbread recipe video on my YouTube channel. Take a look if you like and comment what you think about it and what I could do better 😊

Thanks for watching

[pancakes-discourse]

Welcome to Pancake Discourse

Recipes for Gfiewgjknsiorjgiostan (often shortened to Gfiewistan) and other Ystelian pancake variations, pancake-inspired foods, flatbreads and much more will be posted here – all original, gluten-free, and either vegetarian or with a vegetarian option.

Plus fun facts and histories surrounding existing pancake varieties from around the world!

–––

Pancakes were the first food I learned to make from scratch, and are still one of my favorite foods to make. However, growing up in countries where pancakes are merely decently popular wasn’t enough to prepare me to how central they are to life in Gfiewgjknsiorjgiostan.

Pancakes or their eggless cousins, panbreads, are the most important staple in Gfiewgjknsiorjgiostanian cuisine, being absolutely ubiquitous, eaten by all layers of society at any occasion in every part of the country. Over the centuries, since the first pancake was made in this country, they lost none of their popularity.

At first it seemed a bit odd to me, as if the country was obsessed with pancakes. But I quickly found myself agreeing with the people of Pancake Stan Country. After all, all you need is flour, a liquid and a decent pan with a good source of heat, and you can make basic panbreads. Add eggs to the batter and you have some pancakes. Cooking them is very straightforward and takes almost no time, and gives you something extremely versatile in use, allowing for sweet and savory options and everything inbetween, and making both for a tasty stand-alone dish as well as a foundation for something bigger and even better.

In short, pancakes and panbreads can be almost everything you want them to be and never disappoint. When I was living in my student dorm, I served pancakes as I knew them to people from all over the world, and everyone liked them

But there’s much more to it all. Gfiewgjknsiorjgiostan knows more than a dozen variations, all using different techniques, flours, other ingredients, not to mention the sheer unlimited possibilities regarding toppings, based on local traditions, on imported ingredients or new ideas. My aim is to cook and introduce them all here.

With some of them you might claim “But that’s not a pancake! Pancakes are...”  The variations can have little in common and pancake discourse over what constitutes a “real” pancake is, as I soon came to realize, a never-ending source of contention in the country and serves as the basis for many regional and online rivalries.

Many of those have fascinating historical backgrounds and will be described in some detail here. But mostly this blog will be about no-frills recipes, short and to the point. With 10 simple ingredients, or often less. Feel free to ask your friends from to rate their pancake-y-ness, or with other dishes, their compatibility with pancake dishes.

While Gfiewish recipes traditionally are measurement-less, instead relying on descriptions on e.g. how the dough or batter should look and feel like, I’ve done my best to add them where possible.

Pictured: Spiced corn flour pancakes Lufasa-style, also known as Kementsa honeç in Lufasan or Mestanixbun in Gfiewish)

[gogh-save-the-bees]

Scottish Sayings & Words

w/translations for non scots

To celebrate the new addiditions of Scottish words to the dictionary, here are some of the words/saying i hear/use most commonly!!

Keep the heid! – Stay calm, don’t get upset.

Haud yer wheesht! – Be quiet.

Noo jist haud on! – Now just hold it, slow down, take your time.

Gie it laldy – Do something with gusto.

It’s a dreich day! – Said in reference to the weather, when it’s cold, damp and miserable.

Gonnae no’ dae that! – Going to not do that.

At dis ma nut in – That does my head in.

Pure dead brilliant – Exceptionally good.

Yer bum’s oot the windae – You’re talking rubbish.

Boke – Vomit. “He gies me the boke”. He makes me want to vomit.

Peely Wally – Pale

Och Aye - Oh yes

Baltic - freezing cold ("Christ man, put the heating oan, it's baltic in here!").

Bawbag - scrotum, pejorative ("That guy's a bawbag

Dafty - silly, foolish person.

Fannybaws - a term of ridicule, in some cases of endearment ("Ho, here fannybaws, geis a chip.")

Nae danger - no chance / no way / no bother

Away bile yer heid - go away ("f*ck off")

Oan yer trolley/bike - go away

Oot yer nut - really drunk (mate, get hame yer oot yer nut.), off your head.

Panbread - dead (my nana uses this a lot)

Scramble - Scottish tradition at weddings where the groom throws small change out of the wedding car for local children to pick up. (This is why i loved weddings as a kid!!)

Tadger - Scottish name for a penis or can be used as a name for someone who behaves in an annoying manner (Get oot ma face ya tadger.)

Wee - small

Wheesht - be quiet (haud yer wheesht)

Yellae - yellow

[fupjack]

Sunday is for pan loaves, because sandwiches. #baking #panbread

[siminycricket]

After a few months, we fell into a steady rhythm. Weekends, Rhu would work at the station and I would paint most of the day, and on the weekends we spent relaxing and trying out new hobbies, like making everything out of Rosetta Panbread’s baking books, much to your daddy’s delight...

[rubensnemitzjr]

Cocoa Sourdoughs \o/ . . . . #homemade #artisan #cocoa #breads #sourdough #chocolate #cacau #paescaseiros #paocaseiro #artisanbreads #panbread https://www.instagram.com/p/B0sDkwpFOab/?igshid=1fszul8fkekku

[halforc-mercenary]

Historic Recipes: Tavern Food

By  Ribe Vikinge Center’s 2012 Project ‘Nordic food is Viking food’ In Ribe, 825 AD is a tavern where Vikings passing through town can stop for a hearty meal and shelter for the night. The Sagas of Icelanders describe the importance of hospitality to the Vikings. Through generosity the considerate host will gain respect, power and enjoy a good reputation after death. A host is to offer plenty of food and drink. The guest is not to eat too much or too little, but to enjoy in moderation.

Fried Bacon with stewed Swede and Field Peas 200 g smoked bacon 300 g swede 5 cup water 200 g field peas 3 cup milk 3 tablespoon wheat flour

Dice the smoked bacon and cook it on a frying pan over the fire. Bring a pot of water to the boil. Add the diced swede, cook until tender and then drain. Mix milk and flour and add to the cooked swedes. Leave to cook for another 5 minutes.Cook the field peas in water in another pot for about 20 minutes or until tender.  

Lamb Stew with Mushrooms 200 g mushrooms 7 cup cream 5 cup water 200 g leg of lamb 3 sprigs of angelica 4 garlic cloves 100 g onion A little butter

Chop garlic and onion and cook in butter in a pot over the fire. Dice the meat and add this to the onion. Next, pour in the cream, add the sprigs of angelica and leave to simmer for 25 minutes. Quarter the rinsed mushrooms, add them to the pot along with water. Let it all simmer for another 20 minutes and serve hot.

Sausage with Panbread and Mustard 4 sprigs of angelica 100 g fat 100 g lamb 100 g bacon 100 g onion 3 garlic cloves Casing (intestine) from a pig

Coarse Panbread ½ cup cracked wheat ½ handful linseed  1 cup rye flour ½ cup water A little salt

Mustard Mustard seeds Whey Honey Salt

Sausage: Finely chop the lamb, angelica, fat, onion and garlic and mix well. Fill the meat mixture into the casing by using a sausage stuffer (a piece of a cow's horn) and twist off into 10 cm lenghts.Cook the sausages in boiling water for about 20 minutes. Drain the sausages and then fry them on pan about 10 minutes on each side until golden brown.

Panbread: Mix water, salt and linseed. Add the cracked wheat and rye flour. Knead well to form a firm dough.Roll out the dough into a thin round of a size that fits in a pan. Place the pan with the bread over the fire. Let it cook about 15 minutes on each side.

Mustard: Pound the mustard seeds in a mortar and place them in a small eartenware pot. Add a little whey, some honey and salt and mix. A good mustard should be fairly hot. Mustard was introduced in Denmark in the 700's AD. When mixing the mustard seeds with a fluid, the seeds turn into a strong tasting mustard oil. For centuries, hot spices have been used to intensify flavours and for medical use. Mustard is both an excellent anti-scorbutic and aphrodisiac.

Apples Marinated in Mead Mead Apples

Rinse and dice the apples. Put mead and apples in a pot and let it simmer for 10 minutes.

Salty Nuts Water Salt Hazelnuts

Bring the water to the boil in a frying pan. Dissolve the salt in the water, then add the nuts and leave to infuse for 30 minutes. Drain well and put them on another dry frying pan. Heat over the fire until the nuts are completely dry and roasted.

Caramelised Hazelnuts Hazelnuts Honey

Place the hazelnuts in a flax cloth and crack them using a wooden spoon. Place the nuts and honey on a frying pan over the fire. Remove the caramelised nuts from the pan after about 5 minutes and cool down.

Roasted Apples Apples Cinnamon Honey

Cut the apples into halves and then slice them. Sprinkle with cinnamon and place them on a hot frying pan with the honey. Cook for about 5 minutes.

1 cup = 150 ml approx.

Ribe VikingeCenter's 2012 project 'Nordic food is Viking food' is supported by  Region Syddanmark.

[dunmerofskyrim]

74

Simra crouched and Llolamae sat on her heels. Between them was the ragcloth bundle Llolamae had carried all this way, spread out like a mat with their provisions.

Eating after so long spent hungry. The first filling of an empty belly. Simra knew how that went and he tried to start slow. Took timid bites from a panbread, telling himself once this one was gone he’d let it settle a moment, then set on the rest, eat his fill. There were crisp dried slices of chalk-coloured turnip. There were seedpaste balls, savoury and dark, and dark in their sweetness, and rolled in crushed dried herbs that tasted faint of medicine. But Simra already knew nothing would be better than this first panbread. Soft still with the oil that coated it, it tasted golden and good as he chewed each bite, counting the workings of his jaw.

Llolamae tore through her share, unrestrained. She set on the paste balls first, eyes closed and nodding her head to the rhythm of her chewing. Her teeth showed red from them, flashing whenever her mouth opened.

Simra held back from telling her to slow down. Who was he, her mother? She could get cramps if she wanted. Instead he enjoyed the round panbread, nibbling it through all the phases of a moon. From fullness to shrinkage to halfness, through crescented waning to nothing. Then he licked his fingertips clean of the oil and waited.

“They steam their bread in the South, you know.” Simra spoke for something to do before he started eating again.

A lump of seedpaste worked down Llolamae’s neck, half-chewed. “What, always?���

“Not always. Sometimes they do it in a pan like this. Sometimes in a clay oven. Sometimes dry, sometimes with oil or fat.”

“Why say as it’s what they do then, when they do other things too?”

“They do other things,” Simra allowed. “But when you think of bread up here, it’s panbreads. When they think of bread? Steam.”

“Huh…” Llolamae pursed her mouth and her tongue worked around inside it, cleaning red from between her teeth. “What’s it like?”

“Depends what it’s made from. But on the ordinary? Generally talking? It’s…soft.”

Saying it, Simra realised he missed it. Steamed buns. A filling of poached or pickled meat, diced vegetables, sticky preserves. But then, go south, and he’d miss panbreads all over again. He knew how missing things went. You long for what’s not there, and when you have it you’re hungry for something else. Not like luck to ever let anyone just be satisfied.

“Soft sounds alright,” said Llolamae, eyeing one of the panbreads on their mat. She bobbed up and down a moment, legs jigging under her, then she snatched it. In one bite, half of it was gone.

Simra took some crisped turnips and ate them one by one from the palm of his other hand. Enjoyed the risen sun on him and the strange welcome fact of how warm it was here. The scents on the breezeless air. Scrub and brambles, strong and woody; distant pines from the basin floor.

The grim-faced Kogaru, aged middlest of the three, picked his way up the slope. He came over the ledge’s lip as they ate. A small flash of disgust on his face as he looked at Simra and Llolamae – was it the food, or something inherent in them? – and then it was gone. He shrugged something down from over his shoulder to fall dusty at his feet.

It was some animal Simra had no name for. Fleshy worm-pale body divided in rings, patched all over in an irregularity of dull-black chitin, like scales sown onto a shirt for armour. No face but a round pucker of mouth — or else what Simra hoped was a mouth. All its eight stubby caterpillar legs were bunched at that end and the rest of it was thick tail. All told it was maybe the size of a small pig.

The Kogaru had brought out a knife, incurved along its edge. Not bone or stone or glass, but forged iron, tang sheathed in wood and leather. Traded or taken? With who? From who? Simra wondered, watching out the side of his eye as the hunter prised the scales from its tail.

Might be this was meant to impress him. Intimidate them. Metal knife and mighty prey. Of all the fool ways to flex your fierceness on a stranger, Simra thought… The beast didn’t even look like it could run, let alone fight back. He turned his attention full back to Llolamae, making a point of paying no heed.

“Course they’ll have rice more than bread.” It didn’t need saying. He was talking to fill silence; to show how deep his inattention went. “Seven, eight times in ten?”

Llolamae chewed and grunted in response. He’d lost her. She was watching the hunter, the beast as he butchered it.

“At least that’s the way with everywhere but the mountains, hills. Fucking Sadras, they’ve got the coin for it now, the land. Still won’t eat or grow anything but millet, sorghum. Never had the chance to ask one why, but I reckon it reminds them where they’re from. What they are. Keeps their hearts in the hills. Tscht. Well, they do say it, don’t they? Fastest way to the heart…”

Simra tailed off at last. Let a sigh rattle free of his throat and turned his neck to half-watch. The Kogaru was paring a long thick fillet off the thing’s tail, like Tammunei easing the flesh from a fishspine. Like a fish, this thing had a bone down its middle. First Simra had ever seen of such a thing. Bones both outside and in, it had the same wrongness as a cliffracer’s toothed beak, or the child-cry of a fox in the night. What was it? He wanted to ask, but didn’t. He’d get no answer anycase. Not from this one.

Finished with the fillet, the hunter called out. “Kaliklu!”

It had the feeling of a name to it. The elder’s, maybe. It was him that answered, coming from the cavemouth.

Crouched beside his breakfast and outnumbered by painted strangers, Simra felt it again. The slipped illusion of safety. Like being near an animal stronger and faster than you, and knowing the safest course is calm, but not knowing if it’ll save you for certainty. It was a rush of nerves, a sudden awareness of how far his hands were from his swordbelt, and how that hunting knife could be in him quicker than his own sword could come out.

Simra’s tongue flickered snake-careful out his mouth and wet his wind-chapped lips. He put them into a smile for the elder. “Is that your name?” he said. “Kaliklu?”

“It is.” The elder said it like Simra had cheated him out of some secret.

“Simra,” said Simra, touching his chest. “Of the Zainab. And Llolamae.”

Her head angled up, mouth full of crisped turnips, eyes wide. She pointed at herself with both thumbs and gestured with her palms open, like a smile of the hands while her mouth did other work.

“We met badly,” Simra said. “But you’ve been kind to us. Led us safe to warmth in the night. Will you share our food?” He was too tired to get by on threats; too wary of a fight he might not win.

Spindly legs and bending show-boned back, Kaliklu crouched next to the ragcloth spread and took up the last round of bread. Eyes on Simra’s eyes, he took a thoughtful bite and chewed.

Llolamae swallowed and stared. “This had to last us…”

That was something, coming from her. She’d scarfed half their provisions in one meal. Simra kept those thoughts to himself. “Sharing alike’ll last us longer.” He pointed at the fillets of pale flesh with his eyes.

“Thank you,” said Kaliklu. “I do not think you wish to harm us.”

It was a start. “I want to believe you don’t want to harm us either. I threatened you before. I’m sorry for that, but I’ll do so again if threatened. I don’t want to, but I will, and worse.”

“There was another thing you wanted. From us.”

“Yes. But I’d rather trade for it. Exchange. Share.” Simra tried for words, making sure he was understood. “I give, and you give.”

Kaliklu shifted his shoulders on their joints. A shrug. “You are Zainab.”

“Yes.”

“And you want to find someone.”

“Yes. And in return – in trade – I can give you things you want. I have salt, spices, works of magic. I have metal. Good iron knives.”

The elder ate, thinking. He didn’t agree, but didn’t decline. “There is something to do first.”

He stood and Simra stood with him, straightening up from his crouch-stiff haunches. “If I can help, I will.” It was half to earn good will, but only half. The rest was curiosity.

Llolamae shifted, uncertain, where she sat.

“As you helped carry our kinsman?” said Kaliklu, brows raised.

“Yesterday I hurt one of yours. Today let me help you. To trade, it helps to start equal. Even. In balance. D’you see?”

“I will see.”

[horatiovonbecker]

Much of my family likes baked beans. I don’t care for the texture myself, but raisins and pineapple bits and curry spices (mustard seed, cumin, maybe fenugreek if you’re feeling adventurous) can make it flavorfully interesting - and I definitely recommend you try it with home-cooked tortillas.

(The pre-packaged uncooked are fine; no need to get super effortful here. Pre-cooked tortillas are pretty much automatically stale, and the main reason I didn’t like tortillas growing up.)

If you’ve been losing blood lately, I recommend frying spinach, kale, collards, and suchlike high-iron low-moisture green leafys, plus your choice of protein (I favor the juicier category of cow meats, but refried-beans-and-eggs also work pretty well). A cast iron skillet is preferred for this.

Another fun thing to cook in the skillet is onions and brussels sprouts in lots of oil - you don’t want olive oil for this; try bacon fat, coconut oil, or butter. Also, when I say "lots of oil", I’m not actually saying “deep fry it”; you want the onions to emulsify.

I’m less familiar with baking, but I know rhubarb pie is tasty.

Good cranberry sauce is basically cranberries and sugar, boiled on the stove, in the same pot. It is like alchemy; keep the lid on so you don’t get sprayed with molten reagents. Also stir it occasionally, and don’t leave it on too high. Sugar has a high heat capacity, so remain careful for a long time after you turn it off. I think the proportions are about one-to-one by volume?

(This is where I give a general announcement that Raw Sugar Really Is A Distinct Food And Really Is That Much Better. Back to your scheduled Thanksgiving programming.)

In response to your tags:

Apparently, intercontinental terminology drift regarding ‘scones’ is actually a Pioneer thing! The Pioneers’ primary cookware was what I grew up calling Dutch Ovens, and their frybread kept the name ‘scones’, while their overnight panbread kept the name ‘biscuits’. Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, sugar was getting more available, so their ‘biscuits’ became more like what Americans call ‘cookies’ - and their ‘scones’ resemble tinless muffins, which probably has a fascinating bit of history behind it.

Also I hate this website because every time I eat baked beans (comfort food of my heart) I remember there are people on here who would ask why I'm eating like war rationing is still on

[sunderlorn]

Got tagged in this big long Describe Yr OC Meme by @chameleonspell because they love to make me suffer as they have suffered, toil as they have toiled. I am more merciful, which is why I am tagging no-one. (Also cos chameleonspell tagged most of everyone I’d’ve tagged anyway.)

GENERAL

Name: Simra Hishkari. Alias(es): Sim. Harmless. Flintfingers. “Hey, greyling…” Lonya, to his mum, but not for a while thank fuck. Gender: Cis male. Age: That depends where you’re reading, doesn’t it? Uhhh. He’s 11 in chapter one of part one, poking his nose around Senvalis’ shop and bothering the poor mer for paper. And now in part three, he’s recently endured his twenty-fourth birthday. Place of birth: Chiming Row, The Rigs, The Grey Quarter of Windhelm, Eastmarch, Skyrim. Spoken languages: Native Level Grey Quarter Dunmeri Patois. Fluent Marchspeak. A flexible range of Tamrielics, from the sort of versatile trade-tonguey Imperial Tamrielic you’ll hear at the docks of any major city, to something like the closest thing Skyrim has to a unifying language: an archaic version of Tamrielic with enough in common with all Skyrim’s dialects that it’s at least mutually intelligible for most people. Fluent House Dunmeris, with a few dialectic oddities picked up and understood. Relatively fluent Velothis. Some Riftspeak. Can curse a bit in Jel. Sexual orientation: Insert a withering stare and a question as to why it’s your fucking business. Practically speaking, bisexual. As in, he’s been attracted to men, women, and in the words of the warrior-poet Fred Durst, people who just don’t give a fuck. He doesn’t really have the terminology to parse that out in his own words though. Probably thinks of sexuality more in terms of activity than identity. Occupation: Murderhobo. Uhhh. I mean…freelancer. Currently, anyway. That is to say, sellsword, bounty-hunter, scavenger. Formerly? Semi-pro urchin. Carrier of heavy things on the Windhelm docks. Soldier-of-fortune. Prayer-scriv. Storyteller and sort-of-kind-of-sheriff at one point. Basically like a literal  accountant at another point too. Moral support to more qualified goatherds. Fireman — like, literally, a man who makes fires happen. Quartermaster’s assistant. Caravan guard. Itinerant herder and spokesperson of certain itinerant wisewomen. Bootleg performer of certain Temple rites and duties.

(This is long, so more under the cut.)

APPEARANCE

Eye colour: A reddish shade of amber or an ambery shade of red. Hair colour: Cinder-white. Height: About 5’10” (178 cm or s0). Scars: Oh god I literally have a fucking like reference sheet to keep track of all these. His Velothi harrowmarks: a hornlike curl out from the corner of his left eye, and a tapering line underscored for half its length with a series of dots, curving from the right edge of his mouth up towards his ear. A deep stiff scar through the left side of his lips, diagonal, from near his nostril to the beginning of his chin. A shallow horizontal scar across the side of his throat. A ragged starburst of scar tissue, in the muscle between neck and shoulder, just above his right collarbone and again at the back of his neck, from taking an arrow and having it pushed out. A flat diagonal stab-wound, on the left side of his ribs. A torn right earlobe. A straight raised scar up the back of his ribcage, on the left. A series of silver lines on the outermost three fingers of his right hand, where the joints meet the knuckles, and lightning-scar-looking traces following from those fingers over the front and back of his hand. And a plethora of tiny nicks and burns, mostly concentrated on his forearms and hands. Does a twice-broken nose count? Overweight: Nope. Underweight: At several points in his life, yeah.

FAVOURITE

Colour: Sea colours and shades of bronze. In clothes? Leather tones, slate greys, off-whites, neutral gloomy blues, details and decals in reds, silvers, copper, brass. Doesn’t tend to wear pure blacks or whites, or any particularly saturated colour — they spoil too easy. Hair colour: Statistics suggest red, though he’d be quick to insist it���s just coincidence, not, like, a fucking Thing or anything. Eye colour: Not red. Light-coloured eyes are weird and novel. Music genre: Weirdly he doesn’t enjoy music with lyrics all that much. (In canon, anyway — he’d feel differently in a modern AU or whatever.) Finds it distracting. They can be interesting, of course, but it’s not something that makes him happy hearing it. He likes stringed instruments with an emphasis on drones or echoes and silence. Things like the Tamrielic equivalent of qanun, koto, morin khuur, etc. Side note, but in modern AUs he’s definitely the sort of person who’s physically incapable of doing anything as mundane as laundry or tidying without putting a podcast on first. Movie genre: This is AU stuff, but yeah, he might talk a big game about being into Deep Penetrating Drama and so on, but he’d most often find himself watching the feature length equivalent of all you can eat hi-octane junk food buffets. Fighty action movies, particularly with an emphasis on melee combat. Finds revenge narratives particularly rewarding. Only genres he really considers himself a buff on though are samurai cinema and westerns. He’ll yammer at length about Anti-Westerns too if you get him started. (Don’t.) TV show: Hates the idea of having to watch anything live at a particular time. Fuck letting something as petty as TV schedule and section his life. Will gladly on-demand binge on historical drama, gritty travel documentaries, and twisty-turny political and intriguey thrillers. Doesn’t like cooking shows. Doesn’t want personality with his foodporn. He’d rather wait for the book to come out. Food: The Platonic ideal of Simra food is basically like soft starchy silky carbs with something sharp and heavily spiced on top. Rice porridge and preshta-jan, maybe with a raw egg stirred in while it’s hot. Fresh soft panbreads used to mop up redspiced mutton. Meat still feels like too much of a luxury to have often though, and he has a lot of feelings about vegetables. Pickled carrots, cucumbers, turnips, greens, green tomatoes, soft or crisp, spiced or just salty. Yams roasted in embers, smashed open, drizzled with spiced honey. Dried fruit is a particular pleasure as well, with a special place in his heart for persimmons and figs. Drink: Black tea of any sort – Nordic pine-smoked, Dunmeri fermented, light or dark, toasted or not – taken with sugar or honey. Alcohol of any sort felt like a luxury to be taken whenever luck offers it, back when he was a little younger. He’s got preferences these days, though whether he sticks to them is debatable and down to circumstance. He likes red and dark beers, biscuity flavours in the former, bittersweet in the latter. Hasn’t had either in a good few years though, and mazte compares oddly, to him — too starchy and sour. He once drank some Colovian grape brandy before he realised it was expensive enough that he really should have just sold it, and liked that well enough. He’s had actual grape wine once or twice and liked the idea of being the sort of person who liked it. He doesn’t especially like sujamma except in some freak cases – almondy and subtle vanilla-y wood flavours in that one bottle that one time – but he’ll drink it anyway because at least of all the quietly awful things Morrowind might offer you to drink, you have to drink less of it to know you’ve drunk it. He can’t remember if he liked mezga better or whether he was just less fussy back then. Book: Ideally he would have a larger foundation for reference than he does, but he doesn’t. Still, his basis for comparison has grown a little since he first learnt to read and first got covetous of books, so he does at least have some preferences. He’ll still hoard up and devour literally any book he can, good or bad, because books are expensive and serious business – even the cheap ones – but there are some where he’ll fall into impressed absorbed silence and others where he’ll complain the entire time. He has a thing for treatises on use of one sort of blade or another, not because he really enjoys reading them, or really because they’re very useful. Mostly they’re awfully written and opaque to the point of being very unhelpful. But that puts a sense of the arcane around them, doesn’t it? If something’s hard to read, it must be hiding something worth knowing. Simra reads, trawls, lives in hope that one day that assumption will prove right, but really the issue is that if you never check you’ll never know. Back in Suran he read a lot of pre-Red Year devotional poetry from back during the time of the Tribunal. That and poetry the old Temple couldn’t or didn’t censor and so decided was devotional even if it wasn’t. A lot of that was just wankery – tongue twisters for the brain, either thematically or in terms of its showy prosody – but you’d occasionally get the odd scrap of lyric that was just effortlessly well-turned. There was a third era Dunmeri poetess called Anthiss for instance, the printing of whose work the Temple officially banned which only stoked its popularity. It was only after she died – mysteriously, it’s worth noting – that the Temple lifted the ban and claimed all her work had been religious allegory all along, revealing a conflicted but truly faithful sole. Simra’s pretty sure that, no, she was just writing about her girlfriend the entire god damn time. Between that and tracts on philosophy, interpretation of scripture, hagiography…he enjoyed reading it all but in retrospect couldn’t say he liked all of it. At the heart of what he really enjoys unreservedly in books is escapism. Travel narratives – little holidays for the brain – they’re what put a glint in his eyes and a lightness in his heart without really having to try much.

HAVE THEY

Passed university: Nope, nor has he had any formal education of any kind, yet. Given my headcanons about the state of the Mage’s Guild, for instance, in the 4th Era, and other Imperial institutes of higher learning there aren’t quite as many opportunities for that sort of thing as there used to be. Not in the parts of the world Simra’s kept to so far, anyway. Had sex: Currently, not in a while.   Had sex in public: Define public… The tonghouse of the Dyer’s End Few wasn’t a premises as rich in privacy as it could’ve been, but I’m inclined to say no. Gotten pregnant: Please no. Kissed a boy: Yes. Kissed a girl: Yes. Gotten tattoos: Do scarifications count? If so, yes, facial ones. Gotten piercings: Six in his left ear. Mer have more cartilage than humans. One through the lobe of his right ear too, but that doesn’t really count as a piercing anymore — just a tear. Had a broken heart: Don’t ask. Been in love: Something like that. Stayed up for more than 24 hours: Here’s where he laughs in your face and says “twenty-four?” and kisses his teeth for two minutes.

ARE THEY

A virgin: Covered this. A cuddler: There’ve been times. Sometimes being close to someone’s all you want to fill your head with, your time with, your world with, and all you can do is do that. Not many times though. They’re more anomalies than anything else. Prolonged touching, or lengthy physical intimacy — he’s pretty averse. A kisser: Mouth-on-mouthy kissing makes him nervous. Half his lips don’t really work right and he gets very conscious of it. Makes him feel ugly, clumsy, exposed. Scared easily: Terrified, yes. He doesn’t exactly keep a level head on him all that easily. Jealous easily: Statistics would suggest yes. Worth noting thought that this is less in terms of seeing everyone as someone his lover might leave him for and so being possessive and shitty and more like he feels left out easily, left behind easily, and if he sees someone he cares about sharing some sort of positive experience with someone else, he’ll feel a sense of abandonment and sadness about it. It’s not an angry or suspicious feeling so much as a melancholy self-effacing one. Trustworthy: In what sense, exactly? Depends who you are, what you’ve done to deserve Simra’s trust or respect, what the circumstances in both your lives and their mutual conjunctions are, what there is to be gained from breaking your trust, or what there is to be lost by keeping it or sticking with you. Depends how strong Simra is at this point in his life. Uhhhh…this number of variables probably suggest that, Simra is not inherently a trustworthy person by nature. But that doesn’t mean he’s never loyal, or faithful, or worth putting your trust in. Dominant: Uhhhhh. Submissive: Fuckin uhhhhhh. In love: Right now? Fuck off. Single: And ready to mingle. (God can you even imagine.)

RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have they harmed themselves: Not with anything sharp. Thought of suicide: Yes. Attempted suicide: Comments on my fic suggest that a lot of what he does, accidentally or by choose, basically constitute attempts to die. Thing is though, Simra’s pretty much more terrified of dying than of anything else. Any attempts at straightforward suicide would be impulsive cries for help or lashings-out against feeling particularly helpless. The goal wouldn’t be dying. Wanted to kill someone: Wanting to sounds way more personal than he really wants to have to deal with. Appreciating the reasons for having had to do so? Fine. (Yes, yes, yes, but funny how the people he’s really wanted to kill are for the most part still alive.) Ride a horse: He regrets to inform you that, yes, he has ride a horse. Have/had a job: We’ve covered this. Have any fears: Ghosts and bones, yes. Death, or more accurately, ceasing to be alive and existent. Being maimed; no longer being whole. Blindness, deafness, muteness. He has a pretty primal flight-or-fight response to the idea of being caught out in any sort of lie. Oh, and he’s not fond of dogs.

FAMILY

Sibling(s): Yes, Soraya. Does she still count? Parents: Sambidal Dunsamsi Hishkari nas Mabudani nas Zainab, his babu, Windhelm dockworker and former adventurer. Ishar Dunsamsi Hishkari nas Nem nas Zainab, his ammu, Grey Quarter spellwright, seller of medicines, and former adventurer. Children: No. Pets: No. A cat might be good, but he’d get terrified of it deciding to abandon him, and would take it very personally if it was ever gone for very long.