#the gaffers home brew

[pocket-size-cthulhu]

Happy birthday Frodo and Bilbo, you will always be famous you will always be loved

[frodothefair]

Bilbo and Frodo behind the tent at the long expected party:

Bilbo: When I took you in, it wasn’t out of charity.

*kisses him*

Come to Rivendell with me and be my bride.

[dinsbeskar]

"today is my one hundredth and fhlahabdlflcb birfhday!!" bilbo you okay hun

[rxqueenotd]

The Verdict- Chapter Three

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of suicide, parental death, BUGS: termites & bedbugs (never thought I’d type that but here we are)

A/N: I’d like to state that I’m sure AOAF happened in Grenoble but I’m a dumb American with no sense of direction or geography so Vincent lives in Paris. If you want to be added to my tag-list, just let me know. The slow burn is almost over!

The next day dawned with a sense of urgency as Leah and Vincent pulled up to Sandra's home where the reenactment was already underway. They were greeted by a scene of controlled chaos, with a dummy resembling Samuel being repeatedly tossed from the third-story window, its impact splattering crimson onto the pristine snow below. A meticulous spatter analyst, handpicked by Vincent, observed each drop with a focused intensity, recording her observations in a worn legal notebook.

Leah couldn't help but shudder at the display. "This is morbid," she whispered to Vincent as they navigated through the maze of investigators.

As the investigation unfolded, accompanied by the unrelenting drone of a repetitive tune, Vincent's frustration mounted at the treatment of his client and her son. Leah, feeling a mix of curiosity and confusion, observed the shifting dynamics with a growing sense of unease.

When Daniel's testimony suddenly veered off course upon the discovery of misplaced gaffer's tape, a ripple of anticipation swept through the room. Judge Janvier's satisfaction was palpable, but a shared glance between Vincent and Leah hinted at a deeper understanding of the looming challenges ahead.

The remainder of the day unfolded in a haze of disappointment, leaving Leah grappling with unresolved questions as she sought solace in a bottle of wine at home. The silence that had enveloped their car ride back was a comforting reassurance, a shared space where thoughts intermingled and strategies took shape in the quiet hum of contemplation.

_________________________________________

"And you're doing okay given the circumstances?" Leah's therapist's calming voice resonated from the laptop on the dining room table the next morning.

"The circumstances?" Leah called out from the kitchen, taking a sip of her freshly brewed coffee before padding back into the room to settle into the high back chair. Thankfully, both of their cameras were off, shielding June from seeing Leah's unfocused demeanor.

"The circumstances of the case," June clarified.

"I'm fine. My mom killed herself and that’s all there is to say about it. She left a detailed note. I've found closure. This man was either thrown out of a window or jumped, so it's a bit different. Not everything hits close to home, you know?" Leah replied, trying to downplay the emotional weight of the situation.

"It's important to acknowledge and respect your trauma, understand your limits, and be mindful of triggers that may affect you," June advised, her tone carrying a hint of foreboding, as if hinting at an impending breakdown.

"Sure thing. If I ever feel like taking a leap out the window, I'll give you a call. Otherwise, I'll touch base next week. Thanks, June!" Leah swiftly closed the laptop before June could interject, her attention abruptly diverted by a sharp knock on the front door.

"Can I help you?" Leah questioned as she opened the door to find a mysterious man standing there, who promptly handed her an envelope before hurriedly departing.

Perplexed, Leah shut the door and tore open the envelope, revealing “NOTICE TO VACATE" stamped on the legal document inside.

Just as she processed the unexpected notice, the doorbell chimed once more. Annoyed, Leah swung the door open, ready to confront the messenger of the unwelcome letter, only to be met by a puzzled Vincent.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Vincent inquired, his expression tinged with mild exasperation.

Confused, Leah ushered him inside and checked her phone, noticing three missed calls she had overlooked.

"I'm sorry, I thought we weren't meeting until eleven?" Leah apologized, adjusting her silk robe as she led Vincent to the kitchen table.

"Sandra was indicted an hour ago," Vincent revealed, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table's surface. "Get dressed, and I'll brief you."

As Leah disappeared into the bedroom, Vincent glanced at the document she had left behind and discovered the reason for the sudden eviction: termites.

"They're kicking you out because of termites," Vincent called out, prompting a bewildered response from Leah in the other room.

"They're offering a full refund if you vacate within thirty days," Vincent continued, scanning the letter's contents.

"I'll never find a new place in my budget in such a short time," Leah lamented from the bedroom.

"You probably got a great deal on this place because of the termite issue," Vincent remarked with a chuckle.

"I figured it would have been bedbugs, honestly," Leah joked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she reappeared in the living room, fully dressed and ready to take on the day.

_________________________________________

The ride to the cafe was swift as Vincent explained the details to Leah. "The public prosecutor’s statement contained three elements in particular," he said, his voice tinged with urgency. "Analyses of Samuel’s blood spatter found at the home indicate that he may have received a blunt force blow to the head before he fell from the window. The reenactment brought to light a number of discrepancies, which you are fully aware of, and there was a USB file discovered belonging to Samuel containing a recording made a couple of days before his death."

"A USB file? Have you listened to it?" Leah questioned, her expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Yes, and it’s…" Vincent's voice trailed off, his gaze distant. "damning."

Leah let out a measured sigh as Vincent parked the car, the weight of their conversation settling between them.

As they walked to a cafe by the water, Leah followed Vincent cautiously, her thoughts swirling with the gravity of the situation. Vincent motioned for her to sit across from him, his demeanor serious as he lit a cigarette and sorted through papers from a folder he had been carrying.

Leah placed their order, her mind distracted as she tried to recall their previous cafe visit and what Vincent had ordered specifically. Vincent sipped his coffee contentedly, multitasking with his phone pressed to his ear and papers spread out in front of him.

When Nour, Vincent's partner, arrived, she brought hopeful news. "The judge this afternoon is not Da Silva, it’s Bollène."

"I’m off to the bank. They will only do fifty thousand," Vincent explained, slipping on his coat. "Money issues and such," he added, finishing his coffee in quick gulps.

The bail hearing was tense and sterile, with the prosecuting team arguing against Sandra's release, citing concerns of potential influence on Daniel's testimony. Nour's quick thinking and persuasive arguments swayed the decision in Sandra's favor, emphasizing her role as Daniel's caregiver and the restrictions in place to prevent any tampering with his account of events.

Sandra's temporary freedom hinged on the supervision of Marge Berger, appointed to monitor her interactions with Daniel and ensure the integrity of his statements. As Sandra and Vincent drove back to the chateau, Leah faced the choice of staying in Paris or returning to the alps with Nour and Marge. Opting for the former, Leah watched as the car disappeared into the distance, knowing that the twists and turns of the case were far from over.

_________________________________________

“About your living situation,” Vincent started and glanced over at her. His arrival at her apartment later that evening was a welcomed surprise. Vincent had given Leah a clipped version of his tense ride back to the alps with Sandra over two cups of black coffee at the kitchen’s bar.

Leah sighed, “Ugh, don’t even remind me about that.”

The idea of Leah staying in a hotel, especially under such stressful conditions, didn't sit well with Vincent. An idea formed in his mind, one he hesitated to voice, unsure of how she would receive it. After a moment of internal debate, he spoke, “I have a couch bed in my apartment. It's not much, but it's comfortable and doesn’t have termites. You're welcome to stay there until you find a new place."

Leah was taken aback, her eyes widening at the offer. "Vincent, I couldn't impose. We're colleagues, and that's—"

"—Exactly why you should accept," Vincent interjected gently. The sincerity in his voice and the genuine concern in his eyes made it hard for Leah to refuse. The thought of a pest-free place to stay, even temporarily, was too comforting to pass up. "Thank you, Vincent. I... I really appreciate it. Just until I find somewhere else, I promise."

He nodded, happy to help her in her time of need.

Vincent and Leah made their way to his apartment, the weight of the day's revelations and the unexpected turn of events hanging between them. Leah, still processing Vincent's generous offer, followed him up the steps to a charming, older building nestled in a quieter part of the city.

Vincent unlocked the door and ushered Leah inside, a hint of hesitancy in his movements. "It's not much," he began, "but it's home."

Leah stepped into the apartment and was immediately struck by its warmth. The space was a reflection of Vincent himself—understated, organized, and infused with a sense of calm. A spacious living room greeted them, its walls adorned with an eclectic mix of art that hinted at Vincent's travels and interests.

"This is lovely, Vincent," Leah said, her voice genuine. "You have a beautiful home."

Vincent gave a modest shrug, leading her through to the bedroom. "Here's where you'll be staying," he said, opening the door to a cozy room bathed in the soft light of a bedside lamp. The bed was haphazardly made, and the shelves were lined with books, a testament to Vincent's love for literature.

“This is your bedroom?” Leah questioned.

“Yes,” he nodded, "I'll take the couch for a bit to give you privacy.”

“Absolutely not,” Leah interjected, “I’m the guest, so I’ll take the couch.”

“I insist,” Vincent offered and Leah let out a measured sigh. “I’ll be here for a week, tops.”

[heart-select]

Of "Gone Off" Hobbits

It was Isengar, the youngest of Old Took's, that visits Bilbo in Bag End a mere 4 days later after news of the boy's return (in the middle of an auction of his sister family’s home belongings!!) spread. Mad Baggins they called him, oh posh, 13 months the boy had gone, but that boy is from sister Belladonna, what did they expect really?

He's already well and bothered Fortinbras to help deal with the unrespectable behavior of the Shire on the properties of Bag End; why, Baggins maybe by name but if sister Belladonna did not rise from the grave to give him an earful for not taking care of her only son, Mother surely would! He grumbles of unrespectability, not that he can talk— he's much a Took through and through with his own youth adventures though he's well fortunate enough to have people vouch for his dealings during his 3 long years absence with his own adventure (a smile quirks to his lips, a memory of elven companions by the sea).

He's getting on in his years but he still sees clear, the windows open, a faint smoke billowing on over hill to where the kitchen most likely is and there were no more furniture and mathoms and such in front of the house. Isengar walks up, rings the bell and waits.

The green door opens and Bilbo, in all the traits of his father, grumbling and worrying as he does, gives a small smile, reminiscent of his beloved sister and starts. “Uncle Isengar?”

“Hullo! Good morning, dear nephew. Just visiting, I hope I'm not encroaching on breakfasts? Sun is getting on but I wasn't sure if I still had it in me to walk so I might be late for the breakfasts and too early for elevensies.” Isengar greets with a smile, patting his legs for emphasis of his age.

Bilbo laughs. “Oh, I'm sure you could stroll all up to frogmorton without a sweat on your brow, Uncle. Well, it is a bit early but come in, come in! I have some scones and biscuits still and I've brewed a new pot of tea.” His nephew ushers him in, padding along the still somewhat barren smial into the kitchen. “Bell, Gaffer's wife, gifted some quality tea from their gardens. Bless the Gamgees, went and took off some of my precious belongings before greedy hands got to them.” Bilbo says, using a familiar tea set and pot.

Isengar sits in the kitchen, being served tea as Bilbo rambles on, quietly observing. The house was more barren than it was but spotless and aired out, and Bilbo was clean and at a glance, very much so seemed as respectable of a hobbit that he was before he ran off to his own adventure though, now accompanied by a tiredness over his shoulders. He smiles at his tea.

“I've talked to Fortinbras on the matter of your belongings should you ever need the help. He's new to the Thain work but Isengrim and Isumbras have well trained that boy on disputes and such so don't hesitate to come knocking if any of the rude ones start stirring up trouble!” Isengar huffs, his tea cup softly clinking as he sets it. “Now, on the matter, how are you, boy?”

Isengar sees his nephew freeze, his polite smile dropping slightly. Bilbo opens his mouth to answer then closes it and Isengar knows that face. The hesitation that comes on “odd hobbits” that return after seeing the world. A hand settles on Bilbo's reassuringly.

“Bilbo, my boy.” Isengar softly starts, squeezing the hand in his and a spark of mischief lighting up in his eyes. “Have I ever told you about the sea? or did that old Gandalf spoil my stories whilst you were off?”

Isengar, the youngest of Old Took's and younger brother of Belladonna Took-Baggins, is the first of many idle visits and visitors of Bag end after Bilbo’s return. He sees the change in his nephew and his heart aches as he sees the faint grief much like the one he sees on his own in the mirror. He didn't need his dear mother Adamanta or sister Belladonna to rise from their graves to yell at him that no Took be left behind, especially not like this for all the oddness they already reputed themselves with. So Isengar sips on his tea, patting the chair next to him to usher his nephew to sit. Bilbo's the better storyteller between them really but he weaves his tale to his nephew, glad of the soft smile that delights the smial even if not wholly unburdened.

—

Bilbo listens and for that day, gives himself a rest from all the busy he has been with retrieving his belongings as Uncle Isengar fumbles through his adventures. Of Elves and men and of wide plains and cities and the sea. And he hears the same longing when his heart sings mountains. And when his uncle leaves before dinner as the sun slowly turns to late afternoon, with promises to visit again, he shuts the door and it is later, as he walks into the parlor after supper has all been cleaned up and night has arrived, he falls.

The hearth is warm with fire and he hears a distant hum, a memory of 13 dwarrow mourning a home they will soon reclaim. Bilbo falls and falls, in wretched sobs and heavy sorrow. No hobbit leaves the shire to see the world and returns unchanged, Bilbo realizes and he cries and cries and cries. He's accepted the madness they've already labeled him with but a comfort settles in his heart. He has changed. Perhaps more than the other “gone off” hobbits that have returned but despite it, he regrets none of it, holds it all close to his beating chest and he is comforted by the kinship his Uncle brought, not just by blood but of heart, never pushing Bilbo of his own tale because hobbits who go off and out of Shire do not return the same (and they were the same, in all their Tookishness).

He takes a spare mattress out back to the parlor where he rests when he can no longer busy himself, not having the heart still to settle into a home that feels changed just as much as he has and treat it the same as it were but finding comfort in the hearth that held memories and the presence of an armchair miraculously not taken in an auction. And for the first time in days, he sleeps restfully, dreaming of a mountain from a view of a high rock, and a quiet hum that made him want to see it all to begin with.

–

A/N: I havent written in a long time and well half illiterate most of the time. this started out slightly as bilbo dealing with grief and was a bagginshield but i quite like it ambiguous and short as is now so I thought mmmm perhaps it doesnt hurt to share. I like it being just Bilbo and exploring the people around him and how he dealt with that and how they couldve also supported him. I cant imagine just casually pushing through all that he experienced and keeping it all in without breaking and in the end, Bilbo for all his eccentricity by hobbit standards, didnt really break. Isengar is indeed one of the gone off hobbits but I took some liberties on history and personality. I think there's a lot of comfort in knowing you're not alone esp in an insular community and this little thing kinda just ran itself towards that direction. anyways, again, i dont write prose often and despite my extensive ao3 history, i am also just p bad at reading but I hope this is an okay read.

[retellingthehobbit]

AJSKKDKDKFF

POV: you had a bit too much of the gaffer’s home brew

Bag End at Night! I used an app to animate some backgrounds I painted for my webcomic adaptation of The Hobbit. You can find my original paintings below and at this link. For more about my comic, visit RetellingTheHobbit.com. (and if you like my art crimes you can support me on Patreon.)

[mithrilhearts]

CHAPTER 4 ↳ NOW ON AO3!

When Darkness Shines Brightest by LordOfTheRazzles, StarDryad

Everything felt heavy.

Each limb that Bilbo had was unable to move as if paralyzed as the cold and darkness took over him. It was a dreamless sleep that harbored very little comfort, and that chill only grew worse and worse as time went on. For a time he had to wonder if this was all some terrible nightmare. Maybe he had left a window open in Bag End that brought in the cold which sparked this terrible sleep? Or perhaps there were a lot of things about the universe that he still didn’t understand.

“Is…dead?”

The words were so garbled and disjointed that Bilbo’s own mind couldn’t make them out. The sentences fragmented beyond comprehension, but it was starting to pull him out of that thick fog that had enveloped his mind.

“Give…space…let Oin…”

“Wake…”

“What….Thorin thinking!?”

“I’m not impressed.”

Each sentence became clearer than the last, and as Bilbo finally started to pry his eyes open, everything was dark and foggy before him. A small groan exited his lips as his hands reached up to rub at his eyes. “Tired,” He mumbled, hearing a few sighs of relief as soon as he spoke. “Is it time for breakfast?” He asked, dropping his hands and wondering which family of hobbits had surrounded him this time. That would teach him to not mind his cups when it came to Gaffer’s Home Brew.

[samayla]

Hobbit New Year's Eve Headcanon

(Yes, it's a Reshirement AU. Of course.)

There's a party down at the Green Dragon.

In the dead of winter, everyone turns out in their nicest, brightest, most garish outfits to show their hope for a bright new year and coming spring. There is more food than drink (though not by much), everyone chipping in with that little something special they've squirrelled away in the back of their pantry for the occasion.

Thorin has baked a couple of fancy loaves of bread - the dough swirled and twisted before baking, now puffed up into intricate golden knots. Bilbo brings a few jars of jewel-bright preserves - the usual strawberry and peach, but also his famous spiced tomato jam, if there's any left by New Year's Eve (it's Thorin's favorite).

Thorin and Bilbo go down together through the snowy lanes lit by a plethora of lanterns and candles and simple rushlights propped in the snowbanks. Thorin leaves his boots outside the door. They'll be beyond cold when it's time to go home, and possibly full of snow, judging by the clouds that are moving in, but he figures that's better than stomping on everyone's toes inside. He does enough of that barefoot. He doesn't like to think of the damage he could do with his reinforced boots...

The common room is packed, everyone seeming to take up far more space than usual in their bright skirts or waistcoats, and the noise is unreal. There's music for dancing, but there isn't room enough until after midnight, when people begin drifting home and space slowly begins to open up.

Thorin and Bilbo make their rounds, greeting everyone and sampling the treats scattered around the room. Thorin keeps one hand on the belt at the back of Bilbo's waistcoat as they're pushed and jostled through the throng. They'd gotten separated their first year, and they'd ended up staying far longer than either of them had wanted to while they searched for one another.

They sneak away before midnight, both overwhelmed by the noise and heat of the inn, and they take their time wandering home in the cold, sharp air. They arrive back at Bag End, red-faced and chilled to the bone, and Bilbo immediately heads to the kitchen to put on a pot of cocoa, while Thorin goes to the den to stoke up the fire. They laze in their armchairs for that final hour or so, regaling one another with their favorite tales from the past year. The Gaffer's attempt at starting a rose garden - he really is best at vegetables. Lobelia's horror of a hat, ordered in specially from Bree. That beautiful new trellis Thorin had made for Bilbo's birthday - it's almost a shame the ivy likes it so well...

They read Ori's annual account of the company's doings, and laugh at the latest antics of Bombur's children, and wince at Kili's newest plot to help his brother Under the Mountain. Dori's tucked in a sachet of tea, a sweet, earthy blend of his own devising, and they brew this up once the cocoa is gone. They speculate on the likely outcomes of all Balin's grand plans, and whether Gloin's lad will ever grow out of this little berserker phase, and whether it would be better to invite them all to visit now, or wait until spring to send the message.

As conversation gives way to more than a few yawns, they look up to the window and realize the sun is starting to rise.

"Welcome to the new year, Ghivashel," Thorin rumbles, leaning down to collect Bilbo's teacup and planting a kiss on his upturned face.

[ierotits]

"bilbo have you been at the gaffers home brew?"

"what? no?.......well yes but thats besides the point"

[thegaylinguist]

one of my favorite Valid FotR film additions:

Bilbo: “You’re a good lad, Frodo. I’m very selfish you know. Yes I am. Very selfish. I don’t know why I took you in after your mother and father died but it wasn’t out of charity. I think it was because, of all my numerous relations, you were the one Baggins that showed real spirit”

Frodo: “Bilbo, have you been at the Gaffer’s home brew?”

Bilbo: “No... Well, yes, but that-that-that’s not the point.”

[sundaymorningwalk]

Hello readers, it's that time of the week again, with the sun rising, the gaffer snoring and with the time at 6.23am I'm dressed and off out the backdoor on another #sundaymorningwalk

Blue sky above, a chilly 2 degrees, slight ground frost on the ground (obviously) and I'm away walking towards the woods.

Surprisingly at this early hour there are a couple of doggers ahead of me, thankfully they turn left into the woods as I had planned on going right, down to the bus lane.

They are slow walking and before the junction I catch them up, they both look at me questioningly, I raise my arm to show I mean no harm and they smile and wave back.

Down to the bus lane I come across a litter bin that has been removed from its casing, the litter removed and the galvanized bin damaged so badly it will have to be replaced. What goes through these idiots' heads to do something like this in the name of fun?

I continue along the path treading on fallen cherry blossom (I think) petals which look like confetti at a wedding.

Up and over the Warwick Highway I turn left and take the newly lain tarmacked path which leads from the bus lane to Alders Drive a good 1km long which must have cost thousands to put down yet the roads in the area are full of pot holes, maybe a member of the highways commission lives in one of the houses nearby?

I skirt Buildland and take the underpass which leads up to Mackie's Island. I hear a tap tap tap of a woodpecker up above, so I stand, still, not breathing hoping to catch a glimpse, something flies above, it's Woody of the great spotted variety!

He lands and i take a couple of snaps, not the best but at least I saw the beautiful creature.

I continue under the aforementioned island and back onto Ravensbank.

Not much happening today to be honest, a few cars pass as I make my way back to the woods.

I pause at the Babbling brook and spot a beautiful song thrush warming in the sunshine above me, I take a one handed pic but cut his head off and my only opportunity take capture his beautiful image is gone, he did have a lovely belly though. Note to self use two hands every time!

Back home and into the back gate, the gaffer is up and about preparing for her long journey down South.

I make her a brew and myself a coffee as we sit down at the kitchen table looking out of the French doors at the birds feeding and the spring plants opening.

Both aching a little from our first bowls practice of the new season yesterday.

If you fancy trying this great sport we at Woodbourne are having an open day where you can have a go and enjoy a pint in the clubhouse after, the date for your diary is Saturday 2nd April, drop me a message if you're interested.

Whatever you're up to today have a great Sunday everyone.

Until next time

Ta-ra a bit

[bramblerabit]

The trip back

So it had been a largely uneventful time in the Vale, missions were had and human matters were tended to, the fight against the Khans would be resumed in due time with the apparent defeat of Chaos. And this left Oi worried, who could he turn to, had the voice been speaking the truth, would the humans turn on him and his kin if the war turned sour?

Oi remembered the way the humans treated the elves would that be the fate of his kin? Kept little more as pets and dismissed just as easily?

He tried to keep these fears in the back of his mind as he stepped through the portal back to Gatetown, the voice still fresh in his mind.

Gatetown was much the same hustle and bustle as he had left it the few days earlier the only difference now was his human Lord, mr H had now acquired a fleet with funding from the bank, ready to transport food and goods up and down the dangerous coasts and shipping routes. Defending cargo from corsair raids and goblin attacks. And oi could feel the order to sail these routes brewing from the gaffers mind.

Oi walked alongside the carriage of his lord, while Mr H and Handsome talked whatever it is nobles and elves talk of, oi took his time and admired the decadent black and gold scrollwork on the side of the door moving and twisting with every bump in the road, while every click of the stone under the heavy wheels heralded another step closer to home, back to the streets of filth and avoiding the gaze of militia and magistrate alike.

No one knew of Oi's exploits in the city and no one cared to know unlike Mr H who wore his deeds and told tales of his adventures to the women in taverns and inn's which kept him in warm and pleasurable company most nights. Oi however longed to be breathing the fetted air of open sewers and poor living conditions during the day, that was home the only one he knew, the people there were at least honest, he spent too much time around nobles on expedition to know how they plotted and schemed for power and position, at least amongst the people in the lower city their needs were simple and honest to a fault.

The road carried on and as the time passed, Oi kept flicking through his book, he could read quite well despite what he told people, the useless image he portrayed granted him leniency in other activities, but no matter how often he flicked through the pages, he was always drawn to the back of the book, god of mercy, quick painless, gatekeeper. He took comfort from the writings as if he had finally found out the name of an old adversary but discovered they were in fact a friend, for so long his soul job was to fight death using only his surgeons tools and will to use them but now knew the ones he could not save were cared for.

The trees and bushes passed by and day turned to night, the road to the city was long and treacherous but even for a lightly guarded carriage many knew to leave this one alone, as the horses drove on, the guard caressed his blunderbuss keeping an eye out for thieves and murderers obviously oblivious to his current cargo... this nervous human brought a chuckle to Oi, for her knew the guard had the easiest job on the voyage home.

[miamibeerscene]

Corning Craft Beverage Expo Offers Unique Chance to Taste, Learn About Brewing, Hops and History

July 7, 2017

CORNING, NY – Now here’s an event that mixes the past, present and future together in one delicious and educational way. We’re talking about the Heritage Village Craft Beverage Expo, of course. Heritage Village of the Southern Finger Lakes is a complex of historic buildings including a one-room school house, and the oldest building in Corning’s, The Benjamin Patterson Inn and Tavern, which makes it the perfect location for a Craft Beverage Celebration of historic proportion. On Saturday, July 29th, Heritage Village will host the 2nd Annual Heritage Village Craft  Beverage Expo.

The Expo is your chance to explore historic buildings, watch live demonstrations of hearth cooking and blacksmithing, listen to experts talk about brewing, malting, making sours, as well as the state of hops farming in NY. Plus there’s a special presentation by Tina Weymann, NYS Beer Governor at Great Lakes Brewing News, who will discuss the important roles of inns and taverns in American culture from colonial times present-day, as well as how beer has made it’s contribution. The event culminates with a home Brew Competition (a wonderful chance for local brewers to show off their creations and possibly win some recognition).

Of course, the popular event is also a chance to taste delicious brews from 10 local craft beverage producers. Abandon Brewing Brewery of Broken Dreams Farmhouse Brewery Four Fights Distilling Galaxy Brewing Iron Flamingo FINGER LAKES C RNING and ≤e sou≤ern The North Brewery Steuben Brewing Railhead Brewing Wild Brute Winery *food will be available for purchase from Global Taco food truck and from Sarah’s Sweet Kitchen catering.

This year’s event also offers a VIP ticket for those crazy for craft beverages.

VIP ticket-holders can enter the expo an hour early (noon) to chat with brewers and try the first tastings of the day. Special hor d’ouevres will be available, cooked on site in the hearth oven. Head over to the Cooley Blacksmith Shop for a hand-forged bottle opener (an exclusive commemorative gift for VIP ticket-holders, though some will be available for purchase in the museum shop). VIP members can also take home the photo book, Camera on Corning, filled with locally-shot photos of the Corning area and Gaffer District. All regular admission and VIP ticket-holders receive a unique commemorative pottery tasting vessel made by Rocky Hill Pottery in Bath, a gift from the historical community at Heritage Village.

Anyone 21 and over is welcome to enter the Home Brew Contest. The blind judging for the competition will commence at 4pm and winners will be announced within the hour. Awards will be granted for Best in Show, as well as for 2nd and 3rd place and honorable mention. Come see if your brew can beat the competition.

Attendees can purchase tickets on the Heritage Village’s website. VIP tickets cost $40 online, or $50 at the gate. General admission tickets cost $25 online or $30 at the gate. Proceeds will support the Corning-Painted Post Historical Society.

Special Designated Drive tickets are also available.

For more information on the Heritage Village Craft Beverage Expo, to register up for the Home Brew Competition, or get your tickets, visit the Heritage Village website.

The post Corning Craft Beverage Expo Offers Unique Chance to Taste, Learn About Brewing, Hops and History appeared first on Miami Beer Scene.

from Corning Craft Beverage Expo Offers Unique Chance to Taste, Learn About Brewing, Hops and History

[nettvnow-blog]

Keep Me Posted | A Day in the Life on Set

Every wonder what a typical day is like on set of production? Hillary Nussbaum has got you covered. After a successful fundraising campaign, Nussbaum has been documenting her time on set to give netTVnow readers a firsthand look into her work. Read below the jump for more!

Every shoot day is different. One day you may be grabbing sidewalk scenes through unexpected snowflakes, while the next you’re filming in a closed coffee shop at 1am, cranking up the lights until it looks like daytime. But as different as every day can be, things do eventually fall into a semi-predictable pattern. Here’s what a sort-of-average day might look like on the set of Keep Me Posted.

The Night Before - For me, a shoot day starts the night before. I review my directing notes for the next day and look over the shot list. I may tweak it a bit, but ultimately I’ll decide it looks perfect, airtight, and pretend that my first half hour on set won’t involve completely revising it. 

I pack up whatever I need to bring to set - a combination of standard things like a script and a water bottle, and less-than-standard things, like a set of aqua throw pillows and an old bridesmaid dress (set dressing). 

Then, I set my phone alarm for 6:30 AM, and try to relax. I spend the next few minutes double- and triple-checking my alarm, set a backup for 6:35 AM, and decide just to give up on relaxation and go to sleep.

Crew Call - The crew arrives on set, unpacks and gets ready for the day. Someone brews a pot of coffee (very important), and the DP and I do a walkthrough of the location, discussing the day’s shooting order and rough blocking. This is the point at which the neat, color-coded shot list becomes a jumble of cross-outs and arrows - we ditch unnecessary shots that will require a disproportionate amount of setup time, and rearrange the rest for maximum efficiency. Often, that means grouping shots according to where lights will be placed, rather than what scene they’re from. Ultimately, it’s faster for the actors to change into and out of the same costume multiple times, than to re-set the lights over and over. 

Cast Call - The cast arrives on set. By this time, the caffeine is starting to kick in. The DP and Gaffer are setting up lights (with the help of a PA and maybe the AD standing in for the actors). The Production Designer is nearly done working her magic - transforming a tiny hallway so it looks like the dressing room ata fancy bridal store, or deconstructing a comfortably furnished studio apartment until it looks like our characters just moved in. The Wardrobe Designer starts dressing the actors in their first costumes for the day, the Sound Designer gets them mic’ed up, and I’ve attempted to explain the scribbles on my shot list to the AD.

Run Through - The actors and I walk through the first scene, running blocking and addressing any character or dialogue questions that arise. We try to figure out just how long it would take their character to type that angry text message, or to stage that totally fake Instagram post. We figure out the placement of hands - and tongues - that will bring just the right amount of awkwardness to a makeout scene. 

The DP and Gaffer tweak the lights accordingly, or ask for blocking changes, while the Production Designer and Wardrobe Designer make last-minute adjustments. The AD starts to get antsy about the time and drops some subtle hints, then finally ditches the subtlety and tells us to get rolling.

Rolling -  The lights are in place, the set is dressed, the actors are mic’ed and wardrobed, the DP adjusts focus, sound speeds, camera rolls, the AC or AD claps the slate, and I call action. 

This is usually when a new problem presents itself. Sometimes it’s something small - a sweater rustling over a microphone, or an exploding science experiment that’s not reading well on camera. The Wardrobe Designer swaps out or adjusts the sweater, the Production Designer gets resourceful and squeezes highlighter ink into the science experiment turning it (and her fingers) bright blue. 

Sometimes the problem is bigger, like when you’re filming in an apartment where the neighbors happen to be installing new flooring, and it sounds like they’re drilling directly into the ceiling overhead. Some city sounds - sirens, subways, honking cars - are expected, and relatively easy to work around. Others - say, flooring installation - are not. But when you have a tight shooting schedule and a limited budget, you can’t afford to lose a full shoot day. So you find ways to work with what you have. For us, that meant sending two crew members to find out the construction workers’ schedule, then squeezing in a few shots while they were talking and not drilling. From there, we filmed what we could on their midday break, and put the rest of our shoot on pause until the late afternoon, when construction wrapped for the day.

It seems like there’s always something - a surprise snowfall, a location owner that’s 30 minutes late to unlock the door, a class of middle-schoolers that surrounds your set, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous. But there are times when everything goes right on the first take - the lights are perfect, the set looks great, the wardrobe is spot-on, the sound is clean, the actors nail it. Everything just works. 

In those cases, you congratulate the team on a job well done, and do it all over again anyway, with some lighting tweaks and acting adjustments, just in case. 

Repeat - The bulk of the day follows the pattern above, with a meal break, some snack breaks, and many more pots of coffee sprinkled throughout. Lights are re-set for each additional angle. There’s a run-through for each scene. We grow disoriented, delirious and tired by 4pm, because we spent the afternoon filming a late-night bedroom scene, and the windows have been blacked out for the last three hours. 

New problems present themselves throughout the day, and the team solves them as they arise. Sometimes, the finished product is better for it - together, you come up with a creative solution that’s even better than the original plan. Other times, you just squeeze three crew members, sound equipment, a camera, tripod, and a bounce board into a shower to film a bathroom scene and try not to laugh mid-take.   

Wrap - With a full shoot day in the can - or more accurately, on the memory card - and every shot crossed off the shot list, it’s time to wrap. The footage is backed up onto a hard drive, the crew dismantles the lights and the set. We put the location back together so you can’t even tell that we were there. We quickly review tomorrow’s plans and call times, then head home. 

I set my alarm for 6:30 AM - and 6:35 AM - then prepare for the next day, ready to do it all over again.

Meet the Author Hillary Nussbaum is a freelance television producer and writer, and recently completed work on her upcoming web series, Keep Me Posted. You can find her writing aggregated here, or check out some of her earlier work on late night reruns of Cash Cab, for which she worked as a writer and researcher. And here's a fun fact, she risked life and limb in the name of sports photography, in which her photos have been published in National Geographic and Sports Illustrated.

[mithrilhearts]

RAZZY I HAD A THOUGHT FOR A PROMPT (and no pressure on this whatsoever) we mentioned hamfast and thorin being like #1 bilbo stans together, but you know that take where the dwarves are like ‘pffffft this is nothing we are dwarves’ and then get absolutely obliterated by the gaffer’s home brew? I would love to see your take on that, with possibly a very exasperated and amused bilbo ❤️

AN UNEXPECTED PARTY✨ ↳ NOW ON AO3!

King and Lionheart by LordOfTheRazzles

It wasn’t the sound of a heavy fist or a gentle rap of knuckles, but the knock of a wizard’s staff against the painted wood of Bilbo’s door. However, it wasn’t the hobbit who had answered. Bilbo had his nose stuffed in a journal, scribbling away these days, which left Thorin to man the door. Anything for his husband, right?

“Gandalf…” Thorin slowly greeted with a small nod of his head as he opened the door, staring up towards one cheery looking wandering wizard.

“Bilbo has you manning the door these days, does he, Thorin Oakenshield?” Gandalf sounded far too pleased with himself as he extended his arm. It was a silent question of whether he could enter the smial or not. Thorin simply stepped back and allowed him entry. “No matter, it seems Shire life has suited you well these past few years. For that I am glad.”

“Indeed. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I come bearing good news. A little bird told me not too long ago about your and Bilbo’s longing to start a new tradition for Durin’s Day. I thought it a grand idea, a great way to erase pesky memories of your quest-”

“That you nudged me to pursue.”

“Yes, though I did also tell you to wait for me before entering that mountain.” There were plenty of things that had been said that Thorin had readily ignored throughout that journey. For once he didn’t have any retaliation ready against that statement. His mind was still stuck on the confusion that Gandalf had presented him with regarding Durin’s Day.

“What tradition are you talking about? Neither Bilbo nor I have sent out any ‘birds’ or wishes for the upcoming holiday…”

“Hm. I suppose this does pose a bit of a predicament then, doesn’t it?” Gandalf thought aloud as he was already setting his staff aside and removing that pointy grey hat of his.

[mithrilhearts]

🌹🌹🌹

Three?!?! for ME?!?! Well, how about some Pirate!AU for you??

This is absolutely more than 3 sentences, but I don't care.

“Where’s the captain? Is he aboard?” Nori asked curiously, and perhaps a tad nervously. All Bilbo could do was make assumptions based on tone as his eyes weren’t doing him any good right about now.

“Nah, he’s off with Dwalin trading off a few rum barrels with some local back alley traders. Apparently, there’s a fella around here that makes the best brew on this side of the Misty Mountains!”

Gaffer’s Home Brew, Bilbo suspected, but he’d never considered Hamfast Gamgee as a ‘back alley trader’ either. Perhaps there was a lot more about the world that Bilbo didn’t know about or had been incredibly ignorant to. “You’ll keel over before you’re through with the barrel!” Bilbo barked with another wiggle of his waist, truly looking like a fish flopping on deck.

“Oh, ho! He speaks!” That cheerful voice sounded off again, much to Bilbo’s dismay. “I know the captain said to come back with good information, but this seems like a bit much, yeah?” [Bofur]

Finally, someone with some sense!

“Better too much than not enough, besides, I’m sure the captain will love him. He’s so polite when he’s not trying to kick your bits, right, Bifur?”

- As The Tide Turns

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing