#Herald K | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr posted its first advertisements in May 2012 and subsequently earned $13M in revenue.

mrrrdaisy · 2 years

Text

New Music: Herald K - Arethusa

New Music: Herald K – Arethusa

The song “Arethusa” will appear on Herald K’s upcoming album, “Mythologies,” which promises to have more tales similar to this one, as well as wonderful instruments and collaborations with other outstanding performers! The name of the new single is “Arethusa,” a lovely nymph. The song starts with lovely magical instrumentation, much like the serene vision of woman taking a bath in a river. The…

View On WordPress

#Arethusa #Herald K

0 notes

blinkpen · 10 months

Text

we're gonna be so glad when he dies

also that second one started as a "draw this intentionally roughly/goofily to contrast the dire situation" doodle but THAT clearly got away from me, hold on, lemme do what i MEANT to do in the first place, recursively,

#mog art #monster boy #zebra #zoetrope #charlie k #nuckelavee #body horror #injury cw #holes cw #blood cw #emeto cw #man horses never really herald good things in this universe huh #cloa #conga line of apathy

139 notes · View notes

quillheel · 6 months

Text

// hi this is a lil notification that I have a k//fi ( in source ) & do icon commissions and, for mutuals, other graphics on a case-by-case pricing basis depending on whats wanted. I also do art comms ( captaincomms.carrd.co ). financially i am having a Rough time rn which is why i'm bringing this up at all bc usually I don't like to here but Things Aren't The Best so if you wanna support me I would deeply appreciate that /gen

OKAY TO REBLOG.

#please consider any of the above be it k-fi or comming graphics. my discord is daffodilcaptain if you wanna discuss stuff as well!#━ ♔ your slightly mad sea-captain : ooc.#━ ♔ messengers and heralds of the extraordinary : important.#ask to tag //#rpc resources #rp resources #icon commissions

12 notes · View notes

deadpresidents · 4 months

Text

Of the nomination of Mr. Polk we hardly know how to speak seriously. A more ridiculous, contemptible and forlorn candidate, was never put forth by any party...Mr. Polk is a sort of fourth or rather fortieth-rate lawyer and small politician in Tennessee, who by accident was once Speaker of the House of Representatives. He was rejected even by his own state as Governor -- and now he comes forward as candidate of the great democracy of the United States."

The New York Herald, on the Democratic Party's nomination of James K. Polk for President of the United States, May 31, 1844.

#History #Presidents #Presidential Elections #Presidential Campaigns #1844 Election #James K. Polk #President Polk #Presidential Candidates #Presidential Nominees #Democratic Presidential nominees #1844 Democratic Presidential nominee #Presidential History #Politics #Elections #Dark Horse candidates #New York Herald

10 notes · View notes

dailyexo · 1 year

Photo

Chen, Kai - 221114 ‘Last Scene’ press conference

Credit: Kpop Herald.

#EXO #EXO K #EXO M #Chen #Kai #221114 #exo im #exo k im #exo m im #chen im #kai im #221114 press #p:news #fs:kpop herald

10 notes · View notes

like-the-cut-of-your-jib · 1 year

Text

Opinion piece from NZ Herald about K-Challenge follows

“France’s late entry to the 37th America’s Cup in Barcelona has inevitably raised questions about their credibility as challengers – but their lateness will not necessarily affect their competitiveness.

There are still a lot of unanswered questions about France’s K-Challenge – where the money is coming from is one, another is whether they will have too much ground to make up when it comes to design and testing.

Louis Vuitton have a long history with the America’s Cup, sponsoring the challenger series from 1983-2007, when they terminated their involvement, saying that “business” had encroached too far in the organisation of the Cup – a bit of a poke at then holders, Alinghi, and their principal, Ernesto Bertarelli. Alinghi and Bertarelli are among the challengers in Barcelona next year – along with Ineos Britannia, American Magic, Luna Rossa and now K-Challenge.

The money question may be answered later this month with a sponsorship announcement. Among the heavy hitters who could be bankrolling the challenge is the man recently named as the richest in the world – Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy founder Bernard Arnault, said to be worth US$200 billion and who recently took the title of the planet’s wealthiest man after the downturn in the fortunes of Elon Musk.

Another potential sponsorship candidate for K-Challenge is the French-based Accor hotel group, the largest in Europe and one of the biggest in the world.

Playing catch-up is not recommended in most America’s Cup cycles and particularly in the foiling monohulls – where design is an even more key element than previous Cups. However, under the Cup rules governing this regatta, K-Challenge do have options.

The 37th America’s Cup rules allow that and the most obvious port of call for K-Challenge could well be Team NZ. That would enable them to begin their race yacht build later this year – as all other teams will do.

The French are also not short of world-class sailing and foiling experience. Stephane Kandler, CEO of K-Challenge, has been around a long time and was involved with K-Challenge’s last America’s Cup gig in Valencia in 2007 (where they were known as Areva). Bruno Dubois manages their SailGP team, currently running third, very close behind New Zealand.

While the sailing team hasn’t yet been announced, it’s likely that the talented Quentin Delapierre will head it up as helmsman, as he does in the SailGP team – which also includes America’s Cup grinders Matthieu Vandame and Olivier Herledant. The latter pair was part of France’s Groupama team at the 2017 Bermuda America’s Cup, at which Team NZ relieved Oracle Team USA of the “Auld Mug”.

Groupama didn’t make it through to the challenger semifinals in that regatta and many will not assign much chance to K-Challenge this time round. However, they will still take delivery of their 40-foot test boat and will be able to compete in the Cup pre-regattas, starting in October and which Team NZ is scheduled to announce by April.

Two of those will be sailed in European venues in the AC 40s while the third will be contested in AC75s.

They can either buy a first generation AC75 boat, as Alinghi have done, and gather data and time on the water to inform the building of their race boat next year. It’s not known where that first-generation boat might come from (Alinghi bought Team New Zealand’s) – but a smarter play might be, with the money men on board, to buy a design package from another team.”

#competitive sailing #ac37 #america’s cup #k-challenge #quentin de lapierre #new zealan herald #nothing new here buddy #french entry into america’s cup

1 note · View note

don-lichterman · 2 years

Text

[Today’s K-pop] Enhypen announces 1st world tour dates

(Credit: Belift Lab) Enhypen shared the where it will be performing during its upcoming international tour on Friday. The group will kick off its tour with two concerts in Seoul on Sept. 17 and beginning Oct. 2, will visit six cities in the US, from Chicago and Atlanta to New York. The “Manifesto” tour, named after the boy band’s third EP “Manifesto: Day 1,” will bring the septet to Japan the…

View On WordPress

#Asia News #K-pop #koreaHerald #Korean news #KPOP #South Korea news #South Korea news in english #The Korea Herald #더코리아헤럴드 #코리아 헤럴드 #코리아헤럴드

2 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

Note

Ok this is very random but how do you think Ghost would deal w an s/o who is still a virgin at a very big girl age 🥴 maybe they’d be seeing each other for a while, and when things heat up and she confesses, how would he deal? Would he be honored and accept being her first or would he reject her altogether bc she is inexperienced?

(Because I’m in my 20s and safe to say on top of everything else in my life except this, I haven’t come across anyone with whom I’d like to be intimate with yet and though I try not to let it get to me, some part of me sometimes feels like a freak or like something is wrong with me)

I hope I did not cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable by sharing this, if I did I apologize and please feel free to delete this ❤️🕊️

Ghost x FVirgin!Reader Word count: 2,9 k Tags/warnigs: Mild smut, light angst, fluff, comfort, praise & size kink Summary: Reader tells Ghost they’re a virgin while things are about to go down.

A/N: Oh anon!! No boundaries crossed here at all! Your request (or at least I took it as such and got inspired to write a brief oneshot about it) was very sweet. This of course is my HC but Simon would only and only take pride in being your first. He would get a huge ego boost from this and feel absolutely privileged to hear he's worthy of such trust. I think he would want to imprint himself in your head as the best man and the best sex partner you will ever have – he would do his all to eradicate even the very thought of wanting to try others after him. Again, an ego thing, but also a desperate wish to please his partner and make them feel safe. This man screams service top to me. I think Simon has a wild side – not mean, just wild, as in he might be into rough sex and certain types of kinky stuff every now and then but only if his partner is willing. He would be very gentle and considerate (passionate as hell though), knowing you're inexperienced, he would make you feel as safe as possible and wait until you were ready and willing to explore things further. Also, I can't help but be moved by what you told me in this message. I understand where you're coming from with these "is there something wrong with me" thoughts, because gosh, I feel you! And speaking from experience… it's 110 % worth it to wait for the right person to come along! Sex can be awesome, mind-blowing, one of the best things – with the right partner. Not worth it with just whomever, imho. Stay safe and trust yourself! And I hope you like this short drabble I made for Ghost x Virgin!Reader ❤️❤️❤️ much love 😘

Simon Riley was a one of a kind man.

He put every guy on every dating app to shame, and not just with his size. He was manly, in a word, even if you never knew you wanted such an overly masculine man. At least, not until you met him.

Simon was not only sturdy and mature – he was armed with calm rage and dark humor. Just one look in his eyes told you he was not the life of the party. Actually, he was Death himself: one of those four horsemen that heralded the Apocalypse.

Perhaps unintelligibly, the same man was also extremely considerate. A true gentleman if there ever was one. He always placed you and your needs first. But underneath the calm, cynical surface you sensed fierce intensity: fire and smoke, something that screamed Danger, high voltage.

And you could not keep away. Quite the opposite, really. The combination of a wildfire and a tornado roaring upon this solid bedrock of a man was simply alluring.

Things had gone a little too far without you meaning them to. You were not a woman of one night stands, actually, you had never had a stand. But Simon changed that, too. Because now you were thinking about sleeping with him.

After years and years of waiting for someone sensible to come along, you had begun to lose hope, especially when people seemed to fuck left and right while you wanted something real.

A bedrock.

With that wildfire. Perhaps a tornado thrown in as well.

After weeks and weeks of flirting, the man asked you out, and after weeks and weeks of going out, you came to the conclusion that if someone deserved to be your first, it was Simon Riley. If there was any guy you wished would take you against a wall until you begged for mercy, it was him. At least in your fantasies, which were starting to get out of hand.

In real life, things were not that breezy.

Because what would he say if – no, when – you told him you were a virgin at this age? What if he would be bothered, what if things would get awkward between you two?

What if he decided you were simply too much trouble than you were worth?

It seemed like a miracle that the guy was still around, having been left blue-balled date after date. Either he was hellbent on conquering you, or then… Well, you didn't even dare to think about or's and then's and what if's. Especially when your own feelings were getting equally out of hand as those fantasies.

He probably had plenty of experience, and the thought certainly didn't make you feel any better. How would you compare, being not only inexperienced but a whole goddamn virgin? And it would probably hurt on top of everything. This man must be pretty damn big downstairs if 6 '4 feet and large hands were any indication.

Still, all fears flew out the window in record time every time he pulled you into a kiss. Your body molded into his already: the broad shoulders closed in around you, and it only felt thrilling. His warmth, his arms and scent enveloped you like the sweetest prison, and you held onto him as tightly as you could. Not because he wasn't clutching you with the same–if not greater–fervor, but because you wanted to make sure he was real.

And you realized what the allure of Simon Riley was.

He felt safe.

In fact, he was safe. He represented safety in all its aspects.

Who would've thought that death and wildfire could feel so good, so reliable?

You wondered if he thought this was some game; that you kept him waiting. The unwritten rule seemed to be that it was ok not to jump into bed on the first date. If anything, it was only a decent move. But what did the rules say about the second, third or fourth date? Not to talk about tenth?

Things were starting to resemble some prudent high school romance. Well, perhaps not prudent, the way you two practically ground against each other while making out after every date. Without being vocal about it or pressuring you in any way, you could tell he wished for things to go further. Hell, every fiber in this man begged for more. He would soon burn your clothes off simply with that searing gaze alone.

Watching the door close on that heated stare after at least 15 minutes of wanton, wicked kissing followed by clumsy Good night's and shy, apologetic smiles just wouldn't do anymore. The poor man was left breathless and puzzled in the cold night with nothing but a hard-on and the crumbs you gave him to keep him warm.

Things were getting ridiculous, criminally so, and you felt pity for those pants trying to keep him in confinement. You felt pity for your own soaked underwear as you climbed to a lonely bed all hot, bothered, and wet.

Which was why this evening would end with you asking him to come inside.

. . .

Lately, his hands have started to roam; they even cup your ass as he moans in your mouth – and hearing that raspy, low sound leave him forces the final decision. It's the final prophecy that tells you he is the one. You should’ve known it was only a matter of time with him.

The man hides his surprise well as you invite him in.

"Thought you'd never ask," he gives you a soft chuckle before stepping over the threshold to not only your apartment but also your life and privacy.

You barely get out of your shoes before his shadow engulfs you and strong hands lift you in his lap like you weigh nothing at all. You instinctively reach for support by clasping your hands behind his neck.

"You really know how to torture a man, don't you?" The brown in his eyes is nearly swallowed by warm darkness as he carries you to the bedroom.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and he gives a short laugh of gravel.

"Don't be. This has been fun."

He sets you down next to the bed, and your heart is thumping so bad you fear he can hear it banging against your chest.

"But it's about time I torture you, right?"

Oh God…

Things happen so fast that it’s hard to tell who undresses who, but somehow, you find yourself standing in your bedroom with nothing but knickers and a bra on while he's taking off his pants. The man has definitely waited for this to happen for god knows how long, and it only makes your stomach lurch.

He thinks you know what you're doing, your brain offers when it should know when it’s time to shut the hell up. You can see the generous bulge this man is packing, and while perhaps compelling to other women, to you, it mainly looks intimidating. Threatening, almost.

He doesn't take his boxers off, seeing you're just standing there like some statue, still in your underwear and almost shaking from thoughts running rampant.

His form swallows you as he steps closer; wide hands slide up your arms, then draw you against him – against that demanding pulse that gets trapped between you two. Even through the black cloth, you can tell he's thick and big, just like you feared.

The man is blazing, and seems to have grown another foot in height as he towers over you with all that muscle. His shoulders are almost the size of your head, and you already know the hand that runs down your spine is experienced in crushing windpipes. It makes you breathe in shivers, and of course he notices something is wrong.

"Everything good?" He's eager and breathless, the erection pressing against you like a threat. He’s a man who has fashioned a weapon out of himself, so it shouldn't be a surprise that everything in him speaks violence.

"Yes," you try to assure him – a lousy lie only punctuated by the audible gulp that leaves your throat as you try to swallow your nerves back down.

"You afraid…?"

"Just a little nervous," you tell him, a half confession.

"Mm. That makes two of us."

He draws down into a kiss, the hands of a soldier and a killer nearly drawing you up from the ground as he pulls you close. You don't really buy his claim of being nervous too: you can feel how he throbs between you, heavy and impatient.

Hesitantly, you reach to hug him as well, and you feel so small, so insignificant when wrapped around this… giant. The knowledge that you're about to be trapped under all this crushing weight leaves you both faint and needy.

He’s a good kisser, but as he moves to devour your neck, you start to freeze from the middle.

"Alright… Come here."

He half carries, half lays you down on the bed, then crawls between your legs and changes his tactic a little. Gentle kisses are ghosted down your throat, and soon, he's at your breasts, soft as a whisper. But as he draws the fabric of your bra aside, your nipple is caught inside a hot, wet mouth, and the wildfire surges forth. There’s no way out from under him anytime soon, and you realize the colossal body is already spreading your thighs wide.

The way he already looks so damn good there between your legs: big, the epitome of raw, masculine power… It's almost sinful that a man like him is here with a virgin. It's a whole new hell how he's kissing you gently as fuck while blazing like a bonfire about to engulf and devour you. You want to wrap your legs around his middle, attach yourself to him in any way you can, but your thighs are weak pudding.

You feel both lost and found with him. In him.

He sucks and kisses your breasts like they're the only thing he's here for – and it feels good, heavenly, to be honest. But then he starts to travel down.

Shit… You need to tell him – and soon, or else there will be no time to say anything before the last of the shielding fabric is gone.

"Simon…?"

"Mm-hm?"

He doesn't even stop with the kissing, merely hums on your skin as his mouth reaches your stomach.

"You're my first," you finally force the truth into the night; a soft and desperate fact. It's only the faintest breath, but he halts abruptly like he has been stabbed between the ribs.

Great…

Here comes the awkward.

He rises. Softly, slowly, like a shadow, just a second away from getting to what's between your legs.

"Is that so?"

His voice is hoarse and dark from arousal. The whole man is intoxicating, and your heart is hammering in your chest, both from hunger and dread.

"Yes…?"

A broad hand comes to rest on the dip of your waist; gently, like you're some frightened animal about to dart off from under his touch.

"Love… Are you sure you want to do this?"

Are you? You almost ask, then bite your lip.

He just called you love, something he has never done before. You can see your breasts rising with the breaths you try to calm down with sheer willpower.

He lets out a small sigh, then crawls beside you and takes you in his arms. The bed sags and wails under his weight before your body is pulled into a delicious bear hug.

"Sweetheart."

His voice is so smooth, so different from the intense, rough smoke that has followed you up until this point that you feel vehement tears burn your eyes. First love, and now, sweetheart…

"There's no need to rush things," he says while keeping you close. Ever the gentleman, but you fear that you've ruined everything.

"We haven't exactly been rushing," you mutter somewhere in the plates of his chest. You both feel and hear how another sigh travels up his throat and is breathed into the crown of your head.

"Now… listen to me, ok? I've wanted you ever since we met. Can't deny it. But the last thing I want is to force you to do something you don’t wanna do."

You squeeze your eyes shut from what he says. Ever since you met… You can remember the lingering gazes, the way his eyes lit up with something hopeful and pure, how it drove away the exhaustion that seemed to have made a home in this big, brooding man. You remember how he stole a few stares up and down your body, too; remember the hunger he never even tried to conceal – not until now.

He is the most enthralling being you have ever seen, a mystery and a force of nature, an indomitable man, and to say that you haven't thought about him that way ever since too would be a lie.

"But I want it," you look up at him slowly, feeling much safer now that he's holding you like this.

I want you.

You realize you're pouting when the warm look in his eyes gains a playful glint as he laughs softly.

"You want it?"

"Yes."

That little twinkle turns into a downright gleam as he looks at you like you're the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

“You want it with me?”

“Yes.”

"How much do you want it?" The charred voice is so soft now: it washes over you in generous waves. His hands keep you in safe custody – and you're the most willing prisoner there ever has been.

"Pretty badly?" You breathe into the air between you and see the corner of his mouth tug.

"Well, in that case…" His hand sweeps down your back and comes to reside on the swell of your hip. "I'm glad I'm here to help."

Pale eyelashes drop to your lips just before he kisses you again. You arch in his arms, like a flower leaning towards sunlight; your mouth, your whole being unfurls under his leadership. He rolls partly on top of you, then moves to kiss you all over as you lie on your back: he kisses your chin and neck, your collarbones and the hollow little crevice between them. The hand on your hip brushes down your thigh, then back up, up, until his fingers meet the folds already soaked through the fabric of your underwear.

His touch is soft, but gains more weight as he sweeps slowly up, then brushes a thumb over the exact location of your clit.

"Oh–"

He knows what he's found, even without the evidence of your voiceless shake of a breath. He brushes another stroke over it, and it doesn't matter that you still have your undies on – you can feel his weight, the gentle pressure he applies as he draws a circle to usher another soft moan out of you.

"You like that?"

"Mhm," is the only thing you are able to answer.

"That's it…" he cheers you on with calm assurance. "Gonna make you feel good. And that's a promise."

You catch a hint of ego in that promise, but there's something else, too. A fervent devotion, a bottomless need to please you no matter what. The right man, definitely: not someone who is only after their own satisfaction. You don't exactly need the answer anymore, but you ask the final, burning question nonetheless.

"Simon?"

"Speak your mind, love."

"Are you disappointed…?"

He stops again, a breath away from you.

"Disappointed?" He sounds quite shocked, almost appalled. "...Disa–"

He huffs, then reaches to cup your face. You raise your eyes to his and see that he's…ardent, and very, very serious.

"Love, I'm honored."

You can only blink at the solemn vow, and he slowly shakes his head.

"Silly little thing…"

It's something he muses almost to himself before he drags his fingers over your sternum and down your stomach, reverently, like you're a piece of precious porcelain. But the heat in his eyes is back, and your fingers curl to grasp a fistful of sheet as his hand disappears underneath the cloth, when he finally touches you with nothing in between.

You suppose it's his middle finger that sweeps over your clit this time, then slips between your folds without effort. It coaxes your thighs open to give him better access, and access he has: he curls the finger until it almost dips inside. Your lips part with a quiet sigh as your chin climbs toward the ceiling.

"Look at that… All wet and sweet for me already."

The way you expose your neck is like an invitation: he buries his face in your neck, tries to drown in the scent and feel of you while gliding across the wetness down below. He spreads moisture on the tight bud, and you jerk a little from how sensitive it is – he huffs a smile in your ear. It makes you release the sheet and reach out to grasp him by the neck, to make him stay precisely where he is, close like this, so close…

"Do ya even know how bloody sweet you are?"

The last of your wits make a vanishing act as he breathes more praise on your skin. You're languid in his arms, feeling both weightless and heavy, like you're sinking into the mattress, and then his hand moves lower; one thick finger is plunged slowly inside.

Oh God oh God–

You feel him, all of him, filling and spreading you. And it's not enough… not nearly enough.

"We'll take it nice and slow, alright?" He whispers in your ear, and you tighten around him like on command. "Got all night to make a mess of you. That sound good?"

You can't help it: your lips draw into a smile when thinking about all the things he will do to you, all the sweet things you've always waited to happen.

"Yes."

#ghost x you #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #ghost fluff #is this too soft?#is there such a thing as too soft #omg I think I'm part of the Ghost babygirl crew now #i accept my fate #also no beta we die like men

3K notes · View notes

cassieuncaged · 5 months

Text

Batstarion (Astarion x Reader)

Summary: You share some time with a certain Ascended Vampire in bat form.

TW: none :)

WC: 1 K

A/N: just a fluffy oneshot inspired by Pani-artz Batstarion series, that’s all :)

Long, leathery wings stretch across the tufted cushion, a flurry of squeaks escaping before you whisper an evocation.

“Amicus animalis,” your fingers trace his tiny body, getting lost in the snowy coat that covers him. “You may speak now, love.”

“Lord,” he corrects in that buttery voice you delight in so much, though it’s difficult to take anything serious when Astarion lounges about in bat form. White pinpricks appear from behind an upturned snout, his menace evaporated as beady eyes muster any intimidation. “I am your lord and you will regard me as such.”

“Oh?” You bring a finger up to one fang, releasing a droplet that’s offered to the bat. A tiny pink tongue laps at it lazily. “It’s I who sits upon your throne; shan’t I be your lord?”

“Do not mock me, pet,” he seethes, though that pink noses nuzzles against your finger before sharply latching. He sips though it feels more like a tickle when he’s in this form, “I’m ghastly.”

“You’re adorable.” You coo, scratching beneath a fuzzy chin as he likes. When you stop, you noticed his batty expression has softened, tiny features relaxed. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” he sighs, wings twitching against either of your thighs, cartilaginous sinews loosening as his claws dig into your breeches. “Turn me."

“Isn’t my lovely face enough?” You jest though some truth is hidden in that; after all, it’s been almost a year since you’ve last seen your own reflection. Now you chat with the bat form of your lover and closest confidant. Were you finally losing what was left of your mind?

“Don’t be naïve,” he tsks, sinking into the tufted velvet. “I’d like to look upon the audience.”

“The hall is empty, my love,” your eyes fall on the empty benches as wings threaten to flap. “Patience, I’ve got you.”

One hand slid beneath his warm belly, enjoying the heat you no longer wrought. Then he was carefully scooped and turned so that beady little gaze to see the ornate room that often clamored for the attention of the lord regally displayed upon the dais. Then a content chirp echoed through the vaulted ceilings as his body spasmed.

“Imagine if all the citizens of Baldur’s Gate saw you now, my lov…, my lord.” One finger began stroking from between tiny coned ears to the root of a wiry tail. His fur was so luscious and soft, not unlike the curls so carefully manicured atop his head, “Commanding with such ferocity propped upon the lap of your consort.”

“I suppose it would be quite the sight,” he chuckled, making her shiver like it always did. “Baldur’s Mouth would have quite the story. ‘Decrees heralded by rodent’; I think it’s silly enough to make the front page.”

“Think yourself popular, do you?” you teased, enjoying the moments he was seemingly relaxed and docile; they were so far few and between these days.

“Darling, I know I am.” He wriggled playfully against the cushion before pinkish hued wings began to flap. It was always mesmerizing to watch him float, expecting him to morph back into himself with a cloud of smoke. But he remained as he was, eyeing you expectantly. “The sun has long set; let’s peruse the palace gardens.”

The velveteen cushion was tucked upon the seat of the gilded throne as he began to glide to the far end of the hall, leaving you practically sprinting to catch up. Boots clacked against the marble floor, robes swishing around sure legs as you raced down the aisle. He paused, wings flapping in place as your place was taken beside him.

“Do keep up, dear,” he chided, little teeth clicking as he gracefully dove through the opened oak doors and down the decadently decorated hallway. “We haven’t all night. Oh, wait; we do don’t we?”

Your chuckle mingled with his, allowing the flamboyant bat dart to through the ornate glass doors that servants obediently wrenched open. It was a treat to watch him dive through the hedged archways, dipping down to bury his nose in a budding rose that practically glowed beneath the full moon.

“Pick one,” he encouraged, “Put it behind your ear.”

Doing as asked, two red pinpricks watched diligently as the petals hung over the shell of your ear. Then, it finally happened, fluffy white bat dissipating into a black mist before Astarion stretched out in front you, gently tipping your chin upwards.

“Beautiful.” He cooed before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Just beautiful.”

“Would ‘Batstarion’ agree?” you giggled, enjoying the quiet moments before the hammer inevitably dropped. He was so rarely this tender and you missed it terribly. Gently, he pulled your hand into his before drifting to the edge of the gardens.

“He loves flowers, that’s true.” He grins, wiping residual pollen from his own nose, “Though I’m unable to hold you with those bloody wings. Not to mention the language barrier.”

“I love the chirps,” you argued, enjoying the arm that instinctually wrapped around your waist, possessively. “It’s very cute.”

“I’m meant to be menacing,” he growls and you’re reminded of his other form, back elongating, jaw distending. You shivered at the thought. So you allow your fingers to dance across a strong cheekbone as his gaze fell upon the lights twinkling lights in the Lower City below. “How will I ever rule The Sword Coast if I’m not?”

“In due time, my love.” You reassured him, enjoying the caress of his cold breath against your ear. “This will all be ours. They’ll pledge fealty and you can rest upon as many velvet pillows as you please. I’ll even rub your little furry belly.”

“Will you?” then, when you expected his teeth to plunge into your neck but nuzzled against you again. A welcome change. “That’d be strangely comforting.”

#astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x ofc #astarion x tav #astarion #oneshot #fluff #batstarion #reader insert #female reader

539 notes · View notes

whitedarkmoonflower · 1 month

Text

The promise

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Authors note: am I back on my angst track? yeah, probably so and I love it. Sorry 😅 Warnings: angst, hurt with very little comfort, implied sexual abuse, attempted suicide - yes it has a happy ending 😉 Summary: for his own good you wrung a promise from Sihtric that left your both hearts bleeding Word Count: 3,8 K

"Come with me, and I'll show you the world," the wind whispered, playfully tousling your hair. You reached out as if trying to grasp the warm air swirling around you. Mischievous, it only chuckled at your futile attempt, echoing the birds' songs heralding the dawn of a new day. It tangled in the tattered remnants of your dress, gathering fallen leaves from the ground and whisking them into a wild dance before carrying them away, allowing them to cascade onto the jagged rocks below the cliff.

"I can't fly," you murmured, tilting your head and marveling at the way your fingers shimmered in the light of the rising sun. Your slender, weathered hand, adorned with blisters and scratches, suddenly appeared fragile and exquisite, almost translucent and aglow in the gentle blue and orange hues of the early sunlight.

"Don't worry, I'll catch you," the playful breeze assured, its caress gentle against your cheeks, almost imperceptible in its fleeting softness. It stirred a memory, a distant echo of tender touches long forgotten, as if they'd never existed.

You flinched at the sound of small stones loosening, merrily cascading down into the abyss, while you adjusted your weight and shuffled your bare, dirt-stained feet, as you leaned against the rough logs of the fortress's sturdy outer wall.

"Can I trust you?" you wondered, eyes wide open, captivated by the soft hues painting the horizon.

"I'll lead you to him. Just one more step, and you'll be free," the wind enticed, its gentle laughter fading into the distance.

A silent exhale escaped your lips, swallowed by the hushed whisper of the wind. "Wait for me. I'm coming with you."

You had faithfully kept your promise, day after day, mustering the strength to carry on. Day after day of waning hope, hope that never truly had the right to exist. Had he kept his promise? A single tear traced its path down your cheek, leaving a salty trail in its wake. Yes, he had. And that’s why you were here now, determined to finally break yours.

"Please, let me see it," rough yet gentle fingers cradled your chin, lifting your head as they carefully swept back the strands of hair obscuring your face.

He was too close, his breath lingering heavily upon your skin, the scent of ale from his lips wafting to your nostrils. You loved the warmth of his body, a stark contrast to your perpetually cold hands. You loved his arms enveloping your shoulders, drawing you close in an embrace, an unfailing source of comfort for you. You lived for that shy smile of his mismatched eyes, as he affectionately tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear or brushed imaginary dirt from your cheeks, too timid to touch you otherwise.

The first time he had dared to kiss you, your breaths mingling as his lips weightlessly hovered over yours, made your heart skip a beat. But not today.

You struggled to maintain shallow breaths, attempting to alleviate the dull ache that persisted each time your lungs expanded, stretching your ribs. With eyes tightly shut, the grinding sound of your gritted teeth echoing in your ears, you sensed his fingers trembling ever so slightly as they delicately traversed the purple and blue marks around your eyes, and traced the red lines etched across your cheeks, halting at the corner of your mouth. His thumb's touch, as he sought to remove dried blood, elicited a wince, the sharp sting from the pressure on your swollen lip for a short moment overshadowing the ache in your ribs.

You had refused to cry. Not when the weighty ringed hand struck your face, sending you sprawling. Not when the coarse fingers, like iron claws, tangled in your hair and forcefully yanked your head back, the repugnant stench from the rotten, yellow-toothed mouth assaulting your senses. Not when…

No, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken. Your body could bear the bruises, your body might be his, your soul and mind remained your own.

It was only later that you realised it wasn't your brokenness he had sought. It wasn't your tears he had yearned to extract.

You didn’t want to cry now either, but the tears betrayed you, burning in the corners of your eyes despite all your efforts.

"Did he do that to you?" It sounded like a question, but both of you knew the answer all too well. The pounding of your heart intensified with each passing moment. You tried to calm it, to quiet its thunderous beats, but it refused to heed your silent pleas, transforming into a tumultuous roar of war drums in your ears.

You trembled, the sensation starting deep within, a subtle quiver that steadily expanded, wresting control of your body from your grasp.

"It's my fault," a whisper reached your ears, and you snapped your eyes open, Sihtric’s trembling voice cutting through the deafening thud of your heart.

You wanted to speak, but the words got caught in your throat, only a loud sob managing to escape through gritted teeth as you took a step back. The rough surface of the stable wall brushed against your skin through the thin layer of your ragged clothes, denying you an escape.

You had always found solace in the scent of fresh straw, the rhythmic snorts of the animals, and the comforting warmth emanating from their bodies. This was your hidden refuge, where you sought shelter night after night. It was here that Sihtric had found you, his gaze almost passing over you until the traitorous moon slipped out from behind the clouds, revealing your presence as you held your breath in the farthest corner.

Your own weight suddenly unbearable, you sank to the ground, leaning against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees as you buried your face.

"Go away," you demanded, your breath catching in your chest. You attempted to sound resolute, even angry, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "Please, just leave me alone," your voice cracked, morphing into a soft, pleading sob.

Sihtric’s arms hung awkwardly by his sides, his entire body tense, his fists clenched and unclenched with anger, his gaze caressing your crouched and trembling form on the ground, unsure whether he could approach you, whether he could touch you.

He had tried to protect you, to care for you, quietly and unobtrusively. Yet, in doing so, he had unwittingly become your doom.

The sight of you shattered his heart, again. He hadn’t realised it could be broken more than once. He had believed it dead, burned by the flames that had greedily consumed the pyre, erasing the last remnants of the only person who had ever shown him kindness and love.

He had believed himself incapable of love, of caring for another, of feeling anything beyond the all consuming hatred, anger and thirst for revenge. That was all before he had met you.

There was something in your eyes as you glanced up at him, your dishevelled hair cascading loosely over your shoulders and falling across your smudged face, as you were towed in a line of new slaves behind the sturdy black stallion carrying Tekil.

Your hands were bound, your clothes half-torn and soiled, your bare feet stumbling as you made your way forward. He felt the urge to turn away, to hasten down from the ramparts to attend to his new master. The horse needed care, the weapons required cleaning.

You looked up, and your gazes met fleetingly, like a wounded deer gazing in terror at the encroaching predator.

But there was more than fear and despair in those deep, wide eyes. A hint of defiance mingled with resilience and a spark of life. There was such a strong will to live, a resolve to survive in those large, tearful eyes that seemed to bore into his mind, glimpsing into his very soul.

He knew the life awaiting you would shatter that resolve, break you, erase even the faintest trace of your own will, wrapping you in suffering and self-loathing like a glove wraps the hand. And he couldn't bear the thought of it. He couldn’t bear that there was nothing he could do about it. Or could he?

You lingered too long, gazing at the young boy on the upper ramparts. The sudden tug on the rope fastened to you caught you off guard, causing you to lose your balance and emit a cry of pain as your knees collided with the hard ground.

Sihtric’s hands instinctively clasped Thor's hammer around his neck, his lips forming silent words of an unspoken promise, a vow, to not let that happen, to not let that spark be wiped off. Not letting go of the pendant, he prayed to the gods for the day he could whisk you away from this accursed place and witness a smile lighting up those beautiful eyes.

From that day forward, his seemingly futile existence had acquired a new purpose. A hesitant smile exchanged in the hallways, a warm, compassionate glance shared in the great hall, a hand that didn’t take a swing, but stretched out to help you back on your feet, that was all he dared to offer at first.

He saw your red, swollen eyes, your diminishing frame with each passing week, the trembling of your hands as you served ale, and the deepening darkness in your gaze. It was not enough. He knew he was miserably failing to uphold the promise he had made to himself and to the gods.

The feast in the great hall of Dunholm was in full swing. Laughter filled the room, mingling with drunken revelry, boasting of recent victories and tales of triumphs. Sihtric sat at the long table on the left, squeezed between Tekil’s men. It was his first time being permitted to join them there.

Tekil wasn't a cruel man; he was a steely, battle hardened warrior, yes, but not one who reveled in the suffering of others. He had taken Sihtric in after the execution of his mother. He had vouched for him before Kjartan, pledging to mould him into a warrior. And there Sihtric sat in his father's great hall, striving to remain unnoticed, to hide himself behind the sturdy frames of the other warriors, his fingers wrapped around the ale mug, yet hesitating to lift it to his lips.

You were in the midst of serving ale, shuddering each time a rough palm landed on your buttocks, laughter echoing through the hall as you refilled mugs and set pitchers on the tables. Sihtric's eyes tracked your movements between the tables, hastily averting his gaze each time you seemingly turned his way. As you approached his table, a sudden warmth flooded Sihtric's cheeks, his heartbeat quickening.

"I see you've taken a liking to this little bird," Sihtric nearly jumped from his seat, hearing that all too familiar voice in his ear, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder. "She's far too bony for my taste; you can have her," a sly smile curved Kjartan's lips as he turned to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you roughly closer with one swift motion.

A soft yelp trembled on your lips, causing Kjartan's smile to widen into a grin. "Come on, boy. Saddle this mare, show me you're a man. Tekil promised he'd shape you into one."

With a forceful shove from Kjartan, you stumbled into Sihtric's lap, the laughter from all sides echoing through the air, assaulting your ears. Two strong arms encircled your waist and effortlessly lifted you. Desperate to break free, you attempted to wriggle out of the grip, but the jovial laughter in the hall only grew louder as you were hoisted over a broad shoulder and carried away.

Sihtric slammed shut the door of his tiny, windowless room, setting you down on your feet. You retreated instantly and your back collided with the solid door, eyes fixed on Sihtric, unable to quell the shaking of your limbs. By now, you knew he was Kjartan’s son—a bastard, yet his own flesh and blood, surely eager to please his father and earn his recognition.

"Please," it was barely a whisper, a silent breath trembling on your lips, your voice caught in your dried-up throat as you lowered your gaze, unwilling to appear as though you were challenging him. "Don't hurt me."

You understood your plea was likely in vain, that he didn't care. But there was nothing else you could do, so you begged, hoping to strike some hidden chord behind those large, oddly mismatched eyes that had followed you so many times.

You had thought them kind, seeking solace in them amidst the crowded hall, grounding yourself in the warmth of their gaze, clinging to the hope of having found a soul not tainted by malevolence, perhaps even a friendly one to guide you through your misery.

It had all been an illusion—a dream twisted into a nightmare, as you felt Sihtric’s rapid breath on your neck, his well built frame looming over you. "Please," you repeated, your voice trembling uncontrollably, words dissolving into soft sobs as your hands panickedly crumpled your skirt.

The terror in your voice sent a shiver down Sihtric’s spine. You saw him as the enemy. You thought him like his father—someone who relished in the suffering of others, ready to assert dominance through force for his own amusement. And he couldn’t blame you for that. As much as he cursed the legacy running through his veins, he was who he was. His father’s son. Shame burning him from within, like that pyre fire, erasing his sweetest memories, he reached out to place his hands on your shoulders.

"I won't hurt you. Do you hear me?" But you didn't. Panic had engulfed you entirely, the rush of blood in your ears deafening, the frantic pounding of your heart pushing you to the brink of consciousness, your senses sharpened to a painful clarity.

This was the moment the other women had warned you about, the moment they had tried to prepare you for. "Don't resist; it will only make it worse," they had told you.

"Don't resist," their warning echoed in your mind. But you couldn't. The moment two rough palms landed on your shoulders, you screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you fought in fury against them, your cries ringing through the room.

Sihtric released you instantly, hastily stepping back with his hands raised in the air, trying to show he meant no harm.

"Please, just listen to me," he pleaded, but you were too consumed by fear to register his words. Your eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape, but finding none, they settled back on Sihtric. Meeting his gaze, you bared your teeth like a wild animal, your breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps, as if preparing for a leap.

"I won't touch you," Sihtric's soft voice gently washed over your alerted senses. Why would he say that? What kind of trap was this? Thoughts fluttered through your mind like startled birds. "I… I'm not like my father. I mean you no harm, I swear," Sihtric took another step back, giving you space.

"W-what do you mean?" you stuttered, pressing yourself even harder against the door as if trying to meld with it.

"You are safe with me, I promise," Sihtric's eyes searched your face expectantly, hoping for some sign that you might consider believing him.

And oddly enough you did. Against reason, against everything you had been told and warned about, you believed him. You wanted to believe him; you had nothing left in this world to believe in, and so you chose to believe in the young man standing before you, in that warm, friendly, and inexplicably sad fire burning in his eyes.

You placed your small, cold hand in his outstretched palm, slowly and carefully, holding your breath in anticipation, your heart pounding against the cage of your ribs. He took a step closer, leaning in until his forehead touched yours.

"Please, don't be afraid of me," he whispered, his arms tentatively finding their way around your shoulders, as if afraid you would push them away again. But you didn't. You allowed yourself to melt into his strong embrace, burying your nose in Sihtric's broad chest as tears of relief soaked his leather armour.

"Stupid boy, you didn’t even hump her," Kjartan's words struck Sihtric like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. "The bitch was still a virgin."

Sihtric's legs turned into heavy logs, a desperate urge to flee coursing through him, yet he remained rooted to the spot under his father's scrutinising gaze. "Maybe I was mistaken and you didn't even fancy her?" Kjartan continued with a grin. "Tell me, scum, do you prefer boys instead?"

Not a muscle twitched in Sihtric's face as Kjartan's hand rested heavily on his shoulder. "No, I was right. You desire her, you crave her," his hot breath in Sihtric's ear seared him.

"You should have heard her. A feisty little thing, squealing like a pig. You know I enjoy it when they resist. It makes it much more enjoyable," Kjartan patted him consolingly on the shoulder, a wicked smirk forming on his lips, then turned to leave. "Tekil has a task, and he's taking you with him. You're departing at dawn tomorrow. Now, go fetch your little bird and enjoy her before it's too late."

It had all been in vain. Those hidden lingering glances, those fleeting touches, those stolen kisses in the secluded corners of the kitchen away from prying eyes—they all amounted to nothing. He had failed to protect you, to shield you from harm. Instead, he had inadvertently brought about your downfall, as he hadn’t managed to hide how much you mattered to him.

"Go away," you cried out once more, lifting your head to meet his gaze. The pain in his large, searching eyes squeezed your racing heart, prompting you to quickly look away. You didn't blame him; he was the sole reason your existence in this place had felt somewhat bearable. But it was all too much. Your own pain was enough, and you couldn't bear to add his to the burden.

"I can't," a throaty whisper escaped his lips as he lowered himself to the ground, aligning his height with yours, and gently crouched by your side. You shuddered at the touch of his arms around your trembling frame, yet you couldn't muster the strength to push him away.

You sat in the moonlight, surrounded by eerie shadows that danced around you each time an impish cloud attempted to obscure the large, pale disc in the dark sky. No words were needed; the enveloping silence spoke volumes, conveying more than any sound ever could.

"I'm leaving tomorrow at dawn," Sihtric's hoarse voice seemed to come from another world, and you heart stopped beating. The darkness crept from the corners, slowly enveloping you, draining the remaining colours from your life. "Tekil is taking me with him. It’s going to be a long trip, not just an ordinary patrol."

Turning your head, you reached out and cupped his face, your thumb gliding over his wet cheeks as Sihtric leaned into your touch.

"Promise me something," you whispered, summoning strength you didn't know you possessed.

"I will come back to you, I swear. I'll return, and one day I'll take you away from here," Sihtric's hand found yours, pulling your palm to his lips where he placed tender kisses upon your wrist.

"No," you vehemently shook your head. "No, this is your chance, Sihtric. Promise me you will not return. Promise me you'll do everything in your power to escape, to leave this cursed place behind and never look back. Promise me," your voice grew louder, your eyes searching his. "Promise me!" you demanded, desperation creeping into your tone.

"What? I... I can't... Don't you see it? Don't you feel it? I love you. Do you understand what you're asking of me?"

"I know. And God is my witness, I love you too. But if you love me, you'll promise me this. And you'll keep that promise, Sihtric Kjartansson. Knowing that you have a chance for a new life away from this hell on earth is the only thing that will keep me alive," your voice quivered with excitement.

Will he miss me? Will he remember me? You bit down on your tongue, forbidding yourself from voicing these questions that swirled in your mind. You had to let go. You had to set him free. This was the only way, the only chance, at least for one of you.

"Promise me," you insisted, your gaze locked with Sihtric's, glowing with a hint of madness.

"I'll give you that promise, if you swear to keep waiting. If you swear to not give up on this life," Sihtric's fingers squeezed yours painfully.

"I promise to keep waiting for you never coming back," you pledged without a moment's hesitation. "I promise to carry on, to endure. For you."

"I promise," Sihtric's voice broke as he tried to speak the next words, but your expectant, feverish gaze compelled him to continue. "Then I promise not to come back."

"Swear it," you demanded, wrapping his fingers around the pendant on his neck.

"I swear," it was barely a whisper, just a silent breath, escaping his lips as he gave the oath that was breaking his heart. He pulled you into his embrace, lips nuzzling your hair, inhaling your scent and feeling your soft skin under his fingertips, as he tried to store it all in his memory forever, not feeling ashamed for the tears trailing down his cheeks and disappearing into your dishevelled hair.

Weird sounds emanating from within the fortress drew your attention away from your memories—men shouting and hounds howling. You covered your ears with both hands, attempting to stifle the daunting sounds. It wasn't the first time Kjartan entertained himself by setting his hellhounds on some poor soul who had earned his wrath.

It was time. You were ready. Straightening yourself, you parted from the rough, grounding wall behind your back.

"One step, just one more step into freedom," you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes.

You shuddered upon hearing your name being called, the sound reaching you from the other side of the wall, oddly familiar. No, it couldn't be. You shook your head in an attempt to dispel the illusion your mind was conjuring to confuse you.

With eyes closed, you raised your foot for your last step, feeling the ground disappearing from beneath you, ready to fly away, to trust the alluring promise of the wind you knew to be insidious.

You cried out in despair as you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back. Eyes still shut, you fought against them, believing Kjartan’s men had found you, until a soft voice from your dreams spoke your name again, causing you to finally open your eyes wide with disbelief and fear as if seeing a ghost.

“Why did you break your promise?” was all you managed to whisper.

“To prevent you from breaking yours,” two mismatched eyes sadly smiled at you. “Kjartan is dead. You are free.”

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey

#sihtric x reader #sihtric #the last kingdom #tlk #tlk fic #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #angst #hurt #sihtric x you

64 notes · View notes

griseldagimpel · 2 months

Text

Media Recommendations for Harry Potter Fans

Alright. So you’re a Harry Potter fan. You’re a Harry Potter fan because you love Harry Potter and you love the community you’ve built with your fellow fans, but J. K. Rowling is using her vast fortune to harm people and she says asinine shit about how anyone who likes Harry Potter agrees with her transphobia, and you know that’s not true, but maybe you’re wondering if there’s a different fandom you and your friends could go to, where if nothing else the creator isn’t using a massive platform and massive amounts of money to harm transgender people. This is a guide for you.

You really wish you could have a Harry Potter that’s just not Harry Potter. You want a magical school and aerial sports games and fighting a tyrant and the equivalent of Hogwarts Houses.

Check out The Owl House. It’s about a girl named Luz who wanders into another world and attends a magic school.

You can watch it on YouTube: Link.

You like the idea of a modern-ish fantasy book series (British, pre-Smart Phone technology age) with a big, rambling world to play around in.

Check out The Chronicles of Chestomanci by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s set across a multiverse and follows the lives and trials of young magicians.

Start with Charmed Life, which can be purchased on Amazon: Link.

You want a fantasy series with chosen ones, suffering, and sacrifice where anyone can die. Also, you like magical animal companions.

Check out The Last Herald Mage Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey, which is part of the broader Valdemar series. It’s about the life of Valdemar’s greatest – and last – Herald-mage.

You can find it on Amazon: Link.

You love Harry Potter for the mysteries. You’d be fine with something for a bit of an older demographic, and you love supernatural horror and angst. You want to see the protagonist go through it. But you’d also love it if there was something akin to the Hogwarts Houses that you could define yourself by.

Check out The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir or The Magnus Archives. The Locked Tomb series is science-fantasy set in the far-flung future and has necromancy. The Magnus Archives is a podcast about an institute in London that takes down statements from people who have had encounters with the paranormal.

The Locked Tomb series begins with Gideon the Ninth: Link.

The Magnus Archives can be listened to on YouTube: Link.

Your favorite part of the Harry Potter series is the wizarding war, and your favorite house is Slytherin.

Check out The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. It’s about a necromancer who’s been resurrected. The necromancer in question is like 95% brat-turned-cool-uncle and 5% evil-necromancer.

The volumes are numbered and can be found on Amazon: Link.

There is also an adaptation entitled The Untamed that I have not watched yet, but it can be found on Netflix.

You really enjoy the social satire aspect of Harry Potter and think Hermione was right about House Elf liberation. Also, you’re okay with science fiction instead of fantasy.

Check out The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells. It’s about an enslaved cyborg finding freedom, making friends, and healing from trauma.

The first book is All Systems Red: Link.

You like Harry Potter because it’s comfort media. Life is rough, and you want a piece of media that’s engaging but gentle.

Check out the podcast Welcome to Night Vale. It’s presented as the community radio broadcast out of a small, deeply weird town in the American southwest.

You can listen to it on YouTube: Link.

If you want something in print form, there’s The Lord of the Rings: Link.

If you like movies, there’s Jupiter Ascending: Link.

Don’t hesitate to ask if you want more information (such as content warnings) for any of the above.

#harry potter #long post #book recommendations #movie recommendation #podcast recommendations #television recomendations #media recommendations

79 notes · View notes

petermorwood · 1 year

Video

youtube

Here’s a dish from French Cooking Academy, another of my subscribed YouTube channels.

I like the business of stuffing each chunk of beef with a bit of garlic and bacon; I’ve done this with lamb, using garlic and lemon. Another interesting detail is the use of cinnamon, suggesting a way-back-when influence either from the Moors or having access to spices as they passed through from Dpain Spain or North Africa on the way to somewhere else.

Kokkinisto (Greek) and Tajine (Morocco) also use cinnamon - and cloves, and nutmeg, and ginger etc. etc. depending on recipe. I’ve made both, they’re really excellent.

@dduane and I got Very Interested because the use of what Mum used to call “cake spices” is also quite medieval and, in DD’s case, adaptable for the Middle Kingdoms project.

The Corsican one recommends rigatoni, cannelloni or similar large hollow pasta (presumably to hold lots of sauce!) For a more medieval approach I’d try Loseyns from late-1300s cookbook “The Forme of Cury” (that’s “cookery” without the k, so “coo’rey” not “curry”.)

*****

These are often regarded as Richard II-era ”lasagne”, though I wonder if there’s also an association with heraldic “lozenges”, easily created by cutting a sheet of pasta dough slantwise...

Either way, here’s “Tasting History with Max Miller” (subscribed of course!) having a go at Loseyns, which turn out like mac & cheese with extra spices.

Max ended up eating them with a stick because forks hadn’t been introduced yet, but IMO a better utensil would be the historical eating pick, like one of these.

...or even a spoon, especially if the loseyns were cut small with that in mind.

However eating pasta with the fingers - like many other foods - may have been done in the 1300s; it was certainly recorded in paintings from the 1600s...

...right up to the 1800s...

...though I don’t think these were dressed with anything more than oil or butter and some grated cheese, and the potential for messy eating was still pretty high. Eating small pasta rather than dangly strands with the fingers was probably much tidier, especially if diners knew the proper etiquette for doing it...

Finally, here’s something from our own store-cupboard, bought out of curiosity during a recent visit to Polonez in Dublin.

This is pasta cut into little squares; both the front and the back of the pack calls them łazanka...

...and according to Google Translate, this just means “pasta noodles”.

However...

Can any followers tell me if "łazanka” has any relationship to “lasagna” or “lozenge”? An enquiring mind wants to know! :->

ETA: @seriously-mike says “...łazanki were brought to Poland in 16th century by queen Bona Sforza (so) the relationship with lasagna might be there.” See his Reply for more info.

ETA (2): A little bell went off in my head about the shapes in the bag and I suddenly remembered seeing them as something call “torn pasta” - the Italian word is “maltagliati“ - which were made using re-rolled scraps of dough from “formal” shapes; more info at that link.

#food and drink #corsican beef ragout #spices in cooking #medieval cooking #food and cooking of the middle kingdoms #French Cooking Academy #Tasting History #lasagne #pasta

154 notes · View notes

commander-wame · 18 days

Text

Ty for the tag @herald-of-aurene !!

tagging @vampiricsheep @commander-violette @mystery-salad @commanders-sole-braincell @manasurge and anyone who'd like to!! (idk who has or hasn't done it yet)(no pressure)

-- B A S I C S

Name: Wame Nicknames: Ura (by Gixi) Age: 3 y/o at the start, currently 16 y/o (I think??) Birthday: 1322 Colossus (November 15th) Race: Noon-bloom sylvari Gender: Non-binary/guy/person (he/him)(transed his gender upon waking) Orientation: Panromantic asexual Profession: commander (semi-retired), champion of Aurene

-- P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Originally brighter green. Now darkish/desaturated green with specks of lighter green and dark purple Eyes: Originally yellow, now a very pale green Skin: Desaturated green, fading into darker tones on his limbs and horns, glows a faint yellow in the dark Tattoos/Scars: long scar on his left eye (arrow, eye now perma closed due to shoddy patch job), many more tiny scars all over his face, assorted burns marks

-- F A M I L Y

Parents: Pale Tree Siblings: Fehine (older brother), Eithne (older sister), Sera (younger sibling over at @/commander-violette), Caithe (older sister) Grandparents: Jungle grandpappy (Mordremoth) In-laws and others: Eldrid (dearheart), Trahearne (???, deceased), Gixi (best friend/adopted sibling), Aurene (adopted daughter), Dragon's Watch (Adopted Family) Pets: Sparkfly (smokescale, always by his side since Maguuma), Beetle (raven, often closeby), a two headed snake who sometimes chills on his shoulder, + tens of cats

-- S K I L L S

Abilities: Ranger (soulbeast, temporarily fusing with animals he's tamed/pets), minor necromancer abilities Hobbies: Cooking, drawing, studying animal and creature behaviour.

-- T R A I T S

Most positive trait: gentle, kind, protective, analytical, decisive. Most negative trait: stubborn, pessimistic, self-isolating.

-- L I K E S

Colors: greens, yellows, pale blue, and a specific bright red Smells: bread, fresh air, fruits, blood Textures: soft fur, rough scales, tree bark, cloth Drinks: coffee, mango juice, water

-- O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: no Drinks: on occasion Drugs: no Been arrested: a couple of times

#wame #the him #ty this was fun!! :D

21 notes · View notes

don-lichterman · 2 years

Text

Hybe independent label ADOR launches first group NewJeans

Girl group NewJeans (ADOR) NewJeans, the first girl group from ADOR, an independent label under K-pop powerhouse Hybe, threw its glitzy hats into the ring with its namesake debut album on Monday. Hybe is the multi-label entertainment company home to several big-name K-pop labels, including Big Hit Music, the label behind superstars BTS. Brought together by ADOR’s CEO and head producer Min…