#I’m love peatie SO MUCH.

[candycryptids]

Vierapril Day 6: Bloom

So the thing about Tuesday- he’s got loyalty in his bones. He’s also incredibly soft for big women.

And. Peatie is a delicate little flower who he would, and will, swear his undying loyalty to the moment she shows so much as a hint of feeling safe/comforted around him. Everyone be nice to Peatie and her new bodyguard who will blow you up to pieces if you’re mean to her.

[skyward-floored]

I wrote a little something with swamp Link... this was mostly an exercise to try and figure out his and Zelda’s characters a little more, and though I miiiiiight change a few things, I like how this turned out so I’m sharing it 👍 please enjoy the sillies

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Zelda’s heart pounded as she ran across peaty grass and mud, dodging hanging moss and tall reeds.

Her foot abruptly sank into a deeper spot of mud, and Zelda yelped, pulling at her boot and soaking her skirts in muck in the process. The mud refused to give up her shoe no matter how hard she pulled, and when she heard an excited snarl, Zelda tore her foot free of it and kept running in her sock, her foot immediately soaked.

She felt like an idiot.

Why had she decided slipping away from her entourage for a few minutes would be okay? She’d just wanted a few minutes to herself, and gotten so absorbed in sketching a lovely pond she’d come across that she hadn’t seen the monsters until they were nearly upon her.

Now she was bolting through a swamp with no idea where she was going being chased by at least three bokoblins—

A root caught her foot and Zelda cried out as she fell, landing on the peaty ground with a squelch. She heard the monsters approaching, much too close for comfort, and twisted around, scrambling back against the trunk of a tree.

There was water on either side of her, greenish with all sorts of plants growing on and in it, dark and murky in other places. She’d inadvertently cornered herself, and Zelda could only watch as the monsters crept closer, slobbering grins on their faces.

The biggest one was only a few feet away now, and Zelda swallowed, heart beating like a drum as she braced herself against the tree. She would go down kicking at least.

Something made a strange noise, and Zelda glanced beside her, spotting a few bubbles rippling in the water below.

The fear already in her throat tightened even further, and Zelda looked frantically between the pond and the monsters stalking her, sure that something even worse was about to come from the water.

I shouldn’t have slipped away!

A shadow burst from the pond beside her with a tremendous splash, and Zelda shrieked, covering her head.

But instead of leaping on her like she thought it would, it rammed into one of the monsters, yelling wildly while doing so.

The bokoblin snarled and fought back, but the figure pulled out a dagger and began swiping and stabbing with it, purplish monster blood spraying through the air. The fight was hard to follow, all four combatants moving fast, and Zelda remained frozen at the base of the tree as a monster howled.

The strange figure easily took on the three monsters at once, stabbing and slashing and yelling all the while. It killed one and quickly moved on to the other two, fighting with a mix of hand-to-hand and the dagger that flashed silver in the dappled sunlight.

Zelda squinted. Wait... is that a..?

It was a mere matter of moments before all the monsters were dead, and the figure dusted its hands (hands! She was right! It was a Hylian!) off, replacing the dagger at its hip.

He, Zelda now saw, turned towards her and Zelda stared.

He was coated in an awful lot of grime, but he was Hylian, Zelda was almost totally sure. He even seemed to be about her age, though not very tall, and again, covered in muck. Long blondish hair hung loose and fell halfway in his face, still dripping from his abrupt exit from the pond.

And though he was covered in mud and plants and blood both monster and human, Zelda made out two grey-green eyes through it all, and a somewhat curious look.

He stepped closer to her, and Zelda stiffened. He had protected her from those monsters, but still. She was alone in a swamp with an armed and messy stranger, one who had just proven he could easily overpower multiple assailants.

But all he did was extend a hand towards her, a grin on his face.

“Those monsters are getting worse, huh? Well you don’t need to worry about them anymore,” he said cheerfully, quickly swiping some blood off his arm. “You okay?”

His voice was quiet, and had a lyrical quality to it, one Zelda hadn’t been expecting, and she gaped at him while her brain processed the words and the strange swamp man in front of her. It didn’t help things when she also noticed he wasn’t wearing anytging resembling a shirt, and Zelda’s face went pink.

Then she remembered he’d asked her a question.

“Oh, I-I’m,” Zelda squeaked, then drew in a shaking breath, trying to reign in her pounding heart. That had been way too close. “Y-yes. I’m... I’m okay. Are you?”

“Oh yeah, this is nothing,” the teenager shrugged, looking at the scratch on his arm. “I’ve had worse.”

Zelda didn’t doubt that.

She hesitantly took his offered hand, slimy and wet as it looked, but her gloves did a good job of blocking that. His grip was firm but gentle as he helped her up, and Zelda cleared her throat as she released his hand. Her face felt hot, but she would blame that on the adrenaline from her chase and certainly not anything else.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she apologized, dropping a quick curtsy. It wasn’t too shaky, which she counted as a success, though the swamp man tilted his head at the gesture, looking a bit confused.

“Nah, not really,” he shrugged. “I was on the lookout for monsters anyway, you led them right to me. Made the perfect ambush!” he grinned. “I should be thanking you.”

“Oh, well... you’re welcome?” Zelda offered, and somehow the teenager’s grin widened.

He leaned against the tree Zelda had been cowering beside, stretching his arms and tilting his head to the side until his neck cracked. Zelda took the opportunity to shake some of the muck off her dress, glad that at least it was one of her traveling ones and a little less delicate than some she owned. There’ll still be a fit when I return looking like this though.

“So what brings a fancy lady like you to the Great Zoran Swamp?” he asked, scanning her dress as she messed with it. “I’ve never seen anyone like you here before. Only visitors we really get are traders, convicts, or freaks, and you don’t look like any of those.”

Zelda found herself blushing again as he studied her, and she fiddled with her gloves.

“I’m looking for a temple,” Zelda admitted, picking at a torn thread on her glove. “The temple of Farore?”

He hummed consideringly, and Zelda swallowed. She hadn’t really planned on telling a complete stranger anything, but it wasn’t like it would do much harm giving him that. Plus if he’d wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty opportunity to do so, and hasn’t.

She continued. “I was heading there to pray when... well. I wandered a bit away from my guides, just for a little while, and then those monsters showed up, and I ran...”

“And you got lost,” he finished for her with a smile. It was a nice smile, even despite the handful of green flecks she noticed stuck between some teeth. “Easy to do in the swamp if you don’t know it. Or if you do. It’s confusing. You’re lucky you didn’t go east, I found a nest of violet ropes that way.”

“Violet what?” Zelda asked, and the muck-coated teenager grimaced.

“Violet ropes. Venomous snakes. A bite from them can easily kill you if you’re not careful. Luckily they’re bright purple so you’d probably see them,” he said with a smile. “So long as you didn’t confuse them with any orchids. Anyway, we should get you back to your guides. No fancy ladies should be wandering in the swamp alone. Which way’s your group?”

Zelda looked around. “Ah... I’m afraid I have no idea.”

He tapped a finger to his chin. “Right. Lost. Uh... well I can get you to your temple,” he offered. “There’s a lot of ruins around but I think I know the one you mean. Can you swim?”

Zelda balked, then looked down at her dress. “I... don’t think I’m very well-equipped for swimming at the moment.”

“Okay, long way it is. Hope you like frogs!”

“I’ve always liked sketching them?” Zelda said hesitantly, and for some reason he laughed.

“Well just don’t touch any unless I tell you you can. C’mon!” he said, and grabbed her hand, tugging her along the marshy ground.

“Whoa wait!” Zelda said, planting her feet into the grass, mud chilling her bootless foot. The teenager stopped and looked back at her, tilting his head. “I... um. Could we pick up my shoe on the way?”

He blinked at her, looking at her socked foot, then down at his own feet, which merely had some kind of thick fabric wrapped around them.

Then he abruptly dropped her hand and walked away, staring at the ground.

Zelda stared, wanting to call after him, but not sure if she should. Was he... leaving? Had she offended him? Was the word shoe offensive? Or maybe the fact that Zelda had only one of them on? Or maybe she’d insulted him since he only sort of had shoes, and she did?

He’d disappeared from view, and Zelda stood uncertainly, listening to a bird cry somewhere in the distance.

Had she really chased away her guide by simply worrying about her shoe?

“Here.”

Zelda shrieked, whirling around to see the swamp man had somehow circled around behind her. There was a grin on his face, and he had a triumphant glint in his eyes as he held something out to her.

Her lost boot.

“Shoe,” he said, and stood rather close as he held it out to her. “No detour needed.”

“O-oh, thank you,” Zelda spluttered, hurriedly taking it and shoving it on her foot. He kept smiling at her as she straightened, and Zelda cleared her throat and inwardly shook herself. Goodness. What a mess she was.

“Ready?” he asked, and Zelda nodded, then hesitated.

“Yes, but before we go, I’m... my name is Zelda,” she said, and his smile changed a bit, less teasing, and more... sincere.

“I’m Link,” he replied, and took her hand again. “Let’s find you your group.”

And he tugged her forward, leading her through the swamp.

[thethirdromana]

Headcanons of how Deep Space Nine characters smell

Worf Starting off with an easy one. Canon says Worf has “an earthy, peaty aroma” with “a touch of lilacs”. I’m guessing Klingons also smell stronger than humans - not worse, but more. So it’s unpleasant for humans who aren’t used to it, but if they’re around Klingons a lot, they stop noticing it. And Jadzia finds it sexy. 

Bashir Pretty much every other bit of Bashir got genetically engineered, so I’m sure he’s got the gene that means your sweat doesn’t smell. If you get really close he just smells… pleasant. Unremarkable. 

Quark With that dress sense and those nails, I headcanon that Quark, and Ferengi males in general, are dripping in perfume. Something quite intense too, like the Ferengi equivalent of patchouli and vanilla. 

(Rom and Nog are lower-status, so they use less. You can smell the Grand Negus coming from 100m away). 

Jadzia Dax I just feel like Jadzia Dax is one of those people who goes to the gym, works out for ages, gets all sweaty, and then smells great. Not like Bashir, who barely smells at all. But she would smell good.

I will serve my sentence in horny jail as soon as this list is done. 

Ezri Dax I think fragrance is part of Ezri’s identity crisis, coming into Ops smelling of a different perfume every other day. But I think she would settle on something subtle and sweet, like jasmine. 

Sisko Oh you just know Sisko smells good. Sometimes it’s a refreshing shower scent (eucalyptus? Mint?), sometimes it’s from whatever he’s been cooking, sometimes it’s just him. But no one can resist taking a deep breath when Sisko gives them a hug. 

Kira At the risk of controversy, I think early-DS9 Kira was a bit whiffy. I doubt there was much time for personal hygiene in the resistance, and she went from loose, breathable clothing to whatever her uniform is made of, which is the opposite of that. But as she relaxed and got used to not fighting all the time, I think she would indulge in fragrances. And knowing how lush and green Bajor is, I bet they have some wonderful perfumes too. 

O’Brien O’Brien smells like this picture:

I know there’s not much call for engine grease or welding in the future. I know O’Brien’s work mostly involves fixing things that aren’t even dusty, let alone oily. But he still smells like that. Don’t ask me how. 

Keiko Keiko loves a delicate, floral scent. She smells like springtime. Sometimes she mixes perfumes herself. 

Odo Odo smells very little, since he doesn’t release that many Odo-modules into the environment. If you get very close, he smells of his environment, from microscopic bits of dust and Deep Space Nine carpet, and underneath that, a cool smell, like plastic. 

Garak I have to say that while I feel quite confident of some of my answers, I really struggle with how Garak smells. I think he does use a little bit of scent - not a huge amount - and it’s something warm like sandalwood. But I’m not sure. 

Weyoun Vorta smell pleasant but in an unidentifiable, disconcerting way. Not floral, or fruity, or musky, or animal-smelling, nor any other scent that a human can recognise, but on the verge of being familiar, so half of anyone’s concentration when speaking to Weyoun is caught up with wondering what the smell reminds them of.

[elliott-the-creature]

unhinged 30 days of otherkin challenge except I do it all in one day lol (link to questions here)

day one: (dog) probably something with lots of bugs and rich soil! dig dig dig!!

day two: (dragon) cold ocean for sure! even though I’m a sea/rain hybrid—which would make you think I’d like tropical oceans—cold oceans are the best! warm ones are cool too when you see all the fish

day three: (cat) wet cat food (probably chicken or some land meat flavour, fish is nasty), mouse meat, and blueberries!

day four: (alien) the endless storm and oceans of neptune. the wind would whip through my antennae, and rain would splatter my slick skin

day five: (dog) sticks are amazing! I love it when my family throws sticks in the lake for me to swim and catch!

day six: (deer) mmm, leaves are delicious! plus, they make for great cover, and they’re so beautiful too

day seven: (deer) well, as a caribou, some of my brethren migrate, but I’m perfectly cozy where I am now. I have no need to migrate; I have all the food and shelter I need

day eight: (owl) sleepy!! even when it’s nighttime, I get pretty sleepy. makes flying kinda hard lol

day nine: (dragon) waaaay bigger than a breadbox! I would probably crush a breadbox lol, human stuff is so tiny

day ten: (deer) long grasses and peaty soil, with the occasional bug skittering across the ground

day eleven: (alien) definitely my mandibles and antennae! it was so weird at first, because most of my kintypes are mammals or something similar to that, but this was completely different. I’m used to it now, and I love swiveling my antennae around

day twelve: (water) hmmm… I can’t really think of anything. maybe spotify, because there is a wide variety of music that reflects the constant flow of water, and how some of it is calming and slow, and other ones are hardcore and fast

day thirteen: (cat) mmm, pretty good. feeling kinda lazy today because of the weather, but still good overall. currently listening to music while doing this challenge, and my companion alley is snoozing beside me.

day fourteen: (water) I’d probably end up breaking it, y’know, since water and electronics don’t mix well. unfortunate, but that’s nature

day fifteen: (dog) I like having lots of soft things like plushies and warm blankets and plenty of pillows! when I’m regressed as a puppy, they make me feel so cozy and happy! i also like piling my blankets into something shaped somewhat like a dog bed and flopping on it

day sixteen: (deer) hmmm, that’s kinda tricky. yarn is alright, but it’s gotta be that kind that isn’t scratchy. fleece is good too, but I overheat too much, so it can be uncomfortable when I get too hot

day seventeen: (dog) no no, I’m a good dog! I only like biting my toys, I would never bite a human! at least, unless they deserved it…

day eighteen: (owl) chia seeds huh, I’ve never tried them. not too much of a seed owl myself, I much prefer meat, like a good mouse or bird!

day nineteen: (dragon) nah, I could never knit. too clumsy, and my big claws would probably keep snagging the yarn. too bad, knitted stuff is so pretty!

day twenty: (alien) it’s kinda slimey, but not something like a frog or eel. maybe like a shark, but when you rub it head to tail, not the other way. it’s kinda scaley too, but you can’t immediately tell that there are scales, because they’re so small.

day twenty-one: (water) glossy for sure! it makes anything look shiny and beautiful, just like the surface of the water

day twenty-two: (owl) my favourite kind of music is ones with a lot of different instruments. it’s so fun trying to pick out all the different sounds and identifying which ones are which. love songs with a good bass or echoey effect too

day twenty-three (my favourite number): (cat) my fur immediately bushes up, and my tail starts to lash in anticipation. you never know what it might be, so it’s better to be careful!

day twenty-four: (deer) my hearing, for sure. I can pick up the quietest sounds, and it lets me stay alert no matter where I am. sucks when I have to be in a noisy place though, ow…

day twenty-five: (dog) I’m sure I could last for quite a while! I got a good nose, so I could probably find food and water pretty fast (depending where I am), and I can always run if something scary finds me.

day twenty-six: (alien) something with a very appealing texture, like fresh peas or carrots. I would have a muted taste, but it wouldn’t be something super bland either.

day twenty-seven: (dragon) I would much rather be asleep than stay awake, but I might go for a night fly around the jungle.

day twenty-eight: (owl) uhh, fingers? I don’t got no fingers! just wings and talons, no need for fingers here! although it would be nice to have an opposable digit on my talons…

day twenty-nine: (dog) anything smells good! cooked meat smells good, veggies smell good, fruits smell good, everything! love candles too, they’re my favourite!!

day thirty: kinda! it made me reflect more on my kintypes, and it was fun writing these responses in my different kintypes. would definitely recommend doing this, and I’d for sure do something like this again :D

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I enjoy your tumblr tremendously. You manifest an appreciation, perhaps passion, for Scotch Whiskey. Firstly, do you consider fine Japanese or Australian whiskey equally good? Secondly, do you also enjoy Armagnac and Cognac? Personally, I find the former often overlooked and, generally, better value. What do you think? Thanks!

I’m very much a wine drinker these days and being a co-owner of a French vineyard has made me more immersive in that world of appreciating fine wines, its traditions passed down from generation to generation on wine making, social customs that are the fabric of particular way of living and enjoying life. By the very act of drinking the wine you are being a part of the terroir (a hard word to define but generally meaning ‘of the soil’) of where the wine was made.

There are a lot of similar reasons to drink whisky of which I used to drink a lot, especially when I was an army officer and drinking games in the officers mess was the done thing. But these days I drink in extreme moderation and often with a well deserved cigar. Some people like the way it makes them feel fuzzy and warm, when laughing comes a little easier. Maybe it takes the edge off a long day or helps hype the anticipation for what might be a long night. For me, the reasons why I love whisky are much more than that.

Like wine, whisky tells us a story. In my case a Scottish story as one side of my family have strong roots in that part of the world, and are still thriving there. It tells a story of a certain time and a certain place, of a distillery and those who work in it. I love the idea that an entire team of people worked every day to grow barley, distill whisky, maintain a distillery, patiently watch over barrels, and the million other minute tasks that go into creating a single bottle of whisky that is then transported locally and all over the world for me to enjoy. And when I’m holding a 20 year old Aberfeldy single malt in a Glencairn glass on the other side of the world, I can take one sip and feel myself transported all the way back to the central Highlands.

And it tells a story on an individual level, too. What inspired me to buy the bottle and where I got it. Maybe it starts with how I learned about it or where I first tried it and weaves until here and now, to who I’m drinking it with and when. So when I sip on any Dalmore whisky I sometimes think of meeting Dalmore’s master distiller, Richard Paterson, who wowed me with his infectious love of his craft and old school bonhomie as he led a sampling some of Dalmore’s finest single malts at the distillery.

Like wine, whisky is a life time journey of discovery from following the aromas and flavours of each dram. From the Scottish Lowlands where whiskies are often light bodied, delicate, soft, smooth, and have very little peat, and they’re malty and citrusy with flavours of grass, honeysuckle, cream, ginger, toffee, toast and cinnamon; to the Scottish Highlands where whiskies are full bodied and spicy whiskies, lighter and fruity whiskies and those that are full bodied, peaty with a salty tang from the sea. From Speyside where its famed single malts are both light and bold whiskies that are sweet, fruity and spicy with hints of apple, nutmeg, vanilla and smoke; to Islay where the famed Scotch can be peaty, smoky, earthy and oily with a hint of salty sea air, brine and seaweed. Whiskies then need to be explored and as one becomes more skilled at detecting aromas and flavours; and as one tries more whiskies, one finds more aromas, flavours, and even more whiskies that tantalise the palate.

Which is why I’m not particularly tribal about whisky.

I wish I could compare Japanese and Australian whisky and give you my opinion if they are equally good. But I can’t. My knowledge and experience of drinking Australian whisky is dire compared to how much I’ve enjoyed Japanese whisky over the years. I’ve been to Australia on a few occasions and I’ve even gone on a few wine trails to widen my knowledge of the Australian wine making industry and learn lessons from them for our own wine making back in France. But on the side I did sample some its home grown whiskies.

I recently had a tipple of the Starward Two Fold, given to me by an Aussie work colleague and I tried it more out of curiosity than any real knowledge. The one I had had spent time in Aussie shiraz and pinot noir wine barrels before it was bottled, making for a blend of spicy and caramel notes. Apparently it won five gold medals at the World Whiskies Masters (2022). Hailing from Victoria’s New World Whisky Distillery, Starward have been favoured by many for their innovative approach to modern whisky production, eschewing the traditions that bind so many other distillers and producing consistently interesting whisky. Their whiskies are all made from Australian barley, aged in Australian barrels and reflect the terroir with subtlety. And then finished in Australian wine casks. I think it’s an excellent entry point into Australian whisky and at a decent price too.

I’ve had the Lark’s Classic Single Malt with its hints of citrus and butterscotch and it’s peated too with a lovely balanced smoky woodiness and vanilla. Also from the Lark’s stable I’ve had tipple of Lark 9 year old Bourbon cask whisky which has a lot more complex notes. Lark of course is at forefront of Tasmania’s whisky growing region with other whiskies such as Sullivan’s Cove and Bakery Hill, also adding to the growing prestige of whiskies made in Tasmania.

I love the story of how Lark began. Apparently, founder Bill Lark was trout fishing with his father-in-law Max in the Tassie highlands that the two scratched their heads and said: “I wonder why there isn’t anyone making malt whisky in Tasmania.” The climate, access to barley, natural peat bogs and pure, soft water were all in abundance, but nobody had connected the dots for over a hundred years due to archaic licensing laws. Since then, Bill Lark worked tirelessly to promote the Southern island as one of the world’s best whisky-producing regions, all the while expanding his eponymous distillery from a small apparatus in his kitchen to a huge copper still which gets put through its paces to keep up with demand. Apparently, the operation is still a family affair and the distillery itself has undergone a recent world-class makeover. Now that’s a story to worth raising your dram to.

Of course Australian whisky is still startlingly a niche thing, even within Australia, with Starward its leading domestic producer accounting for 66% of Australian whiskies 1% share of the market. What I understand from Aussie work colleagues who are whisky aficionados is that 50% of the Australian whisky market has been bourbon. Jack Daniels accounts for over a quarter of the market with 26% and it accounts for 52% of American whiskies sold in Australia. Jim Beam has a respectable 10% and 20% across those sectors, and Makers Mark is third. Rye whisky accounts for just 0.72% of the total sales, with Woodford Reserve (34%), Bulleit (32%) and Michters (11%) the leaders.

Scotland holds 27% of the total market - blends and malts. Johnnie Walker dominates with 15%. Chivas Regal represents 2% of total sales. Glenfiddich 12-Year-Old Single Malt leads the Single Malts (Scotland) category with 1.7% (6% of total Scotch, including blends). Lagavulin, Laphroaig and Talisker all equate to around 1% each. Given that these are relatively small and distant distilleries, it does suggest that the smoky/peaty style from Islay is beloved by malt drinkers in Australia.

Japan comes in with 1.5%, with Hibiki dominating - their 12-Year-Old has 25% of the market and their 17-Year-Old has 30%.

It would seem that the era of Covid, closures, cuts and chaos is proving to be an exciting time for whisky in Australia. The story seems to be Australian whisky is enjoying dynamic growth. The growing demand through volume for Australian whisky is primarily in Asia. Australian producers are now entering partnerships with specialist whisky markets like Japan and Taiwan which has seen an incredible uplift on single cask requirements (cask strength, finishes, aged statements).

Australian Distillers Association figures reflect this growth. The number of registered Australian distilleries almost doubles from 2021-2022, growing from 200 in January 2021 to 380 in February 2022. There is no question that Australia could be the next break out whisky nation once prices become more competitive to other foreign producers and it has greater market visibility outside of Australia. Just as importantly the whisky market is young. The number of 25-34 year olds drinking whisky has doubled in the past six years and around 19 million glasses of whisky are drink every month.

What it also has going for it is the land’s natural resources ie the earth (or the terroir as the French winemakers call it). Australia is one of the largest malting-grade barley producers in the world, with many varieties unique to the country. Whisky producers increasingly work more closely with a number of New South Wales’ farmers to get hold of unique malts which demonstrate regional terroir. It allows all concerned to develop a relationship with the land and their custodians, exploring ancient and heirloom varieties. Surely, that’s a good thing.

It also allows for these whisky producers to experiment and take creative risks both in the way they can source the variety of grains and also explore ‘paddock to bottle’ with barley. The end result is Australian whisky can frustrate anyone to categorise it into easy tick boxes. That’s a good thing too.

Finally, it would be remiss to talk about Australia’s natural resources without alluding to its vineyards. The country’s winemaking history has granted distillers access to some truly fantastic ex-fortified wine casks, particularly Apera. Australia’s answer to sherry, Apera, is made from a different blend of grapes, but still has many similarities in style. Many of these casks have been around for decades  - indeed, whisky producer Archie Rose has filled casks that contained Apera for more than 70 years.

Australia can learn from Japan’s experience of whisky, namely, concentrate on producing great whisky for the world to enjoy and most importantly, take your time.

I know a lot more about Japanese whisky as I grew up partly in that culture as a child when we lived overseas but also been a frequent visitor there for work reasons. I think a good explanation for why Japanese whisky is so good is that Japan’s distilleries typically adhere to Scotch methods, but the country’s distinct seasons have a significant impact on the maturation process - the cold winters slow the ageing of the spirit, while the humid summers speed it up.  A variety of casks are used in the ageing process, but the country’s indigenous lumber, most famously mizunara (Japanese oak), ages unique whisky that’s subtle, yet strong. Unlike their Scottish counterparts, Suntory and Nikka, the two giants of Japanese whisky, distil a mind-boggling array of whiskies in-house, giving them great control over their products and enabling them to experiment with different whisky-making techniques.

The history of Japanese whisky is shrouded in mystery, since very little is recorded in whisky making before the famed establishment of Suntory’s Yamazaki Distillery in the early 20th century. What we do know is that a few shochu and sake breweries produced Japanese whisky on the side as early as the 1850s. Whisky took a historical turn in Japan in 1923, when Suntory established the first official whisky distillery. But it was when Suntory’s domestic market for whisky collapsed and it and other rival producers such as Nikka focused on producing the best single malt whiskies it could did Japanese whisky gain global recognition with countless international awards and has been in high demand from whisky lovers everywhere.

Today, the companies of Masataka Taketsuru (Nikki) and Shinjiro Torii (Suntory) still represent their founders’ passion for Japanese whisky. Masataka Taketsuru was known as the “Father of Japanese Whisky” and studied the intricate whisky-making process in Scotland. He took his knowledge and his newly wed Scottish wife, Rita, back to Japan and established one of the most popular Japanese Whisky companies: Nikka Whisky. Shinjiro Torii was the founder of Suntory, known as Kotobukiya back then, and built Yamazaki in 1923. However, Taketsuru and Torii had a history before these two companies were born. Taketsuru actually worked in Torii’s company for over 10 years, so the Suntory and Nikka whisky companies have a background story that is linked to each other. Taketsuru came from a family who had a sake brewery for Japanese alcoholic beverages. He studied chemistry at the University of Glasgow to improve his understanding of creating alcoholic beverages.

Taketsuru and Torii became business partners. But their search to find a whisky that the Japanese people could like and claim as their own came to nought. Torri, the business brains, wanted the distillery to be near as possible to Tokyo and have billboards plastered at key points where trains would go by. Taketsuru, the perfectionist, wanted to move further north to produce whisky as he was convinced the climate and soil up there would be more conducive to great whisky. Eventually they went their separate ways. Taketsuru ventured out on his own in 1934 and established the Yoichi Distillery in Hokkaido in 1940.

Suntory originally offered an alcoholic beverage called Akadama Sweet Wine, which was a huge success for the company and continues to be produced today. However, Shinjiro Torii wanted to create a whisky that suited the Japanese people’s preferences and moved forward with the establishment of Yamazaki Distillery, despite the opposition he received from his business partners. In 1929, Torii created the first whisky from Suntory called Suntory Shirofuda (‘White Label’), but it turned out to be unsuccessful because it didn’t fit the tastes of the Japanese consumer base. The second whisky released from Suntory was the Suntory Kakubin, which became a hit and continues to be Japan’s #1 best-selling whisky.

To spread the knowledge and passion for Japanese whisky, Suntory opened whisky bars around the country in 1955. In 1970, Suntory revolutionised how the Japanese food and drinking culture by creating the “Mizuwari,” a water-and-whisky drink that was easy to drink and enjoy with Japanese cuisine. However domestic whisky market began to collapse for not just Suntory but other domestic whisky producers in the 1990s. The culture was changing. No longer were young salaried men drinking whisky as their bosses did - it was seen as a rite of passage. They instead preferred vodka and other spirits now making inroads into the Japanese drinks market. Increasingly whisky came to be seen as ‘an old man’s drink’. Sales plateaued and Suntory focused on other parts of their drinks and food empire. Suntory, along with Nikka, began to focus on producing high end single malt whiskies that could makes its debut to the outside world. This only bore fruit a decade later in the 2000s when Japanese whisky started to winning prestigious awards for its whiskies.

It’s an open question whether the rise of Japanese whisky was also due to the product placement of tis whisky in the cult movie ‘Lost in Translation’ in 2003 which featured Bill Murray’s character advertising Suntory’s whisky with the memorable quote: “For relaxing times, make it Suntory time!” Some have argued that the movie helped in boosting the exposure of Japanese whisky as international whisky lovers gradually discovered this luxury spirit from Japan. At the very least, the Hollywood exposure it didn’t hurt. In 2003, Suntory’s Yamazaki 12 Year Old won the Gold Award at the International Spirits Challenge in the UK and it was part of a wave of outstanding awards for Japanese whiskies.

Oddly enough, whisky is back in favour with the Japanese. In more recent years, the Japanese whisky business has boomed and become even more popular within Japan and out of the country. The Highball drink, a simple mixture of Japanese whisky and soda, has become a staple to drink with Japanese dishes.

Suntory's Yamazaki 12 Year Old continues to impress with its well-balanced fruity sweetness, something that appeals to novice and experienced whisky drinkers alike. I would say it’s the original Japanese whisky and remains Suntory’s flagship single malt. Yamazaki is multi-layered with the aromas of fruit and Mizunara Oak. Even today, Yamazaki is the leading single malt whisky sold in Japan, and enjoyed in more than 35 countries. It’s an excellent entry point into Japanese whisky. 

I would also recommend the Hibiki Blossom Harmony. Blending is a key component of the craft of making Japanese whisky. Great care and attention is paid to flavours and proportions, with some distilleries producing dozens of different whiskies that are combined into the final product. Hibiki, a blend from Suntory, launched in 1989, and there are now several different expressions in the range. The 17-year-old version is probably the best, an incredibly well-rounded sipper with lovely notes of orange peel, caramel, and toffee.

As for armagnac and cognac, I would agree with you that generally the former is overlooked when actually it is better (my opinion).  It is the only spirit that can really become more refined with age. Before I moved to France and before I decided to invest in a vineyard with my cousins, I was quite happy drinking cognac as an after dinner drink - to go with my cigar that I smoked with the men. I wasn’t really aware of armagnac until I saw it increasingly being served around the French dinner table. I enjoyed the experience and it set me off on a little side journey of exploration.

I hadn’t realised that it was France’s oldest brandy for over 700 years but talk to locals and they derisive of calling armagnac a brandy. It’s closer to wine. The production of Armagnac has been documented since 1310, when Vital Dufour, prior of the town of Eauze, described in his ‘Livre très utile pour garder la santé et rester en bonne forme’ the advantages of a brandy known as aygue ardente. Armagnac appeared thanks to the meeting of two civilisations: that of the Arab world and its still, and that of the Christian world and its monks who planted vines. It does not yet bear the name of today. It was then an apothecary’s remedy. In 1461 it was found on the market of Saint Sever. It became a drink that was appreciated for its gustatory qualities, a drink called “le merveilleux”. Historically, Armagnac is a precious brandy, but confined in the margin of the wine production of the region.

As you well know Armagnac is produced in the South-West region of France, the Gers department, the East of the Landes, and the South of the Lot-et-Garonne; whereas Cognac is produced 300 km further North in Charente, Charente-Maritime, parts of the Dordogne and Deux-Sèvres - where it so happens a lot of British expatriates reside permanently or have a second home.

The terroirs are distinguished by their soils and climate, which give their brandy their typical character. The Cognac soil is mainly limestone, while the Armagnac soil is sandy, clayey-siliceous and clayey-limestone. The Armagnac region has a continental climate, while the Cognac region has a more oceanic climate. Part of the reason why I was drawn to armagnac was variety of grapes used. You know that cognac is made from the Ugni Blanc grape only, whereas Armagnac is made from 10 different grape varieties, including Ugni Blanc. The diversity of grape varieties authorised by the AOC Armagnac decree is due to the viticultural tradition of the region which also produces tasting wines. The Cognac region only produces wine for distillation.

Where the full flavour of armagnac comes out above cognac is how they are made. Armagnac is column-distilled, which is a process where the alcohol is continuously heated between two vertical columns and then aged in French oak barrels or casks for a minimum of 1 year. Though Armagnac and Cognac are both are brandies distilled from wine, Armagnac is distilled once while Cognac is distilled twice. Indeed the still used for the distillation of Cognac is different from the one used for Armagnac. The Cognac or “Charentais” alembic is a basic copper alembic c” (double heating): the alcohol is distilled twice and the brandy comes out with a higher alcohol content (72°). The Armagnac still is a double-column copper still with trays, for a continuous distillation: the wine is distilled only once and the brandy comes out with a low alcohol content (54°).

The plates of the Armagnac still allow the alcohol vapours to bathe in the fresh wine and extract its aromas: this is the bubbling. This step does not exist in the Cognac still where the alcohol vapours do not meet the fresh wine. Its ageing links it to the culture of wine and distinguishes it from other brandies. Like wine, Armagnac can be vintage to reflect the history of the year. Cognac is gradually diluted with distilled water to reach its 40-45° for sale. The brandy, “burned” by the alcohol, cannot evolve.

To my mind, armagnac and cognac have two singular historical trajectories, which influence their current reputation. Armagnac has developed on a French consumption model. Its more confidential artisanal production perpetuates ancestral know-how. Cognac was conceived for an export market to the Netherlands and England. It mirrors the story of the battle between Bordeaux wines and Burgundy (or Bourgogne) wines. Bordeaux wines were made from a blend of grapes and produced for an export market to the English primarily whilst Bourgogne has been a single grape and very much towards a home grown market.

If I have any visitors to France I always introduce them to armagnac if I can. Armagnacs exalt the richness of that South West region’s gastronomy: foie gras, chicken in a pot, duck breast. They go particularly well with dark chocolate cake, almonds and dried fruits, walnut pie or orange macaroons.

It’s great as an after dinner liqueur. The sweet flavours of Armagnac make it a perfect after-dinner drink. I would also choose an older armagnac as a rule older is always better so go with a vintage armagnac. But not always as when drinking clear Armagnacs - known as Armagnac blancs or Haut-Armagnacs - which have spent less time in the oak ageing barrels - one can enjoy them on the rocks or chilled in the fridge. I particularly love to end a meal at a restaurant having an Armagnac Brûlot - in other words, flambé, using sugar to set it on fire. It’s a great way to end a pleasant dining experience.

But armagnacs are also perfect for cocktails as a pre-dinner aperitif or lounging around a swanky hotel bar. I would highly recommend the Armagnac Stinger, a cocktail,  originally served with Cognac, was a pre-Prohibition American favourite. It combines Armagnac, crème de menthe, orange bitters, and garnish with a sprig of mint. There is also the D’Artagnan, which combines armagnac, orange liqueur, orange juice, simple syrup, and finished off with a splash of champagne - perfect for partying. The Continental Sour is another cool one which mixes together armagnac, egg whites, simple syrup, lemon juice, and red wine.

Whatever one drinks, be it armagnac or cognac, I believe in its conviviality for cultured conversation and good natured laughter (at your own expense) over a shared meal with like minded people, be they family and friends. The French love arguing over a fine meal. The arguments can be heated and robust but they are never personal and drink is the balm to bring people together again. If you bear that in mind then you can’t go wrong.

Thanks for your question.

[lonniemachin]

slams hands on table funy you'd talk about post red robin i was just discussing it with a firned. like. we don't know what the fuck happens and it's making me vibrate. i read your fic (i think??) about him and the arrows and man i wish i knew the arrowfam better to write like a full 30k fic or smth. it's scratching the brain

if it involves a chili dinner, yes that is my fic!! thank you so much, i’m happy to hear it, and there’s more where that came from as soon as i decompress from school brain fog and read a bit more about the arrows myself (my problem is that in order to write a character i feel like i have to read their entire history first, which is totally realistic to achieve 😀👍 i’ve read the arrows but i feel like i haven’t read enough) because lonnie becoming an arrowcousin is one of my all-time favorite ideas, i love it a lot. i’ve actually talked quite a bit about my ideal post-canon for lonnie, but since you mentioned it… i’ll do it again ⬇️

basically the way i tend to see post-rr going in my world is that the ünternet is re-deactivated after he and tim have a sort of confrontation, and lonnie decides to cut off their partnership (nothing that tim really did, not a ton of hard feelings. i could talk a LOT about their relationship too but i’ll save it for another day lol) after the fact in order to focus on sorting some things out. he’s been through a ton of trauma and as is his nature he tends to repress his feelings (even if he’s horrible at it lmfao), and he’s working towards recovery physically but needs to heal mentally as well. after recovering enough to travel, he calls up ollie because ollie is pretty much the only adult vigilante that’s ever teamed up with him more on his terms and is willing to help him out, and ollie’s helped him clear his name before. he has a bit of trust in ollie for that even if he tends to close himself off.

the two make an agreement and lonnie leaves gotham for star city and they go on a year-or-so road trip around the US as lonnie works to recover and reclaim the anarky name from the damage wrought on it by ulysses. fun fact! the anarky/GA road trip team-up was an actual idea that writer james peaty had for a GA book that never got written, so i’ve taken it for my own (and whoever else likes the idea). they don’t ever have a father-child relationship, but he finds some community and support in the arrows, and as lonnie usually does around ollie he brings out some stuff in ollie as well. ft. a friendship with mia dearden because i adore the concept of them becoming friends. i imagine he also allows himself to really grieve his parents, too. the arrows align well with his ideals and look out for each other, and i feel like they’d be a much more comfortable presence for him to do his work with.

after the road trip, lonnie comes back and re-establishes himself in gotham with a more community-based approach to vigilantism. its hard to break old habits and he’s still healing in multiple ways, but as moneyspider he can focus on rebuilding a name for himself as a hacktivist and organizer. he still goes out as anarky sometimes, but i like to think that when he’s ready he gives the name to the community to organize under. think… kind of like anonymous but actually legitimate, where if a group wants to claim their actions as those of “anarky”, they can, and he’ll work with them. he builds up a legitimacy and community around the name that makes it harder for people like ulysses or certain groups to usurp it again. gardening, volunteering, and such alongside the direct action he’s known for. i also like to think of him as long-term or permanently disabled, hence why i depict him as using crutches and a wheelchair. i feel like quite a few other lonnie fans like to totally brush what happened with ulysses aside, and while i have complex feelings on the subject, i don’t think pretending like it never happened is the answer to that.

i don’t think she ever joins the batfam, but she will team up with tim or steph or duke when their interests intersect. i just don’t think she’d ever be happy as an extension of them long-term, let alone someone who’d ever defer to bruce like that or wear a bat on her chest. she’s nobody’s “oracle” - she’s lonnie, or learning who lonnie is alongside a mission she still believes in. she’s very much her own operator and still rejecting systems of authority or her name isn’t sometimes-Anarky, and i imagine sometimes her work does conflict with batman’s, like it always has. she works with the people most of all. i do like to take reboot concepts and mash them with preboot, so i think he’d still meet with the We Are Robin movement like in the n52 but this time as an established hacker-informant. And not the main one of course, because they have sug-r for that! just on the side.

it’s all very much wishful thinking and best case scenarios, but i like exploring the nuances and giving the character the focus on reclaiming her life and message that i think she deserves. and hey, i did say "ideal". i know that lonnie developing from the flaws that she had in her preboot comics might require new stories and new flaws to fill their niche, but half the fun's thinking of them, and recovery is never a linear process. also i want to see her get more into weird occult shit alongside stretching a web across cyberspace and getting involved in gotham activism.

also she’s transfem to me 👍 i made a post in case you & others were confused as to why i alternate pronouns but figured id delete it and just put it here. i could also go into my gender hc, but i have before, so again, i’ll do it if prompted. i will say i don’t think she’d work this out about herself until after settling back in Gotham - if you can call it “settling”.

sorry that got super long, but that’s the general gist of my thoughts! if anybody else ever has any ideas id love to hear em!

[kithtaehyung]

We are planning on going. Or more accurate.. was informed that we will be going 😂

I’m down for drinks author that would be fun. I’ll check how Ki’s socialmeter is 😂 And single malt scotch uh? Nice. I have a couple bottles on the collection. But you know what.. I had this Irish single malt few months ago that I really enjoyed i don’t recall the name perfectly I think it was something mills. I don’t remember.. anyways it was aged in bourbon and sherry cask and if I remember correctly was a 21 yr.. it was very good. Does it ring a bell? Anyways if you got any recommendations I’ll appreciate them I don’t know much about scotch honestly.

On another note.. I don’t know how to use this app. I’m old ok? I barely know how to use instagram.. but a guy reblog the post thing, and sent a gif..

Anyways.. My man who did the reblog..

😂

Wait.. I’m stupid. Was that 🏀 ? No.. was it?

LMAOOO that’s how it goes🤣 and yes, down if ki is down! I think that’d be fun. Got any nice spots in town you suggest for casual meetups? I visited a ton of fun places with my friend when I went for Lollapalooza. And that was remmy, not 🏀 !! You’re okay, tumblr is definitely intimidating if you’re new to it.

For your drink, I’m pretty sure you had Bushmills.

Which, I’m jealous. Because I haven’t had it yet but I’ve heard good things. As for recommendations, I’d need to know if you’re down for peaty drinks (very smoky, reminds you of meats and fires.) Because the ones I like are peaty and don’t play around with flavors💀 i can elaborate on scotch when I’m more free (because i love it so much) but here’s some I rec from my shelf!

And if you’re down for something challenging, the ardbeg uigeadail is my absolute favorite but almost everyone that I let try it does nottt enjoy it LOLOL but it’s 54.2% abv and unlike anything you’ve ever drank. I’d try it before buying.

[monstersohmy]

Revisions

Another shut down fic.

Prompt: You are a professor who assigns students an essay on what it means to be a dictator. 30 years later one of your students actually becomes one and you find a 20 page thesis written by him on your desk.

Professor Furness rambled into her office. Dark, dank, dreary. But, that was just her mood. Her office, in contrast, was bright from the actual sun beaming through the west-facing windows. Her framed degrees and the shelves featuring a set of books with titles in gilt on the spine had been moved aside or away long ago after too many days of her being nearly blinded by the reflection. Furness had been relieved to dump the untouched, ostentatious book set which had been a gift from her ex-partner. They’d been donated to a local high school where they were likely perfectly preserved by disinterest.

She opened the bottom drawer of the file cabinet nearest the desk and deftly pulled out the Jura 12-year and tumbler in one hand. After brief consideration, she reached in with the other hand to snatch a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

Leaning against the file cabinet, Furness sipped the scotch and stared at the setting sun, wishing it was an eclipse so that she could burn out her eyes and no longer see any of this.

“My final draft is late,” a voice whispered from the corner. “But, perhaps I can still pass your class.”

Everyone knew Her voice. Sometimes Furness felt she recognized the face from which it came on the feeds. Neither face nor voice were angry or cruel. The voice was always calm and soothing. The face? Concerned. Sometimes loving. Often disappointed, as if she knew we could do better and chose otherwise. And that’s why drones were firing on your neighborhood. That’s why your grandmother, your cousin, your neighbor were spirited away in the night. That’s why their screams from beneath black hoods echoed through the alley and continued to echo through your dreams.

They had disappointed Her.

Furness sometimes wondered what studies and papers would make of Her and Her rule if they were allowed to conduct the research and engage in the debate. So much had been researched and written on the Strongman dictator. What had been done on the Stern Mother dictator?

Furness sank into her once comfortable desk chair and turned her gaze to the source of the voice. God, her back hurt. Surprisingly, Her face was no different than it appeared on the feeds. Rigid, with the possibility of forgiveness. Steadfast, with the ability to keep you safe if you complied. Furness resisted the urge to go to Her and seek comfort. Instead, she offered the chip bag to Her.

“Have some Doritos.”

“I’d rather have the scotch.”

“Scotch is for good students,” Furness grumbled through the glass before letting that glorious peaty burn trickle down her throat. After setting the glass down, she picked a dusty chip from the bag and munched. “Doritos are for assholes.”

“You’re eating the Doritos,”

“Some of us can be both.” Furness lustily licked the dust from her lips and fingertips.

“You don’t remember me.”

“Obviously,” Furness said, swinging her chair around to face Her. “You private school kids are all the same. Can’t take no. Can’t take constructive criticism. I’m not the slightest bit surprised that one of you became what. . . you. . . are.”

“I didn’t attend this school,” She said warmly, forgivingly. “I did attend your night classes at the community college.”

Furness gawked as She slid a slim volume of actual paper bound together by brass brads across the desk. The title page, vaguely familiar, read:

The Application of the Principles of Motherhood in the Context of Dictatorship and Subjugation

“I read your feedback and made revisions.” She reached across the desk and took Furness’s hands in Hers. “I owe everything to you. Please, read my revised paper and grade it.”

Revisions. Good students make revisions, Furness thought. She retrieved another glass from the file cabinet, placed it in front of Her, and poured. They drank together.

“Alright,” Furness said, wishing there were still red pens in the world, relishing the feel of the paper in her fingers. “Let’s see about your final grade.”

[happymeishappylife]

Comics/Graphic Novels I Read in 2023 (Part 3)

21. Displacement by Kiku Hughes

Another great graphic novel about the Japanese Internment, but this time author Kiku Hughes adds a little sci-fi as she explores her family’s history. I found that actually a good way to tell the story and the history because as Kiku explains, she obviously wasn’t born in the time of the interment, but her family never talked about. Still that generational trauma and loss of Japanese identity happened because of the brutal treatment against Japanese people, so to see a young Kiku mysteriously transported back to that time and seeing her grandmother’s experience as well as living her own leaves a heavy mark. What was also interesting was to see Kiku’s experience not be similar to grandmothers which I think was valid as a girl from the future who might also be a bit queer.

22. Doctor Who: The Tenth Doctor Adventures Year One #3: The Fountain’s of Forever by Nick Abadzis, Elena Casagrande, Elonora Carlini, Rachael Stott, Leonardo Romero, Hi-FI, and Arianna Florean

I wasn’t paying attention when I put these in order to realize these were from different years, but it was nice to get my answers as to why Cindy started travelling two (and I’m glad to see it was out of care for her best friend) and also how Nubis came to be and We also meet Dorothy who was once a famous actress, but turns into Sutekh’s hand. Since she was referenced in the last books it was nice to be introduced to her.Plus it showcased how early on how well Gabby and the Doctor work together, as well as how brave and compassionate Gabby is.

23. Doctor Who: The Tenth Doctor Adventures Year One #7: War of Gods by Nick Abadzis, James Peaty, Giorgia Sposito, Warren Pleece, Arianna Florean, and Hi-Fi

Obviously not sure what happened in between issues 3 and 7, but we return back to where it started as Sutekh tries to take over Nubis and return to this universe. This was actually cool to see given that it plays right off the Fourth Doctor story. I also love that there were panels showing Sarah Jane and the Doctor to ground it to the show. Still Dorothy and the Doctor are rushing to save Nubis and the universe, but Gabby gets caught because she’s extra courageous in standing up to Sutekh.

24. Doctor Who: The Eleventh Doctor Adventures Year Three #1: The Sapling Growth by Rob Williams, Alex Paknadel, I.N. J. Culbard, Simon Fraser, Leandro Casco, Wellington Diaz, Triona Farrel, Gary Caldwell

The last time I left the Doctor and Alice, things were beyond dark and grim so it was nice to catch back up with them when things were looking up. They go off searching for their musician friend Jones only to come across his funeral and then get trapped in a forest with a time stealing Silence named Scream, creepy. They escape, but only after putting a few of their memories into the Sapling. But before they can decide what to do with them, they arrive on Earth that is suffering from multiple decades colliding into another. That’s one thing to sort out but with the threat of Scream it becomes a little more deadly. I’ll be curious to see where it goes.

25. Doctor Who: The Eleventh Doctor Adventures Year Three #2: The Sapling Roots by Goerge Mann, James Peaty, I.N. J. Culbard, Ivan Rodriguez, Wellington Diaz, Klebs Junior, Leandro Casco, Triona Farrell, Stefani Renne, Thiago Ribeiro

Instead of one overreaching plot like many of the previous stories have been, I actually really enjoyed this collection because it felt like the show. The Doctor, Alice, and the Sapling go on mini-adventures, saving Oods (or trying to), escaping a dying ship and preserving a species dying memory, and preventing a clown from stealing people’s memories so they can continue to enjoy the Ren Fair. Sure the problems still exist, but this was much more of a focus on The Sapling learning about memory as he settles into his existence.

26. Doctor Who: The Eleventh Doctor Adventures Year One #3 by Al Ewing, Rob Williams, Simon Fraser, Boo Cook, Warren Pleece, Gary Caldwell, and Hi-FI

Again, wasn’t paying attention to the years when I put these in order, so yet again I jumped back to the year 1 collection. But I’m glad because I got to meet and get used to Jones to better understand his relationship to the team. But I missed the subplot of the Doctor falling victim to the talent scout which is continuing to haunt them and Arc, a sentient entity who is tied to the malevolent being. The sucky part about missing that, is there was some really emotional scenes where the TARDIS kicks the Doctor out and that means whatever he did was pretty serious so I’d love to catch up on those adventures.

27. Doctor Who: The Eleventh Doctor Adventures Year Two #4 by  Si Spurrier, Rob Williams, Simon Fraser, Warren Pleece, Gary Caldwell, and Hi-Fi

Before the Sapling, and after the talent scout, we find the Doctor and Alice in the mists of learning more about the War Doctor. It’s here we meet The Squire for the first time, who I’ve read in other comics, and learn about how they served the War Doctor. We also meet Daak who wants to bring the Doctor to justice, but gets subverted by the TARDIS who hides his wife’s coffin. Then as they continue to be hunted through space and time, they discover who really is behind this, but we don’t quite get to catch up with The Master to see what incarnation is causing the problem. Can’t wait to see Eleven and the Master go head to head, so hopefully I find that issue soon.

28. Doctor Who: Four Doctors by Paul Cornell, Neil Edwards, Ivan Nunes, and Comicraft

A worthy multi-doctor story where we see Ten, Eleven, and Twelve team up (or bicker with each other) to discover why a fixed point in time has been established between them to ruin Marinus. It starts because Clara tries to prevent it, but nothing could prevent it and so she, Alice, and Gabby, get pulled along to see which of the Doctors continuity bomb is causing this breakdown. Honestly, seeing the points where Ten could go wrong and not save Wilf (WHAT?!) to become the Timelord Victorious was pretty ballsy. Likewise seeing Eleven give into River and let the universe break down instead of rebooting it was sad. But heartbreaking was seeing Twelve go mad and cause these issues because of Clara demanding he go to hell. It was nice to see the canon of the show blended in that way and I would love to see more. Especially with the nicest and sincerest compliment to Chris’s doctor who couldn’t be involved because he was always, Fantastic!

29. Doctor Who: The Lost Dimension Book 2 by Gordon Rennie, Emma Beeby, George Mann, Cavan Scott, Ivan Rodriguez, Wellington Diaz, Rachael Scott, Mariano Laclaustra, Anderson Cabral, Marcelo Salaza, Fer Centurion, Thiago Ribeiro, Nauricio Wallace, Rod Fernandes, Carlos Cabrera, Mony Castillo, Richard Starkings and Jimmy Betancourt

The 60th Anniversary we could have had! And honestly this is absolutely the way it would go down with nine and ten being confused, the eighth doctor randomly showing up out of nowhere with no explanation and twelve running the show. I love that this is season 10 twelve too because he is also still in teacher mode, though maybe a little distracted by Jenny showing up. Plus, it was so nice to find the comic where Bill flirts with the Doctor’s Daughter because that’s amazing. And I like that 12 is weirded out a little, but not dismissive of it.

[rwhbray]

I’ve been taking part in extensive independent research of late, tasting and drinking whiskies of different ages but very similar cask regimes. The first, the two PX Springbanks, were interesting as the one on the left was very much the first iteration of the one on the right. On the palate they were as close as two different drams could be right up until the mid-finish, where the 10yo expressed an orange flower perfume and complexity the 8yo lacked. The two Madeiras were so different. The Ardnamurchan a fun, forward, fleshy joy of a dram, cut from a Malmsey or Boal cloth. Immediately appealing. The Springbank was showing better than when I opened it over two years ago. Dry and spiced nose and a palate so integrated and complex, it changes a bit with every sip. Sercial-y to say the least. The final two showed off their inherent distillery characters far more than the benefits of Marsala ageing. Both delicious, the Port Charlotte was like drinking a toffee-soaked bonfire and demanded a bit of water for balance. The Bunnahabhain is more vinous, high-toned and with a more perfumed peaty-ness. It harkens back to an older style of whisky from them and I love it for that. No real surprises. The young’uns were feisty, fiery and fun. The older bottlings showed a bit more poise. I still think PX is somewhat overrated for whisky finishes in general and Marsala is perhaps underrated. I’m also more and more curious as to where they’re finding excess Madeira to season casks with… it’s not as though there’s oceans of the stuff. #whisky #singlemalt #caskstrength #islay #campbeltown #coastalmalt https://www.instagram.com/p/CoNOQGoN4jW/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[webslinger-holland]

Hot Wired | Eddie Munson

Summary: While trying to hot wire the van, Eddie seems to having a little trouble. The reader doesn’t hesitate to step in to help him.

Warning: sexual tension

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Type: Oneshot

Part Two Here

To conceal his identity to the world, Eddie Munson wore a terrifying Michael Myers mask. He poked his head from around the corner of the trailer park.

When the coast was clear, Eddie raised his hand to motion for the whole group to follow him. They cautiously made their way to one of the vans, searching for hidden entry.

Immediately, Eddie slid open one of the small windows near the back of the van. He proceeded to hoist himself up into the window. He landed on the couch and quickly moved into a sitting position.

He ripped off the mask covering his face and claimed that it was suffocating to breathe in. He began to move towards the front of the van while the others climbed through the window. He quickly locked the front door.

Then Eddie plopped down into the driver’s seat. He pulled a pair of pliers out of his bag. He quickly ripped the wires from underneath the wheel out before searching through them for the right one.

Unbeknownst to Eddie, Steve had come to stand behind him and hovered over his shoulder.

“Where’d you learn how to do this?“ Steve questioned.

“While the other dads were teaching their sons how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hot wire,” Eddie explained.

In the background, Y/N had come to stand behind the two boys as well. She watched him carefully rifle through the wires, desperately searching for a few of them. She saw him cut through a wire using the pliers.

“Now I swore to myself I wouldn’t wind up like he did. But now, I’m wanted to murder and soon…grand theft auto. So I’m really living up to that Munson name,” Eddie laughed nervously.

“Uh Eddie,” Robin interrupted. “I’m not sure if I love the idea of you driving.”

“Oh I’m starting this sucker,” Eddie said. “Harrington’s got her. Don’t ya, but boy?” Eddie teased.

For a couple seconds, it seemed like he was struggling to find the right wire. It could have been that he felt rushed or the pressure of being watched by others.

All of the sudden, the couple who owned the van began knocking on the door violently. They began yelling profanities, demanding that those peaty kids get out of their home.

“Munson,” Steve began. “Now would be a good time to get her started.”

“I’m trying to,” Eddie yelled in response.

“Oh! For crying out loud,” Y/N exclaimed.

As if on cue, Y/N roughly grabbed onto Eddie’s shoulder. She forced him to lean back in the driver’s seat. Then Y/N slipped into his lap. She leaned forward to look at the wires.

Instantly, Eddie tensed up at the feeling of someone sitting on his lap. He couldn’t help but place his hands on her hips to steady her movements. He held back a groan upon feeling himself growing harder.

Now Eddie was curious and quite intrigued by Y/N’s hidden talent of hot wiring cars. He found himself leaning forward to peek over her shoulder in order to watch her work.

As the couple beat loudly on the windows and threatened to call the cops, Y/N held two wires together in hopes that the electricity would spark between them.

Within a few short seconds, the engine of the van sputtered to life. A huge cloud of grey smoke streamed out of the muffler.

In that moment, Y/N jumped to her feet and spun around in her place. She grabbed a fistful of Eddie’s white hellfire shirt, hauling him to his feet.

All the while, Steve had climbed into the driver’s seat and began driving the van away.

In the meantime, Y/N did not halt her efforts. She led him towards the back of the van, forcing him to walk backwards as she walked in front of him.

He was quite taken away by her roughness, especially when she forced him down onto the couch.

“Sit down,” Y/N demanded. “And stay down.”

“Yes ma’am,” Eddie squeaked.

He was gazing up at her with an awestruck look on his face. His big brown eyes shown so much admiration for her. She seemed to ignore his look and began to walk back towards the front of the van.

Naturally, Eddie’s gaze seemed to follow her figure. He looked down at himself to see a very evident tent in his pants. He quickly grabbed the pillow next to him on the couch and placed it in his lap to cover himself.

He ran his hand through his long sweaty locks of curly hair. He leaned his head against the backside of the couch. He felt completely lost in his feelings. He was totally hot wired for her.

I wanted to do something a little different for this story. I’ve never written for Eddie Munson, but I couldn’t get this oneshot out of my head. Hope you guys like it!

PART TWO HERE

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 14

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 14

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1976

Summary: Once more, a moment at the bar shifts the relationship between Sam and the reader irrevocably. 

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w  b u r n, this section has a little gentle smut 

           It was sweet, actually, taking things slowly enough that Sam didn’t feel an acute sense of betraying Dean. You started kissing in stolen moments like teenagers, accidentally honking the horn of the Impala before taking over from the day shift and walking in shyly with swollen lips and mussed hair, tasting the orange juice off of his lips after breakfast.

           Never more than that save a fumbled glancing grope here or there, Sam sometimes having to break away for a long walk in the brisk winter air before going to sleep with you at night, you taking extended showers to deal with the building tension. He simply wasn’t ready, and the additional closeness was already so much more than you’d had anyway, almost too much stimulation to handle. Not that it really made sense to you, that this was somehow different in his mind, but it didn’t matter.

           Dean came to you in your dreams with increasing regularity. He started teaching you how to go to places you hadn’t been, or hadn’t been with him, slowly reconstructing the bar and the cabin so you could show him around your new life. Sam had been right, of course, and Dean did love the bar as you showed it to him, scuffed floors and ever-present stickiness of the cash register included.

           It felt pretty real. And who’s to say it wasn’t, because it was really Dean and it was really you, the whiskey really poured and made his lips taste peaty like they always had. More than that, it was enough. You were able to relish your time together, drink Dean in while you slept feeling less desperate knowing that you’d see him again soon. The days got easier too, waking up warm inside from Dean and outside from the firm protection of Sam’s body. Neither Winchester ever told you what they did or talked about in their time together, but Sam got looser and looser. You had almost forgotten how goofy he could be, how enthusiastic and fun he was Before Everything, but the longer he spent dreaming with Dean the more he reminded you of that guy—the affectionate, quick-witted boy you’d split cans of Spaghetti-o’s with at Bobby’s a lifetime ago.  

           Going to work felt like a little game sometimes. Periodically one of the customers would comment on the way Sam always seemed to wait until you were right in front of the fruit before going to refill it so he had to press the length of his body against yours. Often you’d have to help him finish his side work before closing up together, having hung off him all night in a way that prevented him from getting everything done until it was just the two of you together in the darkened bar cutting up limes as your shoulders brushed against each other. The regulars thought you were finally comfortable enough to show them a little PDA, that you’d been secretly like this all along, and there was no other explanation you could give them. Like everything else, you rolled with their assumptions and got that same giddy-hot feeling in your chest and throat every time they said it—like you were being teased about some juvenile crush.

           The Wednesday it finally happened you were having a normal day at work, catching those little jabs after Sam snaked a bottle opener out of your back pocket while you rattled a shaker of martinis. He kissed your hair with a smirk when he passed by you, carefully not jostling your arms as you poured the drinks into chilled glassware. When you went to refill Joe’s pint of Spotted Cow, you noticed the tap start to stutter and foam the last dregs of an empty keg and raised your head to tell Sam it was out.

           He was leaning on his elbow, ankles crossed where the long stretch of his body met the floor and talking to Jake, clearly telling some joke from the way Jake cracked up and gave him that snapping handshake men often exchange instead of hugs. The smile on his face was just smug enough to show he knew whatever he’d said was funny, and more than anything he looked relaxed, looked comfortable. Looked like he belonged there, the reflection off green glassed whiskey bottles making his eyes seem lit from within. You decided to change the beer yourself and leave him in peace; the bar was slow enough that he could handle it alone for a few minutes, limited cocktail experience or not.

           Every time you went into the basement at work to change a keg you were amazed that Sam even fit in the room where they were stored; it was back at the end of the walk-in cooler with ceilings so low even you felt claustrophobic there. Aluminum kegs in varied states of fullness stacked by their respective lines, marked by stickers and tags of indeterminate ages, were in a sort of half-organization around the walls. Based on how fast Sam changed them when one went empty, you were pretty sure he would know instinctively which ones were which, but as it was you had to climb around the makeshift aluminum jungle gym to trace each looping hose back to its source. You finally found the empty Spotted Cow and the line that would tie it to its respective tap in the corner. To get there you’d had to hop on top of two others, one foot on a fresh Bud Light and the other on some Coors while your spine curved to avoid hitting your head on the ceiling. Unfastening the tap from the empty keg, you yanked back to tug it off and slipped on some extra moisture on top of the metal. It sent you off balance enough that you grabbed at the tubing at the end of the tap you were holding in an effort to stay on your feet.

           The hose pulled out of the line system and sprayed the rest of the beer within all over the room and you, brown ale getting in your mouth and eyes and sending you careening to the ground, tugging the empty keg on top of you with a huge clatter. You rolled it off of you, thanking God it was empty, and tried not to think too hard about the age of the beer remnant mixture leeching off the cement floor into your t shirt as you got up. By the time you got back to your feet, Sam was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath with a look of concern on his face.

           “Are you okay? What happened?” he asked, surveying the scene.

           You still had the keg tap and hose in your hand, completely detached from the wall. “I was going to change the Spotted Cow but I couldn’t reach the back so I had to climb and then I…slipped.” Sam’s face smoothed in relief when he saw the smile spreading across your face. “And broke it.”

           “But you’re okay?”

           “Probably going to have a pretty kickass bruise tomorrow and I’m covered in beer but yeah, I’m okay. Sorry I pulled it out; do you know how to fix it?”

           Sam smiled, his dimples carving into his cheeks. “I’ll figure it out.”

           You pouted around your embarrassment and sheepishly handed him the tap. “I should probably get back upstairs,” you offered, shaking your wet shirt away from your body.

           “I’m, uh, I’m ready.” Sam murmured, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

           “Do you need me to go get tools or something?”

           “No—I mean, like, ready.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and the emphasis crashed into you hard enough that it almost sent you careening back into the kegs.

           “Ready ready?” you breathed, sounding stupid and not caring, wanting to bound over and leap into Sam’s arms.

           “Ready read—” and Sam was cut off by your lips on his, taking a sharp inhale against your cheek as he kissed you. After a beat of electric shock Sam twined into the hair at the nape of your neck, his fingers hot from washing dishes and soothing in the air of the cooler. You slid down the soft flannel of his shirt and wrapped up fistfuls of it, desperate to have him closer, closer, closer, feel the firm slopes of his body when you weren’t sleeping. He groaned into you and it sent a shudder down your spine as you slipped down the edge of his jaw to kiss along the broad expanse of his neck, tendons squirming under your lips and the thrum of his blood pumping fast and hard.

           Sam moved a hand to your lower back and bent down to scoop under a hamstring, gently but swiftly lifting and spinning so you were pressed up against the doorframe by his body, hitched up in the air to better reach his face. You gasped and felt Sam’s smile against your mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist and greedily roaming the muscles in his chest as they flexed to carry you. The way the wall pinned you to Sam made it so easy to rock into him, feel the metal of his belt buckle through the worn cotton of your jeans and the heat seep through his shirt into the sticky beer drying on yours. “I—oh fuck—” Sam stammered between kisses as you rolled your hips, trying to balance the need to catch his breath with the pent-up magnetism between you. “We have—Jesus Christ, ah—there are customers upstairs,” he finally spit out.

           That zapped you back to reality, finally breaking away to press your forehead against his. “Fuck,” you moaned. A long second passed, sharing air between you and Sam as he held you suspended. “Do we care?” you murmured hopefully against closed eyes, smiling.

           Sam chuckled, breathy and low as he lowered you to the ground softly. “Unless you have another way of paying rent.”

           You gently knocked your head into Sam’s chest. “Man, couldn’t sit on that for a few more hours? How am I supposed to work the rest of the night?”

           He ran his tongue over his molars as he grabbed the tap from where it had fallen to the ground, accepting the gentle teasing. “I just—I don’t know, you were just standing there and it all kind of—it just made sense all of a sudden.”

           “The stale beer did it for you? If I knew that I would’ve broken all of the lines ages ago.” You bit your lip against your smile, suddenly a little bashful and exposed and feeling every drying drop of beer across your chest.

           “I um, might have another t-shirt in the car if you want me to check.”

           “Thanks. I can get it though, can I have the keys?”

           Sam snaked a hand into his pocket and you could see the muscles in his forearm ripple as he grabbed them for you. He handed the keys over, his face open and vulnerable even with the hint of smirk. Tapping the keys against the doorframe you stalled for time, wanting more than anything to have even just an hour without responsibilities. You reached out and stroked his arm. “You’re sure about this? It’s okay if you’re—”

           Sam’s head bobbed quickly. “Yeah. Yes, I’m sure.” He looked solemn, resolute in a way that reassured you. “I’m sorry it took—”

           “Nothing to be sorry about. I just wanted to check.”

           He closed the step between you, tucking a chunk of hair behind your ear and gazing down into your eyes. “I know. And thank you for that.” He kissed you on the forehead, grinning into your hair. “Now go change, you smell like a frat party.”

           You pushed playfully against his chest and made your way upstairs, leaving him smiling at your back as you walked away.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 15

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[yessoupy]

You posted: if anyone has any questions about the olympics i would love to answer them. there are no stupid questions - i love all of them.

You get to speed meet 6 living Olympians. Age can be current or former era. Each meeting is individual and only 5 minutes. You get to ask them one thing or tell them one thing. One person has to be someone you wouldn't mind converting into more of a speed dating situation. At least one of them you choose because you're still just that mad.

Who do you pick and from what era?

What do you ask or tell each one?

Visuals are welcome, as is expounding (or not) on why you chose each person and what you asked or told them.

this is an outstanding question, lol. i pulled out my "chronicle of the olympics" book to remind myself of things that might make me angry. lol. I've already met Adam Rippon, Michael Phelps, Natalie Coughlin, and Aaron Peirsol so I'll leave them off the list.

First Olympian would have to be Greg Louganis. I'm going to tell him that he's always inspired me and that (I know you said one thing but it goes together) reading in his autobiography about his dyslexia has made me a much better teacher for those kids in my classes. Since 1996 he's been my favorite diver. :) Also, seeing video of his 1988 Olympics injury discouraged me from ever becoming a diver, thus saving my parents some anxiety. lol.

Second Olympian would be Johnny Weir. He was so unapologetically himself at a time when it negatively hurt his career. I'd want to thank him for being himself out there, and for later sharing so much with us. I remember watching him compete at the Goodwill Games in 2001. He was so slight and his programs weren't as powerful as everyone else's, but they were so beautiful. I've been a fan since.

Third Olympian would be Ian Thorpe. He dealt with SO MUCH SHIT in the Aussie media and suffered so much because of it. Honestly I just want to give him a hug and tell him that I've always been proud of him. He was my generation's first GOAT in swimming. He was groundbreaking in the pool. It hurts my heart that he was dogged so much about his sexuality before he was ready to come out.

So, i'm starting to see a pattern here...... lol.

Fourth Olympian is going to be the "speed-dating" one, but it requires an alternate universe (I do know how much you hate the AU lol). I was thinking about this and had a hard time a) finding one that was age appropriate and b) not married. SO, we're going to ~handwave a wife here. I think I probably wouldn't have chosen this Olympian for this before this week but it's not like my crush on Roland Schoeman is new. SOMEWHERE on the internet there is a picture of him after a medal ceremony biting the stem of a rose and winking (?) at the camera. I had that picture up on my wall uh ... all through college. lol. No idea what I would say! lol.

Fifth Olympian is the one I just want to yell at a little and it's Ryan Lochte. I wanna take his shoulders and shake him a little. He's a fucking mess and needs a life coach -- like a real one. I think he'd be a good coach for the little ones, and should start getting himself into that arena. That's what I'd tell him.

Sixth Olympian would be ADAM PEATY and I'd just say, from one breaststroker to another, you're the KING!!!!!!!!!!!! all hail adam peaty. ALL HAIL ADAM PEATY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sp00kworm]

A Fayre (Part 2 )

Pairing: Rakuh (Male Orc) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Violence, Fighting, Blood and Injury description.

Part 1

Tag List: @silverclawz​

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---

“Rakuh?” You peered into the workshop with a worried frown, “Your mum is worried.”

Shul had grabbed you as you pulled up into the garages, a great worried frown painting her features as she tucked her hands into her apron. Apparently, she hadn’t seen Rakuh since that morning. It was a Sunday. The garage was closed, except for emergencies, so the two brothers were free to spend their time as they wished on their day off. Usually that meant Rakuh spent his time alone working on his own projects while Xurek whisked himself off to the city for a day socialising.

A grunt of acknowledgement came from further inside the work shed. Typical, you grumbled to yourself as you stepped inside and took your coat off. It was far too warm in the shed with all the metal working. The clang of a hammer smacking against superheated metal drew you into Rakuh’s working room.

“Rakuh?” You cooed as you watched him heavily smack away at one of the final imperfections in a shoulder pauldron, “Shul is worried, and you know if you don’t go and have your lunch she’ll interrupt you and make you mad.”

Rakuh worked the dent free before cooling the metal in a water bucket and pulling his visor free, “Is it lunch time already?” He asked as he reached for his towel to wipe the caked sweat from his face, “Fuck.” He cursed as he wiped his hands on the towel, black smudges staining the fabric.

 “You forgot again, didn’t you?” You joked as you watched Rakuh scrub at his face on another rag and sigh at the sweat and charcoal that came off his skin, “I’m not mad.” You soothed as he looked at you sheepishly, “But we better get inside for lunch before Shul comes and kicks your backside herself.”

“I’m sorry.” Rakuh muttered. He gently cooled the forge off before taking you by the hand and dragging you back towards the house, “You go on inside.” He insisted, “I should go and get a shower out back. Ma won’t let me in the house if I’m treading muck in.”

“You’re not that…” Your eyes widened as he sighed and pulled off his shirt, his chest covered in sweat and metallic grime from the fire and hammer, “Never mind. You go and shower. I’ll let your mum know you’re coming.” Rakuh nodded but before he could run off you reached up to kiss at his cheek. After grumbling and blushing, snatched at your chin and kissed your forehead softly before he disappeared to the small, sheltered shower block back towards the garage. They usually used the outbuilding for showering off after working in the garage, but it served just as well for Rakuh and Gurlog with their other messy hobbies.

You opened the door to the house with a smile and shouted through to the kitchen as you pulled your shoes off by the door, “He’s just having a shower, Shul!” You shouted before tucking your shoes up against the wall.

Shul smacked a pan of vegetables on the side, “That bloody boy!” She cursed softly and apologised before waving you in, “Be a gem and help me plate up? Oh, but first, go and give Gurlog a kick? He’s fallen asleep in front of the rugby, again!” Shul huffed, her greying, black hair swinging in a dangerous, whip tight braid, as she started draining the other pans of water and reached down to take a roasting tin from the oven.

You took a drink in your hands for Gurlog and gently shook the old man by his shoulder, “Shul wants you up, Gurlog.” You smiled and offered him the large cup of herbal tea, “Dinner is ready as well…But it looks like your team lost.” You pointed at the score.

Gurlog cursed, and gave one vicious stomp in annoyance, “Typical! I fall asleep and they lose! They were winning before I dropped off!” He insisted before sitting up and rubbing his eyes, “I’ll be through in a minute. Tell ‘er, before she blows through the roof.” He chuckled before taking a sip of tea.

With a salute you headed back to the kitchen to help Shul begin plating up the large lunch, which was, apparently, a tradition in their household.

 Gurlog sat down at the table with little fanfare and smiled as you placed his roast meat lunch in front of him. Your own lunch was much smaller than all the others but, considering the other three were Orcs, you weren’t too concerned.

Shul sat down and shook her head as Rakuh dashed up the side of the house, fresh bottoms pulled on but his chest bare. As the door opened, Shul leaned back to scowl at her son, “Go and put a shirt on! Then, and only then, will I let you into this kitchen!”

Rakuh growled in the hallway but you smiled as he stomped up the stairs and then back down once again. He reappeared in the kitchen doorway with socks on his feet and a tight-fitting t-shirt on, “Better now Ma?” He asked with a scoff as he sat down next to you at the table, “Is Xurek not eatin’ with us?”

“No, he left and said he was eating out, don’t you remember?” Shul asked before sighing as Rakuh frowned, trying to remember his brother even leaving the house, “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” She joked.

“I don’t even remember seeing him leave to be honest.” Rakuh grunted as you all started to eat, “I was busy with the pauldrons all morning. I barely remember what breakfast was.”

Shul clicked her tongue.

Gurlog reached out and squeezed at her thigh, “Shul, leave the boy alone. You know exactly what he’s like.” He took his hand back and smiled, “Besides, Xurek really is missing out this time. Its delicious, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, darling.” Shul’s rage seemed to melt as she smiled at her husband.

 “So,” Gurlog chewed a great piece of roasted beef before continuing, “Where are you both off to today?”

“Up to try and spot some of the new fawn from the Red Deer. They’re apparently up towards the west hills. I heard the old salmon fisher talking about it.” Rakuh offered as he sliced up his own food.

Gurlog sighed through his nose, “They’re like vermin those things.” With a scoff he ate another mouthful before commenting, “Not the most romantic thing, Rakuh.”

Shul scowled and kicked Gurlog underneath the dinner table.

Gurlog gave a grunt and a sad look of pain before putting on a fake smile, “But I heard the heather is lookin’ nice.”

“I think it’s a lovely idea.” Shul offered, “Would you like me to pack you both some food? I can make a flask of tea while I’m at it if you’d like?”

Rakuh opened his mouth, scowling, but didn’t get to say a word before you cut him off.

“A flask of tea would be nice, Shul. But don’t worry about the food. I think we’ll both be full until tomorrow!” You nudged Rakuh’s knee.

The male Orc looked down at you before rolling his eyes, “She’s going to make sandwiches for when we get back anyway…”

Shul smiled, “Of course. Sunday supper.” She nodded her head, her earrings clinking, before turning the conversation onto other matters, “Are you going up there to propose, Rakuh?”

Both of you simultaneously chocked on the roasted vegetables.

 Purple Heather was in bloom across the peaty sides of the hills, long stems of grass between the shrubbery stretching towards the sky in a desperate attempt to see the last rays of the summer sun. So high in the dales, most of the weather consisted of rain and wind. The pine trees were thick in the place you pulled over in Rakuh’s truck. The air was damp but sweet with the smell of heather pollen and you stuck your nose out of the window to smell at it. The drizzle dampened your skin as you looked around at the thin outcrops of pine trees. Rakuh was characteristically quiet next to you, looking at the trees, the wipers of the four by four swiping left and right at timed intervals.

“We’re not likely to see them if it rains any harder.” Rakuh whispered as he looked at the treeline, “They don’t like the rain.” He chuckled softly before catching your hand in his own.

Softly, you squeezed his hand, locking your fingers together as you peered out of the window, your coat collar tugged up to keep the breeze out. The trees swayed in the gales from the hills and Rakuh sighed as the weather worsened.

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing any deer today, Rakuh.” You offered with a disappointed smile, “Maybe the weather will be better next week?”

Rakuh huffed, “Typical. The day I bring you to see them they don’t show.” He grumbled with his elbow rested on the car door, looking out at the field.

 Suddenly he perked up, pointed ears alert as he looked out at a set of old dry-stone wall, “Over there.” He whispered as you undid your belt and leaned over to see what the Orc was looking at. There was a long stretch of crumbling dry-stone with hedgerows growing either side. It was a field made for cattle, but beyond the small gate in the middle, a rough, brown coloured hide of a deer poked out, visible through the bars of the gate. You smiled as you perched yourself across Rakuh’s lap, watching the deer’s tail flip left and right before it raised its head. It was a stag, great antlers tall and proud on top of its head as it looked around the fields before it stuck its head back down into the grass it was eating previously.

“Its beautiful.” You cooed softly as Rakuh grunted and pulled you properly into his lap, sitting you across his thighs as you both watched the stag perk up again and slowly walk along the wall, big eyes trained on the car as it headed back towards the trees.

“At least we saw one.” Rakuh rumbled as you watched the white backside of the stag disappear back into the trees.

“We saw a stag, that’s pretty impressive in itself.” You smiled as you peered at the trees before remembering you were spread over Rakuh’s lap.

With a tug, Rakuh stopped you from rushing back to your own seat, “You can stay there if you want?” He blushed a bright cherry colour before placing his hands on the bottom of your back, the fingers rubbing small circles.

 Smiling, you reached up to tug at the septum piercing in his nose. The big gold ring was an easy target, and Rakuh wasn’t fast enough to stop you tugging his face down with the piece of jewellery. You laid a kiss on his lips before he could grumble about something and gave a soft noise as he relaxed against you. Carefully, you traced around the bottom of his tusks and rubbed the soft, sensitive skin as you pulled away from his lips.

“You need to stop surprising me with those.” Rakuh huffed. His cheeks burned with the bright colour of his blood, “I can kiss as well, ya know?” He grumbled before dodging the next tug to his large, thick septum ring. Your hands were pinned in front of you before the Orc took the initiative and pressed you back in a hot kiss. Tusks grazed against your cheeks as you pushed back into the kiss and wound your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. Ginger strands of hair came loose from the braids and sat between your fingers as you held onto Rakuh tight, determined not to let the male get away from you again. Unfortunately, you were still the first one to break away for air, but as soon as you took a few breaths of air, Rakuh was on you again, his lips pressed to yours as his tongue prodded uncertainly at your lips and licked inside of your mouth. Your tongues met briefly before Rakuh pulled away with a deep grumble, his fingers pinching tightly at your hips and bottom, squeezing the flesh tight before he reached to stroke over your jaw and neck. You looked at the Orc and traced your own fingers over the freckles over his cheeks and nose, playing dot-to-dot with the brown freckles before flicking the golden earrings in his ears and rubbing his beard playfully.

 Rakuh’s teeth clicked as he smiled bright and wide, hugging you to his front as the rain bounced off the road and the car’s windscreen. He adjusted his braid over his shoulder before gripping you tightly to his front again, blushing, embarrassed but happy.

“What did I do to deserve someone like you?” He sighed happily before holding your face in his huge hands and kissing you softly on the nose.

You snagged his nose ring again in order to place just as soft a kiss on Rakuh’s nose, “That’s my line.” You cooed, “You’re just perfect.”

“Hardly. You’re human and…” Rakuh grumbled when you gave him a curious look, “You’re so… Gorgeous. You’re too good for an Orc.” He confessed as his eyebrows furrowed with worry, “No one likes me enough or has ever… ya know, gotten to know me to get this far…”

“Well I have, and I think you’re perfect.” You offered as you took his hands and kissed him again, softly yet resolute.

Rakuh huffed against his seat before kissing you again and nodding, “How about we go to the fayre at the end of the month?” He offered, “My treat. It’s a weekend thing that we do to meet up with distant relatives. Most Orc clans have them. ‘Celebrates our history.”

You nodded as you listened before you grinned at the Orc, “Will I get to see your armour and outift?” You poked him excitedly, “And the kilt?”

Rakuh nodded with a blush as he placed you back into your own seat, “Yeah. The kilt as well.”

“No underwear?” You asked.

“We’ll see.” He grunted as he turned on the engine and put the car into gear.

  Rakuh shouted your name from the bedroom of the house. You were both the last people left. Shul and Gurlog had left with Xurek in tow, revving his motorcycle behind his parents before zooming off in front. Rakuh waved from the bannister as you peered up the stairs.

“Have you gotten dressed?” He asked as he leaned over the bannister. His dark eyes looked you up and down as he frowned, “You’re goin’ in that?”

You shrugged, “Yeah? Does it matter what I go in? Its only a re-enactment fayre, isn’t it?”

Rakuh scoffed at the top of the stairs before waving you up, “Come ‘ere.” He stomped back towards his room to fetch something. As you made it to the top of the stairs, he reappeared with a bag in his hand, “I had Ma help me with the measurements and she did most of the stitching but I added the leather and…Here!” He grunted as he thrust the bag into your hands, “Get into that. I’ll get the car runnin’.” You took the bag from Rakuh and watched him walk down the stairs, the blue and white kilt he had on flapping behind his thighs.

 You peered into the bag after the front door opened and then closed with a resolute bang. There was a whole outfit. The clan tartan adored a sash for you to wear along with other hard-wearing clothing and leather additions. It was a typical outfit for an Orc married to a warrior, except sized down for your human needs. You pulled the blue and white tartan out of the bag and smiled at the soft sash before quickly ducking into the bathroom to change out of your normal clothing and into the new ones. You pulled on the soft leather and cotton before tying the great hanging sash around your waist and shoulder. It was warm underneath the layers but you looked in the bottom of the bag and smiled at the faux fur coat. After you pulled the coat on, you tied it closed with the belt before rushing to the bottom of the stairs and pausing by the door. A pair of boots were sat in front of the door and you quickly threw your sneakers into the bag with the rest of your clothes before putting the boots on and rushing out to the car, locking the door only after a brief afterthought.

 Rakuh smiled at you as you posed beside his side of the car. He whistled jokingly at you as you gave him a spin, “It suits you.”

“Thank you for making it. And Shul! It must have taken you both so long!” You exclaimed as you leaned through the driver’s side window to give him a long kiss, “Its amazing, so thank you.” You cooed at the Orc.

“Anything for you.” Rakuh uttered against your lips before reaching his hand out of the window to smack at your backside, “Come on. We’re gonna be late.”

You yelped at the swat, rubbing your backside through the coat as you walked around the four-by-four and opened the passenger seat. You tucked the house keys into the glove box before fastening your belt and smiling at Rakuh.

“Ma’s got the lunches, so we’re set…I think.” He rubbed his ginger beard before shrugging and reversing off the driveway, “You ready for an Orcish fayre?” Rakuh asked as he shifted into gear and started along the main town road.

“As ready as I’ll ever be!”

 The hills turned into flat farmland after a while of driving along small, one car wide roads. Eventually you joined onto a main road and watched as the beginnings of civilization appeared. You drove through a large town, passing a number of department stores before heading back out into the countryside. The farmers’ fields turned into traffic ridden roads and you listened to Rakuh grumble next to you.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He cursed as the car slowed to a crawl. You both had most of the armour and normal clothes in the back for the way home, so he was sat shirtless in the summer heat, one hand on the wheel and his arm out of the window.

“I’m sure it’ll move.” You offered before you heard a text notification from your phone. You opened your phone and looked at the text message from Shul, “She says the traffic is because of the fayre turn off.” You offered, “But apparently its also because your uncle broke down at the entrance. They’re moving him out of the way now.”

“Fuckin’ typical.” He grunted as he shook his head, “We won’t even have time to get ready properly at this rate!” Rakuh huffed as he pointed his thumb back at the armour and body paint, both of which he had in the back seat for his display fight.

“Don’t panic! We’ll get there in no time.”

 Thirty minutes later the traffic finally let up, and you stretched happily as you finally got out of the car, reaching for the sky as you popped your back.

Rakuh popped open the boot of the car and pulled out your bag for you before he went to collect the paint and armour off the back seat, “Do you think you could help me to get ready?” He asked softly.

You smiled, “Of course.”

“You made it!” Shul’s voice rang out over the carpark and she gasped in glee at your outfit, “Oh he did give it you!” She cooed as she took hold of your face and squashed your cheeks before stepping back to admire the fit, “You know he had me sneaking around with laundry to find sizes and everything!”

Rakuh’s head peered over the roof of the car, “Ma! Shut up!” He was bright red as he scowled at Shul. His mother simply grinned, exposing the pretty bands around her tusks before she snorted at him and went to go and grab your leather pieces and accessories. Rakuh handed them over without protest but rolled his eyes at Shul’s excitement as she tugged you forwards to dress you properly.

“I need…” Rakuh was stopped with a scowl and a growl from his mother as she helped you wear your clothes in the proper orcish fashion.

Shull huffed, “You’ll get your turn.” You heard Gurlog laugh from behind her as he went to go and help Rakuh fasten his armour plates to his body.

 “Is Ma done cooing over you now?” Rakuh asked as he sat down in one of the lawn chairs Gurlog had brought along. He shook his head and opened the bag of paints and accessories with a small smile.

“I think so, but she insisted on putting these on my outfit.” You showed him the tied pieces of bone to your thin leathers and chuckled before pointing to the body paint in his hand, “Do you still need some help with that?” You asked.

“Yeah.” Rakuh nodded and opened the tin with a crinkle of his nose, “You’ll want a brush.” He pointed to the bag, “This stuff stains.”

You rustled in the large bag before finding a brush, “What is it made out of?” You asked as he placed the pot on the camping table.

“Woad. It’s a plant. You mush it all up and it produces a blue dye.” Rakuh sat forwards on the chair and leaned over to expose his back to you, “I brought some designs.” He pulled out a piece of paper with various runes and old tribal designs, “You can paint around the tattoos.”

You looked at the sheet on the table and hummed, “I think I can do something for you.” You smiled as you dipped the brush in the pot of Woad and set to work replicating the three-pronged spirals over Rakuh’s back and shoulders.

 The fayre was in full swing by the time you met up with Xurek by the large animal arena. They were showing a large horse off, the creature easily well over two metres tall. Its fur was brushed to perfection, the black shiny, and its mane was fastened up on its neck in small buns. It trotted around the arena in a big circle as the Orc in the centre whistled.

“They’re not selling any of the pigs this year.” Xurek offered as you both looked into the pen, leaning back as the huge draught horse came running past once more, “Apparently they’ve had a tough breeding season. They’re too small to show and sell yet. Need more time with their Ma.” He grinned as the horse came past again, “A beauty though this girl.”

Rakuh nodded, “Big chest and strong legs.” He scoffed at Xurek’s eyebrow wiggle, “You need to go and chase skirts or somethin’.”

“What else do they show here?” You asked as the horse went up for bidding.

“Usually Pigs, Wargs and Horses but I think they’ll only be Wargs and Horses this year.” Xurek said sadly as the horse was sold for a small fortune.

Rakuh hummed, “The Wargs are usually very expensive. Ma used to breed ‘em before we came along. Ran a big farm up in the hills to stop ‘em killing things. She had a few show winners.” Rakuh smiled brightly as a white and black spotted Warg was brought into the ring.

 You watched the beast snarl lowly as the lead was attached to its harness and it was whistled into action, prowling around the ring in a light walk. Rakuh gave a whistle as the male lumbered past and you watched the pointed ear twist in your direction as burning orange eyes watched Rakuh. Its snort snout opened in another growl as a child rubbed at its fur. The Warg returned to the child and sat by the fence, ignoring commands as the little girl giggled and rubbed at its fur. The beast returned her mile dopily, its tongue hanging from its mouth. All of a sudden, you realised the tall beasts were simply a wolfish great cat, happy for any attention. It shook its head and the pointed fur down its back wiggled before it lumbered around once more and sat low to the ground as the auction began.

“Why don’t you buy a pup?” You asked softly as Rakuh watched the Warg longingly.

He scoffed before replying, “We hardly have enough room to raise a Warg at home.” Rakuh wrapped your arm back through his own as you headed towards the small large holding and display tent for the animals up for sale.

“I’m sure Shul wouldn’t mind if you converted a bit of the garden. Its massive!” You poked at his arm, careful not to poke the Woad stain tattoos on his shoulders.

“Maybe one day.” He offered lamely as you both strolled into the flap of the animal tent.

 There was a lot of horses in stalls, kicking and huffing, others chewing hay, looking at you both boredly as you went through. A small pen housed chickens and the one next to it geese, then ducks flapped around in the end zone. They clucked and quacked loudly. The Wargs were in their own tent, away from the prey animals to stop there being too much stress. You looked in awe at the variation in colours and patterning. Rakuh chuckled at your wonder and steered you closer to the pups. The Warg mother sniffed at you through the pen bars but laid down on her side again as her pups rushed around, jumping over her stomach and snapping at one another. There was one with sandy coloured fur and spots like a cheetah climbing on her belly, whining at her as it began to jump. She rolled and the pup slid off, whimpering pathetically as it landed on the floor in a lump. A lick got it back up and it soon returned to its sand coloured siblings to carry on wrestling.

“They’re adorable.” You cooed as one snapped through the bars at your sash.

Rakuh snorted with laughter, “They’re much more dangerous than they look.” He assured you as they started wrestling again.

“You should have one, Rakuh. It would be good for you.” You teased.

The Orc laid a kiss on your hair, “You are more than enough for me at the moment, love.” He took your arm again as you left the pups with a final coo and took you along the path towards the young males.

 The display matches were brutal.

“Jesus Christ.” Xurek cringed as the male competitor was carried off on a stretcher, his arm entirely in the wrong position. The female, who had battered the other competitor black and blue, rushed over to apologise and help get the Orc to a hospital to reset his arm. There was a commotion as the doctor on site rushed to pop the shoulder back into place.

“Rakuh are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, fear welling in your gut as the Orc took his mace from your hand before asking for his shield with a curl of his fingers. The heavy, metal, circular shield weighed a ton to you as you passed it to your lover.

He blew hair between his tusks before leaning to give you another kiss to the forehead, “I promise. I’ll be safe. That match went on too long, but that idiot didn’t call it.” He pointed back at the male who was sat in agony with his arm limp by his side, “I’ll stop if I get too badly beaten.”

Xurek laughed from behind you, “Unlikely! You’ve not been beaten yet, nor ‘av you ever yielded!”

You scowled at Rakuh, “Promise me.” You leaned up to kiss his bottom lip, your fingers rubbing at his beard before you tied a strip of cloth around his arm tight, “A good luck token for my knight.”

The Orc blushed and huffed but gave you a nod, “I’m no knight…but I promise. I’ll be careful.”

The announcer hollered from the stand and you tapped his backside with your fingers, “Now get in there and give them what for.”

 Rakuh strode into the ring with confidence, his hair ringing with metallic clicks as his braids waved over his back. The round started as the other Orc entered the ring. The sand kicked up with their circling and instantly you were worried for Rakuh. A long sword was hefted over the other’s shoulder and you looked at Rakuh’s defensive stance as the other Orc strode closer. They were as broad and tall as one another, covered in blue stains of war paint as they circled closer and closer to one another. The first hit came from Rakuh as his mace clipped against the side of the great sword and glanced off with a metallic scrape. The other started his barrage then, driving Rakuh backwards steps with great heavy blows. Rakuh was not small enough to duck or dodge the blows, so he was forced to take them upon his shield and wait, grunting underneath the heavy weight of each strike. Rakuh grunted and stepped two back to avoid a sweep before rushing forwards, glancing the sword from his shield before slamming into the other Orc. The overconfidence sent the other flying backwards, his weapon flying from his grip as he hit the stand with a great thump. Rakuh advanced quickly as the other scrambled for his weapon. As the mace came down, he rolled and snatched for Rakuh’s legs. Rakuh was quick, stepping back, dodging the grab but allowing his opponent time to grab his weapon and defend himself against the next blow of the mace. The two of them separated and growled, circling each other, spinning their weapons before they locked again. Rakuh’s shield shove was dodged, and he feinted into a quick flick of his mace, catching the Orc on the arm. They both locked after that. Rakuh took the tip of the blade to his cheek and a heavy punch to the nose. They both continued pushing against each other before Rakuh’s mace cracked against his leg and the other Orc was sent to the floor.

 “Called!” The announcer threw his hands in the air and gestured for the medics to see to the cuts and bruises.

“Rakuh!” You screamed joyously as he walked out of the ring and you were quick to grab his face, forcing him to drop his weapon and shield in order to hold your hips, “You did amazing.” You smiled and placed your forehead against his own.

“Thank you, love.” He said before pushing you away gently, “Now let me get this seen to, then I’m all yours.” A medic laughed behind the both of you before sitting Rakuh down by the ring, a box in his hands ready to stitch up his lip.

“Broken nose again this year, Rakuh.” She tutted as he pointed at you, “Look here.” He did and growled as she snapped his nose back into place, pushing her fingers against it before she tapped the bone back in place, “It’s nasty but you’ll be fine in a few weeks.” She snapped open a saline bottle and poured it over the slice to his cheek, scolding him for squirming before she took out her stitching equipment and laughed, “Hold his hand for this. He’s always been a big baby.” The elderly medic laughed at Rakuh’s growl and smiled as you took his hand, holding him still as she set to work, putting three stitches into the deep cut to keep it shut before she cleaned it once more and covered it with a patch dressing.

 “Now, you look after him, I’m going to go and check on the other one. He took a very nasty blow to the leg.” She huffed and returned to the ring.

Rakuh scowled after her, “Vicious hag.”

You slapped his arm but kissed at his uninjured cheek as Rakuh sat down with a huff, “How about we get you that puppy to make you feel better?” You joked.

“Har har.” He scoffed before he kissed you more soundly, in a brazen show of confidence. You leaned into the kiss and hummed softly before Rakuh hissed, tugging away in pain. You had bumped his broken nose.

“Sorry.” You stroked his forehead and pouted, “Now I can’t see all your freckles.” You whined as you brushed the tape over his nose and the dressing on his cheek.

“You can see all of these you baby.” Rakuh touched your hand to his cheek and you paused, feeling his heart beating heavily in his chest.

You smiled and helped him up from the chair, “I love you.” You gushed and Rakuh paused.

His breathing caught in his throat as you wound your fingers together, peering up at the giant Orc with nothing but love in your eyes. After all the months together, he still wasn’t used to the adoration in your eyes, “I…” He blushed, his chest turning pink as he reached up to rub at the back of his neck, “I love you too.” He confessed gruffly. You leaned up to give him another kiss and smiled brightly as Rakuh wrapped you tightly in his arms.

[tinyhistory]

Hey! I feel like there's so many nuances, subtle messaging, and symbolism in Once Around the Sun. It's what makes it so gorgeous and intelligent. I don't have a specific question, guess I just was curious/ would love to hear your heart on what some of those things meant to you (white rose, sun nymphs, Azula's distorted perspective, etc), if you felt there was anything readers didn't catch, what you were excited or proud to weave in? I can't wait to reread already bc I'm sure I'll catch more :)

Thank you so much! I love putting little details in my fics, and often add nods to my other fanfics — so if you look closely enough, you start finding tiny in-jokes and references.

There’s a few things in Once Around the Sun that nobody’s commented on, but I’ll pick just a couple for the sake of brevity.

Firstly — lanterns! These are always used to foreshadow events. Just before the assassination attempt at the midsummer celebration, the lanterns are described in vivid detail and Katara sees Zuko outlined very clearly by them — something significant is about to happen to him. The lanterns are also red and blue — Zuko and Katara’s fates are about to entangle. In the same chapter, just before the prison is stormed and Azula’s mock trial is held, the lanterns near her cell are described as flickering wildly (a description deliberately similar to lightning).

In Chapter 7, when Zuko finally decides to take a gamble, heed Katara’s advice, and change course, the lanterns behind her are described as burning high and bright. In Chapter 8, when they chat quietly and comfortably with each other, the lanterns burn long and low. So the lanterns often reflect certain moods or upcoming changes in pace or character dynamics.

In Chapter 13, there’s the lantern festival where they write the names of the dead, and Azula writes four names (she writes Lu Ten, Ozai, Ursa — as she wasn’t sure if Ursa still lived — and herself, as she believes that the true Azula had spiritually died in her childhood). This festival is really about death — it’s about remembering those who couldn’t be saved, and saying farewell. I did space this one a few chapters before the major event because I didn’t want it to be too obvious. Later on, in Chapter 20, when Katara is thinking about Azula’s sacrifice, she specifically recalls that lantern festival.

When Katara really starts falling for Zuko in later chapters, her regret at “missed moments” is expressed through her memories of the midsummer festival and the dance they never had — throughout the chapters she thrice recalls that moment, and each time the lanterns are mentioned. She also realises Zuko perhaps reciprocates her love when he mentions the fox-sleeve lantern.

Finally, the dragon boat festival! The earlier lantern festival (foreshadowing Azula’s fate) had lanterns being released into the air and going heavenward (much like burning ash), but this festival (foreshadowing Zuko and Katara’s fates) involves the lanterns (fire) meeting the river (water).

Other little things would be the gesture of holding up a flower and blotting out the moon (Zuko does this once at the beginning; Katara does it once at the end, bookending the story), and origami (Aang offhandedly mentions, in Chapter 2, that Zuko can fold leaves into shapes — in Chapter 18, Zuko folds leaves into shapes for a funeral custom). Also with the origami theme — readers from my other fandom might recognise the origami rose that Katara makes...

Finally, just to touch on some of the other things you mentioned:

The sun nymphs.

This was a kind of Fire Nation version of the Will-o’-the-wisp, a common myth that exists in various forms around the world. It’s often portrayed as a little creature who holds a lantern aloft, luring lost travellers into marshlands and bogs. It’s generally accepted that all these myths were based around the naturally-occurring flames that sometimes happen in peaty soil. I really wanted a scene that had Zuko sharing some of his culture with Katara in an intimate and natural setting (away from the formality of the palace), so I thought pretty hard about the features of the city and nearby environment. The Will-o’-the-wisp legend presented itself as a good opportunity, so I conjured up the marshlands and gave the myth a Fire Nation twist. It was important to me that Katara began slowly seeing the beauty and playfulness of fire and Fire Nation culture — the sun nymph scene was the first of many moments where Zuko invited Katara into the stories and myths of his country.

The white roses.

I considered a few options before choosing the white rose. As it’s pointed out later in the fic, it means “secrecy and silence” which is applicable to both Azula (whose theme becomes the roses) and Ursa (who gifted the rose to her — the rose that saved Zuko). According to many mythologies, the white rose was the first of all roses, and is therefore often called ‘the mother rose’. It also later became associated with peace, loyalty, and honour. The association with peace also meant it was often connected to death — it became a common sight at funerals for those wishing a peaceful afterlife for their departed. Lastly, the white rose was reminiscent of the moon — circular and white — and the moon was also a common theme for Azula, who connected it with Katara/waterbending and therefore had a very uneasy relationship with it. She often felt that the moon was “watching” her and felt too vulnerable beneath its gaze. She sought to hide from the moon and called it a “hateful eye”, while throughout the fic Zuko gazed often upon the moon and used the stars to help him navigate his journeys. As Azula and Katara slowly developed trust in each other though, Azula finally told Katara her story and let herself become vulnerable — under the light of the moon.

Let me know if all of this was already obvious! I had a lot of fun weaving in various themes and symbolism. The downside is, it takes me a looooong time to write things because I’m so intent on the little details.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I promised myself that if ever I had some money, I would savour a cigar each day after lunch and dinner. This is the only resolution of my youth that I have kept, and the only realized ambition which has not brought disillusion.

- Somerset Maugham

So France is finally easing its Covid restrictions with the staggered opening of terrace cafes, cinemas, museums, and non-essential stores. People can even start to go back to work now too.

For me, it’s only in the past few weeks or so that I have been given permission by my corporate firm to travel outside of France to travel to other countries for my work - and even then with severe restrictions such as taking a Covid Test within 72 hours of my departure. Despite this I was releived to be able to get out of my confined situation from working from home to be able to change my scene and get out of Paris.

When I travel outside of France for work and I’m stuck in a hotel room I don’t rely on the mini bar but usually go out and provide my own creature comforts. With the Covid restricting any movement and most shops under restricted opening hours in other European cities. This past week I relied on two German colleagues who gifted me two entirely different gifts as a mark of thanks for the work I had put in for them.

Curious to know I decided to pair both gifts, cigar and whisky. Unfortunately it had a decidedly mixed result.

The Davidoff Aniversario No. 3, is a luxurious handmade premium cigar of the finest pedigree. It’s right for all occasions but especially when you feel you’ve accomplished something and you feel yourself deserving something a little indulgent. These celebratory cigars originally marked the 80th birthday of the famed Zino Davidoff.  It has a delicate and silky Ecuadorian Connecticut wrapper that embraces a core of deeply aged Dominican binder and long filler tobaccos. It’s essentially a medium strength premium cigar that offers up arm notes of nuts, pepper, creamy chocolate, and spices.

This is a cigar that kind of sneaks up on you. Despite Davidoff cigars having a reputation for being mild to medium cigars, I have to say the Aniversario No. 3 spans the entire range from beginning to end of the hour or so it takes to smoke it. When you first light it you notice it’s a little slow to start but it is an effortless first draw that starts out very mild in flavour. The flavour intensity builds with each draw. Very soon within the first third it gives rise to medium bodied flavours of a rich silky smooth creamy textured soft tobacco adding a little sweetness. Towards the end the addition of roasted nut flavours comes aromatically through before it fades away to finish with a big hearted creaminess. The ash holds right into the second third of the smoke. This is a long burning cigar that will let you put it down for a minute or two without going out on you.

The most impressive thing about this medium to full bodied cigar is how well it can be paired with drinks. I would recommend a white wine, preferably a sauvignon blanc, rather than a red. But I think it’s ideal to go with a single malt whisky.

I smoked my cigar with a dram of The Glenrothes 18 year old single malt whisky from their Soleo collection. In hindsight I would have preferred a more peaty single malt whisky to ideally go with the Davidoff Aniversario No.3. I’ve never completely been sold on the single malts offered by the Glenrothes range as there are much better single malts from Speyside in Scotland.

Back in September 2018 Glenrothes announced it would be replacing the Vintage releases with a brand new series with age statements, listening to the name Soleo Collection. This was the first, and influential, decision taken after Berry Brothers sold the brand back to former owner Edrington. Six new malts have been released: 10 Year Old, 12 Year Old, Whisky Maker’s Cut, 18 Year Old and 25 Year Old. The 40 Year Old should follow soon. Soleo refers to the Andalusian sun, where the sherry casks used by Glenrothes to mature their malt comes from.

Whilst the distillery’s link to sherry cask maturation has long been a ‘thing’, Edrington are keen to push this aspect further - the distillery now brands itself as a ‘Sherry Cask Speyside Single Malt Whisky’; this makes some sense on some level given that its core range Soleo Collection is entirely composed of sherried single malts. But, is that truly enough of a differentiator? I’m not sure.

For €120 a bottle I was expecting more.

The 18 year old entry in the Glenrothes Soleo Collection is created entirely from sherry seasoned casks with a high proportion (unspecified) of 1st fill seasoned oak. The bottling has a higher ABV than the range’s more accessible entries – but, not much, a somewhat paltry 43%. Still, it’s a smooth rather than peaty. It’s very light for an 18 year old with its vanilla, orange, ginger and rose flavour notes. On the nose it the Glenrothes is packed with vanilla and citrus. I found it elegant, smooth and oily with a hint of dust shavings. My dram had the taste of espresso that became a bit spicy thanks to ginger and white pepper and cut strawberry and hint of candy floss. A sublime sweetness follow by lightly charred notes that resembling fine runny caramel, alluring savoury notes to keep things interesting long enough not to stop drinking. The finish is just shy of long, docile and pleasant. Some nuts at the end of the downing of the dram.

The Glenrothes 18 year old is a tasty but safe offering. There’s a good level of sherry cask integration whilst the distillery character remains alive and kicking with a strong malty orange vibe. However, at the same time, everything feels largely benign for 18 years of maturity – there are no surprises to be had here. Whilst the nose is rather lovely, the palate squanders the earlier promise with an overabundance of modern oak. Of all the bottles in the Soleo Collection this one makes me miss the supplanted vintages the most – similarly aged expressions were erratic and uneven, but often possessed an element of excitement to them.

Conformity is a dangerous thing to embark upon in any venture or walk in life, be it whisky, a cigar, or any kind of pleasure. Conformity is especially attractive for stock management and, also for the ability to market a consistent house style – but it usually comes with an associated loss of originality. Walking the road less travelled can make all the difference. Without risk there can be no adventure.