#Scottish Dumplings

[hollywoodelights]

Scottish Dumplings - From Brave

The Story

Everyone who has ever whatched Brave always wanted to eat Scottish Dumplings, a sweet that apeared in thePixar movie Brave. During the movie, Merida's brothers appear stealing these cookies from the castle cook. The boys seem to love the snack, eating as many as they can. Today we are making these joy-covered delights!

Ingredients

1 and 1/2 packet dried yeast

1 pinch salt

2 eggs

150ml milk

40g butter

150g icing sugar

18 cherries

500g wheat flour

1/4 cup sugar

more milk for the icing

How to prepare

First, heat the milk up with the butter.

In a bowl, mix the flour, sugar, and baking powder.

Make a nest in the center and add the eggs and the warm milk and butter.

Mix in the eggs and milk and kneed the dough for 10 minutes

Cover the dough and let rest for 30 minutes

Divide into 18 balls and put in a greesed baking tin and let rest for another 30 minutes

Bake in 356°F for 10-15 minutes

In a bowl, add in the icing sugar and add in milk until it's at a thick consistency

Dip the balls in the icing and put a cherry on top

Enjoy your Scottish Dumplings!

[tinihoward]

Scottish Pudding My grandmother's dumpling was updated for the twenty first century; it only takes ten minutes in the microwave instead of hours! On Hogmanay every year, she succeeds.

[shennanigoats]

UK and Ireland - Scottish Pudding

[the-californicationist]

For the gift of gifs ask game! I feel like this can be a sweet scenario...or not...

like why did my head (and heart) immediately jump to johnny?

"I can't believe you, Johnny! I'm not fucking around this time," you stormed off, marching your way down the sidewalk in the highest heels you owned, disappointed, frustrated, and terribly horny.

Johnny had promised to take you on a fancy date, but when you arrived at the restaurant, you realized he'd reserved a table... six months from now. The look of pity on the maitre d's face was seared into your skull.

All you wanted was savory, sweet crab dumplings in a Michelin star, award-winning sauce, and after you were full of food, you wanted to be full of your boyfriend's fat fucking Scottish cock. Now, however, you were going home empty on both counts.

"Dinnae try tae run, lass. I ken you dinnae mean it. C'mere."

He chased after you, so you sped up.

"No! I'm pouting, and you know I deserve to."

"I said c'mere," he growled, catching you around the waist.

"Johnny, no!" Your cry of protest came too late.

He lifted you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder like a burlap sack and smacked your ass hard enough to sting.

"You're comin' home with me, hen. Tha's final."

"Let me down!"

Smack!

His second slap was hard enough to make your cheeks flush. You gasped in a breath, trying to hold back your reaction to the pain.

"Hush. I wasnae askin' your permission."

"But, Johnny, I'm starving," you begged.

Then, you heard a dark, nasty laugh tumble from his mouth, and he said,

"I'll fill your wee belly, hen, I promise you that."

[itsscromp]

Excuse me, may i pls have the 141's fave food?? Are they good cooks? Do they prefer savoury/sweet/spicy food? Feel free to expand or add other characters :D thanks!

141’s favourite food headcanons

Simon ghost Riley

Man’s cannot live without his cup of Yorkshire tea.

It’s his first thing he goes for whenever he wakes up.

As for food, he isn’t too big on spicy things, don’t ever say that you saw him crying after trying a hot Cheeto.

As for cooking, I’m sorry to say, he does not know how to cook at all. Lived off of ration packs pre 141.

He would sometimes try to re create his mother’s recipes if he ever uncovered them, to keep her memory alive.

It took a lot of practice and a few burnt dishes later, he successfully recreated her shepards pie. His favourite dish from her.

John soap mactavish

He would defend his mother’s haggis til the day he freaking dies !!!

It was the best thing he would always look forward to it whenever a chance it was served up.

But if we’re talking other Scottish dishes, classic porridge would be his go to breakfast.

Or a clootie dumpling would be his go to dessert.

As for cooking….. he can cook, but only what he knows from grown up, like spaghetti bolognaise or tacos.

He’ll be open to try new recipes, but please be patient for your bestie.

Kyle gaz Garrick

Uh… have you tried this man’s pancakes !!!

Once it’s served up with possibly the best maple syrup you’ll ever have, it’s heaven until the very last bite.

He would teach you how to make the perfect pancake.

For his favourite foods, it’ll just simply be the classics, either McDonald’s or kfc.

For drinks, he cannot live with his monster, but he doesn’t like the traditional ones, he opts in for the white ultra cans. They’re just sweeter.

John price

As the father figure of the group, he’s gotta make sure his kiddos are fed and healthy.

So cooking is usually his number 1 priority, he loves to serve you his famous lasagna.

Once tried to make ice cream, but failed miserably.

As for his favourite foods, he would always love an English breakfast when he’s feeling peckish.

If he worked out the day before, that’s his go too

For a drink, classic black coffee

[chaosbarelycontained]

You Know I Think I Recognise Your Face

North Country Boy Chapter 2

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: swearing, angst, awkward teenagers (yeah, I know)

Words: 2.1k

Synopsis: Jules meets some of her new team mates and lets the Lt know where her boundaries lie.

Captain Price awkwardly cleared his throat, shaking Jules from her frozen state. With a pointed look at his Lieutenant, Price then addressed his new Sergeant.

“Drop your kit in your room and join us for tea, eh? Don’t let it get cold.”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied.

Moving to follow him out of the briefing room she felt a hand wrap around her wrist.

“Ju…” Riley began, his voice quiet and low.

Her eyes glanced down to where his hand rested on her and then they were back on his face. She stared him down coldly without even a hint of expression until he released his grip and then she made her way out of the briefing room without a single backward glance, stooping to grab her kit bag as she passed.

Standing before the door to Room 3B, Jules stared at the handle and the card scanner above it. Price hadn’t given her the key-card. In the absence of any other option, she slid the card for her old room from the pocket of her pants and tapped it against the scanner, which chirped and flashed green. Jules smirked a little at the Captain’s deviousness and pushed down the handle.

The room was as nondescript as any other billet she’d bunked in over the years. She lay her kit bag down on the foot of the perfectly-straight covers and made a perfunctory scan around the space. There was a small window above the head of the bed, the sky beyond already beginning to take on the dusky hue of twilight, and a closed door to the left. Opening it, Jules was relieved to find a sink, toilet, and shower. The usual single wardrobe, chest of drawers, and bedside table completed the ensemble and she gave a small hum of satisfaction before making her way back downstairs to the mess.

Following the clamour of voices and the clatter of cutlery against china, Jules quickly located the mess again after Price’s rapid tour earlier. She pushed open the door and was hit by a wall of noise and smells of food from the kitchens. Casting her eye about she did a recce of the room and quickly surmised the order of things. Grabbing a tray from the stack by the wall she joined the queue at the hatch and then had her plate filled with a hearty beef stew and dumplings. Nodding her thanks to the server she found an empty seat at the end of one of the tables, filled a glass with water from the jug in the middle, and then settled in to eat her tea.

She’d barely managed two mouthfuls before her elbow was jostled by someone taking the seat to her left whilst another sat in front of her. She acknowledged both of them with a small nod and then went back to eating her food. When the expected conversation openers didn’t arrive she looked up to see both soldiers staring at her, broad grins on their faces. Swallowing awkwardly Jules offered them a strained smile in return but they said nothing and just carried on staring.

“Hi?” she said in bemusement.

“Hey,” one responded, whilst the other gave a “hullo”.

“Can I…help you?”

“Just comin’ ta gi’ ye a welcome,” the guy to her left said, his words thick with a Scottish accent.

“Thanks,” she replied, forking up another mouthful of stew.

“So you’re the spook from The Duke’s?” the other asked in reference to her affiliations with the Lancs and the SRR.

“That’s me.”

“Proper chatterbox aren’t ye?” the first teased, leaning his cheek on his hand.

Jules remembered him from the briefing now, one of the guys who’d heckled the Captain. MacTavish, he’d called him.

“MacTavish, right?” she asked.

“Aye!” He grinned, his eyes lighting up when she recalled his name. “That’s me. This is Gaz,” he added nodding at the fella opposite, who saluted goodnaturedly.

“Jules,” she offered, taking a gulp of her water as she mentally tried to match the names she’d been given to the list of 141 members that had been on Price’s data drive.

“Get an offer ye couldn’t refuse?” MacTavish pushed.

“I’m sorry?”

“The Captain there, gave ye an offer? Dug ye oot of a hole?”

Jules eyed him suspiciously and he held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Don’ worry yeself, I’m no prying. Ye don’ have te say.”

“Let’s just say I had a problem with some orders, yeah?” Jules smirked, raising her glass again.

“Amen to that,” Gaz agreed, holding out his fist which Jules bumped with her own.

“Gaz…that’s Garrick, right?” she asked, which he confirmed with a nod. “You’re from the Duke’s too, yeah?”

Gaz opened his mouth to respond but his words stalled as he glanced over Jules’ shoulder towards the door. Raising his chin in greeting at whoever had entered, he then turned his attention back to her.

“Yeah, I did my time at Kimberley, so did the Lt, actually. Hey Ghost!” he called across the room. “The newbie’s one of ours.”

Jules stiffened in her chair at the mention of the Lieutenant’s name. She saw MacTavish beckoning him over and held her breath, trying to focus on getting another forkful of stew into her mouth in an attempt to disguise the rising tide of her anger. To her utter relief she saw him shake his head and leave the room with his plate of stew.

“Thought we had him there for a minute, Soap,” Gaz sighed, shaking his head.

“Soap?” Jules asked, a little confused.

“Aye, tha’s me,” MacTavish said.

“Why Soap?”

“‘Cause he’s good at cleaning house,” Gaz offered, whilst MacTavish beamed at her.

Jules couldn’t suppress the snicker that bubbled up from her throat, grateful for the distraction. It was short-lived, however, when Soap began his “not prying” line of questions once more.

“So ye ken oor Ghostie then?” he asked, not missing Jules awkwardness.

“Like I said before, I used to. Not seen him in ten years,” she shrugged off the question.

“Ooooh, so you know the man behind the mask…” Gaz speculated, his eyes widening with the anticipation of gossip.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jules replied, swallowing the last of her water. “A lot can change in that amount of time.”

“But what’s he look like though?” he pressed, eager for any speck of gossip about their Lt.

“What d’ya mean?” Jules asked, becoming more perplexed by the minute.

“Never takes his mask off,” Soap offered with a shrug.

“You mean never as in…never? At all?” Jules’ voice was thick with incredulity.

“Nope, never.”

“Crazy-arse bastard,” she muttered, filing away that piece of information for later.

The two soldiers still stared at her expectantly, as if she were about to divulge some key piece of intel but she left them disappointed. She stood, scraping her chair backwards as she gathered her plate and cutlery.

“Sorry gents, it’s been a long and very weird day. I’m gonna turn in for some early shut eye ‘cause I’m sure tomorrow’s goin’ t’be just as crazy.”

“Too right,” Gaz agreed, but Jules had already left the table.

She deposited her tea things by the wash-up station and left the mess. The list of duties for the next day had already been pinned to the noticeboard opposite so she took a second to check it and groaned internally. For all intents and purposes it looked like she’d been let off lightly. There was an equipment audit scheduled for the afternoon and she wondered what that might entail but it was the morning’s activity that concerned her the most. It was a skills assessment which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have phased her but this one wasn’t led by the Captain, it was led by Lieutenant Riley. Shit.

Jules’ plans for an early kip were scuppered. Her brain just wouldn’t switch off and, after a couple of hours of tossing and turning she gave up. Leaving her bed with a frustrated huff she stuffed her feet into her trainers and made her way down to the mess for a glass of milk to try and reset her racing thoughts. Voices filtered into the corridor from the mess and she slowed her pace, automatically making her steps lighter and almost soundless.

“Ach, come on Lt, gi’ us a bit o’ somethin’ eh?” Soap’s voice carried loudly.

“Leave it alone, Johnny,” came the low and slightly muffled rumble from behind Ghost’s mask.

“Not even the tiniest bit of back story?” Gaz probed.

“I told you, I’m not gonna talk about it. We knew each other a long time ago, that’s it. You old hags are gonna have t’get your gossip somewhere else.”

It was then that Jules stepped into the room, which fell silent as the three guys turned their eyes in her direction.

“Don’t mind me,” she muttered, keeping her head down as she searched for the milk in the fridge.

“You joining us for a brew?” Gaz asked, shaking his mug of tea in her direction.

“No, ta,” she replied as she located the milk and filled herself a glass.

“Cannae sleep?” Soap queried sympathetically.

“Summat like that,” Jules said, downing her drink and then rinsing her glass. “Night, fellas.”

With a nod of acknowledgement to Gaz and Soap’s chorus of “g’night”, she left the room. Ghost had remained silent, simply folding his arms over his chest, but she could feel his stare boring between her shoulder blades long after she’d left his line of sight.

* * * * *

Juliette looked up from her desk, startled by the cough from her bedroom door. Her cheeks flamed red as she saw Simon lounging in the doorway, a lop-sided grin on his face.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked, nodding with his chin towards her book.

“Wuthering Heights,” she groaned, dying internally at the thought of her messy hair and the giant spot that had erupted on her forehead the night before. “I gotta annotate three chapters for homework.”

“Homework?” he scoffed. “You’re such a swot, Jules.”

“I am not,” she protested, shifting a stack of notes underneath the latest issue of Just 17 magazine. “I can’t understand the bloody thing anyway.”

“You got Mr Benedict for English?” Simon asked and when she nodded he stepped further into her room.

Juliette’s heart skipped a beat and she almost forgot how to breathe when Simon leaned over her desk and took her pen from her hand.

“I had him too, he loves Wuthering Heights. You need to be highlighting bits like this…and this…” he drew circles around phrases in the book. ‘And make sure you talk about pathetic fallacy. He’ll go mental for that.”

“Cheers, Simon,” she beamed and he smiled back at her.

“Not a fan of English then?” he asked as he straightened up and looked around at her room a bit more.

She prayed that she’d remembered to put all her dirty washing in the basket and that he wouldn’t notice the poster of Damon Albarn that she’d ripped out of Just 17 and pinned to the wall next to her bed.

“Nah, I like I.T. and Maths,” Juliette admitted, and she really did.

She loved computers and how they worked. Miss Talbot had promised to give her extra classes on coding if she passed her end of topic test next week.

‘Told you, you’re a total swot. Maybe even a geek.”

“Am not!”

“Yeah you are,” he teased, laughing as she smacked him on the arm. “I gotta go. If you need any more help just tap me up.”

“Yeah?” Juliette blushed again, relishing the thought of maybe spending more time with him without Rob being his usual twatty self.

“Course.”

“Mint,” she exclaimed, “Thanks Simon.”

“Laters, Jules,” he said as he left her room, throwing her a cheeky wink.

Juliette groaned and let her head thunk onto her desk. Her heart pounded a rapid tattoo but at least she remembered how to breathe again. Lifting her head she gazed at the pages of the novel where Simon had made notes for her in his distinctive boxy script. She pulled the book closer to her, vowing to keep it forever, but then nearly vomited in embarrassment as she caught sight of the piece of paper that had lain just under it, the writing clearly visible. Down the centre of the paper was written the words TRUE LOVE with numbers next to each letter but it was the names at the top of the page that made Juliette want to crawl into a hole and never return.

Juliette Kelsall and Simon Riley.

She’d never be able to look him in the face again.

Taglist: @aykxz98

[theawkwardterrier]

Bake On: A Jamie/Claire Wednesday100 story

Week 1: Cake

Jamie gets his signature - Mam's snow cake - into the oven before he takes a moment to truly size up the competition.

There's the usual crop of grannies and older gents and young mum types, a smarmy-looking middle-aged man Jamie instantly dislikes, a willowy girl he smiles at because she's trembling with nerves, a hulking, wildly bearded lad with an accent Jamie can't place (Welsh?), and then, down in the front corner, far from his back row...

He watches her for so long that he has to rely on the technical and showstopper to make up for his overdone cake.

Week 2: Biscuits

There were many things that Claire considered before entering the competition: that her self-taught skills wouldn't hold up, that she didn't have the sorts of stories and traditions needed for the signatures, that she wouldn't be able to balance it all with her usual work schedule.

She hadn't thought that she'd need to remind herself to focus each time her ears detected a Scottish accent at the back of the tent, or that, after her Kingston biscuits came first in the technical, she'd think about his grin and the light touch of his foot against hers the entire drive home.

Week 3: Bread

"The best simit I've had was off splintery carts pushed by old men who would have considered you mad for criticizing the sesame seeds' evenness."

Jamie looks up from messaging Jenny to find Claire beside him. He'd been trying to stop reexamining his near elimination today. Now he smiles without thought.

"Well, Sassenach, I'll be back next week. That's what matters."

"I suppose that's true." She smiles back, cheeks rosy and rounded, before adding, "You're taking the train, aren't you? I can drive you to the station."

It's an easy walk. The choice to ride with her is even easier.

Week 4: Pie

"Will London surgeon Claire's use of herbs finally win her the title of star baker?"

Her held breath becomes a laugh. She sets down the knife she had been using to carve her pastry top, looking over to him leaning on her bench.

"It might, especially if freelance translator Jamie doesn't get back and give her some competition."

He flashes a grin. "Canna have that. My case is done cooling besides."

She watches him walk away, then resumes, her hands steadier now. She wonders whether he could have possibly noticed her doubts from the back. No, she decides. A coincidence.

Week 5: Pastry

He doesn't notice how long they've been talking until Claire shivers in the midnight chill. It seemingly doesn't register with her - she simply crosses her arms and continues speaking about her patients - but he wants to tuck her against himself, offering his warmth.

Her expression is vivid, and he hates cutting her off (although he'd have hated interrupting her while discussing their fellow contestants, London versus Edinburgh, or today's lunchtime sandwiches). Still, he checks his watch, yawns, says, "Christ, it's that late? We'd better get in if we want to be awake for the showstopper," and sees her safely sheltered.

Week 6: Chocolate

It's meltingly hot in the tent, and everyone's rushing about. Claire's behind on her own bake, and so nearly doesn't notice the cheesecake sitting out at the edge of one of the vacant benches, matching the description Jamie gave of the one he was planning while they'd baked together over the phone this week. Her eyes narrow, and she looks around.

Frank looks back, then immediately glances away.

She places Jamie's cake back into the refrigerator. There isn't time for revenge now, but they can plan together later.

In the meantime, beating Frank will be sweet in its own way.

Week 7: Puddings

"Didna ken this would be the week where I'd remember them so much," Jamie says that night, knowing that she hears him despite his quiet words.

He supposes he should feel embarrassed, tearing up over a batch of clootie dumplings, but he remembers Mam helping him tie the cloth, remembers Da ruffling his hair and Willie saying with his mouth full, "They're good, Jamie!"

And Claire doesn't make him feel foolish, simply places her hand over his, saying, "I don't think there's a wrong time to remember the people you love," so he doesn't feel alone there in the dark.

Week 8: Tarts

She's smiling with satisfaction for the first bit of the drive, star baker title finally achieved and her place in the semi-final assured. It's only as she's shaking her head for her own foolishness at wanting to call Jamie to celebrate when she's barely left him (and knows that he had work to take care of on the train ride home besides) that she realizes what this means.

They've both shown their skill and she's confident in their chances of making it through next week. But even so, even if they get into the finale together, their weekends are numbered.

Week 9: Patisserie

The tension in Jamie's shoulders has nothing to do with two days fussing with choux pastry, or the pressure of next week's final, and everything to do with the countable hours he has left with Claire.

They stand talking in the car park long after the others have packed up and left, after he's missed his train, and he wonders if she might feel the same. Regardless, more time with her doesn't seem like a chance he can miss.

At the next pause, he breathes and asks, "Might ye—Will ye come have dinner with me, Claire?" and watches her smile.

Week 10: Final

The contestants carry their showstoppers to the waiting crowd of loved ones. In classic British fashion, the finale fete is chill and rainy; the camera catches Claire carefully keeping her hair out of her icing.

"Christ, I'd forgotten what the damp did to that curlywig o' yers."

Claire elbows him from her spot beneath his arm, although she is laughing along. "Hush and watch. We're about to lose in front of the entire country, after all."

"True enough. Still, I think we won more than that cake stand o' Glenna's," he says.

By the way she kisses him, she agrees.

[alistair-oshea]

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐎'𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐀 “Better keep the devil at the door than have to turn him out of the house.”

● 𝕭𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖘

Name: Alistair Graeme O'Shea — /AH-lis-tehr GRAY-uhm Oh-SHAY/ Nickname(s): Alec (only by family) Date of Birth: 05 June 1992 [32] Place of Birth: Glasgow, Scotland, UK [Scottish] Hometown: Moscow, Russia & Nairobi, Kenya Current Residence: New York City, NY, USA Occupation: Freelance Photographer

● 𝕽𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕𝖘

Status: Married to Antoinette O'Shea (née Summers) — August 08, 2023; m. March 31, 2024 Father: Iain O'Shea, M.D. Mother: Claire O'Shea (née Carmichael) Sibling(s): Niamh O'Shea Pet(s): Beef, Miso & Dumpling (a dog & 2 cats) — with Annie

● 𝕭𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞

Born into a family of humanitarians, Alistair has always regarded himself as the 'odd one out'. Though caring and generous in his own way, he had purposefully stepped out of his parents' shadows and respective career paths to follow his own way. As the exact opposite of his little sister, Niamh, Alistair found the world too grim and too forsaken to help the hopeless. This attitude ultimately earned him the reputation of being cold and distant, which he didn't mind at all given his certain dislike for people and humanity as a whole. Without a care for the world around him, he tried different jobs after university before landing himself a short-lived modelling career when he found that he much preferred life behind the camera. However, with years on him, and his interest in fashion at a steady decline, he's wondered if it was too late to actually put his passion for photography to better use.

● 𝕿𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙

✓ adaptable, honest, reflective ✗ apathetic, cynical, grim

● 𝕬𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖛𝖊

N01 • WV • J01

DISCLAIMER This account is for roleplaying purposes only and is not associated with any individuals depicted herein. All written content are original works of fiction, and any resemblance to existing works, characters, and/or persons should be considered coincidental and free of malicious intent. Please do not reproduce/redistribute. Thank you.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Hardy’s Casterbridge is still like an alternative world… a bit like Ambridge

IN OUR series, household names revisit their favourite childhood holiday destinations. This week, Archers star ANDREW WINCOTT returns to Hardy country.

Written for The Scottish Mail Sunday (19 May, 2024)

HISTORIC Dorchester has long been just a memory for me.

I first visited it in my teens while studying Thomas Hardy’s The Mayor Of Casterbridge for my A-levels. And one of my first professional roles as an actor in the 1980s was as Alec in Hardy’s Tess Of The D’Urbervilles, for a West Country tour that took in Dorchester’s Corn Exchange, still a vibrant arts centre today.

Now, decades later, I got the chance to return to Dorset’s sedate county town with Spi, an old university friend and fellow Hardy fan from my Oxford days.

After checking into the welcoming Duchess Of Cornwall Inn, we hit the Hardy trail. Our first step was Maumbury Rings, the atmospheric former Neolithic/ Roman amphitheatre – the scene of a clandestine meeting in The Mayor Of Casterbridge between Henchard and the wife he’d sold 20 years earlier.

Thankfully it’s no longer used for public executions (even the most genteel towns can have a dark past). Just down the high street stands the landmark King’s Arms Hotel. Hardy wrote The Mayor Of Casterbridge at a desk in the bay window of the Casterbridge Room there – and standing in the great man’s footsteps, I couldn’t help feeling a moment of frisson.

Andrew, in his youth

Our next stop was Max Gate, the Grade I listed house that Hardy designed following his early literary success and where he lived until his death in 1928. It’s also where Hardy wrote Tess Of The D’Urbervilles, perhaps his most famous novel. Among the many celebrity visitors who called on him there was Lawrence of Arabia.

The town’s Dorset Museum also boasts a Hardy connection – the great man’s study has been reconstructed there, and you can even admire some of his paintings.

But Dorchester isn’t just for Hardy fans.

In recent years the town has become a bit of a gastro-hub for foodies – the Food And Arts Festival takes place in August – as I discovered.

I lunched on a delicious pesto porchetta at the Merchant restaurant, and my steak dinner at The King’s Arms was cooked to perfection. I can also recommend Drgnfly, which specialises in pan-Asian fare – its sesame crusted tuna and crispy prawn dumplings served with garlic and chilli sauce certainly hit the spot.

So how did Dorchester compare to the town of my youth?

Hardy’s Casterbridge is still as vivid to me now as when I first walked its streets. An alternative world perhaps – a bit like Borsetshire’s Ambridge – but one well worth visiting whether or not you’re a Hardy fan.

In the words of Daniel Defoe, which you can see above the entrance to the town’s Corn Exchange: ‘A man might as well... spend his time... in Dorchester as in any other town in England.’

● B&B doubles at The Duchess Of Cornwall Inn from £90 a night (duchessofcornwall.co.uk). London Waterloo to Dorchester South returns from £34.60 (southwesternrailway.com). Andrew Wincott plays Adam Macy in The Archers, Radio 4.

Source: The Scottish Mail Sunday

[annachum]

A typical dinner that I can see those Pocket Princesses can make if they cook a dinner for everyone else in that house ( these are just examples of what they may cook ) :

. Snow White : Bavarian Sausage and Veggies Pottage, Cinnamon Rolls, and Black Rye Bread

. Cinderella : Gooseberry crumble, roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy, pumpkin soup

. Aurora : Mixed Berry crumble, Chicken Fricassee and Leek and Potato Soup

. Belle : French Onion Soup, Rib Eye fillet with Ratatouille, and also creme Brulee

. Jasmine : Lamb Kabsa and Gulab Jamun

. Ariel : Smorrebrod platter ( with seafood ), Danish Sailors Stew and also Chocolate Braided Danish Pastry

. Pocahontas : Three Sisters Stew ( a Native American stew with corn and beans ), Fry Bread, and Grape Dumplings

. Mulan : Hui Wo Rou ( aka Thinly sliced pork belly stir fried with cabbage and Chilli - a Sichuanese classic ), Spinach with Garlic, Tomato and Egg Drop soup, and also Chinese dates stuffed with Nuts

. Tiana : Gumbo and Peach Cobbler

. Raya : Tom Yum Soup, Grapefruit and Papaya Salad, Thai Roasted Chicken with Gluttonous rice, and Coconut Jelly Cakes

. Elsa and Anna : Smorgasbord platter, Roast Boar with Apple Sauce, Honey Glazed Root Vegetables, Mead, and Fruit and Cheese platter

. Merida : Haggis, Scottish Vegetable Stew, and Scottish Black Pudding

. Asha : Paella and Leche Fritas

. Rapunzel : Squash Hazelnut Soup, Sausages and Sauerkraut, Beer, and Raspberry Strudels

[illegally-blind-and-deaf]

Christmas Tintin speel but I'm not catholic or Belgian you have been warned possible inaccuracies (I am Christian though)

Tintin getting fussy at Haddock with the nativity scene because "the wise men weren't at the stable, captain. Do you think that they could suddenly cross several countries in the span of a few hours when they saw the star appear? No, they will go here and look, now they're far away but travelling towards baby Jesus. Much more biblically accurate."

"... firstly: since when do you read the bible? Second, if you want it to be accurate, should I send them to India or something?"

"I would have you know that I am actually religious and I do read the bible, and no, the wise men will be of no use in India."

Bianca and Chang coming to spend Christmas at Marlinspike and all three of them going to Christmas mass (Chang and Tintin love to learn about each others cultures and values; Bianca is Catholic and Haddock isn't a huge fan of religion) and Bianca and Tintin explaining to chang in whispers what everything means

Chang loves the music and the architecture the best

Christmas Eve dinner being an absolute jumble of just about everything

Haddock had Nestor cook a roast pork and mince pies; Chang made dumplings with Tintin, Bianca brought some pandoro and some pasta; Tintin makes potato croquettes and a Bûche de Noël (with Nestor's supervision). It ends up being a multi course meal of various flavours and cultures (there's also seafood and even waffles for dessert.) It's pure chaos

Tintin puts out some mince pies and whiskey for St Nicholas, knowing full-well that it's actually Haddock putting out the Present a and he wanted to spoil him with a Scottish tradition (and also whiskey)

There are many candles being lit in Marlinspike: every Sunday in December, Tintin lights an advent candle and calculus lights candles for Hanukkah. Every day of Hannukah, the tenants of Marlinspike wake up to find chocolate in their bedrooms, courtesy of the professor.

[fluttereyes]

Scottish New Year

We all know around the world that the Scottish New Year is highly significant and steeped in traditions. Mostly stemming from pagan and even Norse traditions and customs, they are ingrained in us, well us old folk anyway. You all know this because our song 'Auld Lang Syne' (times long past), by Robert Burns, is used all over the world, which has always surprised me. There are many traditions at New Year but I'll stick to the ones I know about and practiced through my life. Auld Lang Syne, do it properly. You should be in a circle around the dancefloor to sing it, holding hands in the normal way, at the last verse you cross your arms over your chest and take hands with those on either side of you again, I see foreigners crossing the arms all through and that's wrong. When the song ends everyone should run onto the dance floor still linked together, then you all have to twist under your arms without letting go so that you face outward from the circle.

Haud Hogmanay

Hogmanay is our biggest night, the above is how to say Happy Hogmanay in Scots. This happens on 31st December as midnight approaches. Major preparations are in place for this event and right now people are scurrying about making sure their houses are absolutely spotless, Redding the House, that all the dirt from the old year is out. You should have all debts paid before the bells too but this is nigh on impossible in todays economic climate. We also call this 'The Bells' When the bells ring at midnight you should be doing several things. Here where I live we do still have the horns from the shipyards going off at midnight but usually you hear church bells too. As they ring you should be spotlessly clean, house clean, food ready for guests, you should be holding a drink in one hand and food in the other, you must have money in your pocket. This is to ensure food will be there all year long. Whatever you are doing at the bells is what your year will bring. Once the bells have rung out, signifying the start of the new year, you should open a window to let the old year out and the new year in. This is when people step out of their homes and go 'first footing'. Also as soon as the bells ring you must turn your calendar over to the new one. My new one is currently on the wall under the old one, I will remove the old one when the bells ring.

First Footing

Your first foot is the first person who will cross your threshold in the new year, it is hoped that this person will be dark haired, I wasn't allowed out of the door until we had a first foot because I was blonde, just in case I came back before a first foot, a dark haired person brings luck, a male is preferred. Obviously in old times dark haired people were few and far between in Scotland and the Norse areas, which favoured blondes and red heads. Now this person is also charged with traditions and they must have 3 things. Food, drink and a piece of coal. It is also lucky if they bring a coin with them. This is them bringing prosperity to your home. Never turn up at a Scots house in the week after New Year empty handed, on the off chance you are their first foot.

Food for Hogmanay

Many things are traditional, cock a leekie soup, even Cullen skink (fish soup, yuck), Haggis Neeps (turnips) and tatties (potatoes), most commonly steak pie is made for the bells. This came from a time when Hogmanay wasn't a holiday (it still isn't) and there was no time for food prep so often the steak pie was bought from the butchers. A meal will be enjoyed with the family and there should be enough for any unexpected guests, never run out of food or drink at New Year, yes we do have a whisky. Shortbread of course and my favourite 'bun', this is a type of cake, we have Madeira (plain), sultana or my favourite, which I just had, cherry bun. Clooty dumpling is also very much a part of it all, the leftovers from this can be fried in the morning for breakfast, I don't think many people make the dumpling from scratch now but I do remember my gran and mum doing it. The dumpling would have a coin in it , wrapped in greaseproof paper, it was considered lucky to find the coin. For some odd reason as a kid I always got the bit with the coin from my grannies clooty dumpling, I was the first grandchild, it was rigged. At that time it was a sixpence, which I called a wee shilling, if you don't get that, you never will.

Bonfires, yes we did but not sure this still happens, old pagan thing. Fireworks are loud just as the bells ring and they go on for too long in my opinion.

The celebrations can go on for a full 3 days and sometimes still do, people in a family pick a day they will host, we always did the 2nd when I was a kid. I remember in the morning waking up and finding the living room full of sleeping people while my mum would be in the kitchen making French toast for them all, along with some of that fried leftover clooty dumpling. It's not as busy at New Year as it was back then, with many people just staying up to hear the bells and just going to bed, like I'll be doing tonight, don't worry I do have my cherry bun and a wee dram of Jura Whisky to 'bring in the Bells'.

Ramblings and memories of an old Scottish Woman.

Translation of above Scots

May the best you've ever seen be the worst you'll ever see. May a mouse never leave your (pantry, larder, food cupboard) with a tear in his eye, May you be healthy and strong until you're old enough to die. May you always be as happy as we wish you to be.

[seaphoam-writes]

A Father's Duty (23/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 23

Beverly serves the clootie dumpling at the table. She pours custard over the top of each slice, as her grandmother taught her.

Louis devours his; Jean-Luc eats about half. Given his general indifference towards desserts, Beverly’s just flattered he made the effort. Truthfully, the dumpling is utterly mediocre—the replicator can’t capture the texture or the moisture correctly—but for Beverly it conjures memories of Christmas and Burns Night, so she eats hers with relish.

Afterwards, they return to the couch, where Louis asks her more questions about her “Scottish” upbringing, which she answers expansively because he appears genuinely interested. Jean-Luc seems content to passively listen, reclining in one corner of the couch with his legs crossed and a glass of whiskey—which Beverly insisted was part of the clootie dumpling experience—balanced on his thigh. The heat she witnessed earlier is gone, replaced instead by a twinkling warmth in his eyes, a satisfaction in the turn of his mouth.

It's all very comfortable. The occasional dinner with Jean-Luc aside, Beverly hasn’t had many evenings like this since long before the Enterprise, when Wesley was still young and preferred spending his free time in her company rather than alone in his room with his projects.

Then, as if he read her thoughts, Louis asks her where her son is.

“You mean Wesley?” she asks.

“Is that your son’s name?”

“Yes, it is.” She’s surprised that Louis remembers her mentioning him. “Wesley’s at Starfleet Academy, on Earth.”

“Oh. He’s not a kid, like me?”

“No, he’s almost 20 years old now.”

“So he’s an adult?”

“Not quite,” she says with a little laugh, while Jean-Luc chuckles. “But he’s getting there.”

Frowning, Louis looks back and forth between them, until Jean-Luc shakes his head and says, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“When I’m 20, or when I’m your age?”

That gives Jean-Luc pause. After a moment, he replies, “I suppose not until you’re my age.”

“That’s a long time,” Louis says dubiously.

Jean-Luc chuckles again. “I hope you still feel that way when you’re 52.”

He glances at Beverly, and they share a look of mutual despair at the relentless march of time over Louis’s head.

Louis, missing this exchange entirely, asks, “Do you miss your son?”

“I do. Very much.”

She softened her tone unintentionally, and the melancholy note in her voice visibly strikes a chord in Louis. He slumps and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Beverly reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. “Don’t be sorry,” she says. “Joining Starfleet is what Wesley’s always wanted. I’m happy for him.”

She smiles, and after a moment, Louis smiles back. His eyes flick to her hair.

“Does he look like you?”

“No,” Beverly says. “He looks like his father, Jack. You’re named after him, you know.”

Louis nods. “I know. He was my papa’s best friend.”

“He was your father’s best friend here, too. We were all friends.”

“Do you think my papa knew you too?”

Beverly thinks he means his real father when he says my papa, and Jean-Luc when he just says papa.

“I don’t know,” she admits.

They both look to Jean-Luc, who blinks several times before stammering, “Erm, I…I don’t know. Probably. I don’t think this reality and your reality diverged until…much later.”

Beverly knows he’s thinking about Nella Daren and the fact that Beverly never served aboard the Enterprise. Did she have Wesley in that reality? Another child, perhaps—or maybe more than one? Did the fact that Jean-Luc Picard had a wife and a child of his own deter her from applying for Chief Medical Officer? She tries to put herself in that other Beverly’s shoes and is forced to acknowledge that it probably would deter her.

Louis doesn’t dwell on it. His grey eyes are on Beverly again. “You’ve known papa a long time?”

“A very long time,” she says. “I knew your father when he still had hair.”

As predicted, Louis giggles—and, also as predicted, Jean-Luc scowls.

“I’ll have to show you a picture sometime,” Beverly tells Louis. “He was very handsome.”

“I like to think I’m still handsome, thank you,” Jean-Luc rumbles crossly.

“You are,” Beverly assures him. Belatedly, she realizes that she’s never told him that—not the real him, at least—so she adds, “In fact, I think age has only made you more handsome.”

It’s not subtle, but she’s not trying to be subtle. She’s trying to be the opposite of subtle, so when his amused gaze meets hers—because of course he assumes she’s just teasing him—she offers him a look of her own. Finding the heat for it is simple, it rises the moment she pictures Jean-Luc in the bath, imagines stepping into the water with him, sinking down, running her hand down his chest…

Her look is maybe a touch overdone, the subsequent change in Jean-Luc’s expression so abrupt it’s comical, but she estimates—judging by the rate at which Jean-Luc’s eyebrows climb his forehead—that she got her point across.

As innocently as she can, Beverly turns to Louis and says, “I was telling your father earlier that I need to start learning some French.”

Louis swells with enthusiasm. “I can teach you!”

-/-

For nearly an hour, Louis has her reciting French, turning continuously to Jean-Luc for guidance; Jean-Luc provides the word or phrase—something common and useful—but he allows Louis to introduce it and walk Beverly through the pronunciation. She notices Jean-Luc’s furtive glances in her direction, knows that her look set something in motion in his mind, but she steadfastly ignores him and focuses on Louis.

It’s peculiar to feel as if she’s bonding with both Jean-Luc and Louis together but also separately. The three of them are engaged in an activity as a group, but through it she’s building a relationship with Louis as an individual while simultaneously adding a facet to her existing relationship with his father—a child between them, the understanding that their actions in this moment are for the benefit of that child.

Eventually, when exhaustion has slowed Louis’s lesson, Jean-Luc unfolds himself from the corner of the couch and leans forward to set his glass of whiskey—which he cautiously sipped all evening—on the coffee table.

“Time for bed,” he announces. “It’s late.”

Louis, stifling a yawn, asks, “Are you going to bed?”

“No, I’m not. I’m going to stay up and talk with Beverly for a little while longer.”

His voice is gentle but firm. Louis frowns and murmurs something in French.

Jean-Luc smiles. “I promise I won’t teach her more French without you.”

Another murmur, another smile from Jean-Luc.

“Yes, of course I’ll read to you. Now—” Jean-Luc jerks his head towards the bathroom— “Go brush your teeth.”

Louis stands and trots towards the bathroom. Jean-Luc stands with him but turns to Beverly before following. “It was rather presumptuous of me to assume you’d like to stay for longer,” he says. “If you don’t—”

“I want to stay,” she says. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

He hesitates. “Do you need anything?”

“If I do, I know where to get it.”

He gives her a long, lingering look before joining Louis. Beverly makes herself comfortable on the couch and sips her whiskey. She can hear the two of them chatting in the bathroom over the unmistakable sound of a toothbrush. They’re speaking French, so she can make no sense of their conversation until Louis starts humming—she recognizes it as the first melody Jean-Luc played on his flute, the folk song from Kataan.

Jean-Luc responds, then hums another part of the melody. Not for the first time, Beverly thinks to herself that he probably sings well. He’s always been passionate about music, but only ever as an admirer; now that he’s a musician himself, she wonders if she could convince him to sing for her…

She muses over it until Jean-Luc and Louis emerge from the bathroom.

“Bonne nuit!” Louis says with a little wave.

“Bonne nuit,” Beverly returns.

“À demain!”

“À demain,” she repeats dutifully.

See you tomorrow.

Louis grins, clearly pleased with her grasp of the French he’s taught her so far. He disappears into his room, Jean-Luc trailing him. He casts another long, lingering glance at her before he’s also out of sight. Beverly takes a sip of her whiskey, smiling against the rim of the glass—and then Jean-Luc starts reading.

It’s Peter Pan, it’s in English, and as Beverly listens the smile slips slowly from her face and everything goes still inside of her once more. Jean-Luc’s voice is absolutely mesmerizing, and he’s not just reading, he’s bringing the story to life.

She feels an inexplicable swoop of attraction. She’d never taken the time to imagine how Jean-Luc might be as a father, but she likes seeing how he is with Louis, likes this new side of him—finds that it makes him somehow more attractive to her than he already was.

As protest wells up inside of her when Jean-Luc stops reading. There’s more murmuring back and forth, Jean-Luc’s tone gentle but firm again and Louis’s pleading, until Louis’s pleas eventually subside and it’s just Jean-Luc’s voice, low and calming like ocean waves. Beverly hears a quiet “Bonne nuit” and then silence, in which she pictures Jean-Luc adjusting Louis’s blanket, stroking his hair and kissing him goodnight. Another minute later the light is turned off and Jean-Luc appears. He walks across the room and rejoins her on the couch.

“First night sleeping in his own room?” Beverly asks.

Jean-Luc, reaching for his whiskey, smiles. “Yes.”

“Is he nervous?”

“On the contrary, he’s very excited.” Jean-Luc glances at Beverly’s glass before drinking half of his in one gulp. Beverly raises her eyebrows at him, but he shrugs and chuckles, “It’s been a long day.”

“Oh?”

He tells her about their late-night visit to Data and what transpired there, and then Louis’s panic attack right before Will and Deanna visited.

“Is he okay?” Beverly asks. She quickly sifts through her memories from the evening but can find no evidence that Louis was in distress, physically or otherwise.

“I don’t know,” Jean-Luc admits. “I don’t…” He takes a deep breath, sighs. “I don’t know if I have the skills to help him.”

Beverly shifts closer, lays her hand on his forearm. “Jean-Luc…”

He shakes his head, brow creased, eyes on the glass he’d cradling between both palms. “I think you’re right. I think I need to talk to Deanna.”

He could not have surprised her more if he’d stripped naked and started dancing. Jean-Luc Picard admitting he’s not okay? Jean-Luc Picard not needing to be ordered to seek treatment? It takes deliberate effort to reign in her reaction.

“I’m here if you need me,” she says, squeezing his arm.

He covers her hand with his, meets her gaze. “Thank you.”

They stare at each other for a moment, then Beverly indicates his empty glass with a jerk of her chin. “Would you like a refill?”

He grins and hands her his glass. “There aren’t many people aboard this ship that can convince the replicator to produce real alcohol.”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” she says as she stands. This particular trick she learned from Will Riker when she happened to catch him showing Guinan how to do it. “I happen to know that your replicator is easier to convince than most.”

She glances at him over her shoulder, daring him to deny that all the wine she’s consumed in his quarters weren’t synthehol. He doesn’t.

Beverly refills both of their glasses, and as she’s handing him his back she says, “You know, you’re doing very well as a father for this being your first time.”

One corner of his mouth quirks. “Well, it’s not exactly my first time.”

She shits closer this time, their legs nearly touching, and when she replaces her hand on his arm, his hand rises automatically to cover it. “What do you mean?”

 “The probe from Kataan.”

“The memories you experienced?”

 “I didn’t just experience those memories,” he says. “I lived them. I lived an entire life.”

She remembers how disoriented he was when he finally regained consciousness, how he struggled to accept who he was and where he was, and then he’d…withdrawn, and all he would say is that it had all felt completely real to him.

Just like his music, it had been private, a closed subject.

“Will you tell me about it?” she asks.

He hesitates, his hand sliding off of hers and back to his whiskey glass. “Are you certain you want to know?”

“Yes.”

Over the next hour, Jean-Luc details his experience on Kataan, how he woke up and thought he’d been abducted, how for 5 years he denied all the evidence, denied his senses, fought to hold onto Jean-Luc Picard and the belief that he would eventually find a way out of his situation…until finally hope started to die, until finally he became more and more convinced that Jean-Luc Picard and the Enterprise truly were just the products of some fever dream.

And then his wife asked him one morning when he was going to let go and start living, and he’d just…given in.

“We had two children,” Jean-Luc says. “And a grandson. He was only a few years younger than Louis.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

“I suppose I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me—or thinking that I’d lost my mind or been permanently affected by the probe. I understand now what happened, and I know that this is reality,” he assures her. “But I can’t convince myself that that other life isn’t somehow…also real.”

She lays her hand once more on his arm. He looks at it, then at her.

“See, now this is exactly what I didn’t want,” he tells her dryly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She removes her hand. “Do you want to tell me more about them?”

His brow furrows.

“About your family?” she clarifies.

He shakes his head but there’s something in his expression that makes her wait. After several minutes of silence, during which his thoughts seem very far away, he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and says quietly, “The song I played earlier was the song I played at both of my children’s naming days. And at my wife’s funeral.”

Beverly couldn’t help the initial twinge of jealousy that this woman had won him over, that he loved her and decided to have a family with her. But when Jean-Luc speaks of her death that jealousy vanishes, because there’s real grief in his voice.

Beverly knows that grief.

Without thinking she cups one of Jean-Luc’s cheeks and kisses the other. He leans into it, and she breaks the kiss and presses her temple to his and as she strokes his jaw she realizes just how close his mouth is. Jean-Luc is perfectly still, barely breathing, his face tilted ever so slightly in her direction, and it would be so easy to bridge the gap, so easy to press her lips to his and reveal with a kiss all the feelings she’s kept hidden for years.

But in the end, she loses her nerve.

She’s not quite ready for the changes it would bring. And she doesn’t think Jean-Luc is, either. Three days ago his life was upended when he gained a son, and in seven more days Starfleet might attempt to upend it again.

So Beverly pulls away.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she says.

Jean-Luc’s eyes were closed, and when he opens them he looks at her lips first before meeting her gaze.

“I think I should be going now.”

Mutely, he nods, and Beverly stands and sweeps towards the door before she can change her mind.

-/-

Picard follows her—but at the door Beverly turns.

“Oh, I almost forgot—the sleep aide I was synthesizing for you is ready.”

She fumbles with the hem of her sweater before pulling a hypospray from her pants pocket. She offers it to him, but instead of taking it he curls his fingers around her wrist and tugs lightly—not a demand, a request.

Without hesitation, with only the slightest widening of her eyes and a soft exhale, Beverly steps into him. Picard slides his other arm around her waist, splaying his hand against the small of her back and pressing their bodies together from chest to thighs. He can feel her breathing, feel her heart fluttering against her ribcage.

That look she gave him when she called him handsome, that moment after she kissed his cheek and their faces had been a bare inch apart when he thought she might kiss him again…that hadn’t been nothing.

It had, beyond a doubt, been something.

And Picard’s utterly helpless against it. All his resolve gave way, a cliff face crumbling and crashing into the sea, and now there’s only that sea, his depthless, boundless love for her.

He leans down and kisses her, slow enough for her to stop it if she wanted to—but she doesn’t, she rises to meet him. Her lips are warm and supple and he wants to run his tongue along them, past them, taste her mouth—but he holds back, because this is merely a confirmation that what she wants, he wants too.

Their situation is complicated—by their positions, by their history, by the child he’s now responsible for—and navigating it will require…delicacy.

So he asks, “Will you join us for breakfast tomorrow?”

Her breath ghosting along his lips, she replies, “I will.” And then she presses the hypospray into his hand and walks from his quarters.

Alone, Picard leans against the locked door and waits for his heart to stop racing.

[zingaplanet]

Tagged by @surreality51! Thanks and sorry for the late reply, I was on a short holiday with no signal

Rules: answer 10 questions and tag 10 people you want to know better

Relationship status: Single and v v happy! (Stay drama free peeps ❤️)

Favourite colour: None, i love to paint so I gotta be partial to all my colours 😉

Three favourite foods: Noodles, dumplings, soups! (Who doesn't like them??? I dare you!)

Song stuck in my head: Just been to a folk music fest and this one originally from a traditional scottish band is such a banger (be careful you'll get obsessed!)

Last thing I listened to: My flatmate's excited squeals coming home from work seeing I'm back from my short trip! 🥺🥰

Last thing I googled: reserving a pub for my mini post-birthday celebration with friends!

Time: 20:25

Dream trip:

Trekking the full West Highland Way across the Scottish highlands from Glasgow to Fort William (doing it this year wish me luck mutuals!)

Also doing the full Annapurna Sanctuary trek up in Nepal and the himalayas but this one needs a lot more training and planning so hopefully i'll be able to do it one day! 🤞

Anything I really want: Oh honestly, just enough time, courage, luck and money to travel the world and meet incredible people every day. Maybe one day I can backpack full time ❤️

Currently reading: I've just finished reading High Adventure by Edmund Hillary! It's incredible go read it, it tells his story of the first ascent of Everest in 1953 with Tenzing Norgay

Last song: I love this one by Old Sea Brigade ❤️ a perfect companion when you're solo travelling or just up adventuring by yourself somewhere

Last movie: I went to watch Hanks' A Man Called Otto the other day I was so moved!

Last series: ummm... i'm rewatching House MD cause it's my comfort series hehe

Sweet, savoury, or spicy: SPICY! BRING ON THE HEAT!

Currently working on: nothing! Currently working on some job applications and planning my next ceilidh haha

Craving: MOMOS. MOMOS. MOMOS FTW. HAVE YOU TRIED THEM??????? They're my precious little buns i miss them 🥟

Tea or coffee: Coffee, i take it as strong as humanly possible without giving me a heart attack ☕️☕️☕️

Tagging @aramblingjay @tam-is-blogging @tocadoguara @bluskype @bluespring864 @thesunshinehoneyusstuff @alexturntable @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou + everyone who wants to do it!

[robynlilyblack]

About me (tagged by @masivechaos x)

♡ favorite time of the year ♡ Autumn! The trees make the uni campus so pretty and my flat over looks a bunch xx plus it's cooler and that suits the scottish hermit x

♡ comfort food ♡ Pankcakes and/or crispy dumplings

♡ favorite dessert ♡ Sticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream x

♡ things you collect ♡ Rocks, I have so many they are all displayed including gem stones and even lava! Also jumpers I want a Remus lupin wardrobe x

♡ favorite drink ♡ Hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream! I don't drink coffee and tea is a rarity so in cold winters it's perfect xx

♡ favorite musical artist(s) ♡ Foo fighters, queen, girl in red, florence and the machine, and taylor swift to name a few based on my most listened to. Although really, I'm that girl that hears a song likes it and adds it then realises that two songs I added months apart where the same person hehe

♡ last song listened to ♡ Mary on a cross by ghost (the line your beauty never scared me just makes me think of wolfstar everytime 🥹)

♡ last movie watched ♡ Pride and prejudice for the millionth time x

♡ last series watched ♡ only murders in the building (was suprisingly good!)

♡ currently watching ♡ Deciding that right now so if anyone has suggestions send them my way x

♡ current obsession ♡ Remus lupin...and planning cute fall outfits for going back to uni since I'm only in twice a week and your gal wants to look good even if shes in the basement lab...so i can find a man like the first obsession

♡ dream place to visit ♡ Gonna sound silly but either the outer hebrides in scotland or Ireland x i'm not really a beach and sun kinda gal even though we do get it here I just want to see the waterfalls in ireland and touch the stones in the Hebrides...maybe travel through them and meet a certain redhead

♡ place you wanna go back to ♡ Skye (again scotland cause i just so much to explore!)

♡ something you want ♡ Live in a lil cottage in the highlands (north of scotland) have a cute lil simple life with a Remus Lupin or Fred Weasley type x

♡ currently working on ♡ You had one job weasley (5.2k so far), bookshop girl chpt 8, James x hufflepuff fic, and a full length fic of the rockstar and the ballerina xx

no pressure tags: @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @butterbeerkiss, @dont-blame-me-09, @wolfstardaughter-jj