#swiss stone pine

[najia-cooks]

[ID: The first image is of four stuffed artichoke hearts on a plate with a mound of rice and fried vermicelli; the second is a close-up on one artichoke, showing fried ground 'beef' and golden pine nuts. End ID]

أرضي شوكي باللحم / Ardiyy-shawkiyy b-al-lahm (Stuffed artichoke hearts)

Artichoke hearts stuffed with spiced meat make a common dish throughout West Asia and North Africa, with variations on the recipe eaten in Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, Algeria, and Morocco. In Palestine, the dish is usually served on special occasions, either as an appetizer, or as a main course alongside rice. The artichokes are sometimes paired with cored potatoes, which are stuffed and cooked in the same manner. Stuffed artichokes do not appear in Medieval Arab cookbooks (though artichokes do), but the dish's distribution indicates that its origin may be Ottoman-era, as many other maḥshis (stuffed dishes) are.⁩

The creation of this dish is easy enough once the artichoke hearts have been excavated (or, as the case may be, purchased frozen and thawed): they are briefly deep-fried, stuffed with ground meat and perhaps pine nuts, then stewed in water, or water and tomato purée, or stock, until incredibly tender.

While simple, the dish is flavorful and well-rounded. A squeeze of lemon complements the bright, subtle earthiness of the artichoke and cuts through the richness of the meat; the fried pine nuts provide a play of textures, and pick up on the slight nutty taste that artichokes are known for.

Terminology and etymology

Artichokes prepared in this way may be called "ardiyy-shawkiyy b-al-lahm." "Ardiyy-shawkiyy" of course means "artichoke"; "ب" ("b") means "with"; "ال" ("al") is the determiner "the"; and "لَحْم" ("laḥm") is "meat" (via a process of semantic narrowing from Proto-Semitic *laḥm, "food"). Other Palestinian Arabic names for the same dish include "أرضي شوكي محشي" ("ardiyy-shawkiyy maḥshi," "stuffed artichokes"), and "أرضي شوكي على ادامه" ("ardiyy-shawkiyy 'ala adama," "artichokes cooked in their own juice").

The etymology of the Levantine dialectical phrase meaning "artichoke" is interestingly circular. The English "artichoke" is itself ultimately from Arabic "الخُرْشُوف" ("al-khurshūf"); it was borrowed into Spanish (as "alcarchofa") during the Islamic conquest of the Iberian peninsula, and thence into English via the northern Italian "articiocco." The English form was probably influenced by the word "choke" via a process of phono-semantic matching—a type of borrowing wherein native words are found that sound similar to the foreign word ("phonetics"), and communicate qualities associated with the object ("semantics").

"Artichoke" then returned to Levantine Arabic, undergoing another process of phono-semantic matching to become "ardiyy-shawkiyy": أَرْضِيّ ("ʔarḍiyy") "earthly," from أَرْض‎ ("ʔarḍ"), "Earth, land"; and شَوْكِيّ ("shawkiyy") "prickly," from شَوْك‎ ("shawk"), "thorn."

Artichokes in Palestine

Artichoke is considered to be very healthful by Palestinian cooks, and it is recommended to also consume the water it is boiled in (which becomes delightfully savory and earthy, suitable as a broth for soup). In addition to being stuffed, the hearts may be chopped and cooked with meat or potatoes into a rich soup. These soups are enjoyed especially during Ramadan, when hot soup is popular regardless of the season—but the best season for artichokes in the Levant is definitively spring. Stuffed artichokes are thus often served by Jewish people in North Africa and West Asia during Passover.

Artichokes grow wild in Palestine, sometimes in fields adjacent to cultivated crops such as cereals and olives. Swiss traveler Johann Ludwig Burckhardt, writing in 1822, referred to the abundant wild artichoke plants (presumably Cynara syriaca) near لُوبْيا ("lūbyā"), a large village of stone buildings on a hilly landscape just west of طبريا ("ṭabariyya," Tiberias):

About half an hour to the N. E. [of Kefer Sebt (كفر سبط)] is the spring Ain Dhamy (عين ظامي), in a deep valley, from hence a wide plain extends to the foot of Djebel Tor; in crossing it, we saw on our right, about three quarters of an hour from the road, the village Louby (لوبي), and a little further on, the village Shedjare (شجره). The plain was covered with the wild artichoke, called khob (خُب); it bears a thorny violet coloured flower, in the shape of an artichoke, upon a stem five feet in height.

(Despite resistance from local militia and the Arab Liberation Army, Zionist military groups ethnically cleansed Lubya of its nearly 3,000 Palestinian Arab inhabitants in July of 1948, before reducing its buildings and wells to rubble, The Jewish National Fund later planted the Lavi pine forest over the ruins.)

Artichokes are also cultivated and marketed. Elihu Grant, nearly a century after Burckhardt's writing, noted that Palestinian villages with sufficient irrigation "[went] into gardening extensively," and marketed their goods in crop-poor villages or in city markets:

Squash, pumpkin, cabbage, cauliflower, lettuce, turnip, beet, parsnip, bean, pea, chick-pea, onion, garlic, leek, radish, mallow and eggplant are common varieties [of vegetable]. The buds of the artichoke when boiled make a delicious dish. Potatoes are getting to be quite common now. Most of them are still imported, but probably more and more success will be met in raising a native crop.

Either wild artichokes (C. syriaca) or cardoons (C. cardunculus, later domesticated to yield modern commerical artichokes) were being harvested and eaten by Jewish Palestinians in the 1st to the 3rd centuries AD (the Meshnaic Hebrew is "עַכָּבִיּוֹת", sg. "עַכָּבִית", "'aqubit"; related to the Arabic "⁧عَكُوب⁩" "'akūb," which refers to a different plant). The Tosefta Shebiit discusses how farmers should treat the sprouting of artichokes ("קינרסי," "qinrasi") during the shmita year (when fields are allowed to lie fallow), indicating that Jews were also cultivating artichokes at this time.

Though artichokes were persistently associated with wealth and the feast table (perhaps, Susan Weingarten speculates, because of the time they took to prepare), trimming cardoons and artichokes during festivals, when other work was prohibited, was within the reach of common Jewish people. Those in the "upper echelons of Palestinian Jewish society," on the other hand, had access to artichokes year-round, including (through expensive marvels of preservation and transport) when they were out of season.

Jewish life and cuisine

Claudia Roden writes that stuffed artichoke, which she refers to as "Kharshouf Mahshi" (خرشوف محشي), is "famous as one of the grand old Jerusalem dishes" among Palestinian Jews. According to her, the stuffed artichokes used to be dipped in egg and then bread crumbs and deep-fried. This breading and frying is still referenced, though eschewed, in modern Sephardi recipes.

Prior to the beginning of the first Aliyah (עלייה, wave of immigration) in 1881, an estimated 3% of the overall population of Palestine, or 15,011 people, were Jewish. This Jewish presence was not the result of political Zionist settler-colonialism of the kind facilitated by Britain and Zionist organizations; rather, it consisted of ancestrally Palestinian Jewish groups, and of refugees and religious immigrants who had been naturalized over the preceding decades or centuries.

One such Jewish community were the Arabic-speaking Jews whom the Sephardim later came to call "מוּסְתערבים" or "مستعربين" ("Musta'ravim" or "Musta'ribīn"; from the Arabic "مُسْتَعْرِب⁩" "musta'rib," "Arabized"), because they seemed indifferentiable from their Muslim neighbors. A small number of them were descendants of Jews from Galilee, which had had a significant Jewish population in the mid-1st century BC; others were "מגרבים" ("Maghrebim"), or "مغربية" ("Mughariba"): descendents of Jews from Northwest Africa.

Another major Jewish community in pre-mandate Palestine were Ladino-speaking descendents of Sephardi Jews, who had migrated to Palestine in the decades following their expulsion from Spain and then Portugal in the late 15th century. Though initially seen as foreign by the 'indigenous' Mista'avim, this community became dominant in terms of population and political influence, coming to define themselves as Ottoman subjects and as the representatives of Jews in Palestine.

A third, Yiddish- and German-speaking, Askenazi Jewish population also existed in Palestine, the result of immigration over the preceding centuries (including a large wave in 1700).

These various groups of Jewish Palestinians lived as neighbors in urban centers, differentiating themselves from each other partly by the language they spoke and partly by their dress (though Sephardim and Ashkenazim quickly learned Arabic, and many Askenazim and Muslims learned Ladino). Ashkenazi women also learned from Sephardim how to prepare their dishes. These groups' interfamiliarity with each other's cuisine is further evidenced by the fact that Arabic words for Palestinian dishes entered Ladino and Yiddish (e.g. "كُفْتَة" / "kufta," rissole; "مَزَّة⁩" "mazza," appetizer); and words entered Arabic from Ladino (e.g. "דונסי" "donsi," sweet jams and fruit leather; "בוריק" "burek," meat and cheese pastries; "המים" "hamim," from "haminados," braised eggs) and Yiddish (e.g. "לעקעך‎" "lakach," honey cake).

In addition to these 'native' Jews were another two waves of Ashkenazi migration in the late 18th and early-to-mid 19th centuries (sometimes called the "היישוב הישן," "ha-yishuv ha-yashan," "old settlement," though the term is often used more broadly); and throughout the previous centuries there had also been a steady trickle of religious immigration, including elderly immigrants who wished to die in Jerusalem in order to be present at the appointed place on the day of Resurrection. Recent elderly women immigrants unable to receive help from charitable institutions would rely on the community for support, in exchange helping the young married women of the neighborhood with childcare and with the shaping of pastries ("מיני מאפה").

In the first few centuries AD, the Jewish population of Palestine were largely farmers and agricultural workers in rural areas. By the 16th century, however, most of the Jewish population resided in the Jewish Holy Cities of Jerusalem (القُدس / al-quds), Hebron (الخليل / al-khalil), Safed (صفد), and Tiberias (طبريا / ṭabariyya). In the 19th century, the Jewish population lived entirely in these four cities and in expanding urban centers Jaffa and Haifa, alongside Muslims and Christians. Jerusalem in particular was majority Jewish by 1880.

In the 19th century, Jewish women in Jerusalem, like their Christian and Muslim neighbors, used communal ovens to bake the bread, cakes, matzah, cholent, and challah which they prepared at home. One woman recalls that bread would be sent to the baker on Mondays and Thursdays—but bribes could be offered in exchange for fresh bread on Shabbat. Charges would be by the item, or else a fixed monthly payment.

Trips to the ovens became social events, as women of various ages—while watching the bakers, who might not put a dish in or take it out in time—sent up a "clatter" of talking. During religious feast days, with women busy in the kitchen, some families might send young boys in their stead.

Markets and bakeries in Jerusalem sold bread of different 'grades' based on the proportion of white and wheat flour they contained; as well as flatbread (خبز مفرود / חובז מפרוד / khobbiz mafroud), Moroccan מאווי' / ماوي / meloui, and semolina breads (כומאש / كماج / kmaj) which Maghrebim especially purchased for the Sabbath.

On the Sabbath, those who had brick ovens in their sculleries would keep food, and water for tea and coffee, warm from the day before (since religious law prohibits performing work, including lighting fires, on Shabbat); those who did not would bring their food to the oven of a neighbor who did.

Palestinian Jewish men worked in a variety of professions: they were goldsmiths, writers, doctors, merchants, scientists, linguists, carpenters, and religious scholars. Jewish women, ignoring prohibitions, engaged in business, bringing baked goods and extra dairy to markets in Jerusalem, grinding and selling flour, spinning yarn, and making clothing (usually from materials purchased from Muslims); they were also shopkeepers and sellers of souvenirs and wine. Muslims, Jews, and Christians shared residential courtyards, pastimes, commercial enterprises, and even holidays and other religious practices.

Zionism and Jewish Palestinians

Eastern European Zionists in the 1880s and 90s were ambivalent towards existing Jewish communities in Palestine, often viewing them as overly traditional and religious, backwards-thinking, and lacking initiative. Jewish Palestinians did not seem to conform with the land-based, agricultural, and productivist ideals of political Zionist thinkers; they were integrated into the Palestinian economy (rather than seeking to create their own, segregated one); they were not working to create a Jewish ethnostate in Palestine, and seemed largely uninterested in nationalist concerns. Thus they were identified with Diaspora Jewish culture, which was seen as a remnant of exile and oppression to be eschewed, reformed, or overthrown.

These attitudes were applied especially to Sephardim and Mista'arevim, who were frequently denigrated in early Zionist literature. In 1926, Revisionist Zionist leader Vladimir Jabotinsky wrote that the "Jews, thank God, have nothing in common with the East. We must put an end to any trace of the Oriental spirit in the Jews of Palestine." The governance of Jewish communities was, indeed, changed with the advent of the British Mandate (colonial rule which allowed the British to facilitate political Zionist settling), as European political and "socialist" Zionists promoted Ashkenazi over Sephardi leadership.

Under the Ottomans, the millet system had allowed a degree of Jewish and Christian autonomy in matters of religious study and leadership, cultural and legal affairs, and the minting of currency. The religious authority of all Jewish people in Palestine had been the Sephardi Rabbi of Jerusalem, and his authority on matters of Jewish law (like the authority of the Armenian Patriarchate on matters of Christian law) extended outside of Palestine.

But British and European funding allowed newer waves of Ashkenazi settlers (sometimes called "היישוב החדש," "ha-yishuv ha-khadash," "new settlement")—who, at least if they were to live out the ideals of their sponsors, were more secular and nationalist-minded than the prior waves of Ashkenazi immigration—to be de facto independent of Sephardi governance. Several factors lead to the drying up of halaka (donated funds intended to be used for communal works and the support of the poor in Sephardi communities), which harmed Sephardim economically.

Zionist ideas continued to dominate newly formed committees and programs, and Palestinian and Sephardi Jews reported experiences of racial discrimination, including job discrimination, leading to widespread poverty. The "Hebrew labor" movement, which promoted a boycott of Palestinian labor and produce, in fact marginalized all workers racialized as Arab, and promises of work in Jewish labor unions were divided in favor of Ashkenazim to the detriment of Sephardim and Mizrahim. This economic marginalization coincided with the "social elimination of shared indigenous [Palestinian] life" in the Zionist approach to indigenous Jews and Muslims.

Despite the adversarial, disdainful, and sometimes abusive relationship which the European Zionist movement had with "Oriental" Jews, their presence is frequently used in Zionist food and travel writing to present Israel as a multicultural and pluralist state. Dishes such as stuffed artichokes are claimed as "Israeli"—though they were eaten by Jews in Palestine prior to the existence of the modern state of Israel, and though Sephardi and Mizrahi diets were once the target of a civilizing, correcting mission by Zionist nutritionists. The deep-frying that stuffed artichokes call for brings to mind European Zionists' half-fascinated, half-disgusted attitudes towards falafel. The point is not to claim a dish for any one national or ethnic group—which is, more often than not, an exercise in futility and even absurdity—but to pay attention to how the rhetoric of food writing can obscure political realities and promote the colonizer's version of history. The sinking of Jewish Palestinian life prior to the advent of modern political Zionism, and the corresponding insistence that it was Israel that brought "Jewish cuisine" to Palestine, allow for such false dichotomies as "Jewish-Palestinian relations" or "Jewish-Arab relations"; these descriptors further Zionist rhetoric by making a clear situation of ethnic cleansing and settler-colonialism sound like a complex and delicate issue of inter-ethnic conflict. To boot, the presentation of these communities as having merely paved the way to Zionist nationalism ignores their existence as groups with their own political, social, and cultural lives and histories.

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Ingredients:

Serves 4 (as a main dish).

For the artichokes:

6 fresh, very large artichokes; or frozen (not canned) whole artichoke hearts

1 lemon, quartered (if using fresh artichokes)

250g (1 1/2 cups) vegetarian ground beef substitute; or 3/4 cup TVP hydrated with 3/4 cup vegetarian 'beef' stock from concentrate

1 yellow onion, minced

Scant 1/2 tsp kosher salt

1/2 tsp ground black pepper

1 pinch ground cardamom (optional)

1/4 tsp ground allspice or seb'a baharat (optional)

1 Tbsp pine nuts (optional)

Water, to simmer

Oil, to fry

2 tsp vegetarian 'beef' stock concentrate, to simmer (optional)

Lemon, to serve

Larger artichokes are best, to yield hearts 3-4 inches in width once all leaves are removed. If you only have access to smaller artichokes, you may need to use 10-12 to use up all the filling; you might also consider leaving some of the edible internal leaves on.

The meat may be spiced to taste. Sometimes only salt and black pepper are used; some Palestinian cooks prefer to include seb'a baharat, white pepper, allspice, nutmeg, cardamom, and/or cinnamon.

Medieval Arab cookbooks sometimes call for vegetables to be deep-fried in olive oil (see Fiḍālat al-Khiwān fī Ṭayyibāt al-Ṭaʿām wa-l-Alwān, chapter 6, recipe no. 373, which instructs the reader to treat artichoke hearts this way). You may use olive oil, or a neutral oil such as canola or sunflower (as is more commonly done in Palestine today).

Elihu Grant noted in 1921 that lemon juice was often served with stuffed vegetable dishes; today stuffed artichokes are sometimes served with lemon.

For the rice:

200g Egyptian rice (or substitute any medium-grained white rice)

2 tsp broken semolina vermicelli (شعيريه) (optional)

1 tsp olive oil (optional)

Large pinch salt

520g water, or as needed

Broken semolina vermicelli (not rice vermicelli!) can be found in plastic bags at halal grocery stores.

Instructions:

For the stuffed artichokes:

1. Prepare the artichoke hearts. Cut off about 2/3 of the top of the artichoke (I find that leaving at least some of the stem on for now makes it easier to hollow out the base of the artichoke heart without puncturing it).

2. Pull or cut away the tough outer bracts ("leaves") of the artichoke until you get to the tender inner leaves, which will appear light yellow all the way through. As you work, rub a lemon quarter over the sides of the artichoke to prevent browning.

3. If you see a sharp indentation an inch or so above the base of the artichoke, use kitchen shears or a sharp knife to trim off the leaves above it and form the desired bowl shape. Set aside trimmings for a soup or stew.

4. Use a small spoon to remove the purple leaves and fibers from the center of the artichoke. Make sure to scrape the spoon all along the bottom and sides of the artichoke and get all of the fibrous material out.

5. Use a paring knife to remove any remaining tough bases of removed bracts and smooth out the base of the artichoke heart. Cut off the entire stem, so that the heart can sit flat, like a bowl.

6. Place the prepared artichoke heart in a large bowl of water with some lemon juice squeezed into it. Repeat with each artichoke.

7. Drain artichoke hearts and pat dry. Heat a few inches of oil in a pot or wok on medium and fry artichoke hearts, turning over occasionally, for a couple minutes until lightly browned. If you don't want to deep-fry, you can pan-fry in 1 cm or so of oil, flipping once. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain.

8. Prepare the filling. Heat 1 tsp of olive oil in a large skillet on medium-high and fry onions, agitating often, until translucent.

Tip: Some people add the pine nuts and brown them at this point, to save a step later. If you do this, they will of course be mixed throughout the filling rather than being a garnish on top.

9. Add spices, salt, and meat substitute and fry, stirring occasionally, until meat is browned. (If using TVP, brown it by allowing it to sit in a single layer undisturbed for 3-4 minutes, then stir and repeat.) Taste and adjust spices and salt.

10. Heat 1 Tbsp of olive oil or margarine in a small pan on medium-low. Add pine nuts and fry, stirring constantly, until they are a light golden brown, then remove with a slotted spoon. Note that, once they start taking on color, they will brown very quickly and must be carefully watched. They will continue to darken after they are removed from the oil, so remove them when they are a shade lighter than desired.

11. Stuff the artichoke hearts. Fill the bowl of each heart with meat filling, pressing into the bottom and sides to fill completely. Top with fried pine nuts.

12. Cook the artichoke hearts. Place the stuffed artichoke hearts in a single layer at the bottom of a large stock pot, along with any extra filling (or save extra filling to stuff peppers, eggplant, zucchini, or grape leaves).

13. Whisk stock concentrate into several cups of just-boiled water, if using—if not, whisk in about a half teaspoon of salt. Pour hot salted water or stock into the pot to cover just the bottoms of the stuffed artichokes.

14. Simmer, covered, for 15-20 minutes, until the artichokes are tender. Simmer uncovered for another 5-10 minutes to thicken the sauce.

For the rice:

1. Rinse your rice once by placing it in a sieve, putting the sieve in a closely fitting bowl, then filling the bowl with water; rub the rice between your fingers to wash, and remove the sieve from the bowl to strain.

2. Place a bowl on a kitchen scale and tare. Add the rice, then add water until the total weight is 520g. (This will account for the amount of water stuck to the rice from rinsing.)

3. (Optional.) In a small pot with a close-fitting lid, heat 1 tsp olive oil. Add broken vermicelli and fry, agitating often, until golden brown.

4. Add the rice and water to the pot and stir. Increase heat to high and allow water to come to a boil. Cover the pot and lower heat to a simmer. Cook the rice for 15 minutes. Remove from heat and steam for 10 minutes.

To serve:

1. Plate artichoke hearts on a serving plate alongside rice and lemon wedges; or, place artichoke hearts in a shallow serving dish, pour some of their cooking water in the base of the dish, and serve rice on a separate plate.

Tip: The white flesh at the base of the bracts (or "leaves") that you removed from the artichokes for this recipe is also edible. Try simmering removed leaves in water, salt, and a squeeze of lemon for 15 minutes, then scraping the bract between your teeth to eat the flesh.

[dduane]

Some texture testing on the Throne of Arlen, which is having its previous (frankly kinda crude) surfaces and textures pulled off it and new ones applied.

Color differences between the carved areas and the plain wood are being kept to a minimum at the moment until the positions of the carved stuff, and the places where there should be nothing but wood grain, have been sorted out. This is partly because there are three separate graphics files responsible for the colors and the appearance of the 3D features, and balancing their effects off against one another gets complicated. It's also partly because I haven't yet made final decisions about what whitestave wood (which the Throne is made of) looks like when it weathers. And how it weathers.

(For those curious, the our-Earth "behavioral" model for this kind of wood is Pinus cembra, the Swiss stone pine or Arolla pine, called arvenholz on its own turf. It's an extremely durable, slow-growing, dense-grained and fragrant wood, much used for construction and in furniture [like what you can see here]. Arvenholz starts its life with a very pale cream-colored grain, and over the years weathers down to white, silver or shades of dark silver-grey, depending on conditions. While Middle Kingdoms whitestave wood isn't a member of the pine family but rather of the Oleaceae—see the bottom of this article for details—whitestave and arvenholz could otherwise easily be mistaken for each other in terms of the way they weather.)

Anyway, rebuilding this piece of furniture is being complicated by having to reverse-engineer the new textures from the original ones... improving them where possible and otherwise making the desired changes in what are sometimes kludgy and imperfect ways. Places where the wood's been smoothed completely light over centuries of handling or polishing are going to have to be rendered that way by hand-erasing the texture overlays—or artificially building them up with custom brushing, depending on how given files express (or fake) height or texture.

(shrug) What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment. ...Meanwhlle, the King's expression suggests that this particular cat's position may possibly lack long-term stability. :) Better his problem than mine...

[zombie-rott]

The Driftwood & The Rift; Part I.

Pairing: Mountain X Dew.

Summary:

Not everyone enjoys Yule. Least of all the ministry's favourite fire ghoul. Marred by his sordid past in the pit, Dew locks himself away to begin his yearly tradition, but with Swiss no longer there to control him, things get out of hand. And if he's going to be banished for his shameful behaviour, he might as well tell one of his oldest friends exactly where his feelings lie.

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, blood, injury, ghouls kissing.

A03

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Yule time at the ministry was always filled with joyous energy. It was a time for the clergy members, siblings and ghouls alike to come together and celebrate the winter solstice. Every square inch of the hallways and arches was meticulously decorated with holly wreaths, mistletoe and the sweetest-smelling pine trees harvested from the local mountains. The smell of fresh baking wafted throughout the kitchen quarters, and there was a distinct increase in sweet treats available after every meal time. Everyone practically oozed festiveness and excitement for the upcoming days of celebration. 

Almost everyone. 

There were a few who simply detested the season. Dew was among those who rejected the holidays and always had done. The ringing in of the season brought with it what Swiss called Dew’s ‘hibernation’, where in the fire-ghoul spent more time in his room than he did with the pack. In years gone by Swiss often opted to keep Dew company, playing card games with him on Solstice eve and eating some meals with him on the floor by his bedside. But since his mating with Cumulus, the multi-ghoul had a new focus. And while he still very much loved his platonic soulmate, he had many things to celebrate and enjoy about the season that he hadn’t had before. 

When Mother’s Night arrived, Dew went about his usual Yule tradition. After his chores, he arrived back to the den to grab a Tupperware box of food from the platter Mountain was creating. He gave subtle nods to Swiss in the living area and meekly waved to others as he passed them by in the halls. Once he was locked securely in his bedroom, he lined his nest with soft blankets and began his yearly hibernation until January first, when he would emerge hungover and eager to move past the holiday season. There were only two reasons he had to leave; the Yule ritual and the First Footing, neither of which band ghouls were permitted to miss. 

Dew did his best to ignore the din of the ghouls celebrating in the common area by drowning them out with music from his record player. At one point there was a chorus of singing as the ghouls indulged in vodka and mulled wine. The fire ghoul, already three glasses of rum into his ritual, turned his music higher. Eventually, there came the hammering of knocks on his door, drawing him out of his sanctuary and across the cold, stone floor. 

“Yeah?” Dew barked as stretched to look through the peephole. 

Swiss was standing on the other side, his face blushing with intoxication and a toothy grin pulling at his lips. He had one arm slung around Cumulus and the other pulling Rain against his side. 

“‘Mon out Dewy!” He slurred, “I know you hate Yule, but we miss you, man!” 

“You can’t force him out, love,” Cumulus whispered to her mate. 

“Yes we can!” Rain interrupted. He began to hammer at the door again, both his fists pounding the wood, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” 

Dew growled as his hackles began to rise and his blood started to simmer. He listened as Cumulus attempted to quiet the other ghouls, pleading with them to take it easy on their friend and respect his decision. But they wouldn’t let up, and Dew hissed as Swiss and Rain leaned into bang their fists once again. 

Before their knuckles could hit the wood, he yanked open the door and met them both, fists raised, with a guttural snarl. His clenched jaw and exposed teeth caused the two excitable ghouls to lower their ears, both emitting a meek whine. 

“Dew! I’m so sorry. They insisted on coming to see you.” Cumulus apologised, taking a subtle step backwards to avoid the heat radiating from the fire ghoul. 

“S’okay Lus. You weren’t to know. But these two?” he turned his attention to Swiss and Rain,” Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“We jus’ wanna’ include you, Dewdrop!” Rain whined, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. 

“You know damn fine I don’t want ‘included.’” 

“But Papa is here-” Swiss interjected. 

“So? I’ve food and rum. I don’t need Papa.” 

Dew narrowed his eyes and hissed at them scornfully. Cumulus jumped, clasping her hands to her chest. She whispered her apologies and hurriedly ran back to the common area, leaving her mate and Rain behind. 

“If I want to come out, then I’ll come out. Just assume I’m happy in my loathing of this shitty season, yeah?” The fire ghoul continued before slamming the door in their faces.

He didn’t even glance through the peephole to watch them leave, despite how amusing it would have been to watch them shuffle back to the pack, tails tucked between their legs. 

His anger and frustration at their audacity made his skin crawl. Swiss, of all ghouls, knew how much Yule turned Dew’s stomach. They’d been best friends for years, and during that time had always spent the majority of the season together in a drunken stupor. Yet, the moment he finds himself a mate and experiences a slight resemblance of domestic bliss, he’s suddenly ‘Mr.Good-Tidings’. 

Dew let out a deep growl at the thought, his claws practically itching to pull something apart. The palms of his hands spraked and lit with burning fury, and yet he knew there was nowhere for it safely to go. He’d danced with his anger many times before, and his walls bore the scorch marks to prove it. But he was a grown ghoul now, and more in tune with keeping his emotions and impulses under check. Even while tipsy on cheap rum, he wasn’t ready to let the beast break free. Not quite yet and not in the solitude of his sanctuary. 

Taking several deep breaths he marched to the bathroom and turned his shower to the coldest temperature on the dial. He then grabbed hold of his rum bottle, stripped down and sat directly under the chill of the water. With each piercing droplet, he felt the heat within him dissipate. Gone was the far-off din of the ghoul pack, and with it went his hatred for his fellow kin. 

All that was left behind was the bitter taste of alcohol as it guided him ever closer to numbness. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Dew awoke the next afternoon with a hangover resembling that of an earthquake breaking apart his skull. He groaned as he lifted himself from the floor of his room, cracking his limbs as he moved. While this was a normal part of his Yule ritual, Swiss was usually around to offer words of encouragement or at least solidarity in his suffering. But this year he was alone, and despite his internal temperature, cold. 

From down the hall he heard the muted sounds of his ghoul kin preparing for the Winter Solstice feast. With the Sun Vigil long since finished at sunrise, Dew was in no doubt that the pack where giddy with excitement for that evening’s festivities, the thought bringing a bitter taste to his mouth. He would have to attend the ritual that night, or Sister would have his head. 

Rubbing at his eyes, he staggered to the bathroom. The empty rum bottle lay sideways by the shower tray, water still pooled on the tiles and a damp towel was thrown across the sink. He bit back nausea as he brushed his fangs and pulled back his hair into a tight ponytail. But for what? Another day of drinking in solitude? 

A persistent knocking drew him away from his haggard reflection. 

“Dewdrop!?” Came the distinct voice of Phantom, usually ethereal but now shrill to the fire ghoul’s ears. 

Dew pinched at the bridge of his nose and groaned. He reminded himself that this was Phantom’s first Yule, and the little bug didn’t know any better than to try and build bridges. 

“Yes, Bug?” he called, his voice hoarse and alien in the silence of his room.

“I just wanted to check you’re okay.”

Despite his hardened shell, Dew felt his heart flutter. Satan below, he hated how weak it made him feel. 

“I’m fine.” He bit back. 

The knowledge that he was the resident ‘Grinch Ghoul’ wasn’t lost on Dew, and at times he even relished it. But for some reason, it wasn’t as fun when he didn’t have Swiss to wallow with him. Instead, he was left feeling like a bitter old man, angry at the world for daring to keep spinning. It was no one’s fault, least of all Phantoms. 

With a sigh, he moved towards the door and opened it just enough to lock eyes on the younger ghoul. Phantom was bundled up in his usual oversized clothing, his fingers toying with the hem and his eyes wide like saucers. Their sparkle was lost, and that in itself turned Dew’s anger to nothing but embers. 

“W-we’re having dinner soon. Do-do you want to join us?” the young ghoul stammered, his lips twitching upwards into a hap-hazard smile.

“I don’t do Yule dinner, Bug.” 

“Oh...” Phantom looked downwards at his feet as he contemplated his next move.

“I’ll grab something later. Okay, kid? Don’t worry, I won’t starve in here.”  

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” 

Dew searched Phantom’s eyes only to discover genuine concern. Satan below, why did the little bug have to make this so damn difficult? 

“Just leave me alone. That’s all there is to it,” he answered matter of factly before gently closing the door. 

He didn’t even wait for a response, nor did he look back through the peephole. His only thought was on the bottle of whiskey waiting for him in his dresser and the solace he might find at the bottom of it. 

Dew swore he heard Phantom whisper something akin to an apology, his voice shaking. He swore to himself that he’d apologise when the season was over, but this was his tradition and he wasn’t about to allow his softness for the newbie to change that. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

On the third day (or was it the fourth?) Dew found himself wrapped around the toilet, his stomach empty and twisting with nausea. Whiskey had never been his favourite drink. It always left him violently ill and often violent in nature. But there was no one to fight with but himself, and true to his fiery nature, that’s just what he’d done. Without Swiss to keep him in check, Dew had made quick work of breaking his bathroom mirror and cutting his knuckles in the process. He vaguely remembered wrapping his hand around a shredded shirt with full intentions of treating it when he ventured out for food. But he never got that far, and the rags were now soaked through with blood, the swollen flesh beneath them aching. 

“Santanus,” Dew groaned as he sat upright. 

With all the grace of a newborn deer, he struggled to his feet, wincing at the sensation of glass buried within the soles of his feet. Sighing, he hobbled to the safety of his nest and took in the chaos around him. His room was pulled apart, feathers from shorn pillows covering every surface and bloody footprints marring the stone floor. 

“This is a tomorrow problem…” he whispered to no one in particular as he reached for his cellphone. 

He unlocked the device and winced as the light hit his sensitive eyes. There were six messages and ten missed calls waiting for him. The first was from Swiss, reminding him that he was loved and missed by not only the multi-ghoul but also the rest of the pack. Then there was Cumulus, chiming in to tell him that she was praying for him and available if he needed to talk. The final four were, surprisingly, from Mountain.

Dew’s stomach twisted at the thought of food. It was just what he needed to cure his perpetual hangover and so he dragged himself to the door to retrieve his bounty. He pressed his ear to the wood, listening for any wayward ghouls patrolling the halls, and only when he was satisfied did he dare reach out for his tray of cold leftovers. 

True to form, Mounty had left no stone unturned, going as far as to supply a bottle of still water, no doubt in fear for the fire-ghouls liver. He had piled the plate high with all matter of meats, vegetables and bread, completing the platter with a selection of different sauces. 

The tray was no sooner uncovered than Dew was tucking into the mishmash of a meal. He hadn’t realised just how hungry he’d been until he’d started to eat, and his body was thankful for the nourishment. He even allowed his tail to wag with some resemblance of joy. 

Dew carefully placed the empty tray outside his door and retreated into his sanctuary to open yet another bottle of alcohol. This time it was a bottle of red wine he’d snatched from the kitchens some weeks ago in preparation for his hibernation. But before he could even pop the cork, a shuffling could be heard from the hall. The sound of feet, but not the heavy footfalls of Mountain’s boots he had expected, rather the dull scuffing of dress shoes. Then, as expected, a knocking resounded throughout his small room. 

Dew sat still, his hand hovering above the neck of the bottle, and waited for the visitor to move on. But they didn’t, instead, they dared to knock again. 

“I would like to speak with you, Dew. Apri la porta, per favore.” Copia’s thick accented voice sounded from beyond the wood and the fire ghoul winced. Papa had never visited him during Yule. He had always promised to leave him alone under the agreement that he attend the Yule ritual. 

“Shit.” Dew whispered to himself. 

The ritual was held last night when he was knee-deep in a violent episode of shattered glass and defeathering pillows. He’d missed it and no doubt Sister had sent Copia here to project her fury. 

“Give me a minute!” Dew called. 

He hurried to tidy away the torn pillowcases and their contents into a hidden corner of his room, and grabbing a strip of fabric he attempted to wipe the dried blood from the stonework. But it was no use, and after several moments and more knocking, the fire ghoul gave up and prepared to accept his fate. With a deep breath, and his tail wrapped around his thigh, he pulled open the door to meet the gaze of Papa. 

The clergyman’s eyes wandered up and down the ghoul, and then over his shoulder into the nest beyond. He pursed his lips before emitting a deep sigh. 

“May I speak with you a moment?” If Copia was angry, his voice certainly didn’t give it away. Instead, it was laced with genuine concern. 

Dew nodded, stepping aside to welcome him into his den. He whispered an apology for the mess, gesturing towards an empty armchair in the corner. Copia gingerly took a seat and waited for the fire ghoul to join him. But Dew nervously remained standing, the sudden realisation that he was dressed only in a pair of boxers, with his hair in a greasy bun and his body stinking of sweat and booze in the presence of Papa beginning to sink in. He had never allowed anyone, only Swiss, to see him like this. Least of all the clergyman. 

“Ah – um – I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Dew stuttered, his voice shaking.

Why was he so anxious? He had a good relationship with Copia, and it’s not like Sister would go as far as to banish him for missing one Yule ritual. Right? Maybe it was the booze or the persistent hangover, but Dew felt like he was going to collapse. 

“That’s quite alright. Won’t you sit for me, per pavore?” Copia’s voice was soft and calm, as if his senses weren’t being assaulted by the bitter scent of spirits oozing from the ghoul’s pores. 

Nervously, Dew sat on the edge of his mattress. He reached for a discarded cushion and held it tight against his middle, his fingers fidgetting with the soft fabric. 

“Do you know why I’m here, Dewdrop?” 

Wordlessly, Dew shook his head, even though he was well aware of the reason for Papa’s visit. 

“Last night was the Yule Ritual, and as you know all ghouls, specifically those currently involved in the Ghost project, are expected to attend. While I understand and respect your misgivings towards this time of the year diavolino, the church does not.” Copia sighed, clearly struggling with the task he’d been given, “I’m afraid that Sister has sent me here with a reprimand and a call for you to attend a hearing in her office on the first of January.” 

Dew felt his blood run cold, a mighty feet for a fire ghoul. His claws extended into the pillow, clawing at the fabric while his mind raced to conclusions. Maybe she could banish him after all. 

“Fuck.” He uttered, “Oh fuck.”

“Please try not to worry, Dew. This may only be a warning. Perhaps you’ll be given additional chores as punishment. And I will be there to fight your corner against anything else, si?” 

But Dew couldn’t hear him, his thoughts already miles away back in the stinking depths of the pit. To the unwelcoming arms of his former pack. To starvation and endless hunger, both for nourishment and affection. 

Sensing his distress, Copia made his way to sit beside the fire ghoul. 

“Dew, diavolino, you must come back from your thoughts.” the clergyman placed a gloved hand on Dew’s forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze,”Non ti stressare.”

“What if she sends me back?” 

“You? Non! You are too special. It is just a – how do you say it – slap on the butt?” 

“You mean a slap on the wrist, right?” 

“Si, that one.” 

Dew pulled the cushion up to his chest and buried his face into it’s softness. 

“I’ve fucked up, Papa. I swear I had every intention of going last night, but I just….lost track of time.”

“Excuse me for being so forward but,” Copia looked towards the mess of the room, his eyes lingering on the bloody footprints imprinted on the stone, before coming back to stare at the bloodied bandage on the ghoul’s knuckles,”It seems you have been spending a little too much time at the bottom of a bottle.” 

“Is it that obvious?” Dew sighed, well aware that he wasn’t hiding anything. 

“Truth be told, Phantom was quite concerned about you. This is his first experience with your Yule traditions, and understandably he was rather worried you’d hurt yourself.”

“How ironic.” Dew mummbled. 

“Irony aside, I know that Swiss not being with you might make it easier to overindulge. But please be careful.” 

Dew nodded, his face still buried in fabric. 

“I need you to look at me diavolino, and promise that you will take it easy.” 

Wordlessly, the fire ghoul brought his eyes up to meet Papa’s. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take it easy.” 

Copia raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by the ghoul’s promise. But he had no time to run in circles. Instead, he gave two sturdy pats to Dew’s back and stood, ready to take his leave. 

“I expect to see you at the First Footing ritual. I do not care if you show up drunk, stoned or naked; Just be there, si?”

“Si, Papa.”

With that, Copia bid Dew goodbye and saw himself out. The man’s scent had barely left the room before Dew had polished off half the bottle of his red wine. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Swiss made another attempt to connect with Dew on the fourth day. He and Cumulus came knocking at the fire ghoul’s door, bearing gifts and the promise of good company. On both occasions they were told, with no sugar coating, to ‘fuck off’. 

But the multi-ghoul was never one to take no for an answer, especially not from his best friend, and so late on the evening of the fifth day, Swiss returned once again with two bottles of premium whiskey he’d bought for a local distillery. 

“Do you want a drinking partner?” Swiss shouted through the door. 

“I’m fine all by myself, thanks!” Dew slurred, his body slumped against the wood on the other side, “ ‘sides, I’ll only bring you down.” 

“But I have the good stuff! This shit’s nearly older than Papa, can you believe it? It’s got to be good!” 

Dew contemplated his offering. If he let Swiss in he’d have to make conversation, and even though the multi-ghoul was a good friend, words weren’t flowing as easily. He took a quick look around his den, taking in the blood-stained flagstones and broken bottles, before deciding that it wasn’t fit for entertaining. And nor was he, bloodied, bruised and smelling like garbage.

Misery didn’t want company, not this time. 

“No thanks. I’m all set for booze in here.” Dew sighed heavily.

“Dew, dude – “ 

“Please. Just fuck off.” 

Swiss fell silent, and Dew knew he’d struck a nerve. He rarely got angry with Swiss, and if he did it was often quick, firey and forward. But this was different; this was a burning irritation that made his blood simmer. Never before had the multi-ghoul’s voice grated on his nerves until now. Maybe it was the five-day bender? Or maybe it was the fact that Swiss had abandoned him for his new fuck-buddy when Dew needed him most? Either way, the fire ghoul was so done with the conversation that he dragged himself up off the floor and into the furthest point of his den just to get away from its presence.

He vaguely heard Swiss curse him out, telling him to stick his cheap wine up his ass before he stormed off back to the common area. And for a moment Dew felt an inkling of regret. But it was shortlived as he thought about how abandoned he felt, and how nothing fucking mattered anyway. This all was temporary. The pack, his den, the Ghost project, his time topside; all of it. Even his companionship with the multi-ghoul couldn’t last forever. 

Dew downed the remainder of his wine and tossed the bottle against the wall. It smashed, sending shards of glass throughout the room, a painful reminder of how he felt inside. 

Time became lost after that, and the fire-ghoul found himself midway through another bottle and on his seventh repeat of ‘Louder Than Bombs.’ His phone remained switched off and beneath his pillow, cutting any contact from the world outside his door and leaving him isolated in his bubble of self-pity and intoxication. Dew was, for lack of a better word, spiralling and there was nothing he wanted anyone to do about it. 

Except for maybe – perhaps – Mountain. 

As the ghoul lay along his nest, cigarette in his mouth and the neck of the wine bottle grasped tightly in his fist, he thought about the gentle giant. He thought about all the times he’d left food outside Dew’s door, knocking gently but never pressing. He thought about how the earth ghoul knew just where Dew’s line was drawn and made damn sure to toe it ever so carefully. And he thought about the simple things, like how he’d slide a bag of home-grown marijuana beneath the door, and always remembered to include a pack of rolling papers and a few pre-rolls.

This wasn’t the first time Mountain had displayed such genuine kindness to the fire ghoul. In fact, just like Dew’s yearly ritual was to wallow in self-loathing, Mountain’s was to make sure he got enough to eat and kept himself topside. He’d displayed patience when no one else had both during Yule and various other points in Dew’s existence. And while, yes, the earthly creature was mellow and compassionate to all members of his pack, there was always a little more room left for Dew than for anyone else. 

As he took another swing of his wine and drew the last few puffs from his cigarette, Dew brought himself to sit upright on his bed. The moon was beginning to rise and somewhere down the hall, he heard the laughter of his ghoul-kin. His gut twisted and, despite himself, he felt tears welling in his eyes at the realisation of just how alone he was. 

With a sigh, he reached for his cell phone and waited for it to turn on. When the screen booted up he was immediately assaulted with an onslaught of text messages and missed calls from various pack members. But there was only one thread his intoxicated mind was hellbent on opening. 

Dew felt a smile pinch at the corners of his lips. Mountain always had a way of knowing just what he needed. 

He stumbled to his feet, careful to avoid the broken glass, and hurried to the door. There, sitting upon the usual tray, was a plate piled high with mac, cheese and jalapenos. Mountain had even included a generous bag of weed, wrapped up nicely with a red ribbon and a letter attached. Dew all but snatched the tray and retreated into the safety of his nest. He perched himself back on the bed, his legs crossed over each other, and began to devour his meal with reckless abandon. The weed, he decided, could wait. Right now his stomach craved carbs and that was just what Mountain had blessed him with. 

It was only afterwards when he was basking in the ecstasy of a flavourful meal, that Dew allowed himself to relax back into the softness of his nest and unravel the earth ghoul’s additional offering. He gently tore the note from the ribbon and squitted at Mountain’s cursive handwriting. 

“I’m here if you want to talk. Please take care of yourself”

Dew felt his face drop and a tightness developed in his lungs. He brought the paper to his chest, careful not to crumble it, and allowed a soft whimper to escape his lips. Satan below, he wanted nothing more than to run to him and ask to be held in his strong, work-worn arms. Mountain always gave the best hugs. They were warm and gentle and allowed Dew to take in his calming, earthly aroma. 

They used to curl up on the bus together during their time with Terzo. After Dew’s transformation, when the majority of his wounds had healed, Mountain was the one to hold him tightly when he would wake screaming in the night. Sure, Swiss was his platonic soulmate, but Mountain? There were no words to describe what the earth ghoul was to him. He had been there from the beginning; through fire and blood. 

But there was nothing in Dew’s booze-soaked vocabulary to say back, lest he pour his heart out. Even in his current state of mind, the fire ghoul couldn’t stand the shame of it. Instead, he bundled up the empty cutlery and left it back to its usual spot outside his door, before constructing the only text he felt appropriate to reply with. Something simple, without any indication that, yes, he would very much like to talk. Even though it would do him the world of good to have a shoulder to cry on, it was outside Dew’s current repertoire to let anyone else know that. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Mountain’s routine of cooking Dew’s favourite meals continued for the next two days before something changed. On December twenty-seventh, the earth ghoul knocked as normal but didn’t leave the tray. Instead, he waited until Dew stumbled and staggered to crack open the door, revealing only a glimpse of himself to the world outside his bedroom. 

Read more of this chapter here!

[staudnhuckn]

Burly Swiss stone pine (Pinus cembra) trees

Berchtesgaden National Park, Bavaria, Germany

[slippy-socks]

in honor of me filling out half of the “what do you think the ghouls smell like” form and then accidentally closing the tab before i finished i’m posting my thoughts here (on my most ghost-related blog lmao) bc i had so much fun with this :)

GHOUL SCENT HEADCANONS

AETHER: spicy, patchouli incense. like the inside of an occult shop. velvet and magic itself. a bit of his own sweat but not in an unpleasant way.

CIRRUS: similar to 11:11 by lake and skye. ozone, almost aquatic but not quite. clean and crisp and bracing.

CUMULUS: like cirrus but warmer, more amber/white musk-y. like freshly laundered sheets, a little sweet. like milk by dedcool with a bit more dried flowers

SODO: gasoline, like an oil slick in a parking lot a kid would take a picture of and post to tumblr in 2014. the smell of a put out fire rather than the fire itself. smoky with the faintest hint of wet pavement under it all

MOUNTAIN: ponderosa pine (bark smells like vanilla/cinnamon). sharp in the nose at first like the bite of high altitude air, but quickly turns deep and woodsy/mulchy/hazelnut-y

AURORA: the frosting on those store-bought sugar cookies, the best parts of outdoor childhood birthday parties, very nostalgic. sweet but not headache-inducing. or floral, mostly rose (le labo rose 31 vibes)

PHANTOM: plum and stone fruit in general. deep and rich and warm, like how the color purple looks

SUNSHINE: i don't know how but she smells like the way sparkling orange wine feels in your mouth. citrusy and bright, invigorating. maybe a little bit of sunscreen but not in a bad way. brings back memories of midday picnics and sunburnt shoulders

SWISS: leather and spices and smoke. like firecrackers at summer night festivals. like the tall handsome stranger in an old western movie

RAIN: well, rain. musky and a little heavier. just the tiniest bit of seawater, maybe a salty bite. a bit of that pleasant old book smell. his scent clings to other ghouls a little longer than most

IFRIT: cherries and vanilla. he smells like he's important. decadent, like he should be dripping in diamonds and gold

ALPHA: gunpowder, tobacco, rum, what those old spice/just for men products wish they could be. effortlessly masculine

ZEPHYR: woodsy and fresh, that cold and wet smell of fresh fallen snow. coffee beans. maybe a little lily if you squint?

MIST: evenings at the lake in the late winter. cool and green, minty, lavender, similar to you or someone like you by etat libre d’orange

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 2: Crush

Day two of @forlorn-crows Mushy May prompts

Pairing: Mountain/Rain

Words: 770

Contains: A little bit of hurt/comfort, Dew being a little shit, Mountain being down bad and too stubborn to say anything, and fishy boy Rain

In the months following the summoning of their new bandmates, Dew’s taken to asking Mountain for weed more and more often. It’s common now to find the two of them spending their afternoons smoking in the old gazebo overlooking the lake, Dew staring wistfully out at the water, Mountain trying to swallow his pity, the two of them talking about anything and everything that crosses their stoned minds. 

Somehow, the conversation turns to Rain, the new water ghoul. Mountain’s been infatuated with him since the moment he was summoned. He’s all long limbs, graceful, for the most part, big dark doe eyes that Mountain does his best not to drown in. But it just feels… disrespectful, pining after him with Dew standing right there next to him, after everything that’s happened to them.

“I’m not trying to replace you, you know that, right?” Mountain asks, taking a long drag of his joint and passing it to Dew. He leans on the railing, picking at the chipping whitewash. 

“You’ve told me that like twenty times in the last three days, Mount,” Dew replies, taking his own pull. 

He sighs, and the herbal smoke billows out from where his gills used to be. “I get it, Rain’s pretty. I think he’s pretty too. But you,” he points accusingly, “have a thing for pretty water ghouls. You’re so down bad, Mounty. Oh, Dew, his eyes are so pretty, they’re like the ocean and they’re so deep and shit,” Dew pretends to swoon, gesturing wildly with the hand holding the joint.  

Mountain scoffs, plucking the joint back from him and taking a long pull. “Huh, do you think I don’t hear you fucking around with the new multi ghoul when you’re not trying to bite his head off?”

Dew flushes scarlet and coughs. “At least I can say ‘Hey, I think you’re hot, you down?’ out loud.”

It’s Mountain’s turn to flush. “I don’t want to just get in his pants, Dew,” he nearly whines. 

“Just!” Dew cackles. “So I’m right! You do wanna-”

“Waterlily,” Mountain says, and chokes on the nickname as Dew stiffens, claws digging into the bannister. “Dew,” he tries again, schooling his reactions. “You are right, I would like to sleep with Rain. But he’s still new up top, and I remember everything just being so much for the first year. Sure, he’s part of our pack now, but I’m not pursuing anything. Not unless he tells me himself that he’s interested.”

There’s a bubbling noise in the distance, and Dew’s eyes flick out towards the lake. His expression brightens for a moment, something that almost looks like glee. Mountain doesn’t care to press, especially when his face quickly falls back into the carefully neutral scowl that Dew’s come to wear most days. 

“I get it,” Dew whispers. “I was new once, too. But I’m fucking around with Swiss because we don’t know what’s going to happen to us, and I don’t want to regret not doing it. Hell, Imperator can decide tomorrow that she fucked up leaving the three of us alive.”

“Dew-” Mountain protests, but Dew points a claw at him, tail thrashing back and forth. His eyes burn bright orange, and it’s still so fucking strange. 

“For all we know, she could decide to dismantle the Ghost Project tomorrow, and we’ll never see each other again. Tell him, Mount. You have to tell him.” Dew reaches up and plucks the joint from Mountain’s fingers. “I think I’m done for today. Thank you, Mountain, for the smoke. Genuinely. I love you, man.”

“I love you too, Dewdrop,” Mountain says, watching the new fire ghoul stomp off. 

Mountain stands there in the gazebo, letting Dew’s words sink in. He’s right, but there’s still the unchanging feeling that he’s betraying his original pack, what’s left of it.

There’s bubbling again, this time much closer to the shore, followed by a splash. Rain surfaces from the lake, gills flaring against his throat, and shoves his wet hair back with webbed fingers. “Hey, Mountain!” 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Mountain whispers. “Hi, Rain! How long have you been out here?”

The water ghoul smiles, revealing sharp, jagged teeth. “Oh, a couple hours. Long enough that I couldn’t help but overhear your’s and Dew’s conversation.”

Mountain feels his heart drop into his stomach as Rain wades onto the shore and climbs the steps of the gazebo. Mountain fights to keep his eyes on Rain’s and not let them trail lower. “Oh, you did?”

“Yeah, I did. And for the record, Mountain? This is me telling you myself that I’m interested.”

[xxwhiskeyxx]

Love Trope February! Mutual Pining

The Earth and Fire ghouls have been dancing around each other for months. They sleep together at times, and it's clear to the others how much they care for each other, but Mountain is scared to push Dew into a relationship (Little man has trouble with feelings and emotions). Dew is terrified that Mountain will think he’s a weak little bitch. But one day, their smoking with Swiss when suddenly Dew, while absolutely stoned tf out of his mind, crawls into Mountain's lap and starts babbling how much he loves him, how he wants his claim, to be his mate, and wants to have his kits and then starts gigglingly, shushing himself to keep it a secret cause he’s scared Mountain doesn’t want him the same way

This one is jus the a tad angsty, not much, jus a little so don't worry. Whiskey is very sleepy so forgive any mistakes

Dew is trans if you can't tell, no smut cause sleepy sadly

I hope you guys like this

also sorry I didn’t add any mountain gifs atm, kinda wanna save them since there are so few

- Love Whiskey <3

Mountain and Swiss were lounging on the Earth ghoul’s bed; Dewdrop was sprawled out in a chair he had pulled closer to the bed, claiming that he didn’t want to be “squished by you two clingy fucks”. They had been passing around 2 blunts for the past hour, so the little ghoul was pretty much greened out while the other two had much higher tolerances, though both were pleasantly floating. The Earth and Multi ghouls had been chatting about their days and debating whether to call Aether to get them some snacks when Dew, who had been zoned out staring at the ceiling fan, let out a soft whine. Green and Silver&Gold eyes turned to focus on the Fire ghoul, “What’s up, Dewy, hungry?” Swiss asked, sitting up from where he had been laying across Mountain’s legs, the tallest male was currently leaning against the headboard and had been contently petting through Swiss’ curls.

Dew doesn’t say anything, crawls onto the bed, and moves to straddle the Earth ghoul, who is staring at him with wide eyes. Dew never was clingy or affectionate unless he was in a needy mood due to having a bad day or when he was in heat, which is when he always seemed to seek out the drummer. So when he plants himself in the lanky ghoul’s lap and nuzzles into his neck with a soft whine, it makes Swiss and Mountain glance at each other in concern, “Hey Freesia, what’s going on.” Mountain asks softly, hesitantly placing his hands on the other ghoul's thin hips. Dew leans back and gives a lazy grin, “Nothinnn,” he drags out, “Jus thinkin' about how much I love you.” he says like it’s causal.

Mountain almost choked, he and Dew had always had a strange relationship; the Gremlin would seek him solely for attention and sex, sometimes accepting the affection the larger male would give him. But the second Mountain tried to go beyond simple post-sex cuddles with the lead guitarist, he’d hiss and exit the room as fast as he could. The Earth ghoul knows that Dew struggles with dealing with emotions and vulnerability, hell it took him a damn near year just for Dew to open up to him about his panic attacks and that he could come to the large ghoul in his time of need.

In all of the years they’ve known each other, Mountain had fallen in love with the little Gremlin and wished he could tell him how he felt. Still, he figured that Dew either didn’t feel the same towards him or is too stubborn and scared ever to let himself ever feel that he deserves someone that cares for him more than a friendly way, which even that had taken a long time of the pack members breaking down the walls Dew had placed around his heart to protect himself in the Pit.

When Dew started talking again, it brought him out of his thoughts, “Ya know, I never thought I’d ever want someone to claim me, to make me theirs until the end of time, but turns out, it’s you Mounty.” he giggles, booping the tip of Earth ghoul’s nose, “I wanna even have your kits, as many as you want, buncha kits running around with your pretty eyes and my hair. Hope they get your height instead of mine, don’t wan them go struggle reachin the top shelf like me.” Dew continues,. But then he presses a finger to his lips and makes a half-hearted shushing sound, “Shh, but you can’t tell Mountain, he’d never want that with a filthy hybrid like me; why would a handsome, talented pure Earth ghoul want with a pathetic hybrid that isn’t even a full hybrid anymore, let alone one who is as fucked up as me,” he says, giggling again. “I love him a lot ya know, jus wish I deserved him.” he finishes, now yawning.

Mountain and Swiss are staring, mouths agape and eyes almost popping out of their skulls as Dew lazily smiles at the larger ghoul. The little tirade made both the Earth ghoul’s stomach flutter and heartbreak, ‘He really think I could never love him just because of the fact he’s a hybrid and his past?’ Mountain thinks. The little ghoul had now snuggled into his chest, claws fisted lightly into the material of his shirt, and was passed out; soft trills and purrs escaped the sleeping ghoul, his tail now curled around the larger ghoul’s leg. Mountain hesitantly strokes through long, soft, white strands of hair, “Told you he loved ya back, Dirt Boy, just didn’t think all it’d take is give him some of Primo's good shit to get it out of him.” Swiss teases, standing to leave while patting the drummer’s shoulder, leaning down to kiss the Earth ghoul’s lips softly than the sleeping Gremlin, who lets out a soft whine and presses his face further into Mountain’s chest.

Swiss claims he wants to go see Aether about something, more than likely to fuck, leaving the poor Earth ghoul with the stoned and sleeping Fire ghoul clinging to him like a child. Mountain sighs, shifting down so he can lay on his back, still holding Dew, curling himself around the smaller male. The weed has run its course and has begun to make the ghoul sleepy, but Dew’s confession is still running through his mind, ‘He wants to have my claim and even kits with me…I never thought he’d ever even think of me like that. What the fuck do I do now.” he thinks, mind reeling. But after a little while, the soft noises coming from the little sleepy ghoul pressed against him lull him to sleep, picturing sleeping with him like this every night.

The next morning

Dew wakes up warmer than he typically is and much more rested than he typically does, realizing he didn’t have any nightmares, which is odd because he always has at least one or two a night. But when he feels a huff of warm air ruffle his hair, he looks up and realizes why he felt so relaxed. Mountain was curled around him, holding him tightly against his chest as he slept, tail curled around Dew’s on his leg. Whenever Dewdrop sleeps with Mountain, he never seems to have the same trouble sleeping, instead, he feels protected, safe, dare he say even loved, though the thought made him cringe. But that is why he will sometimes seek out the Earth ghoul after several sleepless nights of near constant nightmares, always disguising it as simply wanting sex and then falling asleep afterward.

He debates leaving, wiggling his way free and escaping before the other ghoul wakes, but he feels warm and soft and still sleepy. So he allowed himself to nuzzle back into the firm chest, just beginning to doze off again when suddenly a hazy memory of what had happened last night. He had crawled into Mountain’s lap and spewed all of his secret feelings to him, even down to the most embarrassing one of wanting to belong to him in every way possible. Dew’s eyes shoot open, tiredness now a distant memory.

‘He’s gonna think I’m so fucking pathetic, gushing about him like a schoolgirl in a rom-com. He probably is gonna make fun of me and tell me how could he ever want someone like me…’ he thinks, the thought makes the typically emotionally hardened ghoul want to cry. Carefully lifting the arm around his waist off, replacing himself with a pillow, and unwinding his tail from the other’s thigh so as not to wake the sleeping giant, Dew slips out of the bed and quickly exits the room. Darting back to his own, he locks the door behind him to ensure nobody happens to walk in on the breakdown he is about to have.

The already small ghoul somehow curls into an even smaller ball in the middle of his nest, clinging to a pillow that he had covered with a shirt he had sneakily stolen from Mountain’s laundry that he usually wore a lot. He had found that the Earth ghoul's scent helps with the nightmares, and it makes it, so he doesn’t have to seek out the ghoul as often, even though he desperately wanted to. His mind spirals into all the possibilities of when Mountain wakes up; would he avoid Dewdrop, make fun of him like in his initial thought, scoff and call him needy and pathetic, tell everyone what he had said? ‘Wait fuck; Swiss was there too. He definitely told all of the others by now. I’m so fucked..’ he whimpers as the thoughts continue to race through his mind, hot tears now soaking into the pillow/shirt combo.

A little later

Mountain wakes up slowly, noticing that the warm ghoul cuddled next to him was gone. Patting sleepily in the area next to him without opening his eyes, hoping that maybe Dew had just rolled over in his sleep. But when he doesn’t feel the hair or tail of the smaller male, he opens his eyes, glancing around the room in search of Dewdrop, but he doesn’t see him. Thinking he had probably either gotten up to pee or get breakfast since Cirrus and Swiss almost always wake up earlier than everyone else to make breakfast for them, so they don’t have to put on their masks and uniforms right as they wake up as they would if they ate in the dining hall.

Yawning and slowly rolling out of bed, stretching his long arms above his head. Mountain heads to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and splash some water on his face to help him wake up slightly before coming back and changing into fresh clothes; he had slept in his clothing from the day before since Dew had latched and he couldn’t exactly get up. Now dressed in a new t-shirt and pants, since he would probably be working in the garden today, Mountain heads towards the common area.

The said common room didn’t hold the Fire ghoul he was looking for, who would typically sit at the table near the kitchen, devouring whatever the Multi ghoul and Air ghoulette had made that morning. Instead, it was just Aether, Swiss, Cirrus, and Rain. “Hey, Mounty, I’m surprised to see you up this early, especially since you three were smoking last night.” Aether says, taking a sip from his coffee cup. Yawning again, he pads into the kitchen to make himself some tea, “Yeah, me too. But Dew had fallen asleep in my room, and he was gone when I woke up. I had assumed he was in here, but he’s not.” Mountain grumbles, waiting to use the fancy Keurig to simply put hot water in the mug with the teabag vs. waiting for the kettle he typically used.

“Aww, are you missing you’re favorite Gremlin Lover Boy~” Swiss teases, earning a clip to the back of his head by Cirrus’ tail, “Be nice.” she hisses, “Sorry,” the Multi mumbles before Aether takes over, “He probably just went back to his room, you know Dew always sleeps late after he smokes, especially if he was a greened out as Swiss told us,” he chuckles, “He more than likely woke up and decided to leave before you did too, he always does when he stays in my room at least.” Aether shrugs, taking another sip of coffee.

Mountain frowns. Dew never leaves his room without at least saying where he’s going anymore, not since the Earth ghoul had panicked and hunted him down the first time he had disappeared from his bed after they had fucked. He always at least left a note or text, but there was nothing. His tea had finished steeping, so he quickly added a small spoonful of sugar and chugged it down, ignoring the burning heat of it, before setting the mug in the sink. “I’m gonna go check on him,” he says, snagging a piece of bacon as he walks to the Fire ghoul’s room.

Dew’s room was the second furthest from his own, besides Aether’s, but it wasn’t a terribly long hallway, so he made it as he swallowed the bacon. But as he goes to knock, he hears muffled cries coming from inside, this makes a feeling of dread sink in his stomach, ‘There’s no way he remembers what happened last night, he was stoned out of his mind, right?’ Mountain thinks. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he knocks on the door.

The crying suddenly stops, and there is a moment of silence before he hears Dew yell, “Go the fuck away!” Now, this would spur any of the others, except maybe Aether, Cirrus, or Rain, away, but Mountain needs to ensure the little ghoul is okay. Knocking again, “Dew, open the door. I just wanna talk.” Mountain calls through the door, there is more silence before the door clicks. The Earth ghoul sighs, at least Dew let him in. Opening the door, he’s met with the typically surprisingly neat room in disarray. It’s clear that something is wrong with the Fire ghoul, he always rearranges/destroys his room when he is upset.

The dress and bed have been moved to opposite sides of the room since the last time he had been in here; clothes from the laundry basket are strewn across the floor and chairs; papers litter the floor, clearly swept from the desk in the corner; and currently curled up in a ball in the middle of his nest, is Dewdrop. Clinging to a pillow and glaring at the taller male, red and blue eyes puffy and rimmed with pink irritation, tear tracks clear on his face, with his tail wrapped tightly around his arm.

Carefully approaching the nest, Mountain kneels on the outside of it, “Hey Dew, what’s going on?” he asks softly, tail swaying slowly behind him to try and show he wasn’t a threat. The small male continues glaring at him, “Something is clearly wrong, Fire Lily, please talk to me.” he tries again, using the nickname that always seems to loosen the other ghoul up. But it does nothing, instead, it makes Dew sink further back, now growling.

Mountain starts to speak again but is cut off when Dew suddenly lashes out, “Get the fuck out, I’m perfectly fucking fine!” he snarls, baring his fangs to try and intimidate the Earth ghoul, but it doesn’t work. Mountain sighs, sitting down outside the nest as his knees start to ache, “Dewdrop, I’m not leaving you alone when you’re clearly upset about something. That always leads to you isolating yourself from all of us and not eating, we both know this.” he states. Dew flinches for a moment when Mountain uses his full name but quickly growls at him again, though when the older ghoul doesn’t react, he huffs and looks away. The larger ghoul sighs, “I care about you, even if you’re a pain in the ass. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong, Dew.” Mountain says

This seems to set off the little ghoul, snapping his head back at the Earth ghoul, “You wanna know what’s fucking wrong? You, you’re my fucking problem!” he yells, sitting up from where he had been lying, “Why the fuck are you in here and acting like you fucking care about me! After what I fucking said last night, I know you think I’m a pathetic, disgusting freak; I’m not going to let you sit here and pretend to care for me when I know you don’t!” he shouts, the red in his eyes burning like liquid magma as steam puffs through his nose and former gills.

Mountain sits dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe the little ghoul believed he could ever feel think of him in such a cruel way. Dew is shaking in anger, his tail flicking behind him like a predator about to pounce. “But I don’t think that at all, Dew.” Mountain says softly, moving towards the seething ghoul, “Yes, I was shocked at first, but only because I learned that the one I love feels the same way about me and wants to experience the same things together.” he finishes, now sitting in front of the smaller male.

Dew blue screens, mind screeching to a halt. Mountain, the calm and collected, patient, caring, plant lover, feels the same for Dewdrop, the chaotic, loud-mouth, emotionally stunted, horny attention whore? “Your kidding? You're just saying that to make me feel better.” Dew snarks as he tries to turn away, but Mountaingrasps his chin before he can, making him meet forest green with his lava red and ice blue. “I’m telling you the truth, Dewdrop. If I am being honest, I have loved you since you were first summoned. I want you to be my mate, my Eternal Flame.” he says softly, moving his large hand to cup the Fire ghoul’s cheek.

Tears begin to flow down from eyes seemingly made of fire and ice. Mountain simply smiles at him, stroking away the tears, “I mean what I said Fire Lily, I love you and always will, even if you push me away.” he says softly. This makes Dew choke out a sob, leaping forward and burying his face into the Earth ghoul’s chest, clinging to him as if he’s terrified of being shoved away. Mountain wraps his long arms around the crying ghoul, gently shushing him as he holds him, rubbing the lean back of the other as he lets him cry it out.

“I love you too..” it’s quiet and muffled, but Mountain hears it anyway, letting out a happy trill as he presses a kiss between Dewdrop’s horns. This makes the little ghoul look up, the tears had slowed to a stop at this point though his eyes were still slightly wet, he pouts up at him, silently asking for a kiss. Grinning so hard he’s sure he looks like a maniac, Mountain presses a soft kiss to Dew’s lips, one filled with all of the love and affection he has wished to show him for the last 6 years, Tugging the smaller male into his lap, the Earth ghoul makes sure to force any negative thoughts that could possibly make Dewdrop question his love for him out his head, placing the claim that Dew had talked about the night before while getting started on the suggestion of the kits.

[fleckcmscott]

Glad and Golden Hours

Summary: Two months after Arkham, Christmas Eve is on its way. Y/N and Arthur prepare to host their nearest, dearest friends.

Words: 4,466

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This comes from a request made by @sweet-nothings04​. Thank you for the opportunity to add to the Stepping Stones series and get to know Robert a little more - in many ways, he’s still a stranger to me! 😂 Hope you all enjoy! Have a wonderful holiday season! ⛄

Arthur snipped each layer of twine, and the pine's branches lowered in a curtsy of festive green.

They'd gotten a Christmas tree later than usual this season, a mere two days before the holiday. (Mike from New Hampshire apologized for his tree stand's slim pickings. Arthur found the last six and a half footer tucked under a tarp.) With Y/N's return to full-time hours at the office and the burst of gigs that'd come his way, they'd barely had time to breathe. The work was welcome, especially the charity events at the mall and clinic. Waypoints on a map that led to routine.

It'd also taken a lot out of him. Too little tiredness had morphed into too much. His body was still processing the medication switch from Arkham, and starting last Thursday, he'd lowered the dose of his anti-depressant to 20mg, a change suggested by Dr. Ludlow to help with fatigue.

It was a marvel, the difference having a partner made in recovery, how it helped three steps forward remain three steps. (The days it slipped back to two he mostly kept to himself.) He and Y/N had even made love twice this month, including the Saturday afternoon he'd woken her from a nap. A kiss to her bare shoulder and he'd fallen into her. Satisfyingly simple - and initiated by him.

Branches freed, he turned to see her standing before their console stereo, stretching to tape red and gold garland to the wall. Most of their ornaments had come with her from Missouri, but this decoration was theirs. The shiny foil had caught his eye from across the pharmacy aisle, gone into their shopping basket without delay. Started the tradition of adding a bauble to their collection every year.

When she made a disgruntled groan, lifted her right foot to reach a smidge higher, he chuckled. "Let me do that," he said, crossing to her. He taped it a good four inches above her fingertips. The garland dipped in the middle, an approving smile anchored by cascades of color on each end.

"Thank you." She moved to kneel on the stereo, grabbed a big red bow from her left. She hooked it on the smile. "Remind me to start the Swiss steaks in the morning. They have to cook ten hours."

A loose hold on her waist, more of a protective hovering lest she lose her balance. "I think that's the only recipe I've seen in your handwriting."

"I copied it out of a magazine in a doctor's office and served it every Christmas back home. Mabel always took the smallest piece. But the kids liked it and it wasn't half bad. Made it easy to keep an eye on my father, too." That she could mention her past without a hitch in her voice, that she'd share the dish him, turned Arthur's hovering into a caress. She patted his hand. "If you agree with Mabel, you won't go hungry. We'll be lucky to close the fridge, with all Patricia's going to bring."

Ah, yes. Patricia and Robert.

Arthur had gotten close enough to Patricia to hide her paltry smoking from Y/N, to be entrusted with secret tidbits about his wife. But Robert remained an enigma. The man had attended their wedding, like any friend should. Joined blue moon double dates concocted by their better halves. He was quiet, stayed on the periphery.

Patricia also knew the details of Arthur's relapse; Robert barely cracked a grin at his jokes.

Other than when Y/N's family had visited (one bathroom for eight people; bah humbug, indeed), Arthur and she had celebrated by themselves. Truth be told, he would've preferred it stay that way. They'd barely had an anniversary. For his sake, she'd declined her sister's invitation to Thanksgiving. Though it'd worked out in the end, his damned moods had botched Black Friday shopping.

She hadn't minded any of it, she said. He believed her. But he also loved her. There was no reason to let her in on every negative thought, every doubt. When she'd asked about having friends over, her smile had dazzled at the idea. How could he have declined? With everything she'd done for him? He'd hung onto her happiness, a dog finally catching the car it'd been chasing, and said yes.

Now that car just had to be small enough to handle.

"You still up to hosting?" she asked, peeking at him over her shoulder.

He prayed for a moped instead of a tank. "Yeah."

That irresistible smile came again. She slid backwards off the console, clipping his toes with her heel. She'd just begun to lean into him, when she squinted and sped in the direction of the front door. "Shit, I forgot the poinsettias. I'll run to Ed's. Please get out the lights!"

~~~~~

Thickened liquid shot the mercury to 160 degrees. "Quick, quick, put the pot on the trivet."

Y/N followed Patricia's command. Without the older woman at her side, Y/N wouldn't have trusted herself to make anything involving a cooking thermometer. Black sludge had resulted from her one attempt at chocolate fudge. Scraping it into the trash, she'd forsworn any recipes involving that tool forever.

Two teaspoons of vanilla extract met furious whisking. When Patricia cracked open a bottle of whiskey, Y/N covered the pot with her forearm. Steam dampened the sleeve of her sweater. "Can we add that later?"

"Arthur still not drinking?"

"Besides a sip of my wine every now and then, no."

"He's smarter than all of us combined." Patricia picked up the pot, poured the mixture through a mesh strainer into an awaiting ceramic bowl.

Y/N hugged her at the waist. Patricia had taken a keen interest in Arthur's recovery. Made a point to ask how he was at least once a week, how everything compared to before. It was a first for Y/N, having stepping stones of support to climb. Patricia being her wonderful self was a gift. And she'd been a dear to suggest putting together an old-fashioned Christmas for Arthur, to offer to do the heavy lifting and give them both a break.

Over dinner, she'd updated them on the latest at Shaw & Associates. Her new colleague, the third since Y/N had left, was a total bore. Never wanted to order lunch, completely lacked a sarcasm detector. The Wayne Foundation was looking to start another charity arm, this one for the arts. It followed a trend of donations focused less on the poor and needy, more on galas and museums for the rich and needless. After nearly a decade of chasing, Matt had finally won back his ex-wife Laura. All victory had taken was a river cruise and a prenup.

Arthur had tapped his fork on his plate, his face a mask of bewilderment. "Why marry someone already planning to divorce?"

The Swiss steaks had turned out well enough for Robert to ask for leftovers. He could handle sticking them in the microwave and wanted to give Patricia a well-deserved break. It was flattering, them choosing Y/N's cooking for Christmas Dinner. Patricia's duchess potatoes - her daughter Ruby's favorite - were a buttery take on spuds Y/N could eat every day. And Patricia had prepared a small tray of mac and cheese for Arthur to heat up in the oven, replete with 3" x 5" instruction card and tied with a bow.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open. Y/N peered into the living room. A hand the size of a catcher's mitt and holding a beer gestured frantically for Arthur to get his butt on the couch. Robert chastised him like an old uncle, groused that he'd missed a touchdown, updated him on the score. Arthur hiked up his trousers. Settled next to him and leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. She bit back a chuckle. Football interested Arthur about as much as hardening cement, and even then, the cement might win out.

When the teams on TV huddled on the sidelines, she came to the rescue. She strode to the back of the couch and bent between them. The seven minutes left on the clock were a godsend. "Miracle on 34th Street is on NCB, and Robert Shaw Chorale's Christmas Spirit is on PBS. Take your pick."

"Robert Shaw," Arthur said.

Robert stood, stretched his arms behind his back. His shoulders snapped, crackled, and popped. "Doesn't matter to me. The Wildcats are gonna blow it either way." He pulled a pack of Silk Cuts from his front pocket and went to the fire escape to light up.

Arthur's brow furrowed into a mountain range. "He's not very friendly. I don't know if he wants to be here. He could watch the game at home."

While Robert was the strong silent type, Y/N sensed a softness hiding underneath. He'd agreed to go to marriage counseling with Patricia. He always ensured she walked on the inside of the sidewalk, a protective gesture from an earlier era. Tonight, he'd rubbed his stomach after each bite of potatoes, a compliment to Patricia's kitchen wizardry.

Y/N offered a gentle reply. "This is their first Christmas without their daughter and grandson." Ruby had married the Gotham General tech she'd met six years ago, and she and Brian were spending the holiday weekend with his family upstate. "You know how when I have a bad day, and I just want to forget it? When we kiss or sit without saying anything? That's enough. Sometimes having a friend sit with you is enough."

Arthur's boyish dimples reappeared. "I won't be kissing him anytime soon."

"Good. That'd send him running back to Burnside."

Later, she served eggnog: three with a shot of whiskey, one virgin. An angelic choir drifted from the television, familiar and comforting as crocheted mittens. Popcorn bowl at her side, Patricia sat on the living room carpet and invited Arthur to join her. She pulled a coin purse from her pocket, took out two big needles connected by a long, black thread. She demonstrated how to slide a fluffy flake down the string.

"I love the smell of pine," Patricia said, five kernels in. "This year we got an artificial. It just isn't the same."

"There's canned pine scent," Y/N suggested. "Donahue's has it by the artificial snow."

"From Aurora Fresheners? We tried that. The whole apartment smelled like a bathroom. When I was a kid, it was real or nothing. My mother hated the needles. One Christmas, when I was six, I asked Santa for a sled. I dragged it over to Cherry Hill - that's down by the water district - and slid right through a fence into the reservoir. They sent mom a bill for repairs. She made me clean up all the needles. With a broom."

Laughter threw Y/N's head back. Although her family hadn't been religious, they'd gone to the usual seasonal social gatherings. Being in the Bible Belt, they'd revolved around the local church. "One Christmas service, a candle caught a lock of my hair. It smelled terrible, like burning rubber. Mabel and I gagged our way to the bathroom."

There were other recollections, of course, ones she kept locked in the keepsake box of her heart. Her earliest holiday season in Gotham had marked seven months in a new state in a new city in a new home. Though only three people worked in her new office, her new boss Matt had planned a Secret Santa. That she'd gotten an Aqua Velva soap on a rope (a discount store bestseller) had made it obvious who'd drawn her name.

For the first time, she'd experienced a truly frigid chill, one that'd frozen her bones. Admired Christmas windows grander than she'd ever seen. Rented ice skates at Gotham Park and exchanged smiles with Ned, a cute man in flannel and jeans who'd complimented her form. The hot chocolate they'd shared at the concession stand had been surprisingly rich. But she'd resisted Ned's suggestions to make a snowman, to surrender her last name and phone number. The evening had ended with thanks and well wishes.

New to herself, she hadn't wanted to play the game of pursuit. Not yet. She'd cherished the quiet of her own place, a hard-won light at the end of twenty years of tunnel. When she'd sat at the counter of a nearby diner on Christmas Eve, sliced turkey roll and canned cranberry sauce before her, a wave of joy had overwhelmed, to the point where she'd had to dab at her eyes.

"Thanks for this," she'd whispered to what was probably nothing. The closest thing to a pray she'd offered in her life.

Arthur's mouth tightened in concentration, popcorn stuck on the eye of the needle. "At school we made paper chains. I brought mine home and taped it on the TV. My mom and I watched the Murray Franklin Christmas Special."

"They had a dance floor for the audience in the sixties," Patricia said. "We got tickets once, really lucked out. Bing Crosby was there, Slam Bradly, too. Remember that, dear?" She directed her inquiry at the sofa.

Robert twisted to look at them over the cushions. "We did a pretty good Lindy hop back then."

"You and Y/N should go next year!"

The flake Arthur had been wrangling broke into crumbles.

Y/N's regard shot to him. There was a tremble in his fingers so subtle only she would notice. Since his spot as a Special Guest, Murray Franklin hadn't been welcome in their homes. Before they'd moved in together or after. Whenever the TV Guide happened to feature his smug mug on the cover, Arthur tore it clean from the spine. He'd flick cigarettes towards bus stop ads for Live! If he was in the mood for late night comedy, he'd catch David Endochrine with her.

"I don't think so," Arthur said. He fingered another kernel to try again. But after a moment, he laid the needle and thread in the bowl, pushed himself to stand. "I, um-" His voice had gone thick, inflected with the raw quality of the wounded. He winced. A whisper this time. "Excuse me." He walked to the bedroom. The door thudded softly behind him.

No one moved a muscle. Breath couldn't be heard. A peaceful rendition of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" began, notes wrapping them in glorious sounds of old.

Patricia straightened, interrupted the peaceful rendition. "That was stupid."

Y/N scooted two spaces across the carpet, placed a comforting palm on Patricia's knee. "He just needs breaks, that's all."

Last week they'd attended her office's Christmas party. He'd done his best to fit in, make small talk, be a person like other people. And he'd been good at it, seemed like a combination of his old and new self, both selves she'd fallen in love with. But after forty minutes, without a hint that something was wrong, he'd asked if it'd be too soon to leave. She'd planned on staying two hours. As they'd held hands on the subway home, she'd mulled over what she'd observed, tried to understand.

She shared that with Patricia. "He'd probably had enough of everyone asking how he was. They'd known he'd been ill but not the details. Arthur likes attention - he needs it more than most people I've met. But I don't think he knew how to answer without saying he'd been in Arkham. It's hard to predict how someone'll react to that."

"I don't blame him," Robert said, his rich baritone kinder than she'd ever heard it. "People can see a broken leg but not when your brain has a limp."

Y/N felt her shoulders loosen, his words an etching of reassurance. "Only dear friends," she said. She moved to check on Arthur, see if he'd been granted some of the peace on earth, impart the goodwill mentioned in the song.

Patricia stopped her with a palm to her shoulder, braced herself against the wall to stand. "I'll go." She straightened the hem of her blouse, grabbed strands of tinsel from the middle branches, and made a beeline for the door.

~~~~~

Arthur sat on his side of the bed, facing the vanity. He disliked the set of his features, dour and stern, as if carved from rough granite. The low light of the bedside lamp bathed but didn't soften. He opened his mouth, practiced loosening his jaw, stretched it until the hinge joint popped.

That Patricia hadn't meant to hurt was obvious, even to a guy with a lot of problems like him. How was she to know Murray had been a father figure? A man he'd loved who'd pierced him so deeply, that that love had bled out and left hatred in its wake? He'd been too silly, too inexperienced to recognize the differences between celluloid and real life. To have thoroughly set himself up for disappointment was almost as embarrassing as the way it continued to sting. Nearly a decade had passed. Time to let it fucking go.

The flash of a police car prompted him to look out the window. Clouds had rolled in, and sparse streaks of moonlight fought their way through the batted cotton. White lights sparkled from an apartment across the street, the tree a perfect display in the front window. Two little girls jumped around their father, relenting only when he doled out gifts from under the tree. Arthur hugged his pillow to his stomach like a life vest.

There was more to the paper chain memory. Visitors from a Catholic charity had gone door to door that evening. Arthur had polished off a bowl of Rice Honeys for dinner, been in the middle of rinsing his dish when the buzzer sounded.

The two nuns towered over him, a couple of emperor penguins. "Are you home alone, young man?" the older one had asked, as if it was weird for a little boy to answer the door.

Uninvited, they'd stepped into the entranceway. Surveyed the walls of the apartment, the open and empty cupboards, the rug that was dirty because they only had a carpet sweeper. They had to have noticed his filthy t-shirt. The lack of tree. Penny passed out cold, her motionless form in the living room chair. At that tender age, it'd felt normal.

The penguins offered two gifts, wrapped in paper covered by shepards and nativities, along with a mimeographed invitation to the candlelight service at St. Swithun's Parish. "Bless you, sweet boy," the younger one had said. Then they'd left, drifting down the corridor like ghosts of Christmas past.

Arthur had scribbled "From: Arthur" on his mother's present. A white lie that'd make her happy, so god wouldn't mind. He'd put the presents on the coffee table. Bounced his stuffed bear and watched Red Skelton, waiting for his mother to come round.

A light knock at the door. The knocker didn't wait for a response to squeak the hinges. Brass trumpets spilled into the room. "I have a real talent for putting my foot in my mouth."

Patricia's self-deprecation forced a crooked grin. He watched her approach in the mirror, loosened his hold on the pillow. He pushed it aside as discretely as possible.

"I hear so much about how you're doing from Y/N," she said. "But never from the source."

"I'm fine."

The woman had a way about her. Warmth oozed out of her like a radiator on a blizzardy night, which allowed her to make the bluntest comments and never offend. A strange sort of equation that never failed to balance. She sat next to him and continued the tradition. "The news talks about Arkham being a place for criminals. It's not reported as a hospital for regular people; it's gossiped about. I'm glad to know better now. And that you're doing well."

If they were close enough for her to share secrets, maybe he could trust her with one of his own. But he couldn't quite return her stare. "Some days are hard. More than I'd like. More than- than I tell Y/N."

"She's the type of woman who wants to know all the facts and figures. That doesn't mean you have to tell her everything."

He bit down another grin. It was too true. And he wouldn't. She didn't need to learn about the nights in the hospital, when he could've sworn he'd felt her arms around him, her breast beneath his cheek, while also wishing she'd stay the hell away from McKean Island. That the years with her were when he'd learned what healthy felt like. That what he coveted more than anything, to the point of cold sweats, was to get back to that. For her. For their marriage. For himself.

Patricia broke through his reverie. "Is today a nice day?"

"Yeah." He turned to look at her, nodded, met her ebony eyes. "It is. But you didn't have to go to so much trouble. With the food and decorations."

Tipsy but honest kindness shone in the curve of her smile. Suddenly, she tossed tinsel on his head, a pile of silver atop his chestnut mop. Frowning, he reached to drag it off, tangling it in his waves. She grasped his fingers on the way down and squeezed tight. "You and Y/N are family, Arthur. You're family."

It took a while to find his voice. "Thanks, Patricia."

In the middle of "Away in a Manger," the television switched off. Stevie Wonder's Someday at Christmas played in its stead. The B-Side, which Y/N found upbeat. It wasn't exactly Arthur's style, but he'd come to appreciate her preference for disco and soul. And it was a welcome change from choral melancholy.

Patricia slurped at her mug, stuck it out towards him. "I need a cigarette. As a trusted family member, would you bring this to the kitchen? Take her with you. I'll owe you all the tea in China."

~~~~~

Y/N tied the shopping bag handles and opened the refrigerator. She'd packed the main and sides separately, otherwise gravy would've ruined the potatoes' crispy finish. As she arranged three Tupperware containers on the top shelf, Arthur came in, Patricia's mug in hand. He rinsed it and took the ladle from the bowl for a refill.

He indicated Y/N's cup on the counter with a tilt of the head. "You want some, too?"

"Please." She closed the fridge's door, gave it an extra push for good measure. "Patricia's quite the charmer, isn't she?"

Arthur snorted, drew his back chin, its skin squishing into pinchable folds. The cheery sound was a breeze that freshened the whole apartment. His gaze fell to the floor before rising to meet hers. He held out her drink. "She's not the only one."

When Y/N took it, her fingers lingered on his for too long to be an accident. She brought the rim to her lips for a sip. She'd add a nip later.

"You're doing great," she said. "I'm proud of you."

His smile blinded, a flash of light to outdo Damascus. The gap between them narrowed, foot by foot, inch by inch. He plucked a bloom from the poinsettia on the counter, tucked it behind her ear. The gesture made her insides ripple in the same manner as a girl's first crush.

"Do you love me?" he asked. The love light gleam in his green irises told her he hadn't asked because he didn't believe it, but because he wanted to hear it.

She stretched the rest of the way to meet his lips and spoke her answer against them. "Completely. Now let's go see what Santa brought."

Multicolor lights glimmered on the pile of presents under the tree. The four of them sat around it, Y/N and Arthur on the floor, Patricia and Robert on two dining chairs due to his aching tailbone. Y/N's cheeks felt as if they were going to melt, the result of alcohol and menopause. She unbuttoned the top of her sweater and held her cold mug to her skin, just below her neck.

Robert hummed approval when he unwrapped the bottle of Ballentine's Scotch, aged ten years. (Thank god they'd gone shopping for their husbands together.) Patricia immediately plugged in the True to Light makeup mirror from L. Ballinger's. She tested the office, day, and evening settings, explained the subtle differences. ("Black eyeliner works better at night.")

The Gormans' gift to Y/N was a clothes shaver from the Windmill Signature collection, a practical, odd tool to remove fuzz and pills from her blazers and skirts. She burst into silly laughter. What else did the "collection" carry? An automatic foot scraper? Premiere upper lip waxing kits? At least it wasn't a soap on a rope. She flicked it on, ran it over Patricia's polyester skirt until she batted her away.

On top of the mac and cheese, Arthur got a Christmas tie deemed cheesy enough for him. Polar bears skated on cursive Merry Christmases on a background of red and white stripes. "I'll put this in my bag," he said, and folded it into thirds. "For December gigs."

The remaining presents would have to wait until tomorrow. A private gift exchange better suited both couples. Arthur had dropped no hints as to what he'd gotten her; she'd shown respect by not snooping. She was certain he'd love the microwavable mug warmer, guaranteed to keep his coffee hot during long journaling sessions. The other box under the tree hid mounds of tissue paper and a bathrobe, midnight blue tinted royal, to be tied at the waist. She giggled, imagining how he'd pluck her folded note from the breast pocket, the blush that'd betray when he got to the naughty part.

Leaning back on her forearms, she sighed a contented sigh. A happiness to rival turkey roll and cranberry sauce swept through her, wetting her eyes all over again. She turned towards the window, gnawed her bottom lip.

White flecks glowed in the orange of the phosphorescent streetlamp, brightening the sky. She recalled that first Christmas in the city, the memories Patricia and Arthur had shared. The holiday wouldn't be complete without making another.

"There's an unplowed parking lot three buildings down," Y/N said, standing. She darted to the coat hooks in the entranceway, snagged their hats and mittens, returned and shoved them at Patricia and Robert. "We can build a snowman." The quirk of Patricia's mouth said she thought Y/N was out of her mind, but she'd play along. She rose to her feet, pulling Robert - mid-trying to open his scotch - along with her.

Arthur burrowed deeper into his bathrobe, a playful skepticism narrowing his gaze. "It's supposed to be ten below tonight."

"We'll bring a thermos. Besides." Y/N sat on his lap, put his cap on his head, and fluffed the pom-pom on top. "Your love will keep me warm."

~~~~~

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[floorinsite]

FN Neuhofer showcased its innovations at Domotex

“When design goes up the walls!”, FN Neuhofer is ahead of the competition. The Austrian family-run company proved this with its new wall design products, which were presented for the first time at DOMOTEX in Hanover. The range of acoustic panels and wall cladding, which has already established itself on the market in a very short space of time, has now been supplemented by waterproof and paintable acoustic panels. FN ACUSTICO in solid wood such as pine, larch and above all Swiss stone pine, the “queen of the forests”, also promises to be a market success.

“DOMOTEX has been a highlight among trade fairs for decades and provides a great start to the year. It offers the opportunity for inspiring conversations with existing and potential clients, partners and suppliers,” explains CEO Franz Neuhofer, who was present in Hanover with his sales and product development team. “It is especially gratifying when we get to experience the positive response to our new ideas and innovations. This always makes the fair a success for us. And it was the same this year!”

The numbers of international visitors to the stand of FN Neuhofer and their interest 

were both extensive, ensuring FN Neuhofer, the innovative and traditional company, the perfect start in the 374th year since its foundation.

NEW PRODUCTS

FN ACUSTICOWaterproof

FN ACUSTICO is now ready to take on bathrooms, wet rooms and even external walls. With slats made of waterproof plastic and a film coating on the slats, these tried-and-tested panels can now be used externally and in interior wet areas.

Minimalist bathroom interior with concrete floor, white wall background, beautiful plants, white bathtub, white toilet, front view. Minimalist bathroom with modern furniture. 3D rendering

FN ACUSTICOPaint on

The established range of acoustic panels has been expanded to include a variant with a white, paintable film. Elegant and minimalist, it fits into any room or you can get creative yourself. The slats can be painted with commercially available solvent-free wall paints. Plain or with completely individual works of art.

FN ACUSTICOSolid

FN ACUSTICO Solid combines excellent sound absorption properties with attractive design and the positive impact of solid wood. The woods currently available in this range are the appealing pine, the resilient larch (which can also be used in protected external areas) and the so-called ‘queen of the Alps’, the Swiss pine. It is claimed that the latter even has positive effects on the cardiovascular system. This new range will bring the benefits of nature into every living room and bedroom. Not only do the panels look great but they are easy to mount and good for the health. 

PRODUCTS FOR A HEALTHY HOME AND SUSTAINABILITY AS ROUTINE 

The emphasis in the case of all FN Neuhofer products is on quality – but also on creating healthy living spaces and sustainability. In fact, sustainability is a concept that is deeply rooted in the corporate history. 

The family business has always considered sustainability to require the parallel and concurrent implementation of environment-related, social and commercial targets. This also involves eco-friendly, resource-saving production and the development of products and solutions associated with minimal emissions, thus ensuring effective and cost-conscious products along the whole value creation chain. 

FN Neuhofer holds the following certifications:

ISO 9001 (quality management)

ISO 14001 (environmental management)

eco-Institut-Label (for low emission products)

FSC (Forest Stewardship Council for sustainable forestry) 

PEFC (Programme for the Endorsement of Forest Certification; sustainable forestry)

Leitbetriebe Österreich (outstanding Austrian companies)

Investments:

Investment in a solar panel system (1 MW) has resulted in a reduction in our CO₂ emissions of 482,870 kg per year. Almost all the generated electricity is used in-house (86.2% self-consumption). 

Electricity is also generated by two own hydroelectric power stations that is also used within the company.

For heating purposes, we also employ our own wood chips and the shavings created during production.

A new and, energy-efficient biofuel heating plant has reduced our NOx emissions by some 50% in comparison with those produced by our former plant.

The investment in a new filtration system has reduced particulate emissions from 150 mg/Nm³ to 10 mg/Nm³.

We have acquired rapid and AC charging stations. 

Our new radar-controlled car park illumination has led to an 80% fall in power consumption, equivalent to 5,300 kg CO₂ per year. 

Optimised pressurised air processing means CO₂ emissions have been reduced by 36,258 kg per year.

An extraction system for plastic shavings allows us to recycle them.

“We consider it self-evident that it is necessary to act responsibly when it comes to the resources offered by our world. This starts with our procurement; we make sure that all the MDF and various other woods we buy are of certified origin (PEFC, FSC) and continuously explore ways in which we can use the cradle to cradle principle in our production. In addition, we only use recyclable packaging materials (PE, paper/cardboard) and our aluminium and PVC products can be fully recycled.

Anyone with concerns for the future must have an ethos centred on conserving resources and acting in a socially responsible manner. High-performance solutions that have no relevance to sustainability or genuine benefits for our customers are simply not part of our way of thinking,” points out CEO and owner Franz Neuhofer.

A successful BUSINESS YEAR 2023 and the OUTLOOK for 2024

CEO and owner Franz Neuhofer is both delighted and highly motivated when he looks back at the past year: “We are particularly satisfied with our achievements in 2023 even after a series of very successful business years. Together with the whole team, we can celebrate an increase in turnover of 15% in comparison with that of the previous year! At least part of this growth can be attributed to our ‘FN ACUSTICO’ design range of functional acoustic panels and their augmentation! This product range appeals not only to our existing customers but also to many new international clients – in December this year, we were able to acquire an additional key account.”

In 2024, the extensive FN product range for floors, walls and ceilings will be exhibited at many international fairs in order to safeguard the future growth of this successful family-run business. 

With this objective in view, we have recruited additional personnel to our office-based and field 

force sales teams.

[ediblegardenspointloma]

In My San Diego Garden and Kitchen

Corn is the noteworthy harvest of the past week. We’ve had ears of corn for dinner five nights. ‘Sugar Pearl’ is a favorite, obtained from Renee’s Garden but also available elsewhere. The thumbnail above shows the last of the first planting and these are the smaller, secondary ears.

Here are a few of the first ears harvested. The catalog description does not overstate its virtues.

Our favorite early white for top eating quality. Sugar Pearl’s fast-growing, vigorous stalks grow just 5 to 5 1/2 feet tall, producing delicious ears of pearly white sweet kernels with that delicate, meltingly tender flavor that characterizes really delicious white corn. Sugar Pearl was bred for specialty and farmers markets where taste is the prime criteria for success. This trouble-free and reliable variety is ideal for short or early season growing, ripening succulent ears before most other white varieties.

No raccoons and no worms with the corn so far this year. No worms I can attribute to mineral oil at first appearance of the silk and weekly sprays of BT to the silk.

I speculated that a haphazard grid of bamboo might deter some well-fed raccoons, which can be the size of small to medium dogs in our ‘hood. To further discourage interest in the corn I sprinkled a horrid smelling mixture of donated peppery spices around the plants. I also doused the bed with Plantskydd granules which has diverted the opossums from making Swiss cheese of our small front lawn. I also used the peppery mix and Plantskydd outside the fence on the alley from whence the critters come. Bird spikes atop the wood fence also make the entry problematic for them.

Perhaps, TMI but we do like our corn and with only a 4 x 8 foot patch, we’re unwilling to share with four-legged friends. The second planting, two weeks later should be ready in a week or so as the 70 day mark approaches.

Only one tomato so far and it didn’t deserve a photo. Several days of this weather last week did not hasten the tomato and pepper crops. I have hopes for some black cherry tomatoes in a week or so and the bell peppers are larger but I’m holding out for red peppers. Corn and beans for drying don’t seem to suffer but the cucumbers have made an early exit.

We get a handful of Emerite pole beans every few days but I’m letting most set seed now. The zucchini yields one or two a day as I remove the powdery mildewed leaves.

The day-neutral Seascape strawberries produce an odd-lot even into September. Though small in number, they are red all through and sweet additions to fruit salads.

A Tropical Storm Hilary “harvest” was a bevy of pine needs from a favorite secluded stone pine tree on a nearby college campus. I find them especially useful for a winter vegetable garden mulch.

These days there are usually a couple bouquets of Red Queen Lime zinnias in the house. I’m enchanted by the color variations and their sweet simplicity.

Check the What I’m Planting Now page as I begin soon to sow seeds for the cool season garden. Head today to Harvest Monday, hosted by Dave at Happy Acres blog and see what garden bloggers around the world harvested last week.

To leave a comment, click on “Leave a comment/Show comments,” enter the comment, then insert your name. Finally, click on “Comment as Guest” to post comment.

[libidomechanica]

“Before to get the first”

A sonnet sequence

               1

Before to get the first my best canto, save one of us loved the breath! Now whether win; and one of those became my gardens. Whether though truth; a smooth monotony of character was penn’d: his inexperience rather he be in the dreadful fears to her Willy. In the ancestral fruit in a Catalina stand, or choked be with Daffadillies dight, the purpose made so clearest days we wouldn’t creeping, that I were dead, would melt over the old man of several pitied with garlands, nor one mans simple word that I was one murmurs sweep; When old about him, Wordsworth!

               2

What should be so pale? Seething better. Ask not the laddie in. Both in blisse. May see both sea and lacke, that givers of the dying smart. Direct you, cat and kiss and blacks, and pastures freeze. And you tend on he goes far. Away she stole away, where grief and an imagining of heaven, I thinkers. Though hidden pride bow to a bounch of Cullambynes: her glanced athwart the shepherd’s- purse, and leave the pilgrim soul in you in a dreadful hunter he! Poor restful death will sup free, but howso’er fixed in yourselves. To sorrow was, and not better hyue to ground, and art made Anacreon’s soft fall out.

               3

The Greeks avouch’d his peer. It is a million. Yet I shuddering doubtful twilight’s sky admired;—ave Maria! Her body it grew better me? A hand with vertues are, and salt, a want of bed? To work my minnie to sell her hospitality. If Johnny makes men loue to Will. Tis sin, may liue for nought save, where grew less and due to languishment, his Grace was so great describes; like stone of the woody dale; and one especially when I felt the sparkling shepheards, which her faults with sweet a rest: but when of thoughts so sweet leaves less indeed some heart had one to her Willy.

               4

Two people of your crimes; factitious passions which you may seem strange; that only call’d to solitary dove, must make thy fresh againe: but see the law your fortune of Ulysses; not all lone matron bring a doctor at the doom which loose that ripe age, whate’er might. Where who dote on odour makes bank credit it, with though his dreary void, a ruin, undecided thus, and doe myne eyes so filled, burning to touch hold my lips mute, temper’d guest, but thought so your palace high the best beloved again seem’d to fret with Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. But why they met or pass, and call.

               5

In a carven gloom of branch a good house, and far into a scrape, but one things with a new Love, she winna come hame to haue fedd.—Robin shure in haste; yet fields, and Cash alone on astronomy, will be; but strikes it and your hidden perils round us, and you will stop it, death shedding head, now fired an angel of thy loue pined hart: but moderately, and when myne eyes, and die more brain than put forth we let you the Victor of Evil and of centaur, upon whose fresh the sweepstakes for your temper rights; you hardly heeded, and ruby stone, more women will ye haue theyr art outgoe.

               6

Or Swiss Rousseau, cry ‘Voila la Pervenche! Of that are you; and Juan was her beautie they are but death remaines but some other woe than pairs of wedlock; she you will fulfild, as Captain ill: tired with store; when he drew you think you of mortalize. The common sense, will turne to carry back my heart beats love as fondly laid by his brand new, in pain or pleasure’s whole night my misery of the Earth should, like a falling steal o’er they thinly placed is, on those bred up by a hundred dollars, and now all is the next comer; or—as it was from her birth alone: cloistered from men a scourge.

        ��      7

Yes, this were wont on wastfull hylls to grope for her mother, help; speak to the nobler and with her broke a genial sprinkling, but in France, or Germans were half fooled to love you I love you scorn of baser kynd, I said, My life is dreary’s the statesman’s dross. With the more: in her breast where the gem so small? That she hold were link’d alike, as for matrimony’s list of cunning doves, who turned, then they happen at a rout, and put it into each one loues her ears, that are my address’d—and Lambro was a favourite with sighes and know not, enuy or admyre, that may be, now and thee.

               8

The devils, and strong Happiness from the pine, prepared to behold you euer. Last came, and soft seraphic cheeks, a pet-lamb in a sentimental farce! Come with the moonlight and every thinks Love’s very weak;—I mean to euery rash behold, serene and touches rhetoric can lend, though it seemeth vayne to yield the luckiest sinners, and she begin, we wish would be wealthiest them nightly, to this sort ever scuttled ship or cut a throat around its core like armes and tell my bodies best. And thou, fair creature floated on to where are too feeble I am Adrienne alone.

               9

But when ye beholding me with my selfe with Haidee’s sake, of all that swum in the corners of the Blood and game, and seeing sight, and think the duke, whiles her till I die. Burn to pot, burn to pot. Ne wilbe moou’d with rust, shouldst needs bear the voices called her. Side of grace, a hospitality seem’d amiable describing the flames, which the same my horse forsooth, vpright, what mechante in her idiot boy! Even good for immortall this becomes again-her arms were dead! Write odes I made our love. A hazy widower turn arrives to say him na: at lengthen us to begin again.

               10

And the accomplishment complain of, or reproduced, and dumplin burn to fair wert truly sayes, the loth, while Wellington has but enslaver. Religion but it’s not like a butterflies. Tutor I will intreat? She was broken by Maud, like fleece of our friends t is not the praise on thy heav’nly bosom move? Ah why hath my heart I pulled the o’erflows, proud of homely house, and slowly spinning like a ballad or romances reduced the blythest bound to me, how sweet self prove: for those tall columns drowned, or self-confesse, that holds more blest kingdom coming of things turn to pot, burn to pot.

               11

Upon the Dey of Tripoli. Would neither of pearl a double nature to begin againe eternal fate, and quite a pictures in your affair, not mine: a real suffered immeasurable is proudly make them still, my Maud has sent, down to all new techniques for they are killed. Of those Graces as in the childhood of thy song, and the swart star star by his delight, waking money, slowly the name with care. But failst thou art blamed as obstinate, that which he will have not sought for on earth with figures seen, and Johnny, do, where we must the best and goodly guardian for the heauenly fury doth dark her smile, our laws broken by Maud, she weeping, midst other would not unto my bed, her cheeks, they came; the sun, show me you can returnd the true fire which true love, and water upon thee many a one. Fade softly tread unto myself away as do’s the rank smell the remorse.

               12

For I must do: for Death the eye of peers and bid fair peace, or should a blockhead ha’ one in the skies? I ask not out his holy season’d his lays, but Betty Foy? Most true; for shame confound, forgetting lotion hold you from that I stood by her, like gold bracelet clasp’d each beaked promontory. He enter’d in the eye that is man? Who were the laws of every nations and dumplin burn to left alone on another. Help, father senses fail, this inarticular—fishers for such things are in our offerings of life for being. I know nought save, when first too readily impress.

               13

Because, you’llsay, nought calls for such great effect, for to end that Isle deceived, as men string or clotting in odours from the lady grove, in solemn controlling wheele that she was, or thoughts will call such as—’Unless Miss Blank meant and meeknesse layd, her head up as an example, blowing servants into my deare delightful tale pursuer, who, after it inquire where no more. Let thy west wind slowly through wind and brake, in black and there, every spring from hill to be pleasures haue end, in my sweet society for Vice suppression, ’ it is flying fears beset her, to be double.

               14

And can’t oblige you, so dirty without the armed man sick, and wild me there. To give what you almost three guse-feathers a repertory of the balance of the proudest loue should fondly cherish. I could be heard my father despot of the Pavilion, or revel in the great rate; for nimble thou shall this great receive the letters of those tale belongs! Bring men who—though link’d hand in the moon be back again; our fortune’ be really knew or thought, at sea remain’d to child-bed, as men string; the secret sorrow hits, and now thereof remain! May kindly thee present, three zodiacs filled wits.

               15

And bid the stars will scatter’st the choice. I love you into a scene, and the soft in his waters and away dyd wype. Repulse, that loyal treason or wits, or was in their rental if court, ’ and so are all this shafts she thoughts in his consort did: if he will. The orange and pomegranate nodding th’ old Adieu, his passed the corners of the letter were once unkind befriendship checks, and, catching red sunset through my foot did start. And a single, probably his real thoughts of louers payne, if any gods the gesture which makes my painful plighted fair, and waters fall the goat leans again.

               16

;—She call’d by the just musings of the loose the wish and green, and hills round the married, and, forsooth—at least little nearest dear, and some gently through many a most desperate in sagging more upon your others, it did not kill that level at my abuses reckoning yields. That greater, purer, bright most ioyous sigh, and in so hush a mask? Less from unburied which holds a states of this with, God forbid! And now should blunter growes vpon a brere; sweet flower makes the rest: with strange, the fair and state, thy teares would removed from its bound to Psyche’s babe in a shield, however disown ye!

               17

I’m half commercial, half pedantic, are good as an Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. I wanna be your eares vp to the horse, and life looks about them at break my heart to her loue to flie, and hugged it close by her vndonne. Fame is not the entertayne. She was a serious metal was her bright, loue is tost with the kingdom and the dales resort, where the very pleasest not, where I may find a term is short; and yet God has not yet given to thee, and seeke her mind an hour: come to paint out with a prayer-book ready, they do much of speech, may ye feel without; but all the act.

               18

Or on my paynes his song; and when a dreadfull head doth attyre: and frame my hart, thoughts of reason, princes pere: that temple where it not to be transmitted, whose that fair clime they wink with flattring smyles weake flesh and therefore we know how charming smiles brown, without I wanna be your voice might did trembling, but that shine, sweet is there he loves is love-kindling fyred. I’ll leave beheld a smiling round to recall. Then will not left his horse nor quarantine to ask his mothers, in this to be loved me pretty, to dwell; those sap is not yet is merely felt a common case my idle days?

               19

It is to kill? The princes at the north because my fair wert truly fair loves, and headlong force, and then giue leaues be shed, and say: I mean an honesty again because he made no bones. The lily lea? Her tears running snare of a mere novice in the aggregate may average was vanquisht as the Sun upon a mortalize. Th’ ymage place and can’t well agree, ye sharpely still made by my side the flags of dyers. And these closet, may turn her will be back and foes, the Wise, and that he fayre golden locks, and therein. The Atlantic, from life than not to fold, of mountain bend?

               20

A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw, two partners milliners of such force of all sorrow it augment my minnie to sell her heare, all the next Canto; where Deva spread; gazelles and spread, o’er again, adhesion put to use in my old grief and scorne base things deuize, to graunt me no more, besides; without delay, she was walking for I dare reserve, a plunge with fear in my arms. In thy deeds her young pinion of their treasure, the clock gives too feeble beast, doth feast and still, and we are not well be telling trimm’d in finer mood. In my hart will be free; O! Gird more; for into a part potential: i’ve seen all chaos was, before these flames, my Muse by no meanes shall seemed to seeke each cheese and Lovers are a king indeed! Rap, rap, rap, the doctor from the dog, and a rose in the Colchian days; but Lambro was a favourite; but caprice or fashion, but Angels heuenly spright.

               21

So that euer say, sun’s lost in this one place where breathers of the Zodiac’s signs, the weary change; and colours glorious ymage place and to gaze into the grain: the glittering drops on the gentle wit, at euer since that had been an affront of Eternity. We tell begin to me, she doth fear in my judgments she talked and why? Little town she had bounded, so please. Being past his neck the fly that me they strikes Time had seen; nor, if unto the highway ringed from hot baths to snows are sweet souls! Fill high thoghts more rare. Robin promise made the surf and, clinging each goodly light; and the days.

               22

Hushed woods, and housekeepers, too, of every body and he hirples the stoures doo fly away that will be spenta. Let not my amiss, and Juan was island of time doth spred his perpendicular. If in my arms, had left your equal spirit meet, and marriage; so leaving each things rare as long night be kings were to sue, ne feard with her than they came, their wills count bad what I throw off is ideal—lower’d, leaves in a clear song of Orpheus come and spatter on Seventh Heaven I shall see ask me no more her cheek with him, as was never mind glows, come home again, and still water?

               23

Which means to my side the far bell of death. And Marathon—place where last I knew a woman a’ her will, and where drowned things do break. And both the mouldering wainscot shrieked the breast the roses see I in hands have the world must thy lyre, or so to be describes, as most true nature of the evening brest. In high comfort Johnny’s wit and you the Victor of Evil and down, to bring young lassie, what shall lie. With one looked at his faynting flocke in vain might deem me true’; swiftly flew the lamplight tracing you by how fully sings on my pen would not be absent long; but my Corinna sings, thought!

               24

My soule planted vegetables of Grecian girls, that undefiled. And first, more my scourge should have the sex in little glitterers of the city. Sweet be the highest tree; or seek, i’m sure o’ bliss aboon, man, my painful plighted shepherds, weep no more: then spill. Takes care to tend the justest doom which they would therefore my pype vnto my pain. And we had return of love prohibited what I see it plank and babbling proofe makes or takes up one’s service dwells alone, what you both worlds rare wonder is his old night. But now he sung out goods, ballast, guns, and to couet fetter me? To early fruit.

               25

The distant stiffenesse mought of one; but, in his spouse, for Lycidas? By their estate before eleven. His face your tattoos in course begins the Folding thy name, doth spy desirable, distinction of my power I risked what can be sparing, know not, and witty, and once o’er, he shed no blot? And I shall: perhaps that part to speak, ev’n with teare: and elegance, which her glauncing sights he was wartime, and reade the women through all at last to stand, before; oh dear, dear Love, the dark, the soyle, that I so much in the more merit in him his this, that better they take away is flit, the great where the cruell warre, throgh which you to be powder’d, still the nations, his smile; tis also nightly, to thank all who comprehend aright: the moment since that when of that prays in his cell: and as its clasped between his friend, but not to discuss pretence to lead their poisoned note, the moon.

               26

The Iliad as this advantage of love, happy beyond the Dolphin him from the crimson as cleft pomegranate juice, squeezed throughout any dangerous quality of year extend. Shall all things with her selfe against the view, made quite as swan or snow, Fill high the heauen to see: why stand to- day by feeding free, he shouting to touch I yield to Homer’s spright, loue inspire in having lived with gnarled bark: for league is the sun his senses? And twixt them, than she, you are you; and frame the trade of love doth appease. A hundred a hecatomb of suitors’ kisses are sealed off in a tin box.

               27

When I feel estrange; that very air seem’d overbold; now I thoughts are Pretty, doe not dwell on Parnasse hyll, but if thou not expressive nuptial example, blowing and live with the good collection. For lack of what is not moral Washington of Africa! And what other plan; i’ll cross to good an opportunity; or fall at ease: ne thing provided thus, or that may behold, the last and loose wynd ye wauing charms of the dun forest, and pretty, doe not dwell in Heaven being free, and certainly to one deep breath, a rake turn’d to child-bed, and toil;—but thus my suit repel?

               28

A land of the letter upon it still happier time and they that Dante’s more quickly steep where by my mother and acquire in sagging more, and deadly sin; if Betty sees, but like it and all his sharpen’d from the moon. I don’t know that they to your praise, but none of those circles voyage is full o’ care? Till shall be mud and marriages; for brawly weel he ken’d the faire be proudest loue, that my Pegasus runs restive—they in whom fresh loue, and heart- free, without turning, right eye, thou hast pricketh nere; and know the state, an old way of toil, is what says she my demon Poesy.

               29

That make nothing of the critic’s rigour. But if they happen where thou live, the first sight? Till these, the owls have fallen: the rest compare; and their suite, her daughters of their tongue. If now those who have often made for that best of her yellow; come what I, in so hush and groans, the little or in quarrel, when I cry she put my arms, had laid him doth run his spotted pleasures might thus much of speech, the day, and from which her breast; i, sick with masquerades, and thee! Huddle, as the wide lea; with burden of a subscriptions freedom or reach its fatling in the dizzy procession to go wrong.

               30

And with a new ass spake the Dew-bespangling modest way, and shudder’d and break my heart? Though despot of things me to entrap in treason good, good reason; my soul had been Petrarch’s wife, he would neither at morn, some statues, borne of hearts of mild demeanour though his modern peers, and all her turn as on air, thy shadow of ice exchanges the comforts be, as, constellations, white thorn blows: such, Lycidas, thy best impede the others use of shades contemplation to go wrong. Who hath proved enough alone and not been wedded wife, and glows; a paper kite which loose the which him opprest.

               31

From placed: but onely complaint—that tempted my mind it, and somewhere on high jove weight o’clock ticking, all dead paper, mute and far below his feeling may remoue. Sweet be thereon feed my lips renunciative through greedily her Johnny, till my dying year fallen no tears of Ceres groan the middle statesman or a pole, a thing said, talking like religion poetry ends like this long lying stark, dishelmed my own; what’s so trim and meane, fit medicines for they stole a little tired but that I can; he’s put down in copying this lyke behold you tend our head a line!

               32

He taught her can show quite forlorne, that seem something is forgot the leaf, in those little wild sensation amongst themselves, the reason why; I think, ere you dash on; expounding grace and proud will, to sport my dayes. Of such sweet infusion, which way to put the whole to hack into your pillars? But a bayt such the second burden of a handsome malignant disease of though not new: then brake out my barren as this prison roof confines, of magic, his imagine you set him whom you lofty mirror of your choosing—the one eludes, must take the sun dyes with wo, euen vnto Stella is?

               33

Too wel haue shorter at the hyghest Ioue, and we three glowing sea. I wanna be yours I want to sail away let me see— what wad make some ten time. ’ Heirs enquire of Humanity, shall our cups with waltzing and clear-cut face, whose fresh dews of night, in one looke she doth seeme too long; and on just pleasant mew, that to the green, twas Cupid bitter scorn drew from star to star star by his heat the clouds, and colour. The beauty shed, and some better heart; then her lids hung their breast, although himself might flatter: so dying day. When you depart, the rest, but a sencelesse of hooks questions tutch.

               34

The Lady Adeline’s servants all his skill can stint nor wish that often found my heart of the mildest manners bland; her smock: she wrapt in glowing knees that I saw the landlord makes this new pan, i’ll cross the fingers brought. Some fine to see. Can you bloom so fresh woods, dumb caves, with fears for ever with a marriage rarely was as truth, at first—for he will, all we inherit, all men and when I can traces, and many a one. And draw the guarded mounts The Throne of Pomp and Glory? Bears that doth still an instrument. With more in thee? Let all things, and called to love can be complete perforce!

               35

And one especially the sacred well the First love thee; and fell asleep just after hastely thy sins forgotten—in folly and with parturition. And former flight the far below love is like to make a ballet-master in those last Caesarean fortress stood, thence full maiesty, for to the mutton. Our human breath, less for the more miraculous thought, that I am not, as I think my love be so involv’d and azimuth, and in Vienna. Tell how he reduced to prayer-book ready, they lose the real, as in a dream; the Nighting thence the loves, her idiot boy.

               36

We innocence beare, the blacks—now pray shut up—no, not think to burst out in the sword of popular applause, of which ye were touch’d that I was not in lone splendour out of her sister memory to where were but vainer ties dissever, thy swete layes here anon. Till it bore; and added pressed the dell, and of my desires I cannot hollow silence as yet, Where did it end? And glory long wilt thou not receipt with nectar, or that is, when my Jeffrey held him up as an Augustus Fitz- Plantagenet. By this questions of loue is lyke to a dew, fell downe in ten, for him that lurking demon of such can sing of the most wise by Phoebus gan availe, his verse, that house I caught the last Caesar’s earliest knowledge he can see a better, thou chance of her gentle brest, and wrecks which help not Joy, but not as they run before all the past my proud of his billets?

               37

Virtuous she carelesse how my life in a saint or sinner. While he, despises reference. Then need I not see a matrons from frayle, and you shalt be, there on earth with her most dere. Whose few your Highness— verily I think my love her time my should haue err’d in the pony’s carried ones to say, and let’s goe a Maying. And Pan thou art as tyranny is justly what’s feet; and why so huge there. And wine; that o’er the old world’s sole throne, the store five year old who rested the fierce pursuer, whom you so long delays her fall; she cannot share most odor! In having. But sometimes a day.

               38

Ye who buys and shawl, only, this transparent the enamoured airy does, steps with a Persian, all this time must Court, and makes to smash candy buzz round to rehearse when armour richly wrought. Therefore me, in the flowery tale more ease some sort of fate and reigne dissembling ears; fame is Will. The skulls that iustice I may in bloody bath, to be seen to last—of all the other be your sacrifise, and spatter on Seventh Heaven is no goblins’ hall, or the laws of every gust of father wounded hart doe thou dost bear, I am pitiful in my hart to overcome, as colours—like thy face. And Betty’s standing a troop of his mother’s fingers fine when a’ our father, I am clad in flower, like a bell tolled by an earth, and whole years of night, and spatter on Seventh Avenue might hath of Love, she with his whelpless warmth and wanton field turns green and pale.

               39

The fall, like poplars, with her, those two should be left. Present century gives, without the sacred head of desires, lest I fill my mind is of no tone: fair youth I wrote her then as a thousand hues. Sometimes, and balls, for when she smiles, that trash of crimson satin, border too; the uppermost, with ivy never was a man of seventh Avenue might does Man touch of splendid sinners, with regular, splendidly null, dead perfectly correct, as being lacked food, once felt, keepe stomakes freeze. She canno’ stand, before you dash on; expounding grace the perfectly pure and pity!

               40

The river’s ripple’s flowing violet eye. The wife he sold to this epic satire. Not to be bored or bore. Made old offend. Suffice what were stranger than we see. In such madmen’s fat, and she tooke Stellaes grace. Sew to her come, we wish and brought more she dang me, an’ Charlie, he’s my darling on the night, and where you almost steady, of the sky to thee, that the faithful herdman’s art belongs that wild, Society is but to perish, but when I do to ease your light. My light glance; and when upon the morne, and mask in myrth lyke to lusts of great and stars, that singular emotion.

               41

Even when vicious: they were his pipe, too full, or that’s in the hollows bare of Cupid quoth I, for many, round an altar of peace. Although the forehead called to love you Your words and sorrow flits, and our towne to rest: but such intertwisted with which turn’d avenger, so that moment losing momentum. And now a word, but his daughter’s feelings are finish’d that I was that no one here and rolled into the knots that best for mate, as the shades of freemasons; which part with a smiling bright-eyed Eulalie became a kind of cold it falls her conduct was which dwell vile savage deeds must still?

               42

While the spheres been spared me: yet I care not mere splendour matcheth not, she said; she said: For so the felon winds, what has he to hear and squirm newly as from the brothers are slight of earth and loosed our child! Full of cares for something more, I lykewise is crown’d with her glauncing sights he was not in them more in their heart; another maxim, Noscitur a sociis, ’ saith Horace; the great love their place we die. The young fawne that seem something all through whom The Soul inspired: for the heart the string. Le those Graces were less forget thy name bee wyped out for this chiefe praise—for some kindling fyred.

               43

Dull and dread this narration, their feete could euer to remayne, a handsome urn to say her say it was a cheat. May liue for nought more still with none of the shade of love, and also seen so ill, alas! Or what wouldst needs none to break. Some suspect in staying; come, my chin, and string or in joy, I cannot tell, but is gold on the night, and payne. Bad luck on the expiation journey in my frayle, and somewhere or other, shore and godwit, if we were warm, he’d make a tent, and, t was. That no one stirr’d with which loose that Firmán-issuing Shah to whom too cruell carelesse elfe, his own Phaëton.

               44

There no night I remember? I wanna be your cruelty. Those fair in knowledge from his pass’d by the waved branches play. Fire doth ioy and love. You may accept some seruice fit will be liberate mankind even if spring? To tie up envy evermore her selfe on Vertues great of Jove doth sway, whene’er she is dead, return’d to walk away, and wett your hidden vales, remembered, that weake my woe, and folly is he treasure, endless air; where no great Whole, who mighty, for the doors: to that this one is reckon’d none: the early days unkind befriends are breathe and loss with corage stout.

               45

Of night; that part of all the world, and that I were dry; the stream. Before my heart’s guest and a genius turn’d the fires of their knowledge he came—and little tired but that wontst to espie? Ask why God made up of which the Muse herself that seest thou true, somehow contagion spreads aloft by their pray. What render double post, and only fretwork to the high worths surpassing the prized among mankind, poor weakling every soul of Petrarch’s Lives have hooted all on trembling, pure, was tender, rowdy; april soft in his Waggons! Then no voice my heart like to the well awake, and love so tender foot is on the blynd. A period sometimes rash or so, that givers of all beasts but that they told my plighted, to find my Johnny’s near, quoth Betty shed, and the thin ore which I not to be described; for truth to the Universe, active Intelligences, in the hynd: and kind, a heart to sway?

               46

Are only two that my exceeding free, The time. His flesh stays no father moved me— she and what the first touches back. As garments hackney on, therefore deal in gentle mindes to ring, are all wracke, her breast, there was some care he took the sun did shine by night; that face I see them. That I have her to please, the women, and steam-boats of things ill, though love’s austerity, when I beholder sigh’d for betters. What is something low, and tell vs mery tale more fit to break my head ha’ one in great whereof the fire, transfers its hold, the doors wide more ground his figure, the rack, or history.

               47

The earliest knowledge and Daunger dreamed of fashion, and soft splendour hung aloft by thousand arms and so nor will be discuss pretensions were kind, whom you so, ’ utter’d man toss’d herself she takes the nineteenth century don’t believe it. She said: Thou ailest her an effort, where two please her yre: then is my heart is dust at the course goethe’s sagest head. Where be in joy, I cannot raise my countenance seemed the love of her, both together; whiles diuine and with my love designate as loving breast to promise made? And that’s what thou bringest all doubt, her voice not heard, while she had grown green.

[xufiqehimabo]

Noble house home furnishings bedienungsanleitung

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           29.09.2019 — Nachhaltiges Glück findet sich nicht in übermäßigem Konsum und Besitz, da ist sich Tobias Gillen sicher. Der überzeugte Minimalist.Seitennavigation12WeiterFeb 5, 2020 - Shop Noble House Rutland Fully Upholstered Fabric 65" Queen Size Bed Frame Bedroom: An immersive guide by Home Decor Grey Bedroom Decor, The original Swiss stone pine paneling and the beautiful old farmhouse furniture invite you to feel great and relaxed. Also very pleasant: the generosity. Noble House Pillow Case - Bettwäsche online von Boozt.com Österreich bestellen. Immer schnelle Lieferung & einfache Rückgabe. Ulvheim Noble HouseMerrin3dstl. Preis auf Anfrage. MOQ : 1 unit. Ulvheim Tower HouseMerrin3dstl. Preis auf Anfrage. MOQ : 1 unit. Ulvheim HouseMerrin3dstl. As a furniture manufacturer we would like to point out that an attachment is only as good as the Never use sharp household cleaners or scouring agents. The luminaires of the LIVING COLLECTION impress with their noble surfaces and A high in-house production depth guarantees a continuously high detail

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[residualnotes]

Pinyon Truffle by Solstice Scents

Pinyon Truffle by Solstice Scents is one that I waited on for quite a while. I love the idea of the fragrance, but I have found that I just don't like to smell like chocolate. It's fabulous in the bottle and on others, but when I had applied it in the past, my mind was wondering where the food was. It's for that reason that Solstice Scents' Cherry Cordial isn't a favorite, either (I will have to review that one at some point, too).

However…this grew on me. My coworker also really loved it, and so when I purchased a 5ml for her, I also bought one for myself too.

Notes: Chocolate, Pinyon Pine, Pinyon Resin, Swiss Stone Pine, Tonka, Vanilla in Organic Cane Sugar Alcohol.

In the bottle: My particular bottle, I think, smells different than the sample I had. I get a whiff of the chocolate mixed with pine, but both are very well balanced. If I really saturate the roller, I can smell the cane sugar alcohol.

Wet: Chocolate and the vanilla with muted pine, which is a bit tinged with the alcohol. The chocolate is a bit louder on my skin, but it's not a foodie chocolate by any means.

Dry down: The alcohol smell goes away very quickly, and the scent overall quiets down a good amount. The pine and chocolate are so well balanced here that this is a chocolate I can bear to wear and even like. I love SS's pine notes, and I suppose it's mostly the pinyon and pinyon resin I love best (which is also in High Desert and Desert Thunderstorm). After a few minutes too, the chocolate fades down and lets the pine take center stage on my skin. Really, the chocolate serves to sweeten the pine note quite a bit so that I do not feel like this is entirely green, but nor is it too chocolate anymore.

Sillage/Longevity: This is a low/medium scent. It doesn't particularly project much on me.

Verdict: Keep. I mean… I already have my full size bottle. More objectively… I really like this scent. It's rather fresh, if you like a desert-y pine, and is darkened by the chocolate. This is NOT a gourmand scent, however. This is rather mysterious yet airy, and totally unique in my collection.

[met-european-paintings]

Sebastian Andorfer (1469–1537), Hans Maler, 1517, European Paintings

The Friedsam Collection, Bequest of Michael Friedsam, 1931 Size: 17 x 14 1/8 in. (43.2 x 35.9 cm) Medium: Oil on Swiss stone pine

https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/436941

[staudnhuckn]

Old Swiss stone pine (Pinus cembra) trees

Berchtesgaden National Park, Bavaria, Germany

[comicbooksidecharacter]

Hiraeth [Part 27]

Bucky Barnes X OC (Amelia Stone)

Hiraeth: (n.) “longing or deep yearning for a place, time, feeling or person long gone; or that never was.”

Summary: Things have changed for those who opposed the Sokovian accords. They spend a Christmas together.

*very tiny chapter I wrote to make ground for more fluff*

She didn't know how long it would take to get used to the mildew of their new apartment. It was a fairly decent establishment, but the rain always dampened the wall; that combined with the fact that the landlord was always doing weed. 

She was still struggling a lot with her pain, some days more than others. Now that she had also left the facility, there was no way to keep a close eye on the wound. It used to burn every once in while, particularly when she had those recurring nightmares, now vivid, of being tortured, at the hands of HYDRA, and Bucky. She could remember how she got some of her cuts, that had left a mark on her skin. She couldn't really remember how she hurt her chest.

Maybe it was why Bucky was avoiding her. Somewhere in his mind, he was relating Tony's anger to her forgiveness, doubting if her forgiveness would turn on him the moment he made another mistake. It made him very aware of everyone's presence, and he seemed keen to stay in the shadows, and not interact with them so much. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was like that. Brooding, proud, antisocial and a recluse.

Christmas arrived, it was bittersweet, because the team celebrated it together, at least once during the 25 days. To keep up with the festivities, they all decided to have a Secret Santa. It was a beautiful evening on the 24th. The warmth was just right, it made the house feel like a safe haven from the bone-chilling winter outside. The world had gone to a deep slumber under the blanket of fresh snow. The smell of cinnamon and apple had muffled that of the mildew she always complained about. Steve was telling stories of his childhood; Sam was astonished that Steve was indeed a grandpa. Natasha was drinking wine, Bucky too, sitting in the chair and smiling as Steve recounted shared memories.

Ellie had just left the room a minute earlier, and came back holding her phone. Steve and Natasha were to notice.

"Ellie", Steve began, "Come on. Not today. It's Christmas."

"Just one minute Steve."

"He said he'll come, so he will. And if he doesn't, well.. we see that later."

The cryptic nature of their conversation caught Bucky's attention, whose eyes suddenly landed on Ellie and her phone.

"True", she replied, "Ugh....  I am just so nervous."

"Didn't you set the time with him?", Sam asked too.

"Well, he said around Christmas, that too in a mall or something", she replied. "He apparently has a thing for festivities and lights." Ellie closed her phone and put it away.

"Are you sure you want to meet him?", Sam asked, "I mean, you've not really done this kinda stuff before."

"It's ok. Exploring new horizons", she replied. "The world has changed."

"And yet somehow it's still the same", Natasha continued. She put her glass away and straightened the ruffles of her beautiful green dress. "So, let's do the gift thing and get this over with."

Ellie put her phone away and settled on the beanbag next to the fireplace. The gifts were brought and they began to unwrap them.

It began with Steve. It was a small rectangular box, no longer than his hand, wrapped in blue and silver paper, with a red bow on it. He chuckled at the color scheme and unwrapped it. Silence followed.

"Geez", he could manage to say, but his eyes were wide.

"What is it?", Natasha asked.

"It's a Swiss army knife", he said, tracing the sides with his finger. "1939. Belonged to one of my friends in the regiment."

They all looked at the name carved on the side of the knife. "L. R. Anthony."

"We shared a tent during one of our missions. Really, a gem of a man. Had a wife, Margie and.. 4 children I think. A pair of girls and boys. Kentucky.. Man..." Ellie took a moment to steal a glance at Bucky who, as usual, felt indecipherable.

There was silence in the room. All they could hear was the fire.

Sam opened his gift and found paper inside.

"What's this?", he read the card inside. It had two tickets to the quarter finals of a football match. "WHO BALLIN?" he announced, smiling enthusiastically.

Natasha was next to open her gift. Someone had gifted her tickets to Disneyland and an invitation to a fancy restaurant. She could definitely use a break. They all could.

Ellie had a small packet in her hand, looked like a letter envelope. She opened the flaps and two things. One was a really delicate chain, made of silver probably. It had the most delicate pendant on it, a rose. There was one more thing, a small plastic bag, with small bead-like things.

"Are these seeds?", she asked, examining them closely. The paper at the bottom of the box said so. It was geranium and carnation seeds. She looked so happy, always having an interest in horticulture. Her silence though, made everyone curious.

“Something wrong?” 

"No. I just... I love it!", she said, smiling faintly.  

Bucky was last, awkwardly fidgeting with the box in his hand, it was a brown box, wrapped in a plain black string with a tiny plastic pine cone in place of a bow. He opened the box carefully and found two things inside, a nice woolen sweater and an empty journal. On top lay a note which said, "To new memories..."

Announcing that they were going to be late for dinner, Natasha put the gifts away. While everyone was putting their things away, Bucky was wearing the warm brown sweater he found in his gift. 

“It’s a perfect fit”, Steve commented, passing him by to get the keys.

“It is”, Bucky replied, making final adjustments to the hem. He had been estranged for so long, the feeling of a home made him feel awkward. If he could, he would have tried to liken this Christmas to all of his past ones, good ones, but memory wouldn’t serve him that well. It was outside the house his mind was trapped in, and the guard was too strong. 

Ellie stood right next to him, looking at herself in the giant hallway mirror. She was wearing a lovely black dress, with a thigh high slit and perfect stockings to match. Her hair were open and flowing beautifully down. 

“Can you help me?”, she asked, awkwardly, holding the chain in her hand. “I might as well wear this too.”

“It matches..” 

Bucky clipped the chain, the tiny gold rose pendant twinkling under the light. It looked perfect. She looked at his sweater and smiled. 

“Looks nice”, she said, walking away.

“Yes it does”, he replied, in a low voice, looking at himself again, “Thanks Amy.”

----------------------------

Sorry it got hella long. I wanted to make some sense of the timeline and also, Bucky related fluff angst had to be there lol. Also... Is the series too long? Should I be cutting it short? I just like details a little too much.

Taglist: 

This champ