#to ascertain if it is in fact a meat dress

[literary-potato]

Baldur’s gate fandom - has anyone done a “who wore it better” bit comparing Orin and Lady Gaga at the VMAs yet?

#ok correction: MTV music awards #but you get my gist #also to be clear this is not a lady Gaga hate post #tons of respect for ms Stefani germanotta #very talented #but every time Orin pops up all I can do is study her outfit #to ascertain if it is in fact a meat dress

[haziebat]

Moving Mountains | Ch. 1 | Skyrim x Fem!Reader

[Interactive | Readers Vote]

Word count: 2,700

Content Warning: Depictions of violence

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You find yourself in the courtyard of a palace made of smooth gray stone. Its spires graze the twinkling stars emerging in the green-tinted sky. To either side of you are aged trees. Their gnarled, leafless branches reach toward the twilit heavens. Their roots dig into lush grass that creeps into the stonework of the walkway.

You can't place the scene, but it's stained with an uneasy familiarity. Your feet recognize the stairs beneath them as you begin your climb to the palace doors. They are a stately pair - tall, with ornate filigree designs, standing in proud opposition to each other.

You reach out and take hold of a sturdy handle. It's cold to the touch - a sensation so vivid it could burn your palm.

With an uneven breath, you pull. 

───── ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─────

White light sears your bleary eyes.

Groaning, you pinch them shut. The glow taunts you through your eyelids. It flickers in spots, giving you the image of sunspots shining through a verdant canopy. Leaves dance in a cool breeze. Goosebumps prickle your bare skin.

Your head aches as you're jostled. A throbbing pain resonates through your muscles. Wheels click on a cobblestone road. You're certain you're on a carriage, and almost as certain that one ran you over.

This isn't right.

You force your eyes open.

They're flooded with harsh morning sun. 

Blinking away the discomfort, you begin to take in your surroundings.

You are on a cart, just as you suspected, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Behind them are towering evergreens. Birds sing among the needles. A light frost clings to the branches. Stray snowflakes meander through the air. On the road before you are more carriages with strangers clad in identical armor sitting in the backs. Carts slip off around the bend toward a destination unknown.

Unknown.

There are a lot of unknowns right now.

How you got here, for example.

You go to search the dustiest corners of your memory just to find that there are no corners to search. No dust has settled because there's nothing for it to cling to. Every stretch of your mind comes up blank. Where you were before and where you're headed... Nothing.

All that's left are the clouded memories of a dream.

Your stomach twists into a knot.

You need to focus on the things you know - on certainties.

First order of business: do you know your name?

(Y,,,,N)?

(Y/N)?

Sure.

Sounds good enough.

You're more confident about that than anything else right now.

Your name is (Y/N) and you're somewhere you don't know, on a carriage headed somewhere you don't know, surrounded by people you also don't know. The strangers share a grim expression that only makes your sinking feeling grow deeper.

You move to rub your temples and massage away the headache and racing thoughts.

Your hand is caught.

Your heart goes still.

You look down to find your wrists bound with an intricately wrapped leather strip. It digs into your flesh with each tug against it.

No.

No, no, no.

This isn't happening.

Panic threatens to seize you. It festers in your gut. Your breathing is uneven.

You look to the man across from you. He looks to be in his late twenties, with wavy blond locks falling to a square, bearded jaw. His eyes are round and prominent, a striking blue and steadfast. He's clad in armor made of supple brown leather with a muted blue sash displaying the emblem of a bear, same as most of the others.

"Where are we?" You croak out. Your throat is dry, but your voice is familiar. It's a small shred of comfort.

"You're in Skyrim, lass." He replies. He bears an accent that marks him as a Nord - a term you recognize.

"Skyrim." You repeat. Another word you know.

You're relieved you still seem to hold some functional knowledge of the world. You're in Skyrim, the snowy, northernmost province of Tamriel. It's a land of harsh frost and cruel beasts, with hardy people and hearty mead. These are all facts - little things that make such a surreal moment feel more concrete. And yet none of these details paint you a portrait of yourself. Frustration seeps in alongside anxiety.

"You were wandering near the border." The stranger explains. "Lost, confused, naked... Seems like you have a few more of your faculties back now, eh?"

You glance down at yourself. Whoever captured you had the decency to dress you, if that's what you want to call it. You're clad in rough burlap rags with dirt clinging to the fraying fibers.

"Well, I'm clothed. That's something." You reply.

"Good. Still got your sense of humor. You're going to need that." The man says.

His words unsettle you.

"How'd I wind up a captive?" You ask, tugging again at your binds. You're aware of the futility but there's little else for you to do.

"You got tangled up in the fight when the Imperials ambushed us. Couldn't get out a damn sentence but you took down two men. Can't say I've ever seen anything like it." The Nord's voice holds a hint of humor. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Same as that thief over there."

"Damn you Stormcloaks." The thief spits. Your attention is drawn to him. He has a lean frame and gaunt face with grime coating his skin. Greasy brown hair frames wild eyes better suited for a caged animal. "Everything was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

"Stormcloaks?" You inquire. It's the one word that escapes your recognition

"You really are in a state, aren't you?" The blond man replies with a crinkle of his brow. "I was sure everyone had gotten wind of our rebellion."

"Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna be the best gauge of that one." You say with a trace of a smirk.

"Shut up back there!" The driver barks.

A tense silence settles over the cart.

It's broken by the thief, who asks in a hushed tone, "What's wrong with him, huh?"

You follow his eyes to the man in question. They're locked on the Nord to your right. He's an imposing man with a mane of wild, deep blond hair pulled back from his face. It's adorned with braids, fastened with carved beads and leather knots. He has steely eyes beneath a stern brow. His nose is prominent and slightly crooked, giving the impression he's had it broken a time or two before. He wears fine robes adorned with chainmail - attire that indicates both his wealth and his status as a warrior. A gag is tied around his mouth.

"Watch your tongue." The Nord in front of you commands. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" The Thief nearly chokes on the words. "You're the leader of the rebellion... If they've captured you... Oh, Gods... Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

Sovngarde, a Nord's afterlife,

If what he says is true - if you're headed to your death - where is your soul headed? Will you be granted an afterlife, or be met with an abrupt nothingness? Or will your lost and confused spirit be bound to mundus, cursed to wander for an eternity?

Plenty of options, and very few appealing ones.

"No! This can't be happening! This isn't happening!" The thief's voice wavers. His eyes dart about the carriage, cycling restlessly from face to face. He seems to be looking for an out you could assure him doesn't exist. His desperation is palpable.

Your heart is fluttering. Your palms begin to sweat. You don't know what life you led until this point but you can't begin to piece together how it led you here. Is this what you deserve?

It's impossible to say where you've been, or where you're headed. You can't even tell how long you've been in Tamriel. Your exact age is as murky as everything else. You can ascertain "adult" but how much of an adult is unclear. You feel as if you've been around for a while though the more you settle into your skin you feel that your body is still comparatively young.

You bring your eyes up along your bare arms and take in the pale scars dotting them.

Your skin tells stories with ghosts of burns, cuts and gashes. Though the details are lost you can make out the meat of them: no matter how long your body has been around, it has been through a lot. You seem to have a knack for getting into trouble, or a history of dangerous work.

The Nord in front of you speaks up, pulling you from your thoughts. 

"Hey... What village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" The thief snaps.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief hesitates. His face contorts before softening, with thin lips curled into a frown. "Rorikstead... I'm... I'm from Rorikstead..."

"What about you?" The blond man asks.

You pause to think on the question.

Yet you keep coming up blank.

You were found wandering at the border? Which one? Southern makes the most sense - this area doesn't share the lush, mountainous terrain of High Rock. It closer resembles the Jerall mountains, with steep hills and muted greens. You could be from Cyrodiil, but something in your bones insists this answer is unsatisfactory.

Sitting on the question too long you stammer out, "I uh... I have no fucking clue."

He laughs - a genuine chuckle with a glimmering smile. "Good an answer as any. I suppose it won't make much of a difference soon."

The carriage rounds a corner and a small village comes into view. It's surrounded by a sturdy stone wall with a broad wooden gate shielding the houses from the road. A figure on the covered walkway above calls out to the man leading the caravan, "General Tullius, Sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good." A gruff voice barks. "Let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh... Divines, please help me!" The thief pleads with closed eyes, head slumped and shoulders shuddering.

Entering the gates, you pass the man who led the string of carriages. He seems to be in his fifties, with cropped gray hair, though his toned arms tell you he's still in good shape. His face is austere with near-black eyes boring holes into the Altmer across from him. The golden skinned elves wear dark robes and gold armor.

"Look at him," the Blond man growls, "General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves."

"Thalmor." You barely recognize the word on your tongue. You're unsure what it means. The most closely related term you can conjure is "laughing stock".

"What's their deal?" You ask.

His brow furrows. "I don't know what happened to you but whatever it was, it really did a number on you, eh lass? The Thalmor are with the Aldmeri Dominion, here to 'unify Tamriel'. Serves better to rip her apart."

Okay that sounds like... New information.

You close your eyes and take a deep, steady breath.

This, you have decided, is all bullshit.

You struggle to keep your attention outwards, away from these prying thoughts.

"This is Helgen," The Nord continues. His expression grows heavier with each turn of the wheels. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here... Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in."

Juniper berries. Piney, with a hint of a peppery bite. 

This trivia is useless.

Above you looms a tower. A flag at its top proudly flies the symbol of the Empire - that dragon that rings so familiar. You know it well, but you do not feel loyalty. It is simply an icon of a frail nation.

"Funny... When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." The Nord sighs.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" A young boy chirps above the murmur of the townsfolk. The people have gathered in the streets and on their porches to watch.

"You need to go inside the house, little cub." His father replies.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

"Yes, Papa."

You wonder for a moment - who were your parents? Are they worth remembering? You wait for a melancholy pang and are met with apathy. This, somehow, feels worse. You try and focus on the present - it's the most you have right now.

The carriage draws to a halt in the town square, in the shadows of the ominous stone towers. In the clearing the headsman stands by his block. His axe gleams in the sunlight, drawing your eye back no matter how you try and avoid it. Beside him is a priestess wearing golden robes and a solemn face. She's likely a follower of Arkay, here to give you a proper sendoff to the grave.

You're not sure how much stock you put in the Divines.

At the moment, you'd say not much.

"Why are we stopping?" Beads of sweat begin to trickle down the thief's forehead, leaving trails of fair skin behind. It reveals his flushed cheeks and betrays his terror even further.

"Why do you think? End of the line." The blond man gets to his feet. He's tall with broad shoulders - the quintessential Nord. Looking past him at the others, you'd say he's right at home in this crowd. It seems to be a requirement for a position as a Stormcloak. How the Imperials threw you in among them is beyond you. You're pretty sure you put even less stock in the Legion than the Gods.

You get to your feet on rickety legs and follow the men off the cart. On the ground, you can hardly see past the group.

In the gaps between heads and shoulders you see what looks to be an Imperial Captain in heavy steel armor standing beside a leather clad soldier with auburn hair and an uncertain look. In his hand is a thick tome.

"Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time." The Captain's voice holds no remorse. If you aren't mistaken, it seems to be dripping pride. Your lip curls at the sound.

"Empire loves their damn lists." The blond man says in a hushed tone.

The Imperial soldier begins to read from the pages in front of him. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

Ulfric remains silent as he joins the crowd congregating by the headsman's block. He walks with his head held high. He must know he'll die a martyr. If he's a true leader, his fight should last long after him, whether or not it's in the right.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The soldier reads.

The blond man gives you a nod and heads towards his fate. A strange loneliness sets in. For the first time since waking you don't have a companion - or at the very least a voice other than yours to drown out your thoughts. To talk over the terror creeping up your spine.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief's eyes are that of a cornered beast. Frenzied, he looks to the block, then back to the Captain. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

Before she can reply, he runs. His legs carry him toward the gate at an uneven pace. They look as if they'll give out beneath him. "You're not gonna kill me!"

"Halt!" The Captain's shout echoes off the buildings surrounding you. Her demand falls on deaf ears. "Archers!"

There is the pluck of bowstrings in near-unison. Lokir cries out as arrows bury themselves in his back. He collapses to the ground, blood running down his side and staining his burlap rags. He wails one final time as his arms give out beneath him.

He falls limp on the cobblestone.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Captain asks.

She's met with silence.

The auburn haired soldier's eyes wander to the book, then back to you. "Who are you?"

───── ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─────

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

Q U E S T I O N S

╰━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╯

1.) What race are you?

✶ Argonian

✶ Breton

✶ Dark Elf

✶ High Elf

✶ Imperial

✶ Khajiit

✶ Nord

✶ Orc

✶ Redguard

✶ Wood Elf

2.) Any last words when you're at the headsman's block?

✶ "I'm not a rebel!"

✶ "Your grip on that axe is sloppy. You sure you've done this before?"

✶ "Fuck you."

✶ Nothing. I'm going out with whatever dignity I have.

✶ Nothing. But I spit on the executioner.

POLL CLOSES: 01/31/2021

#fic: moving mountains #skyrim #skyrim x reader #the elder scrolls #tesv #interactive story #interactive x reader #reader insert #x reader

[angelic-kisses13]

Claiming- Part I

Authors Note: Here is Part I I hope you enjoy! 

Warning: Violence, gore, swearing, Vampire Charles Brandon, mentions the word Rape (Not described) 

“Master, the treaty has been fractured. Two bound of blood plotted against the all-knowing, thus leading to a betrayal of the Children of the Night. Inevitable despair of two warring Kingdoms will befall both heads of houses. “

“How do we halt this coming demise, Mother Seeress?” 

“The Treaty dictates an eye for an eye.”

Another war was close to brewing and Charles was close to just sending his men out and taking care of the neanderthals across the river. The memory of his best Generals head rolling across his throne room was forever ingrained. The trail of blood forever staining the stone. He remembered the rage and remorse that colored his person as he noticed the missing fangs. He had been dishonored by the beheading but the knowledge that someone had dared desecrate his culture and lineage would forever strike fear in his people. He would never forget the scent of the vile human carcass that dared trespass on his land. Since he was king, however, he couldn’t do as he wished, without causing massive disruption to his kingdom and the other neighboring ones. 

Charles forced his tightly wound body back against the carriage wall, he was on his way to the disgrace of a kingdom now, the King claimed to have a peace offering for him. A sacrifice for the vampires so that they would hopefully look past their transgressions. 

Charles was surprised at himself for the amount of rage he held for the whole notion, he was never one for sacrifices but he had to uphold the ancient traditions. It would make matters worse and as much as a war sounded fun and a great time killer, he wasn’t willing to put his people through that. He had seen enough bloodshed to last millennia. 

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the carriage stopping and his footmen opening the door for him. He sighed but pulled his robes around his body carefully, arranging them neatly. He climbed down the carriage steps, dusk had fallen and he relaxed under the twilight. 

A scuffle to his left drew his attention and he watched as a young woman was dragged across the courtyard, insults flying from her lips faster than he could process. A smirk fell across his lips as she turned and spat at the guard who had the gall to slap her ass in a warning. She was a plump thing, where there should have been harsh angles on her body, were instead rounded curves that screamed for him to run his fingers over. He had always had a soft spot for women who had more meat on their bones. The fact is that he had more to hold onto, more to drink from and more space to paint his mark across, making their skin his canvas. 

“I REFUSE TO BE USED THIS WAY! I AM NOT SOME COMMON CRIMINAL YOU CAN DO WITH AS YOU WISH!” Her words made his eyebrows raise in surprise, now this was going to be interesting. The guards all laughed in delight, 

“You’re the only criminal that no-one has claimed. The King, for whatever reason, paid your bail, therefore, you are owned by the King and he can do with you as he wishes.” Just as he was about to follow after the young woman, a stable boy came running up, he bowed before Charles, his little body shaking at the sight of him. 

“Y-your Majesty, the K-King awaits yo-your arrival.” Charles hummed as he put the young woman out of mind and followed the boy into the palace. The boy left him standing in front of the throne room doors, where two guards stood on watch. He watched out of the corner of his eye, as one of the guards turned his head and glared at him with disdain. 

A smirk fell on his features as he swiftly pinned the guard to the wall and bared his fangs, a glint entering his eyes as he sealed the man’s fate. He drank for a few moments before pulling away and dropping the man to the ground. He smoothed his cloaks out before entering the Throne Room. He was instantly assaulted by the familiar stench, his eyes narrowing on the three occupants of the room. He sniffed a couple of times, trying to ascertain the culprit. His senses zeroed in on the Prince. Satisfied he was the vile carcass, he then spots the trophies around the young man’s neck.  

“His Majesty” stood at the top of the stairs in front of his throne overlooking his kingdom from the stain glass windows, the prince lounging behind him, drink in one hand, the fangs of his General lay nestled against his greasy portly neck. His scrawny half-Witt of an advisor stood off to the King’s left. They were whispering, but Charles could hear every word. 

“King Charles’ sacrifice refuses to come out, the stupid girl is going to put us all in jeopardy with her tantrums.” 

The King sighed as he reached out and patted the Advisors shoulder, 

“Try and convince her one last time, King Charles will be here any second and I don’t want him to have more reasons to go to war.” The advisor bowed before turning around and halting in his tracks, Charles watched in quiet delight as the Advisors knees buckled beneath him. 

Charles grinned, the blood on his fangs glowing in the candle-light as he licked at the drop of blood on the tip of his left fang. He preened as the blood from the advisor’s face drained, an audible swallow was heard before the man kneeled. 

“Your Majesty. It is a humble delight to see you.” King Indulf stiffened before turning to face Charles, a strained smile painting his features. 

“Advisor.” That was the only word needed before the poor man was up on his feet and hurrying, in a dignified manner, back towards the Throne Room’s doors. It was silent as they appraised the other, looking for any tell-tale signs of weaknesses. One could only hope for a quick signal to end the other. 

“Charles, how kind of you to travel and accept our gift of dinner and women. I’m sure the one we have picked out for you will be enough to appease.” His tone was bordering cordial and impertinent. Charles’s jaw tightened, just as he was about to voice his displeasure about the ordeal, the doors were opened and in walked a delicate flower, brown hair done up in the traditional braids and pinned into an intricate bun on the top of her head, her skin was painted flawlessly and her white dress left nothing to the imagination, her skin showing through the sheer fabric. 

She bowed at their feet, before coming and kneeling on the second step, her hands resting on her thighs, back straight, head tilted to the right, baring her neck showcasing her pulse and vein beautifully. She was stunning, but she was meek and unfit to be the sacrifice.

“She is a fine specimen but she is unfit for the role, far too weak, Indulf.” The King spluttered, his face an ugly puce color as he refrained from shouting. 

“We were just supposed to give you a woman to sate your declaration of war, Charles. As you can see, we have lived up to our deal.” Charles snorted, unable to contain his mirth for a moment longer. 

“You stupid excuse of a King. The terms of the sacrifice were agreed upon when the contract was drawn up. Every detail drafted down for future generations. It outlines everything specifically, clearly, you have read it to be able to coach her on how to sit and dress. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice? This “sacrifice” is dying. Do you believe that this painted whore would hold the same status as my best General?” His voice became a roar by the end of his rant, his eyes a burning crimson. 

“King Charles, she was the only eligible candidate we had, surely you can overlook the one rule.” 

“Surely, you have noticed your ill-mannered son displaying the fangs of my fallen comrade. The contract is void, prepare for war Indulf, you have insulted me and my people one too many times this evening.” He hissed and turned on his heel, preparing to depart when the throne room doors were thrown open and a woman came in kicking and screaming. Her eyes flashing as her mouth opened in a snarl. She was tossed at King Indulf’s feet. 

Charles had just enough time to move out of the way before she was up and throwing herself towards the Prince. Her screeches and wails filling the hall, 

“I WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO YOU! I AM NOT YOUR CONSORT! I AM WORTH MORE THAN THAT!” The Prince quickly grabbed the little spitfires’ wrists before throwing her down and backhanding her face. She sprawled across the stone floor, a hand reaching up and brushing over her busted lip, coming away red with blood. 

“THAT IS ENOUGH YOU INSOLENT BITCH!” Charles’s eyes flashed when the scent of her blood hit his senses. She was delectable, fiery, and willing to fight to the end. 

Her chest heaved as she watched them, her tongue darting out to swipe the blood up. She grinned at the three men, her teeth painted in her blood. Charles had to suppress the growl that threatened to escape his mouth. He wanted to grab her by her meaty hips and pin her against the floor, his tongue diving into her mouth to lick every last drop of her blood from her teeth and tongue. Charles took a step forward only to be hit by the vile stench of the Prince. She was covered head to toe and it brought the memory of his dead General to mind. 

The enraged King frothed at the mouth, “I paid your bail, you ungrateful heathen, that means I own you, I can do with you what I want when I want. You are to be my son’s consort, a high honor if I do say so. One someone like you shouldn’t get, but your parents were good people and I promised I would look after you.” A manic cackle fell from the woman’s lush lips as she rolled from her side and onto her knees.  

“My parents were traitors that you honored to make yourself look good, they don’t deserve to have me as their daughter. I will never be your sons, I would rather be his sacrifice,” she angrily threw her arm out, finger pointed towards Charles, “than live in this palace and be raped by your precious prince another day.” 

“You think you are worthy enough to be a King’s sacrifice?” Indulf’s body was vibrating with barely contained rage. 

“I’m worthy enough for your son to be sullied over.” A laugh escaped Charles as he kneeled down in front of the woman. 

“My little lamb,” He smoothed his thumb over her bruised cheek before pulling his hand back, her warmth seared his skin, she was perfect. A raging inferno waiting to be tamed. He looked up at the King, a challenging glint to his eye. 

“Sacrifice accepted.” The occupants of the throne room gasped in shock as Charles bent down and swiftly picked up the dirtied and bloodied rag of a woman, before disappearing, a cool breeze rustling through the room in his abrupt departure.

Taglist: @agniavateira @cavillanche @cavillunraveled @dancingwendigo @dreamwritesimagines @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @hlkwrites @hnryycvll @honeychicanawrites @iloveyouyen @johnmotherfuckingshelby @ladyreapermc @laketaj24 @littlefreya @ly--canthrope @mary-ann84 @mrsaugustwalker @ohvalleyofplentyyy @omgkatinka @sciapod @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @supersweetstache​ @thethirstyarchive​ @the-winter-witcher​ @thegreattodd​ @tumblnewby @viking-raider​ @white-wolf-of-rivia​ @witcherwrites​

#henry cavill #reader insert #Vampire Henry Cavill

[cuculine-nelipot]

ON LUTE STRINGS 

{a/n I posted this on ao3 a while ago but I finally got around to sorting out the last of spelling errors and what-nots today I think. So here we are.}

The first time in happens, he doesn’t notice.

They’ve made camp for the night, in a clearing in the woods. He’s had some bread, and even a little meat when the witcher caught him staring longingly at his roast hare.

A fire burns warm, and light enough to for Jaskier to check the angry red welt on his abdomen, already purple in places. He inhales sharply when he prods at it with a tentative finger, and vaguely wonders how long it’ll last.

Half dressed, lazing on his bedroll with his back braced against bark, he fiddles with his new lute. Getting a proper feel for the instrument, he plucks a charming, tripping little tune he can play without too much thought — an Elven composition he stumbled upon as a lad in temple school that seems appropriate to the occasion. He marvels at how buttery the strings feel under his fingertips, how clear the notes ring through the trees. A shiver of pure satisfaction shoots through him, from his hands right down to his gut.

“Shut up boy.” The growl comes from the man — mutant — whatever, on the other side of the fire. Jaskier heaves a pointed sigh.

“Goodnight Geralt.”

He gets naught but a half-hum-half-grunt in response as he puts his lute aside and settles into his bedroll.

In the morning he doesn’t notice that his torso is completely unmarred.

-

The second instance occurs not much later, but is similarly shrouded by unremarkable circumstance.

It had been a damp few days on the road, and there is not enough herbal tea on the continent to stave off the cold building uncomfortably behind his face.

He watches Geralt fiddle with his various vials and blades and what-nots from his bed on the other side of the room. He shouldn’t — he knows he shouldn’t — but he feels a sort of ache in his chest, knowing that come morning he will likely be too sick to travel. Knowing that he will be left behind. The witcher had said as much, after all.

For now at least, there is a warm room, and food enough, and his music, and he is not alone yet. He picks up his lute and plays that same, well-worn tune, the one that feels like the home he always wanted, the one that sounds like the lullabies he’s never heard. He lets the music wash through him, a stream of sound trickling in his veins, cresting in his skull. He plays until he feels tired, and calm enough to sleep.

Sure enough, he wakes up to a high sun, and the room is much, much emptier than it was the night before.

But he feels better. His nose is clear, the pressure behind his eyes in gone. It’s curious, he thinks, but he never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He sets out soon after, not wanting to lose daylight. If he just so happens to run into a certain witcher, well, there’s only one road out of town isn’t there? Somethings just can't be helped.

He does run into him, that night, making camp not too far off the road.

“You’re sick,” comes the other man’s effusive, albeit confused, greeting.

“I was sick. Feeling much better now, thanks for asking.”

“Hm.”

“And thanks for walking so slow, honestly I can’t believe I caught up with you. Aren’t witchers supposed to have phenomenal stamina or something? Maybe you’re getting old — how old are you anyway?”

“Too old for this. Here.” Without looking, Geralt holds out a steaming mug of something.

“What’s this?” Jaskier asked, only slightly suspicious.

“Tea. You still sound hoarse.”

Jaskier can’t say for sure, but he thinks he sees red creeping up Geralt’s neck when he turns his back to Jaskier.  

-

So many such incidences scattered through so many years, and with the ignorance of youth Jaskier notices none of them. Just like he fails to notice how at 26 his face looks identical to what it was at 18, or that he still has the same boundless energy. He doesn’t take into consideration paper cuts that are there one minute and gone the next. He doesn’t find the fact that he can’t remember the last time he was properly sick or bruised peculiar at all, despite the frequent bar fights and rambles in the rain.

Until, that is, another night spent under the stars in the woods somewhere.

“Pass me that?” Geralt makes no indication of what he’s after, but Jaskier knows him well enough by now to know he’s means his dagger. He moves to give it to him but it slips out of his hand almost as soon as he picks it up; its point slices though his breeches and a few layers of skin on the way down.

“Ow. Ow. Fucking shit ow.” He peppers the air with curses as he sinks to the ground. The edges of the slit silk begin to turn red with his blood, and he quickly but carefully divests himself of the garment before any more damage can be done. With a sigh that’s more annoyed than anything, Geralt turns around to give him a cursory glance.

“Stay there,” he huffs.

“Solid advice once again there, Geralt. And here I was thinking I’d get a head start on tomorrow’s travels.” It might have sounded scathing if his voice and his breathing weren’t so obviously strained with pain.

“Trust you to split your leg open trying to pass someone a knife.” Geralt finally approaches with his first-aid kit. Calloused fingers tenderly come to rest on Jaskier’s thigh, just barely pulling at his skin, shifting his leg, trying to ascertain the extant of the damage. “Needs stitches,” he says as he applies a salve. “This will keep it from getting infected, and it’ll numb the pain a bit, but not a lot.”

The burning pain in his leg does in fact morph into something cold, and almost soothing, but he had no delusions about how much that will do under the attention of a needle and thread.

“Come on.” Geralt pulls one of Jaskier’s arms up, draping it around his shoulder and pulling him to a standing position. Though the bard has a slighter build, he's not much shorter, so Geralt half drags the bard to sit fireside, setting him down with a gentleness not lost on the injured man.

As Geralt prepares to sew him up, Jaskier grabs his lute from where it lays nearby, and starts playing that old melody to calm himself down. After all these years, the sound has come to resemble home to Geralt almost as much as it does to Jaskier, and he feels tension he didn’t know he carried slough away from his shoulders. There’s an ever so slight shivering where his medallion touches his chest, so slight that Geralt’s conscious mind fails to register it, just like every other time.

But when he returns to Jaskier side the hum of his silver seems suddenly to fill the arena of his chest and skull.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?”

“Your leg.”

“I’m actually trying rather hard to not think about my leg at present, so if you could just finish up there as quickly as possible I would be very appreciative.”

“Jaskier, look.”

Geralt speaks with such urgency Jaskier does look, his finger’s stilling over his lute when he sees that the gash has been greatly diminished.

“Keep playing.”

Jaskier does, and they both watch as the laceration smooths over, first pink, and then gone, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Well shit.”

“Hm.”

They’re silent for awhile, all eyes fixed on Jaskier’s leg.

“Did you know you could do that?”

“I… no,” Jaskier decides eventually. For once his babbling brook of words is dry, replaced instead by pebble-small memories being flung at him at high speed. “I never bruised.”

“Hm?”

“When you punched me in the stomach. When we met. I never bruised. I don’t remember — the last time I got hurt, or really sick, was… years ago. Years and years.”

“I guess… it explains… things.”

They look at each other then, equal parts worried and concerned and excited, so many questions swirling in the air between them.

-

Jaskier doesn’t exactly want anyone knowing that he has a magic lute, so their research into the matter relies almost exclusively on experimentation.

They learn that it works best when Jaskier plays something Elven, and much slower when he plays anything else.

They learn that while he can’t heal Geralt, he can numb the pain if he’s injured. and even — as he discovered completely by accident — induce a short coma.

They learn that Jaskier can’t use this magic to hurt anyone, even certain other ‘bards’ who definitely have it coming.

They learn, after many, many strenuous hours of Jaskier’s instructing Geralt, that it only works when Jaskier plays.

“It’s protecting you,” Geralt proffers. “The lute was Filavendrel’s gift to you, after all.”

“Protecting me from what though?”

Geralt shrugs at that. “Everything. Life.”

-

Jaskier doesn’t know why things change between them exactly — he just knows that Geralt doesn’t seem to hold him at such a distance anymore; he lets Jaskier stay closer on hunts, and he’s not so quick to leave him behind. Gone are the days where he seems determined to find any excuse to lose the bard.

And more than that — on cold nights spent under the open sky, Geralt doesn’t just meditate stoically next to Jaskier to keep the younger man warm -- he actually sleeps, holding Jaskier near. And on those occasions when an an inn can only offer one bed, Geralt doesn’t seem to mind so much anymore when Jaskier sleepily snuggles closer, or drapes himself over the Witcher’s chest. There are even times when Jaskier thinks he can feel the thrill of a nose pressed into his hair, or a broad hand stroking his stomach, or fingers lazily scratching his back.

Jaskier doesn’t really know why things change, but he never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he's definitely not complaining.

-

“Jaskier? Jaskier stay awake, I need you to stay awake okay?” He should have known better than to let the bard get so close to a wyvern but they’re the stuff of legends Geralt, think of the music Geralt, the poetry. Geralt tried to tell him that wyverns were ugly bastards — absolutely nothing legendary or poetical about them. But Jaskier had his heart set, and Geralt, well, Geralt gave in.

Guilt helps no one however, so he just presses Roach onward, faster.

“’M’tired.” It’s clear that Jaskier is in no condition to play — the gash at his shoulder is bone deep, and it was all Geralt could do to keep it from spurting blood and stay attached  before getting him on Roach —  so Geralt takes him straight to the town’s healer.

“Just a little longer. I promise.” Leaning forward, he presses a kiss into Jaskier’s sweat-soaked hair. Stay awake, please stay awake.

By the time they get to the healer Jaskier’s skin is on fire, and he’s coughing strangled, wet coughs, and there are cuts and bruises covering his entire body that have no reason to be there. It’s only when he sees a familiar gash on the bard’s right thigh that he figures out what’s happening.

The last thing Jaskier remembers is a gigantic angry lizard screaming at him and lunging. Then a searing pain turned his vision white, then more pain ripped through his body as he was thrown, weightless into absolute dark.

Something pulled him cruelly from the vortex of nothingness, arranged his mangled body into what he thinks was an upright position. Then more pain as he was jostled about, more pain as he was surely dismembered, more pain as tendrils of hot summer air whipped at his exposed flesh. There was more jostling, and he tried to throw up but he didn’t know where his stomach was, and liquid fire was flung over whatever pieces were left of him, and there was an awful lot of screaming but it couldn’t have been him because he didn’t know where his lungs or throat were either.

And throughout he thought there was a voice telling him to stay awake, or go to sleep, or telling him he was okay (which seems like at odd thing to say to someone who was just ripped apart limb from limb) and he thinks the voice was Geralt’s but that can’t be right because now every time he opens his eyes to see him he’s not there, and — well, that’s it’s own kind of pain isn’t it?

He’s not sure how much time has passed between the lizard, the fire, and him waking up to find himself in one piece. One piece, but battered and bandaged, and too hot and very congested. He does not think he's being dramatic when he concludes that he's more miserable than he’s ever been.

The room he finds himself in is bare, but pleasant enough. Where ever he is is made of a warm, gold-honey sort of wood. Sunlight streams in through wide, open windows, gauzy curtains float listlessly in a gentle breeze. He’s sure the mattress and sheets he’s on would be more than comfortable if he wasn’t quite so sore. There’s a glass, and a pitcher of water on a small table to his side. He’s working up the courage to prop himself up and drink some when a strange man walks in.

“Ah, you’re awake!” The smile he gives reaches his soft grey eyes, and it warms Jaskier to see someone seemingly so happy to see him alive.

He tries to ask where he is, but his throat feels like sand paper, and all he manages is a hoarse sort of scraping sound.

“It’s probably best you don’t talk for now,” the strange man says as he moves to perch himself on the edge of the bed. “Here let me help you with that.” He fills the glass, lifts Jaskier’s head with practiced care and brings the water to his chapped lips. Jaskier manages to down half of it, and while swallowing is painful, the cool water feels heavenly going down.

“First,” the man offers, his countenance shifting into something more authoritative, “you must be wondering where you are. If you remember the last village you were in, this cabin is a little outside of that. I am a healer — you can call me Varden — and your friend brought you here about five days ago. He said you were attacked by a wyvern, but you had a multitude of other injuries on top of that and a rather nasty illness to boot. Your friend also informed me that you have a magic lute.”

He pauses then, giving Jaskier time to throw him a questioning, mildly suspicious look.

“I’ve had a look at it, and I concluded that you and your friend were right. Its magic does protect you, so long as you play it. When you were attacked the shock your body went through temporarily severed your connection to its magic, and all the injuries and illnesses it protected you from came back with a vengeance. I know it must be tempting now to make all this pain go away, but I really think you better let yourself heal properly to avoid this happening again, and much worse.”

After a moment of contemplation, Jaskier nods in agreement. His stomach knots, but surely that’s just a symptom of his ailments.

“Good!” He claps his hands together, the exuberance he first displayed returning in full force.  “Now that you’re properly awake I’ll make you some soup. You just rest, alright? You’ve made remarkable progress the last few days but there’s still quite a ways for you to go.”

He leaves then, and Jaskier can hear the clinking of pots and pans as he moves around the kitchen. Tired, but no longer able to sleep, restless, but unable to move, a dull ache throbbing through his whole body, he fixes his eyes on the ceiling, trying to find patterns and shapes and in the woodgrain.

“You’re awake.”

He doesn’t need to turn to see who it is, so he doesn’t.

“I had to complete a couple of contracts. To pay the healer.”

There’s nothing to say to that, and even if there were, he can’t speak, so he keeps his eyes fixed firmly upward.

“Jaskier—” Geralt takes a few steps closer, thinks better of it, and leaves.

The ceiling blurs, and Jaskier can’t make sense of it anymore.

-

They stay another three weeks — or Jaskier does, and Geralt scrounges up some more coin, coming and going as he pleases.

On days he does stay; he curls up on the floor next to Jaskier’s bed, where Jaskier slides in and out of fitful, fevered dreams. When the sick man hears a gravelly voices cooing comfort, or he feels a rough hand push the hair from his brow, or wipes the sweat from his face, he wants to believe it’s Geralt. Lucid, Varden’s is the only face he sees.

Finally the fever breaks, and Jaskier’s wounds have healed well enough for travel. Geralt returns and pays Varden more than was asked. He runs his hand through Jaskier’s hair, peers at him closely, much like he’s checking on a dog who’d just run headfirst into a door.

“Ready to go?”

Jaskier, his voice still worn, and slightly put off by the gesture, only nods in response.

Without another word, Geralt takes Jaskier’s pack, puts him on Roach, takes Roach’s lead, and guides them away from the cottage, and back on the Path.

The  thing is, despite his tepid countenance, Jaskier is sure that Geralt’s angry at him. Or he’s angry about something at any rate.

Perhaps it’s the frustration at having been tied too long to one place — ridiculous really. It’s not like anyone asked him to stay. It can’t be about the coin, seeing as he willingly over-paid.

So maybe it’s just that the sudden and violent reminder of Jaskier’s mortality pierced the both of them, and tore to ribbons the fragile intimacy they had spent so long weaving.

“You can’t play off every cut and flu from now on.” He says as they enter the woods.

“I know.”

“It’s dangerous.”

"I know." Jaskier supposes that he’ll just have to reacquaint himself with a life of being left behind.

Neither of them speak for the rest of the day. But then that night Jaskier can't fall asleep, his still-frail body shivering, too sensitive to the open air. He hears a resigned sigh, which is soon followed by the warmth of Geralt’s chest pressed behind him. Geralt’s hand cards his hair back, away from his eyes, Geralt’s nose brushes his scalp, Geralt inhales deeply, and holds him close with an arm firmly pressed against the length of his torso, and Jaskier thinks that maybe things will be okay. When he feels a chaste kiss at the back of his neck, he’s almost sure they will be, but then he wonders if it was a goodbye.

-

“I’m fine.”

“Jask—”

“It’s fine, I’ll be right as rain by morning.”

“Jaskier, you can’t. You promised.”

“I never promised, and I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll stay here. I’ll pick up a contract or two and I’ll come back for you in a few days.”

“No you won’t.” He doesn’t know whether it sounded more a directive, or the wounded that’s-what you-always-say it really was. In the stunned silence that follows he feels more and more like he’s confessed to something, so he adds “I’m not letting you leave me Geralt,” — which is infinitely  worse.

And now he can’t look at the other man, and now his face is burning and his eyes are watering in a way that has nothing to do with the illness preparing to wrack through his body.

“Okay.” Whatever Jaskier was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. It startles him enough to make eye contact. Geralt holds his gaze, and takes a few, cautious steps closer. “I’ll stay.”

“You don’t have to.” Jaskier offers in a weak attempt to maintain some level of dignity.

“No, I want to.” Geralt places his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, then slowly grazes them down his arms as his continues. “I’ll stay. With you.” The words are nearly a whisper as he presses his lips to Jaskier’s too-warm brow. “Just please go to bed. You need rest.”

Without out waiting for a response, Geralt manoeuvres the sick man to the bed, tucking him in. When he straightens, Jaskier looks like he wants to protest, but Geralt slips in beside him before he has the chance. Propping himself himself up on his elbow, he glides his hand over the still smooth skin of Jaskier’s stomach.

“This okay?”

Jaskier nods once, not trusting himself to speak, and promptly falls asleep to keep himself from thinking  more than anything else.

It’s dark when he wakes up, the sky outside a flat, moonless black. The bed feels much colder and emptier. He feels much colder, and there’s a sticky film of dried sweat clinging to his skin. Flinging off the blanket sends a violent shiver though his body, bare except for his small clothes. The room is too dark for him to see.

“Jaskier.” He hears a voice, soft and deep from the corner. A candle flickers to life, and in its small glow he sees the vague shadow of a familiar form. “I’m right here.”

“I’m cold.”

“I’ve sent for some firewood. Come eat.”

Uneasy, not quite trusting his senses, Jaskier approaches the small round table in the corner of the room, and sits down. He hears the scrape of a plate being pushed towards him and when his eyes adjust to the low light he makes out bread and butter, some fruit — filling stuff that his presently delicate stomach can handle. He mumbles a thanks and sets about feeding himself.

He can see, in his peripheral vision, the other man leaning down, but he doesn’t understand the movement until he feels a large hand grasp his ankle. Geralt straightens, and with him brings Jaskier's foot to rest on his lap. Holding it in both hands, he slowly massages his thumbs into the arch. Jaskier realises then that he’s being watched. Closely.

He says nothing — can say nothing, and senses some smugness coming from the Witcher at having finally rendered him speechless. There is definitely an excess of smugness when Geralt raises his leg, and kisses the balls of his foot, all the while studying Jaskier, who keeps his eyes fixed on his plate. The blush that blooms over his face is near violent (surely the fever isn’t helping, but still) and he’s grateful that Geralt’s colour vision isn’t its best in the dark.

It’s harder than it should be to suppress the needy, plaintive sound that scratches at his throat when Geralt stands, answering a knock at the door. But then a bowl of hot stew is pushed in front of him, and a small fire is lit in the hearth, and Geralt sits down again, and takes Jaskier’s other foot in his hands. This time he keeps his eyes on his task, and lets Jaskier eat untroubled.

Now that the room’s a bit brighter, he casts his eyes around and is relieved to notice that Geralt’s packs are no longer waiting by the door. He does however, feel a twist in his stomach when he notices he can’t see his lute. He wants to say something about it, but he has the irrational fear that Geralt will stop massaging him, won’t sleep next to him later, won’t stick around til morning. So he says nothing, and Geralt’s hands work up his calves, and his body keeps Jaskier’s warm all night, and in the morning he rubs Jaskier’s back while he throws up bile, and keeps Jaskier's hair from sticking to his forehead.

In the afternoon Jaskier gets squirrelly, and he’s hot and tired and he needs to do something with his hands.

His lute makes a reappearance, but he can feel the heat of Geralt watching him from the corners of his amber eyes. So he settles on the bed and plays something distinctly non-magical, and feels much better anyway.

-

He hadn’t been serious, of course, when he’d wondered if his small brand of magic could mend his broken heart. But the tune had always provided him comfort, so he plucks away in the corner of a tavern, nursing an ale and his bruised ego.

So he’s not actually that far from the mountain, so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised when a certain silver haired Witcher makes an appearance, but he’s had quite enough of bonds forged by magic against peoples’ wills thank you very much, so he promptly determines to book it to his room.

He only just manages to get a leg on the bottom stair when he feels a grab at his elbow.

“Jaskier —“ It sounds more exasperated that anything.

The bard turns sharply around, throwing as much vitriol into his still-boyish countenance as he can manage. It must work, because he’s never seen Geralt look quite so taken aback.

“I — I didn’t mean it.”

Of course he didn’t mean it. Jaskier knows he didn’t. But is was too much everything he’d always feared, and he still hasn’t heard an apology — hasn’t once, for anything since they’ve met — and he knows how Geralt feels about bonds forged by magic.

“Fuck off.” He wrests his elbow from the other man’s grip, and he doesn’t play himself to sleep that night, or any night after that.

-

It was much easier than it should have been — swearing off music. Music-less days turn into music-less months into a music-less almost two years, and twenty-two years of not-ageing catches up to him both gradually and all at once.

His jawline sharpens, the lines of his body harden, a significant amount of grey comes to salt his hair. He grows a beard — a proper one — and that’s almost all grey. And he likes it; studying himself in the bathroom mirror, in his lodgings in Oxenfert, he once again appreciates the air of authority his new look lends him and, well, he does look rather dashing.

He’d returned to Oxenfurt almost immediately after the mountain. One cannot be a travelling bard if one does not play music, and it took nearly all his coin just to get to the city. It was nearing winter when he arrived, his old classroom and lodgings were already prepared and waiting for him. Her threw himself into teaching with new verve, and was quickly offered a more permanent position.

People wonder why he stopped his travels — most assume he just got tired. They wonder too why he no longer plays music, but they have the good sense not to ask. Until, one night, fireside in a cozy tavern, surrounded by other faculty members and a few students staying in the city over Yule.

“Come on Professor, just one song,” a rather eager young man implores.

“Yeah professor,” goads one of his colleagues. He rolls his eyes at her — as if you don’t have your fair share of fawning students Celine.

“I’d be happy to oblige,” he lies, “but as it happens I do not have my lute,” and that’s true enough.

“I’ve got one!” Another over-eager student proffers the instrument and well, he’s in it now isn’t he?

He takes the instrument and a shock goes through him at how good it feels just to hold it in his hands. He takes his time, running a hand along the varnished wood, tuning it just so. He won’t play anything Elven, and his own repertoire is entirely out of the question. He settles for something traditional to the season; something cheery, that has people singing and stomping and clapping along in an instant.

He feels that thing like magic coursing through him as he starts swooping around the tavern in graceful-as-ever strides. His voice is out of practice but really only he can tell, and only just. It’s deeper than he remembers, and it reverberates easily over the crowd. He flits and flirts, and everyone is smiling and cheering, everyone is happy. And of course, no one notices how his skin begins to smooth out, just a little.

That night he retrieves his old friend where he’d stowed it out of sight, at the very top of his wardrobes. Where the other lute felt good, this feels right. The strings are buttery under his fingertips, and the notes ring true and clear without his having tuned them.

He doesn’t play anything Elven, and he doesn’t so much as think in the direction of a certain Witcher, but it feels like home anyway. After an unthinkable stretch of time, Jaskier finally feels himself returning home.

-

Campus is blissfully empty over Spring vacation, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to compose in the open air.

Compose. Just the word itself thrills him. What he’s working on is nothing like before, naturally. That well of inspiration was drained and sealed shut. Never again will he risk diving into its pitch depths. Now his head has been turned by a volume of old poetry he smuggled out of some long-forgotten corner of a university library.

There’s a courtyard —  framed by elegant arches and cherry trees with especially deep, richly coloured blossoms — that he’s particularly fond of. He sits there now, on a marble bench in the shade, his book open in front of him as he thinks of how best to transmute the spirit of the verses into music.

He plucks idly at lute strings — so long out of practice he hardly knows where to start. With a long suffering sigh he lies down, and the idle plucking transforms thoughtlessly into a song that sounds familiar, homely, and he’s thinking of the hero in the epic, with his wicked grin and long white hair and his amber eyes like a — no. The hero’s eyes are green, and nothing like a cat’s, and he doesn’t know why he would think they were because he definitely wasn’t thinking of the man who is now standing over him, looking down with a vaguely bemused expression.

“Geralt?” He scrambles to a standing position, unsure whether to run or attempt a punch, or if he’s even awake. “What — how — why are you here? You know what no,” he decides and begins gathering his things. “Just, fuck off alright? I don’t — I can’t — I won’t do this again.” As composed as he’ll ever be, considering the circumstances, he turns his back on the man he once thought was his and walks away. But there are so many things he needs to say.

“I loved you,” he spits, wheeling around, unable to keep the hurt out of it. “I loved you more than I loved myself and you —“ he breaks off, a sort of desperation plain in his voice and on his face. “I never knew where I stood with you.”

Geralt pauses. Words were never his strong suit, and he considers his very carefully. “I loved you too.”

“Oh fuck off with that.”

“I was self-centred, and I was cruel —“ He approaches slowly, carefully, as if hoping the other man won’t notice.

“No fucking shit.”

“— but I loved you. I still do.”

“Fuck you.”

“I miss you.”

“I gave up on you a long time ago.”

“It’s hell without you.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I still don’t know where I stand with you.”

“Let me show you.” He’d come to a pause in front of the other man, so close he can feel his breath on his skin. With one hand on the nape of Jaskier’s neck, and the other flat against his stomach, Geralt pulls him in for a kiss — and emphatic, I-will-always-love-you, kiss.

And maybe Jaskier goes more willingly than he’d like, or is expressly good for his ego, but he’s waited so long for this. Eventually he manages to pull himself away just enough to press their foreheads together.

“You’re not off the hook you know.”

“I know.” But Geralt only smiles, and kisses him again. “I know.”

#The Witcher #Geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #Geralt #Jaskier #Geralt x Jaskier #my writing

[hrexandro]

OSR session 3

1st day of the second month of spring, Year of the Rat

Tomb of the Serpent Kings, ran with OSE, this time, I had no opportunity to use the Death & Dismemberment Table from GLOG.

Player characters:

Lonya, Thief

Valbona, Fighter

Ziemko, Fighter

Hirelings:

Radzimir

The adventurers, approached by the innkeeper with two eager volunteers, previously arranged for a venture with a different group of fortune-seekers (RIP), entered into negotiations with the two and settled at a payment rate of 1 gold piece per week plus one share of the loot for each of the two: the fighter Ziemko and his buddy Radzimir.

They ventured forth in the early morning and had to spend the night in the wilderness on their way to the tomb. The party tried to camouflage and fortify their encampment the best that they could. Each kept their watch diligently throughout the night.

During Lonya’s watch in the early morning, they were awoken by a mounted group passing nearby, engaging in foreign-sounding talk and clanking with armour. The adventurers managed to coax Radzimir into trying to catch a peek.

Soon enough, they heard loud shouting from the direction he went. Lonya and Valbona were less than eager to risk their skin, but Ziemko didn’t want to hear anything about abandoning his friend. The armed group turned out to be Sarentian knights returning home from a holy mission to the Community. They were easily convinced that the party were not, in fact, bandits, despite Radzimir’s appearance and sneaky ways. They conversed for a bit. The knights mentioned that they will be visiting the Dorian King’s court in Kindzhyl-Altariy on their way East. Ziemko was enamoured by their tales about Sarent, the “biggest city in the world” and seemed to be interested in joining them in their travels, but was kept back by his current obligations.

Upon reaching the entrance to the tomb, the party encountered a pack of wolves that appeared to have made the first empty chambers their home. Using torches, they managed to scare the animals into one of the rooms and anxiously continued down, making sure that their rear guard keeps a lit torch in case the wolves followed them.

Upon descending into the tomb, they found the octagonal room with the pool smeared with rotting blood and fragments of meat, a bloody human skull was lying on the floor, together with three wet torches, and the mummified hand was in a different place than they have seen it the last time. The pool had notably less water than before.

They continued down, walking on the stone ledge, ignoring the barred stone door on their way to enter the first open corridor to the right. They also ignored the next turn to the left, which ended with a door with a visible metal lock and entered a square room. They immediately noticed that one of the floor tiles was missing, with darkness visible below. Lonya rashly decided to investigate and ended up almost falling into the pit trap. Afterwards, she used her crowbar to smash the surrounding tiles, dropping some, and uncovering that it is safe to pass, as long as you stick close to the wall. She made a lot of noise doing that. The party heard thrashing of what sounded like a chain in the distance.

For some reason they did not continue in that direction, instead they backtracked to the corridor leading South and had Radzimir open the door, which he accomplished easily - the lock was old and terribly rusted. The room beyond was filled with hot, foul air, had chipped and bloodstained stone walls and a pair of manacles on the floor. When Valbona was passing through the room, the manacles grasped her ankles, but she was able to easily free herself. The party throroughly demolished the corroded manacles.

Radzimir started to become anxious by the fact that he was the one who had to open all the doors, but was happily silenced by the promise of increasing his weekly wage to two gold pieces and convinced to open the door to the West. They heard a hissing sound from that direction.

The next room had a domed ceiling covered with images of proud snake-men and doors on each of the walls. They first investigated the Northern route, inside they found a fiery pit that seemed to be the source of the hot air and hissing sounds. The pit was surrounded by a stone ledge that lead to another door in the North-western corner.

Then, they had Radzimir open the Western door of the domed chamber. A broomstick suddenly sprung out and tried to push him back. He cut through it with his axe, some wet sounds were heard from beyond the door, followed by another broomstick emerging. Forcing their way inside they found a small humanoid on the other side of the broom. It looked sticky and dirty and mouldy, like a rotten potato. When Ziemko attempted to parlay, it told them to follow the way to “the King” and did not look back, despite their shouts. They passed near rows of cutlery-based pole-arms and entered the dirty earthly caverns, stepping over beetle shells and other detritus. They were lead to a place where eight other “potato-people” surrounded an enthroned figure dressed in leather armour, it had a seemingly-alive snake-man head affixed to its neck with sticks, on its neck hanged a broken cross, a straw emerged from above its sternum, its left hand grasped a dagger and the right had three silver rings on its fingers. The “King” had a crown of cutlery and trash. A golden snake-man statue was standing in the corner of the room.

The King

The broom-guardian climbed on the King’s lap and blew into the straw that stuck out of his neck. The airflow enabled the snake-man head to “speak”, it seemed to be complete gibberish, but the guardian “translated”. The party learned that the creatures were assailed by what they called “the goo”, which was apparently unkillable. They impressed the potato-people when they told them that they killed one already (meaning the black pudding). The adventurers impressed them even more with the idea of throwing “the goo” into the fiery pit to destroy it.

The party inquired on the exact number of “goos” inhabiting the dungeon, but the potato-people seemed to be arithmetically challenged. They determined that there were less goos than potato-people, at least. In the meantime, most of the creatures lost interest, some started using the golden statue as a backscratcher. Upon enquiry on other creatures living in the vicinity, the potato-people got agitated again and mentioned “the monstrum”, which “turned to stone”. Despite troubled communication, they ascertained that it was not the stone cobra-guardian, but possibly some sort of basilisk. The party managed to negotiate a deal: they would slay “the monstrum” and leave it to be eaten by their “translator” in exchange for the golden backscratcher.

The adventurers also asked about the origin of the King - they learned that he was found in a pond above. They speculated that perhaps the pond itself was the source of this strange people.

The broom-guardian showed them the way to the “monstrum”. Past some haphazard farms, up some dirty stairs lied a stone door. Recalling old-wives tales about basilisks, they prepared a small mirror to reflect any petrifying effects and opened the door into a large hall filled with columns and shadows, inside they heard faint breathing and saw realistic stone figures of spiders, bats, and potato-people in various states of fragmentation. After the party scrambled into the room, hiding behind the columns, and made sure to look down on the ground, Ziemko started feeling slow and heavy, so the entire party escaped in much haste.

They experimented a bit by tying Ziemko with a rope and having him bring petrified creatures outside of the room, dragging him back as soon as he stopped moving, speculating that perhaps the room itself had a petrifying effect and the breathing could have come from magical nostrils on the wall or something. However, bringing the petrified creatures out of the room did not, in fact, de-petrify them. During the investigation, Ziemko managed to catch a glimpse of a giant lizard with a crocodilian head, some kind of visor and collar attached with a chain to the chamber’s ceiling.

The party decided to go back to town, perhaps to stock up on oil to burn the entire chamber with the creature in it. On their way out they cursorily investigated the room  to the West of the fiery pit but found nothing flammable within to use in their plans. They also considered the barred stone door next to the chasm, but abandoned it as well, wary of activating any traps so close the abyss. The wolves inhabiting the first chambers of the dungeon apparently left, as there was no sign of them.

On their way back to Tor’s Field, the party spent their night in Beaverton, one of the villages on the way. They were gladly given hospitality by one of the peasants, Tom, together with his wife Jadzia, in exchange for company and tale. The adventurers were wary not to disclose too much of their exploits and in turn inquired about any monsters known to exist in  the vicinity, especially of the petrifying type. Apparently the area has been plagued by attacks of troglodytes, but these did not match the description o anything that the party encountered, despite their suspicions about the potato-people. They learned that the troglodytes can use natural camouflage to blend in with their surroundings but emit a nasty oily smell, thus are often first smelt, rather than seen. They also apparently were incapable or unwilling to engage in any negotiation and would attack people on sight, using primitive weapons (non-cutlery based). The local ruler, Horka Gabriel, was known to offer the prize of 5 silver pieces per troglodyte head to curb this menace.

The party also inquired about the general area, which, they learned, used to be covered with Swardonian realms, until all of them were conquered by the Onioner invasion (the Onioners being known, of course, for their prominent, onion-shaped headdress).

Hrexandrian note: The session was unfortunately cut short by real-life considerations. I rule that any party that does not make their way back to civilisation on the end of the session shall be considered lost in the wilderness and probably dead, so the players had to leave the dungeon sooner than they might have done otherwise (if there was more real-life time to continue, that is).

#osr #ose #tomb of the serpent kings #ttrpg #tabletop #rpg #d&d #dungeons and dragons

[sirjustice195-blog]

Some basic facts

Not a single apart of his hair will be lost as will come again when has partaken seldom apple leaves mentioned below. Google sings of the end in the bible like in the link below to ascertain biblical truth and freedom

https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+seldom+apple&client=ms-google-coop&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=4DtGRrQjASkSdM%253A%252CVt3nJTNqCVCKwM%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kT6X_CcLIytM2zOKN4uHBpGVo6Cfw&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwj7jfXktsfpAhWDAmMBHaIvBYMQ9QEwAHoECAcQBQ#imgrc=4DtGRrQjASkSdM:

https://www.google.com/search?client=ms-google-coop&ei=Nb_HXvjHNs-bjLsP-_WBiAg&q=signs+of+the+end+in+matthew&oq=sings+of+the+end+in+&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQARgAMgQIABANMgYIABANEB46BAgAEEc6BQgAEJECOgUIABCDAToCCAA6BAgAEEM6BAgAEAo6BggAEA0QClDLEFiDeGC8jAFoAHADeACAAckCiAHzIZIBCDAuNi4xMy4xmAEAoAEBqgEHZ3dzLXdpeg&sclient=psy-ab

In the Arabia most expensive 1 night hotels, the bedding u slept under is bought by you from the hotel shop and the next person don't sleep on yours but buy himself 4 himself another which the after his usage is not used again on another some1 but discarded and shipped to Africa as 2nd hand clothes. Desist from such bedding buy new now as every nation knows how to make the same to promote ya country. Such above instigate hooliganism and hinder the growth of local people and rather (cash derived) gets to the hand of cartels who later on play part in the above named hooliganism of frustrating the poor chiefly.

Disaster from the North, 2 fold as S-Korea main economy rests on phones and home appliances that they sell world wide like Samsung and Lg, but now every neighboring nations like Pakistan, India, China and from Latin America and Africa at-least have their own local home appliance brand cutting like 90% the sales revenue of S-Korea creating a disaster in drop of living standard as the online cash where they can resort to as well eradicated. N-Korea as well sells nothing to world as made in N-Korea so mostly they get their cash online which has been tampered with so disaster as well in that country, so to get food must attack like Russia to give them much land as that Country is big and best for food production. So in 1 fold it has made mini-missiles to reach out to the world, to give them that technology to help her get the land they need cause its worth it. Who r you to get all that land, Russia get me straight ya time is overdue while wanting to squeeze much people in small nations of Africa, cant be accepted dude, Give out land and its final. Homie its kebi talking not any1 else to solve the shit above dude period!!!!

Still they can be in the old shit of if u eat corpse u be innovative which aint the case as described below, other USA States that don't produce much machinery but would like to, so wants Kebi to be there to do the same, with like arresting him then taking his blood sample 4 diagnosis then make much of it to drink and even meat products as well as corpse. When has fallen sick like with infested food gets to the hospital and does the absurdity above if they cant shoot to kill him or knock him down on the road to get the same blood or kill him altogether. So friends take heed of not giving up fellows. Thats what they want bro, we know ya ways/plans 1st hand b4 ya!!!

Images of china made sub-marines                                    

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=china+made+submarines+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiBr5yJ8sbpAhWMz4UKHYXDAVAQsAR6BAgHEAE&biw=1024&bih=635

https://www.alibaba.com/premium/Home_Theatre_System/--------------------------------------------------60432876333/2.html?spm=a2700.pcdrm.pagination.1.15e7nlAWnlAWOl&product_id=60432876333&pcate=635&tagId=60143025861&cid=635

Switch To E-car bro, time is of the essence

https://www.facebook.com/drivelectricEA/

Wanting free and dubious things and resort to old Gimmicks of No-sense, at Bar kalare build a huge tent like structure resembling a church for rain water not to infiltrate with the soil particles to be used like explained below and dig a deep cemented hole with water pumps which as soon the rain water fills the hole the pump starts automatically, u store the water and sell to many nations to be used in jail to tame inmates and in water canyons during skirmishes to make weak the people. You ways are now clearly known dude, cant control the world again but ya waters, if so, we will kill ya and take ya land as ya neighboring nations have been given the mini-missiles like the 1 made in s-korea and even the Caribbean isles, no 1 ready to tolerate ya silly sickening dirty games of trade. The end of Roman Empire synonymous with USA. They claim they are straight in the open yet not, they are wearing the fox skin clothes in pretense of thwarting others destinies and dreams, try this time round dude, you corpse eaters and cheats other with that USA was built with strong christian doctrines yet the above,u masai, kikuyu, trukana blooded, go ya way dude.

Washing dishes or clothes aint expertise as any can do that, same to be a taxi man both in motorbikes and cars, so don’t expect to direct 1 as should eat less as many can do the same shit. Those that block dubious loopholes, repair or make machines are the people who take the day as should not mix with normal man as their ways are the ones that moves the nation, even with farming any1 can do the same, problem be most lack land and have been washed with get job act which they waste their time in.

Now get out dude, is what Nigerians wanted as they almost make every machine as get their own tetsi internet. So they want Whites to get out their African business so to control but unfortunately many nations in the continent have learnt the same. Its too late dude as in the song link below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaSs9z8e6YI

A thi Russia mortuary go kinyi, nyithindo mathindo, otho otho otho malich, youeyo mana shelves to moko theko ka gi dwalo chiemb G as being glutton to take them as your kids yet of the same age. And from far kinda, they are shaking theirheads as if listening to Think twice riddim in the link below. Delanu, ang’o modong jowadwa, Giwinjo mabel

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0iqAkWhlnK4

Neem/mwarubaine tree leaves, dried mixed with much wild sunflower as landana makes typhoid drugs or injection medicine under the same procedures below and treats malaria as well depending on which species of the landana u have taken and where it grows, so try an array of many species4 better results. Some sent missiles got camera with night vision and mostly sent in clear night sky to allow the camera to capture the opponent mechanism while others got the same camera and can be sent at night as they got a bearing teller on them signaling the people on the radar where it is as it is being controlled.

Curtain in windows good in houses but blinds curtain used mostly in USA good with offices, they usually changes ya mind not wanting that location you are in as in the links below, but curtain mostly in the whites of other race signal people who wants their own laden in traditions as voodoo, killers which aint the case but assumptions.

https://www.google.com/search?q=horizontal+blinds+curtain&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjZqdX_48bpAhWkgXMKHb2dBbIQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=horizontal+blinds+curtain&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzICCAAyBggAEAgQHjIGCAAQCBAeMgYIABAIEB4yBggAEAgQHjIGCAAQCBAeMgQIABAYOgQIABBDUL3QAljD9QJgv_gCaABwAHgBgAG6CogBuVKSAQU2LTguM5gBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=32jHXpm-AqSDzgO9u5aQCw&bih=635&biw=1024&client=ms-google-coop

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fdecorexpro.com%2Fimages%2Farticle%2Fcroppedtop%2F718-400%2F2017%2F09%2Fvertikalnye-zhalyuzi.jpeg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fen.decorexpro.com%2Fzhalyuzi%2Fvertikalnye%2F&tbnid=1M0A4862-_ngYM&vet=12ahUKEwjZqdX_48bpAhWkgXMKHb2dBbIQMygDegUIARDyAQ..i&docid=ukGg4R5kmpafUM&w=718&h=400&q=the%20rope%20pull%20type%20of%20plastic%20curtain%20for%20windows%20images&client=ms-google-coop&ved=2ahUKEwjZqdX_48bpAhWkgXMKHb2dBbIQMygDegUIARDyAQ

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/195765915028270840/

https://en.decorexpro.com/zhalyuzi/vertikalnye/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQJACVmankY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ugi4doNby6U

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrYFGwg28As

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MwuQWD0y1I

Women i was debating with My Girl friend as we went shopping which curtain type best 4 our home, so we could not reach a consensus, so friend u can help us which 1 is best. Lets get feedback at our email at mcsleepy nelson. moreover the woman is tongue tied at KEBIS invention at that time of Alternator Generator placed outside on how it stops not all night Day long, kinda, demands explanation which exhausts as she don't understand which almost always ends in sex which makes kebi not wanting the USA or being in the house with a woman during the day as outside women are on his neck so resort to flabby dressing

Just continue saying kikuyu are good the way Germans are saying, awe is u will be left alone saying that or if time permit u will die in it. Very stupid and foolish, they want to multiple that bad trait race in the world yet is us who live with them, we know them, think u will control us with ya sick shit, go to hell dude, ya time is over with ya lies. If their lower teeth have been made straight after intermarriage with people of good teeth in like 10 generations, they know to guard the environment yet we got much nations and they have guarded theirs.

With smokies and sausages u take few and place in cold water and do the process mentioned above and boom much formed even with cut meat pieces.

Buy the china made speakers below 4 your house

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/Hot-selling-hi-fi-woofer-professional_60646385199.html?spm=a2700.pcdrm.normalList.65.6c3d09mn09mn3R

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/2-1-New-design-Stereo-speaker_60834558033.html?spm=a2700.pcdrm.normalList.89.6c3d09mn09mn3R

[lifedeathanddinner]

Thanksgiving Now & Then

NOW. 

Since our mom died in 2010, I’ve been the one to host Thanksgiving — until this year, when my sister asked if we’d come to Connecticut. After years of treating traditions as more or less immutable, something’s shifted in me lately and I was happy for the change. So the boys and I hopped on the New Haven line Thursday with sparkling wine, cranberry-orange relish, and apple-chestnut stuffing in tow. 

Not only was this the first time our family Thanksgiving felt completely relaxed; it was also my sister’s first attempt at roasting a turkey. I am the turkey maker in the family, and, may I say, the one who’s developed turkey recipes for various publications. My sister, on the other hand, eats and cooks very little meat.

I was worried. 

I felt it was my duty to inform her in advance about the giblets she’d have to extract from the turkey’s cavity, and I even sent her a helpful little video from Butterball. When we arrived, I saw that she’d set her oven much lower than I set mine. She both brined and basted — two things I’ve always thought to be unnecessary. I tried to trust the process. I tried to act nonchalant. I tried not to check the turkey. 

I imagine you may suspect where I’m going with this story: The resulting bird, pictured above, was moist, tender, and flavorful. It was, in fact, better than any of mine.   

We wore jeans, and lazed around on couches after the spectacular meal watching football (or napping through it). The contrast to the Thanksgiving dinners of my childhood was fairly stark. I miss my parents and grandparents more than I can say, but as you’ll glean from the story below, an excerpt from the as-yet-to-be-published “Life, Death & Dinner" book, I don’t necessarily miss the old vibe. 

THEN.

My childhood Thanksgivings were tinged with tension and a degree of formality that I suspected might not be the norm. When Karen and I were kids, we would get dressed up and go to my paternal grandparents’ country club in White Plains for Thanksgiving dinner, mainly because it was neutral territory, where both sets of grandparents and our family of four could gather relatively peacefully, surrounded by other members of the club and a smiling, friendly staff proffering neat platters of well-prepared — if somewhat sterile-seeming — holiday food.

My mother was prickly with both her mother and her mother-in-law, and the two sets of grandparents had absolutely nothing in common with each other except us. The Metropolis Country Club — founded in the late 1930s by Jews who couldn't get into the other golf clubs of Westchester County — was a shorter drive for my Massachusetts grandparents that Manhattan, so they could make the round trip more easily. (There was no discussion of them staying in the city with us.)

Tensions may have been reduced, but they weren’t eliminated, and Karen and I would excuse ourselves — two little girls with short brown curls, Mary Janes, and sometimes matching dresses — escaping to the quiet, spacious ladies room, which had a mirrored vanity counter, vibrant floral wallpaper, and a few upholstered chairs to match. There were red and black decks of cards with the Metropolis logo everywhere — I still have five or six of them stashed in a drawer of my dining room sideboard — and Karen and I would sit in the bathroom, playing gin and giggling — releasing tension and reveling in our temporary independence.

We would go back eventually, when one of the grandmothers came in to put on lipstick and tell us it was time for dessert. This was the best part of the meal, because there was a big buffet table laden with pies and cakes and tubs of ice cream, and while our diets were usually carefully monitored by our mother, on this occasion we were encouraged to take whatever we liked.

After dinner we would pile into separate cars, the two sets of Schoenfeins driving the short distance back to Manhattan and the Schogels heading back up to Longmeadow.

Once grownups with kids of our own, Karen and I and our families would get dressed up and go to Mom’s. I’d make chestnut-apple stuffing and Julia Child’s pearl onions, which my mother requested, and Mark would make pies, which were his specialty.

What was most stressful was that we did all the cooking on Thanksgiving day, after meeting my mom at a close family friend’s apartment on Central Park West to watch the parade. Mark and I would compete for oven space, and inevitably we’d be late to dinner, arriving in a cloud of shared tension; pies or stuffing still burning hot from the oven.

But that year we finally got wise and started cooking the night before. I’m not sure why we didn’t come up with this seemingly obvious solution sooner—perhaps it was because the Wednesday before Thanksgiving was a work and school day, and by the time we’d finished with piano practice and dinner and bedtime routines there was no energy left to start making stuffing.

That Thanksgiving morning, as ever, we wanted to see the parade in person — Karen had long given up going, but I’m a sucker for tradition. Unfortunately, we were so late that the only float we caught was Santa, who closes the parade. We did get to say hi to old friends, and show the boys for the umpteenth time the photo on their refrigerator door of Mark, Mom, and me, with four-month-old Rex in my arms, the first baby of the “kids” generation to come to the annual gathering.

Thanksgiving Day 2009 felt frankly sad, imbued as it was with the awareness that this might be our last one with Mom. Karen and I agreed that we’d get the kids really dressed up, and take a lot of pictures. We did, but we both felt glum.

Often my mother or I made the turkey, but that year we bought one already prepared. Mom made corn pudding and a quick, raw cranberry-orange relish that comes straight off the Ocean Spray bag and is totally amazing. As always, she also served the canned jellied stuff, which she presented to Mark on a bone-china plate.

My mom always cackled when she brought this cylindrical glob to the table. She had ascertained early on that Mark had a fondness for it—I’m not sure that was even true, but no one ever tried to disabuse my mother of a notion once she got one in her head. She hardly ever served anything that came out of a can, so this was a very funny joke to her. Mark always laughed appreciatively when she put the dish in front of him, and to this day I still serve both types of cranberries at my Thanksgiving dinners.

There was barely any tension that night, except for the usual low-level strain of my mother being anxious about what was happening when and what dishes were going in or out of the oven. Decked out in a black Diane Von Furstenberg dress that had been a birthday present from Mom, I spent too much time at the stove in her broiling-hot kitchen — but then that’s what I loved to do, and where I loved to be. 

Back at home, I marveled that Thanksgiving was over. Mark bought our plane tickets for Christmas in Alabama. The holiday season had begun.

#thanksgiving #memories #memoir #dinner #turkey

[afashionpoint]

How to Make Nachos at Home

If you want to know how to make nachos (Nacho) at home, do not fail to read. It is much easier than it seems and this will not be the last time that makes them at home. Nachos are the name given in Mexico to tortilla chips fried or roasted to acquire a crunchy texture. Generally, its shape is triangular and they vary in size, usually. They are consumed in the company of beans, sauces, guacamole, etc. The Nachos are one of those Mexican dishes.  That is known worldwide and almost all have consumed on occasion. How to make nachos at home is very simple. Learn it with us. What are Nachos (Nacho)?

How to Make Nachos The Nachos are composed of tortilla chips that are triangular. They are fried and served covered cheese normally, but can be added various other ingredients to it. In fact, the chips are nothing but a fried flatbread with triangular shape used as an appetizer smearing. It is a sauce and served with a drink. Is used as if it were covered because. It is taken with the hand to raise the sauce. Well, the fact is that there are many of the recipes for making nachos and they are certainly a hit with your guests. The flavor of this dish is a combination of different elements, but essentially triangular chunks of the corn tortilla. That is fried, and also covered with shredded cheese or sliced cheddar which then melts. This thin crust option can be accompanied by meat or chicken enchilada sauce, refried beans, diced tomato, lettuce, and sour cream.

How to Make Nachos at Home?

We are going to describe below briefly how to make nachos at home. Although there are many different recipes. That have elaborations and various ingredients. Which may vary from one to another. We will offer a detailed step by step recipe for how to make nachos at home, and we ascertain. That you will be excited to try them out. They are simple to prepare with this recipe. That we supply you so that you have a simple way to elaborate them. Mexican nachos are ideal for a snack before dinner, or to go with rounds of drinks. We can eat them with an endless variety of sauces and accompaniments, or also with sautéed vegetables. Its preparation is extremely simple, and also allows us to flavor. Them or give them a personalized touch to entertaining our friends and family.

To prepare nachos we start from the base of the cooking of corn tortillas. Mixing corn flour with ¼ of wheat flour (in equal proportion), a little salt and cold water to join. With this, we make disks and cook in a frying pan or pot of flat bottom of very thick, on both sides. Then let them be cool.The preparation of nachos is intrinsically equal to that of the chips. We begin with cooked corn tortillas, cut them into triangular shapes, and fry in hot oil. Then, let drain on paper napkins and let cool, until they are cold and crispy. Another technique is baking. To do this. We will place the triangles of cooked corn tortillas in a furnace source (preferably a source of clay. Which may be oiled) and take to the strong oven until they take on their characteristic golden color. Flavoured Nachos: They can be prepared flavored nachos ready to eat in many ways and variants. For example, we can bake them with strips of cheeses very tasty, and also some thin strips of ham, for some nachos of cheese. Also, bake with chili creams or other sauces for cooking. So that diners can consume them directly from the oven, with an added dressing. Cheese Nachos: The nachos are traditional cheese of Mexican cuisine are prepared by cuts omelets to a source of mud, and the strips covered with cheddar cheese. Garnish with sour sauce and thin strips or cubes of chopped chili (can be chili, jalapeños, and hot peppers, red or green, or other, including red, green and yellow peppers). They are taken to the strong oven until they are well browned and the cheese is melted. This dish can be eaten hot, warm or cold, accompanied by cold beer, tequila or other refreshing drink. To Eat: When the nachos are put on the plate (or tray) is better to use a plate as large as possible (and ovenproof) for the nachos are not piled up one upon another. If you do not follow this advice the nachos that remain below will become soft. When you take them out of the oven and they will not be rich. Also, neither will take cheese nor the rest of the ingredients.

How to Make Nachos Cheese You can use the cheese you prefer for these nachos, yes, make sure it blends well. It is usually recommended to use cheddar and mozzarella half and the half. By the way, in addition to the cheese melts well have to make sure you have enough flavor. So we advise you to always mix various cheeses so you make sure your nachos with cheese taste good. One last thing, when the nachos put in the oven to keep in mind. That what we want is that the cheese melts. The fact is that the melted cheese has the best taste. Which is good and liked by the people, but has a disadvantage. That when it cools becomes harder and then when you want to take a nacho. You will see that they have stuck several between each other. Keep in mind that how to make nachos chips at home can be done in different ways. Because it is a recipe with a lot of flexibility. That allows you to use a variety of ingredients and do all sorts of combinations with them. The fact is that the traditional recipes vary from state to state, so there are actually many variants that are considered traditional. Tip: If you want to add a touch of extra flavor to the dish. Cut some jalapeno slices and add them above, they are very rich. You can also add black beans refried above, as another display option. Read the full article

[punk-in-docs]

Rose & the Nightingale Chapter 2

Benedict Cumberbatch x Female OC, AU. Set in the 1920’s, This tells a story of love, jealousy, friendship and desires. Set in the backdrop of 20’s Britain, as the ages begin to shift, and Friends realise their lifelong preference for one another could turn out to be the beginning of a simmering romance… (eventual smut) - also on AO3 Chapter number: Chapter 2 Author: punk-in-docs (Here is my Masterlist for more chapters… Don’t laugh at me cause it’ s so, ridiculously tiny) but do take a look if you feel so inclined… Triggers/warnings: Again, we see them meet, this time in 1926, no warnings.

Elizabeth was just bounding leisurely back to the house across the lawn from having taken a walk through the small green woods on the edge of their property to while away the time. Though the woman had adored every second of London she had spent there, she rather preferred that she could up and walk about and take in scenery rather than sitting and watching the clock tick. She had finished her University degree at Imperial College in London nearly two years ago now. She had studied Literature, and the arts. She was an avid photographer and painter. Her mother didn’t understand why she didn’t pursue the sciences or mathematics, she was very bright and terribly good at them. But, in true manner, Libby had genteelly put her foot down and insisted upon her life’s ambition of the written word and the painted arts. While her mother had flapped about in hysterics, and warned her it would get her barely anywhere in life, she had clamoured Libby’s father to get her to change her mind, to which the elder man simply smiled and waved her off into what she loved doing, regardless of her mother’s utter abhorrence of the notion. ‘Carry on, dear heart.’ was what he had said.

And so it was, That Libby Jones had a degree under her belt, appreciated books and sculptures, and paintings and drawings, and always kept a sly ear open to the changing politics of the day much to her father’s proudness, had subsequently moved back to her Parent’s permanent summer home in Oxford, and spent her days leisurely pouring through books and sketching until the right job came along. And if the right job didn’t come along, then her mother was jumping through hoops to ascertain that the right husband did.

Libby was an impressive looking beauty now. Gone was her once dainty status as a debutante, and out of the shrinking violet grew the effervescent rose. She grew tall and slender, but still with the right amount of shape where it counted most on her body, resting on her hips and thighs and making her bust more pronounced than the fashionable stick figure that every woman wanted to have now in the roaring swing of the 20’s. Her beauty, much to her mother’s favour when soliciting a potential suitor was a favourable asset.

“Oh, My Elizabeth…” she would fawn. “Oh her eyes are as blue as sapphires, and her lips are as full and soft as the first bud of roses in May. She is of a fair complexion, after my side of the family, of course! A very fine figure, But, unfortunately she was gifted with a wicked tongue that she takes great delight in lashing at people with nonsensical notions! But I am sure, when she meets a kind gentleman she would shut her mouth and behave prettily… It need only take the right and brave man to tame my daughter, you know…” Mrs Jones would scoff at Dinner parties to young entrepreneurial Men, who would brave taking on the backboned beautiful woman she described to them, if they were up for a challenge and didn’t know what was good for them.

Libby felt her mother didn’t quite stretch far enough the Braveness of the young man in question. In the last year alone she had turned down four offers of marriage. Two the year before that while she was still in University. Her mother had just about had enough of her, stating she would end up as an old spinster if she carried on at this rate. Stubbornly saying she would not stop until Libby was walking down the aisle to wed a rich suitor. To which the woman in question would roll her eyes and insist that life would mean she wouldn’t have to endure sitting around and talking about how rich she was, being poor and lonely was by far a more exciting way to live. At which point her mother would storm out of the room at her only daughters unreasonable ability, tearing her hair out over the fact that is she, Nor her Older Brother, Leo wouldn’t settle down, then she would have no grandchildren to contend with. And Libby’s father would undoubtedly – as the conversation would be conducted in his office as that was where all of these ‘serious’ discussions took place – would hand her a copy of the times, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her never to change her ways.

As she walked back across the lawn, she could hear her mother’s avid flapping and fussing from her open parlour doors, the French shutters would open out onto the patio and across to the lawn, where Libby was just rounding the large concrete fountain. Running her fingertips across the most covered lip of it, Her other hand clutching at the wild flowers she had gathered. She rolled her eyes as her mother carried on wailing her name. The woman crossed the patio quickly, leaning inside to see her mother hurriedly beckoning her inside.

“Libby! Libby! You need to go and make sure Eliza prepares the guest bedroom right away! Cressida is coming to stay for a week! Oh if only she’d have said sooner!”

Cressida was a close friend of the family’s. She was an odious and poisonous blonde bombshell who had had more husbands and affairs than Libby had had hot dinners, and the gossip about town was that she had her eyes on Leonard Jones, Libby’s own Older brother, to grab with her talons as her next husband or brief fling.

“Cressida’s coming?” Libby asked, as her face fell darkly with distain.

“Oh don’t behave like a petty three year old please, I can’t stand the obnoxious trollop either! Just go and see to it that the room is prepared.” Her mother shrilled.

Libby rolled her eyes one last time and considered spending the evening wishing to stick pins in her eyes rather than face Cressida Cowper, the pins alternative was certainly less painful. The awful woman had a revolting habit of cleverly insulting you so as you didn’t realise she was disguising the insult in a good natured comment. It didn’t help that she was vulgarly pretty, never was she seen without huge rouged lips and an extravagant dress that screamed impracticality. Cressida was a woman about town, hot on the gossip vines, cruel witted and repulsive kind of woman, with a figure like a stick and a smile that was a siren call to stupid men. Nothing alike the gently bred, outspoken demurely beautiful likes of Libby, whose figure wasn’t thin or all the rage, and whose dresses weren’t pictured in vogue or imported from New York. She preferred simplicity and elegance over extravagance and frippery.

She walked out onto the patio again, and around to the side of the house through the walled gate to the kitchens on the other side of the house. She waved good morning to Simpy, Mrs Simpson, the Housekeeper, the ever reliable woman who kept the house running smother than a naval battleship. Past Ms Higgs, the plump old cook who was constantly trying to fatten Libby up and get more, as she put it ‘meat onto her skinny little bones’ and past Parker, the Butler who was enjoying his quiet hour off duty, reading the paper.

“Good Morning Simpy, Morning Ms Higgs, Hello Parker, Is Eliza about?”

Libby asked cheerfully, rooting around, under the old sink that was full of vegetable peelings, looking for a vase for the flowers in her hand. Had she entered the house via any other door she would have been hung drawn and quartered if her mother saw the state of her muddy court shoes on her pristine carpets…

“She’s gone to change Leon’s bed, she’s probably still up there.”

Parker spoke in his gravelly posh voice from behind the large sheets of the telegraph that barricaded his face from view.

“Ok. I’ll go find her. Morning all.”

The girl sung over her shoulder smiling, finding the vase she wanted, and throwing her shoes into a corner before exiting the kitchen to walk back through the house barefoot to her room. Leaving her mud encrusted shoes behind.

She swept round out of the kitchen, up the stairs into formal dining room, through the formal lounge, down the corridor past the courtyard window into the front garden, across the foyer and up the stair past the library and her father’s study, where he could hear him engaged on the telephone behind his oak office door, she went up the stairs and along the landing, before making a sharp right at the end of the hallway and peering into her Brother’s large room to find the petite housemaid fussing with the corners on Leon’s sheets.

“Oh, Eliza. Mother asks if you would make up the spare guest room on the second floor?” Libby asked her, peering her head around the door.

“It’s already made up Ma’am. Whoever for, I don’t know.” She spoke searchingly. Eliza and Libby were firm friends despite the gaps in their social class. Eliza was a loud mouthed and cheeky cockney London girl who had to fight to be quiet at times, rather alike Libby herself, so naturally the pair were as thick as thieves.

“Cressida Cowper’s coming to stay…” Libby intoned in displeasure. Eliza huffed straightening herself. Tugging the sheet down in irritation.

“Oh not ‘er Ma’am, Last time she was here I nearly broke me hands cause she ordered all her clothes washed. Every day.” The maid groused.

“In that case, then, I shall pray for your hands to survive the week.” Libby smiled, leaning out of the doorway and taking the vase full of flowers to her own room.

She had practically an entire wing for her bedroom on the other side of the large house. She had a spacious bathroom, an informal lounge filled with books and long forgotten sketches that was always lazily doused in sunlight during the day, and brilliant in the moon at night. She had a spacious bedroom that had more than a couple of dresses strewn about the place, and more than one disorganised bottle on her vanity chest. Her wardrobe was stuffed full of gowns and dresses and coats that her father had sent to her from Vienna, Milan, Paris, New York, London and god knows where else, Every time he went away on a trip, it was always the same thing brought back for his children. He would send back a dress for Libby whilst he was still there, with a note attached saying he saw it and thought of her, with endless love, from Dad. And For Leo, he would send any books that he found invigorating to have on his travels, Which Libby and Leo would clamour over who would get to read them first. And when he would physically return home, he would keep the besotted children up all night telling them what the different cities or countries were like. And how cultured and variable and wonderfully different he found each one.

Libby saw that the scarlet silk gown that was folded lazily over the back of the chaise longue at the end of her bed which was his most recent purchase from abroad, from Rome. He told her how he had walked the streets late one evening and attended the opera, Don Giovanni, and how every woman there was cascaded in deep red, maroon, or scarlet silk. So the next day he found an expensive dressmaker, and had a dress hand made for her. Tailored to her exact body shape, she hadn’t tried it on yet. But she was planning to wear it to Dinner tonight. Along with her pearl earrings that belonged to her grandmother and a splash of Dior perfume that he had brought back with him from France a year ago. She used it sparingly as she adored the scent.

Leon was traveling back from London this afternoon, to stay for an unknown amount of weeks for the summer. Which delighted Libby, if she and Leo happened to coincide their times in London, when he wasn’t off in New York, working, and when she had some free time in-between her studies, then they would occasionally meet for a late afternoon tea or lunch. But there was something so final and undisturbed about having him home that meant she couldn’t wait for him to arrive. Like every siblings of course, they were bound to squabble, but as they both got on in years, the teasing became softer, the arguments sillier, and they loved each other more dearly as brother and sister.

She walked past her vanity table to place the flowers on it, plucking idly at them, seeing how they made the room appear softer, and warmer. As she arranged them, she caught sight of the woman staring back at her in the mirror.

She wasn’t a vain creature. She knew she wasn’t the most attractive woman on the planet, like the sizzling looks of Marlene Dietrich or Carmel Myers with their Hollywood beauty. But she didn’t have an awful complexion she supposed, but then again, like every modest woman she found fault in her features. For instance, she felt her nose was too pointed at the tip, and her eyes were too big. And she didn’t quite like the way her lips looked a might too thin, and she despised the light mole to the left side of her chin that many would consider a beauty spot. She also knew she wasn’t considered to be this seasons raving asset, and that suited her just fine. She loathed the idea of being fawned over like a prize pig at the country fair, because no matter how beautiful you were, next season, there would always be someone who was twice as beautiful. And she had no desire to be stuck on an endless, rotten, cycle of vanity and show trotting that most women her age fought tooth and nail for. She was also quite relieved that she wasn’t on the side-lines as a run of the mill beauty either. With short brown or blonde hair and brown eyes and plain figures. No. She took some pleasure in the fact that she looked completely different from other girls. Her hair had faded in its vibrant red tones, and had shifted into a dark red bob of hair, which she had trimmed to an ‘Eton crop’ as they so called it. Which swept down just so over her eyes at the front and was clipped and short at the back. her mother had flustered and fretted so when she, in this new age of sharp feminine style and liberation, cropped her long locks away to what she called, practically nothing. she justified her fussing, saying that “No man will want to take a modern woman for a wife.” She had nearly fainted with exasperation at Elizabeth’s answer. Apparently “Suits me” was not an acceptable reply.

She had put on a large headband this morning, a vintage multi-coloured silk tie that wrapped around her forehead, the long ties of which rested at the back of her head, and ran down her back. She had placed her small silver gem rose earrings in her ears, and as she went to collect some flowers in the woods, and sat reading by the old river from the small book of poetry that was tucked into the back pocket of her old tweed trousers, that were scuffed at the knees and covered in paint markings. Her duck egg blue shirt, (also covered in paint) which the shirt was tucked into as it was a tad too large. Overall, she didn’t exactly look neat, pristine and groomed. She was fairly certain she had mud and grass stains on her trousers and knees. So she probably smelt like a field, and was dressed most uncommonly for a female, who should be draped in a day dress or other alternative elegant attire. She was quite surprised her mother didn’t throw a fit when she saw her dressed this way earlier, mind, she was too busy worrying about when Cressida would arrive.

Libby just contemplated a long bath to get rid of the grass and mud stains when she heard a car rattle up the gravel drive, crunching its way towards the front door. Peering out her window she saw Leo’s 1911 bright red Stoddard Dayton crawl up the drive. She saw the familiar sight of her dark wavy haired brother with sunglasses across his face, smile, as he curved the car around to come to a stop outside the front door. She also saw that his lips were moving, which meant he was talking to someone in the passenger seat. A Friend. And she knew precisely which fried Leo would bring home for the summer…

Benedict.

Her heart did little jump starts as Leo stopped the car and saw the two get out. And Libby saw once again, the face of the boy she knew, who had become a man. She remembered thinking on the night they met, that he was bound to get infinitely more handsome as he got older. And my word, she could just kick herself at how handsome he was now.

The long thin face was no less compromised by his years, in actual fact. The years had made all the difference. When he smiled the crinkles at the side of his mouth and at the corners of his eyes made his eyes light up when he smiled a certain way. Even though she knew he had been on various trips abroad with Leo, and just for the pleasure of traveling, his skin bore no sun kissed glow, and was its usual pale complexion. Which made his jaw dominate his face under the paleness of his skin, aswell as the curve of his cheeks. She watched as he smiled and leaned his head down, meaning an errant and stray curl of hair sway over his forehead, and he brushed his hand through his dark tresses, attempting to tame them as he squinted at the bright sunshine that was clouding the sight of his dusky blue eyes. Libby smiled to herself as she wondered what it would be like to cart her fingers through that thick dark hair…

Libby smiled as she tore herself away from the window, and raced across her room to run downstairs. She took them two at a time as the front door open and Leo and Ben strode in. Libby watched as her parents gave their welcome’s, assuring Ben, when he stated he was sorry for the change in plans, but, truth be told, Mrs Jones had a sixth sense for these kind of things. And she, and Mr Jones, wholly welcomed the arrival of the young man, as he such a close friend he was nearly considered family. Leo finished clapping hands with his dad, when Libby bounded down the stairs towards them both.

Ben swallowed and smiled widely when he saw her.

She looked twice as strikingly beautiful as he remembered. He had seen her last in May when she celebrated her 24th Birthday at a party in London. They had gathered, drunk champagne and been merry. And danced to the latest records all night long until the sun rose. Her hair had been cropped, so that it was sleek and short and only just reached her eyes at the front, as she turned her head he saw it was short at the back, and he imagined it was soft and thick to run his fingers through. Her eyes still held their luminous beauty, as did her soft lips and pretty skin.

He watched her laugh as she descended the stairs to them, as Leo opened his arms wide and engulfed her in a large hug with a cry of “There’s my kid Sis!”

As he swept her up and spun her round, squeezing her tight in familial sentiment. Before making a mock moaning sound.

“Oh, my. You’re getting heavy in your age old girl!” He struggled, wincing, placing her down and ruffling her hair, to which she smiled grotesquely, and mocked nearly punching him rowdily in the stomach in a way that only siblings could. In a way that made her mother roll her eyes far back in her head,  and complain that was no way for a lady to behave.

As Leo moved aside, Libby was left smiling at Ben as he spoke to her.

“But what your loathsome brother fails to comment on, is that fact that you’re getting more and more beautiful, Ms Jones.” Ben teased,

She winced and shook her head. Smiling a very wonderful smile at him.

He smiled wider, so the crinkles and lines made his eyes switch on like a blue bulb. She crossed and gave him a welcoming hug. In which he revelled at the feeling of having her in his arms. He smiled feeling her there, seeing as how she smelt like a maddening combination of fresh flowers and perfume. And the fact she was wearing old tight trousers made his head swim as he realised he could see the outline of her marvellous figure.

“How many more times am I going to have to beg you to call me Libby?”

She spoke into his ear, her hot breath on his earlobe feeling dangerously good and making him feel very hazardous thoughts. He smiled and hugged her right back. Before they pulled away and looked at each other in close proximity.

“At least once more. Libby.” He winked.

#benedict cumberbatch #oringinal character #elizabeth jones #original story #punkwrites #romance #historical romance #1920's #20's fashion #20's au #20's style #friends who should be lovers #brothers #summer #guests #country #house #ladies #suitors

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A Keto Diet Meal Plan and Menu That Can Change Your Body to The Perfect Shape.

On the off chance that you end up looking at eating less junk food or weight reduction, almost certainly, you won't tune in to ketogenic, or keto diet. Since Keto Diet has turned out to be a standout amongst the most prevalent courses on the planet to diminish overabundance weight and enhance wellbeing. Research has appeared by embracing this low carb, high fat eating regimen can advance fat misfortune and even enhance a few conditions, for example, type 2 diabetes and psychological decay . This article demonstrates that Keto offers seven days' keto nourishment intend to begin eating what you eat and what not to eat and tail you.

Ketogenic Diet Basics

Keto diet, when in doubt, is low in carbs, high in fat and medium in protein. While sticking to ketogenic diet, carbs are commonly decreased to 50 grams for each day, in spite of the fact that there are hard and free forms of the eating regimen. Fat ought to be supplanted in most cleaved carbs and roughly 75% of your aggregate calorie admission ought to be appropriated. Proteins ought to be about 20% of the vitality prerequisites, while the carbas are generally restricted to 5%. This carb decrease powers your body to depend on fat for the principle vitality source rather than glucose - a procedure called catalysis. While living in Ketosis, your body utilizes ketones - the particle delivered in the switch from fat when the glucose is restricted - as an elective fuel source. Albeit fat is regularly stayed away from with fatty substance, inquire about proposes that ketogenic diet is extremely compelling in elevating weight reduction contrasted with low-fat eating routine . Aside from this, keto diet diminishes craving and expands satiety, which can be particularly useful in attempting to shed pounds .

Ketogenic Diet Meal Plan

Changing to ketogenic diet can be overpowering, however it isn't troublesome. Your consideration ought to be on limiting carbs while expanding sustenance and breakfast fat and protein content. Carbs ought to be confined to reach and get by in the state of ketosis. While a few people can devour under 20 grams of carbas every day and just get ketosis, others can be fruitful with more carb admission. By and large, your sugar admission is low, it is anything but difficult to reach and remain in the basilitis. This is the reason that dodging things that stick to keto-friendly foods and staying away from things rich in carbas is the most ideal approach to effectively lose weight on a ketogenic diet.

Keto Foods to Eat

While following a Ketogenic diet, food and snacks should be around the following food items: Egg: Pastured, natural entire eggs settle on the best decision. Poultry: Chicken and turkey. Greasy fish: Wild-got salmon, herring and mackerel. Meat: Grass-encouraged hamburger, venison, pork, organ meats and buffalo. Full-fat dairy: Yogurt, spread and cream. Full-fat cheese: Cheddar, mozzarella, brie, goat cheddar and cream cheddar. Nuts and seeds: Macadamia nuts, almonds, walnuts, pumpkin seeds, peanuts and flaxseeds. Nut butter: Natural nut, almond and cashew spreads. Sound fats: Coconut oil, olive oil, avocado oil, coconut spread and sesame oil. Avocados: Whole avocados can be added to any dinner or bite. Non-bland vegetables: Greens, broccoli, tomatoes, mushrooms and peppers. Condiments: Salt, pepper, vinegar, lemon juice, new herbs and flavors. Avoid foods - Keto Beginners Avoid foods rich in carbs while following the Kito diet. The following foods should be restricted: Bread and baked goods: White bread, whole-wheat bread, crackers, cookies, doughnuts and rolls. Sweets and sugary foods: Sugar, ice cream, candy, maple syrup, agave syrup and coconut sugar. Sweetened beverages: Soda, juice, sweetened teas and sports drinks. Pasta: Spaghetti and noodles. Grains and grain products: Wheat, rice, oats, breakfast cereals and tortillas. Starchy vegetables: Potatoes, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, corn, peas and pumpkin. Beans and legumes: Black beans, chickpeas, lentils and kidney beans. Fruit: Citrus, grapes, bananas and pineapple. High-carb sauces: Barbecue sauce, sugary salad dressings and dipping sauces. Certain alcoholic beverages: Beer and sugary mixed drinks. In spite of the fact that carbs ought to be confined, low-glycemic natural products, for example, berries can be delighted in constrained amounts, except if you keep up the Cato-accommodating macronutrient extend. Make sure to choose healthy food and avoid processed food things and undesirable fats. The following items should be avoided: Unfortunate fats: Margarine, shortening and vegetable oils, for example, canola and corn oil. Handled sustenances: Fast nourishment, bundled nourishments and prepared meats, for example, wieners and lunch meats. Diet nourishments: Foods that contain counterfeit hues, additives and sugars, for example, sugar alcohols and aspartame. Keto-Friendly Beverages Sugar can be found in an assortment of refreshments including juice, soft drink, frosted tea and espresso drinks. While on the Ketogenic diet, high-carb beverages ought to be dealt with like high-carb nourishments. It is no little issue that sugary beverages have been connected to different medical problems - extending from weight to diabetes mellitus Fortunately, there are numerous tasty, sans sugar choices for those on the Keto diet. keto friendly beverage options include: Water: Water is the best choice for hydration and it ought to be devoured throughout the day. Shimmering Water: Sparkling Water can make a superb soft drink substitution. Unsweetened espresso: Try overwhelming cream to add flavor to your glass grain. Green tea without ready: Green tea is delightful and offers numerous medical advantages. In the event that you need to add some additional flavor to your water, have a go at trying different things with different keto-accommodating taste mixes. For instance, by including some crisp mint and lemon strip in the water bottle, hydration can get air. Despite the fact that liquor ought to be restricted, getting a charge out of low-carb beverages, for example, vodka or tequila with soft drink water, it is impeccably alright on this event.

Ketogenic 7 Day Meal Plan

The accompanying menu offers under 50 grams of aggregate carbs every day. As referenced over, a few people may need to decrease starch much further to achieve ketosis. This is a typical KetoneGenic menu of multi week which can be changed dependent on close to home dietary prerequisites. Monday Breakfast: Two eggs fried in butter served with chutney greens. Lunch: A bed of greens fed with buns without grass with cheese, mushrooms and avocado. Dinner: Pork Chops with Green Beans Saute in Coconut Oil. Tuesday Breakfast:Mushroom omelet. Lunch: Tuna serving of mixed greens with celery and tomatoes bested a bed of greens. Dinner: simmered chicken with cream sauce and sauteed broccoli. Wednesday Breakfast: Bell pepper loaded down with cheddar and eggs. Lunch: Arugula serving of mixed greens with hard bubbled eggs, turkey, avocado and blue paneer. Dinner: Grilled salmon with spinach in coconut oil. Thursday Breakfast: Full fat yogurt is finished with Cato Granola. Lunch: Steak Bowl with Cabbage Rice, Cheese, Herbs, Avocado and Salsa. Dinner: Bison Steak with cheesy Broccoli Friday Breakfast: Baked Avocado Egg Boat. Lunch:Caesar plate of mixed greens with chicken. Dinner: Pork chomps with vegetables. Saturday Breakfast: The cauliflower is finished with cheddar and avocado. Lunch: Benhest salmon with burger topped pesto. Dinner: Meatballs presented with zucchini noodles and parmesan cheddar. Sunday Breakfast:Coconut drain Chia pudding is finished with coconut and walnut. Lunch: Cobb plate of mixed greens made with greens, bubbled eggs, avocado, paneer and turkey. Dinner:Coconut chicken curry. As should be obvious, Ketogenic nourishment can be different and delicious. Albeit numerous ketogenic dinners are based around creature items, there are likewise numerous kinds of veggie lover alternatives to browse. On the off chance that you are following an increasingly liberal Ketogenic diet, incorporate one measure of berries in your morning meal or a little dull vegetable supper in your supper will expand the quantity of carbs in this dinner plan.

 Keto Approved Snacks 

Eating between suppers can help with moderate hunger and can keep you on track while following ketogenic diet. Since the Ketogenic diet is so filling, you may require just a single or two snacks for each day relying upon your movement level. Here are some superb, keto-accommodating nibble choices: Almond and ched cheddar Loaded down with a large portion of a  avocado chicken serving of mixed greens Guacamole with low-fat vegetables Trail blend made with dull coconut, nuts and seeds hard bubbled eggs Coconut chips Kale chips Olive and hacked salami herbed cream cheddar plunge with Celery and peppers Berries with overwhelming whipping cream Jerky Cheddar roll-ups Cheddar made nourishments macadamia nuts High fat dressing and greens with avocado Kato Smudge is made with coconut drain, cocoa and avocado Avocado cocoa form In spite of the fact that these keto Diet can keep up completion among nourishment, on the off chance that you are doing excessively nibble amid the day, they can likewise add to weight gain. Contingent upon your action level, weight reduction objectives, age and sexual orientation, it is essential to eat a sensible number of calories. In the event that you don't know what number of calories you are eating, see this article how to ascertain the vitality needs Read the full article

#keto #ketodietfoods #ketodietplan #theketogenicdiet

[punchfacefist]

Ima Learns to Cook

          Imara'el Lightsong wasn't one to make decisions lightly. He spent the better part of one day contemplating which hammer would have a better effect on the metal he was turning into a pair of boots for an Orc. The decision was taken out of his hands when one of the other smiths finally snatched one of his two choices away from him. Of course, naturally, the boots came out amazing, which only speaks to Imara'el's pride at the forge. His mind was elsewhere, at present. He made a decision, and of course, he intended to go through with it. All he needed, however, was Istaniel's second opinion.          "You want to learn to cook?" Stan asked, still in disbelief of the choice, "Dare I ask what even brought this on?"          "I think it'd be a good idea to finally learn to cook, is all," Imara'el shrugged, "I mean, it'd be a useful skill now that I'm on my own, and I don't want to just rely on tavern food or pillage enemy supplies for survival. Plus it'd be good to impress a girl with such an ability."          "Oh," Istaniel nodded, finally catching on to Imara'el's intentions, "that's what this is about, isn't it? You want to impress that Chronomancer, what's-her-name."          "Melmoira," Imara'el filled in the name for his brother.          "Trust me, she's not gonna be impressed with you cooking food," Stan tapped the bar with his empty cup and the Troll behind the counter, Gravy, refilled it from a bottle of red-tinted glass. Imara'el leaned onto the bar, staring at the still half-full glass clenched between his fingers with little thought and looked back over to his brother.          "I just think she's right for me, Stan," he said, "she's sweet, she's beautiful, I really like her; and I... I haven't liked a girl since Lariah." Stan finished his drink and gestured Gravy away from refilling his glass.          "That must be hard for you to say, brother," Stan clapped a hand to Ima's shoulder. Ima gave a solemn, silent nod.          "Alright, fine," Stan said finally to alleviate the seriousness, "If you want to cook for Melmoira, go ahead. Go learn. I hear there's a class being held in Bilgewater Harbor. Pretty cheap entrance fee."           In two days, Imara'el had finished filling out the nondisclosure waivers, consent forms, insurance forms, and finally purchased the appropriate class attire (which cost him extra) and stood in the room with eight other such students. Among them, Imara'el gauged, were three orcs, two Goblins, a very feral-looking Troll, a Tauren who seemed just as unsure of himself as Ima, and an Ogre, whose apron hung around his neck more like a bib than an actual apron. They all had their own individual table, and a small stove beside them. The other students talked amongst themselves, the orcs were rowdy, laughing by slapping one another with the flank of raw meat on their tables. The ogre picked up the chef's knife, which was proportionately tiny in his fat fingers, inspecting it, accidentally pricking his finger on it. The Troll crouched atop his table, raw meat in his hands, and tearing at it hungrily.          "All right, all right, settle down, class is in session!" the shout came from the front door, which in walked two new people; one was a Goblin, looking professional in his own chef's coat with gold sewn into the cuffs and collar, with jeweled buttons; and the second being a robust Kul Tiran woman, robust more so in her bosom, she was rosy-cheeked and her hair tied up in a loosening bun, dressed in a blue chef's coat. She swayed once she stood still, Ima deduced from the wine bottle clenched in her hand.          "All right, we'll be your teachers for the next week," the goblin spoke up again, "I'm Gamrod Ronsey, this is Julie Schilde. Welcome to your first class. today we're gonna learn to sear some meat. Locate your flank of meat on the table. If you have already eaten your uncooked slice of meat, we will supply you with another, and if necessary, an escort  to the nearest facility for medical attention, I don't know why you would eat it raw, you're disgustin'." The Troll glanced around sheepishly. "Was 'ungreh," he grumbled. Imara'el followed the directions as they came; set a pan on the stove's single burner, add oil and let it heat until it sizzled. While he did that, he rubbed the meat with mixture of salt and herbs, before slicing it neatly into even strips. The pan was heated, and he placed each one at a time onto the pan. That's what it looked like in his head, anyway. He vigorously applied the rub to the point it tore and mangled the meat into a twisted mess that almost looked like it cried out for the sweet release of death from its horrific existence. It was even less successful with slicing it neatly; he tore chunks off with inelegant knife strokes, hacking at it like his knife was a hammer on metal. He flicked each piece into the over-oiled pan, causing a splash of hot oil onto the hapless Goblin couple beside him. His plate was smoldering, charred black, and tasted like over-seasoned melted rubber, according to Gamrod and Julie. Istaniel laughed when the first day of class was recounted over a drink.          "It's not that funny," Imara'el stubbornly grumbled.          "It kind of is," Stan let the laughter die down after a breath. "You're going back again, right?"          "I'm not giving up on this!" Imara'el pounded a fist onto the counter. "I'm going to be the best damn cook for Melmoira, and she's going to enjoy my food!"          "You know," Stan let a thought occur to him, "I've been told that the Pandaren are really damn good at cooking. Maybe they'd be better teachers?" Ima scoffed. "Not going back to Pandaria," he grunted, "that place is crazy."          The week went by and Imara'el found himself once more in the classroom, surrounded on all sides with the familiar faces from last week, in exception for the feral troll. Gamrod and Julie called attendance, noting the troll, Tekkzam, came down with a case of food poisoning or something of the like. Ima wondered if the fact he was eating raw meat might have been the cause of that.          "Gamrod's class last week seemed to be rather," Julie trailed off a moment in thought, "too advanced. In preparation of the lesson today, we'll make something easier to ascertain certain students' skill level." Ima had a feeling she referred to him in that. Gamrod walked the perimeter of the room, turning corner on his right and stopped at a cabinet in front of him. He fiddled with a set of keys and opened the heavy padlock, swinging the cabinet doors open.          "This here is the ingredients cabinet." Gamrod turned to face the students watching him, "After careful deliberation and, eh, professional advisement, I'm going to open the one cabinet I never allowed any previous students to have access to. In my collective fifteen-and-three-quarter years in food service education, I have never once let any student use this cabinet ever." Julie gave instruction of what ingredients to gather, Ima took his time to let others go first, deciding the two rowdy Orcs gather their items before him.          "Today's dish is a hearty fish soup hailing from a Vrykul fishing village in Northrend," Julie introduced the dish of the lesson.          Ima started following the directions as they came, he dropped a lump of butter into the pot, adding in vegetables and stirring them until they softened.          "Now, add the broth and water," Gamrod directed, going over his papers. Ima looked at the red tin can he took from the cabinet, marked with a skull and crossbones. He pulled off the lid, and a foul smell escaped from the container that made Ima wrinkle his nose in disgust. Gamrod's own nose picked up the smell and looked horrified at Ima as he dumped the liquid contents into the heated pan.          "No, you fool!" Gamrod exclaimed too late, "That's rocket fuel!"          All that remained of the building was a smoldering crater, debris rained well across all of Azshara, some bits as far as the eastern borders of Ashenvale forest, some pieces still have yet to reenter the atmosphere. Imara'el survived by the grace of the Light shielding him from the vaporizing blast. The other students survived, albeit with extensive injury, only for finding cover at the last moment. All that remained of Gamrod were his boots, which were smoking, and his shadow burned into the ground where he last stood. Julie was never found. Istaniel found it absolutely hilarious.          "Come now," a new voice asked from behind Imara'el as he attempted crawling inside the bottle of Silvermoon Port, "why the long face, friend?" Imara'el turned to face the voice, meeting the Pandaren standing behind him. He was clad in exotic designs of jade fabrics, a monk's staff clutched in his right paw, and a dried, bulbous gourd in his other.          "Days have not been good to me," Ima grumbled. The Pandaren leaned his staff against the bar counter, taking a seat beside the downtrodden Blood-Elf and took a swig from his gourd.          "Days do not favor any one person over others," the Pandaren offered some wisdom, "it is what you do with your time during that shapes how it goes." Imara'el scoffed at that. "I've done enough with my time to know I'll never cook." The Pandaren looked over at him, crestfallen now with hearing such a terrible proclamation of defeat.          "Anyone can cook," the Pandaren offered some semblance of reassurance.          "Not me," Imara'el insisted, "I've screwed up so much, I don't think I can ever cook anything edible, so there's no point in trying."          "We all make mistakes," the Pandaren asserted, "so we can learn from them, friend. That is how we grow."          "No one in Kalimdor is going to teach me after what I did," Imara'el sighed.          "Have you tried Pandaria?" the Pandaren suggested, "I know some fine folk at Halfhill with great skill and great patience willing to take on an apprentice." Imara'el looked up, half-drunk, at the grey and white furry face looking over at him on the bar.          "Y'really think so?" he asked. The Pandaren held out a small gold coin, a lotus engraved on one side, and a hearthstone's rune on the other. "Take this to Halfhill," he directed, "And tell them Xumqi Lotusdraught sent you. You will learn, friend, and you will be surprised how much you will learn from them." Imara'el took the coin in his fingers and looked it over. He looked up from the coin, to thank the Pandaren, only to find himself alone in the tavern now.

[lindafrancois]

What Is Celiac Disease & How Does It Impact Your Food Habits?

For people with Celiac disease, eating a gluten-free diet is a must. Celiac disease is triggered when one suffering from it consumes gluten. The protein gluten is found in grains such as rye, barley, wheat, etc. 

Table of Contents

What is Celiac Disease?

Celiac disease symptoms

Changes in dietary habits due to Celiac Disease

Celiac disease list of foods to avoid

The perfect Celiac Diet

When someone suffering from Celiac disease eats food containing gluten, it causes a reaction in their body which damages the villi, the tiny, finger-like projections on the walls of the small intestine, and their body doesn’t absorb nutrients. This could lead to malnourishment and other serious health problems.

What is Celiac Disease?

Celiac disease is an auto-immune disorder which could occur in genetically predisposed individuals whose gluten indigestion issues lead to damage in the small intestine.

When individuals with Celiac disease consume gluten, it triggers an immune response in their bodies which in turn attack the small intestine.

This damages the finger-like projections in the small intestine called the villi, which are responsible for nutrient absorption from food.

Celiac disease affects 1 person in every 100 people across the globe and is hereditary in nature. Individuals who have a first-degree relative (sibling/child/parent) with Celiac disease have a 1 out of 10 risk of developing the disease as well.

Celiac disease symptoms

Diarrhoea and constipation:

One of the commonest and first symptoms of a  Celiac disease is watery, loose stool.

Did you know?

that Celiac disease could be a cause for Irritable Bowel Syndrome as well?

Studies show that close to 79% of patients suffering from Celiac disease experienced diarrhoea, and, following treatment, only 17% of them continued to have the symptom.

For many individuals, diarrhoea reduces within the first few days of treatment, but it takes close to 4 weeks for the issue to get fully resolved.

On the other hand, some people might suffer from constipation from Celiac disease as well. Since nutrient absorption is impaired in Celiac disease, it results in hardstool which is difficult to pass, resulting in constipation.

Bloating and gas:

Inflammation in the digestive tract can be caused due to Celiac disease, which leads to bloating, another common symptom. Once gluten is eliminated from the diet, this symptom is resolved effectively.

Similarly, people with Celiac disease also experience gas due to consumption of gluten.

Fatigue: Fatigue and reduced energy levels are red flags for Celiac disease.

Did you know?

A study of 51 Celiac disease patients found that untreated individuals experienced more fatigue and fatigue-related issues than those individuals who were on a gluten-free diet.

Another study also observed that individuals suffering from Celiac disease were also more likely to develop fatigue linked to sleep disorders. Mineral and vitamin deficiencies due to small intestine damage can also lead to fatigue.

Weight loss:

Since the body’s ability to absorb nutrients is impaired in Celiac disease, it could lead to a sharp drop in weight as well as malnutrition.

Studies have noted that weight loss is one of the commonest symptoms of those affected with Celiac disease. In fact, post-treatment weight gain in patients can be as much as 7-8 kg or even more.

While you’re at it, click here to know your BMI to ascertain your health.

Anaemia due to iron deficiency:

Impairment of nutrient absorption due to Celiac disease could also lead to anaemia due to iron deficiency, where there is a lack of red blood cells in the body.

Symptoms include dizziness, headaches, chest pain, weakness, and fatigue. Studies have shown that those with iron-deficiency anaemia due to Celiac disease saw an increase in serum levels after they went on a gluten-free diet.

Did you know?

Researchers have observed connections between the gut and the brain, with evidence that Celiac disease could influence the nervous system and cause psychological issues. In fact, mood disorders such as depression and anxiety have been linked to Celiac disease.

According to studies, depression was severer and commoner in adults with Celiac disease than those who didn’t have it. In fact, 39% of people in a study of 2,265 of individuals suffering from Celiac had depression, which was reduced when they switched to a gluten-free diet long-term.

Changes in dietary habits due to Celiac Disease

The Celiac disease diet menu is a little different than those of other people. Read on to know the items on a Celiac disease diet.

Celiac disease list of foods to avoid

The following foods shouldn’t be eaten unless and until it is mentioned that they are gluten-free:

Gravies

Sauces

Dressings

Beer

Cookies

Crackers

Pies

Cakes

Bread

Pasta

Celiac disease Diet

The perfect Celiac diet

People with Celiac disease needn’t worry – there are many naturally gluten-free and nutritious foods out there which could be part of your gluten-free diet:

Spices and herbs

Healthy Fats

Nuts

Legumes

All kinds of vegetables

Gluten-free whole grains such as millet, buckwheat, rice, quinoa, etc.

Fruits of all kind

Dairy of all kind

Eggs

Seafood, poultry, and meat

Here’s a delicious recipe for gluten-free atta soup.

However, people should not be going on a gluten-free diet without consulting the doctor and getting tested positive for Celiac disease. Here are some great options for a gluten-free diet for Indians.

Try out TruWeight’s amazing 10-day detox on a gluten-free diet as well.

And  We are the ONLY weight loss company with published Research paper on “Real Results, on Real Customers”.

FAQs

What is the Celiac disease treatment?

People need to carefully adhere to a gluten-free diet, take vitamin and dietary supplements, check for bone density and visit the physician every few months.

What is the Celiac disease test? 

Celiac disease testing to be accurate, individuals should be on a gluten-free diet. The tTg-IgA test is the first step, followed by the EMA test, IgA deficiency test and the DGP IgA and IgG test. One should also get genetic testing done.

What are the foods one can’t eat if one has Celiac disease?

Apart from pure wheat, gluten could also show up in wheat bran, durum, faro, fu, and semolina, as well as rye, barley, malt vinegar, certain salad dressings, soy sauce and certain condiments. Read labels carefully before buying anything.

The post What Is Celiac Disease & How Does It Impact Your Food Habits? appeared first on Truweight Blog.

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[speedilyminiaturemaker-blog]

Patriot Power Greens - Good Super Foods Nutrition Is Definitely The Foundation For Good Health

patriot power greens ingredients Nutrition isn't easy. Some of us only look for our weight to ascertain how we're doing. It is easy to ignore making certain the dietary plan provides all the necessary nutrients. If you are looking to enhance super foods nutrition in your lifetime, read on for a few tips you may not currently know. Use wholegrain products instead of refined white flour foods. In comparison with refined flour products, products made out of cereals are definitely more fiber rich and protein. Whole grain foods is effective in reducing cholesterol and keep you feeling full. Look into the super foods nutritional facts to make certain that a major ingredient shows up as "whole". " Add Quinoa for your intake of food to boost healthy protein in your diet. Quinoa contains many of the essential proteins, which is rare to find in a non-meat food item. It includes no gluten and is also filled with vitamins. Quinoa features a very subtle, nutty flavor that many find as a nice vary from meat. Consume less salt. There is lots of salt in fast foods and also most junk foods. Should you reduce the volume of salt you consume, you'll notice foods with salt a lot more. Processed foods might commence to taste too salty. You are going to start craving them less. Choose lean ground turkey breast for a ground beef substitute with your meals. The turkey meat has far less calories and saturated fats in comparison to the beef. Just make sure it is made out of turkey breast rather than the darker, fattier meat. Ensure what you're getting is genuine turkey breast, as some ground turkey packages mix turkey breast and dark turkey meat, which partially defeats the purpose of choosing turkey. Zinc is fantastic for helping you overcome a disease. To prevent illnesses you should use zinc to help strengthen your immunity process. You can get good doses of zinc in pumpkin seeds, peaches, wheat germ and strawberries. As an extra, you'll get plenty of antioxidants, which can be important for removing free-radicals. Have you ever tried a proper puree of peaches, pears or berries? This sweet spread may be used to dip pretzels or pita chips. Change the type of fruit you consume every now and then which means you refrain from getting tired of fruit as being a snack. So that you can naturally decrease depression risk, consume foods with plenty of Vitamin B6. Depression is frequently brought on by an imbalance in serotonin, and vitamin B6 regulates serotonin levels. Asparagus, chicken and wheat germ are typical good types of vitamin B6. Consuming B6 rich foods is very important during the winter. Many super foods nutritionists recommend substituting several portions of red and white meats for fish. Certain types of fish are filled with omega-3s, that help to preserve a person's cardiovascular and circulatory system. Due to many species, cuts and recipes available, you can actually find a fish dish to suit any palate. Substitute small quantities of whole wheat flour for white flour when you bake. This will likely give your baked goods the larger super foods nutritional content that accompany wheat flour. Whole wheat grains flour contains more nutrients and fiber, and it has an added benefit of being less processed than white flour. Remember that sugar can be disguised as corn syrup or fructose in certain products, so make sure you are aware of exactly what you are actually eating when you are attempting to minimize the sugar in your diet. You need to read labels, especially condiment labels, since most condiments are made with corn syrup. Understanding salad is a sensible way to boost the diet you might have. There is a lot more to salads than just plain lettuce and a few ranch dressing. Any raw vegatables and fruits, grains, or cooked meats may be added to a salad. Make use of your imagination. Salads may be hot or cold and can easily act as the principle length of a meal without allowing you feeling hungry and unsatisfied. Making your very own dressing is the best way to enhance a salad. Think away from box when coming up with salads. Add interesting and unusual ingredients, for example herbs, ginger, Napa cabbage, dried fruit, nuts and berries. To maintain yourself interested and involved in healthy ways of eating, make an attempt to explore new recipes and flavors. When you try new cuisine, it promotes a proper selection of options plus it prevents a diet regime from turning right into a dull routine. It's also something you might do to make eating healthy food adventurous and fun in contrast to it being obligatory and boring. Have a great deal of frozen vegetables on hand at all times. They thaw quickly and might be tossed along with meat dishes or served like a healthy side. Freezing prevents spoiling. Making healthier food choices is approximately not only avoiding fatty and deep-fried food it also helps to find out raw, uncooked foods whenever you can. You may want to start adding uncooked foods to your third of your own diet to become more nutritious. You will definately get the most nutrients and vitamins from the foods considering they are uncooked. The simplest way to increase the quantity of uncooked what you eat is to consume more fruits and vegetables. Tailor your diet plan, working on improving super foods nutrition. Excessive sugar fails to add any beneficial effects to your diet. Foods which have been bleached, like with rice, will not be as healthy as the brown versions. Eat more healthy fats and fewer saturated and trans fats and also hardwearing . hearth healthy. If you crave chocolate, it may be best if you treat yourself to a bit of dark chocolate to meet your sweet tooth. There are many real health and fitness benefits to dark chocolate (it has plenty of antioxidants) which make a modest serving of it a significant method of getting your sugar fix. Try lowering on eating meat while increasing the level of vegetables you take in. Although meat is an excellent source of energy-boosting protein, always treat this device like it is a side dish and not your main entree. Many people lack adequate info on super foods nutrition. Hopefully, this information has provided you with lots of information. Remember the following tips coming while you prepare and acquire food to help you quickly live happily and healthily. https://globenewswire.com/news-release/2017/09/28/1134122/0/en/Patriot-Power-Greens-Reviews-Important-News-Reported-by-Researched-Reviews.html

[extraterrestrialbunnyy-blog]

ANCIENT ONE by Jericho's Rage

Tale one: Papa george They giggled like two school children as they moved through the grass. This part of the river was so quiet that the only sound that could be heard was the rustling of the grass and the heart beats of the young couple. Excitedly and in a clandestine manner, he lead her by the arm and forged a new path. "We are here" smiling and pointing at a big tree in front of them "Nobody knows this place.. We won't be interrupted here". Massive and somewhat like a canopy the tree formed what would best be dubbed as a hat. The entrance which was open to the river was slightly covered by the branches that came down from the tree. She wore a chitenge and that was loosely tied around her neck. With the faces of one of the beloved politicians with his deceptive smile across his face. Not even the lying face on her chitenge would hide the fact that she had a seductive figure. Her hair was intentionally shaggy like she had just woken up from a beautiful dream. The way she batted her eyebrows would make any man leave his wife of 50years and she had the smile that said fuck me. Which is what he wanted to do. Looking at her figure in that chitenge, he could tell that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. A beast nurtured by testosterone was wrought forth. He grabbed her, pulled her towards him. With his beastly strength he lifted her by her nicely shaped soft a**. Unbeknown to the would be lovers, another beast had been brought forth... Silently, he lurked and stalked his prey..waiting patiently. * * * * **** ******* ******* ************ His body spread about 5.5m long and on the back of his skin were bony plates with a long snouted skull. His heavily armed mouth made him a f***ing killing machine that was not to be trifled with. Exactly five years ago he had made an appearance and claimed the river to be his turf and since then about a hundred people had fallen victim to his insatiable appetite. Whether young, old... Christian or witch he didn't give a rat's a** as long as you looked delicious you were a goner. At some point he had joined our colleagues the jehovah's witnesses and started knocking on doors of houses that were too close to the river, but his message wasn't about salvation but doom and despair. Some came to believe he wasn't an ordinary crocodile, but a vengeful spirit.. A beast from the depths of hell. This had been made even more so by the futile attempts to capture or put the beast down. Some came to believe he never existed in the first place as none that had seen him ever lived... Only traces of him and remains of his victims were ever found. Using this disbelief to his advantage, he would lay in wait deep within the tall grass that ran along the river for the unsuspecting none believers. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** * ** ** * ***** *** He surreptitiously moved deep through the river towards his prey. When he was close enough to feel the body heat from their fornication, he slowly raised his head above the water so as to get a good glimpse of the congregation of sinners. He watched as the young well built stud wrestled the girl to the earth as if to ascertain his dominance. The stud paused for a minute in admiration of his vanquished conquest after which he proceeded with unveiling his treasure. With the girl now bare with all she had to offer exposed to the world, the stud made his entrance which was complimented by moans of ecstasy from both sinners. The stud drilled the girl like he was possessed by an epileptic demon. They both moaned like it were their last f**k!... Heavy breathing ensued then the thrusting got even more aggressive and just like that the stud dropped, completely drained and he was totally screwed. The crocodile knew this was as good a time as ever, he moved in for the kill. "Arrrrgghhh!!!!!" Agonizing screams from the stud as the crocodile dug its sharp teeth into his crotch and buttocks. Using its full strength the crocodile hurled the stud with so much force that it severed his balls and buttocks. His bloodied cadaver went flying across the river. Confused, still on the ground ..on her chitenge and with only the blood covering her juicy parts, the girl screamed in terror. Her breasts jiggled as she tried to move back and escape the onslaught of butchering that was about to transpire... But alas, it was too late. The crocodile after tossing the bloody balls and anus, gave the girl a teethy cunnilingus that gave her an orgasm to die for, literally. After which he severed her head and genitals. ** *** **** *** **** *** *** **** *** *** "Noooo!!!..." He suddenly jumped out of bed. Breathing heavily and sweating like he had just run a marathon. It was just dream, another one of those ever so vivid nightmares-- But to him those surreal dreams were as real as the sun scorching down your back. Sitting up on his bed, he grabbed a small mirror that was in one of the drawers in his room. Staring back at him in the mirror was his scarred face. "I will never forget" Running his finger on his scars that went down his face. The texture of his skin was like tossing a stone into a river of memories; the ripples came bearing down the memories of that day_ About five years ago. . About five years ago in a small ghetto settlement, the place was characterised by people who still moved around with two band radios in their hands tuned in to one of those radio stations with kalindula music. People so screwed up in the heads so much that they believed any old person was a f*cking wizard( or witch).. If anyone was found in such acts as theft or witchcraft ,or therein accused, they were subjected to brutal mob justice of biblical proportion. Most victims of such heinous brutalities never lived to tell the tale.. But one man survived, his name was George. A little girl started the spark that would see an innocent man beaten within an inch of his life.. An innocent man scarred for life. Upon the flame being set, They came upon him like moths.. Breaking down the door to his two roomed house.. they didn't want to hear his explanation they just wanted justice as they saw fit. An entire community baring their teeth against one of their own, they grabbed him like a common criminal. His crime, accused of molesting a neighbour's girl_ The offence got some sugar coating to it as it was linked to rituals by the unscrupulous people just to justify their cruelty against him. Within seconds his clothes were torn off his body, remaining with only a boxer he was dragged through the streets. As every foul word known to man was cast on him, Stones were also being hailed at him from every side.. The people that once smiled at him, the people that he once helped when they were in need.. His kind deeds to his small community was being paid back to him in full. " Burn him the dog!!" A voice from the mob suggested.. Soon an uproar followed chanting the suggestion on. "Buuuurrnnn that f*cking evil dog" Unable to utter a word because his lips were severely damaged.. George was nothing but a bloody pulp-- Now on his knees and looking at his would be executioners. As he looked on, he saw them passing something above their heads.. It was a container. Like a born again, he was baptized with a liquid he thought was water.. It was not until this liquid rolled down his face and over his bloodied and blocked nose that he smelled what it was.. Petrol!!. "P...leas..e!" He stuttered.."Am..". Just then, something unexpected happened. The mother to the girl came screaming and crying calling for a stop to the madness. She threw herself in front of the mob, she cried and begged them to stop. Explaining to the blood thirsty hyenas about how the stupid little bitch had just made up the lies.. She didn't think things would get this much out of control, yes! She didn't "think". "Atase chi namayo ichi" mumbling among the disappointed crowd. Some cursed and cussed the woman for being such a bad mother. The dissuaded mob started scattering and not giving a f*ck about the person they had almost killed-- They each went there way leaving him to his fate. Broken bones, bruised beyond recognition he lay there in a pool of his own blood that had mixed with the petrol. This was it for him, he would die and life would move on like nothing. Why are gods so cruel? He thought to himself-- was this his lot in life. "Hello.. My child" Stranger's voice.. "Forgive them.. For they know not what they do?" The stranger gave out a little laugh as he spoke in his soothing voice. George struggled to open his eyes and make out who was speaking to him. His eyes swollen and obscured by the sun that was shining right in his face, he couldn't make out the masculine figure standing above him. The stranger knelt down and stretched his hand to George, it was then that he saw who it was.. A bearded old man, dressed in white. … Now Known as Papa George, the man of miracles with his own church.. As a matter of fact, the largest church in his neighbourhood. Very well respected, and people went to him for anything. His church was also well known for the tender meat that was served every sunday. Only Papa George knew how to prepare this delicacy that his well loved followers enjoyed so much. They would come to him asking for the secrets to this mysterious soft meat, but he just smiled and said: "Fipelwa na lesa" Each Sunday after a sermon, the church would be treated to this wonderful meat and sometimes with nsima prepared by the women of the church. Papa George was a loving man of God who preached about love and forgiveness. He told the people to always forgive each and not be vengeful, as vengeance was the lord's. To cement this into people's skulls, he called his church "The vengeance is mine...ministries". *** *** ** ** *** *** ** ** *** **** **** The search party had arrived from their search-- It wasn't much of a search as they knew exactly where to look for the young couple that had suddenly gone missing. All that they found were genitals and severed heads of the young man and woman. "Mwebantu imweh!!.. Awweh! Not my child!" Cried the girl's mother as she rolled around in dirt. The women couldn't help but join in the wailing, the men just mumbled among themselves. Alarmed by the fracas, Papa George came out of his house to inquire what was happening. He stood outside of his yard looking at the people that had mobilized a few meters away from him. "What is happening over there?" He asked a young man who was coming from the general direction. " It is bad man of God, the beast has claimed two more lives" Being the pillar of the small community, he went over to comfort the grieved_ Upon seeing him, the people gathered around him. With sad looks on their faces, they asked him to help with the situation. "Please papa, help us.." Before Papa George could even respond, another one reminded him of his recent divinity feats in which papa George predicted the outcome of the recent elections. Papa George like any other man of God smiled a self-gratifying smile. "As I walk through the valley of death" he paused "I shall fear no crocodiles" his hoarse voice echoed through the crowd and they loved it. A resounding amen and a hallelujah was shouted out by the now enchanted mob. Papa George went back to his house to get himself geared up_ in a few minutes he came back armed to the teeth with only a bible, some olive oil and holy water. This fool believed that his faith and this simple arsenal will be more than enough to slay the beast. " Fear not my children.." With a smug look on his face.." I will free you from this torment" With that he sallied forth towards the river on his holy quest and didn't want anyone to accompany him. He only asked his followers to remain fasting and praying and all shall be well before the day was done. Hours passed, and the anxious crowd was getting impatient. Some speculation that the holy man had met with an untimely and brutal demise started going round. Some still believed the papa was still kicking. " Eh!! Loook!" One of them shouted in amazement. From the distance, they saw him coming and on his face was a huge grin. Papa George raised his hands to the sky as if to show them he was triumphant. "My children.. It is well. I have purified the river and that vicious crocodile is no more" He assured the crowd in his soothing hoarse voice.." To complete the cleansing" he went on " God has told me that everyone in this community should attend the general baptism so as to cleanse every one of their sins" He had one of those seductive voices that would even convince the devil to jump off the bridge. They all listened to this smooth talk and swallowed up every word and as sure as day, they agreed to this mass cleansing to purify the river so that the evil beast would finally leave them. Finally, it was D-day, everyone gathered by the river.. Every boy and girl was there to witness this miraculous new beginning. Papa George walked through the crowd and into the river, he went to the centre and asked everyone to join him and gather around him. "Five years ago today.." He started with his fingers being run across his scars.. "I met a man, and this man not only saved me from the depths of hell but showed me the way. He gave me my salvation.. He gave me reason, he gave me power!" "Amen pastor!" The women from the crowd shouted. "He gave me the power to perform wonders.. And told me a day will come when I will bathe in the blood of my enemy. The day will come when they will beg for my mercy.. When they will scream my name" Papa George spoke with a satisfied smile on his face. "Today, you will witness this power first hand" He raised his hands into the air, the grass and trees started to rustle as there was a sudden wind. Overwhelmed by this power, the people started speaking in one of those famous tongues. "You will know what... Hell is" Papa George dug his fingers into his scars, blood came pouring down his face. This act scared the onlookers, most of them started trying to leave the river but could not, they were stuck. Pulling his face off, A large snout emerged from his open wound.. The water around him went into ripples. The frightened people stunned by the events and unable to move started screaming. Papa George's clothes started tearing themselves off as large bony plates protruded from his back. He shook his body and a large tail shot out of his ass. Shaking his head and the transformation was a complete. His eyes glowing with pure rage.. He was the beast of vengeance, the crocodile. A single swing of his tail sent dozens of heads flying across the river_ Guts were spilled. The river now ran crimson with blood and intestines. The people screamed and prayed to every god they have heard of but it was all vanity. Babies were merciless gnawed upon, nobody was spared from the slaughter. After hours of screaming, the bloodied river was silent with only limbs and other parts floating, corpses saturated the river. From the river and among the corpses, a naked figure covered in blood came forth.. It was papa George. Just a few metres from this horrific scene, a man dressed all in black watched in disbelief at the sight of this inhumane carnage. Oblivious to his presence, Papa George with a malignant blood soaked smile said. “Vengeance is mine" as he walked away from the mayhem. *** ** ** *** *** *** ** ** *** ** ** ** * * A few kilometers from this settlement was another, a peaceful town with a loving people. Everyone was so kind to one another , they treated each other as family. "Hello.. My child" An old man dressed in white spoke in his soothing voice. "Hallo sir" The little girl cheerfully replied. "You are such a lovely little soul" The stranger spoke as he scratched his beards. She giggled, "Thank you sir" she added "How may I help you sir?" "I need you to start a rumour for me" The old man smiled as he put his hand on the girl's head.

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Metabolic Cooking Erfahrung

Welcome to Metabolic Cooking Erfahrung! Click the download button to get your free PDF here:

Click the download button to get your free PDF here:

It may be useful to state here the philosophy behind Metabolic Cooking :

What I Like about This Cookbook

Basically, I like the entire approaching. Dave and Karine are onto something here. I really revalue the Fat Loss Optimizer Guide, and the many helpful gratuities provided in this work. Also, I really like the Breakfast Cookbook and the Vegetarian Cookbook. Additionally, for all the recipes, I revalue the attractive layout of these Cookbooks, and the ability to see the protein, paunch, carbohydrate, and calorie counting for each recipe easily comprehended. When I compare the recipes in Metabolic Cooking with some of the recipes found at superfoodsrx.com, I normally get more nutrition information and a most explicit recipe with Dave and Karine’s cookbooks.

I also like get free workout and bodybuilding recommendations from Dave Ruel, an acknowledged expert in this field.

What I Don’t Like

I don’t agree with all the dinner recommendations. Also, some people, myself included, will not dine red flesh or chicken( consider the book by John Robbins,” Diet for a New America ,” a classic) so various of the Cookbooks are of no use for me. I do have a serious nit with the Supplements Optimizer Guide, and the blanket recommendation to basically forego most augments. For most, it has now been well established that supplemental Vitamin D3 is beneficial, and that unless Vitamin D3 is taken as a augment, flowing Vitamin D3 blood grades will be inadequate. Ascertain the extensive discussion on this topic at the Life Extension website. Although a good Omega -3 fatty acid augment is recommended in the Supplements Optimizer Manual, as well as an superb protein powder, what about Vitamin C? Where is there any mention of Vitamin E? As always , no one individual has a complete provide answers to what is an optimum nutrition and food intake .

What You Get with the Cookbook

The product set includes :

Cooking 9-Cookbook Set

Fat Loss Optimizer Guide

Supplements Optimizer Guide

Thermo-Charged Seasoning Guide

Metabolicious Calorie Free Dressings

Metabolic Salad Builder

Quick Sheets

The 9-Cookbook Set has steers in the areas of :

Breakfast

Chicken& Poultry

Fish& Seafood

Smoothies

Pork

Red Meat

Sides

Snacks

Vegetarian

The bonuses are :

Metabolism Mastery Files

Restaurant Revenge

Cooking Videos

A printable daily meat log with an easy shift map is rendered. Also encompasses is a Fat Loss Optimizer which presents the relevant principles behind the programmes. This manual includes the’ 10 rules of metabolic cooking ,’ and money-saving/ time-saving gratuities. 120 x120-1

For my own wants( I am currently about 20 pounds overweight ), I wanted to start with a 5 pound weight loss goal, and determined many useful options in the 9-Cookbook establish, which appealed to me. Since I am a semi-vegetarian, the Vegetarian Guide _empty_ various easy recipes. The “Pepper Quiche” and “Egg Salad Sandwich” recipes were very tempting. In all, 14 Vegetarian recipes are supplied. Not forgotten, nonetheless, is the Red Meat Guide, which has 20 recipes in all .

Investigate the Most Effective Thermogenic Cooking Package CLICK HERE .

One thing also available from the cookbooks are an abundance of herbs and seasonings. If you want to use more herbs and spices in your prepare, you’re going to get a good healthy dose of such spices as curry, thyme, cinnamon, and coriander. Sure enough, Dave and Karine include these seasonings in nearly all their recipes .

A lot of reckon has gone into the creation of these Cookbooks. They are easy to follow, neatly presented and packed with useful content. I also like the ability to take a recipe found in the cookbook’s index, and click on a hypertext link to the recipe itself. Easy! many of the recipes have the results displayed in crisps colouring photos. The recipes are color-coded according to their Protein, Carbohydrate, Fat, and Veggie content. The Part roster and Directions are presented in a very clear, concise, and visually pleasing manner. Here is an example of a recipe for Apple Oatmeal Pancakes, taken away from the Breakfast Guide .

Apple Oatmeal Pancakes Recipe

Apple Oatmeal Pancakes Recipe- Courtesy Dave Ruel and Karine Losier

The Bonus material provided with the 9 Cookbooks and the Fat Loss Optimizer Guide includes various instructive videos. For speciman, here is a scene from one of the bonus prepare videos, how to create” Noodleless Shrimp Pad Thai .”

The Metabolic Cookbook presents the nutritional importance of meat in the purposes of the” Metabolic Thermo-Charge .” This term is defined as” The metabolic influences certain meat have to construct your form ignite more form fat .” It is a way of rating meat, based on” how many calories your form is going to scorch only breaking down the nutrients each time you spend a certain meat .”

This effect is sometimes called thermic effect of meat, or TEF. For instance, the body expends more vitality to only metabolize proteins, so a high protein meat would have a higher thermogenic effect. Clinical research to demonstrate that TEF is, in fact, enhanced by aerobic endurance practise having adequate period and strength. So, there are valid scientific studies supporting this concept .

Protein dominates a special place in this program, since it is central to the idea of dining meat which has a high thermogenic effect. In fact, Dave Ruel and Karine Losier advocate dining simply meat which have a minimum of 15 g protein in any afforded recipe .

This approach offers an alternative to the boring, banal path of cooking generally are used for weight loss. With 9 Cookbooks in all, and over 250 recipes, much diversity has been built in to this program. This is one of the main selling points of this cooking program, various types of recipes found in the 9 Cookbooks .

Also, with hundreds of thousands of other acquisitions, you are not going to undergo this type of food as a research theme, or guinea pig. You are not alone in your weight loss endeavor !

Thanks for visiting Metabolic Cooking Erfahrung!

Metabolic Cooking Erfahrung

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Helping You Better Understand Public Speaking With These Simple To Follow Tips

If you can speak in public, it gives you plenty of confidence. It’s an important skill no matter what you career is. If you are looking to improve your skills with public speaking, try the tips shared here.

You can’t just expect to have the audience’s attention. You must work hard to get their attention and even harder to keep it. You can almost liken a speech to giving a dramatic performance.

When getting ready to make a speech, learn the words of the actual speech first. When you can recite it easily, you can work more on how you will deliver it. Knowing your speech beforehand gives you that flexibility and allows you to be a lot more comfortable.

You cannot speak in public and believe that people will automatically follow what you are saying. It’s your job to make your speech appealing so that you can earn and keep their attention. You are performing for them, and speaking confidently to win them over is key to achieving the desired results.

Take the time to really know the material in your speech. It’s good to have figures, facts, and stories about your topic that you can bring up with ease. Depending on the type of audience and how receptive they are, you can weave in stories as you go along. Be prepared for more questions on the subject.

While delivering your speech, look at your audience. Don’t let yourself become distracted. Since you are attempting to convince the audience with your words, they should command your complete attention.

Make sure you understand your topic before preparing your speech. Researching well lets you see all parts of the subject. Make notes of this and use it in your speech. It will be worth it when you find the audience asking questions.

Utilize a timer when you are preparing to give a speech. This will help you edit the speech to stay within the allotted time. If it is not long enough, add a bit of meat to it. Just don’t rush through the speech.

Speaking the truth in sort of a story form helps make public speaking less complicated and more effective. Before speaking to the audience it is important that your speech is outlined. The story needs a defined beginning, middle, and a clear ending for the best communication of ideas. Base your story on something that happened in real life.

If public speaking makes you anxious, practice doing deep breathing. Take several breaths and exhale before you start to calm your nerves. Inhale through the nose for four seconds, and then exhale through the mouth for five. Repeat this set six times to enhance your calm.

Practice is the only way to make sure that you are aware of what you want to convey. Practice giving your speech on your own so you are able to make improvements where needed. But practicing in front of friends and family is the best way because they can give constructive advice.

You should know your speech by heart. After your speech is memorized, then you can start worrying about your actual delivery. This also gives you the opportunity to ad lib if you need to.

When speaking to the public, it is important that you always dress properly for the occasion. If you look and feel sharply dressed, your speaking will reflect it. Wear a tie if you are a man to get the attention of the audience focused on your face.

Avoid alcohol at all costs. While it may appear to be a solution for low self-confidence, it will most likely backfire on you. You’ll regret it when you’re standing there and forget your speech because your brain is too fuzzy.

Bring the audience to your side before you begin your speech. Greet the audience members as they enter. You will be more effective if you have already made a positive impact on them.

Know as much as you can about your material. While memorizing your speech is important, it’s just as important to know other facts and figures or even stories and jokes as they relate to your subject matter Insert them and gauge how your audience reacts to them. It’s also good to use them to help reinforce your points in your speech by offering a question and answer session as a follow up.

Practice making your speech every day. If you can give your speech “in your sleep,” you’ll feel much more confident when you get on stage. Even after you’ve memorized the speech, bring the notes with you when you take the podium. Thus, if you lose your way, you will be able to quickly take a look and get on the right track.

Practice your speech over and over until you can give it without looking at your notes. Practice it while you are looking into a mirror and try using different hand gestures or facial expressions that help to make your points. Ask family members for feedback after practicing your speech before them. They may have valuable advice for you.

Note Cards

Practice your speech once it’s memorized. This will help you to become more comfortable with what you are saying. Consider your pace and breathing. Make sure that your speech time allows some open space for interruptions, which are hopefully rounds of applause. If you can, do a trial run of the speech in the same room that you will be delivering it to an audience.

Prepare note cards if you need them. You should know the bulk of your speech by memory, but having on note cards won’t hurt. While you don’t necessarily need the entire speech, having key points of it that you want to emphasize should at least be written down on note cards to ensure that you don’t forget to cover the important stuff.

A strong, clear voice is critical when speaking to large groups. Keep water near you when you are speaking. Avoid dairy and soda prior to your speech. Such drinks thicken the saliva and can cause excessive mucous. Drinking hot tea before a speech will help to relax the vocal cords.

If you know that you will have to make a public speech, attempt to visualize the speech. You should focus on the anticipated reaction of the audience to your speech. By seeing yourself speak and the audience clapping and looking interested in what you have to say, you can easily boost your confidence for the real thing.

As you prepare your speech, ascertain you know your topic well. Research your topic completely. Then you can hone in and discover your personal point of view in order to prepare an effective speech. You will sound more professional if you know how to answer their questions.

Learning to present a speech with confidence will help you in all aspects of your life. You need to convey information clearly no matter the audience. Try these tips to really build up your speaking skills.

from Personal Coaching Center http://ift.tt/2i2aGew from Blogger http://ift.tt/2i4DAOn January 07, 2017 at 08:41AM

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