Here There Be Unicorns

I had to go up in the attic yesterday. While there, I though I'd grab the two old photos of my great grandparents (Peter and Julia). They hung down at Home Farm all the years my mother lived there, and I recently asked Son if I could put them back up. He said yes.

Problem is, I couldn't find Peter and Julia. (This photo, but cropped to be individual portraits and framed in rather fancy frames)

All I could find was this guy.

And, even after wiping the thick shroud of dust away, I don't know . . who this is. He's not bearded and German, so not my father's side of the family. The frame is modern and simple. It clearly had a mat at one time, but it doesn't now; that brown(er) border is just the photo, but damaged/darkened. The closer I looked at it, the more baffled I got. Literally nothing about the frame, backing, or photo is consistent or makes any kind of sense. And I don't recognize him!!

Maybe, MAYBE a younger photo of this guy:

Sadly, I don't know who HE is, either. My mother's family Had Issues, and most of them were dead or estranged before I was ever born. My father, looking at this, said "That's an Irishman if I ever saw one," which would make sense for my mother's side of the family.

There's something very odd going on with the darkest parts; some of them, like the eyes, appear almost black to the eye but very shiny/reflective to a camera or scanner. Also, the shirt doesn't look real and the tie almost looks like it was drawn or painted. There was no writing at all on the back. Someone had reframed it with a modern (plastic) frame and removed the mat. Everything about this is weird.

today I was in a new location of the grocery chain I frequent and they had an entire United Kingdom section, which I am not used to. While I didn't see a haggis, they're on my mind so you get this poll:

*Approaches curiously* (Friend?)

A lost copy of a poem composed in the seventh century by a Northumbrian cattle herder – the earliest surviving poem in the English language – has been discovered in Rome.

Scholars from Trinity College Dublin (TCD) uncovered the manuscript that contains Caedmon’s Hymn at the National Central Library of Rome.

It is the third oldest surviving text of the poem, after older copies held at Cambridge and St Petersburg. Those other versions have the poem in Latin, with the Old English text added in the margin or at the end. The Rome copy is significant because it contains the Old English version in the main body of the text, reflecting the language’s growing status in the ninth century, said Faulkner. “The absence of the poem would have been felt by the readers, I think, and so that’s why it goes in.”

.....

I feel like people form the usa change towels more often than people from my region, I want to see if it's true lol

After every use (not from us)

Once every 2-3 days or so (not from us)

Once a week (not from us)

Less than that (not from us)

Aften every use (from us)

Once every 2-3 days or so (us)

Once a week (us)

Less than that (us)

Results

King Arthur 👑

A calm voice behind him spoke.

Celebrimbor turned.

"Come here," said Curufin, opening his arms.

Celebrimbor went willingly, climbing into his father's embrace.

"Perhaps next time, do not convince half your friends that your uncle eats children."

"They are not my friends," Celebrimbor said, and then he considered his father's words. "Did I do something evil?"

Curufin pressed his lips together, fighting a smile.

"Not really. I cannot deny that your description of your uncle was not wholly inaccurate."

Celebrimbor beamed.

He had known his father would understand.

"But Tyelkormo has never eaten a child."

"Ah."

"He merely enjoys being mistaken for someone who might."

Celebrimbor nodded gravely.

That seemed an important distinction.

Curufin brushed a dark curl from his son's forehead.

At that precise moment, another voice called from farther down the path:

"Tyelperinquar!"

The voice carried easily across the courtyard.

A moment later, someone strode into view, bright as sunlight, a hunting spear resting across one shoulder. Dust clung to his boots, and blood scattered all over his hunting attire.

The fleeing elflings saw the terrifying figure.

"He found us!"

"Don't let him take my heart!"

They screamed louder.

One tripped over a flowerpot.

Celegorm stopped dead in confusion as the children vanished around a corner.

“... What did you tell them this time?”

Celebrimbor's face lit up.

"Uncle Tyelko!"

Celegorm pointed at him immediately.

"No. Explain."

"What?"

"The crying."

Celebrimbor lifted his arms expectantly.

Celegorm snorted but shifted his spear to one hand and scooped him effortlessly from Curufin's arms.

Once comfortably accommodated, Celebrimbor looked up at Celegorm with immense pride.

7 ⧽. is there a fic you wish you received feedback on, but didn't get any/much? this ask game is asking someone else to then give feedback on said fic, pretty pretty please!!!

Thank you!

7. is there a fic you wish you received feedback on, but didn't get any/much? this ask game is asking someone else to then give feedback on said fic, pretty pretty please!!!

I am extremely lucky (and grateful!) with the comments that I get on my fics, but if I had to pick one fic that I wish had more love, it would probably be Five Nights at Formenos. It is a FNAF AU so I totally get why many people probably didn’t read it, but it's also got some of my best horror and really fun characterization for the Sons of Feanor in it and I am so, so proud of it.