#Enough people buying produce on their way to “the cottage” and man

[youngerfrankenstein]

The concept of having a cottage that you visit in the summer is so cool and fancy to me. Like holy heck!

[haggishlyhagging]

Women were also regularly employed in brewing, at least as much as men. Medieval peasants drank rather a lot of small (or low-alcohol) beer and ale. In the tenth-century Alfric's Colloguy, which records theoretical dialogues between a teacher and his students, one young man states, "I drink ale, usually, if I drink at all, and water if I have no ale. . . . I am not rich enough to be able to buy myself wine: Wine is not a drink for boys or fools but for old men and wise men." By the late medieval period, in brewing centers such as České Budejovice, from whence the name Budweiser comes, beer was being made on a large enough scale that it was being exported to Bavaria.

Medieval people desired to drink beer and ale not because water was unsafe, but because farmwork is extremely hard. Small beer and ale added additional calories to their daily uptake in an enjoyable way. Although the wealthy were probably able to procure professionally made and imported beers, most people, especially in the earlier medieval period, made their own ale or bought it from nearby producers. Ale was brewed primarily from barley and did not include the hops of beer, which meant it could not be stored for long before going off. As such, those who wanted ale had to be constantly brewing it to ensure a steady supply, making brewing a very common cottage industry. Women who brewed for their families would often brew excess for sale, allowing them to bring in a bit of money. Because brewing was a craft that could be learned at home, women could be employed as brewers in larger commercial breweries.

We find women in the brewing trade consistently: records show them paying taxes on their gains from brewing, and registering with the authorities who oversaw standards. When someone performed below these standards, they were frequently written up, so we can find the women who were not meeting them. The Durham Court Rolls from 1365 record that Agnes Postell and Alice de Belasis were fined twelve denarii for selling bad ale, about the equivalent of two days' work for a skilled craftsman. Similarly Alice de Belasis was separately fined two shillings, or the equivalent of five days wages, for poor-quality ale, which a court proved had no strength at all. Punishments for brewing bad ale could range from fines to ritualized humiliation. In England, the Domesday Book first recorded the use of the cucking stool (which would become the ducking stool in the early modern period) in Chester to punish those who sold bad ale or ale in incorrect measures. They would be forced to sit in a chair out side their home and be jeered at by locals. Fourteenth-century Scottish laws noted that any alewife who made "evil ale" was either fined "eight shillings" or placed in the cucking stool, a nod to women as the primary brewers in the region who could face the largely gendered humiliation as a result.

We also learn of women in the brewing profession through records of accidents. For example, one coroner's roll indicates that at around noon on October 2, 1270, Amice Belamy was carrying a tub full of gruit, an agent for flavoring ale, with Sibyl Bonchevaler at her work in Lady Juliana de Beauchamp's brewhouse in Staple, Eaton Socon. As they went to dump the gruit into the boiling vat of beer, Amice slipped and fell into it and was trapped by the tub that fell on top of her. "Sibyl immediately jumped towards her, dragged her from the vat and shouted; the household came and found her scalded almost to death. She was given the last rites of the church and died on the day following. This harrowing story reminds us what a physically tasking and dangerous job brewing, especially in large quantities, could be.

This episode is also interesting because the two women were working for another woman, and a lady at that, Juliana de Beauchamp. Brewing was commonly associated with women across class lines, since the brewhouse is listed as belonging to the Lady Juliana. All in all, during these years a woman was just as likely to be brewing ale as a man, if not more likely in some instances.

-Eleanor Janega, The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women’s Roles in Society

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Fresh Starts

Leah (Stardew) x Selectively Mute She/Her Reader

A/N: Thought I’d try something different with this one. Sorry if I didn’t detail the instances of sign language very well, or if they are a little off, I did try. Also Kel is an asshol in this when they show up so get ready for that. Robin is cool mom and Abigail is the friend who is always ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Also, time is so weird in Stardew? There are four season in a year but each season is like a month so a year is like four months. Time is scary. I hope you like it! Word Count: 8,943

~

“So, someone has finally taken up that old farmland,” Leah heard Gus say to Harvey as he fixed the good doctor a drink at the bar, “‘Heard Lewis and Robin talking about it outside of Pierre’s yesterday.”

“Is that so?” Harvey was tired from a long day at the clinic, but being ever polite, he humored Gus and rested fully against the bar stool.

“Mhmm, looks like the old man’s kin is finally gonna make something of it. A few years late though I must say, that place is well overgrown. It’s gonna take a lot more than a little elbow grease to spruce up that dump,” Gus chuckled good naturedly and handed Harvey his beer, “I wish them luck, whoever they are.”

“Bah!” Leah jumped in her seat tucked away in the corner. Pam must have been listening in too. “If they’re smart they’ll just sell the heap of trash to Joja. M’sure they’d get a pretty penny for it.” Pam spoke bitterly. Shane, who was also quite drunk at this point in the night, took the opportunity to add his two cents in and yell across the bar.

“Why would they get your daughter for selling out to Joja?”

“That’s not what I meant, dumbass!” Pam roared back, slamming her beer on the table with a loud thump.

Leah decided she’d call it a night then. Without Elliott to crack jokes with, the saloon could get real depressing real fast with Shane and Pam racing each other to see who would get alcohol poisoning first. Even Clint was just sad to watch. The poor man sitting hopefully, waiting for Emily to even just turn in his direction. Leah finished the rest of her beer and paid Gus, giving the man a sympathetic smile as he left to cut Shane off.

Leah shivered in the cool spring breeze as she walked along the river bank to her cottage and her thoughts wandered back to what Gus had been gossiping about.

“A new face around Stardew Valley, hm?” Leah mused, kicking a stray pebble in her path, watching it skip across the cobbled stone. “I guess I won’t be the town newbie anymore.” She smiled and turned to look in the direction of Marnie’s home, knowing that the farm was somewhere just beyond. As Leah turned the key to unlock the door of her small cottage, she wondered what changes this new resident might bring.

***

“Have you met our new resident farmer yet?” Leah heard Caroline ask Jodi as she walked across the town square.

“I suppose you could call it that,” Jodi laughed, “It was a very brief meeting to say the least.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one then,” Caroline sighed, putting a hand to her chest in relief, “I thought I had offended the girl somehow, she never said a word. She just walked into the shop and pointed to a few seeds she wanted to buy, then she handed Abigail, Pierre and I daffodils and went on her way. Not so much as a sound.” Caroline explained, still bewildered by the interaction.

“Sounds about right,” Jodi nodded, “She knocked on the front door and handed me a single clam. Which was nice I suppose, but so very odd. She gave Vincent a daffodil too,” Jodi smiled, “He was very pleased. I’m sure she would have given Sam something as well if he could wake up at a more reasonable time.”

“Oh, Leah! Good morning!” Caroline had caught her. Leah put on her most sociable smile and walked forward, greeting the two women.

“Good morning Caroline, Jodi.”

“Have you been visited by the farm fairy yet?” Jodi asked, chuckling along with Caroline.

“I’m afraid not.” Leah admitted. “Although Elliott says I am a bit difficult to track down at the best of times.” She laughed good naturedly.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll get you sooner or later. She seems to be on a mission to greet the whole town. If you can call it a greeting I suppose. I don’t even know her name.” Caroline realized.

“It’s (Y/n).”

The three women jumped and turned to a grinning Robin, walking up to them with her yoga mat swaddled under her arm.

“Her name is (Y/n). She’s quite the character, huh?”

“Robin, you helped Mayor Lewis move her in didn’t you? What can you tell us?” Jodi asked, looking for any crumb of information she could get on the mysterious girl.

“Not much to tell,” Robin shrugged, “Just a sweet kid wanting to get away from the pressures of the big city,” she sent a knowing look at Leah, “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Leah laughed politely, twisting a finger around the tail end of her braid as blush settled in her cheeks faintly.

“But why is she so... you know, quiet?” Caroline asked.

“Hm, well, she did give me her blessing to explain should it come up.” Robin took a moment to think of how to proceed, absently tapping her fingers against her mat. “(Y/n) is selectively mute. She has the ability to speak, but she’s just not comfortable enough to do so at this time. This move was a big decision for her, and she’s excited, but it’s just gonna take some time before she feels secure enough to communicate orally.”

“And how did you get all this information out of her?” Caroline wondered.

Robin secured her yoga mat between her thighs and presented both hands, pointing her index fingers outward and drew a couple large circles in the air with the tips of her extended fingers. “Sign language!” Robin grinned, before taking a hold of her mat once more.

“Oh how clever!” Jodi praised. “I wish I understood sign language.”

“I’d be happy to show you a few of the basics sometime. If you really need to ask (Y/n) something though she will have no problem writing out answers for you.” Robin informed. “Now, are we working out today or...”

“I completely forgot!” Caroline smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand, “Yes, let’s go. Poor Marnie is probably wondering where we are. Are you going to join us Leah?”

“I’ll pass, thanks. I’m heading to the beach to do some painting,” Leah explained, motioning to her bag.

“Alright, see you around!” Caroline, Jodi and Robin bid Leah goodbye and hurried to the general store.

Leah sighed, as much as she liked the people in this town they were so chatty. She could have been at the beach forever ago! Once she arrived, she saw Haley sunbathing. Not unusual, but as she kept walking closer to shore she saw Elliott splayed out over the sand laying on his stomach.

Leah rolled her eyes and walked over, playfully kicking the man’s arm, causing him to squint up at her.

“Is there some kind of new writing exercise I should know about?” She asked, playfully.

“I wish, this is simply writer’s block at its finest.” Elliott groaned. “That, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with this,” he sat up and produced a wild horseradish from his jacket pocket.

“Why do you have a horseradish in your pocket?”

“A girl I’ve never seen before in my life gave it to me. Then she took off before I could refuse. Didn’t even say a word.”

“She’s totally weird, but she did give me a daffodil so I guess she’s not that bad.” Haley called from her own spot in the sand.

“Has everyone met the new girl except me?” Leah wondered aloud.

“She’s been making rounds. I’m sure she’ll find you eventually.” Elliott said, resting his chin over his arms.

“You make her sound so ominous.” Leah laughed, lowering herself to the sand and taking out a sketch pad.

“A silent specter. A harbinger of-“

“Oh can it, drama queen,” Leah smirked, “so she gave you a horseradish, it’s not the end of the world. She was just trying to be nice.”

Elliott pursed his lips, propping his head up with one hand he turned the horseradish in the other offering it to Leah. “Do you want it? You’re all about foraging.”

“I mean, if you’re not going to use it sure. Put it in my bag.” Leah relented easily. Her eyes only leaving her paper to study the horizon for a moment, then continue to sketch.

Leah stayed on the beach with Elliott for a couple of hours, talking  sketching, and painting. Finally she stood and stretched, patting the sand off the back of her jeans. “I should get going. See you around.”

“See you.” Elliott nodded, splitting off from Leah to head over to his shack.

Leah hummed to herself as she walked through town, making her way past Jodi’s house and entered the Cindersnap Forest. As she rounded the corner of her cottage, she paused in her tracks. Observing a young woman staring at her door with dandelions in one hand and her other poised to knock on the weathered wood.

Leah flinched slightly, she had stepped on a twig, snapping it and alerting her visitor of her presence.

Startled eyes met Leah’s own and the farmer straightened from her previous position, stepping back from Leah’s door.

She smiled shyly, giving Leah a short, jaunty wave before gesturing between Leah and the cottage a moment. Then she stood still. An expectant look on her face.

Leah simply stared back, blinking before she registered the silent question. “Oh! Yes, I live here. That’s my house. You’re (Y/n), right? Robin told me about you, I’m Leah.” She smiled kindly, coming forward to offer (Y/n) her hand to shake.

Instead of grasping Leah’s hand, (Y/n) cupped it with her gloved hands, turning Leah’s hand palm up and placing the dandelions inside.

“Ah, thank you.” Leah chuckled, “These will make a great salad.”

(Y/n) nodded vigorously, then moved to make her exit. Leah wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she called out to (Y/n) before she could get too far.

“Wait, I um, it’s not much but I did take an intro to ASL course my freshman year of college so, I’m a bit limited but if you ever want to talk, you know...” Leah wished she could stop talking right now. Why had no one told her that the farmer was cute!? “So, yeah, you know,” Leah fumbled with her free hand, her fingers sat just underneath her chin before she sent them forward, “Thanks again.” She smiled nervously.

(Y/n) stared at her, dumbfounded. Then she released a short, sharp exhalation of air that was reminiscent of stuttered laughter and turned back to stand before Leah. (Y/n) made a timid approach and gingerly took Leah’s wrist, still hovering midair, and guided the hand back to rest on Leah’s chin, just below her lip. Leah stood still as stone as (Y/n) held it there for a second then extended the hand forward. She repeated the motion twice more before backing away and releasing Leah from her gloved grasp. The smell of earth and grass still clung to Leah’s nose even after (Y/n) had stepped back.

“Oh, I did it wrong, didn’t I?” Leah blushed, “Is there a big difference between the two?”

(Y/n) blew out a large breath of air and nodded. One of her gloved hands came up to cover the amused smile fighting against her lips.

“What did I say? Was is embarrassing? Yoba, I need to know,” Leah carefully set the dandelions at her feet and rummaged through her bag. Taking out her sketch pad and a pencil, she flipped to a clean page and presented the materials into the rough fabric of (Y/n)’s gloved hands, “Please, tell me.”

(Y/n) shot Leah a sympathetic smile, then she looked down at the paper and wrote quickly and concisely. She looked over her work, nodded to herself, then she handed the sketch book and pencil back to Leah before jogging of in the direction of her farm.

“Eh- Hey! Wait a minute!” Leah took a few strides after the farmer but quickly gave up, electing to look at the paper in her hand instead. “Maybe I’ll tell you some other time. Nice meeting you Leah, smiley face.” Leah read aloud to herself. She scoffed, but couldn’t stop the smile that had conquered her lips. She couldn’t wait to see (Y/n) again.

***

“Hey, Maru-“

“I think I have a feeling about what this is about, but just in case, please proceed.”

The next morning, Leah had made her way to the clinic to visit Maru and perhaps get the answers she was looking for. She had made the trek to (Y/n)’s farm first, but she wasn’t there. A little note hastily taped to the farmer’s door revealed that she was spending the day fishing in the mountains and wouldn’t be back until late at night.

“Maru, you know sign language like your mom, right?” Leah asked.

“Sure do. Seb and dad do too.” Maru nodded, leaning over the clinic counter. “But I’ve got to tell you that if you’re looking for the meaning of what you accidentally signed to (Y/n) last night, we were sworn to silence earlier this morning before (Y/n) went fishing. Sorry.” Maru smiled.

“Ugh,” Leah sighed, leaning her forehead against the counter. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Well, it’s really funny. Especially considering how chill you normally are and your kind disposition.”

“Yoba, I really need to know!” Leah groaned against the counter.

“Well my family can’t tell you. You’ll just have to wait to hear it from (Y/n),” Maru grinned and pushed away from the counter, “I have to prepare for Evelyn’s check up now so I’ll see you around Leah.”

“Yeah, bye.” Leah grumbled, watching Maru disappear into the back offices. “Well, there goes that plan.” She mumbled under her breath as she left the clinic.

Leah spent the rest of the day sculpting in her cottage. She spent hours getting lost in the chipping of the wood before finally going to bed.

***

It had been days since Leah last saw (Y/n) and if the farming life wasn’t so demanding, Leah would have been worried that she had deeply offended the farmer to the point that she was purposely avoiding her. Leah decided not to waste the time she had been presented with.

She approached Robin about sign language lessons, enough to get some basic phrases and words. She practiced the motions herself, perfecting them to allow for no mistakes. Although she knew (Y/n) could hear her just fine, she found it easier to retain the lessons this way. Not to mention that it was just a useful language to know.

“I’ve hardly seen you around. I was worried you stabbed yourself with your woodworking tools.” Elliott said as Leah came up to sit next to him in the saloon.

“And you didn’t think to come to check on me?” Leah looked at the writer incredulously.

“Nope.”

Leah punched Elliott’s arm and he laughed. Before long, Emily came by with their food and they ate comfortably.

“Would you look at that.” Elliot spoke, pointing in direction of the door as he swallowed another bite.

Leah turned to look, purple irises sparkling at the sight of (Y/n) lugging a large bag up to the bar. She watched Emily talk (Y/n)’s ear off, the poor farmer smiled uncomfortably while trying to divide her attention between her and Gus who had apparently requested a variety of fish.

“Wow, Robin said you were in trouble but you really are,” Elliott chuckled behind his beer, “You really lit up just now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Leah scoffed, still watching (Y/n) hand Gus fish after fish. It was almost comical how such an objectively small bag could hold so much.

“You can’t keep your eyes off her. I realize the dating pool in Stardew is small, but the girl just got here.”

“Elliott, stop!” Leah blushed, looking back down at her plate to stab at her salad.

“I’m just saying, you’re already taking sign language lessons for her you might want to dial it back a little bit. You wouldn’t want to come off as the obsessive type.”

“Oh! She’s leaving, should I offer to walk her home? I’m going to offer to walk her home.” Leah dug in her pocket and pulled out some gold, pushing it over to Elliott.

“What did I just say?” Elliott called after Leah, as she eagerly jogged to the exit to catch (Y/n) walking in the direction of the Cindersaps, perfect!

“(Y/n), good evening!” Leah called jogging up to the farmer only to have the farmer gasp and take several steps away from Leah, holding her hands out as a warning to not come any closer. “I’m sorry, I’m didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” Leah gasped, maybe Elliott was right.

(Y/n) shook her head, slowly taking a step back towards Leah, presenting her slightly soggy bag and waving her hand in front of her nose, scrunching her face as she did so.

Leah was sure the movement wasn’t an official ASL sign, but it did help get the point across and she giggled.

“What? Do you think you smell?”

Another nod and a look that seemed to say that she didn’t just think so, she knew so. She had been in the mines all morning and fishing at the beach all afternoon. She couldn’t wait to take a shower.

“It’s alright, I won’t judge you,” Leah smiled, “Are you heading home for the night? I’d be happy to walk with you since it’s so dark.”

(Y/n) took a moment to think about it before nodding shyly and motioning Leah closer. Leah happily obliged walking alongside the farmer into the Cindersap Forest. The walk was mostly silent, but that was to be expected nonetheless, Leah was having a great time. They had even found a couple of leeks along the way which (Y/n) had insisted Leah keep. All too soon, they reached the porch of the old farmhouse.

“You’re crops look great,” Leah complimented, looking for an excuse to stay even just a few minutes more, “really healthy. What all have you been growing? Are those potatoes and turnips?”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder as she unlocked her door. Her eyes focused on where Leah was pointing and nodded affirmingly.

“Yeah, I’m no farmer but I love foraging. I’ve got a few really good books about wild foods and where to find them and when. It’s kind of like a scavenger hunt.” Leah grinned.

“Mhmm.”

It was quiet, a little strained, but the small hum of agreement almost sent Leah into cardiac arrest. She sounded so sweet! Leah’s cheeks were starting to hurt from how widely she was smiling.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. So, I’ll see you around?”

(Y/n) looked like she wanted to say something, but settled for a simple nod, fiddling with the gardening gloves she had taken off. Leah smiled softly, watching how the farmer intently eyed the fabric twisting in her hands.

“Feel free to drop by the cottage whenever it suits you. I’ll leave the door open!” Leah added, waving over her shoulder as she turned to walk away. (Y/n) beamed, looking a bit more lively as she waved back.

Leah turned her back on the house and walked back to her cottage in the Cindersaps with a skip in her step and a painfully large smile on her face. Although it was already late, she prepared a new block of wood for sculpting. Her new muse had granted her a vision for a grand project and had the potential to be one of her greatest works yet.

***

“Kel, I told you to stop calling me. I’m not coming back to the city, we are through.” Leah frowned, her hand gripped the phone receiver so tightly that she could hear the plastic giving slightly under the pressure.

She was so focused on combating Kel’s useless bargains that she hadn’t noticed the timid farmer show herself in, looking at Leah’s tense shoulders and back with concern. (Y/n) flinched as Leah cut off Kel to speak again, her voice low and stern.

“There is nothing you could say, nothing you could offer me, that would make me come back. Move on, and please, for the last time, do not call me again.” Leah slammed the phone down on its perch. Pressing her palms into her eyes she let out a frustrated groan, slowly positioning her hands to rub at her temples to combat the headache she felt coming on.

Then she heard the door creak.

Leah quickly turned around just in time to see (Y/n) looking back at her with wide eyes and lips pursed thin as if she had been caught witnessing an event she had no business seeing. Which was partially true, but Leah had told her a week beforehand that she could drop by anytime.

“(Y/n), what a pleasant surprise!” Leah grimaced, watching (Y/n) flinch and look down sheepishly at her feet. One had managed to retreat back out the door before being caught and it was slowly joined by the intruding foot, so (Y/n) was fully outside again. Leah shook her head and calmly approached the farmer.

“Please don’t leave, I’m the one who told you to come let yourself in whenever. I’m sorry you had to hear all of that.” Leah was worried, watching (Y/n) linger in the doorway. Her shoulders relaxed when (Y/n) cautiously came back inside and closed the door behind her.

(Y/n) stood in the entryway and looked over Leah, her eyes filled heavily with concern. She raised a hand, pointing to Leah before signing the letters ‘o’ and ‘k’.

“I’m okay. I’m just,” Leah fumbled for the right words, “mad, sad? Exhausted.”

(Y/n) made another gesture, shaping her fingers into a ‘hang loose’-esque sign. Her curled fingers meeting her chin. She lowered the hand momentarily to give it a controlled shake before bringing it back up into the starting position.

“What’s wrong?” Leah mumbled, making sure she understood. (Y/n) nodded. “I just got a phone call from someone I didn’t want to talk to is all,” Leah sighed, “They’re an ex of mine. The person who called.” Leah disclosed, rubbing the back of her neck, agitated.

(Y/n) signed again, but Leah didn’t quite catch it that time so she motioned (Y/n) over to her dining nook and sat her down with some paper and a pencil. The farmer seemed a bit unwilling to write it out, feeling like it was more insensitive somehow but with a little prodding from Leah, she gave in.

“Was it a bad break up...” Leah read aloud. She sat back in her chair and carefully chose her words. “Sometimes it feels like we’re still breaking up,” Leah chuckled wryly, “Kel, my ex, didn’t like me perusing art. They didn’t think I could make a living out of it and wanted me to waste away at some office job and well, I didn’t want that. They weren’t respectful or supportive of my dreams, so I left. They call me a lot though, to try to convince me to come back to the city... that I won’t make it as an artist. That I can’t be happy without them. It really is exhausting and the worst part is, I worry that they’re right.” Leah released a shuddering breath, “I haven’t sold a single piece. I don’t really even know how to start. I can sustain myself on what I have in my savings account for only so long.”

(Y/n) covered Leah’s hand with her own, squeezing it. Leah marveled at how soft it was in comparison to her own, especially since it was the hand of a farmer. Perhaps the gloves (Y/n) always wore had more practical uses rather than simply being worn for aesthetic’s sake. Leah chanced a look at (Y/n)’s face and was caught off guard by the determined fire blazing in her eyes. Then Leah’s attention was brought back to the table as (Y/n) furiously scratched the pencil against the paper and forcefully pushed her newly composed message in front of the sculptor, her other hand still rooted over Leah’s.

Leah read over the note and felt her heart ache with appreciative warmth. ‘You were brave enough to know what you wanted and even though it wasn’t easy, you went for it. That in itself is an amazing accomplishment that you should not take lightly. Your dream is not unfounded either, I’ve seen some of your sketches and paintings and I think you are very talented. Once you figure out how to put yourself out there you’ll have people begging you to take their money.’

Leah sniffed and smiled at (Y/n) appreciatively, turning her hand to reciprocate (Y/n)’s strong, yet gentle hold on her. “Thank you, (Y/n). I just wish I knew how to start.”

(Y/n) tapped her chin with the pencil as she thought. When she had an idea, she pulled the paper back to herself and wrote a suggestion.

“An art show? Oh, I don’t know (Y/n). It hardly seems possible.”

(Y/n) shook her head in disagreement and wrote more.

“You really think the town would want to help? Are you sure you want to help? You’ve got enough on your plate already with how busy the farm keeps you. I don’t want to impose.”

(Y/n) looked as if she had something to say, her throat bobbed and her lips twitched, but in the end she settled for the paper again, still too anxious to speak. After Leah had read the reply, she felt (Y/n)’s thumb rub against her knuckles and looked up. (Y/n) nodded, her expression serious. She wanted to help Leah with this.

“Thank you, (Y/n)!” Leah sniffled, holding back tears. She launched herself into (Y/n)’s arms and hugged the surprised farmer close. “Thank you so much!”

(Y/n) slowly returned the hug, smoothing one of her hands over Leah’s back in comforting motions. It was a bit of an awkward position with (Y/n) still sitting at the table and Leah hovering over her, but it felt nice.

“Sorry,” Leah chuckled after a moment, leaning back and wiping a stray tear from her eye, “I kind of caught you off guard with that didn’t I?”

(Y/n) shrugged and smiled good naturedly. A look came over her face as if she just remembered something and she stood up to grab her bag from the cottage entryway. She grinned when she found what she was looking for and made her way back to Leah, holding out a brown paper package to her.

“For me?” Leah asked. (Y/n) nodded and gestured for her to take it. Leah carefully unwrapped it and gasped. “(Y/n), is this goat cheese? I love this, how did you know?”

(Y/n) raised her hand, signing the letters ‘E’ ‘L’ ‘L’ ‘I’ ‘O’ ‘T’ ‘T’.

“Elliott hm?” Leah laughed, “I’m glad you two are getting along after the horseradish debacle.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms and stuck her nose up. She wasn’t looking back on the memory fondly.

“Hey, I’m with you on this one. He was being an ass. How could you have known he hated horseradish.”

(Y/n) nodded in agreement, one of her hands reaching out as if to say, ‘exactly’. She then noticed the time on Leah’s clock and signed that she had to go.

“I see.” Leah smiled sadly, trying not to let her disappointment shine through. “Good bye then, and (Y/n),” Leah signed ‘thank you’, very mindful of the position of her hands this time around, “seriously thank you for everything.”

(Y/n) beamed, giving Leah a thumbs up before heading out the door.

***

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Leah kept mumbling to herself while watching her fellow Pelican Townies set up her creations in the town square. There were already some tourists looking around and Leah felt her nerves fraying.

“Hang in there, kid. Everything looks great. Don’t worry so much.” Robin snuck up on Leah, making her jump. “It’s a beautiful summer day, don’t forget to enjoy it.”

“I’m trying, Robin. It’s just so much.” Leah said, nervously playing with her sleeve. Robin noticed Elliott walking up and motioned him to help deal with the artist while she went to help Demetrius move a heavy wooden sculpture.

“Come on now, Leah. Too late to back out now.” Elliott grinned, thumping her back. “(Y/n) seems especially excited by how things are progressing.”

Leah chanced a glance at (Y/n) and Maru putting up paintings between signing each other excitedly. The scene warmed her heart and her shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

“Great, now let’s go woo some tourists.” Elliott said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“What? Elliott, no!” Leah shook her head.

“Not like that,” Elliott laughed, “I know your heart belongs to someone else. I just meant,” he looks around before whispering in Leah’s ear, “woo them out of their money.”

Leah laughed and pushed Elliott away. “Alright, you focus on the wooing and I’ll focus on explaining my thought processes.”

“That doesn’t sound as fun, but okay, this is your day.”

As Elliot and Leah made their way across the square, an unwelcome guest watched them from afar. Their blood boiled as they saw Leah pause at the makeshift painting gallery to give the farmer’s hand an affectionate squeeze.

***

“I can’t believe we sold so many!” Leah spoke in ecstatic disbelief as she waved at the last car she and (Y/n) had just loaded a heavy wooden sculpture into before it drove away. “This is crazy!”

(Y/n) wore a smile that matched Leah’s, happy to watch the sculptor bouncing in place. When Leah finally stilled, still giddy, she took both of (Y/n)’s hands in hers. Once again free of the gloves, the hands were pleasantly soft against her own and she relished in the feeling.

“(Y/n) I know it’s kind of late, but I have something I want to give to you. I left it at my house so I’m going to go get it. I’ll meet you at the farm, is that alright?”

(Y/n) stared at Leah, her curiosity piqued. She nodded, easily giving Leah the answer she was hoping for.

“Great! I’ll be there soon!” With one last squeeze of the farmer’s hands, she was off. (Y/n) heard the crack of a twig, but when she turned to investigate, nothing stood out so she made her way back to her farm to wait for Leah.

When Leah came up to the porch, (Y/n) had to do a double take at the big wooden statue she was lugging along. With one last huff of air, Leah placed the statue at the base of the steps and grinned up at (Y/n), wiping a bit of sweat from her brow.

“Thanks for waiting. It was a little more ah, heavy, than I expected.” Leah laughed sheepishly. “Come take a look.”

(Y/n) stepped off the porch and circled the piece, taking in every detail. Leah felt nervous butterflies fluttering in her stomach while she watched the farmer scrutinize the work and cleared her throat.

“I started working on it in the spring. I also incorporated some of that driftwood you gave me a few weeks ago. Anyway, I made it with you in mind. It’s called, ‘How I Feel about (Y/n)’ and I’d be honored if you would accept it as a gift for everything you’ve done for me.” Leah stared at her feet as she spoke, too embarrassed to keep her eyes on (Y/n) while she spoke. Then a pair of boots joined, hands came up to clasp her own, pulling the conjoined grasp into her line of vision and coaxing her to look up into (Y/n)’s eyes.

“It’s wonderful.”

At that moment, Leah thought her heart must have been beating so hard that it was affecting her hearing.

“Hh... huh?” Leah asked, rather dumbly.

(Y/n) swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and whispered, “It’s wonderful, Leah. Thank you.”

Leah looked absolutely awestruck, purple irises shone with excitement and she laughed, pulling (Y/n) into a tight embrace.

“I’m glad you like it.” Leah sniffled, resting her face in (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“Leah?” (Y/n) wrapped her arms around the artist, it was only one word, her name, but Leah heard the concern in the farmer’s tone.

“I’m okay. I’m just happy,” Leah sniffled again, “I’m happy you felt comfortable enough with me to speak to me.”

“Me too.” (Y/n) whispered, holding Leah tighter.

The pair found it difficult when they had to part ways for the night, but they were equally excited over how their relationship was developing, looking forward to spending more time together over the summer.

***

“Come on, just a little further...” Leah coached herself. She was reaching for a piece of fruit hanging from a branch just out of her reach.

She had planned a picnic with (Y/n) for this afternoon. She had already set up under the big old tree near the pond and as she waited for (Y/n) to finish up with her crops and animals for the morning, when she spotted the unusual fruit. Now she was jumping and stretching for the fruit just out of reach.

“Almost— Ah!” Leah struggled to balance herself in the air, swiveling her head to peak over her shoulder, she saw (Y/n) looking up at her with a mischievous grin. Leah rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the side of her lips. She turned back to the task at hand and grabbed the fruit, motioning (Y/n) to put her back down.

“Show off.” Leah scoffed, lightly punching (Y/n)’s shoulder. “You wanna try a bite?”

“Yes, please.” (Y/n)’s cheeks heated when Leah pressed the fruit to her lips. She took a bite of the offering, savoring the taste. “It’s so sweet.” She said, amazed.

“Right?” Leah smiled, “It’s rare to get fruit from this tree. Usually all the animals snap it all up as soon as they’re ripe, but it seems they miss some from time to time. How is everything with the farm this morning?”

“All is well,” (Y/n) nodded as the pair made themselves comfortable on the blanket Leah had set up, “I would have been here sooner but the goats kept standing in front of my cheese and mayo machines, the chicken coup too. Made it a little difficult.” (Y/n) disclosed. “Which reminds me,” she rummaged through her bag, “goat cheese salads.”

“Mmm, this looks heavenly. Thank you for making these.” Leah said, eagerly stirring in some vinaigrette into the generous fresh salad.

“No problem. Selling my harvest is nice, but it feels so much more rewarding enjoying it like this.” (Y/n) informed, mixing her own salad.

“I can imagine,” Leah hummed and leaned her back fully against the trunk of the tree, “Ah, it’s such a lovely day for this.”

“Mhmm.”

They ate the rest of their meal in peaceful silence, listening to the birds sing and the fish leap, the breeze rustling the trees and grass around them. It was tranquil, it was perfect.

“Hey, Leah,” (Y/n) spoke, breaking the silence.

“Yes?” Leah asked, turning her gaze away from the sketch pad she had brought out.

“It’s almost Fall you know, we’ve known each other for nearly two whole seasons. Half a year, it’s crazy, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, doesn’t it?” Leah giggled, “What made you think of that?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you something. Don’t feel like you have to answer one way or the other, but...” (Y/n) paused, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Hey, it’s okay (Y/n). You can tell me anything. Sign it out if you want to.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just nervous,” (Y/n) turned to her bag and pulled out a lovely bouquet of flowers, “Leah, would you maybe consider being my girlfriend?“

“Yes!” Leah enveloped (Y/n) in a tackle like hug that sent them both to fully meet the ground, accidentally crushing the flowers between their bodies, “Oops, sorry,” Leah wiggled the flowers out from under her to look at them more closely, “these are lovely, (Y/n). I didn’t know Pierre had these in yet.”

“He didn’t, I planted them.” (Y/n) clarified, smiling up at Leah who still hovered over her, giggling.

“Of course you did, you’re so sweet.”

“I try.”

“Are you kidding me!”

Leah and (Y/n) quickly turned to face the disturbance, scrambling to sit up from their compromising position. Leah felt her stomach twist with discomfort seeing Kel of all people marching up to them, absolutely fuming.

“Seriously, what the hell, Leah?” Kel yelled, their hands clenched into tight fists as they closed in, making yard after yard disappear between them.

“No, more like what the hell, Kel? I broke up with you seasons ago. What are you even doing in Pelican Town?” Leah retorted angrily, as (Y/n) helped her to her feet. Kel watched the motion and ground their teeth.

They were already dangerously close to crossing the threshold of the blanket and that small display was enough to send them stomping over the edge.

“I came for you, obviously! I’ve been slumming it in that dusty old saloon since your art show, waiting to talk to you! Now I find you sucking face with some country bumpkin nobody!” They seethed, stepping even closer into Leah’s personal space until (Y/n) pulled Leah back behind her, making Kel even more incensed. “You stay out of this. I’m talking to Leah!”

(Y/n) held strong, stuck between the harsh obscenities attacking her from the front and the loving affirmations defending her from behind. She held her arm out, willing Kel to stay back as she slowly started to guide Leah back in the direction of town for help. Kel ignored the warning and followed after them.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? You think you’re being some kind of hero right now?” Kel seethed.

(Y/n) stayed silent, she had gone mute again and who would blame her in the face of such a tense situation? She was so very uncomfortable, scared even, but she continued on passed Marnie’s since she knew the woman wasn’t home at this time and she sure wasn’t going to expose Jas to this. Jodi’s house was their next best bet.

“Hey, you obviously want to start something here. You’ve got something to say to me?” Kel continued forward.

“Kel, leave us alone!” Leah commanded, “It’s over, it’s been over, go home!”

“You think you’re too good to talk to me?” Kel yelled, ignoring Leah. “She’s just a whore. She just latched onto the first warm body she could find after her little meltdown. You’re not special.”

(Y/n) froze stiffly in place, Leah felt the muscles on her shoulders tense so she tried to pull on her arm to keep her moving.

“Ignore them, (Y/n). Let’s focus on getting to town, okay?” Leah pleaded. But (Y/n) gently pushed off Leah’s hands and took a step towards Kel with a cold glare. Leah stepped to stand beside (Y/n)’s side, nervous that a more serious confrontation was about to unfold.

“Well?” Kel spat.

(Y/n) crossed her arms, turning her head to look at Leah. The look on her face was all the communication Leah needed to understand. It was definitely a, ‘they better back off or I’m going to knock them off their block’ face. Leah had never known (Y/n) to be particularly violent, but with all the time she spent in the mines, she had no doubt that she could take care of herself.

Leah gasped when Kel suddenly roared, lunging forward. Apparently they had not liked how (Y/n) and Leah had been paying attention to each other rather than themself. Kel had rocketed forward and aimed to punch (Y/n) hard over her cheek, however, at the last moment, Leah pushed her aside and took the blow for her.

(Y/n) inhaled sharply and caught Leah as she stumbled back, noticing how blood immediately began gushing from Leah’s now broken nose.

“Ow- AH!” Leah cried, her hands muffled her voice since she had covered her nose and mouth.

It only took a second for (Y/n) to return the favor to Kel’s stunned face. She punched them fast and hard over their cheek, but Kel was quick to fight back and now it was a full out brawl.

“What’s going on, we heard yelling— holy shit!”

Leah turned away from the fight to see Sam, Seb, and Abigail running up on the scene.

“(Y/n)’s throwing hands!” Abigail yelled, sounding way more excited than worried.

“Leah are you okay? What’s going on?” Sebastian asked, noting the concerning amount of blood running down Leah’s arms and the front of her shirt.

“Don’t worry about me, stop them!” Leah winced, taking one hand away from her face to motion to her ex and her new girlfriend still going at each other.

“Damn, Abi! Go get your dad and Harvey too by the looks of it!” Sam yelled, he seemed to be looking for an opening to push the fighters apart.

“Are you kidding? You get my dad, I’m getting in on this!” Abigail cheered and ran up to jump on Kel’s back like she was at a rodeo while (Y/n) landed a good hit on Kel’s stomach. “Nice punch, (Y/n)!”

“Oh Yoba, Sam, start running.” Seb suggested, trying to help Leah with her nose. He was no Maru, but even he knew how to set a broken nose. Especially within the first couple weeks of Sam taking up skateboarding.

“Right!” Sam ran off back into town screaming. A few tense minutes later and Pierre, Caroline, Robin, Elliott, Maru and Harvey came running behind Sam to break up the fight.

“Abigail, stop!” Pierre huffed, pulling off his daughter and passing her off to his wife, “I taught you what I did to defend yourself, not to lash out like a wild animal!” He grunted, pulling Kel into his grasp and trapping their arms behind their back with Elliott coming up to assist.

“Come on dad, I was helping a friend! What’s the big deal?” Abi groaned, while her mom fretted over her, looking for injuries.

“Easy there kid, it’s over.” Robin coaxed (Y/n), pulling her back. The farmer slumped over in the carpenter’s hold, breathing heavily.

“Is (Y/n) okay? Ah!” Leah hissed as Harvey touched up her nose, giving her a nasal spray before wedging a couple wads of tissue up her nostrils.

“Sorry, Leah.” Harvey sympathized, “Maru is going to check up on her now.”

“What about me?” Kel hissed. Pierre had them resting on their knees. They looked really roughed up. A black eye was already forming and scratches and bruises littered their skin, they were also holding their stomach rather tightly.

“You’ll just have to wait a minute.” Elliott frowned, staring down at the stranger with contempt.

“Don’t you have any police officers in this backwater town? I’ll sue every one of you for withholding care to someone who is obviously hurt!” Kel threatened, grinding their teeth.

“Oh, the police are coming alright!”  Caroline spoke indignantly. “You are in no position to be asking for anything right now, bringing violence to our community, you should be ashamed!”

“(Y/n) can you look up for me, please.” Maru asked, carefully tilting (Y/n)’s chin up. (Y/n) sucked in a breath when Maru touched her bruised jaw a tad to hard. “Sorry, Your jaw is bruised pretty badly. Your bottom lip split too. How is your vision?”

(Y/n) shook her head and winced, cradling her head in her hands.

“Okay, possible concussion. We’ll need to observe her at the clinic.” Maru said.

“Alright, come on bruiser,” Robin grunted, heaving (Y/n) to her feet, “Sebbie, help me walk her into town please.”

“Sure mom.” Seb took (Y/n)’s other side.

(Y/n) patted Robin’s arm, motioning her to wait. She slowly turned to Kel and leaned more heavily against Seb as she freed her other arm from Robin to snap her fingers aggressively, looking for Kel’s attention. Once Kel looked up at her, sneering from their spot in the dirt, (Y/n) turned briefly to make sure Leah was watching. When she saw that she was, she smiled as if to say, ‘watch this,’ and turned back to Kel. (Y/n) brought her flat, angled hand below her chin and sent it forward in the direction of Kel’s confused, but no less, pissed face.

“Oh ho! (Y/n) is such a badass!” Abigail laughed.

“Abi, since when do you know sign language?” Sam asked, clearly confused.

“I don’t, but I’ve spent enough time searching curses in different languages to know that was totally a ‘fuck you’. Personally I think a middle finger approach would have been an appropriate classic myself but whatever.” Abigail shrugged.

“Abigail, language!” Caroline scolded.

“Sorry mom.”

“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Clinic, now.” Robin tried to hold in a laugh as she repositioned (Y/n)’s arm over her shoulder. Then she and Seb began walking (Y/n) back into town.

Leah made to follow, but as they were leaving, the police from the the next town over had arrived and they needed her statements as a witness. Never mind that she was covered in her own blood and her girlfriend was being dragged away to the clinic with a concussion. Once the officers were satisfied, they took Kel away with promises to be back for (Y/n)’s statement and to see if any charges would be made. For now they were just going to take Kel back to a hospital in Zuzu City since they may have broken a rib or two in the fight. After that, they were going to be free to go.

Leah wasn’t too worried. She didn’t think Kel would come back after the beating (Y/n) and Abigail gave them. She watched the police car drive out of Cindersaps, taking her disgruntled ex away.

“Leah, I’m sure you want to get to the clinic but you should really clean up first.” Caroline had said patting the younger woman’s back. “(Y/n) will be fine.”

“Yeah, Harvey and Maru got her. Take some time to process.” Elliott smiled.

Leah could only nod tiredly. She trudged over to her cottage to shower and change. She still couldn’t believe how quickly things got out of hand. She looked at her bandaged nose in the mirror, hissing when she gingerly touched the bridge of it. She was wary of Seb setting it himself, but Harvey said he had gone a great job. Once she was physically put back together, Leah quickly made her way to the clinic.

“Where is she?” She asked immediately upon arriving. She sounded a little congested thanks to her clogged nose, but she was easily understood. Robin was still in the waiting room and filled her in.

“Harvey and Maru are talking her through concussion care. She’s okay, but I don’t think she’ll be allowed to work for awhile.”

“Oh no,” Leah sat down, resting her elbows on her knees and covered her eyes with her hands, “This is all my fault.”

“Aw, don’t say that sweetheart. You know that’s not true.” Robin frowned, taking a seat beside her, “(Y/n) would hate to hear you think like that.”

“(Y/n) loves her farm! If she can’t maintain the upkeep...” Leah continued, teary eyed, only to be silenced by Robin.

“I’m going to stop you right there. Nothing is going to happen to the farm. Abi, Sam, and even Seb already told (Y/n) in no uncertain terms that they were going to pitch in while she recovers. Everything is going to be taken care of.” Robin assured.

“Still none of this would have happened if-“

“If you hadn’t broken up with your ex? Moved to Pelican Town? Got a crush? Leah, you can’t punish yourself for moving on with your life. You’re allowed to be happy.” Robin chided gently. “It was hard for me and Sebastian’s father to see eye to eye at the best of times. Now I have Demetrius and although he can be a bit annoying sometimes with his tomato bullshit, not a day goes by that I’m not grateful I took that first step because I love him.” Robin smiled.

Leah’s nose hurt like hell as she tried to carefully wipe the tears from her eyes and Robin rubbed her back affectionately. Once Leah had calmed down, Robin stood and stretched.

“She’s been wondering where you are. The doc is keeping her for overnight observation, but your welcome to stay with her. I on the other hand, am apparently too old for this much excitement and need to go home.”

“Thank you Robin, for talking to me.”

“Anytime,” Robin grinned, “now go get her.”

Leah made her way into the back area of the clinic and nearly ran up to Harvey, Maru, and (Y/n). (Y/n) was signing to Maru while she relayed the information to Harvey as he examined (Y/n)’s well being.

(Y/n) was relieved to see Leah and eagerly motioned her to come sit on the edge of the bed she was sitting in which Leah did happily.

“Leah, how’s the nose?” Harvey asked while he finished up (Y/n)’s chart.

“It’s fine. Just, really sore and tingly.”

“So not fine.” Maru chuckled. “I’ll get you some pain meds.”

“Ah, thanks Maru.” Leah smiled sheepishly.

“Well, Ms. (Y/n),” Harvey sighed, turning his attention back to the farmer, “you and I are in for a long night. I’ll be waking you up every hour to check your pupils to see if your condition changes at all.” Harvey stood and stretched, “Ms. Leah, feel welcome to stay as long as you like. It can’t hurt to keep an extra pair of eyes on her.”

“I could stay overtime, Harvey.” Maru said as she came back with two pills and a glass of water for Leah.

“I seem to recall you talking about a time sensitive experiment this morning.” Harvey recalled, making Maru smack the side of her head. “You’re right! I got to go now! Good night everyone!” Maru called behind her as she rushed out to the waiting room then out of the building.

“I’m going to take the first of my many naps lined up for tonight. I’ll see you ladies in about an hour. Try to get some rest.” Harvey said before leaving to walk up the stairs to his apartment.

Finally Leah and (Y/n) were alone again. (Y/n) sunk down into the covers and sighed deeply. She turned to face Leah, concerning the sculptor by how small she looked.

“You’re not too upset with me, are you?” (Y/n) asked, surprising Leah.

“I’m not upset with you. Why would I be upset with you?”

“I just beat the crap out a person. Sure they are your ex, but you cared about them at some point so it must have been hard to watch. I can’t imagine what you must think of me now.” (Y/n) whispered, she was so quiet Leah had to lean closer and even then she was straining to hear.

“(Y/n), I like you. Nothing that happened today changed how much I like you. It certainly didn’t make me like you any less,” Leah rested her hand over (Y/n)’s cheek, “Kel made their choice when they decided to come to Pelican Town and confront us. I wish it hadn’t gone down the way it did, but that’s not our fault. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay too. I was worried.”

“I wish we could start this day all over,” Leah moaned, “First day as official girlfriends and we get into a fist fight.”

(Y/n) laughed lightly, closing her eyes to combat the pain that came from her jostling. “Abigail thought it was a pretty great date activity.”

“She would think that.” Leah rolled her eyes, “she also eats rocks.”

“Well, think about it this way. Until I’m allowed to take up all my farming duties again, you can do whatever you want with me.”

“Whatever I want, hmm?” Leah tapped her lips with her index finger, “would it be to forward if me to ask for a kiss?”

“You may, just be careful with my split lip. I won’t be able to explain what happened to Harvey if you make it worse.” (Y/n) said.

“One gentle kiss, coming right up.” Leah wiggled on the bed’s stiff hospital sheets until she laid face to face with (Y/n). Their lips met in a soft brushing that was almost ghost like, but rather than leaving them with a chill, warmth bloomed between them.

“Wow.” (Y/n) grinned.

“If you thought that was good, wait until I can get more involved with it.”

“So confident. I like it.” (Y/n) squinted, “could you turn the light off? It’s really starting to hurt my eyes.”

“Of course.” Leah got up and switched off the half the lights to keep their side of the room in darkness but allow Harvey to still be able to see when he came back.

“Now come cuddle, please.” (Y/n) asked sleepily reaching her arms out.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Leah kicked off her boots and shimmied under the sheets to join (Y/n) and wrapped her arms around her. Leah let the exhaustion of the day roll over her and she had nearly let sleep claim her before her eyes shot open and she propped herself up on her elbow to lean over (Y/n).

“Did I really sign a ‘fuck you’ when we first met?!” She asked, appalled.

(Y/n)’s response was to laugh sleepily into Leah’s chest.

[therealcalicali]

Apple Thief

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff and even more Angst

Type: One Shot

Wordcount: 7,003

“Y/N! You need not go.” Your ailing father called out from where he was sat by the fireplace. Though you lived in a cramped quarter, the main room was always the warmest. And due to his injury, keeping his temperature up was best. “From the looks of things, a storm is brewing. Did you hear me, Buttons?”

With a smirk you threw his cowhide overcoat atop your woolen pullover. It wasn’t as nice as the fur-lined cloaks most girls wore. But it kept you warm despite being unfashionable. After grabbing your gloves, you bounded into the main room. Peering out the window, you realized the skies were indeed overcast.

However, you couldn’t stay home.

Rain or otherwise, you had to earn some coin. Especially since the sum your Uncle left was depleted. He had given all he could before leaving for a nearby town to sell his wares. And since you had no inclination of when he would return, you had to be resourceful.

“Just look at you, Buttons….” Your father exclaimed as he did his best not to chuckle. “You look like someone cast a shrinking spell upon you.”

“The coat may be ill-fitting, but it’s warm. So, if you keep taunting me, I might never give it back.”

“Please, stay.” He said as his smile began to fade. He then pointed his walking stick in your direction. “As my only child, I have no desire to see you fall ill.”

“Papa, I cannot sit around hoping Uncle is on his way back. He is far off, and your medicines are finished. And what’s more, we are in need of foodstuffs.”

“We are not.” Your father countered. “What of the red yams and potatoes? We can get by cooking them with cabbage and carrots.”

“First off, we have two red yams and no potatoes. And as for cabbage and carrots, I used the last of them in last night’s stew. So, like it or not, I must venture out.”

“It’s times like these I wish we still had our chickens. The eggs would bring in good coin.”

“Don’t fret, Papa. I’ve been saving what Uncle gives me for my upkeep. I intend to buy at least four of them. Soon, we could even own a nice milking cow again.”

Your father’s gaze went to fireplace.

He was a proud man, and it truly hurt your soul to see him dejected. But it made sense for a former Kings’ Guard to feel inadequate. At one time, your father provided a very posh lifestyle for the family. But once he was maimed in battle, he was forcibly discharged with a paltry severance. Once that was spent, your father had no choice but to start using what had been saved.

As expected, hardship followed. So much in fact, your mother decided to abscond with the little coin that was left. That was nearly three years prior. But for you, the betrayal felt like it had occurred only yesterday.

“Papa, please do not guilt me going outdoors.” You said, walking to him and taking a knee. “If I promise to come home should the weather should take a turn, would that ease your mind?”

Reluctantly, your father nodded.

“And take my dagger.” He said, pointing to the table nearest the front door. The weapon was a magnificent piece of military craftsmanship. Something only most decorated of fighters were ever bestowed. Still, your father wanted you to have it. “From now on, it is yours.”

“But Papa, that is a relic of your service. You earned it with much blood and sweat. I cannot possibly think of wielding it. Besides, it’s far too valuable to be taken out of the house.”

“Y/N, the only thing of value that I have, is you.”

You couldn’t help smiling. After sheathing the dagger, you informed your father that you would soon return. As you exited the cottage and approached the stables, you were suddenly filled with great hope.

You made your way to the town square on the back of your Uncle’s trusty steed, Moss.

Being a thoughtful man, Gadin left town in a hired wagon so you would have transport. So, as you tied the horse to a wooden post, you gave him a soothing pat.

“Have no fear, boy. We shall not stay for long.” You said before reaching into your leather satchel. After grabbing a handful of apple slices and oats, you fed Moss. “Well, things are really bustling today. No doubt I will make some coin.”

And you had good reason for being confident. Aside from the handmade gloves you made, you intended to sell some jewelry. The silver necklace and earrings had been intended for your mother on her Naming Day. But since she abandoned the family prior to him surprising her, your father passed them to you.

When Moss suddenly whinnied and stomped his hooves, you grabbed hold of his bit.

With that, you turned on your heels and began walking toward the marketplace. 

Trade was truly flourishing because you had never seen so many foreigners in Stillwell before. But it was a good sign. It meant that soon, there would be expansions and all the other benefits that came with being a thriving village.

“Move your corpse, jackass!” A gruff voice bellowed.

When you turned to see who had spoken so rudely, a grey-haired elderly man pushed past. He was in such a huff, he nearly knocked you over. It was enough to make one angry had it not been so amusing. 

Because though he appeared exceptionally frail; the man hauled his cartful of wares with the strength of twenty men.

“Magic.” You mused. “Everyone that wields it or buys it, is a nuisance.”

Suddenly, something else caught your attention. From the corner of your eye, you spotted a foreboding man cloaked in black. Naturally, this piqued your curiosity. From what you could assess; the armor signified his status as a formidable warrior. Likely a mercenary or something along those lines.

You knew this because the symbol that hung from the stranger’s neck didn’t appear to belong to any King.

When you noticed the tufts of white hair peaking from his hood, you promptly realized he was no mere mortal. Mostly because such a hue was not be found amongst your kind. As he walked, the stranger behaved as if he didn’t wish to be amongst people. But despite this, he had a traveling companion. A pleasant looking fellow who seemed to be relaying information in a lively fashion.

“Those two cannot be from any of the nearby townships.” You mused. “Perhaps they hail from some of the wealthier domains.”

Realizing that you were getting distracted, you returned your thoughts to selling your wares. 

As luck would have it, your devotion to Ryrdohr, the God of Wonders, paid off.

Not only did you manage to unload your mother’s earring and necklace, but the silver merchant gave a fair price. Mainly, at the behest of his partner. As you were haggling, the man had taken one look before exclaiming that you reminded him of his late niece. For that reason, he forced his miserly friend to cough up more coin.

What you received, eighty Denars, was equal to a month and a half worth of wages. Thus, you were feeling quite blessed as you walked down the pathway toward The Bargainers Lot. It was where people that didn’t own traditional stands or storefronts conducted business.

As you passed a barrel-lined walkway, you heard a faint whistle. There, stood only yards away, a shabbily dressed boy, no older than twelve beckoned.

“Lass, might you have any food to spare?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder before looking at you again.

“Do not take me for a heartless person, little boy. But why ask such a thing whilst standing in an alleyway?”

“Apologies…….” He said as he rubbed his hands together. “But I must take care. I do not want the Sentries to see me begging. They are quite rough with street children these days.

Your father was right. It did appear that a storm would soon come. For that reason, you wished to give the child something. Enough to buy some food and even bestowing a pair of the gloves you intended to sell. 

However, you had no desire to enter the alleyway to do so. After all, nothing good ever came of venturing into secluded places.

“If you want food..…..” You said, reaching to your coat pocket and producing eight Fenning. It was coin to buy two meat pies and some peach ale. But the boy needed it far more than you. “I am willing to be of help. But you must come here and------”

The first shove cut you off midsentence. But the second swiftly knocked you to the ground.

Before you grasped what was occurring, you were set upon by three other children. As you struggled to unsheathe your dagger, one kicked you in the shoulder as another seized your satchel. Infuriated, you quickly realized that you had to fight back or risk losing everything.

“I am being set upon by bandits!” You screamed. “Help!”

You had expected your words to bring someone to your aid. But after a few seconds, you realized it was for naught. In Stillwell, as in most townships, people preferred to keep to their own affairs. That meant unless a Sentry happened upon the attack, you were on your own.

When you rolled onto your back, you managed to break the buttons on your coat. With shaking hand, you finally unsheathed your father’s dagger. Taking note of this, the three children stared, wide-eyed.

“Now, you little monsters! Return my belongings before I cut your throats.”

“You will do nothing of the sort!”  A raspy voice countered.

Peering into the alleyway, you spotted the owner. A man with a crescent moon upon his left cheek was now stood next to the boy that had beckoned you. Only a foot away, a fiery-haired woman aimed an arrow in your direction.

“Let’s kill her and be done with it.” She suggested.

Mercifully, he didn’t seem eager to comply. After pondering a moment, he motioned for one of the children to take your dagger. Alarmed at losing your father’s prized weapon, you pointed it menacingly.

“If you prefer, we can kill you and take it, all the same.” The man threatened.

From his tone, it was apparent that he was not simply mincing words. 

He spoke very much like an experienced butcher. Still, you could not compel yourself to hand the dagger over. As the three children stared wearily, awaiting their next directives, everything suddenly went black. 

“Aye, she finally returns to the living.” An amused voice announced.

As your vision adjusted to the light of day again, you winced. For whatever reason, a dull pain within your head became more prominent. Indeed, even looking at your surroundings proved difficult. Still, you managed to lift yourself off the bench and sit upright.

Since the pressure seemed to be concentrated at the base of your neck, you attempted to feel it. However, a hand swiftly caught you by the wrist.

“Do not go touching the wound, jackass.” The old man commanded. “You’ll only smear the Black Mares ointment that’s been applied.”

“Wha…………………where did those children go?”

“What children?”

It was then you realized whom you were speaking to. The old man tending you was the very same one that had nearly bowled you over. For whatever reason, he was the only person that came to your rescue.

“Sir, did you happen to see which direction those bandits went in?”

“I do not know what you speak of. But here is your eight Fenning.” He replied, shoving the coin in your palm. “It was scattered about your person when I found you.”

“But what of my satchel? Those people took everything!” You exclaimed as all that had occurred came to memory. “I must find a Sentry.”

The old man cackled as if you had said the silliest thing in the world. After stating that the Sentries did their job well, he added that they only did so for the affluent. However, someone of your caliber would have to pass coin to their hands.

“And from the looks of it Lass, you hardly have enough to sway them.”

After securing the kerchief to your head, he practically jumped his feet. You could only stare in astonishment as he then took hold of his loaded cart.

“But sir…………I have not even properly thanked you.” You said, scooting forward on the bench. “At least take this, for your trouble.”

The man eyed the four Fenning in your hand before sneering. With a gruff tone, he advised that you keep it. Adding that he did not assist you because he lacked the means to care for himself. Apologetic for offending him, you stated that you had not intended imply such a thing. Nevertheless, he had already begun walking away.

He moved so swiftly, you could only shout words of gratitude as he disappeared into the crowd. 

As you entered the small shop marked ‘The Long Caravan’, you pulled your coat closer to your body.

The light rain had already begun. Thus, you knew you only had a short time before the full gale set in. Though you had been robbed, you simply couldn’t go home empty handed. Especially without your father’s necessary medicines. So, if nothing else, you meant to buy the herbs.

“I accept no beggars in my establishment.” The snobby shopkeeper announced upon seeing you. “The soup house is down the road by the Great Sawmill.”

Incensed at the insinuation, you glared at her.

She then snapped her fingers at her young assistants, ordering them to set down two massive bags. One marked ‘corn’ and the other, ‘oats’. And that’s when you saw him by the Alchemy portion of the shop. The massive stranger clad in black. Even now, he appeared disinterested in his surroundings.

This was quite peculiar since he was apparently making purchases. But as for his companion, he was gingerly conversing with the shopkeeper’s husband.

“I said, no beggars!” She said once more.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not one!” You fumed, tired of her relentless assumptions. “I’ll have you know I’m here to purchase medicines. Or do you no longer take coin?”

Distracted by your words, the more jovial of the strangers stopped chatting.

He then leaned against a banister and folded his arms over his chest. Pardoning herself from the cloaked stranger, the woman sized you up before asking what you required.

“Four packets of Pearl Moss, two packets of Lakebarberry Leaves and four packets of Sour Quassia”

Despite wearing a spiteful expression, the shopkeeper went behind the counter. She then began measuring things out as you glanced around the shop. It was then you noticed the sizeable fruit display. From dragon pears to apples, there was good variety available.

“I’m so famished. I hope there is something left over.” You thought, pulling the eight Fenning from your pocket.

When you realized you were being watch, your head jerked in the direction of the white-haired man. At first, he appeared to be looking directly at you. But as you studied his expression, it became clear that he was looking past you.

Taking notice of his fascination, the shopkeeper’s husband went to him. He then began explaining that they had purchased the mounted head on the wall from a passing tradesman. As always, the stranger remained quiet. But suddenly, he actually glanced at you for the first time.

“Demon eyes.” You thought. “He is no mortal. Of that, there is no doubt.”

“That will be twenty Fenning.” The shopkeeper announced. “And do not dawdle, girl. I have other customers.”

You sighed. Apparently, the cost of herbs had gone up significantly since the last time. Placing all you had upon the counter, you eyed the woman.

“I……………I only have eight. However, look at these gloves I’m wearing. I made them myself. Pure cowhide with rabbit fur lining. Surely, they are worth the remainder.”

“Does this look like the trade-in post?” She snapped. “Either you have the coin, or you don’t.”

With tense jaw, you asked that she remove two satchels of Pearl Moss since it was the most expensive. But unexpectedly, the nicer of the two strangers walked over. After asking the woman to wait a moment, he looked at your hands.

“I know a lady that would really fancy those.” He said with a smile that reached his eyes. “I’m Jaskier, by the way. Nice to meet your acquaintance.”

Though your day had been nothing but terrible, you couldn’t help giving a smile in return.

“Y/N.” You replied, shaking his hand.

You then removed the smartly made gloves and set them down. When you asked if he was truly serious, Jaskier nodded firmly. After placing twenty Fenning on the counter, he took possession of his wares.

“I now have my gloves, and you, have your coin,”

Utterly beside yourself, you couldn’t help thanking him several times. Truly, he was an answer to your silent prayers. Such a show of kindness not only lifted your spirits but gave you a more optimistic outlook. While the moody shopkeeper finished tying the bundle of herbs with twine, Jaskier informed you he was a Bard.

A renowned and much sought after one, at that.

“You?” You exclaimed in astonishment.

“What’s the matter? Do I not look the part?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that you appear……..………you know….”

“Appear what?”

“To be quite honest. From your style of dress, I swore you were a Lord or something of the sort.”

From nearby, his companion made an odd grunt.

“Pay him no mind.” Jaskier said, looking in his direction. “He isn’t known for his manners.”

“If you take your time, I will leave you.” The cloaked man replied, ignoring the insult.

Though his tone of voice was cold, there was something within it that held some humanity. Perhaps, the Bard was his charge.

“Is that man your Hired Sword?” You asked.

The question sent Jaskier into a fit of laughter. However, his companion was not amused. In fact, he appeared meaner than he had been already. Leaving your side, Jaskier went to the shopkeeper’s husband and pointed to the waterskins.

It was then the woman finally handed you the satchel of herbs. 

As you walked to the middle of the shop, you realized it was now raining quite hard. Not wanting to get your purchase wet, you opened your coat and pushed the satchels into the inner breast pocket. After closing the flap, you were buttoning your coat when the apples caught your eye.

Though you had eight Fenning left, thanks to Jaskier, you had not desire to spend it. So, as the storeowners busied themselves with their wealthier patrons, you began slipping a few into your coat. But as you finished taking the sixth and last one, the woman swiftly rushed over.

“Thief!” She shrieked, grabbing hold of your coat immediately. “I knew you were trouble from the moment you set foot in here!”

Though you were caught, you wished to turn the items over yourself. However, the shopkeeper refused to let go.

“I’m no thief!” You protested. “At least…………………….not really.”

“Not a thief, she says! Well, we shall see about that.” The woman mocked, holding your coat more firmly.

She then began shaking the fabric until the apples started coming lose. One by one, they soon dropped to the ground at your feet.

“Hmm. The girl is either an apple tree, or a thief.” Geralt remarked.

He then picked up the bags of corn and oats and hoisted them over his shoulder. As he walked to the exit of the shop, Jaskier stared at you and the shopkeeper. From his expression, you could see he felt your humiliation.

Thus, you averted your gaze.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelled as he departed into the busy street. Though it was now raining, he made no attempt to seek cover. “Geralt! We cannot leave that poor girl to that woman. She will likely report her to the Sentries.”

“Why do you care?”

“Well, the laws against theft in Stillwell are harsher than in most townships. And she appears quite sweet……….……………. but desperate.”

Geralt scoffed as he kept to his path.

Nevertheless, Jaskier refused to give in. As he tried to keep pace, he confessed that he felt compelled to help. And if he had to convince the storekeeper and her husband alone, he would return to the shop.

“Then, go.” Geralt replied. “But remember, I will not wait long.” 

“I swear, Madame, it was not my intention to take from you.” You said apologetically. “I had a great deal of coin a short time ago. However, I was robbed of it, and the rest of possessions. It’s the only reason I didn’t wish to spend the little I have left. That’s the truth of the matter.”

“Do not give me your sad tales.” The shopkeeper snapped. “When the Sentinels come, you may tell it to them, if you like.”

Just as you were about to drop to your knees and beg her mercy, Jaskier returned. With damp hair, he walked over and looked the woman straight in the eye.

“Allow me to pay for the value of the apples, plus a little extra for compensation.” He said. “Surely, that ought to be enough to allow the girl to leave peaceably.”

It sounded like a reasonable solution. But to his astonishment, the woman refused. After stating she was tired of your “type”, she added that you had to be an example.

“I cannot have every thieving liar thinking my shop is a free market. She must be turned over to the Sentinels.”

“Madame, have mercy.” You implored. “I cannot be away from my father for days on end. He is a cripple. If he is left alone, he could fall ill or even worse.”

Jaskier’s expression went soft. The revelation only made him more determined to be of help. But no matter how much he argued your case, his words fell on deaf ears.

“Natasja.” The shopkeepers husband said as he approached. “The girl seems genuine. Besides, she didn’t take anything of true worth. Only food. It’s obvious that she meant no real harm.”

Despite his attempt to defuse the situation, his wife proved hardheaded. With a hand still grasping your coat, she informed both he and Jaskier that she had already sent one of the shop assistants to fetch a Sentinel.

And thus, the four of you waited.

Whilst the time passed, the shopkeeper’s husband stated he would not give a statement. In fact, he wanted no parts of anything should the lawmen ask anything of him. Still, his wife didn’t seem moved.

“Bastien, if that is what you wish, so be it. But I will make sure this girl is made an example of. I will not become a target for every poverty-stricken bastard.”

“How dare you! I’m no bastard!” You seethed. “My father is an honorable man. He was a King’s Guard in Narin.”

“Ah, King Jethofius.” Jaskier mused with an impressed expression. “It’s said that he only commissions the most-skilled.”

“Most-skilled.” The shopkeeper repeated with a chuckle. “You keep listening to her tales.”

Angered by her flippant attitude, you countered that you spoke the truth. Not just about your father, but about being robbed earlier in the day. But none of that mattered. Because it wasn’t long before two well-armored Sentinels entered the shop.

“That is her.” The young worker said, pointing you out.

With annoyed expressions, the two men walked over. After politely acknowledging everyone, they looked you over.

“Your boy tells us that you caught the thief in the act.” The taller of the Sentinels said. “What did she take.”

“Apples.” Jaskier interacted. “Simple, ordinary apples. Hardly anything to take you from your patrol.”

The shopkeeper cut him a mean glare, however, she added that he was correct. You had stolen apples.

“But I would hardly say it is trivial. A thief, is a thief at the end of the day.”

“Do you wish to have her locked away until you can petition the Justice?”

When the shopkeeper nodded, her husband grumbled. He truly disliked how his wife had forgotten their struggles. There had been times even they came close to stealing. And though they never did so, he understood your plight.

“Let me state this now. I will not participate.” He announced.

Somewhat taken aback, the Sentinels looked between the husband and wife. One then grabbed you by the arm.

“Alright, it’s time to go.”

“Please! There must be something I can do to make things right.” You protested as you looked at the shopkeeper. “I am needed at home!”

“You should have thought about that before you went about nicking things.” The man countered. “Now either you move your legs, or I’ll resort to brute force.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Geralt said in a calm tone.

When you all looked towards the entrance, he was stood there with an annoyed expression. In an unhurried pace, he made his way over. He then scowled at poor Jaskier, who could do nothing but shrug in response.

“Stranger, this is none of your affair.” One of the Sentinels cautioned. “It’s best you keep moving before you are charged with interfering with the law.”

“The girl is my servant.” Geralt said, ignoring everything he had said. He then tossed the shopkeeper’s husband a small black pouch. “That’s nine Denars. Twenty times the value of what she took.”

Angered by the meddling, the shopkeeper declared she wanted justice, not coin. She then informed the Sentinels that Geralt did not speak truthfully. You had come to the shop alone, thus, you were not a servant of either man. But as she continued raving, her husband suddenly placed a hand upon her shoulder.

“Do not take offense, love…” He began. ‘But for once, shut your mouth.”

Ever the jovial one, Jaskier burst into gleeful laughter.

This caused one of the Sentinels to chuckle as well. However, things quickly subsided when Geralt shot both men a severe look. Approaching the lawmen, the shopkeeper’s husband first apologized for wasting their time. He then assured them that the coin was more than enough to resolve the matter.

“It appears there is nothing for you to do here. But gratitudes, all the same.”  He added.

Obviously, the shopkeeper was livid. But as she followed the Sentinels, they ignored her pleas to return.

“So, we may take our leave?” Geralt asked of the husband.

“Aye.” He replied. “The little Lass is free to go.”

“I cannot stay.” You protested as you entered the Blue Raven Tavern with Jaskier and Geralt. “I must begin my journey home!”

As expected, it the place was quite busy due to the storm. As you were guided to a table, the patrons appeared to be mostly traveling merchants, migrants and Mercenaries. All of them in search of a temporary place of shelter until the weather improved.

“Sit.” Geralt gruffly commanded.

Naturally, his tone didn’t sit well with you.

“My Lord, I am no dog!” You protested despite doing as asked. “I’m quite grateful for your show of kindness. And as promised, I intend to repay the coin you parted with. But I must ask that you speak to me like I am a person.”

After staring for a moment, Geralt simply looked away. Frustrated by his odd behavior, you gave Jaskier your attention. Unfortunately, he was too busy staring at the ample breasts of the Tavern maid.

“Look here! Do you intend to ogle me all night or is there something you are in need of?”

“Oh, I am in need of many things.” Jaskier replied cheekily. “But let us start off with a pitcher of Black Mead. And perhaps a platter of rose-honey rolls with fresh churned butter on the side.”

The woman gave a flirtatious smirk before turning to leave. As she walked, Jaskier stared at her equally ample backside.

“You have coin for that?” Geralt asked.

“No, but you do.”

When he took note of your smile, Jaskier stated he had spent most of his coin repairing his lute. He then lifted it for you to see. From the way he spoke of it, you could tell the instrument held great sentimental value.

“It’s simply exquisite.” You remarked. “It makes my Uncle’s own look plain by comparison.”

“Do you play?” Jaskier asked with great excitement.

Reluctantly, you confessed that you did. Adding that music was one of the main sources of entertainment in your household. When you stated that you could play most string instruments, Geralt closed his eyes. Seeing the two of you bonding over your music, made him fear either of you playing a song.

Because after the exploits they had encountered in the last township, he had no desire to hear noise.

“Would you play something?” Jaskier asked, passing you his lute.

You were flattered that he would entrust you with his prized possession. However, you hesitated. Though you knew many songs, you played according to mood. And with how you were feeling, a sorrowful melody was likely to come through.

“Go on, Lass!” A man drunken man shouted from a nearby table. “Help me drown out my talkative companions.”

Carefully, you positioned the lute, finding that your fingers eased about the instrument comfortably. With a deep breath, your eyes shut so you could drown the noise around you. From the pluck of the first note, a sense of peace washed over you. 

You were no longer in a dimly lit, packed Tavern. But rather, sat by the scenic lake nearest your cottage. 

As you played, the commotion in the establishment began to die down. From weary traveler, to the most imposing of Hired Sword, everyone was soon listening to your haunting melody. As for Jaskier, he rested his cheek in hand as he watched.

It wasn’t often he came across someone like you. Not only were you amiable, but you now proved to be quite talented. After setting down the rolls and pitcher of Black Mead, the Tavern Maid observed a while before getting to her work.

She too seemed to prefer music over the usual cursing and threats to take fights outdoors.

When you struck the last chord, you were astounded by the eruption of cheers and mugs hitting the tabletops. Your father and Uncle always complimented your playing. However, you had assumed they only flattered you because they were family.

With a bashful expression, you passed the lute back to Jaskier.

“Y/N, you are quite fascinating.” He remarked. “Not only can you sew beautifully, but you have the makings of a Bard.”

“Though I hardly deserve such praise, I will accept it graciously.”

“Good. Now, how about you start eating while I pour us some mead.”

Naturally, you were still quite famished; however, you didn’t want to make a pig of yourself. So instead of taking several rolls, you took one and began spreading the butter. As you were doing so, you realized Geralt staring at you once again.

“My Lord, is there something on my face?”

Though he appeared irritated by your very voice, he replied that you were bleeding. How he could know such a thing was a mystery. Because, at present time, you were sat across from both he and Jaskier.

When you touched the back of your head, and looked at your palm, Geralt was proven correct. Apparently, the wound had begun to seep.

“Oh!” Jaskier exclaimed. “That’s why that fabric is about your head. All this while, I thought it was some new trend.”

“If only.” You replied with a weak smile. “An old man applied ointment to my head before tying this. I only wish I got his name before he disappeared.”

As you removed the kerchief and folded it, Geralt reached inside his cloak. He then produced a small vial and held it towards you.

“Here. Drink this.”

“My Lord, I will do no such thing.” You replied. “First, tell me what it is. Even better, tell me how you knew I was bleeding.”

Despite your words, he said nothing more. Instead, Geralt studied you as if you were an inanimate object.

“My Lord…………”

“For the last time, I am no Lord.”

“Oh, so you CAN put more than five words together.” You jested. “At any rate, since you refuse to tell me how to best address you, I shall keep using the title. My father says it’s best to err on a high position.

Refusing to be drawn into banter, Geralt set the vial on the table.

He then took hold of his mug and got to his feet. When Jaskier asked where he was off to, he nodded towards the door. Despite the storm, it appeared that he was in no mood for company or conversation. As Geralt departed the table, you watched with great curiosity.

“How did he know I was bleeding?” You asked, your gaze following his dominating figure out the Tavern. “Is he part Demon?”

“Demon? Why do you assume such a thing?”

“For one thing, his hair. That alone tells me that he is no mere mortal. But also, his eyes. They seem…………well…………sinister.”

Though he tried, Jaskier burst into laughter. Indeed, he had called Geralt many things whenever they fought. But sinister, was not one of them. Between chuckles, he assured you that his brooding companion was no Demon. In fact, he was one of the few people that stood between such creatures and the innocents.

But from your expression, it appeared you weren’t convinced.

“Why do I get the feeling that you distrust, Geralt?”

“It’s not that, my Lord.” You replied. “However, where I’m from, magic and magical being are not trusted. People are put to death for simply buying magical items.”

“But Stillwell seems quite open-minded.”

“I did not grow up here. I spent most of my life in Narin.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your father was King’s Guard there.” Jaskier remarked, recalling your past conversation. “Tell me, how did you come to reside here?”

Though you stated it was a long tale, he shrugged. Lifting his mug, he reminded you that there was nothing but time. After all, the storm didn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon. Since they had been so kind, you figured it wasn’t an unreasonable request. Thus, you quickly decided to oblige. 

So, as Geralt sat in the enclosed stables, drinking his mead beside Roach and Moss, you shared your life with Jaskier.

“Apple thief.” Geralt exclaimed.

He the grabbed hold of Moss’s bit before rolling his eyes.

Though you had insisted on riding, it was apparent that you were too fatigued. Not only had you fallen asleep twice, but you kept saying things that made little sense. Typically, such a thing wouldn’t be cause for alarm. Especially since your Uncle’s steed followed your companions at a good pace. However, you had also nearly fallen both times.

And since a broken neck would do no one any good, Geralt was becoming irate.

“Y/N, you slept again.” Jaskier remarked as he brought his hired mare alongside. “Either you ride with one of us, or risk having an even worse headwound.”

You yawned as you looked about the forest. Though you had given proper directions, your mind was hazy.

“Are you certain we’re headed the right way?” You asked as you stifled another yawn.

“We exited the Western gate and veered left when we passed the guard tower.” Jaskier replied. “So, by now, we are quite deep in the Highland Grove.”

Though he repeated your directions perfectly, you still had quite the time processing your surroundings. Everything felt somewhat………off.

“Perhaps it’s best if you rode with me the rest of the way.” Jaskier suggested. “Otherwise, you are likely to get hurt.”

You wavered, however, you soon brought Moss to a halt. As Geralt held the bit, you dismounted and stretched a bit more. Suddenly, his neck snapped to the left. With a tense expression, the brooding warrior peered into the darkness.

Evidently, he was observing something neither you nor Jaskier could see.

“Don’t move.” Geralt commanded.

In one swift motion, he dismounted before pressing a finger to his lips. Unsheathing his sword, he shoved you behind his person. It was then the cold of the night finally hit you. As you held your coat about you more firmly, you tensed your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering.

“There are five of you.” Geralt declared into the darkness. “If you wish to live, keep to your business.”

“And whom are you, stranger?” A voice replied in amusement. “From what I see, you appear a foreigner. Therefore, unless you are a patsy of the Magistrate or Town Council, your word holds no weight here.”

You expected Geralt to say something more. But instead, he simply grumbled before looking over his shoulder. After advising you to stay where you were, he began moving in the direction of the voice.

Without warning, the distinct sound of an arrow broke the silence.

It was enough to make you and Jaskier draw anxious breath. But had you blinked; you would have missed what came next. Though it had been headed right for Geralt, he deflected the arrow as if swatting a fly. In fact, not even his expression changed as he pressed forward.

Stopping at the tree line, he suddenly extended his free hand.

At first you were confused. What Geralt hoped to accomplish, you did not know. However, it became apparent that he was casting. Rapidly, an odd blue light formed in his palm. When satisfied with the scope of it, he released the energy into the darkness.

And it must have hit its intended target. Because what came next was a cacophony of agonizing screams and curses. When all the noise died down, three furious men came bounding out from the tree line.

“Damn abomination! You killed my mates with your sorcery!” A man wielding two blades shouted.

In the entirety of your life, you had never witnessed such a battle up close. Sure, your father and Uncle had protected the family on many occasions. However, nothing to the degree of what was before you.

“Keep behind me, Y/N.” Jaskier whispered as he kept hold of the steeds. “If anyone wanders close, I will protect you.”

You wanted to ask what weapon he intended to use. Because from observation, the only thing he could wield was his lute. Nevertheless, since it was the thought the mattered, you remained silent. As things got bloodier, you avoided the carnage by looking to the ground.

Mercifully, the violent commotion began to fade. Before long, it was replaced by the song of crickets once more. When you looked at Geralt, he hardly looked like he had just fought off three men. Not only was he breathing normally, he was calmly wiping the blood from his sword.

“You used magic on them.” You said, peeking out from behind Jaskier.

Ignoring you completely, Geralt commanded you to continue the journey on the Bard’s steed. Incensed at being snubbed, you stared at him.

“Though you are no mortal, my Lord, I must say this. You simply do not understand how things work in Stillwell.” You said as he tied a rope to Moss’s reigns. “You cannot simply execute people here. The law states that one must give opportunity for surrender.”

“Hmmm.”

“Is that it?” You asked. “You just killed five people and all you can do is grunt.”

“Apple thief, get going.”

“Apple thief? I have a name, you know!”

As if you had said nothing at all, Geralt pointed to Jaskier who was stood by his hired steed. Sensing the awkward tension between you, the poor Bard gave a meek wave.

“Alright!” You fumed. “If you will not address anything I have said, at least answer this. What are you, exactly?”

After giving an exasperated sigh, Geralt grabbed hold of you. With little effort, he then set you upon the saddle by force. Hiding a smirk, Jaskier mounted the steed, taking his place behind you. As he took hold of the reigns, you perceived the Bard was on the verge of laughter.

“The absolute nerve of him!” You seethed. “That man is not only a Demon, but a rude one, at that.”

“You know something? Despite being his closest friend, I cannot argue with the last bit.”

Jaskier then snapped the reigns as your little convoy continued down the road.

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[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 22 March 1834: SH:7/ML/E/17/0011

8 ½

12 ½

Up at 6 for ½ hour with bowel complaint and therefore went to bed again - fine morning no white frosty even at 6 am F50 ½° at 9 25 am at which hour breakfast - Mr. Parker came at 9 ½ from Mr. Pollard to say that a man of the Rawson was going to build a steam chimney near St James church –would be a detriment also to my propriety - would I join Mr Pollard and the feoffers at Waterhouse’s charity to buy the ground of the man? could have it for £400 and should not lose more than £20 or £30 a piece by it in selling it for cottages - I declined having anything to do with it - Mr P- brought Mark Town’s lease which I signed - spoke to him (Mr. P-) about the sale of the Staups property - advertised p. 2 Hx Guardian of this morning - the public house and Staups buildings and William Green’s house and 23DW.1qrs.19p. make lot 6 - should like to buy it - without saying by whom mentioned having £8000 bid for Northgate without the sheep-croft or 2 fields above Hx - he thought it a pity to let so much money lie dead, or rather producing so little as at present - said I was not much inclined to let it go at that price - would rather buy what I wanted and borrow money for the time and pay off by and by - at present the funds too high and I did not want to have a large sum without well knowing what to do with it - just finished breakfast and then came Washington with plan of bar-house - thinks it will cost £100 - he is employed about the sale of the Staups property - a great many people for the public house - would sell for 2 or 3 times more than its worth - told him to consider what I might venture to give for it - would get one of the Crownest far-off tenants to bid for me - thought it would fetch above £3000 - there were the coals of Fold farm - said I did not want to have anything to do with them - well! but I must find a loose for them - yes! said I, I know that - he thought they were to go with the public house and if I could get them for very little it might be worthwhile - very well! I replied you can consider what you think them worth to me - told him what I had asked for Northgate - was the land worth 8/. a yard - no! but worth 7/. taking it all together - at this rate, and buildings valued £1000 the land

6DW.1qrs.0 = 19600 yards = £6860.3.0 + £1000 = £7860.3s.0d. and he thought it worth £8000 –

6DW.1qrs.8p. = 18816 + 784 + 242 yards = 19842 yards at 7/. = £6944.14.0 and at 8/. = £7936.16.0

3136 yards = 1DW

1/4DW.  = 3136 yards/4  = 784 yards

1/4DW. = 26 perches  1 perch= 30 ¼ yards = 786 ½

Northgate land 6DW.1qrs.8p. = 19842 yards at 8/. = £7936.16.0

Buildings S. Washingtons’ valuation                               1000.0.0

vide Friday 21 February 1834         p.                              8936.16.0

  Washington brought my father a plan of Butterworth end farm which he values at about 40 guineas per annum says there is hardly a fence left - buildings in very bad repair - £500 wants laying out - out a little while with Pickels and his 5 men - and with the 2 masons and a boy - finished getting all the walls low enough before noon - then began the heading next the palisades in front of the buttery - with Charles and James H-

SH:7/ML/E/17/0012

- at my desk at one - wrote all so far of today till 2 10 - from then to 7 10 at which hour dinner and coffee in ¾ hour and afterwards to 9 ¼ wrote and sent (in a parcel with Washington’s letter he brought this morning and the pattern glove sent to him to Whitleys by Miss Rawson)  5 pages and ends to ‘Miss Walker’ parcel to ‘Miss Walker, Heworth Grange York per mail 22nd March 1834’ and wrote letter to ‘Mr Thomas Thorpe 38 Bradford Street Covent garden London postpaid’ ‘Shibden Hall. Saturday 22 March 1834. Sir - I have received the parcel containing n°467 £2.2.0 and 4 volumes of catalogue for which I am much obliged - on shewing this letter to Messrs. Hammersleys and co., they will pay you the above sum of two pounds and two shillings  I am sir, etc etc A. Lister’ - and in  the course of the afternoon or twice downstairs with masons and Charles Howarth and much reading Encyclopaedia articles monophysite and Nestorians and Chapter 47 Gibbon (vol. 8 octavo) respecting the ‘monophysite controversy’ - Miss W- asked me the meaning of [it] – she had been reading Quarterly of Guizots’ new edition of Gibbon - wrote as followed ‘Monophysite controversy’ more particularly opposed to the Nestorian as the catholic was opposed to both – Monophysite from 2 Greek words signifying – one nature – the monophysites maintained that there was only one nature in Christ, the divine and the human being mystically united in one - the Nestorians maintained that there were 2 separate persons in Christ mystically united in one -the Catholics maintained ‘Christ in one person and in 2 natures’ but don’t pother your head about such matters which are, perhaps, too high for us all.’ - Kind letter – but the kindness is more in the quiet confidential manner of writing than anything else and might be seen by all the world  except tell her never to look even half cross at me and being only quiet and gentle she will have more of her way and I less of mine than anybody but herself would believe. Said I had written  as I told her to Mrs. L- but......... had not sent the letter which should now be rather modified – that is I will not tell π- that Miss W- and I are positively engaged and advised Miss δ- [W-] not to name it as  she asks my leave to do   to Steph say    he had better hear it from π- than from Miss W- or me. Wrote the last 22 lines till 9 ¾  - ¼ hour with my father and Marian, an hour with my aunt till 11 pm. Fine morning - lowing about noon -and rain between 2 and 3 for about an hour - afterwards tolerably fine, and fair in the evening. F49 ½° at 11 pm – reading newspapers till 12.

[give-me-back-my-rhodey]

The Potter and the Blacksmith

Title:  The Potter and the Blacksmith

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences

Warning:  (assumed)Major Character Death, but not really

Relationship:  Tony Stark/Thor

Link: Read on AO3 here

Summary:  Life was simple in the village of Belleville. Everyone had their job to do, and everyone lived in peace with each other. There had been no trouble in the village for a long time. The last werewolf attack was years ago, and dragons have not been seen for decades. Magic is prohibited in this realm, and the ruler of the village likes to take this very seriously. Once warned in a dream that she and her family would die by magic, she goes the extra mile to make sure there is never any magic in the town.

When the gregarious potter marries the isolated blacksmith, rumors start flying. What happens when one of them is suspected of using magic?

Life was simple in the village of Belleville. Everyone had their job to do, and everyone lived in peace with each other. There had been no trouble in the village for a long time. The last werewolf attack was years ago, and dragons have not been seen for decades.

 Magic is prohibited in this realm, and the ruler of the village likes to take this very seriously. Once warned in a dream that she and her family would die by magic, she goes the extra mile to make sure there is never any magic in the town.

 In this town lives a potter. No one is sure how he does it, but the pottery he makes is a better quality than the other potters in the village. The potter is a big blonde man who is always down for a good laugh. Every day, he is in the marketplace buying and/or selling. He knows everyone’s names, and everyone knows his. The ladies of the village all claim he smiles at them the best, but few actually know the one with which his true affection lies.

 The blacksmith, on the other hand, is a short man who isolates himself from the town. No one really knows him, and new rumors about the man are generated every morning. Some say he is the disinherited son of a noble, some say he’s a magical being living in disguise.  Others claim him to be a devil, what with the amount of smoke that arises from his home each day. No matter what the rumor, no one will ask the man; they are all too afraid. If one does not have needed reparations, one does not go near the smithy.

 The blacksmith is not unfriendly when one talks to him. He prefers to be left alone. All the horses and donkeys that are left with him are treated with the utmost gentility. He charges reasonably and never causes problems. He has two apprentices that mostly deal with the customers, and they don’t seem to be mistreated.

 One day, the potter takes a walk up the hill to the smithy. “Peter. Harley. Is Tony available?” He greets.

 The blacksmith walks in from the forge, wiping his hands on a rag. “Thor. Welcome. How are you today?”

 “I was wondering if you would perhaps like to dine at my house tonight? I am making that stew you enjoy.”

 Tony, ever the oblivious one, cocks his head. “That sounds appetizing but I do have this invention that I need to work on that requires proper care.”

 “Master Tony, we can keep an eye on that. It is our jobs.” Harley is quick to speak up.

 “Why don’t you boys go to Mr. Thor’s house instead? Perhaps you can enjoy a good meal instead of my burnt mistakes.”

 Thor groans inwardly, and the boys look uncomfortable, clearly picking up on Thor’s offer. “Master, Mr. Thor didn’t ask us.” Peter begins.

 “He wouldn’t mind. He makes enough to share.”

 “What if Mr. Thor brings the stew here?” Harley asks. “Then we all could have some.”

 Thor sighs. “That sounds splendid. I shall do as such.”

 “Great! Then it’s settled.” Tony claps. “I must get back to my invention.” And he slips back to the forge.

 Harley turns to Thor. “We sincerely apologize. He’s not great on picking up social cues. You would think with his upbringing…”

 “Shh! We’re not supposed to talk about that!” Peter elbows him.

 Thor slips out before he witnesses a brawl. He must do something to get Tony’s attention… but what? Perhaps if he asks to court him, straight up, he’d agree.

 True to his word, Thor brings a kettle of stew to Tony’s cottage. As they gather around the table, a large boom sounds from the forge. Tony hops up to check on his invention, and Thor follows him. When they walk  into the forge, Thor wants to kiss away the sadness in Tony’s eyes. The invention is scattered across the floor, having blown up.

 “Don’t worry, Tony. I can help you fix that.” Thor tries to cheer him up. He produces a blue ball of swirling energies, and uses it to bring the pieces back together.

 Tony slaps his arm. “Put that away!” He hisses. “Magic is what got me into this mess in the first place!”

 “You have magic?” Thor is intrigued.

 “No I do not!” Tony cries. “But for some reason, everyone I meet seems to think I do. My own father disowned me and sent me away, and I took two of his best apprentices with me. They were basically my sons anyways.”

 Thor feels a little lost. “Why would they think you have magic?” He wonders.

 “My brain is quite skilled. I  have been inventing since I was four years old. When my creations become more advanced than ever, people start to wonder what magical powers I have. Magic is illegal in these lands, Thor. You should really be careful to whom you show your powers,” Tony says earnestly, and Thor wants to pull his own hair out. Why can’t the man see that Thor is choosing to trust him?

 “Do you have any advanced inventions at this cottage?” Thor asks. “I would be curious to see what you mean.”

 Tony looks dazed, then suspicious. He finally relents. “I guess. It’s not like I don’t have anything over you if you decide that my inventions are wicked. When we have finished your stew, I will show you as the boys clean up.”

 Once the stew is gone, Tony leads Thor to a secret room in the back of the cottage. Inside are wonders of which Thor could not have dreamt! “Tony, this is beautiful,” Thor breathes. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

 Again, Tony cocks his head and narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to figure something out that he just can’t grasp. “You like it? No one ever likes my inventions.” He accuses.

 “Everyone else is a simpleton, afraid of things they cannot explain or understand.” Thor cups Tony’s face with his large hands. “May I court you, Tony?”

 “You want to court me?” Tony snorts. “People will talk, Thor. We’re not exactly compatible.”

 “Do you dislike me? Because I am intrigued and delighted by you.”

 Tony sighs. “Of course, I don’t dislike you, Thor. Everyone likes you. I just… when the rumors of my upbringing come this way, and I know they will, I would hate for you to be caught in the middle.”

 “I assure you; I can hold my ground.” Thor moves his hands down to Tony’s shoulders.

 “I’m sure you can.” Tony’s eyes run over Thor’s body appreciatively. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

 Thor knows he has to phrase himself differently. He thinks a moment, then says, “Tony, if you do not want to court me because you do not like me as I like you, I shall take no as an answer and leave you be. But if you do not want to court me because you believe I will grow to regret it; I implore you to take a chance on me. I promise I will never regret you.”

 “Ok.” Tony wilts. “I will accept your offer of courtship.”

 ++++++

Four Years Later

Thor wakes up next to his husband. His eyes trace Tony’s sleeping features. This is one of Thor’s favorite parts of the day, watching the usually bustling blacksmith lie stilly and peacefully in the morning hours. Thor runs his finger over Tony’s cheekbone and places a kiss on his forehead. It is time for him to get out of bed.

 Letting Tony sleep, Thor pads off to his workroom. Wisps of magic fly around the room, keeping the clay running and the wheel turning. Other wisps are making engravings in the quickly drying pots and bowls. Satisfied with their progress, Thor heads back to his bedroom. Tony is waking up.

 “Good morning, my love.” Thor sinks down beside him on the bed and gives him a kiss.

 “Hmm. Good  morning.” Tony leans in for another. “You know, the boys spent the night at the forge.” He wiggles his brows. Catching Tony’s drift, Thor is quick to comply.

 Once both are properly sated, they wash together and get ready to start their day. As Thor walks out the door to walk with Tony to the forge, one of his little wisps decides it is going to latch itself to Thor’s pants. It detaches when they arrive at the forge. This is where everything goes to shit.

 Tony speaks with a customer in the forge, later that day, when a little blue speck catches the townsman’s eye. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t speak up. Two days later, the little wisp makes its way down into the town. The ruler sees it and immediately calls a council together. They must find the witch.

 In a frenzy, the townspeople start throwing accusations left and right to the point that no one knows what to believe. Finally, the ruler quiets everyone down, and she asks, “Does anyone have any evidence that the person which whom you are accusing has been using magic?”

 Everyone quiets down with a  murmur until the man who had been at the forge two days earlier speaks up. “I saw a speck like that in the blacksmith’s forge not two days ago.”

 “He must be the witch.” Someone else yells.

 A traveling merchant asks, “Who is the blacksmith in this fair town?”

 “Tony Carbellino.”

 “If he be who I think, the man is a liar and a thief. I had been looking for this man awhile.” The merchant advises. “I believe him to be the disowned son of the nobleman Howard Stark. When it came about that his son dabbled in the magic arts, the kind Lord Howard asked his son to run away and never come back – he couldn’t bear to see his son killed. Anthony did leave; however, he took with him two of the lord’s finest apprentices. I would imagine that they are now blacksmith’s apprentices when they could have been so much more.”

 “But he does use magic?” A farmer asks.

 The merchant nods. “There is no way he could not, what with his unnatural creations. Please be careful when you go to confront him. Who knows what he has as a defense.”

 The townsfolk grab their swords and light their torches. They don’t need a witch in their nice town. They pull Tony from his forge and tie him up, despite his loud protests. Forcing his apprentices outside, they set fire to the house and forge. Only one room remains, but when someone tries to open it, a blue flash appears, and the person flies back ten feet. They decide to leave the room there and drag the blacksmith to the town square.

 Harley, Peter, and Tony all scream and argue that they have the wrong person, but to no avail. The townsfolk don’t notice when Harley leaves the procession. Focusing their wrath on Tony, they lash him to the whipping post and set it aflame.

 Suddenly lightning erupts in the sky. Thor stalks down to the center square, eyes glowing an unearthly blue. “What have you done?” He bellows. Rushing through the fire, he pulls Tony out, but it seems that he’s too late. Tony is badly burnt and no longer breathing. Falling to his knees, Thor lets out an inhuman bellow, and lightning strikes the ground all around him.

 The ruler is grasping her metal staff when the electricity moves its way up to her hand and through her body. She falls to the ground, dead. Everyone else backs away from Thor, afraid of who will be killed next. The witch screams again with the pain of losing a lover. Thunder crashes loudly, and rain begins to fall. Only a sob from Peter keeps Thor from wreaking pain and death on the whole town.

 “Thor! Stop please!” Peter cries.

 “They killed him, Peter. He’s dead.” Thor tries to tell the boy, but Peter shakes his head.

 “I know they did, Thor.” He looks up at the witch earnestly. “But what would Tony want you to do?”

 Thor breathes heavily. “He… would… want… me… to let him rest in peace.” His eyes flash blue again. “But I want revenge. He’s no longer here – how am I supposed to live?”

 “We'll move to a different town,” Harley tells him. “We'll take all of Tony’s inventions and start over. Tony would like that.”

 The villagers rush into their homes and bar the doors as the two boys try to calm Thor down. Eventually, he relents, and they lead him back to his home. “Come on, we'll pack up and leave tomorrow.” Harley comforts the man. “You won’t have anymore reminders of this horrible place anymore.”

 Thor spends his night packing up all his belongings. They will have to travel far away to remain unknown. His wisps curl up softly in a jug, and he sets them in a safe place. Where can he go? How will he live without the love of his life? Thor breaks down and cries til dawn. As he readies himself to leave, there is a knock on his back door. Thinking it’s the boys, he sighs and flings the door open, only to reveal…. Tony. “No, you’re dead. I saw you die.”

 “Thor, love, do you think me a fool?” Tony questions. “I grabbed a vial of your life spell. No matter what they did to me, I could recover. It’s me, hor. I’m right here. Test me however you want; I will pass.

 Thor pulls Tony close, kisses him deeply, and then motions to his belongings. “we are moving out.”

 “I understand,” Tony nods. “We should go somewhere were neither of us are known… or to a land where magic is allowed.”

 “I can take you back to my homeland,” Thor advises. “We are families of witches. Our spells are passed down from generation to generation. Please advise and I will request passage from Heimdall.”

 Tony agrees, and they walk the cart up to the remains of the forge. Getting the boys, they all stand in Tony's invention room, and Thor casts a spell. A bright rainbow light shoots down from the sky onto them. When it disappears, so has everything it touched.  The only thing left is a pattern burned into the ground.

 ++++++

300 Years Later

This story is passed down the generations, how a man came back to life and another man controlled the lightning. No one knew how they left. Some said that the witch caused them to ascend; others said a dragon burned them to ashes. No matter what happened, the two were never seen again. The burn marks are now gone, and a house has been built where the forge once was.

 No one knows if the story is true, and children ask for the story of the potter and the blacksmith. Every once in a while, though, someone thinks they see a little blue wisp…

[wasalwaysagreatpickle]

Saturday 22 March 1834

8 1/2

12 1/2

Up at 6 for 1/2 hour with bowel complaint and therefore went to bed again – fine morning no white frost even at 6 a.m. Fahrenheit 50 1/2 at 9 25/.. a.m. at which hour breakfast – 

Mr Parker came about 9 1/2 from Mr Pollard to say that a man of the name of Rawson was going to build a steam chimney near Saint James’ church – would be a detriment also to my property – would I join Mr Pollard and the feoffers of Waterhouse’s charity to buy the ground of the man? Could have it for £400 and should not lose more than £20 or £30 a piece by it in selling it for cottages – I declined having anything to do with it – Mr Parker brought mark town’s lease which I signed – 

Spoke to him (Mr Parker) about the sale of Staups property – advertised page 2 Halifax guardian of this morning – the public house and Staups buildings and William Green’s house and 23.1.19 (days work, quarters, pecks) make lot 6 – should like to buy it – without saying by whom mentioned having £8000 bid for Northgate without the sheep-croft or 2 fields above Halifax – he thought it a pity to let so much money lie dead, or rather producing so little as at present – said I was not much inclined to let it go at that price – would rather buy what I wanted and borrow money for the time and pay off by and by – at present the funds too high and I did not want to have a large sum without well knowing what to do with it – 

Just finished breakfast and then came Washington with plan of bar house – thinks it will cost £100 – he is employed about the sale of the Staups property – a great many people for the public house – would sell for 2 or 3 times more than its worth – Told him to consider what I might venture to give for it – would get one of the Crownest far-off tenants to bid for me – thought it would fetch above £3000 – there were the coals of Fold farm – said I did not want to have anything to do with them – well! but I must find a loose for them – yes! said I, know that – he thought they were to go with the public house and if I could get them for very little it might be worth while – very well! I replied you can consider what you think them worth to me – Told him what I had asked for Northgate – was the land worth 8/. a yard – no! but worth 7/. taking it all together – at this rate, and buildings valued at £1000 the land 6.1.0 (days work, quarters, pecks) = 196000 yards = £6860.3.0 + £100 = £7860.3.0 and he thought it worth £8000 – 6.1.8 (days work, quarters, pecks) = 18816 + 784 + 242 yards = 19842 yards at 7/. = £6944.14.0 and at 8/. = £7936.16.0

Washington brought my father a plan of Butterworth end farm which he values at about 40 guineas per annum says there is hardly a fence left – buildings in very bad repair - £500 wants laying out – Out a little while with Pickles and his 5 men – and with the 2 masons and a boy – finished getting all the walls low enough before noon – then began the [heading] next the palisades in front of the buttery – with Charles and James Howarth -

At my desk at one – wrote all so far of today till 2 10/.. – from then to 7 10/.. at which hour dinner and coffee in 3/4 hour and afterwards to 9 1/4 wrote and sent (in a parcel with Washington’s letter he brought this morning and the pattern glove sent to him to Whitley’s by Miss Rawson) 5 pages and ends to ‘Miss Walker’ parcel to ‘Miss Walker, Heworth Grange, York, per mail 22 March 1834’ and wrote letter to ‘Mr Thomas Thorpe, 38 Bedford Street, Covent Garden, London, Postage paid’ ‘Shibden Hall Saturday 22 March 1834. ‘Sir – I have received the parcel containing number 467 £2.2.0, and 4 volumes of catalogue for which I am much obliged – on shewing this letter to Messers Hammersleys and co. they will pay you the above sum of two pounds and two shilings - I am, sir, etc. etc. etc. A Lister’ – 

And in the course of the afternoon once or twice down stairs with the mason and Charles Howarth and much reading encyclopaedia articles monophysite and Nestorians and Chapter 47 Gibbon (volume 8 octavo) respecting the ‘monophysite controversy’ Miss Walker asked me the meaning of – she had been reading the Quarterly of Guizot’s new Edition of Gibbon – wrote as follows ‘monophysite controversy’ more particularly opposed to the Nestorian as the catholic was opposed to both – monophysite from 2 Greek words signifying one nature – the monophysites maintained that there was only one nature in Christ, the divine and human being mystically united in one – the Nestorians maintained that there were 2 separate persons in Christ mystically united in one – the catholics maintained ‘Christ in one person and in 2 natures’ ‘But don’t pother your head about such matters which are, perhaps, too high for us all’ – Kind letter 

But the kindness is more in the quiet confidential manner of writing than any thing else and might be seen by all the world except tell her never to look even half cross at me and being only quiet and gentle she will have more of her way and I less of mine than anybody but herself would believe – 

Said I had written as I told her to Mrs Lawton but …. had not sent the letter which should now be rather modified – 

That is will not tell Mariana that Miss Walker and I are positively engaged and advise Miss Walker not to name it as she asks my leave to do to Steph say he had better hear it from Mariana than from Miss Walker or me – 

Wrote the last 22 lines – till 9 3/4 – 1/4 hour with my father and Marian an hour with my aunt till 11 p.m. Fine morning – [lowering] about noon, and rain between 2 and 3 for about an hour – afterwards tolerably fine, and rain in the evening – Fahrenheit 49 1/2˚ at 11 p.m. – reading the newspaper till 12 –

[avengerscompound]

Blank Space - Chapter 8

Blank Space:  A Scarlet Witch Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Word Count:  2181

Warnings:  A little angst.  Some nice fluff.  People being homophobic.  Smut (F|F, Oral sex, vaginal fingering).

Synopsis:  Wanda has become used to the thoughts of others pressing down on her constantly until one day she meets you. A complete blank space in the world.

Chapter 8

Wanda might have worried about the fact you didn’t seem to need her anymore after you got your powers under control.  She was sure for any normal person when the person they were falling in love with went from living in your pocket to not anymore they might get worried.  Certainly it felt strange you not actually needing her anymore.  The fact that you could now run off to the store to buy things by yourself.  The fact that Steve was now doing one on one training sessions to get you to be a fully functioning member of the team.  The fact you were now part of the team which meant you were forming your own real relationships with the other members.  You could now joke around with Clint and Sam.  Have a drink with Tony and Rhodey.  Blush when Thor complimented you.  Or even snark Steve when he was being too cap.

You didn’t need Wanda anymore and if Wanda were anyone else, that might worrier her.

Except you wanted her and Wanda could hear it clearly any time you got near her.  It dripped from you.  Your love and desire to be with Wanda enclosed around her like a warm comforting blanket.

Maybe it was cheating.  Maybe she should just trust the people she loved simply because she loved them and believed they wouldn’t want to hurt her.  Maybe she would trust you anyway if she was a normal person.  It was hard to know how she would interact with people under normal conditions.  But she wasn’t normal.  And neither were you.

You matched.  She could see you.  Even when you were hiding.   Even the bits of you she kept from the others.  She saw you how you were.  Vulnerable and hurt but so willing to keep going and to love.

And you… you saw her too.  Not as a monster.  Not as a weapon.  Not as a kid who needed protection.  But the strong, soft woman that she was.

She loved how slow you were both taking it too.  You’d both been through a lot and the need to know that this was real and not a result of just finally being seen.

It was real though.  Wanda was in love with you.  She knew it the way she knew her own name.  And thanks to her powers, she knew you loved her too.

“Is this it?”  You asked as Wanda pulled the convertible up to a small diner by the seaside.

“No,”  She teased.  “I’m hungry.  This place looked cute.  Also, it’s the first place without lobster in the name, and so it might actually have food I can eat.”

“Oh,” You said looking around.  You touched your thumbs to your pinky fingers and let out a breath.  “This world is mine.”

All at once your thoughts flooded Wanda’s mind.  You were excited and nervous and a little hungry and very horny.  The ‘taking it slow’ thing had gotten to that built up point and in the end, the two of you had wanted to make your first time together special.  Wanda had booked a cottage in Maine.  The horny thing had been building since she’d suggested it to you.

The two of you got out of the car and headed inside, finding a table in the quaint little diner.  “I don’t know why you suggested Maine if you can’t eat lobster.”  You teased as you looked over the menu.

“I didn’t think that far ahead.  I just thought cute little cottage by the water and colorful leaves.”  She said.  “They have a few things here I can eat.  I won’t starve.”

“That’s good, I wouldn’t want that.”  You teased.

“I have supplies in the car anyway.  We’ve got a cute little kitchen and a little grill outside.  We’re going to make some really nice things.”  She said.

You giggled and reached over, taking her hand.  “I should hope so with all the roadside produce you stopped at on the way up.”

Wanda could feel your desire to kiss her and she smiled and leaned over pressing her lips to yours.  Only happy to oblige.

“You ladies wanna take that elsewhere?”  A gruff voice called out from the counter.

Along with his harsh words, Wanda felt the hate coming from him.  She was used to that, but usually, it was mixed with fear because it came from people who recognized her.  This wasn’t that.  He wanted to hurt you both.  He was picturing the two of you having sex while at the same time thinking about beating you both to death.

As that pure unadulterated loathing flowed from him, your own fear began to grow in you.  You wanted to be unseen and you tapped your fingers on your palms.   Your consciousness started to stutter and start getting quieter.  Wanda moved to your side and put her arms around your shoulders.   “It’s okay.  You have a right to be here.  This is your  world too.”  She soothed.

“What the hell is wrong with her?”  The guy asked, backing up from the counter.  “What is she?”

He was getting scared.  Wanda was glad for it. She felt the strong urge to bury him in that fear.  To make it so he could never escape it.  Wanda wheeled on him, her eyes flashing scarlet.  “She’s a person.  A good and kind person.  Unlike some monsters in here.”

“Go!  Get out of here you freaks!”  He shouted.

Wanda got to her feet and squared off.  You stood with her clinging to her hand.  A red cloud of psionic energy swirled around Wanda’s head as her anger got the best of her.  “You are right to fear us,”  She seethed.  “Be thankful that today you decided to spew your hateful rhetoric at decent people.  Next time you might not be so lucky.”

The guy stumbled back, knocking a pan off the stove.  Wanda led you back outside, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as you were standing in the sunlight Wanda turned to you and cupped your jaw, looking directly in your eyes.  Your thoughts were still swimming in and out for her and she could only imagine what it must look like for any passers-by.  “It’s okay.  You are okay.  There’s no danger here.”  Wanda soothed.

You took a few deep breaths, keeping your eyes locked with Wanda’s.  Slowly your thoughts steadied, though they were mostly now about how embarrassed you were.

“Hey.  There you are.”  She said.

“I’m sorry, Wanda.  I don’t know why he scared me as much as he did.”  You said.

“Don’t be.  He was a monster.  They hide it well.”  She said.  “But I love you.  Don’t let that man decide whether you deserve to be here with me.”

Neither of you had ever used the word before, though you both thought it all the time.  You blinked at her in surprise and a soft smile touched upon your lips.  Wanda felt the love you felt before you even said those words.  “I love you too, Wanda.”

You leaned in and kissed her deeply and she wrapped you in her arms, holding you close.  It was a deep and tender kiss.  One that wiped away all worries about bigots and fears of not belonging.  You loved it each other.  It was out on the table and it couldn’t be taken back.

She pulled back slowly and looked into your eyes.  “Alright,” She said.  “Change of plan.   We go right there and make lunch together.”

She heard your cheeky little thought about lunch not being what you wanted to eat, and when you hopped in the passenger seat and made yourself invisible, she squeezed your thigh playfully.

It was another half an hour before you reached the cottage by the ocean.  It was exactly like the pictures.  Small, quaint and just old enough for it to be charming.  It looked out over the ocean, that was dotted with lobster fishing boats and recreational yachts of various sizes.  Behind it was a small patch of woodland that echoed with the sound of bird calls and woodpeckers hammering away at the trunks of trees.

The two of you had made lunch together and then ate it out of the patio, watching was the tide rolled out.  When you’d eaten you’d taken a walk, hand-in-hand along the beach and then made your way back to the cottage where you cuddled on the couch for a little while.

You nuzzled at her neck and placed a soft kiss at the dip of her collarbone.  “Are we waiting for any reason?”  You asked.

Wanda blushed and shook her head.  “No,” she admitted. “I guess I’m overthinking it.  We wanted it to be special.  But when’s the point that it’s special enough?”

You smiled and leaned your forehead against hers.  “It’s special enough.”

She captured your lips and kissed you deeply.  It soon turned hurried and a little desperate as you both nipped and bit at the other’s lips.  You stood, not breaking the kiss and pulled her with you to the bedroom.  When you reached it you both hurriedly stripped.  Sometimes taking each other’s clothes off. Sometimes focusing on your own.  When you were both naked, Wanda took a step back.  She looked you up and down, seeing you the way no one had.  She took in every imperfection that made you completely perfect to her.

“You are so beautiful.”  She said and kissed you deeply.

You pulled her back onto the bed and the two of you kissed, pressed tightly together. She moved her thigh between your legs and you rocked your hips, grinding your pussy on her bare skin, smearing your wet over it as she did the same to you.  You teased and massaged each other's breasts and her arousal grew and seeped out onto your skin.

You pushed her onto her back and kissed your way down her body.  You took your time, sucking and biting on her nipples until they ached and that ache traveled through her to her cunt.  Sucking and patches of her skin long and hard enough to leave a trail of marks down to her cunt.  By the time you ran the tip of your tongue up her folds, her whole body ached for that touch.  She was a live wire, right on the edge.

You took your time though.  Dragging it out.  There was no rush to bring her to climax.  Rather you seemed to want to postpone it and make her beg for it.  You licked wide, swirling your tongue around, drinking up as much of her as you could.  You sucked her clit into your mouth and pressed your lips around it.  You eased a finger inside her and curled it, stroking her inner walls.

“Yes!  Just like that.  Deeper!  More pressure!”  Wanda cried and begged and pleaded with you.

You added a second finger and corkscrewed your wrist.  Your knuckled dragged over her g-spot and finally, with sweet relief, she came, arching up and crying out.

You stroked her through it and drank her up greedily, before crawling up to her and kissing her hungrily again.  Wanda sucked herself from your lips, the salty, tang that reminded her of the ocean air that surrounded you both.

She pulled back and looked into your eyes.  “Can you make yourself seen for me?”  She whispered.

You nodded and pressed your thumbs and pinkies together.  “This world is mine.”

Your thoughts filled her mind and she began to kiss her way down your body.  When she felt you take particular pleasure in her touch, she’d focus there.  She sucked on your nipples as she drew random patterns on your clit.  Sometimes she pressed hard and did tight little ones, sometimes she used a feather touch and swept wide over it.

She could feel the pressure as it built in you and she moved down lower.  She sucked on your pussy, filling her mouth with your unique taste.  Savoring it as she swept her tongue over your folds.  She pushed her finger inside you and began to fuck you with them.

As she felt you get closer and closer to your orgasm she focused on the things you were reacting to fastest.  Her fingers touched on the spongy surface of your g-spot and you bucked up wildly under her.  She kept stroking it again and again, and you got closer and closer to your release.  As you did, she felt her own building too, like the feelings from you were being transmitted straight to her cunt.

You cried out and your body jerked and spasmed under her, you cunt squeezing tight around her finger.  She moaned into your pussy as she came again, your own orgasm dragging one out of her too.

She crawled back up your body and you wrapped yourselves around each other, kissing deeply.  She was so content and in love with you in that moment.  You had come so far since the blank space in the world you created alerted you to your existence.  Maybe it was fate.  Whatever the case, you were together now, and she would make a new place in the word for you together.

~ END ~

[raeynbowboi]

Dating Disney: Pinocchio

I won’t lie, this is far from a personal favorite. In fact, I don’t particularly care for this film. I would say I haven’t seen it in at least ten years. But, I got a private ask wanting me to do a Dating Disney on it, and I like to please my fans so here we go.

The Origins

The Adventures of Pinocchio is an Italian children’s book written by Carlo Collodi in 1883. That means the story was 57 years old when Disney adapted it into a children’s movie. The book, as is common with Disney films, is far darker than the movie. Pinocchio is extremely ill-behaved, being a full blown brat, whereas the Disney version is a generally good kid making bad decisions. No sooner than he’s created, the book version kicks Geppetto, gets him arrested, and then throws a hammer at the Talking Cricket and kills it. Geppetto gets released from prison, and Pinocchio promises to go to school, but the following day sells his school books to buy a ticket for a marionette show. On his way home to give the money he has to Gepetto, he’s stopped by a Cat and Fox who decieve him into thinking that if he plants the gold coins in the Field of Miracles that they’ll grow into gold trees, then use his money to gorge themselves on a feast and ditch him, only to return disguised as bandits and hang him from a tree. The Turquoise Fairy (renamed the Blue Fairy in the movie) retrieves his body, stating that she is dead and waiting for a hearse. The fairy invites Pinocchio and Geppetto to live with her in the forest cottage, but on his way to meet up with his father is met by the cat and fox again who remind him of planting his coins in the Field of Miracles. Pinocchio does so, and the Fox and Cat dig up the coins and flee. Pinocchio tries to report them, but is sentenced to four months in prison for foolishness. After he’s freed from prison, he tries to return to the fairy’s house in the woods, but stops to steal some grapes and is caught in a weasel trap and forced to be a guard dog. He stops weasels from stealing the farmer’s chickens and is rewarded by being set free, and makes his way to the good fairy’s house where all he finds is a gravestone, believing her to be dead. A pigeon gives Pinocchio a ride to the shore to meet up with his father, but his father is eaten by The Terrible Dogfish, and Pinocchio goes to the Island of Busy Bees for help, but can only earn food through labor. There, he meets the Turquoise Fairy again, this time looking old enough to be his mother. She tells him that if he’s a good boy for a full year, he’ll become a real boy. He studies hard to rise to the top of his class, but his jealous classmates trick him into playing hookey, and a fellow student is harmed by one of Pinocchio’s books despite him not throwing it. He meets Candlewick who takes him to the Island of Toys where boys never have to work or study, and they wake in the morning to find themselves turned into donkeys. Pinocchio is sold to a circus but is sold when he sprains his leg. The man throws him into the sea, but fish eat the donkey skin, leaving Pinocchio a puppet again.  Pinocchio jumps back into the sea where the Terrible Dogfish swallows him, and he finds Geppetto has been living inside of the beast on a wrecked ship. The pair escape, and pass the cat and fox who have become beggars. They find a home with the Talking Cricket, and Pinocchio finds work with a farmer. After months of hard work, he’s saved up money for a new suit, but hears that the fairy is ill, and uses the money he saved up for medicine for her. He awakens to find he has become a real boy, a new suit has been left for him, a fresh stack of school books, and his forty pennies are newly-minted gold coins. Normally, I don’t tend to go into the original version, but unlike the original versions of Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, not as many people tend to talk about the original version of Pinocchio, so I figured it was worth sharing how utterly messed up 19th century kids stories are.

Clothing

Both Pinocchio and Geppetto appear to be wearing Lederhosen, which originated in Bavaria, and were commonly worn as typical young boys’ clothes in Germany, but also appeared in Austria, Switzerland, and northern Italy, though less common in Southwestern Germany and Switzerland.

Jiminy Cricket can be seen wearing tailcoats, cravat, and waistcoat with a top hat. Tailcoats, waistcoats, and cravats rose to popular fashion between the 1840s to the 1850s, and Top Hats saw popularity between the late 1700s until the middle of the 1900s. We later see Honest John and Giddy wearing top hats as well, meaning they are currently popular.

Technology

Geppetto is packing a blunderbuss pistol, known as a dragon. By the mid 19th century, the blunderbuss had fallen out of use as a military grade firearm, but still saw private civilian use as a protective firearm, as we see Geppetto use it.

Geppetto’s workshop is full of clockwork music boxes and cuckoo clocks. Music Boxes date back to the 19th century where they were predominantly built by skilled watchmakers, with the first factory popping up in 1815. They were produced primarily in Switzerland. Cuckoo clocks, first invented between 1740 and 1750, are often falsely attributed to Switzerland, but flourished primarily in Germany.

We see Geppetto playing an offshoot of the accordion called the Concertina, first invented in 1844. The smaller size, however, seems to be more in the English style than the bulkier German style.

On Pleasure Island, we see a number of wonders, including a Ferris Wheel, a carousel, a roller coaster, and a pool hall. The Ferris Wheel was first constructed in Chicago in 1893. The first steam-powered Carousel was invented in 1861, though the one in the movie looks more like the kinds that came in the 1870s. The modern roller coaster popped up in Coney Island in 1885, before being patented in 1886 by LaMarcus Adna Thompson. The boys are playing Eight-Ball Pool, an American subtype of the pool game likely invented in 1900 (first documented in 1908). The boys arrive on Pleasure Island via a Steamboat, which date back as far as the 1700s.

Conclusion

Although the fairy tale itself is Italian, there are a lot of German elements in the story. However, I feel as though the movie seems more-so set in Switzerland, as the production of both cuckoo clocks and music boxes is more oft attributed to Switzerland than Germany, even if it’s incorrect. Although Lederhosen are less common in Switzerland, Pinocchio and Geppetto are the only characters seen wearing them, making them plenty uncommon. Although the wearing of Tailcoats and Cravats is seen with Jiminy Cricket, most characters seem to be wearing slightly later period clothing, though a bit harder to place. However, I would place their clothing as belonging to the later half of the 19th century. Eight-Ball is the most modern element, but is a bit of an outlier from data that really points harder at the 1880′s, so I’ll place in the movie in 1885, as Pleasure Island has many rides seen at Coney Island, and the Roller Coaster appeared at Coney Island in 1885. The presence of the Ferris Wheel also pushes for the movie to be set later, but the 1890s is a little late for this movie, so I’ll chalk it up as just an anachronism. While the film could be set in Italy as Lederhosen was worn there, the abundance of German elements with Geppetto leads me more toward saying it takes place in Switzerland, although Geppetto could be a Swiss immigrant living in Italy, as he and Pinocchio are the only two with German and Swiss characteristics.

Setting: Switzerland Kingdom: The Swiss Confederation Year: 1885 Era: Victorian Era (1837-1901) Language(s): German, French, and/or Italian

For whatever reason, the Dating Disney I did for Mulan doesn’t tend to show up when I search for it in my archives, so for anyone having trouble finding it, I’ll link it right [here].

[kalluun-patangaroa]

Waking up to a new morning...

The Observer, Sunday 15 September 2002

Written by Amy Raphael

After the booze, coke, crack and smack, Suede's Brett Anderson is back in the land of the living with renewed optimism and a new album 

Brett Anderson grew up hanging around car parks, drinking lukewarm cans of Special Brew and taking acid. Occasionally, he caught the train from Hayward's Heath to Brighton, less than half an hour away, but still a world away. He would buy punk records and, perhaps, a Nagasaki Nightmare patch to sew on to his red ski jacket.

His mother, who died in 1989, was an aspiring artist; his father was mostly unemployed and obsessed with classical music. He wanted his son to be a classical pianist, but Brett had other ideas. Lost in suburban adolescence, he was drawn to the Smiths, to Morrissey's melancholic lyrics, his eccentric persona. He wanted to be a pop star; he would be a pop star. He had no doubt.

Anderson moved to London in the late 1980s, living in a small flat in Notting Hill. He studied architecture at the London School of Economics, but only while he got a band together. Here he met Justine Frischmann and, with old school friend Mat Osman, formed Suede in the early Nineties as an antidote to grunge and anodyne pop.

Anderson borrowed Bowie's Seventies glamour and a little of his Anthony Newley-style vocals. He looked to the Walker Brothers's extravagant, string-laden productions and appropriated Mick Jagger's sexual flamboyance for his stage show. Yet Suede were totally original, unlike anything else at the time. Dressed in secondhand suits and with casually held cigarettes as a prop, Anderson wanted to write pop songs with an edge; sleazy, druggy, urban vignettes which would sit uncomfortably in the saccharine-tinged charts.

Like his lyrics, Anderson was brash, cocky, confident. He talked of being 'a bisexual man who's never had a homosexual experience', realising it was an interesting quote, even if he knew he would probably always lose his heart to the prettiest of girls.

When I first met him, in the spring of 1993, Suede were enjoying their second year of press hysteria, of being endlessly hailed as the best new band in Britain. Fiddling with his Bryan Ferry fringe, Anderson asserted: 'I am a ridiculous fan of Suede. I do sit at home and listen to us. I do enjoy our music.'

He talked about performing 'Metal Mickey', the band's second single, on Top of the Pops. 'When I was growing up, Top of the Pops was the greatest thing, after tea on a Thursday night... brilliant! You get a ridiculous sense of history doing it. It was a milestone in my life; it somehow validated my life, which is pathetic really.'

By rights, Suede should have been not only the best band in Britain but also the biggest. Yet it did not happen that way. During the recording of the second album, the brilliant Dog Man Star, guitarist Bernard Butler walked out. It was as though Johnny Marr had left the Smiths before completing Meat Is Murder. The band could have given up, but they did not; they went on to make Coming Up, which went straight to the top of the album charts. Then, three years ago, disaster struck during the recording of Suede's fourth album, Head Music. Anderson was in trouble: the pale adolescent who had swigged Special Brew in desolate car parks was now a pop star addicted to crack.

Brett Anderson sits in a battered leather Sixties chair in the living-room of his four- storey west London home sipping a mug of black coffee. He has lived here for three or four years, moving into the street just as Peter Mandelson was moving out. The living-room is immaculate: books, CDs and records are neatly stacked on shelves, probably in alphabetical order.

Anderson's 6ft frame is as angular as ever but more toned than before, the detail of his muscles showing through a tight black T-shirt. Gone is the jumble-sale chic of the early Nineties; he now pops into Harvey Nichols.

He appears to have lost none of his self-assurance but, a decade on from his bold entrance into the world of pop, Anderson has mellowed, grown-up. By his own admission, he is still highly strung and admits he is probably as skinny as a 17-year-old at almost 35 because of nervous energy. But he no longer refuses to listen to new bands in case they are better than Suede; he praises the Streets, the Vines and the Flaming Lips.

This healthy, relaxed person who enjoys the odd mug of strong black coffee is a recent incarnation. At some point in the late Nineties, Anderson lost himself. He became part of one his songs and ended up a drug addict.

He talks about his new regime: swimming, eating well, hardly touching alcohol. No drugs. Did he give everything up at once? 'It was kind of gradual... giving up drugs is a strange thing, because you can't just do it straight away. You stop for a bit then it bleeds into your life again. It takes great willpower to stop suddenly.'

He sighs and looks into the distance. 'I got sick of it really. I felt as though I'd outgrown it. It wasn't something I kept wanting to put myself through and I was turning into an absolute tit. Incapable of having a relationship, incapable of going out and behaving like a normal human being. Constantly paranoid...'

The drug odyssey started with cocaine, but soon it was not enough. 'Cocaine is child's play. After a while, it didn't give me enough of a buzz, so I got into crack. I was a crack addict for ages, I was a smack addict for ages...'

Another deep sigh. 'It's part of my past, really. I'm not far enough away to be talking about it. It's only recently I've been able to say the word "crack".'

When Head Music was being recorded, he says he wasn't really there. He would turn up but his mind was not focused. The album went to number one but it was not up to Suede's standards; as Anderson acknowledges, it was 'flashy, bombastic; an extreme version of the band'.

He laughs, happier to talk about the good times. 'Last year, when I decided not to destroy myself any more, I kind of disappeared off to the countryside with a huge amount of books, a guitar and a typewriter... and wondered what the outcome would be.'

He spent six months alone. It was a revelation to discover that he could spend time by himself. 'I think a lot of people are shit scared of being on their own. Me too. From the age of 14 to 30, I jumped from bed to bed in fear of being alone. Being in the cottage in the middle in Surrey, I learned that if one day everything fucks up, I could actually go and live on my own. It's a total option.'

For a long time, Anderson had avoided reading books, worried that his lyric writing would be affected by other people's use of language. Last year, he decided it was time to fill his head with some new information. Although he had been told for years that his imagery was reminiscent of J.G. Ballard, he read the author for the first time in the cottage - and was flattered. He read Ian McEwan's back catalogue and challenging books such as Michel Houellebecq's Atomised.

Despite his self-imposed exile, it still took Anderson a long time to perfect Suede's fifth album, the self-consciously celebratory A New Morning. The band tried to make an 'electronic folk' album by working with producer Tony Hoffer, who had impressed with his work on Beck's Midnight Vultures. However, unable to make an understated album, they eventually called in their old friend Stephen Street, the Smiths producer.

Yet more trouble was ahead. Anderson says Suede have faced many 'big dramas' over the past decade - Frischmann left the band early on to form Elastica and soon after ended her relationship with Anderson, moving in with Britpop's golden boy, Damon Albarn; Bernard Butler walked out with little warning; the drugs took control - but still the band were not prepared for keyboard player Neil Codling's exit. He was forced to leave in the middle of recording A New Morning suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome.

Anderson says he was furious when Codling left.'He couldn't help it, I know, but I did feel aggrieved. I felt let down. But more at the universe than at Neil. I tend not to show how I feel about these things in public. It's like when Bernard first left, I was devastated. I felt as though that original line-up was really special. And we will never know what might have been.'

At times, Anderson sounds as though he has had an epiphany in the past year. He smiles. 'Well, you only need to listen to A New Morning to realise that. The title is very much a metaphor. It's a very optimistic record; the first single is called "Positivity", for God's sake. It's a talismanic song for the album. It's a good pop single, but we've haven't gone for a Disney kitsch, happy, clappy, neon thing.'

He looks serious for a moment. 'For me, the album is about the sense that you can only experience real happiness if you've experienced real sadness.'

Has he had therapy? His whole body shakes with a strange, high-pitched laughter. 'No! No! But I am happier now. I feel more comfortable with myself. I feel as though I'm due some happiness. I've just started going out with someone I really like. I've made an album which is intimate and warm. I don't any more have the need to be talked about constantly, that adolescent need for constant pampering...'

A swig of the lukewarm coffee and a wry smile. 'And, best of all, I don't feel like a troubled, paranoid tit any more.'

A New Morning is released on 30 September

[scotianostra]

Once a vibrant community of “daring and skilful” islanders living amid the treacherous tides of the Pentland Firth, the settlement has sat empty since 1962.

It’s population stood at a peak of 375 in 1901 but fell away to just over 100 by 1949. By the early 1960s, just 12 people remained. Decay has since set in but a few powerful remnants of its human habitation are still to be found.  Many of the cottages still stand, albeit in various states of ruin. An old hand-cranked sewing machine can be found on the floor of one and a dresser - still holding a few metal storage tins - stands in another. Hearths are long empty.

The church still has its roof, but its windows have gone, and it is not known the last time the badly wrecked red phone box received a call.

Stroma, around two miles from John O’ Groats on the mainland, once had a shop, a school and a church with 50 cottages on the island.  A report in the John O’ Groats Journal in December 1859 noted there were no trees, shrubs or flowers on the island. 

“Unadorned as it is, few of the natives would willingly leave it for a sunnier spot,” it added.Crofting, cod and lobster fishing aided survival - as did the salvage of shipwrecks pulled from its battered shores with islanders making great gains from lost cargoes.

Storms were so fierce on Stroma that once waves crashed over the 100ft cliffs on the north side of the island leaving debris scattered across the land. For week’s at a time, Stroma could be cut off from the mainland by the weather. A newspaper article in 1949 reported a “Fag Famine” on the island after the island shop ran out of cigarettes during a bad spell of weather. The island doctor, who would travel from John O’Groats by lifeboat to attend emergencies, could often find himself marooned - or unable to reach its residents at all.

With a buyer hard to find, American television producer Robert Stivers bought an option to put Stroma - then home to three families - up as a prize on New York-based quiz show Bid ‘n Buy,

Following condemnation on both sides of the Atlantic, during which Mr Stivers was accused of being an American imperialist toying with the “peaceful people” of Stroma, the prize was withdrawn and an £8,000 car offered instead.

The depopulation of Stroma intensified around the time of Hoyle’s ownership with sustainability of the island becoming increasing fragile despite a public investment of £30,000 in a new harbour.

Some believe the harbour came too late - while others think the employment it offered gave the means for some residents to leave. Both World Wars had also claimed the lives of a dozen island men.

A report in the Aberdeen Evening Express in September 1956 said: “It was through completion of the £30,000 harbour would halt depopulation. Such has not been the case. From the hundred inhabitants of a year ago the count is now down to 50 and in a very short time will be 45.

“Stroma has been unable to fulfil the need of livelihood and the drift to the mainland goes on. When the fishing fails in these small communities the crofting is not enough of itself to keep mind and body together.

“Is it any wonder that you should turn thoughts and eyes to horizons new which offer greater opportunities for wellbeing...”

Departures from the island were often recorded in newspapers, such were their significance, with the Sunday Post reporting in May 1949 the move of two crofter fishermen, James Robertson and William Sinclair, and four relatives.

“They are leaving to live on Keiss on mainland. Their vacant homestead will join a number of empty homes left by other families.”

New arrivals were also noted. Miss Margaret Purves of Mull “surprised the remaining islanders whose population is fast declining by arriving to live there,” according to the Kirkintilloch Herald in May 1953.

The arrival of the island nurse from Bolton was a cause of great celebration in October 1950. Dorothy Powell arrived in October that after reading Stroma had been without a nurse for a year. Shortly after she arrived, the island suffered an outbreak of measles.

Newspapers were keen to chart her three-month stay. Miss Powell’s Christmas shopping trip to Wick was documented - she said she had been “overwhelmed” by people’s kindness - as was her festive duet with islander Peter Sinclair which “brought the house down.” The party lasted till 4.30am, according to a newspaper report.

A protest at the appointment of a new postmaster, the 10-man mission to bring a horse to Stroma and the arrival of the first motorbike and sidecar, which was bought by lighthouse keeper James Spence in 1938 to take his children to school, was also reported by newspapers.

Crofter fisherman Frank Robertson was the first to get electric light in 1948, with the power produced by a windmill. A new type of two-way radio was installed five years later to improve communication with the mainland.

But still people continued to leave Stroma. What remains is a very poignant - and very silent - legacy of those people who called it home.

While looking into this post I discover the owner of Stroma, Jimmy Simpson sadly passed away on June 2nd.

https://www.heraldscotland.com/opinion/17703081.obituary-jimmy-simpson-owner-of-the-isle-of-stroma/

[afteriwake]

My Chosen Queen, To Rule By My Side (5/8 - A “Dr. Molly Hooper, Queen Of The Fae” Story) - NEW CHAPTER

And finally, some new parts! Here’s the lead-up to the wedding. Please enjoy this fic originally written for @thestarlitrose and @barpurplewrites with art by the amazing @manonsoubeyran​!

My Chosen Queen, To Rule By My Side - Ten years ago, Molly Hooper got lost in the forest near her brother’s cottage trying to find her niece. She found the girl as well as an injured man who was more than he seemed. Now, Molly’s niece is missing again and so Molly ventures into the forest once more to find her, with decidedly different results this time.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 5 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI?

The wedding was small. Sherlock had left to make quick preparations, though she had the suspicion that most of them had been in place in case she returned to her brother’s home in his village while Sherlock was out and about. Or maybe there was a call to her, just as she felt the strange sensation with the pale quartz on her wrist and neck. When it was warm, that evening her dreams of the fae prince had been much more vivid.

Soon to be fae king, she reminded herself. That was why she was in the antechamber getting help from attendants to put on a white dress that was so bright it was nearly blinding. It reminded her of the full moon when she lived in Bozeat, where there wasn’t as much pollution in the night sky and she could view the moon and stars in all their splendor. This dress was trimmed with silver that, for all she knew, could have been thread spun from the metal itself, it shone in the light so brightly. There was a matching robe to wear around her shoulders, and that was trimmed in soft fur.

“I wonder why he waited so long to find you,” one of the attendants said. “We were attendants for the Queen, and we know the King has gotten tired and weary of the fighting and plotting the other side engages in. If the Prince had looked for you earlier, our King could have gone to the resting fields.”

“How does it work, exactly?” Molly asked. “I mean, the change in rule?”

The other attendant smiled as she brought of a veil. It looked to be made of fine lace, and she settled it on Molly’s head easily, being a full six inches taller than Molly, nearly as tall as Sherlock. “There are so few elves that have children that there is usually a council that decides who rules us. The King and the Prince’s mother was especially fertile, as was the king. The Prince has a better claim than the bastard, but he would not wed among us. He said there was a woman who had stolen his heart from the human world and he needed to wait for her. He would have no one else, though he was blessed with an abundance of females throwing themselves at his feet.”

“Well, I had memories of the night we met and...dreams?” Molly said. “The dreams were so real, but that’s all they were.”

“Oh, no, no,” the first attendant who had spoken said, shaking her head. “The Prince has the ability to dream-walk. If you had extraordinarily vivid dreams, he was visiting you.”

She felt herself grow warm as she thought of some of the shenanigans they had gotten up to in their dreams. Some of the more carnal activities had left her with sodden knickers and the need for a frigid shower before work, and idly she wondered if he was expecting that of her now. “What happens if we don’t produce an heir?”

“Then the bastard can make another claim for the throne unless the Prince picks someone else to take his place,” the first attendant answered. “Elves and humans can produce children, though it’s very hard, and sometimes magic is involved.”

The other attendant pointed to Molly’s necklace. “Though he may not initiate anything as long as you wear that.” She tilted her head and then moved away. “I have something for it.”

“I’m not to take either the necklace or the bracelet off,” Molly said.

“Well, if you choose to be intimate with the Prince you’ll have to or they will injure him more than he’s already been injured,” the attendant said as she went to the closet and pulled down a chest. “But a quick bit of magic will enchant this chest so only you and whoever else you choose can open it.”

She set the chest on the table in front of the mirror they were using to style her hair. The had mostly decided to leave it down with some small braids running from the hairline all the way to the end. She had to admit, she rather liked this style for her hair, at least here. The veil would be held in place with a small circlet crown with silver roses and emerald leaves.

Molly looked over at the attendant who had brought the chest and the attendant motioned for her to touch it. Once molly had both hands on the side, the attendant slowly began to speak in a language that Molly did not recognize and the chest began to feel warm. And then, before it got to be too hot to handle, it cooled and she saw the lock turn. “Now all you need to do is touch it on the sides and say ‘Open’ and it will open.”

“In English or that language?” Molly asked.

“Your native tongue is fine. If you stay long enough, you can learn Elvish and improve upon the safety mechanisms to store anything at all in the chest.” The attendant went back to fix the veil on Molly’s head and to keep it in place with the crown. “There. I think you’re as lovely as the morning sunrise.”

“Or as brilliant as the rising full moon,” the first attendant said with a smile. “I mean, with the silver gown and all.”

“The Prince’s colors are green and silver, and soon the kingdom will have a banner in his colors. I love that combination more than the blood red and black his bastard brother wears,” the second attendant said. “We’re glad you came back. It has been so worrisome that he might rule in the Prince’s stead.”

“Well, hopefully once Sherlock and I are wed, I can get my niece out of his clutches and she can live a more normal life than the one I’m about to lead,” Molly said, looking in the mirror with the most reassuring smile she could put on her face. She was, of course, worried about her niece, but if the kingdom of elves consisted of people like her attendants, perhaps it might be best if she stayed in the realm for a bit. Not that there was much for her in London, and here...here, she might just find happiness, if her dreams were any indication.

[tiny-winter-cupcake]

I long to hear you sing (beneath the clear blue skies)

Summary: “Don’t.”

Phil lowered his hand almost automatically, the voice like melted honey, soft and smooth. He had never heard anything like it, a voice that made him want to fall to his knees and grovel. Phil wanted to worship this creature, worship its voice. It spoke again.

“Come.”

There it was again. That sweet voice. And who was Phil to deny such a sweet request.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: Teen (theres like a bit of unspecified voilence and like, thats it?)

A/N:My @phandombigbang fic, FINALLY. listen i’m super proud of this, and i never thought that I would be able to do this whole thing! a huge shout out to my lovely beta @phinalphantasy7 for putting up all my shit, and to @luisaloveshoney who did the wonderful art HERE. the title is from Marc Anthony’s You Sang To Me. and as always please like and reblog! thank y’all so much!!

Philip Lester, the youngest water witch of the Lester clan, had been living with his family for his whole 31 years of life, and frankly, their old familial home in South Manchester was far too crowded. So naturally, he decided to move out. His family owned a rather nice summer home in Dorset, in a little town called Seaport, named for the large number of water witches that ended up there in the summertime. Much like Phil’s family, all who possessed the kind of abilities associated with the water. Phil could remember taking many family holidays down there, stopping after he went to Uni. Since then, the house had sat unused, and rather than let it go to waste, or worse, be sold, Phil was following his water witch instincts and moving out there. It was strange to leave his parents, but he found that he was oddly happy to move out.

The car ride down to the cottage was long, and by the time Phil reached there, it was well past dinner time, despite leaving after an early brunch. He pulled into the driveway of the cottage and looked at it. Even though it had sat unused for the better part of ten years, the walls were still as white as Phil could remember. The inside, though dusty and filled with cobweb-covered corners, still had its beachy, summer home feel that had made younger Phil and his family feel at ease. It was just as he remembered. He smiled, putting his suitcase down and flopping down into the couch. Looking over at the wood burner, Phil pointed and whispered, “Ignis.” And just like that, a fire started, warming the room almost immediately. Magical fires did that. Phil settled down, before remembering that there were beds upstairs, ones that were probably much more comfortable than this couch. What a pity. The couch seemed heaven compared to the car seat he had been in for the last six hours. The supposed four and a half hours to Seaport took an hour and a half longer than expected, which meant an extra hour and a half in the stupid car more than he had planned for. Phil sighed and closed his eyes. He was just about to drift off when his stomach made an appearance, startling him awake with the echo it made. With a grumble, he got up and trudged to the kitchen.

Thankfully there was no stale food in the kitchen, his family having enough sense to throw away all the perishable foods. There wasn’t much he could eat though, so getting food became his number one priority for tomorrow. For now, Phil would have to settle for the slightly soggy half eaten sandwich he’d gotten at a stop about three hours ago. It tasted like disappointment, but nevertheless, Phil ate it before he went upstairs. He was about to go into his old room when he stopped. He was living here now. He could sleep in what used to be his parents’ room, with their ensuite and all. Phil decided that he wanted to sleep in a big bed, and made his way down the hall to the bedroom. It looked the same as he remembered, with different bedding. He sat down on it with a smile as the memories of sleeping in here when there was a thunderstorm, or when he had watched a scary movie with Martyn, came flooding back. Phil bit his lip, and got up to use the bathroom. Once showered, he made his way over to unpack his suitcase, and fell into bed, utterly exhausted. Needless to say, he slept very well that night.

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

The next morning, Phil was reminded of why his family came here for centuries. The sun streamed in through the windows, golden sunshine that lit up the rooms. It made the bedroom warm, and Phil almost didn’t want to get up. But the rumble in his stomach made him. Yawning, he got out of bed and smiled. For once, he was awoken by his own natural needs instead of people shouting or the neighbors’ babies crying through the walls of the house. Phil got out of bed, stretching as he walked into his bathroom. (He had to keep reminding himself it was his and not his family’s. It was his house now.) A quick shower later, and Phil pulled on a pair of shorts and a teal button up shirt. Perfect. He slipped a pair of shoes on, grabbed his phone and his keys, and headed out.

Standing in the light of day, Phil could really appreciate the house. Thatched roof and all. It was really pretty in the daytime, just around the corner from the high street and right on the beach. A nice village, that had grown a little in Phil’s absence. Small, but pretty.  Latching the gate, he tucked his keys into his pocket and walked down the high street.

The village was mostly still familiar. There was the diner, Andersons American, that did the best American style pancakes in the whole of England. Some of the elder residents sat outside, sipping cold waters under the shade of the umbrellas. Across the street, the grocer was outside setting up his fresh produce in the sun. The peacefulness of the main street was disturbed only by the occasional car driving past and the laughter of children floating by as they rushed to the beaches. Police station next to the fire station and the officers gave Phil a nod as he strolled by. There was a kid selling lemonade on the corner of the high street and Beach Road, something Phil remembered doing with his friends so they could buy an ice cream later. Of course, Phil bought a glass, the drink refreshing, cutting the edge off the warm summer air.

There were a few restaurants further down Beach Road, a seafood place Phil remembered from his childhood. As he walked closer to the center of the village, he saw the farmers market surrounded the fountain in the shape of a fish spitting water. People tossed pennies into the fountain, making wishes. There had to be some kind of magic behind it because every wish Phil made in his youth came true. He had had his first kiss on the edge of the fountain, with a local girl named Annie. Annie and her brother, PJ, along with a few other locals and summertime regulars, made up Phil’s friend group during most of his childhood summers.

He walked through the market, seeing some people he used to know and smiling to himself. He had changed quite a lot since he had last been here. But it meant he could more or less fade into the background. He purchased some cheese, bread, and a few different jams from some of the stalls before continuing up the street.

Phil smiled at the memories as they came to him as he passed the church, with the pub (ironically) attached. He had spent many happy hours hanging out upstairs at that pub in the kids’ space with its sofas, pool table, and tv with games consoles. He turned around at the end of the street to walk back down to Beach Road, all the way to the beach itself which was just as pretty as the pictures Phil had kept. The view  of the English Channel was stunning, its green-blue waters lapping gently against the shore, leaving smooth pebbles and seashells in its wake.

Phil stood for a moment and admired the long expanse of golden sand before heading back to the grocers to buy food. He walked out fifty pounds poorer, and fifty pounds heavier, it seemed. Thankfully the walk back home was short.

Once in the house, putting things away was quick, and Phil also made quick work of cleaning the house (using magic of course: a simple cleaning spell go rid of the dust and cobwebs and made everything so much nicer) and putting his clothes away. He had a quick bit of toast for breakfast, although it was nearer to lunch now anyway, before he was heading back out to get milk and juice. The shop owner seemed a little surprised to see Phil again, and he smiled sheepishly as he explained he had just moved back to town in his family's house and he needed food and drink quite desperately. The man smiled, saying something about how he remembered that family, and he seemed to recognize Phil, but didn’t say anything if he did. On his way out, however, Phil ran into an old face. Quite literally. The two full-on smacked into each other, causing both to let out a few choice words that made the old lady walking by tut.

“Oh fuck, mate, I’m so sorry,” Phil apologized, rubbing his chin where it had hit the other person’s face. He looked down at the man he had collided with, before asking, “PJ?” PJ was more than startled.

“How do yo-Phil? Phil Lester?” PJ’s face cracked into a smile, and he pulled his old friend into a hug, which was hard on Phil’s end to reciprocate since he was holding a gallon jug of milk and a bag with apple and orange juice cartons inside. PJ didn’t seem to care, he instantly grabbed the milk from Phil and started walking towards his house. Phil laughed, and shook his head, following him.

“What are you doing back here, Phil?” PJ asked once they were settled on Phil’s deck, glasses of apple juice between them. He hadn’t changed much, still tall and lanky. His hair was shorter now, a mop of curls that fell over his kind green eyes. He was still as kind as ever.

“I moved. The family home was getting too crowded, and I wanted a change of scenery. You know my family, loud and rambunctious as ever,” Phil smiled, taking a sip. He really did love his family, but now that his aunt was living with them after her husband’s death, and Martyn was engaged to his girlfriend Cornelia as of last month, not to mention the twins his sister was having, the house was simply too crowded. And that was saying a lot because the family home in Manchester was a seven bedroom, seven and a half bathroom building. But Phil had a few older siblings, and one younger sister, all of whom seemed to be moving back in, rather than leaving like most children did. And Phil just couldn’t stay anymore, not because he didn’t love his family, but because he did need his own space, and it was bad enough he had to give Martyn his room because his fiancee was moving in and Phil’s room was bigger. Here, he was free, and he had his own reputation to make, now that he was all grown up.

“Oh, yeah, I get that. I saw Martyn got engaged, you’ll have to tell him congrats from me and Annie. She got married a few months ago, to Chris of all people. No one saw them falling in love ever happening. They wanted to invite you, but we couldn't find your address. Say, I’ll tell her you’re back, and we can get dinner, get the old gang back together!” PJ grinned, a smile so infectious that Phil started to smile too. He nodded.

“Alright, sounds like a plan. Wish I’d made the move earlier, if it meant coming to the wedding. But I’m glad they put the past behind them,” Phil smiled, and PJ was showing him pictures of the wedding. Of course, he was best man. Chris was like Phil, in more than one way. One, he was a summertime regular, and Phil assumed Chris and Annie were living in his family’s summer house on the other side of town. Two, Chris was a witch, an earthy type, like his mum. As PJ showed Phil the pictures, Phil smiled at how happy they looked, his two childhood best friends. Annie was very much like PJ, long, curly brown hair, an infectious smile, and a glint in those Liguori green eyes. She looked really pretty in the pictures, Phil had to admit. And Chris looked good too, very much in love with his wife. Phil could remember how he teased her, pulled her hair and stuff that little boys did because they were idiots. As they grew up, Chris stopped being such an ass, and one could see the beginnings of a crush when he looked at Annie.

They talked for what seemed like hours, and soon enough PJ was heading out. He was going out to dinner with his family, but promised to text Phil with a date and time for a dinner. Phil smiled, waving him off with a smile. Once gone, he sighed, looking at the dirty cups. With a flick of his wrist, the water turned on and the dishes started to wash themselves. It was honestly his favorite spell, and one that he had learned quite early on to make his chores easier. The dishes even put themselves away, a modification that Phil had added himself. With everything put away, including his clothes, Phil put his shoes back on, and decided to walk to the beach and get dinner, maybe even an ice cream.

After a comforting dinner of fish and chips, Phil walked down the beach with an ice cream in hand, humming softly to himself. He had walked so far down that he was by the caves, an old childhood haunt of his. He was almost done with his ice cream when he heard something. It was faint, and carried a melodic tune. Someone was singing, he realised after a moment. Someone was in the caves, singing. Singing beautifully. Phil felt like he was under some spell, as he got closer. The song was sad, almost eerily so. But Phil kept walking toward it, unable to stop even if he wanted too. He had to find who was singing this song. He was near the entrance of the caves when he was tackled to the ground by something large and very wet. He opened his eyes, having closed them when he was falling, feeling fur under his hands. A dog, a large sheepdog to be specific, was licking at his face. Phil laughed, trying to push him off. At that moment, a wave crashed into them, saltwater going in Phil's mouth and up his nose, making him cough and splutter. Someone pulled the dog off him, and Phil scrambled to his feet, wiping his eyes. He groaned, spitting on the ground as the dog's owner apologised profusely. He waved them off, smiling a little. He needed to change, and wash these clothes before they got stiff. Phil glanced back to the caves, and he swore he saw something move in the darkness. Something ducked behind a rock, and if he hadn’t been covered in grimy, salty water he would have gone to explore, to find out if this was the same person who had been singing.

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

Phil couldn’t sleep that night, his mind thinking about the song, and how beautiful it was. Who, or what, was singing it? And why were they in the caves? There were so many questions he needed answers to, and he resolved to find out in the morning. That thought helped to lull him to a semi-comatose state, half asleep, half awake, for the rest of the night. He ended up not going back to the beach that day, sleeping and shopping for most of the day instead. In fact, he didn’t end up back at the beach for another few days. After all, the boxes weren’t going to unpack themselves. (Actually they were but they wouldn’t be put away by themselves. That unfortunately was a job that Phil had to do by hand, by himself. It almost made him pack up and leave. Almost, but not quite.)

It was raining by the time Phil did end up back at the beach, this time determined to find out what it was that had been singing such a haunting, beautiful song. After speaking to the locals, all who proved to be little to no help, apart from one old lady at the cafe this very morning, Phil decided it would be better to just go explore for himself. The lady this morning had told him that the thing in the caves was territorial, and a savage. But apart from that, she didn't have any answers to what it was. With this in mind, Phil was walking towards where he had seen something move that first time. As he got closer, the song started to form in his ears, quieter but still just as powerful. Phil felt his heart clench, and he once again felt under a spell. He couldn’t stop walking even if he wanted. It was like his legs were locked, forcing him forward towards the mouth of the cave. The song got louder, and Phil realized that he didn’t actually understand it, although he thought he recognized the language. It was an ancient language, one that he probably should have learned from his parents. As the song carried him into the cave, he saw a fire in the distance, and a figure huddled behind it. A very human-like figure. Phil stopped himself just before the fire, the song dying in his ears as the...creature looked up at him, the fire illuminating round, rather brown eyes. The reflection of the fire in them made them seem almost golden. Or maybe Phil was just seeing things, because how could eyes be golden? The rest of the figure was shrouded in shadows; Phil could only see human-like arms hugging human-like legs that were pulled into a chest. He couldn’t see the face, or anything for that matter. He raised his hand to cast a spell to light the cavern they were in, when the person (?) spoke.

“Don’t.”

Phil lowered his hand almost automatically, the voice like melted honey, soft and smooth. He had never heard anything like it, a voice that made him want to fall to his knees and grovel. Phil wanted to worship this creature, worship its voice. It spoke again.

“Come.”

There it was again. That sweet voice. And who was Phil to deny such a sweet request. His legs carried him across the room. He fell to his knees in front of this creature, having never felt so calm in his life. The creature reached out and touched Phil's cheek with a surprisingly warm hand. A human hand. Phil leaned his head into its palm, smiling a little.

“Will you help me?” The voice was tentative, and Phil nodded slowly. The creature moved its hand, and the room seemed to get brighter, like millions of tiny candles had been lit. And Phil couldn’t contain his gasp as finally, he saw what was in front of him. His hand came up to cover his mouth, and he scrambled backward.

Sitting in front of Phil was arguably the most gorgeous creature that he had ever seen with his two eyes. The creature had long, slender legs, which were pulled up into its chest. Its skin was a light copper, and its eyes were golden brown. It had brown hair, curls that tumbled down to the base of its neck, and Phil had an urge to bury his face in them. Gold feather tattoos covered its legs from mid-calf to foot, and the same on its arms, ending just below the elbow. But what was even more spectacular than the rather heavenly creature in front of him were the wings of gold and black feathers spread out behind this being. Phil was stunned. He had never seen such a beautiful being. A siren, his mind supplied helpfully. The creature in front of him was a siren. The most feared sea creature, luring sailors and pirates alike to their watery graves. Phil was speechless, so much so that he almost didn’t notice the problem. A wing was broken. No wonder the siren was singing so sadly, it was lonely, and hurt.

“Help me,” the siren whispered, in that sweet voice that made Phil melt. He nodded, dumbfounded, and shuffled closer to the siren, who tensed up, then relaxed when it realised Phil meant no harm. Carefully, Phil raised a hand, and set to work fixing the siren.

The whole process took about two hours. Phil had to take regular breaks, and he was still exhausted by the time the siren took off into the air of the cavern with joy. Phil smiled, leaning back on the rocks of the cave, watching. He started to think of what he knew about sirens. Vicious, generally travelled in packs, or flocks. Very territorial. Cast magic with their voices, manipulating others to do what they wanted. They--wait, what? Phil’s smile fell, eyes widening as he realized what this siren was doing. It was using Phil! He looked up at it, chirping happily as it flew around the cavern. Phil scooted towards the exit. Just as he thought he was going to be able to escape, the siren called out.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Phil froze, stopping of his own free will. “Please,” he whispered, begged even. “Please don’t eat me.” He braced himself for the siren to somehow kill him. That didn’t happen, and the siren reached out to him, placing a hand on Phil’s cheek. “I won’t….Just please don’t leave me…” Phil found himself nodding meekly. This wasn’t how he wanted to go out, death by siren was hardly respectable. The siren chirped, and Phil looked up at it. The large wings were gone, instead replaced by a tattoo spanning the entirety of its back. For the first time, Phil took in what the siren was wearing. A short tunic, in an olive green, tied in place by a gold rope. As the siren turned, Phil saw its back, the large tattoo of its wings, the open back of its tunic. He bit his lip.

Phil couldn’t do much else than follow the siren to what he presumed was a nest of sorts. It was filled with shiny objects, and plush blankets that had quite obviously been stolen. It wasn’t small, by any means. Sirens attracted mates with large nests filled with shiny, soft objects. Phil remembered from a book he had read that sirens mated for life, and were extremely possessive of their mates. They also never let anyone else in their nests but said mates. The nest in which Phil was currently sitting, letting the siren play with his hair. He frowned at that. Maybe this siren’s mate didn’t mind. But if this siren had a mate, where was it?

“Daniel.” The siren had chirped with a smile as they sat down. At first, Phil thought he was calling to his mate, maybe that he had found them dinner, but he eventually realized that the siren was telling him his name. Daniel. It suited the creature. Phil smiled a bit, and leaned back into the siren-Dan’s hands combing through his hair. If he was going to be a prisoner, at least he could be one in semi-comfort. He smiled a little. “Where’s your mate?” He asked softly, but regretted it as he felt sharp claws dig into his scalp. “Ow! What the hell!” He scrambled away from Dan, turning to look at him with a glare.

“Don’t mention them.” Dan growled, his eyes dark, murderous even. Murder Birds, Phil’s mind supplied. Sirens had that nickname for a reason. Either way, any protests had died in Phil’s throat as soon as they’d started. It was so strange, how a siren could have that much of an effect on him. Wasn’t he supposed to be some great and powerful witch? Regardless, Dan seemed to settle down, preening himself lightly as he did so. Phil bit his lip, staying on his side of the nest. No thank you, Phil did not want to get on Dan’s side and be ruthlessly murdered. He stayed on his side, holding his knees to his chest and sighing, letting his eyes slip closed.

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

Phil looked so peaceful sleeping. It would almost be a pity to kill him. Almost, Dan decided. Besides, he needed to eat one way or another, and he really didn’t want to have to steal another dog when such a beautiful treat had wandered right in. Dan had wanted to eat him as soon as his wing had been fixed, so he could take him and go and find his mate again. But the way in which Phil had begged for his life had been so cute, Dan had decided to play with him a little. Now, he was unguarded. And he looked delicious. Dan licked his lips, settling closer to Phil and preparing for the blow to kill the human, when Phil sneezed. Dan frowned, tilting his head curiously. That was strange. He’d never seen a human do that before. Was it broken? Dan was about to look up Phils nose when it happened again, and he scrambled back, having been sprayed with something clear and wet. Ew. He sat cross legged and observed the human. He’d never seen one this up close before, never regarded them with much thought. To him, humans were simply stupid creatures, who didn’t deserve to be alive. Dan bit his lip, taking a blanket and covering the human. He was strange, and kind. But scared. Dan could sense the fear that came off this man, and he didn’t like it. He looked towards the cave entrance, remembering how Phil had tried to leave. He was selfish keeping this human here with him. He had to let Phil go, despite his appetite-now-turned-curiosity. Phil would forget about him, anyway.

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

When Phil woke up, his first thought was wondering where on Earth he was. Then he remembered. The siren. Dan. He got up, looking around for any sign of the creature, then slowly made his way to the exit. He expected to be pounced on as soon as he was at the exit, some sick joke of cat and mouse. But no, Phil made it to the exit and outside relatively unscathed. He hurried home, desperately in need of a shower, and a nap. He was somehow convinced that most of this was a dream. After all, why would there be a siren in Seaport? They were native to warmer waters. However, Phil couldn’t seem to get the beautiful face out of his mind. It plagued him when he closed his eyes, the honey-sweet voice singing softly in his ears. Fuck. Phil was trapped under a siren’s spell. And he loved it. It was intoxicating. Realistically Phil knew that he shouldn’t be head over heels with a creature that basically gets off on killing humans, but it was hard not to be. This ethereal creature was the center of his fantasies.

That night, PJ invited him over for dinner, with Chris and Annie. The house was the same as he remembered, and Phil smiled a little when he saw his friends. Annie was practically radiating when she saw Phil, giving him the biggest hug he’d ever had from her. Chris hugged him, too, which was comforting because Chris rarely gave out hugs. “What brings you down here?” Chris asked as he poured Phil a glass of wine, while PJ and Annie were out on the back porch, setting the table.

“The house was getting a little small, and there’s, like, three babies on the way. I wanted to live by myself for a little,” Phil explained, taking the offered glass and sipping.

“Well, it’s good to have another one of our kind around,” Chris smiled. “Oh, and Annie and PJ know I’m one, so you don’t have to hide it. I know you really came down here because you want to be by water. It’s only natural for a water kind to be drawn down here.” Phil smiled at that.

“You got me.” He laughed, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know about a siren being here, would you?”

“A siren? In Seaport? Well if there is, I should think it must be crazy. I wouldn’t imagine why it would be here. Unless it was abandoned by its family on a migration?” Chris smiled a little. “I have a book on sirens you might find useful. If you want it?” Phil nodded, and Chris went to get it. It wasn’t huge, and Phil thanked Chris as he put the book in his coat pocket.

Dinner was fabulous. Annie made pasta with some kind of amazing seafood sauce, and Phil practically melted when he tried it, begging her for the recipe. Dan would like it, he thought to himself. Surprisingly, even though Phil had left, he wanted to go back to Dan, to help him. If Chris was right, he had lost his family, or his family had left him. Either way, his heart felt for the siren. Phil helped with the dishes, and the four friends sat on the porch and talked.

“Do you miss your family, Phil? I know your brother just got married, and isn’t your sister expecting? Aren’t you lonely?” Annie asked while Chris and PJ went to refill the drinks. Phil smiled.

“I suppose. But I knew that I was going to be at least a little alone when I came here. I’m not really that alone, y’know? I’ve got you guys, and I’m starting to enjoy just relaxing. Maybe I’ll get a proper job. Or I could just keep leeching off my parents. Who knows?” He laughed, and poked her in the side. “Maybe I could babysit, once you and Chris start your little family.”

“That would be lovely Phil. Thank you,” Annie said softly, looking over at him. “You seem off, if you don’t mind. Almost like you’ve met someone.” Phil laughed a little at that.

Chris and PJ came back out with the drinks, and Annie smiled, touching his arm gently. That same featherlight tough that Dan had touched him with while he had painfully worked to fix his wing. He blinked, the look of sheer joy on his siren’s face making him smile. His siren? Oh god. Abruptly, Phil stood up. “Listen, this has been wonderful, really. But I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything later!” He smiled as he rushed out of the house, stopping only to make sure he had the book from Chris. Phil could only hope, as he sprinted towards the same cave he had been glad to see the back of earlier, that Dan was still in there. He burst in, startling the siren as he was chewing on something-oh god was that sheep?-and causing his feathers to shoot out of his arms and legs, as he jumped into attack mode, honey golden eyes flashing red.

“Dan!” Phil panted, hands on his knees. “Dan, I’m not leaving you.”

The siren frowned, before lunging at Phil and silently pinning him against a wall, finger flying frantically across Phil’s chest. It took Phil a minute to understand that Dan was drawing letters to make words. He caught some phrases, like “What are you doing?” and “How do you remember me?” It was strange, trying to piece together the messily written words, but eventually he grabbed Dan’s flying finger and held it in his hands. “Slow down, slow down. It’s okay, I have plenty of time. Just, slow down.” Dan led him back into the nest, sitting down across from Phil, knees touching, with Phil’s palm facing up.

‘How can you remember me?’ Dan traced onto Phil’s palm. Phil smiled.

“I’m a water witch. Surprise…!” He smiled a little nervously. Dan had to assume that Phil was a witch, otherwise how did Phil fix his wing? But the look on Dan’s face was adorable when he realized that water witches weren’t affected by most water creature spells. And sirens were inherently water creatures. Dan placed his finger on Phil’s palm again.

‘Why are you here?’

“Because I want to be.”

‘Go away.’

“No.” Phil laughed softly, shaking his head fondly. They sat like that for a while while Dan asked questions, and Phil dutifully answered them. It didn’t occur to Phil until later, while he gently combed through Dan's hair, the siren fast asleep with his head in Phil’s lap, that he hadn’t asked Dan any questions about his past, yet had somehow agreed to let Dan stay in his house. This would certainly be odd. Good thing he had that book.

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

Phil didn’t think his life could really get any weirder, then he tried smuggling an angry siren into his house. Dan was not only grumpy because he was awake early, but Phil had forced him into a coat, something that irritated his wings. Apparently he could still feel them, even though they weren’t there, something Dan had written onto his palm as Phil had struggled him into the coat. In retaliation for wearing something so irritating, he nipped at Phils bare skin all the way home. To say Dan was uncooperative was an understatement. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice the pair as Phil was unceremoniously shoving Dan into his house. Dan practically tore Phil’s coat in half to get out of it, and as soon as the garment was on the floor he was spreading his wings and preening himself. Phil was still amazed by those beautiful wings. Black and gold feathers, lush and full, spread out before Phil. Without thinking, Phil reached out to touch, gently stroking the softness before him. Dan looked mildly annoyed, but that soon melted away and he was grinning and making a noise almost like purring as he let Phil run his hands through his feathers.

Adjusting to life with this creature was odd. Firstly, Dan didn’t talk, he mainly wrote his replies or scribbled them into Phil’s skin. Dan didn’t want to trap Phil back under his spell, and Phil almost thought Dan might be growing fond of him. And secondly, Dan had taken over Phil’s bed, piling it high with pillows and soft covers, as well as hiding some of Phil’s shiny trinkets in amongst the softness. It was like his nest back in his lonely cave, and he insisted that Phil sleep in the nest with him. And finally, Dan was used to eating raw fish, or whatever other raw meats that he could find. It took Phil a while to condition him into eating cooked meat, even if it was only just barely cooked. Despite all this, Phil still couldn’t think of anything else apart from his Dan. His siren. It was odd, really, that he could be…in love with such a creature, yet here he was, silently smitten with Dan.

The next few months passed by, with no surprises. Phil became extremely well educated on sirens. However, it was too perfect, for too long, and his little bubble of bliss was broken one stormy day. They had been out on the cliff-top at Dan’s insistence for fresh air when all of a sudden he froze, as if sensing something. He motioned for Phil to stop, and walked a little further. He stopped, and for the first time in months, Phil heard his siren singing again. Well, not literally singing. But he was talking. And that alone was enough to make Phils knees buckle, and he fell to the ground. Because another voice had joined the mix. Another silky smooth, buttery sweet voice, adding to the harmony.

“I’ve been looking for you, and this is where I find you? In a human village, with a human. Daniel, you should know better.” At another thought, the second voice wasn’t like Dan’s at all. It was sickly sweet and unkind, where Dan’s was soft and kind. It was mocking, and left a bitter taste in Phils mouth.

“Go away. You know I left for a reason. I will not go back with you!” Dan’s voice cut through the air, followed by laughter, condescending laughter.

“You and I both know that’s not true, Daniel. You’re my mate. We’re meant to be together. It’s how it works.” Phil gasped at that, biting his lip. Dan’s mate. He was here. But why? Phil always assumed that Dan’s mate was dead, and he was merely seeking comfort with Phil. Never did he think that Dan would be with him instead of his mate. That thought was absurd, because after all, why would a siren pick a human as a mate? Phil shook his head, looking back over at Dan, where he stood, a whole head shorter than his mate. Phil got to his feet, dusting himself off and rubbing his eyes. It was hard to make out the conversation over the whirling of the wind, but Dan stood tall, and Phil smiled at that. Dan had courage, and Phil felt something in his stomach, a gut feeling to do something.

“Dan!” he yelled, starling both sirens out of their stances.

“No! Phil, stay where you are, it isn’t safe!” Dan yelled back, and for once, the command given didn’t seem to hold any meaning. His mind stayed remarkably clear, while his body remained frozen. He frowned, shaking his head to clear it and ran to Dan, grabbing his face and kissing him squarely on the lips. At that point, the heavens seemed to open and Phil had to pull away to laugh at the irony. A water creature, and a water witch, kissing in the rain.

“I thought I told you to stay?” Dan asked, smiling just as wide, leaning back in when all of a sudden Phil was shoved away, and oh shit a very angry siren was marching towards him. Dan’s mate was tall, and his wings were fully spread, and the teal feathers on his arms and legs were at full attention. Phil had never seen a siren like this, his eyes flashing a deep red, readying to attack and oh god this was it, and Phil hadn’t even told his mum that he loved her. He hadn’t even told Dan that he was loved. But that final blow that he was waiting for never came. Instead, there came a squawking, and Phil opened his eyes.

Dan was fighting. He was attacking his mate, using claws, teeth, feathers, everything. And his mate was fighting back, but clearly caught off guard by Dan’s sudden attack. And while physically his mate may have been stronger, Dan fought with a passion that Phil had never seen before. Almost like he wanted to protect Phil. They ended up in the air, a skirmish of feathers and growls. Phil heard something snap, followed by a screech and he prayed that it wasn’t Dan. But Dan was flying back to Phil, bruised and bloodied, scooping him up into the air and kissing him again, while Phil clung on for dear life.

“I told you to stay put!” Dan scolded lightly, swooping lower with Phil and making him scream. He laughed and held onto Dan tight, his legs wrapped around his waist and arms clinging around Dan’s shoulders.

“Water witches are immune to water creatures spells, goof,” Phil smiled, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to tell you but you could’ve been talking this whole time.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.”

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

Halfway between Tunisia and Sicily, there is a little island called Pantelleria, part of the Italian province of Trapani. Along the coast, away from the small towns that dot the island, there is a house only accessible by a dirt driveway, so inconspicuous that you would never notice it at a first glance. Down this driveway is a modest villa that has housed many great witch families over the years. Now, it belongs to an older witch, in his fifties. Sometimes people see him on his beach while sailing by, and more often than not, they are invited to have some wine and a light snack. If you get close enough, you hear his accent, British. If you have the chance to ask him why he is here, he will simply say “I followed my heart and it led me here”. People believe that he lost his wife, others simply say he is an artist. But often, you will see him glance up to the sunny sky, and if you are lucky, you will see a shape pass over the sun. A great winged creature, soaring high. No one knows what this creature is. All people know is that sometimes this strange man is seen sitting on the cliffs next to another man, who is clad in a tunic. Many locals say he is an angel, for they claim that he has giant gold wings that transform into a tattoo impression on his back. But you can tell this man these rumors, and he will simply shrug, and walk back up to his house. For how are the people to know whether a siren chose a human as a mate, all those years ago? Sometimes fate makes pairs in the sky that are simply meant to be. Sometimes a siren’s order simply cannot hold back the tide of love. And sometimes, just sometimes, it all turns out to be just right.

[wineanddinosaur]

EOD Drinks with Dan Aykroyd

In this episode of “End Of Day Drinks,” VinePair’s editorial team is joined by Dan Aykroyd, comedian, actor, and owner of Crystal Head Vodka. Listeners may know Aykroyd from his award-winning films such as “Ghostbusters,” “The Blues Brothers,” and “Trading Places.” He was also one of the original cast members of “Saturday Night Live.” Apart from these ventures, Dan Aykroyd has also made a lot of noise in the beverage alcohol industry, most notably with his creation of Crystal Head Vodka.

Listeners will get a glimpse into Aykroyd’s pivot from Hollywood stardom to beverage alcohol entrepreneurship — starting with a tequila tasting that he calls a “revelation.” Aykroyd also explains Crystal Head Vodka’s forward-thinking style, starting with his decision to remove all additives from the product. Finally, listeners will learn about the mythos of the crystal head and why Aykroyd chose it as the shape of the bottle.

Tune in to learn more about Aykroyd and his leading premium vodka brand.

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Or check out the conversation here

Tim McKirdy: Hey, everybody, this is Tim McKirdy, staff writer at VinePair, and welcome to the “EOD Drinks” podcast. Joining us for today’s episode, we have an award-winning actor, producer, comedian, and owner of Crystal Head Vodka, among other boozy ventures: Dan Aykroyd. Welcome to the show.

Dan Aykroyd: Oh, good. Good to be on. Good to be with your listeners and with all of you today.

T: Thanks so much for joining us. As always, I’m pleased to be joined by some colleagues from the editorial team at VinePair. Today, we have Joanna Sciarrino, Cat Wolinski, Katie Brown, and Keith Beavers. Hey, everybody.

All: Hello!

D: Wow, what a panel. I wonder what you have in front of you right there. I’ve got a mini-Head going. But I just love that your thing is just educating people about beverage alcohol brands, and exciting new breakthroughs for the consumer. You guys make it accessible. I was in the wine business for a while, and I got into it through Niagara. That was 12 years ago, and the grapes were very young. The Niagara grapes. Now, they’re approaching those 60, 70 years old. There are some really incredible Niagara reds coming out of that region. Not as fruity as when I was into it. People come to me and they say, “I’m going out to a restaurant. I want to order red wine.” Well, I say “anything that’s got a saint in it.” St.-Julien. I say anything that has an x. Bordeaux, Margaux, you just can’t go wrong. We see these years being slammed all the time. This year was bad or that year is bad. I don’t know, man. I think that you can drink a Bordeaux right now that’s not even 10 years old from Brane-Cantenac Margaux or one of these great red wines from France. If you let them go too long, they get bad, a lot of them. I drink them if they’re eight, nine, 10 years old. I don’t save them anymore. I drink the nice reds coming out of France. Then, Washington State, wow. The Walla Walla reds, and the Cabernets.

T: Some great wine up there.

D: It’s exciting. I learn as I go and whatever my taste or palate that I had left after years of whatever, maybe other substances. When I order a Walla Walla or a Columbia Valley Wine, I’m always pleased. The prices are good on those in restaurants. Well, if restaurants will continue to exist.

T: I’m very happy you are able to share your drinking advice or red wine-buying advice with our listeners, Dan. Anything with a saint or an x, that definitely beats the second on the list.

D: There are all kinds of incredible restaurants and vintners in the world now that are in partnership. I love Diamond Creek out of California. Al Brounstein was the founder. His wife, Boots, I think took it over if she’s still with us alongside his kids. Very limited production, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Keith, you’re the wine guy, right?

T: Keith is the wine guy.

D: Well, you’ve heard of Diamond Creek?

Keith Beavers: Yes, and I love that you’re talking about Niagara. Oh, my gosh, the Pinot Noir coming out of there is incredible. It’s an amazing place.

D: It was a little spotty when I was starting out, but I did it because I wanted to help Ontario’s industry. I wanted to lend my name to Ontario’s industry. The distributor that I brought Patrón into Canada for was a wine company. I said, “Well, let’s swing in and try to make some neat wines.” We actually did for a while. Now I’ve let that lapse because they’re focusing on other things, but I’d like to revive it. I know exactly the type of wine I would like to put a label on. DeLoach Vineyards built me an American wine that was wonderful. It had Grenache in it, peppery flavors, and wow, it was fine. And of course, that’s Jean-Charles Boisset who many of you met. He and I partnered, but I guess the agency wasn’t right. There weren’t enough salespeople out there to get it going, but wow, we put up some quality white Chardonnay and a beautiful Cabernet there from DeLoach.

K: Spicy Grenache, you’re talking to my heart right now.

D: With a burger! I order the wine first and then I complement the wine with the food. Now, people may have it the other way sometimes. You order the food and then ask what wine would be good with it. Now I say, “What food would go well with this wine?” That’s how I started along with many who drink moderately and enjoy wine.

T: More sound wine-buying advice there from Dan Aykroyd. These are all things that I love to get into, especially the wine side. I wonder if I can take us on a quick detour before that, though, Dan. I was really hoping we could start out by looking at Crystal Head. You launched Crystal Head over a decade ago now. That’s a time when very few of your Hollywood colleagues were getting into the booze industry. You also went down the vodka road instead of tequila, but earlier you alluded to the fact that you have some business interest with Patrón and tequila. I’d love to hear about that and how you got your start in booze alongside Hollywood?

D: Well, you know, it just comes from a simple musing on an afternoon in the summer, in August, down at the dock by the lake. Canadians love their cottages. Down to the dock by the lake, I’m looking at the two dominant brands of tequila sold in Canada at that time. I’m looking at my Margarita jar with my mix and going, “Oh boy, I wish I had something better to work with.” I recall a time in L.A. with John Paul Dejoria, the great entrepreneur who founded Paul Mitchell Hair Systems and also the Patrón Spirits Company, and we were drinking at the House of Blues. He was one of our first investors. He said, “Would you like to try this Patrón tequila?” I said, “Well, I don’t really have too much of a good record with tequila.” It’s the technicolor mule in the back of a yard in Tijuana. That’s my association with it at that time. Then, he said, “no, no, this is different. This is sipping tequila, it’s magnificent.” He poured me a warm shot of the Patrón Silver. I sniffed it and I thought, “Whoa, earth. Nice.” Then, I sipped it, and it was a revelation to me. It was tequila as I’d never seen it before, a premium tequila. I never knew, living in Canada, that such a thing was possible. We only had two brands to work with. I recalled back on that summer’s day and said “Wow, what if I could get Patrón up in Canada to make a better Margarita here for this party on the dock?” The next time I saw J.P., I said, “I really would like to bring Patrón into the little village government liquor store up here. How can I do it?” He said, “Well, Dan, you’d have to bring it to the whole country.” We both agreed to do it. In partnership, J.P., myself, and David Brown, another ex-mailman. We brought Patrón to Canada 12 years ago and it is now one of the dominant luxury brands in the country. Canadians can now enjoy what Americans did all along with fine tequila. We made it a great success right up to the point where Bacardi bought it. I’m no longer involved in it, but I’ll always be a friend to Patrón because of its quality and that silver, smoky, lovely flavor. That’s really how I got into booze, by wanting something better. That led me to research, exploring, and improving another category. That was the vodka category. I opened a lot of vodkas, and they smelled like Chanel No. 10. Or they didn’t have a taste or a flavor. Or they were harsh and had an over-viscosity. I thought, what’s going on here? Why? Why can’t we get an old-fashioned, pure, clean-water vodka? Well, I came to find out that a lot of glycerol is added. Glycerol is added to a lot of alcoholic products, but not enough to hurt or kill you. Laminine is added to vodka to disguise the alcohol smell and taste to mask it. Then, they added sugar to a lot of the brands. I thought, well, what if we eliminated all of these fusel oils? Fusel oils are the industry name for these additives. German fusel. We eliminated the glycerol in the Crystal Head corn mash. We eliminated the laminine in the Crystal Head corn mash. We eliminated the sugar in the Crystal Head corn mash. You don’t need any more sugar when you’ve got ethyl alcohol corn, C2H5O6 sugars. Laminine has a cousin as a caustic cleanser. You could take pure laminine and cut through mechanics’ grease with it. Then, glycerol is a cousin to ethylene glycol, which cooled the spitfires in World War II. It’s antifreeze. I thought they didn’t put enough to kill you. It’s been done for years, it’s industry standard. Let’s change the industry. Let’s come up with a pure spirit. Let’s not put the additives in. Let’s not add these things. Right out of the gate, the tastes were great, we went to the purest water source in North America, Newfoundland, Canada. We source the water there because you see original water from the aquifer of the Wisconsin glacier that sat 800 feet above us 16,000 years ago. There was ice all over this part of the world. Then, that just melted into the porous rock into the province of Newfoundland. It sits 900 feet above the ocean, away from the eerie plume of pollution. That water has never been touched by acid rain. It sits in an aquifer in these lakes underneath the province of Newfoundland. There is a still right above it, and it’s owned by the provincial government. Not only does Crystal Head have no additives in it but also has the purest water in the world right from the aquifer that was originally the ice over our planet at that time. It’s also manufactured by the province of Newfoundland Labrador Liquor Distillery Corporation. It’s a government manufacturer. With Baltic vodkas, you go into those stills, and it’s a little rough. However, the government manufacturer guarantees us a policing of quality that’s quite outstanding. Today, Crystal Head has won numerous awards for taste, and our vodkas are in about 80 countries. I’m proud to go around the world and say it’s a Canadian product, from a country that is tolerant. We have our pride bottle. We celebrate the LGBTQ+ community frequently. We had the same-gender preference marriage long ago in Canada. We are a Canadian company, and we espouse Canadian values, quality, and dependability for the consumer. The best water with the best manufacturer. The corn comes from Chatham, Ontario, from same-system corn farming. Now, no one in the world works as hard as I do to make this vodka. We grab the corn, take it to the same farming system, with the peaches and cream corn, the big, fat kernels there. We harvest them. They go into the mash truck. The truck then drives a fifth of the way across Canada to a nine-hour ferry ride to Newfoundland, where we mix it with the water in the distillery. Then it goes out into containers, and into the world from there. We’re going to great trouble to make it.

T: I’m glad that you went to some length there to share the process with us. You also mentioned accolades. Crystal Head is a vodka that we’ve long enjoyed at VinePair. You can check it in the reviews, in the roundups. What I always say to people as well is that you have this amazing-looking bottle, but don’t look past what’s inside it as well. Can you also tell us about the bottle? Obviously, it is very striking and definitely sets you apart on the liquor shelf.

D: Well, it does. Of course, being that we wanted to have a business that sustains, we had to put a quality fluid in it. One that people will enjoy and look past the bottle to drink it. Many bottles are still around the world. I have 200 of them in my barn here in Canada because of the parties I’ve had over the years. I don’t throw them away. We wanted to sell the idea of enlightened drinking and to have a drink that doesn’t have additives, which is very popular with bar chefs. Crystal Head is the virgin slate, it’s a blank canvas in which to do mixes. As you know. You guys are mixologists, you know bar chefs, and you know what is going into vodka. We’ve got one that is high-quality with no additives and pure. We wanted to sell the idea and the mythos of purity. With the myth of the crystal heads, we wanted to utilize that myth because they were enlightening the tribes that own them. The Anasazi, the Navajo, the Aztec, and the Mayans all purportedly had these star children’s heads or crystal heads that were used as scrying devices. There was a positive aspect and a positive myth. A myth of purity and power to these heads owned by these various aboriginal indigenous tribal bands around the planet — in legend anyway. I thought that this is the perfect vessel to put our stripped-down, zero-additives, pure fluid in. Let’s take the mythos of purity and put it into the bottle. Now, you’ve got an award-winning fluid with no junk in it. The crystal heads, you saw the “Indiana Jones” movie, they were ascribed to extraterrestrial origin. The Navajo said they’re from the star children. In the movie, they certainly take advantage of that myth of the heads being from another planet. There were 13 of them in the world that were known, and five out of the eight are in the hands of mankind, and five are missing. Three of them are in museums, one at the V&A in London and two in the Smithsonian. One was found in the Yucatan; that’s the most popular and famous one, the Mitchell Hedges skull. Mitchell Hedges was the granddaughter of an explorer. They were in Central America and found this head wrapped in an oilcloth. She reached into a hole in a cave and found it. It had a detachable jaw. It was beautiful. It had so-called healing powers. People who would see it, the velvet cape would come off it, and you’d get an immediate feeling of wellbeing and warmth in the belly just by looking at it. It was very beautiful to look at. You can get pictures of it. The Mitchell Hedges skull. People can look it up on any search engine and dig up a picture of it. It sat here in Ontario for a long time. There is one in Mexico City with a cross stuck right on the top of it. Were they ancient or were they made by man? Either way, they are beautiful to look at. For my purposes, it was the perfect sales legend to sell our quality story by tying into the mythos of purity that the skulls had in legend. It worked well for us.

Cat Wolinski: Dan, this is Cat. I am following up on your story about the myth of purity and alcohol. I’m curious to hear your thoughts on the brands that are marketing themselves as better-for-you, “healthy” beer, spirits, wine, etc.

D: I think organic is a movement that is not doing too much harm to the consumer. I think we’re an organic product. It’s up to the consumer to be discriminating and to decide whether something is better for them or not. Is it better to have a drink that has 100 calories? With Crystal Head, we have 65 calories. We don’t say we’re better for your health in our marketing, but I think that you have to trust the consumer to believe stories or not. Certainly, we say we’re pure, and you can run our product on a spectrograph. It will run completely flat. There are no impurities in it because of our filtration system. If you want a vodka that doesn’t have a cousin to antifreeze it in or a caustic cleanser, then maybe it is better for you to have vodka, like Crystal Head, that doesn’t have that stuff. Look at all the stuff you’re adding today to vodka and mixes. I don’t know Pernod, vermouth, Fernet-Branca, emulsified sugars, Bloody Caesars. Our bar chefs around the world love our Aurora bottle. That’s the one with the mirror finish. That’s a wheat vodka that comes out of Yorkshire, England. Very soft, sunset wheat. A little more spice to it than the corn. The corn’s notes are sweet vanilla, dry and crisp. And the other one is star anise and peppercorn. Then we have our new expression, which is quite exciting because the whole legend, as you’ve taken me through here today of where we got started with my partners and myself, is the tequila. We now build a vodka that is vodka-style distillation, but we use the Blue Weber agave. This is in the black head, the Onyx. This is taking a vodka treatment of distillation and filtration, then making it from the Blue Weber agave mash. It is a big hit because of its floral, earthy, long finish when you’re tasting it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever had. It’s almost like a white whiskey with tequila.

T: Can you try to describe that? Say you were giving someone the elevator pitch. It’s tequila made in the vodka way, but how would you describe it?

D: I would say it’s like a beautiful, white whiskey. If you were to close your eyes, is it brown or white? You wouldn’t know but you get the taste of tequila. You would think this tastes like tequila, but it’s not as overpowering as some tequilas can be. There’s a softness to it.

T: I believe it serves as an intro to tequila. The way that I’ve described it to people is maybe you didn’t have a good experience with tequila before. A lot of people didn’t in college. People may want to take a little step before you dive into that category again. Maybe you should try this. Yet, I definitely think it stands on its own as a unique product. It’s super interesting.

D: It crosses vodka and tequila grounds a bit. There are some notes that have been written about white pepper, citrus. I mean, you can have notes on anything like a hint of baby diaper with a burnt tire. Notes can get into some heavy pretensions when you get to some of the critics. However, I would say earthy. It’s just something that’s never been done, and people are loving it. It’s never been done to take Blue Weber agave and then adjust the temperature and distillation so you can get a vodka-style treatment on it.

Katie Brown: So that leads into my question. I’ve been curious, with that specific spirit, do you drink it as if it’s a tequila? Would you put it in a Margarita? Or do you use it for classic vodka cocktails, like a Martini? What’s your favorite way to drink it?

D: You can drink it as a traditional vodka. You can drink it as a tequila. Either way, it crosses both lines there and serves in a Margarita beautifully. Of course, as a Martini, there’s no taste like it, if it’s cold and shaken with a lemon peel.

T: That’s your preferred serve on the Martini?

D: I like it shaken. I like to hear a steward on the Long Island Rail Road with white gloves in the bar car, shaking, shaking, shaking as the tracks click, click, click by. Then, I’m coming to my seat as I’ve got my Wall Street Journal folded into a single column. I can get a drink from that steward, handed to me in a tumbler, a vodka Martini, shaken with ice, with lime or olives, maybe a hint of white vermouth, throw it out. That’s the 1954 Long Island Rail Road  Bar Car Martini. In 1954, you’re a Madison Avenue executive going in from New Rochelle into the city. You sit there with your Wall Street Journal folded into a single column at 10:30 in the morning. Get a Martini. That’s the dream way to have a Martini. I like a rinse of fine white vermouth, throw the rinse out and shake it, put it up in a Martini glass with ice chips and a lemon peel or olives. I do like the vodka that way. Now, the other way I like the Aurora, the Onyx, or the Original, is to put it in a tumbler with ice and pour about two and a half, three ounces, and then I take a freshly squeezed jug of clementine or fine citrus. I pour that orange juice in very slowly. It’s important to do this, because somehow it makes a difference. Treat it as if you’re cracking the yolk of an egg. You pour it very slow while you watch the yellow emulsify and go out through the vodka, and the color changes. Then, just a quick stir. That’s the Crystal Driver. That’s the best Screwdriver I’ve ever had.

However, I love to have people experiment. I love going and visiting bars. We sold gallons of our Crystal Heads there in Vegas with a white Cosmo at a few of the casinos. It’s basically white cranberry juice with egg white. I forgot what casino it was, but they had some great formulations there. We also got a bar in the Boystown district of Chicago that has a machine downstairs. They put the bottles in, and it serves out a punch on Sunday. They have these massive Sunday brunches in Boystown where you can go get food and drink and dance and watch old movies and karaoke. It’s the fun-est thing. One of the clubs there has this dispenser downstairs, and there’s basically a tap where you can get Crystal Head punch. I love that application. They are mixing a fruit punch, like a Hawaiian Punch type of treatment.

K: That sounds amazing. I want to go there now.

T: I’m enjoying the way that you’re describing making cocktails to us. I’m wondering whether you could ever do an audio cocktail recipe book.

D: If you get on the World Wide Web, crystalhead.com, we’ve got our professional bar chef. We were playing around with some recipes there, you can go to our cocktail section. We actually have professionals doing it, and I like to watch and drink. You can get on there and see what we’re doing with the recipes that we’ve gotten from around the world. We have a Startender program worldwide. Bar chefs from around the world submit recipes to us, we select them and award prizes sometimes where it’s legal. Our Startender program is very popular. The gateway to the consumer for any beverage alcohol is the bar chef on the front line. They love talking about the Crystal Head. It’s the only one you can throw up in the air or put on your shoulder and do voices with. It’s fun and easy. It’s a safe product. The seal, of course, is very safe. It’s just a high-quality, premium Canadian entry into the industry that I’m happy to say people worldwide are loving.

T: That is a nice segue because you’ve mentioned a couple of pretty good drinking cities already on the pod. I wanted to get your opinion when we’re all able to travel again, what is the best city in the world to go to for a drink and for cocktails?

D: London, England. Hands down.

K: Home of the Vesper.

D: London has molecular bar chefs there. They’re really into construction and they love the Head because of the no additives. One of our largest markets is the City of London. I would say next, you want to be looking at Sydney, Australia.

T: I hear that, too. And there’s a lot of crossover between Sydney and London. I used to work as a chef for many years in London, and we got a ton of chefs from Sydney. I want to say that London made Sydney good. That’s what I’m getting at here.

D: In Melbourne, there’s a famous cocktail bar down in an alley there. Melbourne, Australia, is also a great city for bar chefs and recipes. Toronto, Ontario. Can’t ignore that place where great people are doing stuff there.

T: You’re missing New York! Dan, you’re speaking to a couple of people based in New York, and you’re not bringing up the best drinking city in the world.

D: New York needs a little more sophistication. They need to embrace the Crystal Head, the no-additive story a little more before I talk about New York.

T: Well, sometimes bartenders do occasionally, and I don’t want comments at this, but move away from vodka. I don’t think that’s always fair.

D: Here’s my argument there, and I know exactly what you’re talking about. It’s the notion of “Oh, everybody has vodka. Brown spirits are where we’ve got to focus or the rums, gins of the world.” Now, there’s some great gins, don’t get me wrong. There are great rums and whiskeys but every bar of quality, if you’re going to be serving your customer, why not serve a premium vodka? Every bar needs vodka. You need it on the back shelf. Why not have the Head on your back shelf? It draws attention to your bar, it’s a beautiful art piece, and provides the consumer with a 90-plus point consistent rating. Also with quality, it’s only about $1.32 more a shot if you price it competitively. Now, I say to bar chefs out there who are doing wonderful things with whiskeys, brown spirits, rums, and gins that you need vodka. You’re doing these wonderful things, you’re purveying these quality drinks to your consumer and for the one or two or three or 100 people that want vodka, Crystal Head is your non-additive choice. Put it up there with your premium stock, and it’s only $1.32 a shot more if you price it right.

T: New York City bar chefs, you heard.

D: I have great friends in New York. The W Hotel has been great to us for many years. However, I think there are more people that need to embrace the story. I think I need to blow through there on a tour in the “Headmobile.” We might be cranking it up again because Onyx is growing at a beautiful rate for us and we may get on the wave of that. Yes, it was a Freightliner tractor that is used for hauling race cars around. It was a big cat tractor. It was wonderful on the highway. With that turbo, it was a beautiful sound. I drove it many times. It lit up at night. We had a red infrared choice at night. It was like the Star Trek cruiser there, and it had an apartment on the back. It really moved. You could do about 90 in it because it had nothing in the back and we painted it up like a delivery truck. We had the Crystal Head all over it, and we went all over when we were launching. Even in New York, we need to revive the Head and go out there to educate bar chefs that are missing it. We want to let them know that there is a choice out there for premium vodka that is superior to some of the lesser stock that the consumer is being forced to consume because of a lack of knowledge.

K: I can see that vehicle pulling up to a speakeasy, like, “Oh, well, I guess we know where the speakeasy is now”.

D: Sure, even at a biker bar, a dance club, or anywhere there are people, you’ll find Crystal Head, along with people having a good time. I will also say that anywhere I am with people consuming Crystal Head, there will be treats. I will buy rounds. I put my money where my product is. Now, we don’t go down to the spring break. We’re not pushing it on the youth; we never have. Our consumer range is 25 to 85, with a huge female demographic. A lot of our consumers, both male and female, have double college degrees. They’re very knowledgeable in that way. Many are in the tech professions or design, we found in our surveys. They have the discretionary income to buy something better, an affordable luxury for themselves, which is Crystal Head. We’re not going down to spring break with the Head machines and the pipes with the guzzling youngsters. That is something we’ve never chased. If you happen to be down on spring break and you go to a bar and Crystal Head is there, then I urge it. I don’t think you’ll ever see it being consumed from the Headmobile on a beach on spring break. We’re selling to the people who are halfway through college or finished.

T: What is the name of your fans? I heard you say head machine there. I’m guessing that’s not the name of Crystal Head fans.

D: I would say, the fans are “Head-heads.” If you’re a Head-head, that works. Again, we’ve got people that are discriminating so they want something better and are willing to pay a little more for it. Why not? We have impeccable water sources. In some of the other vodkas, the water has been called into question — specifically, the hygiene of the factory. But we have a beautiful filtration system. We have seven filtrations, micron, and charcoal with an agitated charcoal filtration system. It’s not just being poured through like a charcoal sieve. In the end, we pour through Herkimer Diamonds. There are semi-precious stones that are white double-sided semi-precious crystals, and we pour the final pour through a cone of them, and it just comes out so satiny and lovely. It does add something! I don’t know if you ask the high school chemistry teacher if you were to say, “What does pouring a C2H5O6 over double-sided crystals do for the beverage?” They probably would say, “scientifically, maybe not much,” but we’ve done tests where we pour over the crystals, and people like it poured over the crystals better. The last vestiges of any negative psychic energy on the planet are coming out because some of those crystals turn yellow, and that’s surprising. We have to sometimes turn them over or buy new ones. By the time that fluid hits those crystals, it’s already flat pure. I don’t know what else is being weaned out of there, but we do have the world’s purest vodka. I can definitely say that. I don’t think anybody’s doing it without the oils today. I may be wrong, I don’t know.

K: Well, it sounds amazing. I want to go on a train right now and order a Martini.

D: They outlawed it! The Long Island Rail Road outlawed it. Now, you can still get vodka on Amtrak. Now, on Canadian National Rail, you can get Crystal Head, I believe. We had a program running so that you could get it on the cross-country Canadian railroad. However, the commuting Wall Street advertising man can no longer get a Martini on the Long Island Rail Road as of three or four years ago. A tragedy.

T: Indeed. Dan, I would urge people to go out there and taste the difference for themselves, taste the effect of the crystal. See the proof in the pudding or the proof in the Head. Just wanted to say, thank you so much for spending the time today to talk with us. I feel there are two or three more episodes of stuff we need to get into. But I appreciate your time today, and thanks from all of us! It’s been great chatting.

D: Oh, sure! We’ve got some great beers and wines up in Canada. I encourage you to come when the borders are open. Come up to Niagara to the farm, and we’ll sit and have some T-bones or vegetarian meals. The daughters are all vegetarian. We eat and drink hearty here at the lake in the summer. If you’re passing through, you can get through KLG Public Relations to set this up. By all means to any and all of you, if you’re in the Kingston, Ontario, region, which is a beautiful lakeside town up here where the Cork Regatta is held. It’s a sailing regatta, the home of Royal Military College, which is our equivalent of West Point or Sandringham military school. Queen’s University is here where the brilliant, inspiring genius of our age, Elon Musk, went to school here at Queen’s University for two years. This is a devoted town to his legend, and if you’re up here, come up to the farm. By all means, we entertain heavily and heartily in the summer.

K: Definitely coming up.

Joanna Sciarrino: Maybe you could bring the Head-mobile to our New York office.

D: For sure. That would look good!

K: Going 90 down the Hutch. It’s going to be awesome.

D: Well, thank you, guys. Great to talk to you.

Thanks for listening to this week’s episode of “EOD Drinks.” If you’ve enjoyed this program, please leave us a rating or a review wherever you get your podcasts. It really helps other people discover the show. And tell your friends. We want as many people as possible listening to this amazing program.

And now for the credits. “End of Day Drinks” is recorded live in New York City at VinePair’s headquarters. And it is produced, edited, and engineered by VinePair tastings director, yes, he wears a lot of hats, Keith Beavers. I also want to give a special thanks to VinePair’s co-founder, Josh Malin, to the executive editor Joanna Sciarrino, to our senior editor, Cat Wolinski, senior staff writer Tim McKirdy, and our associate editor Katie Brown. And a special shout-out to Danielle Grinberg, VinePair’s art director who designed the sick logo for this program. The music for “End of Day Drinks” was produced, written, and recorded by Darby Cici. I’m VinePair co-founder Adam Teeter, and we’ll see you next week. Thanks a lot.

The article EOD Drinks with Dan Aykroyd appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/eod-drinks-dan-aykroyd-crystal-head-vodka/

[johnboothus]

EOD Drinks with Dan Aykroyd

In this episode of “End Of Day Drinks,” VinePair’s editorial team is joined by Dan Aykroyd, comedian, actor, and owner of Crystal Head Vodka. Listeners may know Aykroyd from his award-winning films such as “Ghostbusters,” “The Blues Brothers,” and “Trading Places.” He was also one of the original cast members of “Saturday Night Live.” Apart from these ventures, Dan Aykroyd has also made a lot of noise in the beverage alcohol industry, most notably with his creation of Crystal Head Vodka.

Listeners will get a glimpse into Aykroyd’s pivot from Hollywood stardom to beverage alcohol entrepreneurship — starting with a tequila tasting that he calls a “revelation.” Aykroyd also explains Crystal Head Vodka’s forward-thinking style, starting with his decision to remove all additives from the product. Finally, listeners will learn about the mythos of the crystal head and why Aykroyd chose it as the shape of the bottle.

Tune in to learn more about Aykroyd and his leading premium vodka brand.

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Or check out the conversation here

Tim McKirdy: Hey, everybody, this is Tim McKirdy, staff writer at VinePair, and welcome to the “EOD Drinks” podcast. Joining us for today’s episode, we have an award-winning actor, producer, comedian, and owner of Crystal Head Vodka, among other boozy ventures: Dan Aykroyd. Welcome to the show.

Dan Aykroyd: Oh, good. Good to be on. Good to be with your listeners and with all of you today.

T: Thanks so much for joining us. As always, I’m pleased to be joined by some colleagues from the editorial team at VinePair. Today, we have Joanna Sciarrino, Cat Wolinski, Katie Brown, and Keith Beavers. Hey, everybody.

All: Hello!

D: Wow, what a panel. I wonder what you have in front of you right there. I’ve got a mini-Head going. But I just love that your thing is just educating people about beverage alcohol brands, and exciting new breakthroughs for the consumer. You guys make it accessible. I was in the wine business for a while, and I got into it through Niagara. That was 12 years ago, and the grapes were very young. The Niagara grapes. Now, they’re approaching those 60, 70 years old. There are some really incredible Niagara reds coming out of that region. Not as fruity as when I was into it. People come to me and they say, “I’m going out to a restaurant. I want to order red wine.” Well, I say “anything that’s got a saint in it.” St.-Julien. I say anything that has an x. Bordeaux, Margaux, you just can’t go wrong. We see these years being slammed all the time. This year was bad or that year is bad. I don’t know, man. I think that you can drink a Bordeaux right now that’s not even 10 years old from Brane-Cantenac Margaux or one of these great red wines from France. If you let them go too long, they get bad, a lot of them. I drink them if they’re eight, nine, 10 years old. I don’t save them anymore. I drink the nice reds coming out of France. Then, Washington State, wow. The Walla Walla reds, and the Cabernets.

T: Some great wine up there.

D: It’s exciting. I learn as I go and whatever my taste or palate that I had left after years of whatever, maybe other substances. When I order a Walla Walla or a Columbia Valley Wine, I’m always pleased. The prices are good on those in restaurants. Well, if restaurants will continue to exist.

T: I’m very happy you are able to share your drinking advice or red wine-buying advice with our listeners, Dan. Anything with a saint or an x, that definitely beats the second on the list.

D: There are all kinds of incredible restaurants and vintners in the world now that are in partnership. I love Diamond Creek out of California. Al Brounstein was the founder. His wife, Boots, I think took it over if she’s still with us alongside his kids. Very limited production, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Keith, you’re the wine guy, right?

T: Keith is the wine guy.

D: Well, you’ve heard of Diamond Creek?

Keith Beavers: Yes, and I love that you’re talking about Niagara. Oh, my gosh, the Pinot Noir coming out of there is incredible. It’s an amazing place.

D: It was a little spotty when I was starting out, but I did it because I wanted to help Ontario’s industry. I wanted to lend my name to Ontario’s industry. The distributor that I brought Patrón into Canada for was a wine company. I said, “Well, let’s swing in and try to make some neat wines.” We actually did for a while. Now I’ve let that lapse because they’re focusing on other things, but I’d like to revive it. I know exactly the type of wine I would like to put a label on. DeLoach Vineyards built me an American wine that was wonderful. It had Grenache in it, peppery flavors, and wow, it was fine. And of course, that’s Jean-Charles Boisset who many of you met. He and I partnered, but I guess the agency wasn’t right. There weren’t enough salespeople out there to get it going, but wow, we put up some quality white Chardonnay and a beautiful Cabernet there from DeLoach.

K: Spicy Grenache, you’re talking to my heart right now.

D: With a burger! I order the wine first and then I complement the wine with the food. Now, people may have it the other way sometimes. You order the food and then ask what wine would be good with it. Now I say, “What food would go well with this wine?” That’s how I started along with many who drink moderately and enjoy wine.

T: More sound wine-buying advice there from Dan Aykroyd. These are all things that I love to get into, especially the wine side. I wonder if I can take us on a quick detour before that, though, Dan. I was really hoping we could start out by looking at Crystal Head. You launched Crystal Head over a decade ago now. That’s a time when very few of your Hollywood colleagues were getting into the booze industry. You also went down the vodka road instead of tequila, but earlier you alluded to the fact that you have some business interest with Patrón and tequila. I’d love to hear about that and how you got your start in booze alongside Hollywood?

D: Well, you know, it just comes from a simple musing on an afternoon in the summer, in August, down at the dock by the lake. Canadians love their cottages. Down to the dock by the lake, I’m looking at the two dominant brands of tequila sold in Canada at that time. I’m looking at my Margarita jar with my mix and going, “Oh boy, I wish I had something better to work with.” I recall a time in L.A. with John Paul Dejoria, the great entrepreneur who founded Paul Mitchell Hair Systems and also the Patrón Spirits Company, and we were drinking at the House of Blues. He was one of our first investors. He said, “Would you like to try this Patrón tequila?” I said, “Well, I don’t really have too much of a good record with tequila.” It’s the technicolor mule in the back of a yard in Tijuana. That’s my association with it at that time. Then, he said, “no, no, this is different. This is sipping tequila, it’s magnificent.” He poured me a warm shot of the Patrón Silver. I sniffed it and I thought, “Whoa, earth. Nice.” Then, I sipped it, and it was a revelation to me. It was tequila as I’d never seen it before, a premium tequila. I never knew, living in Canada, that such a thing was possible. We only had two brands to work with. I recalled back on that summer’s day and said “Wow, what if I could get Patrón up in Canada to make a better Margarita here for this party on the dock?” The next time I saw J.P., I said, “I really would like to bring Patrón into the little village government liquor store up here. How can I do it?” He said, “Well, Dan, you’d have to bring it to the whole country.” We both agreed to do it. In partnership, J.P., myself, and David Brown, another ex-mailman. We brought Patrón to Canada 12 years ago and it is now one of the dominant luxury brands in the country. Canadians can now enjoy what Americans did all along with fine tequila. We made it a great success right up to the point where Bacardi bought it. I’m no longer involved in it, but I’ll always be a friend to Patrón because of its quality and that silver, smoky, lovely flavor. That’s really how I got into booze, by wanting something better. That led me to research, exploring, and improving another category. That was the vodka category. I opened a lot of vodkas, and they smelled like Chanel No. 10. Or they didn’t have a taste or a flavor. Or they were harsh and had an over-viscosity. I thought, what’s going on here? Why? Why can’t we get an old-fashioned, pure, clean-water vodka? Well, I came to find out that a lot of glycerol is added. Glycerol is added to a lot of alcoholic products, but not enough to hurt or kill you. Laminine is added to vodka to disguise the alcohol smell and taste to mask it. Then, they added sugar to a lot of the brands. I thought, well, what if we eliminated all of these fusel oils? Fusel oils are the industry name for these additives. German fusel. We eliminated the glycerol in the Crystal Head corn mash. We eliminated the laminine in the Crystal Head corn mash. We eliminated the sugar in the Crystal Head corn mash. You don’t need any more sugar when you’ve got ethyl alcohol corn, C2H5O6 sugars. Laminine has a cousin as a caustic cleanser. You could take pure laminine and cut through mechanics’ grease with it. Then, glycerol is a cousin to ethylene glycol, which cooled the spitfires in World War II. It’s antifreeze. I thought they didn’t put enough to kill you. It’s been done for years, it’s industry standard. Let’s change the industry. Let’s come up with a pure spirit. Let’s not put the additives in. Let’s not add these things. Right out of the gate, the tastes were great, we went to the purest water source in North America, Newfoundland, Canada. We source the water there because you see original water from the aquifer of the Wisconsin glacier that sat 800 feet above us 16,000 years ago. There was ice all over this part of the world. Then, that just melted into the porous rock into the province of Newfoundland. It sits 900 feet above the ocean, away from the eerie plume of pollution. That water has never been touched by acid rain. It sits in an aquifer in these lakes underneath the province of Newfoundland. There is a still right above it, and it’s owned by the provincial government. Not only does Crystal Head have no additives in it but also has the purest water in the world right from the aquifer that was originally the ice over our planet at that time. It’s also manufactured by the province of Newfoundland Labrador Liquor Distillery Corporation. It’s a government manufacturer. With Baltic vodkas, you go into those stills, and it’s a little rough. However, the government manufacturer guarantees us a policing of quality that’s quite outstanding. Today, Crystal Head has won numerous awards for taste, and our vodkas are in about 80 countries. I’m proud to go around the world and say it’s a Canadian product, from a country that is tolerant. We have our pride bottle. We celebrate the LGBTQ+ community frequently. We had the same-gender preference marriage long ago in Canada. We are a Canadian company, and we espouse Canadian values, quality, and dependability for the consumer. The best water with the best manufacturer. The corn comes from Chatham, Ontario, from same-system corn farming. Now, no one in the world works as hard as I do to make this vodka. We grab the corn, take it to the same farming system, with the peaches and cream corn, the big, fat kernels there. We harvest them. They go into the mash truck. The truck then drives a fifth of the way across Canada to a nine-hour ferry ride to Newfoundland, where we mix it with the water in the distillery. Then it goes out into containers, and into the world from there. We’re going to great trouble to make it.

T: I’m glad that you went to some length there to share the process with us. You also mentioned accolades. Crystal Head is a vodka that we’ve long enjoyed at VinePair. You can check it in the reviews, in the roundups. What I always say to people as well is that you have this amazing-looking bottle, but don’t look past what’s inside it as well. Can you also tell us about the bottle? Obviously, it is very striking and definitely sets you apart on the liquor shelf.

D: Well, it does. Of course, being that we wanted to have a business that sustains, we had to put a quality fluid in it. One that people will enjoy and look past the bottle to drink it. Many bottles are still around the world. I have 200 of them in my barn here in Canada because of the parties I’ve had over the years. I don’t throw them away. We wanted to sell the idea of enlightened drinking and to have a drink that doesn’t have additives, which is very popular with bar chefs. Crystal Head is the virgin slate, it’s a blank canvas in which to do mixes. As you know. You guys are mixologists, you know bar chefs, and you know what is going into vodka. We’ve got one that is high-quality with no additives and pure. We wanted to sell the idea and the mythos of purity. With the myth of the crystal heads, we wanted to utilize that myth because they were enlightening the tribes that own them. The Anasazi, the Navajo, the Aztec, and the Mayans all purportedly had these star children’s heads or crystal heads that were used as scrying devices. There was a positive aspect and a positive myth. A myth of purity and power to these heads owned by these various aboriginal indigenous tribal bands around the planet — in legend anyway. I thought that this is the perfect vessel to put our stripped-down, zero-additives, pure fluid in. Let’s take the mythos of purity and put it into the bottle. Now, you’ve got an award-winning fluid with no junk in it. The crystal heads, you saw the “Indiana Jones” movie, they were ascribed to extraterrestrial origin. The Navajo said they’re from the star children. In the movie, they certainly take advantage of that myth of the heads being from another planet. There were 13 of them in the world that were known, and five out of the eight are in the hands of mankind, and five are missing. Three of them are in museums, one at the V&A in London and two in the Smithsonian. One was found in the Yucatan; that’s the most popular and famous one, the Mitchell Hedges skull. Mitchell Hedges was the granddaughter of an explorer. They were in Central America and found this head wrapped in an oilcloth. She reached into a hole in a cave and found it. It had a detachable jaw. It was beautiful. It had so-called healing powers. People who would see it, the velvet cape would come off it, and you’d get an immediate feeling of wellbeing and warmth in the belly just by looking at it. It was very beautiful to look at. You can get pictures of it. The Mitchell Hedges skull. People can look it up on any search engine and dig up a picture of it. It sat here in Ontario for a long time. There is one in Mexico City with a cross stuck right on the top of it. Were they ancient or were they made by man? Either way, they are beautiful to look at. For my purposes, it was the perfect sales legend to sell our quality story by tying into the mythos of purity that the skulls had in legend. It worked well for us.

Cat Wolinski: Dan, this is Cat. I am following up on your story about the myth of purity and alcohol. I’m curious to hear your thoughts on the brands that are marketing themselves as better-for-you, “healthy” beer, spirits, wine, etc.

D: I think organic is a movement that is not doing too much harm to the consumer. I think we’re an organic product. It’s up to the consumer to be discriminating and to decide whether something is better for them or not. Is it better to have a drink that has 100 calories? With Crystal Head, we have 65 calories. We don’t say we’re better for your health in our marketing, but I think that you have to trust the consumer to believe stories or not. Certainly, we say we’re pure, and you can run our product on a spectrograph. It will run completely flat. There are no impurities in it because of our filtration system. If you want a vodka that doesn’t have a cousin to antifreeze it in or a caustic cleanser, then maybe it is better for you to have vodka, like Crystal Head, that doesn’t have that stuff. Look at all the stuff you’re adding today to vodka and mixes. I don’t know Pernod, vermouth, Fernet-Branca, emulsified sugars, Bloody Caesars. Our bar chefs around the world love our Aurora bottle. That’s the one with the mirror finish. That’s a wheat vodka that comes out of Yorkshire, England. Very soft, sunset wheat. A little more spice to it than the corn. The corn’s notes are sweet vanilla, dry and crisp. And the other one is star anise and peppercorn. Then we have our new expression, which is quite exciting because the whole legend, as you’ve taken me through here today of where we got started with my partners and myself, is the tequila. We now build a vodka that is vodka-style distillation, but we use the Blue Weber agave. This is in the black head, the Onyx. This is taking a vodka treatment of distillation and filtration, then making it from the Blue Weber agave mash. It is a big hit because of its floral, earthy, long finish when you’re tasting it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever had. It’s almost like a white whiskey with tequila.

T: Can you try to describe that? Say you were giving someone the elevator pitch. It’s tequila made in the vodka way, but how would you describe it?

D: I would say it’s like a beautiful, white whiskey. If you were to close your eyes, is it brown or white? You wouldn’t know but you get the taste of tequila. You would think this tastes like tequila, but it’s not as overpowering as some tequilas can be. There’s a softness to it.

T: I believe it serves as an intro to tequila. The way that I’ve described it to people is maybe you didn’t have a good experience with tequila before. A lot of people didn’t in college. People may want to take a little step before you dive into that category again. Maybe you should try this. Yet, I definitely think it stands on its own as a unique product. It’s super interesting.

D: It crosses vodka and tequila grounds a bit. There are some notes that have been written about white pepper, citrus. I mean, you can have notes on anything like a hint of baby diaper with a burnt tire. Notes can get into some heavy pretensions when you get to some of the critics. However, I would say earthy. It’s just something that’s never been done, and people are loving it. It’s never been done to take Blue Weber agave and then adjust the temperature and distillation so you can get a vodka-style treatment on it.

Katie Brown: So that leads into my question. I’ve been curious, with that specific spirit, do you drink it as if it’s a tequila? Would you put it in a Margarita? Or do you use it for classic vodka cocktails, like a Martini? What’s your favorite way to drink it?

D: You can drink it as a traditional vodka. You can drink it as a tequila. Either way, it crosses both lines there and serves in a Margarita beautifully. Of course, as a Martini, there’s no taste like it, if it’s cold and shaken with a lemon peel.

T: That’s your preferred serve on the Martini?

D: I like it shaken. I like to hear a steward on the Long Island Rail Road with white gloves in the bar car, shaking, shaking, shaking as the tracks click, click, click by. Then, I’m coming to my seat as I’ve got my Wall Street Journal folded into a single column. I can get a drink from that steward, handed to me in a tumbler, a vodka Martini, shaken with ice, with lime or olives, maybe a hint of white vermouth, throw it out. That’s the 1954 Long Island Rail Road  Bar Car Martini. In 1954, you’re a Madison Avenue executive going in from New Rochelle into the city. You sit there with your Wall Street Journal folded into a single column at 10:30 in the morning. Get a Martini. That’s the dream way to have a Martini. I like a rinse of fine white vermouth, throw the rinse out and shake it, put it up in a Martini glass with ice chips and a lemon peel or olives. I do like the vodka that way. Now, the other way I like the Aurora, the Onyx, or the Original, is to put it in a tumbler with ice and pour about two and a half, three ounces, and then I take a freshly squeezed jug of clementine or fine citrus. I pour that orange juice in very slowly. It’s important to do this, because somehow it makes a difference. Treat it as if you’re cracking the yolk of an egg. You pour it very slow while you watch the yellow emulsify and go out through the vodka, and the color changes. Then, just a quick stir. That’s the Crystal Driver. That’s the best Screwdriver I’ve ever had.

However, I love to have people experiment. I love going and visiting bars. We sold gallons of our Crystal Heads there in Vegas with a white Cosmo at a few of the casinos. It’s basically white cranberry juice with egg white. I forgot what casino it was, but they had some great formulations there. We also got a bar in the Boystown district of Chicago that has a machine downstairs. They put the bottles in, and it serves out a punch on Sunday. They have these massive Sunday brunches in Boystown where you can go get food and drink and dance and watch old movies and karaoke. It’s the fun-est thing. One of the clubs there has this dispenser downstairs, and there’s basically a tap where you can get Crystal Head punch. I love that application. They are mixing a fruit punch, like a Hawaiian Punch type of treatment.

K: That sounds amazing. I want to go there now.

T: I’m enjoying the way that you’re describing making cocktails to us. I’m wondering whether you could ever do an audio cocktail recipe book.

D: If you get on the World Wide Web, crystalhead.com, we’ve got our professional bar chef. We were playing around with some recipes there, you can go to our cocktail section. We actually have professionals doing it, and I like to watch and drink. You can get on there and see what we’re doing with the recipes that we’ve gotten from around the world. We have a Startender program worldwide. Bar chefs from around the world submit recipes to us, we select them and award prizes sometimes where it’s legal. Our Startender program is very popular. The gateway to the consumer for any beverage alcohol is the bar chef on the front line. They love talking about the Crystal Head. It’s the only one you can throw up in the air or put on your shoulder and do voices with. It’s fun and easy. It’s a safe product. The seal, of course, is very safe. It’s just a high-quality, premium Canadian entry into the industry that I’m happy to say people worldwide are loving.

T: That is a nice segue because you’ve mentioned a couple of pretty good drinking cities already on the pod. I wanted to get your opinion when we’re all able to travel again, what is the best city in the world to go to for a drink and for cocktails?

D: London, England. Hands down.

K: Home of the Vesper.

D: London has molecular bar chefs there. They’re really into construction and they love the Head because of the no additives. One of our largest markets is the City of London. I would say next, you want to be looking at Sydney, Australia.

T: I hear that, too. And there’s a lot of crossover between Sydney and London. I used to work as a chef for many years in London, and we got a ton of chefs from Sydney. I want to say that London made Sydney good. That’s what I’m getting at here.

D: In Melbourne, there’s a famous cocktail bar down in an alley there. Melbourne, Australia, is also a great city for bar chefs and recipes. Toronto, Ontario. Can’t ignore that place where great people are doing stuff there.

T: You’re missing New York! Dan, you’re speaking to a couple of people based in New York, and you’re not bringing up the best drinking city in the world.

D: New York needs a little more sophistication. They need to embrace the Crystal Head, the no-additive story a little more before I talk about New York.

T: Well, sometimes bartenders do occasionally, and I don’t want comments at this, but move away from vodka. I don’t think that’s always fair.

D: Here’s my argument there, and I know exactly what you’re talking about. It’s the notion of “Oh, everybody has vodka. Brown spirits are where we’ve got to focus or the rums, gins of the world.” Now, there’s some great gins, don’t get me wrong. There are great rums and whiskeys but every bar of quality, if you’re going to be serving your customer, why not serve a premium vodka? Every bar needs vodka. You need it on the back shelf. Why not have the Head on your back shelf? It draws attention to your bar, it’s a beautiful art piece, and provides the consumer with a 90-plus point consistent rating. Also with quality, it’s only about $1.32 more a shot if you price it competitively. Now, I say to bar chefs out there who are doing wonderful things with whiskeys, brown spirits, rums, and gins that you need vodka. You’re doing these wonderful things, you’re purveying these quality drinks to your consumer and for the one or two or three or 100 people that want vodka, Crystal Head is your non-additive choice. Put it up there with your premium stock, and it’s only $1.32 a shot more if you price it right.

T: New York City bar chefs, you heard.

D: I have great friends in New York. The W Hotel has been great to us for many years. However, I think there are more people that need to embrace the story. I think I need to blow through there on a tour in the “Headmobile.” We might be cranking it up again because Onyx is growing at a beautiful rate for us and we may get on the wave of that. Yes, it was a Freightliner tractor that is used for hauling race cars around. It was a big cat tractor. It was wonderful on the highway. With that turbo, it was a beautiful sound. I drove it many times. It lit up at night. We had a red infrared choice at night. It was like the Star Trek cruiser there, and it had an apartment on the back. It really moved. You could do about 90 in it because it had nothing in the back and we painted it up like a delivery truck. We had the Crystal Head all over it, and we went all over when we were launching. Even in New York, we need to revive the Head and go out there to educate bar chefs that are missing it. We want to let them know that there is a choice out there for premium vodka that is superior to some of the lesser stock that the consumer is being forced to consume because of a lack of knowledge.

K: I can see that vehicle pulling up to a speakeasy, like, “Oh, well, I guess we know where the speakeasy is now”.

D: Sure, even at a biker bar, a dance club, or anywhere there are people, you’ll find Crystal Head, along with people having a good time. I will also say that anywhere I am with people consuming Crystal Head, there will be treats. I will buy rounds. I put my money where my product is. Now, we don’t go down to the spring break. We’re not pushing it on the youth; we never have. Our consumer range is 25 to 85, with a huge female demographic. A lot of our consumers, both male and female, have double college degrees. They’re very knowledgeable in that way. Many are in the tech professions or design, we found in our surveys. They have the discretionary income to buy something better, an affordable luxury for themselves, which is Crystal Head. We’re not going down to spring break with the Head machines and the pipes with the guzzling youngsters. That is something we’ve never chased. If you happen to be down on spring break and you go to a bar and Crystal Head is there, then I urge it. I don’t think you’ll ever see it being consumed from the Headmobile on a beach on spring break. We’re selling to the people who are halfway through college or finished.

T: What is the name of your fans? I heard you say head machine there. I’m guessing that’s not the name of Crystal Head fans.

D: I would say, the fans are “Head-heads.” If you’re a Head-head, that works. Again, we’ve got people that are discriminating so they want something better and are willing to pay a little more for it. Why not? We have impeccable water sources. In some of the other vodkas, the water has been called into question — specifically, the hygiene of the factory. But we have a beautiful filtration system. We have seven filtrations, micron, and charcoal with an agitated charcoal filtration system. It’s not just being poured through like a charcoal sieve. In the end, we pour through Herkimer Diamonds. There are semi-precious stones that are white double-sided semi-precious crystals, and we pour the final pour through a cone of them, and it just comes out so satiny and lovely. It does add something! I don’t know if you ask the high school chemistry teacher if you were to say, “What does pouring a C2H5O6 over double-sided crystals do for the beverage?” They probably would say, “scientifically, maybe not much,” but we’ve done tests where we pour over the crystals, and people like it poured over the crystals better. The last vestiges of any negative psychic energy on the planet are coming out because some of those crystals turn yellow, and that’s surprising. We have to sometimes turn them over or buy new ones. By the time that fluid hits those crystals, it’s already flat pure. I don’t know what else is being weaned out of there, but we do have the world’s purest vodka. I can definitely say that. I don’t think anybody’s doing it without the oils today. I may be wrong, I don’t know.

K: Well, it sounds amazing. I want to go on a train right now and order a Martini.

D: They outlawed it! The Long Island Rail Road outlawed it. Now, you can still get vodka on Amtrak. Now, on Canadian National Rail, you can get Crystal Head, I believe. We had a program running so that you could get it on the cross-country Canadian railroad. However, the commuting Wall Street advertising man can no longer get a Martini on the Long Island Rail Road as of three or four years ago. A tragedy.

T: Indeed. Dan, I would urge people to go out there and taste the difference for themselves, taste the effect of the crystal. See the proof in the pudding or the proof in the Head. Just wanted to say, thank you so much for spending the time today to talk with us. I feel there are two or three more episodes of stuff we need to get into. But I appreciate your time today, and thanks from all of us! It’s been great chatting.

D: Oh, sure! We’ve got some great beers and wines up in Canada. I encourage you to come when the borders are open. Come up to Niagara to the farm, and we’ll sit and have some T-bones or vegetarian meals. The daughters are all vegetarian. We eat and drink hearty here at the lake in the summer. If you’re passing through, you can get through KLG Public Relations to set this up. By all means to any and all of you, if you’re in the Kingston, Ontario, region, which is a beautiful lakeside town up here where the Cork Regatta is held. It’s a sailing regatta, the home of Royal Military College, which is our equivalent of West Point or Sandringham military school. Queen’s University is here where the brilliant, inspiring genius of our age, Elon Musk, went to school here at Queen’s University for two years. This is a devoted town to his legend, and if you’re up here, come up to the farm. By all means, we entertain heavily and heartily in the summer.

K: Definitely coming up.

Joanna Sciarrino: Maybe you could bring the Head-mobile to our New York office.

D: For sure. That would look good!

K: Going 90 down the Hutch. It’s going to be awesome.

D: Well, thank you, guys. Great to talk to you.

Thanks for listening to this week’s episode of “EOD Drinks.” If you’ve enjoyed this program, please leave us a rating or a review wherever you get your podcasts. It really helps other people discover the show. And tell your friends. We want as many people as possible listening to this amazing program.

And now for the credits. “End of Day Drinks” is recorded live in New York City at VinePair’s headquarters. And it is produced, edited, and engineered by VinePair tastings director, yes, he wears a lot of hats, Keith Beavers. I also want to give a special thanks to VinePair’s co-founder, Josh Malin, to the executive editor Joanna Sciarrino, to our senior editor, Cat Wolinski, senior staff writer Tim McKirdy, and our associate editor Katie Brown. And a special shout-out to Danielle Grinberg, VinePair’s art director who designed the sick logo for this program. The music for “End of Day Drinks” was produced, written, and recorded by Darby Cici. I’m VinePair co-founder Adam Teeter, and we’ll see you next week. Thanks a lot.

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