#Port Wine Market

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https://www.maximizemarketresearch.com/market-report/port-wine-market/200390/

[brianmillerstuff]

Port Wine Market is valued at USD 980.4 million in 2021 and is expected to grow at a 6% CAGR to USD 1277.4 million in 2027.

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Port Wine Market 2022 Size, Share, Technological Innovations & Growth Forecast To 2032

The global port wine market is set to witness a significant CAGR of 8.1% and is anticipated to reach a valuation of around USD 2,011.9 Million by 2032.

The major factors influencing the expansion of the port wine market are consumer alcohol trends. Consumers are trying various types of alcohol, particularly craft beer, whiskey, and premium wines.

Port wine is less acidic, which acts as an important factor for the growth of the port wine market, as consumers who favor less acidic liquors have shown a preference for port wine.

Increasing awareness about the unidentified health benefits of port wine, such as the presence of the antioxidant resveratrol, through social media platforms and communication technology, is also expected to propel the port wine market’s growth.

Download Sample Copy@ https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/reports/sample/rep-gb-15123

Nowadays, consumers are more concerned about the process of production and origin of specific alcohol; thus, instructional marketing is a strategy to help the port wine market share growth. The introduction of new flavors, such as cinnamon, raspberry, chocolate, caramel, and others, result in enormous growth opportunities for the port wine market.

As the world’s largest wine consumer, the United States continues to be a focus for many global port wine makers. Due mostly to the rise of upper-middle-class urban customers, the Indian port wine market has emerged as the most rapidly growing alcoholic beverage category in the past ten years.

Key Takeaways from Market Study

The market is segmented based on nature, wherein the red port wine is anticipated to account for a significant global port wine market share in 2022.

White wine is expected to witness a lucrative growth rate of 9.2% during the forecast period.

The European port wine market is anticipated to dominate the global market, with a share of around 34.2% in 2022.

South Asia is expected to witness a lucrative growth rate in the port wine market during the forecast period.

On the basis of sales channels, the liquor store is expected to hold a dominating port wine market share in 2022, but the online retail store is expected to witness a lucrative growth rate over the forecast period.

Based on product type, tawny port wine is dominating the global port wine market in 2022.

“The port wine manufacturers are primarily focusing on investing in promotional and advertising activities to increase the sales in specific regions, such as South Asia and East Asia,” says a Future Market Insights analyst.

Competitive Landscape

In order to increase revenue and generate sales from regions such as the Middle East and Africa, the companies are focusing on reaching consumers in several untapped markets. There are several regions where premium port wines from other countries are exported. This raises the price of premium products, reducing sales in these regions.

Symington Family, La Martiniquaise, Sogrape, Fladgate Partnership, Sogevinus, A ACálem, C N Kopke, Cockburn Smiths &CompanhiaLda, Delaforce Sons & Companhia, Martinez Gassiot, Vinhos SA, Ramos Pinto, Warren & Companhia, SA, Wiese & Krohn, Sucrs, Lda, and Others are the major participants in the port wine market.

Recent Developments:

In 2020, Premium Port Wines, the US importer for leading Port producer Symington Family Estates, is pleased to announce the launch of Fine and Vintage Wines, an online retail store offering the finest Ports, Madeiras, and Douro table wines direct from the producers’ cellars in Portugal.

In 2021, Taylor’s launched a digital campaign to coincide with the ‘Port season’ of fortified wine-drinking occasions, which includes Halloween, Bonfire Night, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve.

Explore More Valuable Insights

Future Market Insights, in its new report, offers an impartial analysis of the global port wine market, presenting historical data (2017-2021) and estimation statistics for the forecast period of 2022-2032.

Port Wine Market by Category

By Nature:

Red Wine

Port Wine

By Product Type:

Ruby]

Tawny

Vintage

Rose

Others

By Sales Channel:

Modern Trade

Restaurants & Bars

Tasting Rooms

Online Retail Stores

Travel Retail Stores

By Region:

North America

Latin America

Europe

East Asia

South Asia

Oceania

Middle East and Africa

Request for Report Customization@ https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/customization-available/rep-gb-15123

Frequently Asked Questions

How Big Is the Port Wine Market?

What Is the Future Outlook of the Port Wine Market by 2032?

What Is the Port Wine Market Outlook?

Which Region Is Expected To Drive The Demand For The Port Wine?

Which Segment is leading the Port Wine Market by Nature?

Information Source: https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/reports/port-wine-market

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[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader not in the best mental state (esp in first scene).

notes: FINALLY!!! its unedited so bear with me, i dont rlly have time to go through and edit + i've been sick as hell for two weeks straight now. but i hope u guys enjoy!!!

ALEA IACTA EST

You were trapped. 

You didn’t know what sort of witchcraft Pantalone used but you couldn’t leave his wing. You thought you might be going crazy, it took two days of making excuses for you to realize that something was severely wrong, and another three for the anxieties to start embedding in your head. You had your first panic attack in years on the sixth day, and now on the seventh, you were sitting in the small library alone—there was a book in your lap, but the words were swimming off the pages and your head was spinning. 

How was this what he wanted? 

You couldn’t understand how either of you were benefiting from this. He wasn’t getting whatever knowledge he wanted from you and you weren’t getting what you needed to know. You were just stuck here, alone and lost. Not even Pantalone was around for the past few days because he went to finalize a business deal in a Mondstadt port town, he should be coming back soon but even when he did, you knew he wouldn’t spare you much attention. 

How was this what he wanted? You wondered if it was supposed to be some sick sort of torture, wear down your mental fortitude so you’d be more apt to answer the questions he wanted. If that was the case, he would be severely disappointed when you spat in his face the next time he dared to make an appearance. Another part of you wondered if this was just how it would be—he would keep you locked up and alone so he didn’t have to deal with you but he also didn’t have to fear you running off and putting yourself in danger.

The more you thought about it, the more you convinced yourself of both options, and the more you hated your own soulmate. 

Seven days. It had been seven days of being trapped in this place with only Pantalone to occasionally talk to and of the few times he spoke to you, the majority were just of him going on a vicious rant about how the Tianquan of Liyue kept sidelining his proposals and how the wineries of Mondstadt were icing him out of the wine market with Liyue’s merchants. He claimed it was all some big conspiracy against him because there was no reason they should be blatantly disregarding his letters, all of his proposals were mostly targeted for their profit, which the Regrator thought was blasphemous in itself—the Jester apparently cared more for building relationships with the administrative and economic sectors of each of the nations than Pantalone’s dignity as a businessman. You, evidently, did not give him the outraged reaction he wanted and he hadn’t come back to speak with you since, leaving for his meeting across the nation without a word. 

Now you were alone, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you—and you knew it was not Dottore. 

You exhaled as you tried to focus again on the book laying on your lap but your head throbbed and you were forced to avert your gaze back to the ceiling, trying to quell the pain through sheer willpower alone. The Regrator’s library was filled to the brim, but with nothing that would be of use to you trying to figure out how they had trapped you in this sector. Books on economics, the aristocratic families of Snezhnaya, the history of the northern lands and all of the old traditions and folklore that noble children were brought up learning, undoubtedly so he could fine tune that mask of his, pretending that he had always been one of them in order to shear more money from them.

A part of you wanted to warn him that the more he tried to fake it, the more they would ridicule him, but you didn’t want to be totally isolated again as soon as he came back so you figured you’d just let him figure it out himself. 

Regardless, even with the massive amount of books that stacked his library’s walls, not a single one could help you in figuring out this spell. You’d never seen magics like this before—it was not elemental based, it was psyche-based. Every time you got down the hall, to the eighth window from your room to the right, your head started feeling light and dizzy, you felt sick and nauseous and were forced to turn back lest you put yourself in a very, very vulnerable position in a place where you could not afford any vulnerability. 

As nervous as it made you, at first, you found amusement in it. You were irritated and scared, yes, but more than that, you knew that Dottore could feel everything you did. So, you made it your mission to stay right at that eighth window for as long as you possibly could, just because you knew that you were racking your soulmate with that same nausea and dizziness and light-headedness that you were experiencing. 

Now, the amusement was gone and you were just scared. You were scared that you would be trapped here forever, never again to see your mother and your half-siblings and your grandfather. You were scared that you’d disappoint your father, that you wouldn’t be able to succeed in your mission and he would never be able to rest peacefully without justice having been exacted. And as much as you hated him, you were scared that you would never see him again either, that he would just leave you here to rot, live out the rest of your miserable existence confined to a single hall with books that you would rather burn than read. 

You hated that you felt so attached to him already—that even though the thought of him filled you with vile rage and agony, your body still ached for his touch, your eyes still longed for the sight of him walking through the dark doors of the library, and your bond still screamed for you to somehow end this war between the two of you so it could find peace. 

Even if peace negotiations were in your hands, you would still stubbornly throw them out the window, but they weren’t because he continued to completely deny you his presence. You were at his mercy, only when he decided, would a white flag be lifted. 

“Excuse me.”

You stiffened, an unwelcome chill ran down your spine as you looked over your shoulder to where an unfamiliar figure was standing in the doorframe of the library. With golden blonde curls and green eyes, no more than a decade older than you, you thought that the man might’ve been handsome were it not for that there was a dark gleam behind his eyes that reminded you a lot of your step-father, one that promised danger and deceit. 

He smiled and even though his teeth were not sharpened, somehow they looked more like knives than Theta’s did. “You’re the aristocrat from Fontaine that the Regrator took in, no?” 

“I am,” you said. Your voice was hoarse from days without speaking, you cleared your throat, closing the book and placing it down on the couch next to you just in case the man tried to take a seat there with you. “And you are?”

He wasn’t as unfamiliar as you originally believed. You recognized him from the event, standing with the rest of the Harbingers—immediately, you were on edge, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. He came closer to you and you bit the words that tempted to fly from your mouth as he picked up the book you had placed as a deterrent to take a seat on the couch right next to you, too close for comfort. You could feel his thigh brushing yours as he looked to the side to watch you, eyes tracing over your body once before settling on your face.

“Brighella,” he greeted, holding a hand out to you. “Tenth of the Fatui Harbingers, delighted to make your acquaintance.”

You placed your hand in his, albeit reluctantly, watching raptly as he lifted your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently before letting go. His lips were soft and pleasant against your fingers yet it still made your skin crawl. You drew your hand back into your lap immediately, waiting for him to explain what he wanted.

“I was just curious,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “The Regrator is a very proud man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, he never responds well to help. It came as a shock to hear that he was taking in an aristocrat from Fontaine as an advisor.”

He was lying—about what, you weren’t sure, but you knew somewhere in that statement of his that there was a lie, and though you had no way of confirming it, you suspected that it had to do with his initial claim: that he was simply curious. 

“He intends to expand the Northland Bank into Fontaine City,” was all you replied with, a thin smile painting your lips. “Even someone as proud and intelligent as him is not capable of such a feat alone, the Court of Fontaine is notoriously anti-Snezhnaya.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” Brighella waved off your words and relaxed into the chair next to you, eyes disarmingly beseeching as he watched your reactions. “But we have our own operatives in Fontaine City, I was surprised that he didn’t just come to me for information, rather insulting, actually.”

He laid the information in front of you like meat to seduce a starving beast, all the while he lurked behind the bushes and waited for you to lunge at it so he could drive his blade across your neck as an execution. You didn’t respond, maybe for a second longer than you should have, but the sudden information had thrown you off guard. 

It was him. 

The words rang resounding through your head, Brighella was the one running the Fatui’s operations in Fontaine. Why had he told you? What did he expect to gain from this? There was something you were missing still, but after a week of forced isolation and no progress in your mission, this was like a feast handed to you on a silver platter.

“Perhaps your operatives are just not capable enough for such a scheme,” you said dryly, but your voice sounded vacant even to your own ears, it was clear that you were focused on something else. 

Brighella raised a hand to his chest as if he’d been wounded by your words. “Oh, but the Knave and I had trained so many of them personally,” he sighed. “What use am I to this organization if my colleagues won’t even rely on me or my agents to deliver when necessary?” 

It was a rhetorical question but you didn’t know what to make of it, or of him. Faux-mourning tainted his tone as he spoke, a regretful expression on his face as he turned his eyes up to the ceiling above. 

What was he trying to gain from this? You asked yourself again, more desperately this time. His lips, still tilted up as they’d been this whole conversation, had a bit more of triumph in them than they’d had before and you knew that somewhere you had slipped up, revealing something you shouldn’t have. But you rewound the conversation in your head over and over and over again and you couldn’t quite place where you had. You’d been careful with your words, nothing to set off alarm bells—your cover with the Regrator’s expansion in Fontaine was true, but you were just not being quite as helpful as he would like you to be, and Pantalone was very clear in his opinions on their Fontaine plants and their inadequacy. 

It had to have been your tone, the emptiness in your response to his reveal about his subordinates in Fontaine. It gave away your interest, and you could play it off as if it was just a general interest in how they’d infiltrated Fontaine, but if your stepfather truly was his agent, then he would know very well who you were and your ulterior reasons for being here—or he would at least now have confirmation. 

Pantalone had told you that Pulcinella, Brighella and Tartaglia would be the three Harbingers who would be the least of your worries, but you thought that the Friar was much more dangerous than he made himself out to be. 

How were you supposed to proceed? You tested words on the tip of your tongue but you could not figure out what to say—if you were suddenly interested in him, he would know it was only because of the information he revealed, but if you were cold and distant, you risked him not returning and you needed more information one way or another, even if it meant consorting with a man that made your hair stand on end. 

You didn’t get the chance to speak up again though, as your lips parted to speak, Brighella rose to his feet.

“I should get going. I’d prefer not to draw the ire of my fellow Harbingers, but it was a pleasure talking to you,” he murmured, a small smile and eyes turned upward as he nodded his head down in acknowledgement. “I’ll stop by again soon, it’s cruel of the Regrator and the Doctor to leave you alone the way they have.”

Two days later, the Friar returned. 

You’d spent the two days alone reeling and trying to understand where you had gone wrong and how you could compensate for it. You needed a plan of action, and a fast and efficient one at that. Freezing him out would be stupid, as much as it might be the most comforting course of action, but you also couldn’t just suddenly be trying to get closer to him because he would realize something was up.

You weren’t stupid. If he had truly just been curious about you, he would have come much sooner than he did. He waited because he wanted you to be worn down and utterly alone, so you would latch onto him like he was a buoy in the raging sea. Unfortunately for him, you were far too used to being alone. As agonizing as a week of isolation was, it was not near enough to make you that desperate. 

But he had information you wanted desperately, so you wanted to let him think whatever plan he was concocting was working in hopes that he might reveal more to gain your trust and dependency. You thought it would be a slow and arduous process, not to mention agonizing, but considering neither Pantalone nor Dottore have come to see you in over a week now, you figured you had nothing better to do anyway and this was your best shot at getting what you wanted… and maybe, if you ended up being successful with this, you could free yourself too but you thought that was far less likely.

At the very least, it might force Dottore into action if he thought you were starting to get close with Brighella.

But that was a long shot anyway. Brighella was a type of beast that you were unfamiliar with. He kind of reminded you of some of the crueler members of Fontaine’s aristocracy, the ones who found entertainment in setting up trials that they knew would lead to one terrible sentencing, all the while smiling to the defendants face, but even then they were nothing like this. He was a wolf that portrayed himself as a sheep in the truest sense of the proverb and you just didn’t know what he was capable of, or what he wanted, and that was what scared you most—you didn’t like it when you didn’t know what someone’s intentions were with you.

Your stepfather was easy, all he wanted was more power in Fontaine, evidently to report back to the Fatui for a promotion—you and your father were obstacles in obtaining said power, so he removed your father from being able to influence your mother and you were certain that if you had stayed in Fontaine City, he would have gone after you too.

Dottore was somewhat frank in his intentions with you: he wanted you out of his life so that you couldn’t affect his research but he was keeping you here because he wanted information from you… and a part of you was certain that he was keeping you here also because it prevented you from going out and getting yourself hurt or killed, and that scared you because you didn’t know just how long he planned to keep you isolated here. Or if he ever even planned to release you.

Pantalone had been upfront with you: he wanted a way to get the Northland Bank into Fontaine, you had offered your help in exchange for assistance with removing your stepfather from the courts but you had no intention of giving him any help until he had pulled through on his end. And even then, you had never specified how much help you would give him—you were not going to give the Fatui more of a foothold than they already had. 

Not after what they did to your father. 

Brighella was an unknown. He had come to you with a goal two days ago, and whatever that goal had been, he had achieved it. You still couldn’t figure what it was, even after days of recounting your conversation to figure it out, and that unnerved you more than anything. 

“You actually came back,” you said quietly, eyes flickering up to where Brighella had entered the library. He brought something with him, you couldn’t quite tell what it was but it smelled good, and familiar. 

“I promised, didn’t I?” Brighella replied, amused. He came around the couch to sit next to you. He sat closer this time. 

“It’s been two days, I was beginning to doubt.”

“Yes, well, the Regrator grew a bit suspicious when he saw me coming from the direction of his wing, the last thing I needed was to draw his ire. The Doctor already has it out for me even when I do no wrong.” Brighella sounded aggrieved as he spoke but your ears rang loudly at his words. 

“The Regrator already returned from his meeting in Mondstadt?” you asked, keeping your voice free of all tightness but when Brighella only shot you a confused look, one that did not appear to be feigned in the slightest. “Ah, I see.”

There was no meeting in Mondstadt. 

You wondered if it was by Dottore’s will or his own that he had lied and left you here in isolation. You thought it would be easier to believe it was Dottore’s, you had already made him out to be your villain, but you knew better than to assume that. Dottore was obstinate and prideful, yes, but Pantalone was the one who had clawed his way from the bottom tiers of society to the very top, his manipulation would know no bounds—he knew that you were already struggling with Dottore’s refusal to acknowledge you, and he probably thought that his disappearance, after entertaining you for a few days, would put you over the edge.

Jaw tight and trying your best to keep your emotions off of your face lest Brighella take advantage of your distressed realization, you forced yourself to turn your attention back to the Harbinger.

“Here,” Brighella said, passing the covered dish over to you. “Tartiflette, I figure you must be missing home. I hear tartiflette has been rather popular amongst the aristocrats lately.”

I hear. 

Bitterly, you wanted to ask just how he managed to hear that but you refrained. Instead, you glanced down at the dish—it was covered with foil but it smelled good, just like the one you and Sylvie used to get from Cafe Lucerne before your father passed away.

You wondered if it was poisoned, or laced with something, you didn’t exactly put it past Brighella. Even if there were ulterior motives behind him bringing you the dish, it was thoughtful nonetheless. So instead of voicing your suspicions or refusing the dish, you took into your lap, letting the warmth of the bottom of the plate and the familiar scent sink in.

“Thank you.”

Brighella looked pleased, green eyes glittering. “You’re welcome.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, and you listened to the way the wind rattled the glass nearby. It was getting late already, you could see the moon rising over the trees in the distance. Nine days now with no word from Dottore at all. You were sure he was probably keeping the segments away from you too because you hadn’t seen a single one since that night.

After a few moments of silence, Brighella asked, “He told you that he had a meeting in Mondstadt?” 

You didn’t respond, you supposed that was answer enough because he let out a heavy sigh. 

“The Regrator does love his underhanded tactics.”

“And you don’t?” you couldn’t help but press, eyeing him curiously.

“I do.” At least he didn’t bother hiding it, shooting you a deceptively friendly smile as he relaxed back into the chair. “But it’s different, my underhanded tactics are for the greater good.”

“Many men have claimed to do terrible things for the greater good,” you murmured. “What makes you different?” 

Your subordinate killed my father, you were saying, tell me how that was for the greater good?

Brighella watched you for a second and then said, “Perhaps you’re right, but I’d like to believe otherwise.”

You hummed, looking away but you could feel that he was still looking at you and it was making you feel antsy, like a cornered animal. 

Finally, Brighella spoke up again. This time, his voice was far more quiet, as if he didn’t want someone listening in. “I wish we had more time to talk instead of rushing straight to business, but I fear that I’m testing many boundaries and patiences by coming to visit you and I’d like for you to understand why I am.” Curiously, your eyes focused onto him, he was still staring at you, watching your reactions. “The Regrator cannot give you what you want. He has no power in Fontaine, nor jurisdiction over any of the subordinates there, that is why he’s coming to you and trying to get your assistance. He does not want to use me as an intermediary for his business.”

There it was. You raised your chin a bit in surprise as Brighella’s words reached your ears and his motives became clearer. You didn’t doubt that there were other ulterior ones that he was keeping to himself, but this one was enough for you to get some clarity on the situation: Brighella and Pantalone were playing a game of chess for Fontaine, and both thought that you would be the piece that would win them the game. 

You realized, slowly, that you might just have a bit more power than you realized, and that Pantalone had been trying to keep you ignorant to it. 

It also gave you more insight on the Fatui itself, and more specifically, the relationship between the Harbingers. You had a feeling that the camaraderie shown during the event was just a show but you hadn’t thought the rivalry ran so deep as to having Harbingers competing for power through using outside sources. 

You wondered if Brighella realized just how much he had revealed to you. From the steady look in his eyes as he watched you, he very much did. You wondered then why, because it had to be something beyond just trying to get you to not help Pantalone—unless he was that desperate to keep Fontaine in his grasp. But you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you finally responded with, pointedly meeting his eyes. 

He was studying you carefully and finally, he nodded, rising to his feet. “It’s alright. I’ll come back soon and give you some time to think. Just remember, what the Regrator promised you is not something he is able to give at this point and time. He’s making you think that you are the one dependent on him but without your cooperation, he doesn’t have a foothold in Fontaine, which is what he desperately wants.”

You didn’t respond as he walked out of the room, but before he stepped through the door, he turned to look at you one last time, “Enjoy the tartiflette—perhaps next time, I’ll bring you an even grander gift.”

You were not in the library the next time Brighella came to visit. You were lounging in your room preparing for bed when the knock came at your door. For a second, just a second, you might’ve hoped that it was Dottore, finally ending the war between the two of you—but as you called for the person to come in, and a head of curly blonde hair and green eyes peeked from around the door, the bit of hope that had sprung up withered in an instant. 

“May I?” Brighella asked, motioning for him to come into your room.

How improper, you thought to yourself, trying to force away the heat that rose to your cheeks. But you needed to keep talking to him, milk him for all that he knew before you made a decision about what you were going to do. 

“Of course,” you responded with, watching him carefully as he slipped into the room and made his way over to where you were sitting. He sat on the window nook next to where you were sitting at your vanity, leaning back on his hands as he studied you carefully. 

“Have you thought about my proposal yet?” Brighella murmured, his eyes were intense as he watched you, you could barely even hold his gaze and you had never had trouble holding anyone’s gaze before. 

You had. Of course, you had. With the newfound knowledge of Pantalone’s inability to actually get you what you want without you giving him what he wanted first, everything changed. Your whole position in this situation changed. You were still a prisoner, naturally, but you were a prisoner with power right now. You had two different Harbingers vying to acquire your support. It could change in a second, you knew that, you couldn’t get ahead of yourself, but you couldn’t just disregard the opportunity this presented.

You also could not take everything Brighella said at face value. 

You remembered the look in his eyes when you first met him, the skeevy one that reminded you of your stepfather and all of the other men and women in your life who had done terrible, terrible things without remorse. 

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied instead, and Brighella sighed, disappointed but not surprised.

“Ah, I see,” Brighella said. “I haven’t quite gained your trust yet—well, perhaps this will change that.”

From his pocket, Brighella pulled out a piece of parchment, sealed with a wax Fatui insignia. He held it out to you and you reached out cautiously, taking it into your hands and turning it over to view the blank back of the parchment. You had no way of knowing the contents of it without breaking the wax seal, you looked up at Brighella, questioningly. He looked pleased, a small smile teasing at his lips. 

“This is a letter I have addressed to a particular subordinate of mine stationed down in Fontaine,” Brighella explained, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on his knee as he watched you. You could only barely bite back the sharp intake of breath as you looked down at the parchment again. “Yes, yes, I know, you don’t know what I’m talking about. But hypothetically, if you did, I was willing to gift you one of two options.”

“What are these hypothetical options?” you asked, your knuckles just a bit too tight around the parchment to pass it off as normal.

“You can keep that letter, and we can work together as partners. I can work with the Knave to set up a mission with the Jester and the Tsaritsa to have you head back to Fontaine, where you can use the letter as evidence to put said subordinate on trial before the Hydro Archon and Chief Justice,” Brighella said, your throat felt tight and swollen, your lips on the verge of trembling. 

Everything you wanted, but there had to be a catch. You knew better. For all you knew, the contents of the letter was empty, he could let you go down to Fontaine only to make you look like a fool when you presented the letter as evidence. 

“The second option?” you asked, proud that your voice remained steady and void of the turbulent emotions rushing through you.

“I will send it south and summon him back to Snezhnaya. You can exact your own justice here.”

What was the catch?

There had to be a catch, but you couldn’t for the life of you figure it out. You knew it was something more than just preventing Pantalone from stepping into his territory but Brighella was impossible to read and far more unpredictable than you expected. You were baffled that he would go to this length to try to get you to trust him. 

“You can hold onto the letter until you’ve made your decision, I-”

“My, my,” a familiar, smooth voice drawled. “What is this?”

At once, your blood ran cold as you looked up to see a familiar figure standing in your doorframe, violet eyes cold and cruel as he stared at where you were sitting with Brighella. Brighella only smiled thinly, mocking, as he looked at Pantalone and said: “Regrator, I hope you don’t mind me spending time with your new advisor, she’s quite the lovely little thing. I’m rather fond of her.”

“Is that meant to mean much?” Pantalone asked dryly, the smile on his lips tightening at the corners and you braced yourself for whatever he was about to say. “You’re fond of everything with two legs that will open for you.”

Your face felt hot, fingers tightening around the parchment as his words registered. Two legs that will open? 

How dare he?

Who does he think he is?

The barrage of livid questions battered your head, begging to be let loose but you bit your tongue, sharpening it as you instead responded with: “How crude, I know you had an unfortunate upbringing but I thought you’d learned better by now than to speak every vile word that crosses through that repulsive mind of yours.”

Next to you, Brighella hid his smile behind his hand and you at least felt a little validated even as Pantalone’s eyes bore down into you, you could see the promise for bloodshed barely veiled beneath his calm expression. 

“I’ll take my leave.” Brighella rose to his feet and to your horror, he leaned in close to you, taking both of your hands in his and you wanted to pull away, ask him what the hell he was thinking, but the words died on your tongue as he took the parchment from your hand before Pantalone could catch sight of it, subtly letting it drop to the floor before using his foot to slip it beneath the bed. His lips flickered upward. “Think about what I said. I’ll come by again.”

“No, you will not,” Pantalone interjected coolly. “I believe I have mentioned before that you are not welcome in my wing of the palace, Friar.”

“Then I will send one of my subordinates to fetch her to bring her to mine.” Brighella waved off the comment. “It’s no bother.”

He directed a faux-smile toward Pantalone as he slipped past the other Harbinger and left the room, leaving you alone with him. Pantalone stared after Brighella for a moment before turning his attention on you. 

You raised your chin and asked sweetly, “How did your business deal down in Mondstadt fare?” knowing damn well that there was no business deal down in Mondstadt.

He very clearly understood what you were getting at, the sweet smile on his lips just as fake as your tone as he said, “Very well.”

“I’m sure.”

The mockery in his eyes slowly slipped away the longer he stared at you—he wanted to say something, that was for sure, but he either didn’t know how to say it or he couldn’t, and you had a distinct feeling that Pantalone spoke more than he breathed so finding a way to say it was not the problem, he felt that he couldn’t. 

“The Friar is not to be trusted,” he finally decided. 

“There is not a single soul within this palace that is to be trusted,” you countered icily. 

He smiled, but the smile did not meet his eyes. “Fair enough.” 

There was a quiet tone to his voice, you wondered if any of Brighella’s statements held any truth to them, if he was worried that you would side with the Tenth instead of him, and he would lose his shot at expanding the Northland Bank into Fontaine. 

Something wicked swam in his eyes as his gaze cast over where you were sitting once more, voice more scathing now. “I do wonder how the Doctor will feel about your newfound relationship with the Friar,” and you realized that the Regrator did not fret over anything. And if he was backed into a corner like a wounded animal, he would lash out ten times as deadly. 

He was threatening to tell Dottore if you did not speak to his liking, if you did not dismiss Brighella’s option. 

Your eyes widened, just a bit—you knew there was nothing wrong with what you’d been talking about with the Friar. Dottore knew that you were here for one thing, and one thing alone: obtaining the evidence to convict your stepfather of your father’s murder. But you had a feeling that Pantalone would be spiteful and describe what he had walked in on as not what really happened, he’d put it in the worst light possible and blow the slim chance you had for Dottore ever showing up…

Or, it would finally force him into action. 

It was a risky gamble—one that you weren’t sure if you should take. Dottore was prideful and stubborn and you didn’t know how far it extended. It could blow up in your face, or it could finally get you what you wanted: the upperhand. 

You had never been a gambling woman before, but ever since you got to Snezhnaya, you were being put into situations forcing you to change and adapt just so you could survive, so you could bring justice to your father.

You didn’t think you liked the person who you were becoming, but you didn’t think you had a choice.

You smiled at Pantalone, but the smile was as empty as you felt. 

“I don’t particularly care what the Doctor feels concerning my relationship with Brighella. Tell him whatever you please, do pass on my regards to the younger segments though.”

“I must say your soulmate truly is a little spitfire, she has proven it time and time again.”

Dottore sighed as he looked up from his vial, heavy eyes focusing on Pantalone as the man slunk into his labs as if he owned them. His smile was tight and his eyes were not in the typical upturn they usually turned up whenever he was amused—whatever you had said to him had severely pissed him off, it nearly made his own lips twitch upward, wondering what exactly you had said to get under his skin so badly. 

“And what did she say this time?” Dottore drawled, not even bothering to feign curiosity, placing the vial back down on the burner as he looked up at Pantalone, whose eye twitched at the question. 

“It’s about time you stop playing this game with her, Doctor.” Was all Pantalone said in response, observing a failed, burnt test subject disdainfully, poking at it with a long, gloved finger before drawing his gaze back up to Dottore. 

“And here I thought you were playing the same game,” Dottore dismissed, although he would beg to differ that it was not a game, but the last thing he wanted was to get into a battle of semantics with Pantalone. “Was that not why you’ve been loitering around my labs this past week?”

“Yes, I was,” Pantalone agreed, but there was an edge to his voice that made Dottore suspicious, “and it backfired. A certain snake rose from the grasses to take advantage.”

“Hm?” Dottore tilted his head to the side, red eyes narrowing as Pantalone’s words registered.

“Now is not the time for your stubbornness, Doctor,” the banker warned. “Continue to disregard her and she will turn to someone else… or I suppose, she already has. I caught her acting rather intimately with the Friar in her quarters just before I came here.”

Dottore’s lips flattened and his eyes went cold, Pantalone caught the physical reaction, eyebrows shooting upward, mockingly. But Pantalone could only see the physical reaction, he could not feel how Dottore’s blood somehow felt like it was burning and freezing at the same time, he could not see how his vision tunneled and he could not hear how his ears were ringing. 

Intimately?

There it was again—that prideful and possessive feeling rearing its ugly head. You were his, only by fate and by chance, but you were his nonetheless, even if he was loathe to admit it. He ignored the hypocrisy of his thoughts, you were his and yet he had ignored you for over a week? He was laying claim to you after all of his denial and anger?

He had been doing what was right, separating himself from you to prevent the bond from getting any stronger. He wasn’t playing the same game that Pantalone was, isolating you to try to make you more malleable to his requests when he finally came back around; Dottore did not play games, not with anyone, much less with you. 

But was he okay with you turning your attention elsewhere with his absence?

No. No, he was not. The thought filled him with an emotion he hadn’t felt in over four hundred years, not since his years as a Fatui recruit before he’d learned to separate himself from his emotions.

“She asked for me to pass on my regards to the younger segments.” Pantalone smiled as he spoke, knowing that the words were bound to set Dottore off even more because how dare you send your regards to the children as you let another man into your quarters. “I’ll be heading to my office now. I have some paperwork to finish filling out. Do think on what I said, I expected a branch of the Northland Bank in Fontaine to come out of this arrangement. If it does not, you will have to make up for it.”

“Your expectations are not my responsibility,” Dottore said, voice clipped and icy and far more strained than he meant for it to be. 

Pantalone only let out a huff of laughter as he spun on his heel, shooting Dottore one last long look that had Dottore’s body begging for violence as a response. Nearly twenty years of him being forced into a corner because of you, and it was only getting worse.

“It is in this situation,” he said as he made his way out of the lab as quickly as he had come, leaving Dottore there alone with raging thoughts and turbulent emotions. 

The Friar. 

Brighella. 

Lip curled up in a type of rage he hadn’t felt in a long, long time, he finished putting his equipment away and reached for his mask, intent on heading to your quarters himself to understand just what was going on between you and the Tenth. 

It was the first time you’d been in Snezhnaya where there hadn’t been a storm battering the night. Once the Regrator had left you to your business, and you were finally able to finish getting ready for bed, you curled up at the window nook to look outside, where the air was still bitter and cold but the harsh winds had subsided and the moon was reflecting prettily over the frozen lake north of the palace. 

It looked calm and peaceful—you thought there was a beauty to Snezhnaya that was unique. The Hydro Archon and her acolytes liked to frame the nation as one big frozen wasteland but the more time you spent there, the more you realized that it was just not true. It was frozen, yes, but there were towering trees and massive lakes, the snow sparkled beneath the sun and moon in a way you’d never seen before.

You pressed the pad of your finger against the glass, a longing feeling sweeping over you as your eyes focused on the line of trees on the opposite side of the frozen lake. You thought that this might be your chance—the storms had subsided, you could make a break for it, but you knew deep down that the lack of storm was a deception you couldn’t afford to fall for. Just because the winds had died and the snow and ice had stopped falling, it didn’t mean that it was safe enough to travel through. You would still freeze. Perhaps if you had a pyro vision, it would be different but your hydro vision would do nothing to protect you against the cold.

You sighed, laying your forehead against the window and letting the chilly feeling spread through you, a stark contrast from the warmth of the fireplace emanating throughout your room. 

You wondered if you made a mistake. You had antagonized Pantalone, and he had likely antagonized Dottore on your behalf. It had felt good in the moment—a sharp jab that relieved some of the heavy pressure that isolation had put on you, but now the pressure was back and worse than before. 

You were not wondering. You knew it had been a mistake. 

Even if Brighella had been telling the truth and you held more power than Pantalone was leading you to believe, you couldn’t afford to isolate yourself from the option he presented. Dottore clearly trusted him enough to trust him with you, which you thought was about the biggest show of trust anyone could get from the Second.

And neither of them trusted Brighella. 

Your pride and anger had gotten the best of you—they had gotten the best of you when you had thought you had been in control. You laid everything out logically, convinced yourself that the option Brighella posed was just as appealing as Pantalone, forgetting that at the very least, Dottore and Pantalone were known threats to you. That yes, Pantalone wanted to use you and Dottore wanted nothing to do with you, but neither of them would risk your safety. Brighella was an unknown, just a charming and manipulative one that knew precisely when and how to strike.

You weren’t cut out for this. You let your eyes slide shut as you tried to force away the tears building in them. Frustration, anger, desperation, they were all becoming too much for you to handle. You didn’t know what to do. If Brighella was telling the truth, he really was the key to getting what you want, but you couldn’t trust him, you didn’t know what his motives were. Behind the pretty eyes and glittering smile was a snake with venomous fangs that could clamp down at any moment. 

You thought the courts of Fontaine had prepared you for this but the Snezhnayan court and the heart of the Fatui was a beast that you were not equipped to deal with. The courts of Fontaine were a beast, you would never think otherwise, but you’d been foolish enough to let yourself believe that they were similar enough to Snezhnaya’s that you’d be able to handle it. 

In Fontaine, your name had power and words were as sharp and lethal as daggers—as long as you put on a pretty mask and an entertaining performance, you would survive, but the aristocrats and observers of justice would eat alive anyone who could not put on a convincing and beguiling show.

In Snezhnaya, your name meant nothing and the only coat of protection you could place over yourself was Dottore’s position in the Fatui, and his forced bond to you. Your mask was shattering the longer you were stuck in the cold, and the entertaining performances you were so adept at putting on were becoming more pathetic than anything else. Danger lurked around every corner, not even just those who wanted to kill you as a means to weaken the Doctor, but also those who hated you for the country you come from. You had seen the way one of the Harbingers had looked at you during the event, and having even one Harbinger against you meant that you had hundreds of subordinates out for your throat to try to gain her approval. 

You were well beyond your depth. A vast ocean all around you and the currents were dragging you under, water filling your lungs as you tried to thrash your way back to the surface but there was an anchor chained to your ankle that you simply couldn’t fight against. 

You took in a deep, shuddered breath. You thought back to the old prophecy, the one that whispered that one day Fontaine and all of its citizens would be washed away by the rising waters, drowned by that which is supposed to protect them, finding their eternal rest in the sands until they became one with the sea. 

Sometimes you wondered if it was a literal or metaphorical fate, you had always taken it as literal and dismissed it as an old wives’ tale, but now you were questioning everything you held as true: you felt like you were drowning, your identity dissolving as the water closed in around you, and you felt helpless to it, just like how the ancient prophecy threatened.

Finally, you raised your head and looked back outside, eyes widening when you caught sight of a figure standing in the frame of your door through the reflection of the window, tall and imposing. You hadn’t even heard the door open. Even with the mask, you could feel the coldness behind his gaze. 

He only spoke one word:

“Come.”

reblogs appreciated!

[astrolovecosmos]

The Planets & Random or Obscure Associations

~Sun~

Creativity, vitality, head of state, the father, games, yellow and orange clothing, articles of value, jewelry, gold, brass, power, diamonds, citrine, topaz, jasper, amber, rhodochrosite, mistletoe, almonds, citrus, succulents, sunflowers, fevers, heart, back, spine, grapes, walnuts, rice, chamomile, frankincense, juniper, saffron, marigold, rosemary, rue, palaces, towers, luxury.

~Moon~

Eternal, cycles, silver, aluminum, pearls, moonstone, opal, selenite, chest, glands, lymphatic system, nervous system, emotions, mother, ancestors, nurture, rebirth, tides, baths, ocean, brew, boat, sap, willow trees, succulents, pale color plants, white flowers, cucumber, cabbage, lettuce, melons, shellfish, pumpkins, lakes, fountains, ports, fishponds, pools, springs, sewers, dairies, toys, reflection, blankets, objects of comfort.

~Mercury~

Communication, journal, pen/pencil, any writing tools, wings, phosphorous, mercury, agate, tiger's eye, brain, nervous system, eyes, respiration, thyroid, speech, hearing, intellect, vehicles, money, bills, paper, books, pictures, parties or social gatherings, scientific instruments, butterflies, messages, mail, hazel, mulberry, myrtle, seeds, aniseed, dill, fennel, lavender, liquorice, marjoram, parsley, valerian, hazelnuts, beans, mushrooms, pomegranates, carrots, celery, libraries, schools, markets, fairs, public spaces, tennis or badminton court, studies, banks, bowling greens, offices, blue, white, or light colored flowers.

~Venus~

Love, relating, lust, high-quality fabrics, copper, bronze, sodium, malachite, tourmaline, emerald, rose quartz, kunzite, sapphire, pastels, throat, kidneys, lumber region, art, music, aesthetics, social life, fashion, jewelry, wine, pleasure, alder tree, fruit trees, paint, ash tree, birch, pomegranates, early flowering, daisy, mint, marshmallow, meadowsweet, mugwort, plantain, tansy, roses, thyme, vervain, yarrow, potatoes, strawberries, wheat, sugar, nectarines, ballrooms, bedrooms, dining room, gardens, fountains, wardrobes, theaters, looking and feeling good.

~Mars~

Lust, conquest, desire, flaming sword, red things, fights, iron, brass, bloodstone, carnelian, cinnabar, pyrite, magnetite, ruby, garnet, hematite, muscles, reproductive organs, blood, kidneys, immunity, heat, action, arms, pepper, sharp instruments, cutlery, attacks, scissors, weapons, physical intimacy, bites, stings, scalds, burns, accidents, hawthorn, pine, thorns, cactus, aloes, anemone, arnica, belladonna, garlic, ginger, hops, mustard seed, nettles, wormwood, chives, onions, leeks, radish, rhubarb, tobacco, labs, furnaces, distilleries, bakehouses, ovens, smiths, butchers, fields, anger, passion, self-focus.

~Jupiter~

Expansion, optimism, religion, religious sites, tin, seduction, turquoise, chrysocolla, topaz, citrine, jasper, liver, pancreas, pituitary gland, sciatic nerve, excess, abundance, prophecy, philosophy, knowledge, universities, foreign travel, luggage, honey, oil, silk, fruit, distinct clothing, merchandise, horses, domestic birds, gambling, indulgence, entertainment, oak, dandelion, sage, endive, chervil, asparagus, figs, churches, temples, palaces, altars, courts, mansions, woods, orchards, winery, cornucopia, connecting with the soul.

~Saturn~

Limits, boundaries, father time, lord of death, shadows, lead, iron, steel, calcium, asbestos, sulphur, diamond, onyx, calcite, skeleton, spleen, skin, teeth, nails, joints, structure, crystallization, old age, blockage, anything dark, wool, heavy materials, agriculture, wheelbarrows, spades, farm houses and buildings, cold, laws, aspen, blackthorn, buckthorn, cypress, elm, toxic plants, hemlock, henbane, belladonna, hellebore, barley, beetroot, safflower, parsnips, spinach, deserts, woods, valleys, caves, church yards, ruins, coalpits, sinks, wells, mud, institutions.

~Uranus~

Eccentrics, mavericks, invention, genius, revolution, change, trends, disruptive science or tech, uranium, magnesium, lapis lazuli, sapphire, aquamarine, azurite, chalcedony, electricity, neon lights, plaid, nervous and circulatory system, pineal gland, chaos, violence, upheaval, astrology, steam engines, coal, machinery, coins, baths, fishponds, dangerous places, computers, magnets, quantum physics, research, welfare, humanity, hypnotherapy, railways, banks, gas, psychiatric hospitals, offices, hospitals, dispensaries, fortified places, chemicals, mingled/mingling, spirit and matter.

~Neptune~

Illusions, veils, diffuse, deception, water, oceans, mysticism, enlightenment, artistic pursuit and understanding, zinc, potassium, amethyst, fluorite, jade, sugilite, coral, aquamarine, pineal gland, lymphatic and nervous system, spine, mental processes, addiction, psychoses, disease, photography, music, substances, gas, religion, poetry, mimicry, chameleon, anesthetic, telepathy, empathy, dancing, psychic gifts, places near water, hospitals, places of healing, jeweler, painters, brewers, musicians, visionary.

~Pluto~

Power, influence, darkness, new life, what's hidden underneath, seeds, volcanoes, deep earth or ocean, bury, explosions, eruptions, abduction, plutonium, smoky quartz, obsidian, jet, pearl, deep reds, reproductive organs, the unconscious, nuclear, transformation, death, birth, rebirth, underworld, riches, earthquakes, big business, murder, detection, detective, invisibility, sneak, enforced change, hidden places, underground, drains, sewers, radioactive places, the occult, black magic, sacrifice, renew.

[jackiepackiee]

Hihihi omg... is it alright if I request headcanons (can be romantic or platonic, I don't mind) for Stormbringer!Chuuya with a female or gender neutral reader? 16!Chuuya is so underrated and I just wanna hold him and comfort him owueuajjhsjdha but please remember to take your time with this request :) ❤ I love your writing! <3

I would die for stormbringer Chuuya

𝟣𝟨!𝒮𝐵!𝒞𝒽𝓊𝓊𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝓃𝑜𝓅𝑒

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈

@silverbladexyz request

Gonna start by saying this is before the events of stormbringer so the flags aren’t dead (I can’t handle it 😭)

He has so much love to give

The type to not really know if there is love in this world, but he’s sure there is because he has so much in his heart to give

And that’s for you!

He’s still a teenage boy, sometimes nervous

You are definitely his first kiss, first love, first everything

And because of this, he holds you on a pedestal above everyone

Shy compliments, only really being bold when he’s ditzy on some foreign wine

Gentle kisses, he is absolutely terrified of harming you

Will brush your hair, kiss your cheek, clip your nails, then cuddle you

Arms wrapped so softly, but it’s still such a strong hold

This strength is great for danger

“Wear what you want, I can fight”

If anyone ever seriously bothered you, he’ll comfort you first and take care of them second

His loyalty is unmatched

Not “sorry, I have a girl.” It’s “No. I have a girl, go away.”

But that harshness melts away the second he sees you. After losing so much, he likes to have you in his sights

He trust all of the flags to care for you

Knowing his friends would never cause you harm in the slightest way

Speaking of, it was most likely Albatross that pushed him to confess.

Over a bet on pool, loser had to listen to the winner. The flags, being wingmen, made Chuuya finally confess.

He had no excuse not to, he was already head over heels

You aren’t a bet, mind you. It’s simply it was the push he needed to do what he was planning for what felt like forever

Assuming you met in the port mafia, he won’t talk much on his past

His new past, the sheep. He likes to stay quiet.

He will never admit it, but because you’re around the same age as the sheep members he sometimes feels as if you’ll leave in betrayal

The best way to comfort him is taking out his little ponytail and playing with his hair

And his… earlier past. Not even he knows the full truth. It’s unlikely he’ll tell you much for many reasons

One, he doesn’t wanna scare you away. Two, he’s scared you’ll think he isn’t human too. Three, he wants you safe and uninvolved. And four, it’s hard to talk about for him

But, of course you do find out. He was terrified for your reaction

So when you said you loved him all the same, he couldn’t just about died. Swearing he saw an angel

That is the first time you see him cry. The stress, fear, confusion, dehumanization. It’s too much, he breaks

You take him in your arms and pet his hair like you always do. A gentle kiss and reassurance works wonders for him.

On a lighter note… GET A PUPPY

Mention you’re the mom and he’s the dad, he’ll melt like ice in the sun

A big dog definitely, something that could probably jump over the two of you.

At 16 he runs the gemstone black market for the port mafia, so expect the most expensive jewels on your neck and wrists.

Anniversary, birthday, holiday, or just a random weekday. Doesn’t matter

Only a year in the port mafia and he’s already rich, so what’s it to him?

Over all, he’s never been in love before. Be gentle and honest. He doesn’t need much, just you.

[whencyclopedia]

Trade in Ancient Greece

Trade was a fundamental aspect of the ancient Greek world and following territorial expansion, an increase in population movements, and innovations in transport, goods could be bought, sold, and exchanged in one part of the Mediterranean which had their origin in a completely different and far distant region. Food, raw materials, and manufactured goods were not only made available to Greeks for the first time but the export of such classics as wine, olives, and pottery helped to spread Greek culture to the wider world.

From Local to International Trade

In Greece and the wider Aegean, local, regional, and international trade exchange existed from Minoan and Mycenaean times in the Bronze Age. The presence, in particular, of pottery and precious goods such as gold, copper, and ivory, found far from their place of production, attests to the exchange network which existed between Egypt, Asia Minor, the Greek mainland, and islands such as Crete, Cyprus, and the Cyclades. Trade lessened and perhaps almost disappeared when these civilizations declined, and during the so-called Dark Ages from the 11th to 8th centuries BCE international trade in the Mediterranean was principally carried out by the Phoenicians.

The earliest written sources of Homer and Hesiod attest to the existence of trade (emporia) and merchants (emporoi) from the 8th century BCE, although they often present the activity as unsuitable for the ruling and landed aristocracy. Nevertheless, international trade grew from 750 BCE, and contacts spread across the Mediterranean driven by social and political factors such as population movements, colonisation (especially in Magna Graecia), inter-state alliances, the spread of coinage, the gradual standardisation of measurements, warfare, and safer seas following the determination to eradicate piracy.

From 600 BCE trade was greatly facilitated by the construction of specialised merchant ships and the diolkos haulway across the isthmus of Corinth. Special permanent trading places (emporia), where merchants of different nationalities met to trade, sprang up, for example, at Al Mina on the Orontes river (modern Turkey), Ischia-Pithekoussai (off the coast of modern Naples), Naucratis in Egypt, and Gravisca in Etruria. From the 5th century BCE, Athens' port of Piraeus became the most important trading centre in the Mediterranean and gained a reputation as the place to find any type of goods on the market.

Continue reading...

[slippinmickeys]

Five paragraph prompt:

As they’re unwinding after a case, Mulder becomes preoccupied with watching how a man across a diner / restaurant / bar is eyeing Scully. Earlier seasons (or before FTF, anyway) so that there’s a more buttoned-up MSR vibe, maybe.

It’s odd, he thinks, how he’s never really noticed the sway of her hips.

Okay, he’s noticed, but he hasn’t looked. Not like the guy at their 10 o’clock is looking. Watching as Scully sashays back to their table, her clompy heels scuffing along the floor with a gritty, salacious rasp.

It’s summer in the District. Her foundation has long since been sweated off, revealing a beauty mark above her lip, maybe freckles, and in the heat of the field, she’d shucked off her suit coat and was now wearing only a sleeveless silk blouse, one so sheer that Mulder (and the guy at the bar, no doubt) could make out the shape of her bra, the soft globes of her breasts pillowing out slightly above the cups.

Scully against the backdrop of over-varnished, sticky tables. Scully moving through the chessboard cones of bad light. Mulder can’t look away either.

The guy turns his body in a complete 180 so that he can follow her progress, and something ignites inside Mulder’s chest. But he can’t move. He can’t so much as intimate any kind of possessive impression or Scully would pin him with a glare so intense his ball hair would try to climb back into his scrotum. It’s not like that with them.

“Evenin’ y’all,” says a voice as Scully slides back into their booth, and they both look up to see Bar Guy himself, hovering at the edge of their of their table. That was quick, Mulder thinks. “I have a bet with my buddy over there that y’all aren’t together.”

The man’s hair is very shiny and his teeth are very straight. Mulder bets he’s the kind of guy who puts his seat back the second the flight attendant sits down for takeoff. In any event, he sounds like Foghorn Leghorn, which Mulder assumes is performative. Do people from Virginia even have southern accents? Not in his experience, though Alexandria’s not exactly deep in the state.

“Kind of a circuitous way of asking if I’m her boyfriend,” Mulder says, though Scully is wearing a small, beatific smile. Mulder smiles at the guy, too. But it’s more of a that’s nice, off you fuck kind of smile.

“Are you?” Foghorn asks hopefully.

Mulder looks to his partner, seeing where she’d like to go with the question. He’d posed as her beau before; sometimes it was just easier to fend off suitors that way, especially if she was tired.

“No,” Scully says, kindly. “But I’m not in the market.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Foghorn smiles before walking away, inclining his head politely at Scully. Even Mulder is a little charmed by the guy’s bravado.

“You have to admire the lack of subtlety,” Mulder says, his eyes following the man as he collects both his sport coat and his buddy, disembarking to search for a more target-rich port.

“Do you?” Scully asks dubiously. She’s looking at the table, occupying herself by running her finger along the rim of her wine glass. The tone her wet finger brings forth is as rich as a ripe plum.

“In and out in under ninety seconds,” Mulder points out. “Better than standing there stammering for five minutes like the last six guys.”

“You make it sound like this happens all the time.”

“It does.”

Scully makes a dismissive gesture.

Mulder thinks just then that every single man they meet either wants to kiss her or kill her, but he’s not dumb enough to say it. Instead he downs the last of his beer.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks.

“Not yet,” she says, gesturing about six inches beyond his left shoulder. “There’s a queue of GS-12’s waiting to ask for my hand.”

Mulder can’t help but turn to genuinely look, which earns him Scully’s charming squawk of laughter, the one she rarely trots out. When he turns back to her, she’s already sliding out of the booth and grabbing her coat.

She looks up at him as he stands up beside her and pokes him in the chest.

“Not every man in this bar wants to jump me,” she says, a teeny, tiny bit drunk.

“Nah, you’re right,” Mulder answers, his own cheeks warm with drink. “Only one or two of them do.”

He realizes, only as the words cross his tongue, that the call is coming from inside the house.

[mistressofduskanddawn]

Wines for the Daedric Princes

Azura: Light rose and sweetened whites, especially gewürztraminer, for its lovely rose scent and taste.

Boethiah: red light bodied wines that remind one of spilled blood; cabernet sauvignon and pinot noir.

Clavius Vile: wines of deeper nature and deception, a buttery chardonnay or meaty sweet port, complex blends and vintages unseen yet a deal for what they may be.

Hermaeus Mora: natural wines in which their secrets are hidden, you will never know how the wine went through its fermentation.

Hircine: natural wines, made from wild undomesticated grapes within the wilderness. The hunt for them alone is one of his pursuits.

Ithelia: obscure, indigenous wines that fathered the modern wine world yet remain locked and lost to time. Gouais blanc and other such forgotten yet vital varieties.

Jyggalag: traditional wines, bordeauxs and such, that invoke the order and tradition of old world wines.

Malacath: Table wines, those of the lower class, longstanding for their value. Wines enjoyed with food, considered weak yet have been a table of human culture for ages.

Mehrunes Dagon: Syrah and burnt wines, wines made from the regional smoke that lingers within the bottle and upon the tongue.

Mephala: Wines of controversy and disguise, such as a purple pinot noir or the market-changing jackson Chardonnay. Cold-hardy hybrid wines as well, such as Chambourcin, that seek to change the market itself.

Meridia: Bright wines, light and full of life, such as a cold region chardonnay or vigonier. Sparkling wines as well, brimming with light and air, such as prosecco,

Molag Baal: brutal, tannic wines, such as Cabernet Franc, the colour of blood and barely drinkable, begetting suffering for the drinker.

Namira: Old wines, sherries and noble rot wines, filled with age and decay.

Nocturnal: blueberry wines that invoke the night sky, full bodied reds made to invoke mystery such as petite syrah.

Peryite: noble rot wines, saturnes and such, made from the botrytis bunch rot in such a way that a wine become dried of water and therefore sweet.

Sanguine: All wines, truly, but especially those of higher ABV meant to draw in indulgence.

Sheogorath: wines of chaos. peeps wine and other such creatures.

Vaermina: Muscats and sweet wines, to lure one into a drink yet end up blacked out due to overindulgence, the slow draw into more until sleep.

[feederheart]

CW: Humiliation and lots of it. Also some bdsm and weight gain.

Death of Dignity: PART 1.

It was all mine and it was beautiful.

The towering monuments cut from stone, the opulent palaces that once housed The Kingdom’s disgraced aristocracy, the shining, golden temples to their false gods, the ports and markets trading goods from leagues beyond our borders, the grain fields that stretched into each horizon, and the bustling streets between homes, shops, and temples that had been rebuilt after the coup seven years ago, all of it was visible from my royal palace balcony that stood high above everything. As the body of the former king turned to dust beneath the city, my brethren have been hard at work restoring order on the streets above, protecting the borders from opportunistic raiders, and enforcing our vision for The Kingdom, making it the most prosperous it had ever been. Our sailors have reached new lands and are already returning with exotic trade goods that had never been seen in by anyone in The Kingdom. Our coffers have never been fuller, our grain deposits have never been greater, and our reservoirs are at maximum capacity and teeming with fresh fish.

Of course, it wasn’t always like this. As I mentioned before, countless good, strong men and women lost their lives during the aftermath of our coup; there were even thirteen straight days when I had to stay locked up in a temple without food, water, or any hope of relief before I was rescued by the gods that chose me for this. At the time, so long ago, it seemed that despite living every waking moment crushed by heavy taxes and unfair laws written only to benefit the aristocracy’s cavernous appetite for luxury, the common people believed that their false gods chose those bastards to rule us all.

I had an ingenious solution to this problem.

“My King?” called out the voice of my beautiful queen.

“What is it, my love?” I responded.

“I need you,” she whined pathetically, sounding like a turtle stuck on it’s back (which probably wasn’t too far from reality)

“Where are the servants?” I asked.

“They’re still rubbing my belly, I’m still eating remember?” she responded. “And I’ve run out of food. Can you send one of the guards outside to get some more?”

“Sure, of course,” I replied warmly.

I turned around and stepped past the silken curtains that led to my private lounge. Lazily reclining on a large, reinforced, golden throne was my wife and the daughter of the former king, The Queen. Her corpulent rolls of fat spilled over the armrest and onto her lap, completely covering her silken sarong. Two chained and naked women, the daughters of the former archpriest I had executed inside a temple to the false gods, tirelessly rubbed down the bloated fat hog of a queen as she digested her gargantuan meal that included a whole pheasant, four loaves of bread, three pounds of butter and a gourd full of sugary wine. Her fat, blubbery arms rested atop her stomach just beneath her massive melon-sized bare breasts, giving the servants plenty of room to rub her down. Beneath her enormous belly were two fat legs that hardly ever saw any effort expended to walk and were even growing their own fat rolls. Wrapped around her flabby neck, ankles, and wrists were rows of glittering gold jewlery that had to be custom made to fit the corpulent queen. On her head atop her long, shining, black hair was a tiara covered in The Kingdom’s finest gemstones. The double chins on her fat, lipstick and foundation-laden face quivered with each labored breath as her lungs fought against the hundreds of pounds weighing down on them.

She was once the real owner of the throne she sat on. Now, it is mine; she only sits there because it is the only piece of furniture up here that doesn't crumble beneath her massive girth.

“What would you like for me to bring?” I asked her.

“Just more of everything, please,” she pleaded “I’m going to eat it all, I promise.”

“You know you don’t have to do that anymore?” I said to her, wondering that if in her food-fueled stupor she had forgotten that little fact.

“I know, I just don’t want you to think I’m wasting food,” she replied innocently. “I know you hate that.”

“You’re right, I do,” I added with a warm smile as I headed for the lounge door.

As I was saying, she was once the occupant of that throne, ever since I had slain her father. One may think she would hate me and would never take me as her bride but that wasn’t the case at first. She, like I, were both young, impressionable young adults who wanted change for the dogmatic kingdom, the only difference between us was that I was a lowly junior officer enlisted from an impoverish outer province and she was a bright and beautiful princess. She caught wind of our plot and sought the help of my brethren and me to overthrow the king and put herself on the throne. I had little idea I was so charming but apparently she was absolutely smitten with me and she was happy to risk her life to be our woman on the inside.

It didn’t change the fact that I had no interest in toppling the throne for her or anyone tainted with their bloodline. They too had to pay for the luxuries they took from us and I wasn’t going to let any of those thieves get off easy.

After we succeeded and installed ourselves as the new rulers, I immediately stabbed her in the back; metaphorically, of course. She begged and pleaded with me to help her understand why I had betrayed her as I had her dragged to the dungeons beneath the palace. I simply ripped the jeweled tiara off of her head and pointed at one of the diamonds.

“This alone could have saved the mountain tribes from the Great Famine,” I snarled with anger. “We could still be listening to the epics and tales of my people’s heroes as they were sang atop the mountain peaks for The Kingdom and the true gods to hear, but their voices now fall silent and their spirits were taken by starvation.”

With nothing to say, she simply sobbed as she was dragged away.

The next months were filled with assassinations, betrayals, riots, and invasions, making my struggle to seize power all the more difficult. The biggest problem by far was securing my legitimacy as I was not a scion of their false gods. I was busy trying to increase the royal palace’s security when I received word that the princess was on a hunger strike and demanded to speak to me.

So I decided to pay her a visit that night.

“You need me,” she said to me, skinny, frail, covered in rags, and bound by chains deep in the dark depths of the royal palace. “There’s trouble and you need me to help you.”

“I think you just want to get out of here and go back to your luxurious life,” I growled at her, seeing right through her ploy.

She began to break down and cry.

“Please, I’m so sorry what happened to your people,” she bawled. “Please, I’m begging you, let me out.”

“Goodbye,” I said, perfectly happy to let her waste away so that I may be done with her family forever.

She sobbed harder as I left, bemoaning her failure to trick me. I turned one last time at the doorway and saw how pathetic and defeated she looked, fighting desperately and pathetically by the chains she bound herself in for her family’s greed.

I then paused in my tracks and had a thought; I realized that she was right and she could help me after all.

“On second thought, I have an idea,” I said, turning around and walking back to her cell.

Her crying ceased and she looked up at me with her red, swollen, tearful eyes.

“A-a-an idea?” she stammered.

“Yes, an idea,” I replied. “I’ll let you not only have the throne but I’ll even return you the excessive luxuries that your spoiled self is used to, but on one condition.”

I leaned down and grinned with glee as the details of my plot materialized in my mind.

“You will do everything I say,” I whispered sternly. “And I mean everything. I’ve got my brothers stationed all over The Kingdom and if any of them even catch a whiff of something foul, they will happily convene on the palace and rip you to pieces like they wanted to when we overthrew your family. You are not in charge, I am. You are just a figurehead to keep those cumbersome loyalists happy. Is that clear?”

The princess nodded quietly.

“Your wish is my command,” she replied, knowing that she had no room to protest. “What do you want from me first?”

“To begin, despite what rumors you may have somehow heard from down here, everything is going quite well,” I lied. “We found the food that the aristocracy had been hiding for themselves and it was more than enough to end the famine. The excess, however, is takes up too much space and risks spoilage because you pigs had them for so long. Our first harvest is expected soon and our stores will be overflowing for the first time in this kingdom’s history. I need someone who will eat that excess food so that it does not go to waste.”

She looked at me sideways as if I were speaking a foreign language.

“Wait, all of it?” she asked.

“As much as I put in front of you,” I said. “Unless you want to end up here again.”

She stared at me wide-eyed in disbelief, not so much horrified but simply baffled.

“I’ll do it,” she agreed. “Just let me out of this place.”

I smiled and ordered a nearby guard to oblige her request.

After I had her restored on the throne, word got out that the princess became The Queen and nearly all of the riots had disappeared. My own supporters, however, demanded answers and some started riots of their own. One even made an attempt at my life. I pleaded with them to trust me; I had a plan.

The meals commenced shortly after The Queen’s release. She had her dignity back along with her silken clothing and jewelry with a new piece I had made for her; an iron collar to remind her of her place. She was not allowed to say a word to anybody without my explicit approval. Every night I would lock her in her bedroom with two servants as they stuffed her with bread, meat, stews, cream and butter until she could take no more. I would watch and pace around holding the same sword I used to slaughter her despotic father. Despite that, she did not seem intimidated by me. She kept her cool and her composure as she stuffed herself, hiding her discomfort as she got full. I watched as she finished every bite.

“I'm finished,” she said, looking up at me as she rubbed her tight stomach.

“No, you’re not,” I replied as I walked over ot the lounge door and knocked twice.

A moment later, the door opened and three cooks entered the room with an entire pheasant for The Queen to eat. She stared at it wide-eyed and slackjawed as it was set before her and the cooks left.

“Well?” I said as I brandished the sword. “Get eating, pig.”

The Queen closed her mouth without argument and began to eat. She took quite some time to do it, sometimes stopping to rub her stomach. If she stopped too long, I would swing my sword at a random piece of furniture to remind her to hurry up. If she gagged or retched, I held my sword up into the air to remind her that the food belonged inside her, not outside. After many hours, long after I could feel myself falling asleep, she finally finished. Satisfied, I let her rest and digest her meal.

These feedings would go on for weeks as the troubles that plagued The Kingdom slowly disappeared over time and my control was sealed. Although she was the one holding the holy scepter, the symbol of The Kingdom power supposedly handed down by their false gods, she was sitting at my feet wearing nothing but a sarong, her jewelry, and the iron collar around her neck, now attached to a leash held by myself.

I decided it was time for the entire kingdom to see my new pet hog. The there was a grand procession for Heroes Day that had to be attended by the ruler of The Kingdom. However, she could not go anywhere in public without me behind her holding her chain. This, combined with her softening flabby figure that was bare for all to see, drew shocked looks from crowds of both her family’s loyalists and my own brethren and supporters when she emerged from the palace for the first time. Her supporters looked embarrassed for her and some were even angry. However, The Queen did something that I did not see coming. She maintained her poise and even wore a smile on her beautiful face as if nothing had ever happened. Her nonchalance tempered their anger and they quietly accepted the new status quo. My brethren and supporters, on the other hand, seemed to forget their anger and instead basked in The Queen’s humiliation. Despite this, she remained poised as if she could not hear their taunts and jeers.

That night after her first outing when it was time for her to feast, I kicked the servants out of the lounge and shut the doors.

“You seem to be taking this well,” I said, frustrated by her lack of embarrassment but unwilling to let her know.

“I’ll admit, it was a little embarrassing,” she admitted. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“What are you trying to do?” I growled. “Are you trying to fool me into undoing everything that my brethren and I have accomplished?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she answered, still poised like the queen she was. “I’ve never seen the city so full of life and excitement. Nearly everyone in The Kingdom came to see you.”

“No, they came to see you in chains and fattened like a pig.” I spat back. “They came to see your humiliation and finally cease their efforts to overthrow me.”

“You miscalculated,” she replied matter-of-factly. “If I were to break down in tears and bemoan my sorrows in front of them on a sacred holiday, they would take such great offense om my behalf and they would riot and fight until their last breaths. You would never be able to restore stability in The Kingdom if that were to happen.”

“Oh really?” I snarled, angered by her audacity. “Well how about I throw you back in a cell if I’m fucking up so bad?”

“Well then you would lose your bargaining chip keeping the loyalists in line,” she said calmly, unmoved by my threat.

I was now steaming at the ears with fury. I was ready to reunite her with the rest of her greedy, despotic family. However, something about the calm and unafraid way she looked at me, while still aggravating, reminded me that losing my cool would solve nothing.

“So what?” I said demandingly, throwing my arms up in the air. “Are you telling me you helped keep the peace by hiding your embarrassment?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she confirmed.

I scoffed.

“Why in the name of the true gods would you do that?” I demanded. “You passed up a perfect chance to fuck everything up with never-ending riots? Why?”

“The people are well-fed, richer, and happier than before,” she answered as she slowly walked toward me, swaying her hips back and forth seductively. “Like I said before, all of those people filled the streets to see you because they love you. When life was bleak, you helped them rise up and take back what was rightfully theirs. You did what my family and I failed to do; earn the respect of The Kingdom.”

My fiery rage was supplanted by dizzying bafflement. Her being a step ahead of me and still submitting to me made me deeply uncomfortable as was her approach. I grabbed the chain and yanked it; The Queen yelped as she fell onto her hands and knees right in front of my feet.

“What is your ploy?” I demanded, sounding more intimidated than intimidating.

“My ploy is that my kingdom needs a hero like you,” she said. “And I want to help you and keep you happy.”

“You want to keep me happy?” I growled. “How about I double your fucking meals, how does that sound?”

“Only if you stay with me all night as I eat,” she crooned as she kneeled at my feet and looked up at me, her eyes shining fearlessly and seductively. “Something tells me that you like seeing me stuff myself and ruin my body with excessive calories. I think you enjoy seeing me stuffed full, unable to move because of my gluttony.”

The brain in my skull was screaming at me to kick her for stepping so far out of line. The brain between my legs, however, kept me paralyzed as she rubbed my crotch over my tunic.

“Fine, I’ll stay,” I said, the latter brain having won against the former.

[familyabolisher]

At times in the writing of wine history, wine itself has been treated as a historical actor. This is the case in many of the sweeping histories of wine, such as Hugh Johnson’s original Vintage: The Story of Wine, Paul Lukacs’s recent Inventing Wine, John Varriano’s Wine: A Cultural History, or Marc Millon’s Wine: A Global History. These lucid and entertaining histories, written by great narrators with serious wine expertise, follow a similar narrative arc. Wine is the central protagonist, the potable Zelig, popping up in different historical moments in different parts of the world. The story begins in the Fertile Crescent, where Wine is born, or in the ancient Mediterranean, where Wine enters a boisterous adolescence in the symposia and bacchanalia of the ancient Greeks. The reader is invited to pause and appreciate the wine-themed mosaic and shards of amphorae. The story then skips a few centuries and a few hundred miles, to medieval Europe (we are left to wonder what Wine has done in between), where Wine joins forces with powerful and institutionalized Christianity and canny monks create a patchwork of orderly clos on the Côte d’Or: bless them! Wine remains in France, or perhaps summers in Germany, and Bordeaux emerges in the seventeenth century, eventually finding its way to Britain (we are treated to a Samuel Johnson quote, or Pepys). Port and sherry have their seafaring adventures. The nineteenth century opens with Champagne surviving war, producing widows and conquering Russian markets; France produces Pasteur, who produces better wine, a triumph of science and the Enlightenment; wine is enjoying its golden years. Then, three-quarters of the way through this drama, tragedy strikes, in the form of the vine disease phylloxera. Wine is dealt a staggering blow and its very survival is threatened. Fortunately, a new world of scientists, mavericks, and neoliberal entrepreneurs emerge: capital is found, the plucky New World steps in to help, and new vines are grafted. Wine is saved! This cannot be criticized as being a Eurocentric narrative, because the tale concludes in California, or Uruguay, or China. Undeniably, at the conclusion of this story there is incredible momentum and optimism. Global wine production is the highest it has ever been, consumption of wine is high, and wine is (relatively) cheap. Were he a wine historian, Francis Fukuyama would declare it the end of wine history.

This hagiography of Wine is a great read: a mouth-watering tale of high drama, blind monks, and supple tannins. And it is not necessarily inaccurate. But it is, on the other hand, what British historians have called a Whiggish narrative: one that presumes continual progress, culminating in the current era, which is assumed to be the best ever. This Whiggishness may overlook some of the current difficulties in the market, or shrug off past problems in the wine industry, since all ended well. Geographically and chronologically it is uneven, such that the producers studied here generally do not merit inclusion until they have become major global actors. This type of narrative structure is what gives the false impression that South Africa produced a great wine called Constantia in the eighteenth century, and then produced nothing again until 1994. The place of Wine as the embattled protagonist who overcomes many hardships (vine diseases, consumer apathy, high taxation) and emerges triumphant and affordable in the late twentieth century, is also what is known in Marxist terms as “commodity fetishism.” As Bruce Robbins has argued, in the new commodity histories, “each commodity takes its turn as the star of capitalism.” The commodity itself, rather than the social and economic relationships that led to its production, becomes the driving force of the narrative.

Jennifer Regan-Lefebvre, Imperial Wine: How the Empire Made Wine's New World

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

I love all of your analysis of these two losers ❤️ I have yet to read the full essay (soon! I just need time) but have you done a part on this NPC who talks about (supposedly alhaitham) a big guy buying crates of wine and muttering something about it being enough for an apology?

I can't remember exactly where but it was a merchant in either sumeru city or port ormos. I'm leaning on the city and possibly in the inner market near the theatre. I'll try looking tomorrow and send you another ask

Hiya! Thank you so much for your ask! I’m so glad to hear you’re enjoying the haikaveh brainrot hehe, we’re all in the basement together! <3

I know the one you’re referring to! This should be it, it’s from a vendor in the Grand Bazaar:

I didn’t mention this in the essay because of it being speculatory, but I’m more than ready to speculate here. I agree, this is most likely an inference to Alhaitham, not only considering his status as a Mahamata but also due to the fact that it’s an integral part of Alhaitham’s character that he prefers to be unknown. Even when he serves as the Acting Grand Sage, people don’t typically recognise him due to how little known he is despite his primary role as the Grand Scribe, as seen in his story quest. This would align with why the vendor admittedly has no idea who this particular customer was.

Drinking, particularly wine, can also relate to both Kaveh and Alhaitham, as this is an activity they both partake in together. Alhaitham’s voice-lines express that he likes to have a drink after work, along with his demo showing him drinking wine with Kaveh, Cyno and Tighnari, and him apparently stealing Kaveh’s beer in A Parade of Providence. Similarly, Kaveh also states his preference for drinking in his voice-lines, as well as his overindulgence in this hobby being highlighted in his hangout. Additionally, the furniture item ‘Monthly Frustration Be-Gone’ references Kaveh buying expired wine in order to get a discount.

Since this is an NPC conversation, it’s also worth noting other external worldbuilding details, such as the bulletin boards of Sumeru. In the three exchanges Alhaitham and Kaveh have, all of them reference drinking in some way, in that Alhaitham typically indulges Kaveh by paying for his tabs – revoking this only when they have a disagreement. Lambad also notes that Alhaitham and Kaveh go drinking together, as well as Kaveh picking up wine ordered by Alhaitham.

Alhaitham buying wine for Kaveh to make up for some disagreement between the two aligns with all these established details. When considering the typical exchange of Alhaitham refusing to pay for Kaveh’s drinks when Kaveh disagrees with Alhaitham’s views, it makes sense that it would also work in reverse – as in, when Alhaitham trespasses on Kaveh’s views which leads to Kaveh’s upset, Alhaitham would buy him drinks to make up for it

Alongside this, character description wise, there is no other convincing contender as to who else this could be? Alhaitham uses the tall male model, and is the only tall, relevant member of the Mahamata that the player is aware of.

Given all these context clues the game gives us, I’d say, yeah, this is our resident loser Alhaitham!!

If I’m honest I think about this dialogue a lot :DDD so thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about it hehehe I hope you enjoy the essay when you find the time :’) <3

[sealochs]

I’ve just booked myself a three night solo trip to Edinburgh in April and would love some recommendations if you have any? I’m hoping it’s a trip of good food, leisurely mooching around some cultural spots and making the effort to look glamorous for myself when I go sample as many small wine bars as possible

oh my gosh of course! you'll have the loveliest time. so...

good food: taco libre does the best mexican food & massive margaritas, go to the one on rose street for the best vibes; the outsider on george iv bridge will do you a french classic and a glass of wine for like £15 at lunchtime; go to baba on george street for delicious middle eastern small plates dining; you want to go to dulse for simple & delicious scottish seafood cooking; skip anything tom kitchin, it's overpriced for what you get; i have however heard very good things about the witchery if you want to splurge.

leisurely mooching: wander through new town down to stockbridge for the weekend market, then along the water of leith with a coffee; calton hill at sunset is beautiful and less of a climb than arthur's seat if you want a view with minimal effort; walking round holyrood park to duddingston village is also very nice, & of course there's the meadows (hit up the vietnamese coffee truck for their famous hot chocolate) and bruntsfield links (incidentally where w. broke up with me, but don't let that spoil it for you)

bars: imo the best cocktail menu in edinburgh is always at the devil's advocate, & their food is lovely too; i'm frankly a sucker for the (indoors) rooftop bar at the johnnie walker experience; the port of leith distillery also has a beautiful (indoors) rooftop bar overlooking the firth, with gorgeous cocktails & good vibes; i like sandy bells or the ensign ewart for an honest pint & live folk music; & i haven't been yet but decanter in bruntsfield has a brilliant wine menu, including wine flights! the wine menu at the canny mans in morningside is also very extensive, the surroundings are fun and eccentric, & i've never had a bad meal there.

cultural spots: perhaps a basic bitch take but i think the national museum is perfect, has a little something for everyone; the national portrait gallery is also in the most stunning building!

[ultimateaclrecovery]

Portugal Day 1!

The view from my hotel room is perfection! I am in a cute little attic room (does me three flights of stairs plus a spiral staircase) with a view of the river and city.

I also perfectly timed catching the bus at the airport and was easy to just get my ticket with the bus driver with cash. The flight was fine (although my pasta did sadly have mushrooms in it) and customs was a breeze.

I relaxed in my room for a bit before heading out to wander. First thing I found was a handmade market where I acquired beautiful purple earrings.

And then it was time for my ticket to the Clérigos tower. There were a bunch of museum rooms on the way up and you could see the chapel too. A lot on the history of the tower and general religious things, like the room full of crucifixes which was a little creepy (some were quite bloody) and then also a Picasso room and general art

The view from the top of the tower was great and I caught golden hour and a bit of the sunset orange

And then I wandered a bit more and acquired my first pastel de nata, and it was in fact delicious and I am excited to eat so many more. I also loved that in some places the streets are so hilly that the chairs and tables outside need extenders on one side to be flat.

And then I head to a wine bar where I had veal pies and chocolate cake with a ruby port. And then it was shower bed and asleep by 9.

Overly long travel diary

Day 1!

Finally we were off. I got a blanket and a pillow and tried to sleep as much as possible only waking up for dinner and breakfast. For dinner I got the pasta! Although it had mushrooms and some of it was over reheated and crunchy the middle tortellini were good. And I like the Carmel cake for dessert. I didn’t sleep well but hopefully enough to get through the day. And I finished book one of the trip. Passport control was a breeze (although my stamp is kind of faint :( ), my bag came out pretty quickly, and now doubt at all the my green with painted purple flowers one was mine haha. Customs was not existent. I stopped at an atm and I hope I did it right to get the better conversion and that Charles Shwab will refund the atm fees. My timing for the bus was perfect. I was going to get a transport card but didn’t see a place to do that but was able to just pay cash, 2.50 for the bus fare. And the timing was perfect!

Obsessed with the guy on the bus who got on at the ikea stop with a large rug and nothing else. Love how the bus has a giant screen with the next stop on it.

Easy walk to the hotel and easy breezy up and into my room with key codes. They did put the wrong WiFi password in the email but it was also in the stairwell so all is well. Other than that my hotel room is absolutely perfect. It’s so cute the view is to die and I am so pleased. It even has a mini fridge in it!

I hang out in the room for too long gathering myself and then head out to wander the streets. I find what I think is one of the view points and am underwhelmed (the actual view point is higher and much better)

And then I stumble upon on handyman artisans fair in a cool building. They have so many earring! And many of them are reasonably priced. This is my dream. I get a pair of purple ceramic flowers for 15 euros that smell like perfume. Haven’t even been here an hour and already found my ideal souvenir.

I wander a bit more and head to my timed tickets for the clerigios tower. I am hoping to catch sunset at the top but we’ll see. The museums on the way up are much more extensive than I thought! Many are about the church but there’s also general crucifixes and a piccaso room. I was worried the climb to the tower would be miserable on so little sleep but it was broken up so much that it was totally fine. Got up there just as the sun was beginning to set which I think was perfect. Just the hint of orange and pink in the sky but could still see everything. The ideal golden hour.

They also had to take dorky green screen pictures before going all the way up and they are so kitschy but I still paid ten euros for one anyway haha.

I put my photo back in my hotel (it is so close!) and watch the rest of the sunset from my room with its great view.

I am so sad because the wine bar right next to my hotel is closed on Sundays and the two sandwhich places I was thinking of, are also closed.

But there is another wine bar so I head there. I try my first port, a ruby, and is very good although tastes strong. I have it with veal pie (dinner) and chocolate cake (recommended to go with the port so how could I say no). It’s a little weird to be in a wine bar by myself but there is some fun people watching at least. A little more street wandering and then thankfully to bed. I’m so excited for bed. Showered and in bed by 9.

[olderthannetfic]

I did not know that about port wine! Huh, learned a thing today

TBH, a hell of a lot of alcohol is named after places or other things that might not exist in a secondary world (or alternate history if it split long enough ago).

Port is named after Portugal, where it's from.

Just looking at other fortified wines... sherry (Jerez), madeira, marsala, and commandaria are all named after places.

'Vermouth', on the other hand, comes from a word for wormwood, which used to be one of the common flavoring agents. (Which I still wouldn't necessarily use in a secondary world setting given how specific a fortified, aromatized wine named after wormwood is.)

Shittons of liqueurs have highly specific names, like Chartreuse (made by Carthusian monks) or Bénédictine (supposedly made by Benedictine monks, but that was actually a marketing ploy).

Old world wines are pretty much all named after locations: Bordeaux, Champagne.

New world wines are usually named by grape varietal: Cabernet, merlot. Merlot is apparently named after a blackbird if you look up the etymology, though with the bajillionty wine varietals in the world, I'd expect a secondary fantasy setting to have its own names even aside from the place name issue.

Very few booze names are safe once you get outside of general classes like "wine".

Of course, at some point, you have to just accept that tons of regular words have etymologies that don't work in a secondary world setting and pick your battles, but for drinks, I'd probably just make a bunch of shit up if I were establishing some alternate world.