#The Bread Peddler

[zanoob-hm]

‏..

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‏ الآن ٨ / يونيو

‏ ببدأ في قراءة رواية من الأدب الفرنسي

‏ « ⁧‫بائعة الخبز‬⁩ 🍞🧺🌿 »

‏ : للفرنسي كزافييه دو مونتبان

‏…..

تذكرون مسلسل الغدر السوري​ ​

بطولة رشيد عساف وفرح بسيسو ( المصنع و الحريق )​

أولادها ( رامي حنا ” محامي “ & تاج حيدر ” خياطة “

المهم أن المسلسل ماخوذ من رواية اليوم ​

« بائعة الخبز» للكاتب كزافييه دو مونتبان

[animetrashlord-007]

Warnings // yandere

Another house ransacked. 

Another trail gone cold. 

Another dead end. 

Weeks of searching and nothing to show for it. Like a ghost in the wind, you vanished. Just up and gone. He won’t go as far as to say he underestimated you and yet… 

What started as a game is now a matter of pride. He simply cannot allow you to win, cannot allow you to best him. And while it is unbecoming of him, he searches for the smallest clue: a burlap bag, severed sprouts, bitter solanine. It won’t lead anywhere useful – he knows this. Even so he follows your bread crumbs. 

Going through the motions, he tracks the peddler unfortunate enough to have sold you a bag of potatoes. The hunt is tiresome to him now, perhaps even loathsome. He gains no real satisfaction from slaughtering the fodder you’ve placed in his path. What he truly desires is your pretty little throat between his teeth. He doesn't want to play anymore; he’s ready to collect.

So he continues this infernal chase, the distance ever-shortening, your energy always waning. The cards are stacked in his favour. You'll relent soon. Your little form is no match for him. Eventually your limbs will fail you, your mind will break. The moment your heart hesitates marks his victory. 

You will fall.

And when you do, he'll be there.

Ready to snatch you up, 

Ready to devour.

Then you'll learn what it means to tempt a king.

[dustedmagazine]

Ka — The Thief Next to Jesus (self-released)

The Thief Next to Jesus is a return to form for the Brownsville’s firefighter/MC after a few misses.

Ka’s music has always been low key, but his last double album Languish Arts / Woeful Studies (2022) was so low key it went under radars. He caught heat for his drumless beats. He was castigated as too elitist and too far from modern trends. He pursued an unusual business model, selling music only from his website (the hell with the streaming platforms). Still, he has never been a cult priest pandering only to his followers.

As with his all previous CDs, The Thief Next to Jesus is heavy on the Bible references but it is as far from Christian rap as possible. Poets have long used Bible references, even if few of them lived Christian lives. What makes The Thief Next to Jesus so bold (despite that the production here is still low key) is how Ka mixes together two recurring themes in his lyrics.

He sums up the first one on his song “Such Devotion”:

When you're broke crushing coke don't take much coaxing Cooking the raw is a foot in the door, tryna bust it open

His verdict is “How they dealing? Killing us always been the true agenda.” Turning to a life of crime is the easiest way out but also the only one if you’re stuck with “guns and drugs” already in the 1980s Ice Cube warned us of.

Is this the only way of life you’re supposed to write music about? Ka disagrees (and this is his second theme). That social justice rap is dead is evident to everybody, except for those who’s never known it existed in the first place. “What started as empowerment, I'm feeling now it's past that”, Ka sadly admits on “Bread, Wine, Body, Blood.” Those who were making social justice rap in the early 1990s had different lives. Some are now making millions, like Ice Cube, from the people they hated; some ended up on the streets, panhandling. Now, Ka angrily spits, all rap is “it's pussy this, ass that, all that shit's trash rap.” Bewildered, he asks: “You sure you selling me melody, you keep telling me your ass fat?”

It is self-evident that there is a sickness spreading around in rap music, yet nobody, except Ka, even asks questions like that. He demands answers but nobody will reply: “FBI and Klan killed your leaders, when y'all gone pay 'em back?”

At his best here, Ka is like angry Jesus trying to drive out all the peddlers rappers in the temple. Sadly, he’s preaching to the wrong crowd. They won’t understand.

Ray Garraty

[the1920sinpictures]

1916 Bread peddlers on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. From New York City-Vintage History, FB.

[unearthitaly]

Neapolitan Street Food: 6 Snacks You Should Try

Back in the days, having a meal “on the go” in Naples had little to do with hurry, but rather with poverty. Eating street food was cheap and, at the beginning of the 20th century, you could actually buy a portion of pizza for just one soldo.

Nowadays, even though the love for a table laden with food and conviviality is undeniable, street food is a common habit very ingrained in the local culture.

Here following, you will find a list of some of the street food you should try while in Naples. The amount of this kind of food is quite consistent, but here I’m listing only some of the most common specialties, easier to access for tourists.

Pizza a portafoglio

Pizza a portafoglio ( literally "pizza wallet-style") is a lighter version of the most popular pizza: it is smaller, it has less topping, and it is easier to carry around, since it is basically a “folded small pizza”. The classic version, with few ingredients, usually costs around 1,5/2 €.

Pizza fritta

Pizza fritta (“fried pizza”) was invented after WWII in order to face the crisis, given that even the classic pizza, a traditionally cheap food, had become a luxury, due to the difficulty to find and pay for ingredients like tomato and mozzarella.

The dough, during the frying process, inflates and the empty space is filled with ricotta cheese, salami and mozzarella. At the time, preparation and selling happened on the streets: the dough, previously prepared by the pizzaiolo, was fried and sold by his wife in a stall located along the alley.

Cuoppo

The Neapolitan cuoppo is a cone of vax paper filled with fried goodies. The traditional cuoppo (���cuoppo fritto” or “cuoppo di terra”) is usually composed by zeppoline salate, panzarotti (called also crocchè) made with potatoes, cheese and ham, Neapolitan arancini, mozzarella in carrozza  and scagliuozz (small triangles of fried polenta). A more recent invention is the “cuoppo di mare”, made with fried fish and fried vegetables.

Tarallo sugna e pepe

This is quite an old recipe, which is the result of the resourcefulness of 1700’s bakers who were located in the fondaci, a very poor area near the port. Instead of throwing away the leftovers of the dough used to make the bread, they opted for re-using them, giving them a ring shape and adding pepper and lard. At the beginning of 1800, almonds were also added to the recipe, giving birth to the a snack, which was sold by peddlers and that represented a nourishing yet cheap food for the poor Neapolitan workers.

Nowadays you can find taralli in the osterie (inns), served with wine, beer or even sea water, and they are sold in the tarallerie (specialized shops) and bakeries.

Frittatina di pasta

Frittatine di pasta are often consumed in pizzerias as an appetizer before pizza, or as street food. A frittatina is a disc of dough of 10 cm, filled with bucatini pasta, white sauce, peas, ham and provola cheese, covered with batter and fried. Some varieties also contain ragù (see pic).

Sfogliatella

One of the most common street desserts is the famous sfogliatella, invented in the 18th century, by the nuns of the ancient St.Rosa Cloister located in the Amalfi coast. For this reason, the sweet was called “Sfogliatella Santarosa”.

At the beginning of the following century, one of the nuns passed the recipe to her nephew P. Pintauro, who had a patisserie in via Toledo in Naples and the rest is history: he modified the recipe and invented the typical Neapolitan sfogliatella. There are two versions of it, the sfogliatella frolla and the sfogliatella riccia (see pic). The filling is equal for both: it is made with semolina, ricotta cheese, eggs, sugar, candied fruits, orange blossom’s water, vanilla and cinnamon and it is very aromatic.

In Naples you usually find these two typologies, whereas in the rest of the region Campania, you can still find the original Santarosa and its spinoff version called coda d’aragosta (“lobster’s tail”), with a filling made of cream and chocolate or with chantilly cream.

If you want to read the complete version of this article, check my blog. Enjoy your next trip to Naples! 😜

Sara-Unearth Italy. Find me on WordPress, Instagram, X.

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

Patchy my love! I am in need of one of your potions for Katsuki Bakugou if you please.

Oh darling Meg, I do hope you did not travel far! I know visiting me is quite the chore all on its own - and I certainly appreciate you taking the do all of this for me.

Please stay awhile, I would love to hear all about what is new and happening with you. And, do not fret, afterwards I can help you deal with your little problem. Now, what kind of tea would you like?

Infatuation had nothing to do with.

At least not at first; that was what you kept telling yourself ever single time your mind started to wander, startled to slip into thinking about the village baker.

It was purely because he was the best around, the best you have ever found; is what you would argue with yourself as you would buy yet another loaf of bread from him; needing it to get through the week. It was purely because you wanted to know the shop was doing well, is what you would reason as you walked along the cobblestone path every morning to purposefully pass his shop. It was because you had a long day and needed some respite, is what your rationale would be whenever you would indulge in some of the rolls and stew he had available for your aching body was too tired to make your own dinner.

It had nothing to do with attraction. Just simply you being provided a service you needed and that was all.

But soon even you couldn’t deny how ridiculous it all was. How many coins you were spending simply due to an infatuation you had over the baker. Though gruff and almost unapproachable, could tell Bakugou had a passion for what he did; never turned a customer away over anything trivial - if they needed bread, he would provide them with it.

And he was handsome, one of the most beautiful men you had ever laid eyes on. And perhaps maybe, possibly, that was the reason you kept coming back over and over again; for you just wanted another peak at him. Wanted another chance to see his smirk, or to hear him thank you for your purchase, or slyly watch him as he kneaded dough

Whatever the case may be, you knew you couldn’t do it forever. Not only was it behaviour that skirted the line of appropriate, you knew one day he would catch on and confront you of it.  And rather waiting for that inevitability to come beating you down, you would rather beat it, and him, to the punch. 

You asked around, to trusted shopkeeps, to see if they had any advice or knew of someone, to help you with your slight predicament and they all pointed you in the direction of a small, almost rundown, little cabin that sat just outside of town; surrounded by overgrown bush.

Though the exterior seemed to waver your confidence, you knew that to judge sole on appearance would be a mistake; and with your resolved renewed you marched over to the little shop ready for a cure to your ‘ailment’

You didn’t even need to knock, the door opening on it’s own when you approached, as if already waiting for you; yet no one was inside. Instead you were greeted with a note, on a large table that sat right in front of you; attached was a vial, of intricate and beautiful design, that contained a dark liquid

Dear Traveler,

I do apologize for not being there to provide you with the proper aide you desire in your time of need; for other matters required my presence promptly - and I could not find it in my heart to say no.

Attached to my note it a potion you can use to help with your predicament; I suggest you mix it into whatever tea, or bake into whatever dessert, you wish to give to the man of your desires. 

You should not worry of any horrid effects befalling onto him or you.

The Peddler.

You read the note again, and then a third time, all while thumbing the vial you were presented; contemplating her words and the subsequent actions that would unfold should you decide to use her potion.

It was a long trek back to your home, followed by a sleepless night, as your mind raced with all the possibilities that could unfold. Fighting between your moralities about whether or not you should trick him into ingesting a potion you yourself have no clue about; the note claims no horrible thing would befall either of you, but what effects did it have?

Though you were only human, and temptation was a mistress that could persuade even the strongest of minds; including your own. And so, you spent the next day within your kitchen, carefully crafting small heart shaped chocolates you would present to him; the best use of the potion that you could come up with - for he only ate one he would not be as effected as if he drank it all within a tea.

You wrapped each one carefully, placing them in a beautifully crafted box, one you meticulously decorated in the colours that adorned his shop, and tied it all together with a bow. The perfect little present, on you, hoped Bakugou would accept.

With unsure steps you made your way down that same cobble stone path, almost as if you had never walked it before, as you slowly made your way to that familiar bakery. The door was open when you arrived, a kind patron holding it open for you with a smile, leaving you no choice to back down and turn away as you took a deep breathe and stepped forward into the shop.

You were the only one there, you could thank the gods for that, as you heard his gruff voice asking you want you wanted; watching dumbfoundedly for a moment as he started to prepare and gather for you the items you normally got.

“A-actually, I didn’t want anything.” You stumbled out, voice a little rushed as you approached the receiving counter “I wanted to give you this instead.”

You carefully placed you present upon the counter, sliding it towards him every so slightly, before taking a step back; hands fidgeting as you waited for him to take it; legs twitching as your tired desperately not to run away.

You could tell he wanted to ask you what it was, the expression on his face clear he was confused by your action, but nonetheless he carefully opened you present; not wanting to tear or break it. Those little gestures made your heart flutter in hope as you anxiously waited for his reaction. His quiet ‘oh’ made you anxiety grow as he started down at your gift; not sure whether or not he liked it

“Can I have one?” He finally mumbled out after the a few agonizing moments of silence; fingers reaching out for a small pink heart that sat in the middle of the box.

“Y-yes of course!” You chimed, a smile small gracing your face “They are yours after all, I just hope you like them.”

You waited with baited breathe as he slowly brought the chocolate to his lips, watching as he chewed on it with a furrowed brows as he assessed your creation; licking his lips once he had finished.

And for a moment you didn’t know what to expect. You weren’t sure if the potion would work, and if so how, or if he would just shrug his shoulders and send you on your merry way. Whatever it was, you were not expecting the small smile to stretch across his face.

“These are really good, thank you” His smile widened at your surprise stare as he popped another chocolate into his mouth. “Uh, wait here, I have something for you too.”

You merely nodded, still stunned in place at the fact he finally smiled at you; and so brightly too. Your own incredulous smile graced your lips as you breathed out an airy laugh, waiting for his return.

“Here.” He mumbled handing you a small booklet for you to take, as blush dusted his face and eyes adverted yours.

“Is this….” You began, eying the contents of the paper, noting it was an invitation to a grand celebration within a weeks time “Are you asking me to go with you to this?”

“Yeah…” he shrugged, doing his best to not seem nervous “Been wanting to for a while now. You don’t have to though, I know these things are lame and whatever, but if you do wan-!”

“I’d love to!’ You interrupted, a giant smile plastered on your face, one he mirrored, as you held the invitation to your chest

“Then it’s a date.”

I should probably let you know now, I think I might have gotten my vials switched up and accidentally gave you merely a small sample of vanilla extract.

Though, lucky for you, things seemed to work out fine ;)

[waterfallofspace]

Smoke In The Breeze, You In My Lungs.

The one where V/ash gives W/olfwood a gift, and W/olfwood gives V/ash a show. Feat. sneezy W/olfwood, and smitten V/ash. (Shipped, though not entirely ‘dating’, just more like ‘will be dating.’ Pre-dating. Also known as head over heels for each other, secretly). Also there’s totally a few not so secret moments about it~ 

First time attempting T/rigun S/tampede, so the characters voices are still new to me, hopefully this will be an acceptable addition to the AMAZING collection of V/ashwood fics already on here! For anyone bothering to read this, thank you~ Hope you enjoy~~

(References to smoking and swearing, incase you don’t like those) 

Characters: V/ash, W/olfwood, and a surprisingly cool desert night.  Word Count: 3.5k ~~~~~~~

The first time Vash remembered seeing Wolfwood smoke was almost immediately after meeting him. Since then, he seemed to always be either stuffing a cigarette between his teeth, crushing one on the ground, or somewhere in between. Despite this, cigarettes remain just as expensive as always, and Wolfwood remains the same short on cash grifter. Turns out addiction doesn’t pay for itself.  That’s why when Vash saw the pack of cigarettes sitting on the counter of a bar they had passed through on their last round of plant repairs, he had asked the man they were attached to where he’d found them. Turns out, there was a peddler in this town that sold rare and exotic types. Vash had gotten his money together and managed to afford a single pack. Tonight was the first time since then that the opportunity had presented itself to offer the gift without too much explanation needed as to its meanings.  “Hey, Nicho-” Vash starts, a light shove in response nearly sending him over the edge of the rock they find themselves balanced on. “Watch it Blondie, I told you, unless we’re alone, it’s Wolfwood.�� Vash lets their eyes meet, before gesturing to the desert around them, barren aside from the car they’d ‘borrowed’ for this little trip. “Oh, yes, of course, I must have forgotten about the invisible forces watching us from- ouch! Okay, okay, sorry.”  The laughter in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, a sharp smile in response forming on Wolfwood’s face. His smiles always had this edge to them, as if simply a touch from his lips would be enough to slice you open. Staring at him in the moonlight, Vash nearly thought about testing the theory. “Hey, blondie?” “Hmm?” “I assumed you had an end to that sentence you started before? Unless it was just a veiled attempt at getting yourself sent careening off a real high rock for the fun of it?” “Right, sorry. Yeah, I just… here.” Vash reached into his pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and sticking them in Wolfwood’s hands, not missing the baffled look that slipped across the normally fixed features. “As payment, for that bread you spotted me the other day.” “You mean… the piece of bread that we got as payment for the job…?” Vash feels his hand graze the back of his neck before he even registers that he’s moved it. “W-well… I mean I guess… just consider it a gift then!” Wolfwood looks like he’s planning to say more, but once his eyes have finished tracing Vash’s face, he’s decided against it. Settling instead for flashing him a smirk, and pulling out the first one. Sticking it between his teeth, Wolfwood leans towards him. “Light me up, blondie.” A blush spreads like wildfire against Vash’s cheeks, and he pulls out the lighter Wolfwood had tossed him a few towns back, bringing it carefully to the cigarette. The glow of the flame lights up the mischief in Wolfwood’s eyes as he inhales, then gently blows the smoke right at Vash’s face.  “Hey-!” Coughing, Vash waves his hand in the air, giving Wolfwood a playful punch in return, laughing a bit at the grimace he receives. “Bit rough there, Blondie. Hm.. these taste a bit different than normal, are they the regular packs I get?” “You’re the one who blew smoke in my face! You’re lucky I’m wearing my sunglasses, or that would have gone right in my eyes! And um… I think they’re a different brand maybe?”  Wolfwood hums lightly, choosing to focus his attention on the first part of what Vash said. “Why are you wearing them at night? Are even the moons too bright for you?”  “Wha- no! I just got so used to the feeling of them on my face that…” Vash rubs his neck, offering a sheepish smile,  “It starts to feel weird without them. Not quite like being naked, more like walking around without a shirt on. Technically acceptable, but still quite weird. Feels vulnerable almost. Though sometimes if I- hey, you alright?” Wolfwood’s eyes have been captured by a far off look, his head slightly tilting back until- “hIH’ktsSHH’yue-! hAH’ZSHH’oo-!” “Oh, bless you!” With a rough sniff, Wolfwood brings his wrist back down from where it had assumed position under his nose. He gives Vash a sharp grin, taking another drag from the cigarette in lieu of a thank you.  “What were you on about then?” “Hm? Oh, it was nothing really. Honestly I don’t even remember where I was going with that.” “Alright.” And with that, they’re back to staring out at the desert sky. Not a cloud in sight, but somehow, it was darker than usual. ‘That wouldn’t normally be a bad thing, but… it makes it harder to see him’ Vash thinks, allowing his eyes to trace over to Wolfwood. The light of the cigarette glows faintly against the darkness of his clothes. His eyes though… they shine without any light at all. Somehow, despite being dark, Vash has always noticed the glow they seem to give off. “Hehh- hH’kttZSHH’yuee-!”  “Ble-” “Nohhht- not done Blondieehhhh-! hEH’ZZSCHH’OO-! hahh’ASHH’yuee-!”  “Triple bless you!” “Cute, needle-noggin.”  Vash smiles, the laughter dancing in Wolfwood’s eyes filling him with warmth, despite the cold air. “You alright though? Something setting you off?” Wolfwood gives a deep sniff before answering, apparently trying to see if he can smell anything unusual. Unfortunately, he’s already way too stuffed up to let anything pass, including air.  “Can’t tell. Doubt it though, likely just something irritating my allergies.” “In the middle of a desert…?” “You’d be surprised at the kind of flowering plants you can still find ‘round here. One time I walked into a town that had a full blooming cactus- flower- thing. Still don’t know exactly what it was, but damn it was potent. Was sneezing nearly the whole night, but it was too late to go find another place to stay.” Wolfwood seems to shudder a little at the memory, his hand coming up to rub at his nose as if even the thought of it was starting to irritate him.  “Pretty sure I woke everyone in that motel, got some real dirty looks the next morning.” Vash laughs, dodging a punch thrown at his good arm. Wolfwood gives him a glare, but there’s no fire in his eyes. Only warmth. The cigarette he’s been smoking has reached its last legs, and Wolfwood crushes it, before pulling out another, leaning in once again for Vash to light it. “Might as well treat myself to a few tonight, it’s a gift after all, right Blondie?” Vash obliges, lighting it up and letting his head tilt with a nod, partially to agree, mostly to hide the flush starting to fill his cheeks at the mention of the gift. Thankfully, he’s soon distracted, as Wolfwood lets out another itchy gasp, this time barely managing to turn away from Vash before the sneezes break free. “hihh’ZZSH’yuee-! heHH- hAH’ktSHHH’ooo-! hh’RRUSHH’ueee-! Fuck- hah’ASHH’ooo-! Hehh… ihhh’hEH’ZSHH’OOO-!”  “Jeez, Nico. Bless you, are you alright?” A shiver runs through Wolfwood, his cheeks slightly pink as he turns back to face Vash. “‘Scuse me. I’m alright. Just somethin’ tick-hhH’ZSHHH’OO-! Oh god, not doohhhne!”  Vash wants to turn away, give him some privacy, but something about the vulnerability of the display has him captivated. Wolfwood’s eyes are fighting to stay open, fluttering against the depth of the tickle. His mouth hangs open, breath hitching wildly as his nose practically trembles. “hHH’KSHH’yuee-! Huhhh- hEH’RSHHH-ISHHH-ZSCHHH’ooo-! Wheww~ Ohgod- iHh’NGXttt’shiew-!”  Desperate to stop the onslaught, he attempts to stifle the last one, Vash not missing the shivers it sends down his spine. Both of them know what a stupid choice that was, as Wolfwood can do nothing but gasp against the cold air, before ducking into his arm with another rapid, yet softer, fit. “hhH’ishh’iew-! tiSHH’iew-! hehh’ASHH’iew-! Hehh- hH’DTshhh’iew-!”  “Bless you. You really shouldn’t hold them in like that, you know it just makes you sneeze more afterwards.” A blush spreads across Wolfwood’s face, Vash not missing the way the dark eyes refuse to meet his own. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you Dr. Blondie, I’ll keep that in mind.” The tone is light and teasing, but there’s a deeper mood to it that Vash can’t quite put his finger on. This isn’t new to him, Wolfwood quite often uses humour or charm to mask deeper, actual emotions. Deciding to let him keep what dignity he has left after the fits, Vash just offers a sweet smile, and a tissue from his pocket. Wolfwood greedily reaches for it before pausing, and gently handing Vash the cigarette to hold before grabbing the tissue.  Offering a ‘thanks’ over his shoulder as he turns away, he roughly blows his nose, Vash wincing at the congested sounds. Turning back with his mouth still slightly hanging open, ‘likely to breathe’ Wolfwood gives Vash a tight smile, before taking the cigarette back. “Are you sure you don’t know what’s causing this? You’re not getting sick, are you? You could tell me if you were, ya know. It’s not a bad thing to admit-” “I’m not sick. Just itchy.” “And stuffed up.” There’s a pause, Wolfwood seemingly taking stock of his symptoms. Vash attempts to do the same.  “Yeah. Still, it feels like allergies. If I was getting sick I’d be feeling it in my throat by now.” “Hm… normally you’d be coughing by now too.” Wolfwood shoots him a look, and Vash blushes a bit, rushing through an explanation before he can stop himself. “We just spend a lot of time together, and I noticed that usually when you get sick you get a cough pretty quickly- not first though, first comes a sore throat- usually I can tell because you don’t talk as much- not that you talk too much! You just talk more than I do sometimes, and well, when you’re sick you don’t, and that’s how I can tell it’s starting- but yeah usually the coughing starts before the sne-” “Blondie, take a breath.” Vash chuckles nervously, aiming his gaze at the ground where the crushed cigarette lays, still slightly smouldering, so he grinds it a bit further into the rock. “hH’ZSCHH’ooo-! hehh’ktCHH’iew-! haHH’DNNGT’shhh-!”  “Didn’t we just go over th-” “hIH’ISHH’iew-! Tishh’iew-! hH’ZSHH’iew-! heH’ashh’iew-! HH’zshh’IEW-!” “-this. Bless you.” His tone is teasing, and Wolfwood shoots him an exasperated look, rolling his eyes dramatically, though Vash can’t quite tell if that was meant for him, or the sneezes that seemed to still be dancing through his sinuses. “Hehhh- hH’HDT- guhhh…”  “Still need to sneeze?” “Whaahhhht do you hehhh…. hH’IHH-uhhhhh what do you think?”  Vash blushes, the desperation in Wolfwood’s words simmering in his stomach in ways he’d rather not dwell on. Instead, he reaches over and runs a single finger down the bridge of Wolfwood’s pronounced nose, smirking at the way his eyes tear up immediately. He manages to keep enough wits about him to aim away from Vash’s hand, but doesn’t even attempt to cover as the sneezes blast out of him. “HH’ZSCHHH’OO-! hah’ASHH’ooo-! RRUSHHH’UEE-! HAHH’ZSHHH’YUEE-! Hehh… hehH’KTSHH’ooo-! hh’zzUSHH’ooo-! Jeez, ‘scuse me. Thanks for that, Blondie. They were really tormenting me there.” “Bless you. Seemed like you needed a little help, is all.” “Yeah. Damn, still itches something fierce. Really don’t know what’s got me so irritated.”  Vash glances around the desert once more. Nothing catches his eye, the vast open space still empty of anything more than sand and their car. “We seem to be the only things around. Unless you’ve suddenly developed an allergy to sand. Oh god, that would be- “hEH’KISHH’ooo-!”  “Exactly! Took the words right out of my mo- ouch! Okay, okay, jeez. No need to beat me up! I’m not the one causing this.” They pause for a minute, Wolfwood’s eyes watery and glossed over, but Vash’s suddenly wide and frantic. “Wait, you don’t think you’re allergic to me, do you?! I mean, I’m the only thing around, and you’re having an allergy attack, so it figures that you have to be allergic to something nearby, and since I’m the only thin-” “Blondie, you’re giving me a headache.” “Sorry…”  “Don’t worry so much. I’m not allergic to you. I’d be long dead by now if I was, what with how much you cling to my side.” “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who just decided to invite yourself along on everything I do.” “Regardless of the details, my point stands. I can’t possibly be allergic to you. Besides, it only started recen- hehH- hold on-” Wolfwood pauses, voice entirely air. His breath catches, then releases once more, stuck right on the edge of sneezing and hitching. Vash feels a pang of sympathy at the desperate look in his eyes as they flutter between closed and open. Wolfwood is stuck, mouth ajar, head slightly tilted. One hand is hovering in front of his face, lightly fanning, the other holding his cigarette as it burns closer and closer to his fingers. Noticing the pain that’s sure to occur soon, Vash knocks it down, crushing it beneath his boot, not missing the growl of protest Wolfwood manages to slip out between gasps. “You’re a bit too preoccupied to be smoking that right now, and I don’t think either of us want you getting burned by it.” All he gets are hitches in return, the groaning starting to air on the side of moans as Wolfwood tries frantically to get the sneezes to come out. Finally he reaches over, grabbing Vash’s hand, sending chills down his spine. He’s too far gone to speak, but he doesn’t need words. Vash knows what to do. Gently taking his finger, and running it down the bridge of his nose like he did before, Vash nearly faints at the deep and airy moan that escapes Wolfwood’s throat, before he lunges forward with a harsh fit, lightly misting Vash’s hand as he attempts to move out of the way. “hEH’ISHH’YIUU-! ASHHH’YUUE-! ZSSHHH-DTSHH-KTSHHH’OOO-! hehh- heH’kNXGT’SHOO-! heH’ISHH’iew-! hh’zzSHH’ooo-! What the fuck- RSHHH’ooo-! hh’ktSHH’ooo-! heH’RSHHHH’yuue-! Oh thank god.”  “Bless you Nicholas. Better?” He receives a desperate sniff in response, wet and heady, and Vash searches through his pockets for another tissue, handing over a pack he forgot he was carrying. “You been holdin’ out on me.” Wolfwood mutters, crushing his nose into them and letting out a harsh blow. “Forgot I had them, sorry ‘bout that, I woulda handed ‘em over sooner if I remembered.” Wolfwood comes up for air, his nose twitching in the cold night air, before pressing it back into the tissues for another blow. Finally, seeming to get enough relief to satisfy him, his watery glance meets Vash’s, an itchy sigh releasing from his chest. “All is forgiven, feels much better now. Except that you crushed my smoke before I was finished with it!” “Ah, sorry ‘bout that too, but it was for the best.” Already pulling another out, Wolfwood gives him another sharp smile, this time laced with something that makes Vash’s heart flutter before he has a chance to stop it. “At this rate I’m gonna finish the pack before morning.” As he reaches over to get it lit, Vash gently pulls it out from between his lips. Wolfwood raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say a word, and doesn’t move back either, their faces close enough to feel the other’s breath. Vash places the smoke in his mouth, lights it, and takes a drag, ‘Hm, it does taste a bit different… what is this, I wonder.’ before letting Wolfwood remove it, and place it between his own lips.  Neither moves, Wolfwood breathing in too, Vash still holding his breath, though not by choice anymore. They stay like this for a beat, before Wolfwood turns to the side, blowing out, before turning back, eyes aglow. Vash finally realizes he’s still holding the smoke in his lungs, and goes to exhale, before pausing. ‘Time for a little revenge for the earlier smoke blowing’.  He lets his breath go, smoke drifting right into Wolfwood’s face. The reaction is instantaneous, Wolfwood using every fiber of his being to aim for Vash’s shoulder instead of his face as the sneezes burst out of him, forcing the cigarette to drop onto the ground where Vash crushes it. “hhH’zzSHH’ooo-! hh’ASHHH’ooo-! heH’ihhDSHH’ieew-! hUH’RUSHHH’yuee-! B- Blond- hAH’KTSHHH’ooo-! hihh’ZZCHH’OOO-! hH’EDDshh’yue-! RSHHH’ooo-!”  “Oh god, bless you Nico!”  Vash pauses for a second, before realization sets across his face, immediately replaced by panic as he turns over the pack in his hand, reading the label. “Shit- Nicholas, oh damn it-” Through congested sniffles, Wolfwood manages to shoot him a questioning gaze, before another desperate sneezes rips through him, this time giving him enough time to aim for the ground. “hEHH’KTSHH’shiew-!” “Bless you. I’m so sorry!” “What are you sorry for, I’m the one who just… juuhhhst… hhh’ISHH’yue-! ktSHH’ooo-! Scuse me- just sneezed against your shoulder.”  “Bless yo- huh? Oh, that’s nothing, don’t worry about it. It’s my fault anyways, I really should have seen it sooner, I was just… kinda distracted… I’m so sorry!” “Seen what…? What am I missing here Blondie?” Vash blushes, this time deep enough that Wolfwood can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the colour shift.  “T- the… the pack of smokes I gave you… you said they tasted different, and I thought it was just the brand, but when I had one I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was- it tasted like more than just a different brand- I mean I should have smelled it in the smoke but I wasn’t paying attention- and you were too stuffed up to smell or taste it anymore- I’d heard of flavoured cigarettes before but I’ve never seen them around here so I didn’t even think to-” “Blondie, rambling again. Is there a point you’re gettin’ to?” “.....They’re cinnamon flavoured. Which means the smoke is cinnamon scented too.”  Wolfwood stares for a moment, before letting out a laugh that nearly startles Vash off the rock. “That’s all? Blondie, with the way you were goin’ on, I thought they were poisoned or something!” “B- but… you’re allergic to cinnamon..? That’s why you’re sneezing so much, and… and it’s all my fault…” Vash feels his face flushing again, tears starting to form in his eyes before he can fight them off. ‘Why are you crying, you’re the one who caused this, you don’t get to cry-’.  His thoughts are cut off by the feeling of soft hands against his cheeks. One hand wipes away the tears, lingering just a moment on his cheek, while the other runs up into his hair, eliciting a soft sigh that he can’t stop. “I’m not angry at you, Vash.” Vash manages to clear his head enough to recognize the hands belong to Nicholas. The voice that spoke up belongs to him too, and there’s a gentle tone in it he’s never heard before. The eyes staring back at him belong to the man as well, and the kindness seeping through them nearly starts Vash crying again. “Y… you’re not…?” A light chuckle breaks through, and Vash feels his heart drowning in longing. “It’s just some sneezing, Blondie. We both know I’ve had worse. Plus, I was still enjoying the smoke, even with the unfortunate byproduct.” Vash stares, head filling with thoughts he can’t ignore. ‘Why isn’t he angry?’ ‘He was still enjoying them?’ ‘Is he okay with this?’ and front and center, ‘His hands are still touching me, does he know that?’  One hand still cups his face, thumb running along his chin, while the other seems content to pet through his hair. Vash can’t help but gasp as Nicholas suddenly pulls back, both hands leaving his skin, prompting his own to reach out for them. “hihh’KTshhh’iew-!”  ‘Oh.’  With that, Nicholas lets Vash’s hands grab his own, returning the grasp. Neither of them pulls closer, but neither pulls away. They just sit there for a minute letting the contact send burning chills through their bodies, almost as if they were being electrocuted. And yet… it was the most soothing feeling either had ever had.  After a few minutes of this, Vash broke off first, barely catching the airy sigh that escaped between Nicholas’s teeth. Vash could see his nose was still twitching, a red sheen on it glowing in the moonlight. ‘When did it get so much brighter out here?’ “We should get you some allergy meds, or you’re gonna be sneezing the rest of the night. Neither of us will get any sleep if that happens.” “Right, Blondie. Lead the way.” Neither of them says a word about the contact, the electricity, or the burning urge to do it again that bangs against each of their chests. Somehow, an unspoken agreement has been made, one that both of them seem desperate to keep. ‘That didn’t happen, I didn’t love it, and it will never happen again.’  Of course, both of them also know it’s a lie, and are eagerly awaiting the next excuse to feel that softness again. Somewhere, in the middle of a surprisingly cool desert night, under a dark sky, one touch lights a spark, and two cold hearts start to thaw in the heat. 

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights, Pt. 3.1

Last time on Terrarium Lights: Samuel was taking his state of unbeing rather hard, had a literal lightbulb moment, and vanished into thin air. (Next part >>here)

Gail was beginning to get concerned.

That night, she had cleaned up the mess in a mixture of confusion and worry, carefully scouring the floor for broken glass, and wondering what in Heaven's name had happened.

This seemed similar to the first time he had vanished, so perhaps it was a way of him processing what was going on. She wondered how many days it would take for him to reappear this time, and hoped he was doing okay, wherever he was.

It was almost a week, and he still hadn't shown up.

Michael had been delayed, again, but in the Lord’s mercy he was due back in the next couple of days, so maybe he'd have some idea of what to do about the situation. But for now, Gail worried.

Something had happened, clearly—Samuel had been startled and upset by something before he’d broken the terrarium—and, well, how does one track down a ghost? There was the possibility of searching obituaries, or the hospital in town, but those had limited value. They might give her more information (and that was a powerfully vague 'might'), but they were unlikely to tell her where Samuel had gone, or, more importantly, what had happened to him after his presumed death.

Finally, she decided she had to do something, so she went by the church and the graveyard in the off-chance he went back to visit the graves. No luck; he wasn't there.

It had been an unsure shot, but it was disappointing to have it miss.

She took a moment to pray in the chapel again, squared her shoulders, and headed back for another day of waiting.

On the way back, the distant lighthouse caught her eye. Gail remembered what she had been trying to the other day, when they’d been writing information down and forming plans—they had meant to go to the lighthouse.

She stood for a long moment at the crossroads.

It was something of a trek to get there, and it was only a faint hunch. She didn’t even know if Samuel remembered that the lighthouse existed. He hadn’t brought it up since the churchyard visit, at least.

But she had come all the way here because there was an itch in her bones, and the thought of sitting still and waiting when there was an option to explore flared it up again. Still was not an option for her right now, and even if it didn’t do anything, a long walk would be good for her. She was searching, and by golly she was going to do a thorough job of it.

Straightening her hat on her head and offering an extra prayer for guidance and wisdom, she strode out towards the lighthouse to find what might be there.

*

The lighthouse was not as secluded as some lighthouses often were. It was decently close to the city, and along a prominent coastal road (if a tad off the beaten path), so the lighthouse keepers also ran a sort of bakery café for passerbys. Both Mr. and Mrs. Seward enjoyed baking, so it was a good passtime for them, and a decent way to bring in extra income for upkeep and the like. Mr. Seward mostly attended to his duties as the Head Lighthouse Keeper, but when he had the time and energy he would help in the kitchen, while Mrs. Seward ran the bulk of it. It being both a pretty area and a distinct landmark meant they got rather more business than one would expect, and soon became a fairly common spot for smaller cultural events and gatherings.

There were not many people about as Gail made her way up the path—a peddler with his steamwheel, a horse, plus a gearmount or two—so it did not encroach too heavily upon the quiet air of the woods, or the swooshing of the sea waves just beyond the tree line. The closer she got, the stronger rose the enticing smell of fresh bread from the windows of the café, built against the side of the lightkeeper's house.

Gail was at the door, wondering if she should go in—after all, Samuel had expressed discomfort with the idea of being around people, so it was likely he would be in a more isolated spot—when a scramble of movement, disappearing around the corner, caught Gail's eye.

If it wasn't anything related to her quest, it was at least bound to be something interesting—she hoped—so she quietly made her way around the edge of the café.

Samuel was hovering uncertainly in the corner between the back of the café and the house, as messy as she had ever seen him, curled into himself and with wide eyes like a rabbit that's just been targeted by a hawk.

Gail stopped short in shocked recognition, before putting her hands on her hips, the part of her still wading through the surprise half-wanting to give him the piece of her mind that had sprouted at her surge of relief and confusion. The rest of her quelled the impulse, more concerned at his scared state.

He froze upon spotting her, with a wild look, like he was about to dart away again. Gail got the impression he was scared of her.

Gail pursed her lips, regretting not knowing his full name. "Samuel, lad, young man," she said as the pieces stopping whirring about and suddenly clicked together, "have you been keeping away from my place because you feel bad about that terrarium?"

He winced visibly.

She shook her head, unable to quench a laugh. "Good heavens above, you think I'd get mad at you for an accident like that? It’s a small matter in the end, and can be redone. More importantly, where have you even been this last week? Are you alright?"

At her laugh, he shrank back in confusion.

"Well…" he looked at her pleadingly. "You had worked really hard on it and had been keeping it and taking care of it for so long, and then I ruined it because I messed up and overreacted to a different thing, which was the lightbulb, which was something you were kind enough to provide me with—and also you've been doing so much and going out of your way to help me after I invaded your garden, and I've just been a drain on you throughout all of that and haven't given anything back. And then I broke the terrarium. So I thought I should try and figure something out on my own instead of leaning on you too much and maybe breaking something else in the process or just continuing to inconvenience you while you’re just trying to live your life."

Gail put her hands on her hips. "Well, young man, it seems as if you've got a lot to say for yourself and not a lot of sense about the matter. Why, you didn't ask me for any of that. You weren’t somehow imposing your will on me, I was the one that volunteered—if I hadn’t wanted to or couldn’t have or had some reason to keep you away, I could have simply not helped you. But I did, because I wanted to. So please believe I'm being honest when I tell you that I helped you because I wanted to, and I still want to."

There was a noise from inside, like someone calling out questioningly. She realized she was standing behind the building and talking loudly at what might possibly look to others as empty air. Taking a few steps further towards Samuel, she pulled her voice back to a more normal volume. "We can go talk this over somewhere else, if you'd rather. Don't want to scare the locals." She winked at him, hoping to lighten the mood.

The miserable droop of his shoulders and face indicated that he did not share her amusement.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered. "They can't see or hear me."

"Ah.” She stopped chuckling, letting her pang of sadness at his response manifest on her face. Cheerfulness would have to be put back in her pocket for when he needed it. “So you tested it out?"

He nodded, and did not meet her eyes.

Previous

Next

[lightning-of-farosh]

Mischief Makers

AU: The hero of Legend and the hero of Hyrule are smol

Patched together fabric hung over stalls stacked tall with various food and goods. Sunlight drifted through, casting shadows of green, orange, and purple over the market that mixed with kicked up dust. Some feathers drifted on the air, fluttering out of cages full of clucking chickens.

Here! Cried the peddlers, Here! Fresh bread!

Fresh Fish!

Vegetables from the finest farms!

Metal clanked, creating a drum beat and a guitar sang above the shouting, weaving between words and jingling rupees. Smoke rose from food carts, the smell of seafood and red meat blending together with jars of spices. Rope groaned as wind pulled at the canvas and wood shuddered, shivered, but stayed upright.

Steel shrieked, blending in with the cacophony of the market, and two boys slipped through the crowd. One, his hair more pink than a strawberry underneath a massive, blue cap, tugged on the arm of the other as they dodged around legs. His red tunic was splattered with the guts of a fruit, purple juice sliding down the curl of his smirk and dripping from his chin.

Behind him, the second boy had dirt across his already dark cheeks. It mixed with splattered freckles until no one could tell which was which. Brown hair peeked out from beneath a green cap that hung down to the small of his back and curled up in messy waves as it tried to escape. His tunic hung off his shoulders, tied down by a thick leather belt and tightened by amateur stitching.

Scabs covered knees and knuckles, bruises dotted arms and cheeks, but the two laughed as they ran and vanished into the crowd.

And a knight whose armour was splattered with the insides of fruit stopped by, pulling aside people with carefully patched clothing and shadows in their eyes.

Have you seen them? Do you know where they went?

They all shook their heads, hands white knuckled around baskets and pots and fabric.

Children, Sir Knight? There are always so many children.

Perhaps you’d have better luck asking the bread-fish-fruit vendors.

(Perhaps you’d have better luck if you never looked at all.)

[raointean]

The Nerf-Wrap Peddler

So, I was watching the Coruscant episode of The Mandalorian and had a thought. What happened to the Jedi Temple/Imperial Palace after the fall of the Empire? And then this happened...

The Berenks had sold street food in front of the Jedi Temple for as long as anyone could remember. The specific food had changed over the years, of course. Jarikk sold nerf-wraps, his father before him had sold flat-top bowls, his grandmother before him had sold speared meats. But forever and always, they had set up shop just inside the first courtyard of the Temple.

It was the perfect location; open to the public and heavily trafficked by both tourists and Jedi alike. Noon and early evening were the best business, but Jarikk's favorite time of day was three o'clock in the afternoon because that was when padawan learners finished class for the day. They would come streaming into the courtyard to spend their meager allowances and chat about their day with their friends. 

He didn't know their names, but he knew their faces and their orders. The studious Stewjoni boy wanted a hard shell with extra condiments. The blond boy with the outer rim accent wanted as much seasoning as he was legally allowed to add. The loud Kiffar wanted a hard shell and a bowl so he could mash it all together. The blue twi'lek girl wanted extra filling. And on and on.

Then, the Clone Wars began and everything changed. Tourists slowly stopped coming to the Temple and protesters took their place. It was still good business, especially when he added water bottles to the menu, but mentally, it was draining. 

But still, every day at 3 o'clock, the padawans would come outside after class. They didn't come to the outer courtyard anymore, but Jarikk was more than happy to move to the second courtyard's side-entrance for an hour or two in the afternoon if it meant he could still serve his favorite customers.

There were fewer of them now too, most away on campaigns for weeks or months at a time. But Jarikk still knew their faces and their orders. The spitfire Togruta girl wanted no vegetables or bread wrap, just a bowl of meat. The brown haired, sea-eyed boy wanted minimal seasoning and extra grease. The tiny redhead boy that trailed him everywhere wanted the exact same, but hold on the grease. The wookie (the only wookie-jedi Jarikk had ever seen) wanted a vegetable wrap with no meat. And on and on. 

And then, everything changed again, overnight. 

Jarikk saw the smoke over the Temple from several blocks away, it wasn't easy to miss. His first thought was that there must have been some kind of disastrous fire in the night, but when he arrived, there were no Jedi outside. Instead there were soldiers holding back a crowd of spectators. 

Never one to miss an opportunity, Jarikk went ahead and set up his stand outside the perimeter the clones had cleared. There was a large group of people gathered early in the morning with nothing to do but wait. Many of them had skipped breakfast and, for a while, business was good. 

Until they started dragging out the bodies, that is. 

Corpse after corpse was dragged out of the Temple and deposited on its steps in plain view of everyone, their names checked off a list. The crowd watched in shocked silence and Jarikk even recognized a few longtime protesters who seemed a little green, despite their raucous cries of "Death to the Jedi" all throughout the months before. 

Jarikk left when they started pulling out the bodies of children.

They were later told that the Jedi had staged a coup and that the soldiers and the slaughter had been necessary to stamp out the threat. Jarikk joined the first rebel cell he could find. 

Jarikk was proud to say that the Berenks had never sold food outside of the Imperial Palace. He had never even visited it, but after the war was won, he had to see what had become of it.

It looked… the same. The steps had been washed of blood long ago, the courtyard walls were still in place, and carved pillars lined the walkways as they always had. As the afternoon sun beat down on his rapidly whitening hair, he half expected young padawans to come streaming out the doors towards his food stand.

But there was no food stand. And there were no more padawans. 

A week or so later, they announced the old Imperial Palace was being turned into a museum, to honor the Jedi. Jarikk didn't know who "they" was, but they were doing something good and he wanted to help. 

He offered up his stories. He knew it wasn't much, he didn't even know their names, but there weren't many Jedi left to tell them themselves. In return, "they" offered Jarikk a spot in the first courtyard and asked him to continue selling his nerf-wraps. For authenticity's sake, they told him. 

That next Primeday, he was in the courtyard at the crack of dawn setting up his food stand and heating his flat-top, his daughter by his side. With a little luck, the Berenks would continue to sell their street food outside the Jedi Temple for many generations to come. 

[princessasmosprincess]

Mermaid Splash

Chapter 4

Summary: Obey Me! Fairy tale au. A retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid.

Pairing: Asmodeus x GN MC

Warnings: Mild blood in other chapters.

***

One morning Barbatos offered to take the two of you into town with him while he ran errands for the household.

He hitched up an open carriage with two white horses. Luke sat with his father in the driver's seat, and you and Asmo sat together on the cushioned passenger seat.

Asmo clung to your arm as the carriage took off, startled by the bumpy road. You teased him playfully but you held him close for his security as Barbatos drove you into town.

There were so many things to see and hear in the village. Shops peddled every item imaginable, food stands sold pastries and bread, families walked hand in hand as they did their shopping for the week.

Asmo held your shopping basket for you as you made your purchases, he was so focused on taking everything in that he didn't notice the humans stopping to stare at his impossible beauty.

One little stand on the corner caught Asmo’s eye. The peddler was selling hairpins and accessories.

“Would you like one?” You asked, he almost didn't need the sketchbook anymore, for you could understand him with just a look.

Asmo nodded.

He was overwhelmed by all of the choices, it seemed like the hair pins came in every color of the rainbow. His hands hovered over the goods, indecisive.

You smiled, selecting a gold pin with a sparkling pink gem. “May I?” You asked.

Asmo ducked his head so you could slide the pin into his hair.

“It’s perfect,” you said.

Asmo looked into the little mirror hanging on the hook at the stand.

Your suggestion complimented his looks so well. It was a perfect choice. He reached up and brushed the glittering stone.

“Do you like it?”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off his reflection.

You purchased it for him.

As the two of you made your way back to the center of town, you could hear music being played in the streets.

People of all ages were gathered in the square, dancing to the lively music of a small band.

You pulled Asmo into a dance position, teaching him as the song went on. He picked it up as easily as he had with the waltz. He twirled and stepped as lightly as a soap bubble.

The village dance was much more vigorous than any of the waltzes Asmo had danced with you. After a few songs he needed to take a break to rest his tired legs.

You sat with him and Luke on a bench, who you'd caught up with as Barbatos was finishing his last few errands, the three of you enjoyed warm pastries from a nearby food stand.

You danced a few songs with Luke, giggling the whole time. And Asmo watched on as if you were the most wonderful sight in the world.

It was nearing sunset, almost time to go home, when a handsome man with clear brown skin and a lovely smile approached you.

“MC, would you care to dance with me?” He offered you his hand with a bow.

You took it, a shy smile gracing your lips.

Luke and Asmo remained at the bench. Asmo pulled out his sketchbook.

Who is that man?

“That’s Simeon,” said Luke. “He’s a noble from the other side of the island. MC has been in love with him for a while.”

Asmo cast his eyes back on the dancers, specifically you and Simeon. Simeon’s dancing was neat and precise. He whispered something in your ear and you laughed. The two of you made a pretty couple. The villagers took notice.

You returned to Asmo’s side breathless and flushed with heat.

Simeon bowed over your hand and said his goodbye.

Asmo fought down a wave of jealousy. This would change nothing.

***

There were more outings: sometimes into town, sometimes to cafes, sometimes to the docks to see the ships launch.

Once, you took Asmo to an opera. You admitted that you hadn't left the house much since your parents passed, other than your day in town. You’d much preferred to walk on the beach or sail in your little boat, which was being repaired.

But Barbatos encouraged you to go out, and since Asmo was there to go with you, you acquiesced.

Asmo wore the hairpin you bought him.

The orchestra’s music was lush, and the actors’ conviction carried all the way up to the private box where you and Asmo sat, enchanting both of you.

During the intermission, Simeon visited your private box. He invited you and Asmo, who he’d referred to as your “little foundling” ever since he’d heard the story of how you’d discovered him on the beach, to dine at his estate. You quickly accepted.

As the theatre lights dimmed in preparation for the next act, Simeon left.

The opera was about a man traveling to the underworld to save the one he loved. The second half depicted his impossible trial. He had to make it out of the underworld without looking back or he would lose her. The man failed.

Asmo cried bitter tears for the man’s plight. He’d given up so much only to return empty-handed and alone.

You gave Asmo your handkerchief, blinking back your own tears.

***

Simeon’s family seemed to approve of you and your high birth. You were invited to more dinners and the occasional ball. And wherever you went, Asmo went with you.

He seemed to be a topic of discussion, with his expressive eyes and delicate features, not to mention his aloof nature. No one had heard him speak.

If only they knew he couldn't.

The more time you spent with Simeon, the less lonely you looked, and the more lonely Asmo felt. He missed his brothers.

Some nights as he stood on the balcony, gazing into the water to feel the spray of the sea on his face, he would think he caught a glimpse of one of them mourning for him. But when he blinked they were gone and he felt more alone.

But then you’d look his way and give him a smile, and he felt at home again.

One evening you dragged Asmo to the beach just before sunset, bringing your newly repaired sailboat out to the edge of the shore. You directed him how to help you set the sail and the two of you had the boat on the water in minutes.

“I wanted to show you something I love.” You answered Asmo’s quizzical glance as your boat glided through the water.

You sailed out to that same spot Asmo had first laid eyes on you.

You brought out your own sketchbook and showed him the constellations you’d drawn, comparing them with the ones in the sky. Your eyes came alive as you spoke about the stars which were as dear to you as friends.

Asmo felt himself smiling as he hadn't done in days.

“You know,” you said, dipping your hand in the cool ocean water. “I almost drowned not that long ago.”

Asmo stared at you.

“But I was saved by someone. I thought it was a mermaid- maybe even a merman. Whoever they were, they were beautiful. And their voice was so…” You trailed off.

Asmo blushed, fixing his gaze on your hand in the water. You didn't know it was him. Of course you wouldn't, you had been half dead and barely conscious. And he no longer had his voice to prove it was him.

You sighed. “Maybe it was just a hallucination.” You began to hum a melody.

Asmo broke into a big grin. It was the haunting tune he’d sung to you when he saved your life. You remembered that, at least. He reached for your hand and squeezed it.

“Do you know this song, Asmo?”

He nodded emphatically.

“I thought it was just something I heard in a dream.”

Asmo wrote in the sketchbook.

My brothers taught it to me.

“You have brothers?” You smiled.

He nodded but then paused, a frown overtaking his lips. Since he'd betrayed the Crown Prince, he could never go home. He missed his brothers all over again.

I used to. He wrote.

“Oh.” You said, frowning as well. “So you're alone just like I am.” You linked your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze.

The two of you sat in silence, hand in hand, staring up at the stars.

“Asmo, I-” you began after a while. “I want you to know you’re always welcome in my house.”

He made no move to write, nor did he look at you.

You cupped his face with your hand, turning his head.

“I just didn't want you to think I’d forgotten you.”

He grasped your wrist as your hand lay on his cheek, his smile sorrowful.

He nodded.

You smiled back, pleased he understood you.

***

Cross-posted on AO3

[corxandforx]

The Bread Peddler

Olympia, WA

[papermoonloveslucy]

THE DESILU DAIRY

Milk!  It does a sitcom good!

The Desilu Dairy is in business providing milk, cream, and yogurt to the Queen of Comedy!  Mooo!

At their Chatsworth Ranch, Lucy and Desi had a dairy cow named the Duchess of Devonshire. Devonshire Cream is a clotted cream dairy product produced from North Devon Cattle in Cornwall and Somerset England.

“The Elves” (1949) ~ Liz (Lucille Ball) and George (Richard Denning) arrive home from vacation to find that someone has been ordering strawberry ice cream from the milkman every day, and the pink trail leads to the doorstep of their new neighbors.

Upon arriving home, the Coopers notice that their porch has been painted white. Upon closer inspection, they realize it isn’t paint - but milk. Their ‘milk card’ has been tampered with to order strawberry ice cream while they were away - yet none is found. During the early part of the twentieth century, dairy products were usually delivered to homes, rather than shopped in a market. The milkman was part of daily life. Housewives would leave notes (or cards, as above) to request items outside their standing delivery order: Milk, eggs, yogurt, butter, and ice cream, were all offered. It was not uncommon to see back porches with milk boxes and or empty bottles ready to be returned to the dairy.  This service has all but disappeared in favor of supermarkets.

“The Sleigh Ride” (1949) ~ Mr. Negley the mailman decides to use his motorcycle to pull the holiday sleigh, but the load proves to much and the milkman’s old horse is pressed into service. Unfortunately, the horse stops at every milk stop on his route. In the days before milk truck delivery, the dairyman in rural America would deliver dairy products by horse and wagon.  

“The Gum Machine” (1949) ~ When George finds the cream for the coffee has soured, he insists Liz tell the milkman about it - stand up for her rights. The milkman arrives, delivers the milk, and then leaves. Liz chickened out. George calls him back to tell him Hogan’s Frolicking Milkmaid Cream was sour. The milkman (Hans Conried) says that Mr. Hogan will take it out on the cow!  He gives them free items instead of losing their business.

MILKMAN: “You see, we can’t afford a radio program!”

“Valentine’s Day” (1949) ~ When Mr. Negley the butcher storms off, Katie the maid (Ruth Perrott) isn’t too bothered. She has a date with the milkman instead! She’s written him a poem which she left it in an empty milk bottle.

I love you, dear, don’t be surprised. Leave two quarts of homogenized!

“The Gossip” (1952) ~ When Lucy overhears a juicy story about Grace Foster running away with the milkman, Ricky bets her she can’t go without gossiping. To win the bet, Lucy enlists the milkman and a jealous Mr. Foster in her scheme. 

MILKMAN: “He’s after me!  All my milk’s gone sour!” 

Bobby Jellison played the milkman, the “cottage cheese Casanova” and “cow juice peddler” (as Bill Foster calls him).

MR. FOSTER: “From now on, we drink goat’s milk!”

“Lucy’s Bicycle Trip” (1956) ~ The gang bikes from Italy to France and takes shelter in a barn for the night. For breakfast, the farmer brings them bread and cheese, but the milk must come from the cow!  

Lucille Ball was able to produce one good stream of milk from the cow, but she didn’t think the lights caught the stream enough for it to show on camera. Writer Madelyn Pugh later said, 

"It was the mangiest cow I’d ever seen. I went down to the set, and Lucy said, ‘You wrote it, YOU milk it!’” 

Lucille Ball shared the cover of a March 1960 issue of “The Police Gazette” with a cover story claiming that “Milk Can be the Drink of Death”!

“Together For Christmas” (1962) ~ After trying in vain to share their holiday traditions, Lucy and Viv decide to go back to traveling to their respective relatives for the holidays. Lucy says she left a note for the milkman. 

Until the end of the 1960s or so, most suburban homes had daily milk delivery, which involved leaving milk bottles on the porch (sometimes in a milk box). If a customer did not wish to have milk (or other dairy products) delivered that day - or for a period of days - it was standard procedure to ‘leave a note for the milkman’.

“Lucy Discovers Wayne Newton” (1965) ~ Newton sings an ode to his dairy cow, “Bessie the Heifer,” a 1951 country-western novelty song.

Bessie turns up again in the final recording studio sequence - with all Newton’s other farm animals. 

“Lucy and the Countess Lose Weight” (1965) ~ On a lunch break at the health farm, Lucy and the Countess realize if they want a drink with lunch, they are going to have to milk a cow. 

To calm Bossie the cow while Lucy milks her, the Countess hums “The Blue Danube”. Lucy punctuates the downbeat with squirts of milk from the cow’s udder.  

“Guess Who Owes Lucy $23.50?” (1968) ~ Van Johnson sings “Happy Birthday to You” to Ethel - the prize dairy cow of a Texas oil tycoon. 

“Lucy the Shopping Expert” (1969) ~ Lucy teaches Kim about getting the best deals in the grocery store. In the dairy aisle, Lucy loses control of the nozzel on a can of whipped cream. 

“Lucy’s Lucky Day” (1971) ~ Lucy goes on a game show named “The Milky Way to Riches” that is sponsored by the Dover Dairy. 

When Mr. Larson the milkman (Billy Sands) rushes in with good news, Lucy teases him by guessing that Elsie the Cow had triplets. Elsie was the cartoon cow mascot of the Bordon Dairy Company from 1936 until it went out of business in the mid-1990s. Larson tells Lucy that she has won Dover Dairy’s customer of the year and will receive a free pint of raspberry apricot yogurt every week for a year.

“Lucy and the 20/20 Vision” (1971) ~ In order to pretend to be surprised by Harry at the door, Lucy acts as if she was putting out the milk bottle. At the time, rural delivery of milk and other dairy products to residential homes was common. In order to ‘recycle’ the milk bottles, homeowners would put the empty bottles on the porch at night, so the milkman could take them away early the next morning. A famous example of this was seen in the closing credits of the primetime cartoon sitcom satire “The Flintstones” (1960-66, inset photo).

“Lucy, the Other Woman” (1972) ~ Lucy's milkman has a crush on her but his angry wife (Totie Fields) thinks Lucy is having an affair with the dairy deliveryman. Herbie Faye plays Lester Butkus the milkman. According to the insignia on his hat, he works for the Cloverleaf Dairy. This means that in the year since “Lucy’s Lucky Day” the Carter family has switched dairies. 

Mr. Butkas brings Lucy a free pint of banana fudge yogurt, adding to his wife’s conviction that he’s sweet as cream over Lucy.   

The Butkus living room. A milkman lives here! 

[kincarron]

“I have heard it called a dance, I have heard it called a battle. Some men speak of it with a knowing laugh, some with a sneer. I have heard the study market women chuckling over it like hens clucking over bread crumbs; I have been approached by bawds who spoke their wares as boldly as peddlers hawking fresh fish. For myself, I think some things are beyond words. The color blue can only be experienced, as can the scent of jasmine or the sound of a flute. The curve of a warm bared shoulder, the uniquely feminine softness of a breast, the startled sound one makes when all barriers suddenly yield, the perfume of her throat, the taste of her skin are all but parts, and sweet as they may be, they do not embody the whole. A thousand such details still would not illustrate it.”

— Robin Hobb, Royal Assassin

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

Hello potion seller! How goes your day?

May I have a potion?

My thoughts are once again turning to Osamu Miya this time of year. That handsome bastard…

My day always fares well, dear Traveler, when I am able to interact with people so kind as yourself. And I always do love the company of those that cannot find it within themselves to admit to those begrudging feelings that surround their hearts.

Ah, I can tell by the way you are now looking at me that you haven’t the faintest idea as to what I am speaking of; or perhaps you are feigning ignorance. Either way, you have before me to hopefully get a potion, am I right?

This Tonic of Perception will be what you need. I suggest having this within either within your favourite tea, or even more so, something that is very sweet. For it is a bitter liquid that can be hard to swallow if taken on its own.

Perhaps you could even have it with a sweet from the bakery down the road?

“Something sweet, huh?” You mumbled to yourself in a begrudging manner as you paced along the cobblestone path that led towards the one place you knew you could find just that.

But truly you were doing anything in your power to avoid entering that littler bakery. It was why, when you feet followed the familiar path, you tried to divert it. To do whatever you could to avoid the alluring smell of fresh bread and cake that always drew you in whenever the days grew shorter and the air colder.

That was why you ended up in that strange peddler’s company. To try and prove to yourself that you meant to finally visit the strange parlour you had been avoiding like it was the plague, and not as a diversion. To not admit to yourself that your feet were falling into old habits, and that your heart follow suit.

But, of course, fate always had something else in mind.

As you wandered about within the peddlers home, your eyes slowly took in all the strange, yet marvelous, vials and trinkets that cluttered the many shelves around you. You read each label, even took a few into your hand out of curiosity, all in pitiful attempt to waste as much time as you could to then allow you excuse of how late it had gotten so you could go home without venturing further down the road.

Yet, despite it all, a vial did catch your eye. You supposed it was the simplicity of it which is why it stood out to you. The bottle, small, but nothing more of note. The liquid was clear, looked just like water. If you did not know better, and truly the thought did cross your mind for a brief moment, you would assume that this peddler just placed water into a vial and was trying to sell it off and a powerful tonic.

“Do you like them?” She asked, when your eyes could not stray from the strange bottle before you.

“Suppose they have my curiosity” You replied with a shrug of your shoulders, finally tearing you eyes away to look upon her – her knowing grin made a frown etch the sides of your lips.

“Not surprised this one called for you,” She mused, “You seemed to be avoiding something.”

“Am I?” You questioned as she plucked the vial from where is stood so proudly before holding it out for you.

“This will help with that, Tonic of Perception is a good brew for those that are adverse to dealing with situations set before them”

“A potion, huh? This looks more like water…” You mumbled, as you examined the vial more closely before a sheepish smile graced your face as you watched the peddler bow her head in slight annoyance.

“I can understand your trepidation” She hummed, a humble smile upon her lips as she gazed at you “But I can assure you I am no fraud hoping for a quick coin from desperate people.”

It was her tone that made you wish to believer her. That and the knowledge that she was more than happy to bequeath the little vial to you free of charge. Truly there was nothing for you to lose should you decide to take her up on her truths and drink it – if it was a dud then you did not waste any money/

But there was something you could lose. If you stepped foot in that shop again you would feel his eyes upon you. You remembered the last time you had a conversation with the baker, Osamu, just before the first rainfall of the spring season. How he teased you over your constant presence in his shop. How your sweet tooth was the only thing keeping him in business. You could not understand why you were so offended, but you were. Perhaps it was the more monotone drawl he used as he teased you that plucked a nerve. All you did know if that if you showed up there again, after the season had changed to autumn, you would be proving him right and yourself a hypocrite.

Not like you wanted to be there all the time. But when the months got colder, the days would be filled more with moonlight that the sun’s rays, you felt the need for a form of comfort; of warmth. And truly the most warm place you had ever felt welcomed was that of your aunt – a confectioner in her own right. But since you had moved away from home, from where you grew up, you had yet to feel that level of warmth again.

Yet when you were in the bakery, that same sense of warmth filled your heart the same way it did when you were but a child. And over the harsh months of winter you found yourself there more and more, just wanting a glimmer of that inner warmth you so craved. You enjoyed his company as well, though eh never said much. But just knowing that his presence was there was enough for you to feel a sense of connection that helped you as you struggled with the day-to-day that life brought.

Perhaps that was why it hurt you so much when he made that jabbing comment?

Whatever it was, it did not matter now. Certainly not at this moment as you stood at the familiar doorstep of the bakery; with a deep inhale, one that you couldn’t not help but have turn into a pleasurable sigh as your lungs filled with the scent of fresh bread, you took another look at the vial you had been clutching tightly since it was given to you.

“Perhaps it will give me courage?” You muttered to yourself uncorked the lid the lid that separated you from it.

The liquid was bitter, almost intolerable, as it brushed your tongue and went down your throat. It caused you to sputter and cough as you did your best to not cause a scene. Though the bitterness soon became the least of your worries as you felt your body lose its strength and your eyes began to roll back until your vision was no more.

Darkness filled you.

But only for a moment. Just as quickly as it cascaded over you light flooded your vision once more. Then, a clear picture of the world around you as your vision grew accustomed to the light. You were in the bakery, surrounded by plenty of bread in all its forms, those cranberry muffins you always loved to eat, and a few tarts that looked mouth watering.

And yet, none of it filled you with that same sense of warmth that you grew so fond of. In fact, where you were was not familiar to you at all. You seemed to be in a kitchen, preparing to bring out all the mouth-watering goods to the display counters.

It was then that it dawned on you, perception, if what she claimed this potion was. If only you remembered that a few moments prior; though you could not further beat yourself over such a mistake given how far your mind had gone. But now, you were in the mind of someone else. Clearly it was Osamu, only he was ever allowed in the kitchens of this place. But that only heighted your confusion. For how could he not feel the same warmth you did when he looked upon his work; you knew him a proud man, one that adored the life he had made for himself.  Yet? It was if something was missing. Something felt incomplete as you continued to be a passenger within his own mind, as you viewed the world from his eyes.

A thud, not loud in nature, but still enough to take your (and his) attention away; to feel the sense of confusion and worry as he made his was from the back of his bakery toward the front entrance. You felt the panic that entered his being as he saw you, laying so helpless upon the ground. You could not help but share in his sense of urgency and consternation as you watched yourself get pulled into the shop.

Then, a tingle was felt through the panic and mayhem. A sense of relief of knowing you were alright, as well as… something else. Almost akin to homeliness as you were privy to him as he watched over you; as you watched his thumb gingerly pet across your cheek.

It was then that you realized that sense of warmth, one that showcased to you within these four walls, did not come him in the form of the bakery as you so thought.

It came from you.

Oh dear, suppose I should have warned you about what would happen should you decide to drink the potion. Though, I was suspecting that you were going to be sitting down and enjoying a treat to go with it; but I digress, a warning still should have been given.

As well, was not the best move to drink the whole vial – again my fault for not providing you the knowledge needed – as merely a few drops would have sufficed. I’m afraid you will be stuck as a passenger for a little while longer, but no more than three hours at most. Once that time has passed you shall wake with no issue.

Though, I do not envy you the headache you will face.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 03 TYRION I (pages 47-62)

Tyrion catches Cersei up on his new (regifted) position as Hand of the King, then checks on the city, and Shae.

-

Littlefinger laughed. "Well said, Lannister. A man after my own heart." Tyrion smiled at him, remembering a certain dagger with a dragonbone hilt and a Valyrian steel blade. We must have a talk about that, and soon. He wondered if Lord Petyr would find that amusing as well.

Littlefinger: LOL, you're so funny 🤣😘 Tyrion: ahaha true😁 😑but we aren't friends asshole

Dragonbone + Valyrian steel = 🥛🥛

"Littlefinger made the arrangements, We needed Slynts gold cloaks. Eddard Stark was plotting with Renly and he'd written to Lord Stannis, offering him the throne, We might have lost all. Even so, it was a close thing. If Sansa hadn't come to me and told me all of her father's plans..."

That would be a very damning statement, if we hadn't already done the maths during the relevant chapters of the last book.

By the time Sansa went to Cersei, Renly was already (on his way) out the door, and Littlefinger had already secured the gold cloaks. By the time Cersei was making her move less than an hour later Ned was trying to use Robert's dying will to gain the support of the Small council, the remaining members of which have all shown loyalty to, if not the Lannister regime, then at least the status quo of Joffrey's reign.

The fact is, to get that ready to go in such a short amount of time, means they were already, ready to go, and even if Sansa hadn't gone to Cersei, all it would have taken would have been one member of the small council sending a messenger ahead to warn the queen when Ned went to declare himself Protector of the Realm. (Which Littlefinger probably did anyway.)

The idea that Sansa, and only Sansa was able to tell the queen that Ned was planning to ship out if he didn't get his way (and ship his daughters out even if he did) is laughable given the degree of information Littlefinger and Varys are supposed to have at their fingers, and the timing involved.

He had told Cersei he intended to take the measure of the city. That was not entirely a lie. Tyrion Lannister was not pleased by much of what he saw. (...) A naked corpse sprawled in the gutter near the Street of Looms, being torn apart by a pack of feral dogs, yet no one seemed to care. (...) The markets were crowded with ragged men selling household goods for any price they could get... and conspicuously empty of farmers selling food. What little produce he did see was three times as costly as it had been a year ago. One peddler was hawking rats roasted on a skewer. (...) The frightening thing was, the rats looked more appetizing than most of what the butchers were selling. On the Street of Flour, Tyrion saw guards at every other shop door. When times grew lean, even bakers found sellswords cheaper than bread, he reflected. "There's no food coming in is there?" he said to Vylarr.

It is deeply concerning how quickly this problem got this bad, but I'm not so sure it was actually as quick as the war starting to now. For the city to be so lacking in food supplies, to have zero close by sources of food? That almost seems like legacy from Robert's reign.

What about the fish markets? Are they sending out fishing boats? Crabbing and digging mollusks? Upping the seafood intake? This is a coastal city, surely that's taking the edge off, even if the land trade is being impacted by the war?

Oh, right. For a second there I forgot we were dealing with greed and corruption, of course, even if the boats are allowed out it would all be sent straight to the Red Keep to feed the nobles who actually already have food stores to rely on.

Oh, but yes, good thing Cersei has war time production set to full blast. Ha, full blast. Cause the Alchemists' Guild pledged ten thousand jars of wildfire.

... yeah, I'll pop that on the list.

Wildfire = 🥛

Oh, and look, Littlefinger is charging the refugees an entry fee. Delightful. (sarcasm)

"Young lady," Shae repeated, savoring the words. "You're half right, m'lord. I'm young." Eighteen, Tyrion thought. Eighteen, and a whore, but quick of wit, nimble as a cat between the sheets, with large dark eyes and fine black hair, and-

*re-materialses metal chair* I'mma hit him again. On purpose this time.

I know 18 is legal in almost every country, but given the propensity for younger girls that a majority of the men in this series seem to have... (At least I'm pretty sure 18 is a pretty standard age of majority? I don't want to google 'places where the age of consent is under 18' and end up on a guest list for Special Hell... or the FBI jail cells.)

Tyrion seated himself beside Shae. He understood what was happening here, if Chella and the girl did not. Varys was delivering a message. When he said, I was taken by a sudden urge to meet your young lady, what he meant was, You tried to hide her, but I knew where she was, and who she was, and here I am. He wondered who had betrayed him. The innkeep, that boy in the stable, a guard on the gate... or one of his own? ... Don't bother, sweetling, Tyrion thought, swirling the wine in the cup. He cares not a whit about the carvings. The eyes he boasts of are his own. What he means is that he was watching, that he knew we were here the moment we passed through the gates.

Wow, it's almost like it's impossible to keep the movements of people a total secret in King's Landing. As if someone always knows some who knows something about someone else. And yet it was Sansa's loose lips who revealed the plan to ship out, and her alone, because Ned and his men who had been floundering in the foreign city and political climate up until that point sudden gained the ultimate buff for stealth. (sarcasm and annoyance.)

"- Then you'll get hard and you'll have no one to help you and you'll never get to sleep unless you-" She grinned that wicked grin Tyrion liked so well. "-is that why they call it the Tower of the Hand, m'lord?"

Pffff, I like Shae, she's funny. Witty. Precision crassness.

"So what will you do now, m'lord, now that you're Hand of the King?" (...) "Something Cersei will never expect," Tyrion murmured softly against her slender neck. "I'll do... justice."

Justice for whom? According to whom? I guess we'll have to wait and see. Still already better than Cersei's intentions, ngl.