#gard station

[retropinkminstrel]

☘️💚🎸

[conformi]

Jean-François Zevaco, Fire Station, Agadir, Morocco, 1954-1963 VS El Lissitzky, Beat the Whites with the Red Wedge, 1919

[the-rainbow-of-doom]

At many train stations I see, digital ad boards are more flashy and brighter than the schedule boards and I think whoever is responsible for this should be publicly shamed.

advertisement should be illegal. this is based in the 3rd pillar of my belief system: leave me the fuck alone

[astrocafecoffee]

Astro observation ( part 1)

🔹For entertainment purposes only, enjoy🔹

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

✨ Uranus in the first house individuals may reject authority or traditions that feels restrictive to them.others may seem them as trendsetters or avant -garde in their approach to life.

✨ Venus in the 10th house of natal chart peoples are so workaholic that they prioritise their career, success over personal relationships or self care.

✨ your spouse's name asteroid could fall in your natal 7th house. ( Not necessarily, but it can be).

✨ mercury in the 5th house can indicate a communicative and involved parenting style. This individuals may encourage their children's intellectual development, creativity, and curiosity, fostering a supportive environment that values self expression and learning.

✨ Scorpio mars individuals have a strong sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards their loved ones. They can be fiercely protective of those they care about and may go to great lengths to defend and support them.

✨ regulus in 7th house of Composite chart - your relationship with your person may bring some fame/ recognition.

✨ Astrocartography mc lines - indicates which place may have a significant impact on your career or public life.

✨ Astrocartography Dc lines - you may meet your spouse/ long term partner there.

✨ Saturn in the 4th house individuals are very traditional 🙂

✨ solar return Jupiter/ mercury in 3rd house/ 10th house may indicate favorable year for cracking competitive exams.

✨ Earth dominate individuals may admire partners who take their commitments seriously whether it's in personal relationships ,career or other areas of life.

✨ juno in 1st house of groom persona chart means your spouse may influence how you present yourself to others or how you are perceived in social settings. they could bring out certain qualities in you or play a significant role in shaping your public image.

✨ South node lines in your Astrocartography chart indicates where you lived in your past lives.

✨ Briede conjunct Devine asteroid in synastry - divine/ fated relationship.

✨ Union asteroid in your groom / briede pc can indicate where you will meet your potential life partner/ spouse :

♾️ Union in Aries - dynamic / stimulating environments suggest adventurous activities, sports events, or places that involved risk taking and exploration. Gyms, fitness classes, martial art studios, organizing events , can meet through social gatherings / casual meet ups where people gather for fun or socializing. , Business conferences/ academic competitions.

♾️ Union in Taurus -

Fine dining restaurants , art galleries/ elegant social events. Settings related to finance, banking, investments , or business networking events., Exhibitions , concerts, musical performance, through mutual friends, wellness workshops.

♾️ Union in gemini -

Intellectual or educational events, workshops, seminars, book clubs , social gatherings , parties , online platforms, social media, dating apps, local festivals , neighborhood gatherings , during travel, airport, train station, writing workshop, media production, related to communication and journalism.

♾️ Union in cancer -

Family gatherings , reunions, hospitals , caregiving facilities, charity events , volunteering activities, through mutual friends, at historical sites, museums, art galleries, cultural events, small town festivals, near Lake, river, beaches, cafe , restaurant.

♾️ Union in leo -

Theatres , music venues, art galleries, or during performances and artistic events, parties , weddings, festivals , or grand gathering, acting class, outdoor festival, sports event , amusement park, related to child's education, youth organization, casinos, comedy clubs , gaming centre etc.

♾️ Union in Virgo -

Office , workplaces, professional conferences, networking events, volunteer activities, community service projects, charitable organisations, gyms, fitness classes health food store, wellness center, university, school , educational seminars, pet adoption events, parks , botanical garden.

♾️ Union in Libra -

Social getherings, parties, networking events, through mutual friends, concerts, cultural events, museums, theatre performance, settings related to law, mediation or during discussions that involve finding mutual agreements or resolutions., Teamwork, collaboration, relationship focused workshop,fashion shows, design exhibition, cocktail party, formal gatherings, courtroom, law office.

♾️ Union in scorpio -

Psychotherapy session, support groups, detective work, reasearch fields or in setting that require deep analysis and understanding., Spiritual retreats, metaphysical shops, astrology or tarot classes, tantra workshop, relationship councilling, setting related to investment, joint ventures, estate planning, holistic health centres , transformational workshop, place focused on healing practices.

♾️ Union in Sagittarius -

Travel, airport, train station, in foreign countries, or while participating in adventures such as hiking, backpacking, or exploring new cultures, University, libraries, seminars, religious gatherings, philosophy group, outdoor activities, sports events, camping trips, cultural festival, international events, language exchange program, law, publishing house, that promotes justice.

♾️ Union in Capricorn -

Office, corporate events, buisness conference, while pursuing ambitious projects, leadership roles, ceremony, cultural events, context related to banking, investments, Financial setting, teaching activities , prestigious club , organization, or during events where recognition and achievements are celebrated., Formal dinner etc.

♾️ Union in Aquarius -

Activism, volunteer work, community organization, seminars, conferences, discussion groups, online platforms, social media, tech startups, through mutual friends, social circles, online communities, music festival, Charity work.

♾️ Union in Pisces -

May meet in spiritual retreats, meditation centre, yoga studio, art galleries, theatre, music concert, poetry reading,film screening , volunteer work, charitable organisations, near Lake , beaches , hospital, clinic, wellness center, music festival, dance class, spiritual chants or ceremonies, book clubs focused on fiction on fantasy genres.

✨ Saturn in 1st house people often have RBF / Serious demeanor 👺

✨ Moon opposite/ square Saturn in solar return chart indicates emotional heaviness, feeling of loneliness or responsibilities weighing heavily on the emotions 😭.

✨ Jupiter/ Venus in 2nd house of Groom/ Briede pc indicates rich spouse.

✨ South node conjunct karma in synastry might suggest past life conflicts, power struggles or intense experiences that need healing or resolution in the current lifetime.

My other posts :

🔮 your future spouse's career.

🔮 your past life.

🔮 marriage placement in synastry and composite.

And many more on my page-

See you soon ~

- Piko ✨

[chefkids]

Claire was the Cold Prep.

The Ice Chips episode will be the when he talks to her again because she is the last chip of getting stuck in the freezer he has left over to deal with. They are always connected to cold and fridges. He reconnected with her in the freezer aisle at the grocery store.

They made out in the garde manger which is the cold prep station in kitchens.

And of course they broke up by the walk in fridge.

Claire was a Cold Reading for Carmy. A rehearsal. A practice girlfriend before the real thing. Molly and Jeremy did not even do a chemistry read before they were on set running lines together, and that was not due to poor planning. It was very intentional just like Claire's entire character. Her lack of development, he costuming, their interactions, are all tied up with being a cold prep. Their entire relationship was written as practice for Carmy wanting to be with Syd, which is why he mirrors everything about Sydney into that relationship.

Fak is going to tell Claire that Carmy told him he’s still in love with her to try and get them to fix things. She will probably try to reconcile and tell Carmy that Fak told her he does love her, but I think Carmy is going to tell her he never told him that and that he’s not actually in love with her and can't be with her.

*Season 3 Spoiler Skip this paragraph* That is what is going to cause the fight that we heard, because Fak/Claire will accuse Carmy of lying about it and Carmy will insist he didn’t lie about saying he loved her.

Technically Carmy didn’t say he was in love with her. Fak asked Carmy how much he love Claire and he said he loved her a lot. Carmy does love Claire. But he’s not in love with her. 

He loves Claire same way he loves Fak or Tina or even Mikey. He loves her as an old friend and someone in his life he cares about and doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, which why he tried to gently reject her with a fake number but couldn't say no to her face.

He asked Tina how much she loved Mikey and she said a lot. Which is the same thing he told Fak about Claire, because he doesn't love her romantically.

Carmy tried to be in love with her. But he never told her I love you and he was bothered when she said it to him in the voicemail because he realized love and being in love are two very different things.

Claire loves Carmy romantically but he doesn't love her in that way.

In his panic attack he figured out the difference between the two. He loves Mikey and his family and even his mom and Claire. But he’s not in love with them. Sydney was a completely separate type of love and peace for him because he doesn’t just love her, he is in love with her.

Claire was there Christmas after Donna crashed her car. He saw that she saw the mess behind his life. He didn’t want to stay there so he left to New York. She has always been tied to horrible memories for him and it's not her fault, but he can't separate the two.

But honestly, the fact that Claire saw what his life was like that night and the full extent of his family trauma around alcohol makes me even more angry that she took him to that party and the told him that “she knows” about him having to take care of sad drunk people.

She might have said she wants to understand, not fix people. But it seems to me like she thought she could fix Carmy’s shyness and trauma around parties and alcohol by forcing him to be around it, but really she was just bringing up all the past trauma he had and bad memories tied to her.

They both tried to use that relationship for bad reasons, he tried to teach himself how to be a boyfriend and she tried to teach him how to be "normal" because she wanted a boyfriend, but the type of guy she wanted is not who Carmy really is, which is why he was pretending to be Logan at that party and why she loved seeing him act like that, even when it's not him. Carmy wanted to see Syd in Claire, and Claire wanted to see "Logan" in Carmy.

[verxsyon]

·:*¨༺ ❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐓? ❞

wriothesley always wins his bets against you. for this round, the stakes are getting much higher. how long will it take for the captain of the gardes to admit their feelings to the duke? will this be the moment you’ll finally come out victorious, even though you have to pretend that your feelings toward him are in denial?

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. wriothesley x gn!reader

✧ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭. drabble ; 0.6k

✧ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. coworkers to lovers au ; fluff

✧ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚. no way, it's almost been a year since i wrote a drabble and for genshin too. wrote this during class today, so it looks pretty rushed lol. this man’s the death of me. he can choke slam me like he did with douchier dougier in his story quest. and no, i’m not sorry for saying that.

A defeated sigh escapes your lips as your cards rain down from your fingers onto Wriothesley’s desk. “Unbelievable. A first-time TCG player beat me in all three rounds. So, what do you want your prize to be? A tea company from the surface?”

“Haha. Your suggestions are becoming more adventurous, captain.” Wriothesley kicks back on his chair with a great idea in mind from the smug smile on his face. “Meet me there at night. You’ll help me sneak in, and I’ll rob its entire collection.”

You narrow his eyes at his sarcasm, and he surrenders. “Alright. I'll settle with a tea cup set. The cups in my current one are broken and the teapot has some cracks, so it’ll be nice to have a new one.”

“Okay, I’ll place an order from the surface and ship it here.” You get up from your seat. “I must head back. The guards could be slacking off as we speak. Excuse me, your grace.” 

“Ah, actually.” You hear the chair scrape the floor and turn to face him, who’s now leaning against the front of his desk. “Before you go, there’s something I need you to investigate.”

“Of course. what is it?” He stops you from coming back to your seat by his hand on your shoulder, making you flinch. His expression’s gone rather ominous, and it stays that way when he leans closer to your ear.

“How long will it take for the captain of the gardes to admit their feelings for the duke?”

You cough violently and push yourself out of his hold. Despite his claims of not being omnipotent, his eyes and ears are everywhere within and beyond the fortress. But why are you still surprised that he’ll find out your feelings toward him eventually?

“Don’t tell me you believe those rumors, your grace?” You boldly deny, but deep inside you already know he totally won’t buy your facade based on your immediate reaction. “I’m assuming that’s what you want me to investigate, so again, please excuse me—”

“You didn’t answer my question, captain.” His fingers glide to your shoulder, akin to caressing it, and the temperature in your cheeks suddenly skyrockets. “So, how long will it take for the captain of the gardes to—?”

“I heard you the first time, your grace,” you say dismissively, screaming at him in your head to let you go back to your station and never talk about this matter ever again. “With all due respect, what’s the meaning of this?”

“Come on. Don’t tell me you already forgot,” he laughs as he goes back to his seat, hands folded on top of his desk. “Wanna bet?”

“This again?” you huff, more worn out from his ludicrous habits since you were stationed at the fortress as its security team. However, this could be an opportunity for you to finally win against him. If he decides to play the game this way, then might as well follow along to ensure your own victory. “Fine, I’ll say never.”

“Oh? No faith in the duke’s capabilities to charm them?” He seems confident with the answer he has come up with. “I’ll say within the next hour or two.”

“Ha! Overestimating the captain’s willpower to not fall for his charms, I see,” you counter, showing off your determination to win. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Alright then, it’s settled.” He shakes hands with you to solidify the agreement. “Oh, and captain? No need for your suggestions for this one. I know what I want as my prize.”

“Oh? And what would that be, your grace?”

Wriothesley just chuckles and tells you the most unpredictable thing that you never imagine being your fate as a loser. “How about a date with the captain themselves?”

[zilabee]

Tony Bramwell, on Yoko

- gradually, inch by inch she intruded into our lives

- It was hardly surprising that John felt some kind of electricity; but it was probably the air crackling with Yoko’s desperation

- If I were standing about with him, Yoko would come up to me and say something in her high little girl’s voice, perhaps hoping to get John to notice her [...]. John would walk off to talk to someone else, while she stared after him. In those days, Yoko was always staring after John.

- She wanted to possess John and she was the one who was exceptionally jealous. She could not cope with the fact that John could love three other guys.

- her piece de resistance, the much-reprised performance of “Cut Piece.”  The scissors were wired for sound, so every cut had a horrific, almost animal sound, like a beast crunching into its human prey.

- did Yoko do her hypnotism thing, as some of John’s friends thought she had, or did she have a powerful new drug in her arsenal? Nobody really believed that John fell in love overnight, because why hadn’t he done so before? He’d been kicking Yoko in and out of his life for over a year. Mostly, he had given the impression that he resented and despised her. [...] Perhaps it was that he really was mentally ill and like many schizoid personalities, got religious mania.

- Overnight, he no longer had a will of his own.

- ...an attempt to use Primal Scream Therapy under Arthur Janov by telephone, to free him from his heroin addiction...

- Sir Joe said he didn’t think the pictures were obscene, he had seen much worse, an opinion which confused John and Yoko. They wanted to be seen as avant-garde and enfants terribles.

- Yoko had no sense of humour at all and she loathed Phil as much as Phil hated her. Each of them was implacable and paranoid.

- I used to dread taking John and Yoko’s arty stuff into radio stations and asking them to play it. For me, it was a bad experience because it was unplayable and unlistenable. [...] The reaction was a bored, “Why are you bringing this crap to us?” At first I argued with radio producers about it, though not on a very artistic level. I even heard myself saying, “Because he pays my wages. That’s why!” It was so embarrassing.

- As far as Yoko was concerned, if you spout all this magical, healing, antiwar, be kind to everybody, all-seeing, all-caring, all-macrobiotic stuff, being pregnant on heroin would seem to be the last thing she would need. And how does all that stuff equate with shooting up smack? How does all that spiritual pontificating gel with the teaspoon and the needle, unless you’re a fraud?

- According to John, Yoko snorted [heroin], but I had no doubt that if she had used a needle, she would probably have said it was acupuncture.

- John used to like life. He used to like to get on a roll. Laugh, eat and drink. [...] proper breakfasts, an old-fashioned fry-up, pie and chips, fish and chips, fried chicken, a roast dinner on a Sunday, Chinese food, curry, spaghetti Bolognese. Everything. Then he met Yoko, grew his beard, and [...] from Irish navvy’s food, he went to heroin and macrobiotics. I think if Yoko had said it was spiritual to snort bean curd instead of eat it John would have done it.

- She and John used to whisper away in their corner, with a completely different, us-against-the-world perspective to everyone. I know they did, because filming quietly on the sidelines, I heard.

- Having discussed life and its ins and outs and meanings, and worked out that it all means nothing, John and Yoko didn’t want to, couldn’t possibly, give the edifice of the Beatles any credit, or indeed any respect.

- doubt set in because some critics and reviewers gave her favourable reviews in the press and on TV. You’d find yourself wondering if you were an intellectual failure, unable to spot the hidden value in Yoko’s art and music. [...] somehow it became important to judge Yoko as impartially as possible, mostly out of regard for John. The problem was we couldn’t accept that he could be so blinded.

- [Dan Richter] was a close confidant of [Yoko and Tony Cox]. He said he heard all their hopes and schemes to hook John, at first as a financial “angel,” then, with dawning excitement, as a lover.

- According to Dan, Tony Cox actively encouraged the affair between John and Yoko as a means of survival. He said that Cox would tell Yoko to “go get Lennon.” When John proved elusive, as he was at first, Cox told Yoko she wasn’t trying hard enough. For her part, when she saw how close she was to capturing their prey, Yoko told Dan that they’d soon be rich beyond their wildest dreams.

- Cox began to feel fragile, thinking he might get cut out. In all seriousness, he drew up an agreement that he insisted Yoko sign. This single-page document—which was drawn up and signed at Dan’s kitchen table—stated that when Yoko hooked John, they would split any cash she got from the endeavour.

[the1920sinpictures]

1930 Shell service station built by R.H. Burton and his son Ralph at Sprague and Peachtree Streets in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. From Art Deco, Avant Garde and Modernism, FB.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Totally not projecting my own present emotional instability here but

Oh look hurt/comfort

Shiny 🤩

Probably going to be doing one for each Shanks, Zoro, Sanji, Mihawk, and apparently Buggy too who seems to have become a mainstay now.

I'm having trouble continuing my current WIPs, usually if I can crank out a oneshot or two I can focus and get back to it.

Sanji first.

And aaawwaaaaay we go~

Late Night Chats

Trigger Warnings: death of loved one

SFW and cloyingly fluffy

Hurt/comfort with

OPLA!Sanji X Reader

♫♬ Six Days In June - The Fratellis ♫♬

And if I could paint you a picture now it would be nothing less than tragic

I would trade a lifetime for a moment now of magic

Sanji knew full well he was a hopeless romantic. He had always known it. While his desire to work in the kitchens at Baratie had always been the greatest source of bitterness between him and Zeff, the second greatest probably stemmed from the older chef berating him for flirting with customers, no matter how respectful he was about it. He really couldn't help it—women were the gods' greatest gift to creation, and they deserved to be treated as such.

The hiring of a new garde manger had been another source of hostility, however briefly; Zeff had said he would consider Sanji for the position, and then tore it right out from under him, like always. He even had the nerve to roll his eyes and say, "You'll get over it." The rest of the staff stayed out of it, and kept a fair distance during prep hours that day, as it wasn't uncommon for such a row between the head chef and Sanji to devolve into physical violence.

But when the kitchen doors came open and you entered at a minute past eight that morning, he had frozen—and rather unbecomingly so, with his mouth hanging open, holding a sauté pan in the air, primed and ready to sling it right at Zeff's head.

He barely registered Zeff's snort of laughter at his reaction, or the gruff old chef's taunting apology for "the idiot waiter's behavior." Sanji's heart had simply ceased when your eyes met his, however briefly, as you glanced between him and Zeff in clear alarm at the scene you had just walked in on.

For once, Zeff was right—Sanji was already over it.

You had your work cut out for you, starting your two week stage that particular day—there was a party of more than twenty world government snobs expected at one that afternoon, which meant cold apps and hors d'oeuvres needed to be in no short supply. Sanji kept his eye on you throughout the entire shift, any time he was in the kitchen. Your station was right next to the break table in the corner, and oh, he could have watched you work all day, your graceful and precise movements as you piped filling into two trays full of deviled eggs, the deft motion of your wrist in cutting the chives to perfectly even half-inch lengths, carefully adding a few to each with your tweezers, ever so delicately topping each egg with a few salmon roe and a turn of your pepper mill.

Sanji stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray, and crossed the short distance to your station before you could call order up to retrieve the trays.

"Absolutely stunning," he commented with a small sigh.

You met his eyes briefly as you set to cleaning your station and checking your next order. "Just following the recipe."

"Well...." he chuckled lightly, leaning across the counter. "I wasn't only referring to the food, chef."

Your eyes locked with his a moment longer, before you rolled them and went back to work—but there was the slightest hint of a blush on your cheeks as he lifted the second tray, a hint of a smile curving your soft lips, and Sanji didn't fail to miss it.

Your stage was two weeks, before you would either be hired in fully or told to take a walk, but you melded so seamlessly with the rest of the staff that Sanji had no doubt you were on track to becoming a permanent fixture at Baratie—and god, he hoped he was right.

He was genuinely drawn to you—not only your talent in the busy kitchen, your ability to keep a level head and your spirits high under the high stress of the lunch and dinner rushes, but everything. The subtle and teasing way you returned his flirting. The late nights cooking with you, experimenting with new recipes after shift, or just chatting by the bar while you shared a drink and a smoke or two. Well before a week was out, he wanted to just grab you by the waist and kiss you like his life depended on it.

But he was nothing if not a gentleman, and for all the time he had been blessed to spend with you, there was still something distant about you. You skirted around any personal topics—your family, friends, your home before you came to Baratie, all of it was a mystery. Sanji didn't push it. He did prod at it occasionally out of sheer curiosity, how you had come to be so accomplished a chef at only a year younger than him, but he didn't push. He couldn't stomach the thought of pushing you away if he tried too hard to get you to open up.

Your eighth day at Baratie, just after the end of dinner rush, Sanji watched Chef Zeff hand you an envelope as you stood over the dish pit, your chef coat slung over your shoulder. He spoke to you quietly as you opened it and scanned over the letter inside. Something shifted in your eyes for a moment, so quickly that it was difficult to tell what it was.

Then you stuck the letter in your apron pocket and shook your head. Your mouth formed the words, "It's fine," as you went right back to scrubbing a plate.

Zeff gave you a nod, a light pat on the shoulder and a sigh as he passed.

And it was all Sanji could think about for the next hour as he squared away the dining area. He did so quickly, perhaps a bit less thoroughly than he should have, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that flicker in your eyes, a flicker of something. Whatever news had come to you in that envelope had been nothing good.

You were the last person left in the sprawling kitchen by the time Sanji returned, still making your way slowly through the stacks of dishes, a task that was normally split between a few of the kitchen and dining staff.

Yet you were still there, clearly taking your time, meticulously cleaning each dish that passed through your hands. Drying each one thoroughly before placing them lightly in their designated areas, your breathing slow and controlled, your eyes focused and yet somehow miles away at the same time.

Sanji plucked the ash tray from the break table and crossed the kitchen, lighting up a smoke and grabbing a dish towel before he reached you. You proved just how thoroughly you had spaced out when he set the ashtray down—you let out a small cry of alarm and dropped the plate you were holding.

Sanji managed to stoop down and catch it just before it could hit the floor and shatter. Your eyes locked with his for a moment, and there was that flicker again—pain, sadness, so much that it made his chest ache. Then, in the blink of an eye, you were back to washing dishes.

"Don't sneak up on me," you chided, elbowing him playfully as he leaned back against the counter, drying the plate. "You know how Zeff gets about anyone breaking dishes."

"That's entirely unfair, I wasn't even sneaking." He knew he had to be careful—had to play it safe, act like everything was normal. He couldn't outright ask you what was wrong without you either changing the subject or outright storming off. "Now, had I been sneaking..."

Ge set the plate down, and you were already rolling your eyes as he circled behind you, resting a hand lightly at your waist.

"I'd have come up behind you...maybe...put an arm around you..."

Your lips pursed, clearly fighting to keep a straight face as his hand slipped from your waist, across your stomach, his arm curled around you to pull you gently back against his chest. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, tilting his head to lean in close over your shoulder.

"Said something like, 'How about we leave these dishes for someone else and go have a drink or two, beautiful?'"

You tilted your head to meet his eyes, shaking your head a little. "I'm sure you would have," you said, giggling a little as you patted him on the cheek. Your lips lingered barely an inch from his, and for a few impossibly long seconds Sanji briefly forgot why he had approached you in the first place.

Then you reached over your shoulder and held a bowl out to him.

"Sooner we get done, sooner we can go have a couple," you said, smiling sweetly.

"Oh, fine," he sighed, taking the bowl. "But I'm going to sulk about it the whole time."

You giggled a little more when he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek, shoving at him lightly. "I wouldn't expect anything less," you laughed as he resumed leaning back against the counter beside you.

He kept his eyes on you, wondering if you thought you were hiding it well. You were far too quiet, too tense as the laughter faded from your breath and you went back to work. Your shoulders were squared, your chest rising and falling under your apron in slow, even, carefully controlled breaths, your eyes growing distant again.

Distant, sad, almost hopeless, on the verge of breaking and desperately trying to hide it.

And Sanji couldn't stand another second of it.

He plung the towel over his shoulder and placed a hand lightly on your shoulder—and before he could do more than open his mouth, you spoke up, your voice low and quiet.

"I'm...going to have to leave for a few days."

"What?" His eyes widened, his cigarette falling from the corner of his mouth in alarm. He quickly stooped down to pick it back up. "Wh—why?" he blurted out.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the plate in your hands, not washing it anymore but just staring at it.

"I...I have to handle funeral and burial arrangements for my father." Your voice was still quiet, still so carefully controlled, and his heart sunk right into the pit of his stomach at the slight tremor in your hands. "He...didn't have any other family so I have to...I have to go home for a few days."

That was it. The letter Zeff had handed you. Your mouth forming the words "I'm fine," when he no doubt offered to let you take the rest of the evening off. Over an hour you had stood there washing dishes, alone with nothing but your own thoughts for company, one little push from falling apart.

Sanji took one last puff from his cigarette before putting it out, before gingerly pulling the plate from your hands and setting it aside, before taking a step closer and pulling you just as gingerly into his arms. He felt as well as heard your breath hitch and stutter the slightest bit.

"I'm...so sorry, sweetheart," he said quietly, lowering his forehead over the crown of your hair, cradling your head at his shoulder. You still kept your breathing mostly level, but kept your head down, your hands shaking the slightest bit as they gripped lightly at the front of his shirt. "Was...he ill?"

You nodded shortly. "Dementia." Swallowed. "Early onset. Started around five years ago. I...we had a restaurant in Loguetown. Just a little bistro. Things...got bad a couple years ago. I couldn't keep up running a business and take care of him. He'd go down into the restaurant and try to cook, end up cutting himself or starting a fire. I had to close it and find something else. He...told me a while back that the head chef at Baratie was an old friend, so I..." Your voice cracked a little as you went on. "I had to leave him with a live-in nurse. When I left h—he didn't—he was so far gone he didn't even know who I—"

He pulled his arm a bit tighter around your waist as your sentence cut off in a small sob, his fingers curling in your hair near the nape of your neck. You had been dealing with all of this, alone, this entire week—for five years prior to that, trying to run an entire restaurant on your own and juggle it with taking care of your only family.

He was speechless—couldn't do anything for some time except lean back against the counter and hold you against him, stroke your hair and press a kiss to the top of your head while you clung to him and cried quietly.

He gladly would have held you all night, if that was what you needed—but you drew away after a few minutes, rubbing your palm into your eyes and turning to sit on the floor against the counter, glaring up at the ceiling.

"I never even really got to say bye," you said, giving a small scoff as you ran a hand back through your hair, your head falling back against the counter. Sanji took a seat beside you, and you exhaled a slow, shaking sigh as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Not in any way he'd know. He just looked right at me and asked who I was."

"I'm sure he knows now. And that he'd be proud." You leaned your temple into his shoulder, swallowing, your eyes drifting shut. It didn't matter if you believed it right now—he still wanted to make sure you heard it. "You're...kind, beautiful, talented. To be honest, I could hardly take my eyes off you your first day."

"I know." You laughed quietly at that, your voice still choked from your tears. "You weren't exactly discreet about it."

"Never said I was trying to be."

You glanced up at him at that, and nudged your elbow lightly at his ribs...but you smiled as you shook your head, and that was all that mattered to him. Making you smile, genuinely smile, not just putting it on to mask the pain.

You rolled your eyes a little and closed them again. "I planned on making a point of not getting close to anyone here." You sighed slowly. "You made that impossible, of course."

"You're welcome."

"Would you stop?" you said, both of you laughing a little. A little more of your tension seemed to slip away as he pulled you closer. You shifted so your knees were bent to the side, resting over his leg, your temple at his shoulder. "I wasn't sure if I'd stay here after...." You bit your lip. "If I'd go back home and try to re-open the restaurant. But..." You shook your head. "I like it here. It's like having a family. I never really had that since it was just me and my dad." You drew in a deep breath. "I...still have to go back for a few days and handle his arrangements, but...I want to stay here. There's really nothing for me there now, anyway."

There it was. Without saying it outright...you were staying because of him. Sanji could have floated right off in that moment on a cloud of pure elation. There was nothing official between the two of you yet, but he had grown quickly to adore you. To savor every moment of time you gave him, every second of your flirtatious banter and your late night talks after the kitchen closed, and that only increased with everything he learned about you. Even if you had decided to leave, he couldn't say for sure that he wouldn't have just followed you right out the door like a lost puppy.

Even a few days was too long.

He laid his forehead over the crown of your hair, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to your temple.

"Let me come with you." He heard your breath catch in surprise, felt you freeze as he shook his head. "This isn't something you should have to do alone."

You were quiet, still as stone for several long seconds. He didn't regret the offer, wouldn't ever regret it. The worst you could do was say no, leave for a few days and come back.

You drew in a slow, deep breath after a moment.

"Are you sure Zeff would let you?" you said quietly.

Sanji laughed a little. "He's a cranky old bastard but he isn't heartless," he said, his thumb brushing against the nape of your neck in slow, small circles. "He'll probably tell me not to let the door hit me in the ass on the way out and leave it at that."

Your little giggle made his heart soar.

"You...really don't have to," you said softly, but you couldn't hide the hope in your voice. And that alone was enough to make him sigh softly, hearing hope after seeing the lost, hopeless look in your eyes as you stood over the dish pit minutes earlier.

"I want to," he said gently. "Besides...." He dug into his pocket, pulling out his cigarettes, and held the pack out. "Why in hell..." You took one when he offered it, and he tapped one out as well before tossing the pack up onto the counter behind both of you. "...would I want to stay here waiting tables and arguing with our most esteemed chef..." He leaned in close enough to light both his and your smoke together, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke away out the corner of his mouth, "when I could be spending a few days doting on the single most beautiful woman in the world?"

You gave a small snort of laughter, shaking your head before meeting his eyes again. "You never switch off, do you?"

"Never," he affirmed, grinning.

Sanji leaned back into the counter, resting his arm across his knee, staring up toward the ceiling as a thought struck him—an idea, moreso, one that he couldn't resist acting on.

"What," he said slowly, glancing down at you as you pressed the cigarette to your lips, "would you say was your old man's best dish?"

"Risotto," you said instantly. You smiled a little, turning your head to blow a cloud of smoke away. "His mushroom risotto was our most popular item, he could have made it in his sleep. Shallots, chardonnay, portobello, white truffle, little pinch of nutmeg and thyme to bring out the earthiness, it was...."

"Perfect." He smiled when you glanced uo at him. "Let's make it."

"Wh—*now*?" Your brow furrowed as he shrugged a shoulder. "But—" You nodded back at the counter, up toward the sink behind you. "I have to—the dishes—"

"Will still be there in an hour," he finished for you, and you pursed your lips. "Come on..." he said, lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours, lowering his voice to a light, teasing tone. "Say yes."

"I..." You sighed after a moment, shaking your head. "You are impossible." He lifted his eyebrows, waiting, as you returned his smile. "Fine, yes."

"Perfect," he said once more. He plucked your cigarette from your hand and stood, dropping it as well as his own into the ash tray before offering you both of his hands. You took them and he pulled you to your feet, your fingers lacing together with his.

And, without any warning or hesitation, you pulled yourself up onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips lightly to his.

And, oh, he could have melted into a puddle right there in front of the sink.

Your lips were even softer than they looked, and Sanji knew in an instant that he was going to be hopelessly addicted to them. A slow sigh left him as he tilted his head slightly, returning the slow, sweet kiss, his hands leaving yours to wrap lightly around your waist and draw you in a little closer, a little deeper. Yours came to rest just as lightly at his abdomen for a moment, before you looped your arms around his neck and sank right into him.

He was smiling when your lips parted, his forehead resting against yours as you bit your bottom lip. He curled an arm around your back and lifted his other hand, brushing your hair behind your ear as his eyes remained glued to yours.

"So..." He brushed his thumb across your cheek. "Would you call me an idiot if I said I think I'm falling for you?"

You chuckled softly. "Being that we barely met a week ago...yes." And you smiled, leaning in closer. "But I guess then I'd have to call myself an idiot, too."

And you pressed your lips to his again.

[forthegothicheroine]

The sinful implication of such ["yellow"] books had come from France, where, from the mid-nineteenth century, sensationalist literature had been not-so-chastely pressed between vivid yellow covers. Publishers adopted this as a useful marketing tool, and soon yellow-backed books could be bought cheaply at every railway station. As early as 1846 the American author Edgar Allan Poe was scornfully writing of the "eternal insignificance of yellow-backed pamphleteering. For others, the sunny covers were symbols of modernity and the aesthetic and decadent movements. Yellow books show up in two of Vincent Van Gogh's paintings from the 1880s... Traditionalists were less impressed. These yellow books gave off a strong whiff of transgression, and the avant-garde did little to calm their fears (for them the transgression was half the point.) In Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, published in 1890, it is down the moral rabbit hole of such a novel that the eponymous antihero disappears, never to return. Just as the narrator reaches his defining ethical crossroads, a friend gives him a yellow-bound book, which opens his eyes to "the sins of the world", corrupting and ultimately destroying him. Capitalizing on the association, the scandalous, avant-garde periodical The Yellow Book was launched in 1894. Holbrook Jackson, a contemporary journalist, wrote that it "was newness in excelsis; novelty naked and unashamed...yellow became the color of the hour."...The magazine's art director and illustrator, Aubrey Beardsley, had barred Wilde after an argument- he responded by calling the periodical "dull" and "not yellow at all."

Kassia St. Clair, The Secret Lives of Color

[blkdaddie]

Buns in the Oven

The kitchen was a symphony of sizzling sounds and vibrant colors, each station brimming with an array of exotic ingredients and gleaming utensils. The contestants, an eclectic mix of expectant men from all walks of life, stood ready, their hands poised to create culinary magic. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement and camaraderie, their shared journey creating an unspoken bond.

"Welcome to another thrilling episode of 'Buns in the Oven!' I'm your host, Jeremy, and today, our talented dads-to-be will be whipping up some extraordinary dishes to satisfy those unique pregnancy cravings!" Jeremy's voice echoed through the studio, his enthusiasm infectious.

"Let’s get cooking, gentlemen!" Jeremy announced, signaling the start of the competition.

At Station One, Alex, a software engineer from Seattle, was busy chopping a selection of exotic fruits. "I’m going for a spicy mango-avocado tart with a hint of chili and lime. It’s got that sweet and savory kick," he explained, exchanging a confident smile with Carlos, the contestant at the next station.

Carlos, a dance instructor from Miami, grinned back. "Sounds amazing, Alex. I’m working on a sweet plantain and black bean empanada with a guava glaze. A little taste of home for me."

Station Three housed Ravi, a chef from New York City, meticulously arranging ingredients for his dish. "I’m making a curry-infused chocolate mousse with candied ginger. It’s a fusion of my Indian heritage and classic French technique," he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

The judges, seated at a long table, watched intently. "These combinations are wild! I can’t wait to taste them," said Chef Maria, a renowned culinary expert.

"Remember, guys, presentation is key. We eat with our eyes first," added Chef Luis, a pastry chef known for his avant-garde creations.

As the clock ticked down, the kitchen was a whirlwind of activity. The smell of freshly baked goods and exotic spices filled the air. The men worked with a blend of precision and passion, their bellies round and their smiles wide.

"Five minutes left!" Jeremy called out, pacing the kitchen and peeking over shoulders.

At Station Four, Malik, a jazz musician from New Orleans, was putting the finishing touches on his dish. "I’ve got a beignet with a spicy crawfish filling and a sweet bourbon glaze. It’s got a little bit of everything," he said, his voice smooth and melodic.

The camaraderie was palpable. "Malik, that smells divine," Ravi called out, plating his mousse with a flourish.

"Time's up! Step away from your stations, gentlemen," Jeremy announced. The contestants exchanged high-fives and knowing winks, the energy in the room electric.

The judges made their rounds, sampling each dish with thoughtful expressions. "Alex, your tart has a wonderful balance of flavors. The heat from the chili is perfect," Chef Maria praised.

"Carlos, your empanada is incredible. The guava glaze is a fantastic touch," Chef Luis commented, nodding appreciatively.

"Ravi, your mousse is sublime. The curry and chocolate work beautifully together," said Chef Maria, clearly impressed.

"And Malik, your beignet is a revelation. The spice and sweetness are in perfect harmony," Chef Luis added.

Jeremy took the stage once more, microphone in hand. "And the winner of today’s 'Buns in the Oven' is… Malik with his spicy crawfish beignet! Congratulations, Malik!" The room erupted in cheers and applause.

"Thanks, everyone. This was such an amazing experience," Malik said, his voice full of emotion as he accepted his prize—a basket filled with goodies for both him and his soon-to-arrive baby.

As the credits rolled, Jeremy’s voiceover captured the essence of the show. "Join us next week for more mouthwatering creations and heartwarming stories on 'Buns in the Oven.' Where every dish is a labor of love."

[empirearchives]

Paris Fire Brigade — The fire department of the city of Paris

The Paris Fire Brigade was created by Napoleon on 18 September 1811 after a devastating fire in Paris in 1810. The brigade remains the same firefighting service of Paris to this day.

Illustrations created by Aaron Martinet between 1807 and 1814. Top: Imperial Guard, Engineer Sapper. Bottom: Imperial Guard, Officer of Engineer Sappers. These were the military positions which were transitioned into the fire department.

The deadly fire at the Austrian embassy ball in July 1810, during the festivities for his marriage to Marie Louise, reminded the Emperor of the importance of a well-functioning fire service in the capital.

Despite the courage and dedication of the gardes pompes [firefighters of the old organization], who are sometimes falsely accused of numerous shortcomings, the firefighting service revealed its weaknesses: delays, insufficient and unreliable equipment, poorly trained personnel and incompetent managers. The staff present at the embassy on the day of the tragedy were cleared of all suspicion by an investigation led by the Count of Montalivet. On the other hand, the leaders of the old organization were dismissed, and the corps des gardes pompes was abolished.

After this catastrophe, the Emperor reorganized this public service by creating the first military corps of firefighters, made up of the engineers from the Imperial Guard who were dedicated to defending the imperial chateaux against fire.

At the behest of Emperor Napoleon I, the creation of the Paris fire department [bataillon de sapeurs pompiers de Paris] by imperial decree on 18 September 1811 was an original and innovative step, marking the transition from a civil and municipal organization to a military body. The choice of such an atypical status for a public service echoes the creation, eleven years earlier, of the Paris Police Prefecture, an equally singular legal administrative body.

From its creation, this military corps was placed under the authority of the Paris Police Prefecture, who was responsible for the security of the capital. After a long process, this military status and subordination to a prefect became the logical consequence of the spirit of the decree of 12 messidor year 8.

When the battalion was formed in 1811, the Paris fire department took on a new mission: fighting fires, the importance and development of which they were still unaware of.

Four companies were then created to respond to fires. Relying on a typically military functional triptych (extensive training of men, systematic technological research and implementation of efficient operational procedures), the battalion quickly made its new environment its own, and by the end of the second half of the 19th century, had become a model for the organization of public fire-fighting services and a national, even international reference.

Several fire chiefs succeeded one another until 1814. At that date, command was entrusted to battalion commander Plazanet. He provided the battalion with an instruction manual, made it compulsory for sappers to be stationed in barracks, and introduced gymnastics to train efficient and daring rescuers.

Source: Brigade de sapeurs-pompiers de Paris — Le Bataillon

Picture source: Napoleon's Army: 1807-1814 as Depicted in the Prints of Aaron Martinet, By Guy C. Dempsey, Jr., (Section: Support Troops)

[lovelylogans]

the parent trap

the masterpost

“So,” Remus says slowly. “If your Dad is my Dad…”

“...and your Pa is my Papa…”

Remus stares at the seam of the wedding photo, made whole again after more than a decade. His Pa, Patton, familiar with his cowboy-handsome, weather-beaten face and his dimpled grin and his big, calloused hand resting over his new husband’s, even if Remus has never seen him look this smitten ever. 

“And we’re both born on October 11… then, Roman. You and I are… like… brothers.”

And his Dad—Janus—smiling coyly, handsome in the way of magazine models, so completely a stranger to Remus with just this scrap of a photograph to serve as any way to know him, really know him. The way Roman knows him. The way Remus has been dying to know him all his life.

“Remus,” Roman breathes out, disbelieving. “We aren’t just brothers. We’re twins.”

Remus wonders, in a daze, if seeing the opposite life he could have had is as strange for Roman as it is for him… if they’d just been switched at birth, it’s the life Remus could have had, knowing his Dad instead of his Pa, but then…

But then it clicks.

“Roman,” he says, turning to grin at his brother—his brother! “I have a completely perfect, totally awesome idea!”

or: it's a parent trap AU for @tss-storytime with fanart by @tastic-in-its-finest!

warnings: pranks and practical jokes, smoking, drinking, brief mentions of underage drinking (in the context of a child trying a sip of wine), sibling rivalry and bonding, please let me know if i've missed any!

pairings: janus/patton, logan/virgil, brief patton/male oc

word count: 80k

notes: a few notes before we begin: first, thanks so much to morgan for their fanart for this fic!!! it's so cute, please like and reblog and do all that fun stuff!!! second, thanks to the folks over at the big bang for organizing this whole event—i know firsthand how complicated that can get, and you are so appreciated!!! this is technically a '90s au, but a '90s au in terms of the fashion and lack of social media/cell phones, not any of the homophobia. i hope you all enjoy!!!!

chapter one: prologue Across the world from each other, two very different families help two very similar boys pack their bags.

chapter two: welcome to camp walden! Welcome to what we like to think of as the most beautiful spot on God's green earth—Camp Walden.

chapter three: en garde The boys come to blows. (With practice épées, but in their minds, it’s equally as serious.)

chapter four: riposte The boys come to blows. (With words and stitching.)

chapter five: black card The boys come to blows. (With a temporary reversal of gravity, oodles of chocolate sauce, and finally, some semblance of adult interference.)

chapter six: isolation station The boys spend a great deal of their time considering coming to blows. Until suddenly, they don’t want to fight at all anymore.

chapter seven: operation augustus The realization of having an identical twin does quite a bit to spur some out-of-the-box levels of creativity.

chapter eight: let's get down to business! The boys begin to plot. Camp Walden trembles in fear.

chapter nine: to defeat… the family civil divisions of napa and london respectively! The boys plot. The world all over ought to be trembling in fear.

chapter ten: domine dirige nos Remus spends a great deal of time weighing the most British way to say hello. He’s going to have to repress throwing in a what’s all this then, guv’nor? the entire time.

chapter eleven: eureka! Roman spends a great deal of time weighing the most American way to say hello. He thinks he probably shouldn’t come right out of the gate with howdy, y’all!

chapter twelve: a wench in the works This absolutely was not in their multitude of blueprints!

chapter thirteen: riding is magic and friendship is power and love is everything to everyone Roman gets to meet his pony. He should, by all rights, be much more excited about it, but someone had to go and ruin it for him.

chapter fourteen: in which virgil attempts to hold a poker face (and fails miserably) Virgil curses being so observant.

chapter fifteen: all of my change spent on you Remus has a particularly fun run-in. Well. Fun for him.

chapter sixteen: so your sons have swapped places and are in foreign countries This particular subject was not covered in the parenting books.

chapter seventeen: hopped off the plane at lax with a dream of civil reconciliation with my ex-husband Remus plots. Grandfather aids and abets. Janus panics. Logan suffers them all.

chapter eighteen: small world and getting smaller Janus is officially the father of the two most troublesome twins in the galaxy.

chapter nineteen: you got me tripping, stumbling! sinking, fumbling! Patton makes a splash.

chapter twenty: the queen elizabeth the second the second The twins attempt to revive the past. The parents wish to change it.

chapter twenty-one: i said a boom chicka boom! Logan’s swept off his feet. As is Maddox, in an entirely different way.

chapter twenty-two: i said a boom GO TO YOUR ROOM The twins’ plots bear oh-so-satisfying fruit.

chapter twenty-three: where dreams have no end A hello, a goodbye.

chapter twenty-four: the concorde(ance) A goodbye, a hello.

chapter twenty-five: epilogue Two very similar boys help their two very different families assimilate into one.

[vert-horizon]

Chef!Bakugo.... ExecutiveChef!Bakugo....

You're the head sommelier apprentice. This is his first restaurant. He works all the time. Lives above the restaurant. He has a girlfriend, kinda. A boyfriend, maybe. You can't tell. All you know is the same green-haired guy and brown-haired girl are always slinking out the back after morning family meal. He doesn't even like wine. You never ever ever talk to him. You're obsessed with him. He's got scarred hands that shake but he stables them with a deep breath. He plays jazz when he's recipe developing at midnight--you're in the cellar making wine pairings for VIPS. The distant sounds of piano and saxophone are a surprise, but not that much.

Yagi must have forgotten to tell him you're here because. He blinks, looking up from a carefully rolled beet and pistachio crudité, brows staying furrowed, hunched almost even with the pass as he watches you come up the stairs. You've got two Krugs and a Born in your cloth-lined basket. You can't see Yagi anywhere. He goes back to what he's preparing. You place the bottles on the bar. Go through the tasting routine. Leave notes for Yagi next to the VIP list. When you look back at him he's gone behind the saucier station, so all you can see are glimpses of his broad back and the sweat patch in the center of his grey shirt through the shiny metal frames of the cooktop. You don't let yourself think about it too hard. You make him a green tea, loose leaf first flush sencha from the tea menu. He doesn't drink. Kaminari--Garde Commis--says it's because it makes him violent. You don't know what to think about that. So you don't. You bring the tea to the pass. You're not here a lot. Never during shift. The restaurant is dark, the booths and tables blurred shadows. The water feature in the dining room is still going, making the room sound like it's raining. You can see almost every table from here. The sommelier station too--tucked into one of the apses. The maître d stand is barely visible at the front, obscured by the frosted water wall and the load-bearing beams of the place. "You're here late," he says, startling you. He's at your back, not quite touching but close enough to seep heat onto you, peering down at the steaming wabi-sabi mug of tea. He takes it when you offer, lets you shift out from under the breadth of his chest. In turn, he sets down a small plate with a shining gratin, looking down at you from the wobbly rim of the cup. "Savoyard," he says, seemingly unbothered by your silence. The French rolls off his tongue, the same deep voice but softer on all the letters, looser and mobile in his mouth in a way that his usual quick barking orders are not. You swallow.

"Pinot Gris," you suggest, staring at the dish and noticing the rich smell of tallow and garlic. He hums. Takes a spoon from his waist apron and neatly snaps the gratin in half, where it bleeds a little rich broth and exposes layers carefully arranged and color-blocked. He feeds you first. There is a moment, the spoon at your lips, where you look up at him. You try desperately to act normal. This happens, perhaps. This isn't untoward. Or intimate. No. You open your mouth, looking into his eyes, which are the same dark red as usual. No more heat than usual. No more intensity than usual. You chew: potato, gruyere, beef tallow, minced garlic, and king oyster mushrooms. You swallow, mouth salivating, the pinot gris would cut the fat, add a floral lightness. But maybe a citrus note? but if the intention was to add truffle grated on top then perhaps...

He's watching you think as he takes his own bite. His expression doesn't change, still. He puts the spoon down on the pass, sips the tea that's going cold. "'S good," you say finally, feeling his gaze. "Rich." He nods, taking the notepad out of his apron and jotting a few things you can't see. When he looks up his calm expression finally breaks. His eyebrows draw down across his face. His lips go firm, and the words in his mouth are back to heavy weights, dropping down onto your chest as he stares you down. "I'll impress you next time," he says. A decree.

Normal normal normal, you chant to yourself, fighting a reaction. "Yes, chef," you say knowing a dismissal when you hear one.

[myemuisemo]

"Modern Belgian masters" distracted me at the beginning of chapter V of The Hound of the Baskervilles in the most recent Letters from Watson. Doyle's offhand references to literature, pop culture, and politics usually have some substance behind them, and "modern Belgian masters" did not disappoint.

Belgium was a hotbed of artistic controversy! In 1876, a group of "rebellious" artists can formed what became L'Essor as a counterpoint to conservative art institutions. In 1883, L'Essor refused to exhibit James Ensor's De oestereetster on grounds that the painting was too risque (since oysters were considered an aphrodisiac, as well as resembling certain female parts). Rebels against L'Essor formed Les XX, which held its own exhibitions featuring more avant-garde artists, including Monet, Gauguin, Van Gogh, and Seurat.

Since Watson refers to Holmes having "the crudest ideas" about art, I'm guessing Holmes sided with Les XX on using experimental styles and unusual subjects to provoke (and to make political points). Whether the conversation included Ensor's etching Le pisseur, which shows Ensor urinating on a wall of graffiti that declares "Ensor es fou" (Ensor is crazy)... we can only hope.

This is just the beginning of a chapter that contains a lot of sly humor. For instance, when Holmes social-engineers information out of the desk clerk, the guests he asks about are a coal-merchant from Newcastle (so known for its coal that the phrase "like taking coals to Newscastle" meant taking a thing to a place where everyone already has plenty) and a very old lady named Mrs. Oldmore.

Sir Henry Baskerville establishes himself as rough-edged, choleric, and unaware of social nuance by yelling at the German waiter. Being rude to any staff would have been seen as ungentlemanly at the time (as now). There's more to it, though. Germans were the largest immigrant group in London in 1889, and their tradition of professional training made them highly in demand as waiters (source).

And then there's the man with the black beard, who has the wit and gall to tell the cab driver that he's Sherlock Holmes. It seems that there have not been sketches of Holmes in any press! Is he the same man with a black beard as butler Barrymore?

The telegram experiment seems to indicate not, but I'm not sure how probative it is.

The bearded man in the cab had his cab driver make haste to Waterloo Station, which served the London & Southwestern Railway. The L&SR took a northern route around Dartmoor, stopping at Exeter and Plymouth.

Watson and Sir Henry will be leaving from Paddington Station, which served the Great Western Railway. GWR takes the southern route along the Devon coast.

When I look at modern railroad schedules, a trip from London to somewhere around Dartmoor takes about 3.5 hours. Is that within the time frame of Sir Henry and Mortimer walking back to the Northumberland, the wait for Holmes and Dr. Watson to arrive for lunch, the luncheon itself, and finally the rigamarole of sending the telegram? It feels to me like it could be -- and also, when I was looking up old schedules for the short story with the missing train, it seems that sometimes Victorian lines ran faster than modern ones.

How common even were black beards? In latter half of the 19th century, beards were fashionable, though not universal. Dr. Alun Withey's discussion of 19th century beard styles shows an ad for false beards. The style at far right looks about right.

It's possible that someone is framing -- or just confusing the issue by imitating -- the butler Barrymore.

We are assured again that Rodger Baskerville died unmarried, which is starting to strike me as "protesteth too much."

Rodger is the one who went to make his fortune in South America. The largest silver deposits were in Bolivia and Peru, and Agatha Christie's Hastings goes to Argentina, so those are the countries where I started on looking for when civil registration of marriages and births started. The answers are 1940 in Bolivia, 1886 in Peru, and 1886 in Argentina. Peru did not start registering deaths until 1889. Before that time, proving a marriage or a birth meant going to the parish church records.

So the Baskerville family solicitor could not simply send a telegram to a government agency in the capital of Bolivia, nor hire a clerk at a Bolivian law office in the capital city to go check. Someone would have to identify the parish where Rodger would have married, produced an heir, or died -- which might be three different places. And then someone has to see about looking through a handwritten register.

How sure are we really that Rodger is even dead?

Since Holmes is so eager to send Watson along with Sir Henry, I assume he's counting on Watson's credulity to maximize the impact of planned shenanigans. Is this a story about a mysterious dog or a story about a grift?