#mill hill grape

[thebotanicalarcade]

n515_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: Belgique horticole. Liége. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/41933045

#Botany #Horticulture #Periodicals #Plants #Smithsonian Libraries #bhl:page=41933045 #dc:identifier=https://biodiversitylibrary.org/page/41933045 #grape #grapes #fruit #Weintrauben #flickr #raisin #raisins #mill hill grape #vitis

[abstractednotebook]

Slavic Spring Deities (Post no.1)

Vesna and Kresnik (Vesnik)

Vesna

(VEES-nah) “Lady Spring”, “Lady of Spring Resurrection”, or “The White Maiden of May”

There are about 15 other names for this deity, the ones that I will focus on in this post in particular are:

Vesna

Name that means Spring

Derived from the Proto-Indo-European “wésr” meaning Spring.

Zlata Maja

Name means “Golden Mother of Life”

Zlatogorka

Name means “Golden Hill”

Marjetica

Name means “Daisy”

Fun fact! The daisy is also a sacred flower of the Norse goddess Freya!

She is a glowing radiant goddess, often described as having long golden hair. Vesna is also associated with the day that the Swallows return on approximately March 9th called Strinenija. At this point in the year, another goddess named Striga(Mora, or Morana) would be reborn as this Spring Goddess. The dates however, will vary depending on the climatic differences in the various Slavic countries.

She loves music, dance and song; as well as sensual pleasures (intercourse). She bedecks herself with a flower crown, and the land itself with beautiful flowers. She may be found naked dancing in a meadow, happily surrounded by birds and butterflies.

Like all the tales of Slavic Deities, she too can change her form to the animals she most connects with. These animals happen to be white birds, rabbits, or singing larks. These are also her messengers!

Quick Facts!

Does she have a sacred day? Time? Holiday?: Yes! They are Fridays, the entire month of May, and especially May Day!

Sacred Space(s): Literally; any flowery meadow, garden, or hill!

Sacred Animals: Rooks, Robins, Cranes, Mice, Shrews, Cuckoos, Fire-flies and Glow worms.

Sacred Plants: Maple, hawthorn blossoms, and wild roses.

Offering ideas: Honey cakes, flowers, apples, goat’s milk, flower crowns, bird sculptures (especially of her sacred birds).

Kresnik

(kre-ES-nik) “Living Fire”, “Lord of Spring Resurrection”, “The Lord of Life-Giving Light”.

There’s about 11 names for this Deity!

In folktales, Kresnik can transform into a bird, or really any shape he pleases; or become invisible! He rides in a golden carriage across the sky on a winged horse. We see him in Slovene folk tales wielding a “golden axe” and causing lightning.

Like his female counterpart (or in some tales she is his partner or twin), he too has golden hair (and mustache), he is bright and radiantly handsome; however he is sometimes described to have golden hands (sometimes going as far as to have golden wings).

Oh! And, he lives on a golden mountain where there grows an apple tree; but it’s not just any old run of the mill apple tree—it holds the golden apples of immortality! (Are you sick of the word “GOLDEN” yet?)

The firefly is a sacred animal to him, and I’ll let you guess why.

Quick Facts!

Sacred day, time, or holiday: Spring Equinox, May 6th, Summer Solstice (June 21 or 22), and oddly enough, December 6th and the Winter Solstice. In short, the Winter Solstice was considered his “birthday,” and then he was celebrated at the Summer Solstice with bonfires!

Sacred spaces: Hills.

Sacred Animals: Roosters, goats, red cows, bulls, bears, wolves, boars, oxen, dragons, horses, flying horses, dogs with white spots (specifically over their eyes, but any white spots will do just fine), woodpeckers, and lynxes.

Sacred Plants: Apples, yellow “corn marigolds,” grapevines, buckwheat, blackberries, red cranberries, asparagus, wheat, hay, and various other fruits.

Sacred Objects: Spoked “sun wheels”, flutes, fiddle, a golden hand (think Thanos), a winged white horse, a candelabrum, golden axe, or a club.

Offering ideas: Yellow apples, wine, cooked buckwheat, grapes, candles, incense, Frankincense, wheat sheaves, cranberries.

END POST

P.S: If you have any questions, always remember to ask them!! If I personally cannot answer it, I'll find sources that could help you out!

#slavic folklore #slavic mythology #slavic paganism #rodnovery #witchcraft community #witchcraft #witchblr #pagan #witch community #witch #pagan witch #paganism #pagans of tumblr #paganblr #witches #baby witch #beginner witch #eclectic witch #tarot witch #offerings #deity work #polytheist

[providencepeakrp]

END-OF-THE-SUMMER BONFIRE BASH

It’s a tradition that’s carried through the beginning of time, over many decades, finding it’s way into the year of 2022. The host of the annual end of the summer celebration has always been a mystery, the rumors in the mill ranging anywhere and everywhere from Chief of Police Jordan Walker hosting himself to Victoria Carlyle planning the entire event just to snag the biggest scoop of drama that happens. While the host has never been confirmed nor have any of the theories been denied, it doesn’t stop the adults of Providence Peak from pregaming with wine and distllery tastings and meandering their way around the corn maze during the warm day and drinking around the bonfire to avoid the newfound chill of the night.

SCHEDULE OF EVENTS

Winery, Distillery, and Cocktail Tastings - Free tastings provided by several local businesses will begin promptly at noon on the day of the bonefire. Check in at the roped off entrance and with a $20 ticket receive a tasting glass and access to the free tastings and entrance to the corn maze - enter if you dare!

The following local wineries, distilleries, and bars will be offering tasings during this time:

Crane Brothers - Expect in-house distilled flavors such as British Blackberry Gin, Warm Spiced Apple, and Cranberry and Cinnamon to be among their classic flavors and be sure to pick up a bottle of Fireball Spiced Whiskey or Hair of the Dog while you’re there!

Holy Spirits - Prepare to be brought to your knees by the unique bar’s autumnal offerings including flavors of sweet apple, a seasonal pumpkin, and a cinnamon that will be sure to spice up anyone’s night.

The Grape Escape - Nothing is more perfect on a breezy fall afternoon than the spice of the winery’s famous warm pumpkin wine or the sweet crisp of their apple wine, bother offered during the tasting and as a full bottle available for purchase.

The Jagged Yard - A city staple, the bar is offering tastes of their specialty cocktails including a toasty s’mores based Campfire cocktail and a Fireball infused Cider Slush.

Cloud Wine - As a new winery in town, Cloud Wine is offering only their best to impress the city of Providence Peak. Between their specialty Autumn Harvest, a robust red cranberry fruit wine, and Colorado Pines, a spicy twist on a traditional white, they’ll be sure to knock the socks off of anyone who comes out to taste.

Bonfire Bash - After finding their way out of the corn maze, the city of Providence Peak is invited to a raging bonfire on one of the city’s lesser-known lakes in Bighorn Hills where all alcoholic beverages will be BYOB (or W if you’re feeling a bit fancy and picked up a bottle of local reserves at the tastings). Located near the bonfire will be QR codes for local Uber drivers and numbers for taxis and the local police department for anyone who finds themselves in need of a ride home.

OOC EVENT DETAILS

This event will be kicking off Wednesday, September 28th at 12pm EST. It will run until Friday, October 7th at Midnight, 12am EST. No new starters should be posted after this time, but members may take the next few days to wrap up their threads.

Previous threads do not have to be paused and may be continued.

Activity checks and acceptances will be held as usual.

Dress is casual and temperature is expected to be in the low 80s during the day and 60s at night. A light jacket or thick flannel is recommended.

Have fun and be sure to relax and enjoy this event! Please tag all event related posts with providence.event and be sure to check the starter blog for open event starters.

#providence.event #city rp #oc rp #town rp

[yatescountyhistorycenter]

'In the summer ... a veritable Eden'

By Jonathan Monfiletto

The town of Milo in Yates County might be the location of the village of Penn Yan, but the towns of Jerusalem and Middlesex – both cited as having been incorporated in 1789 – are where the Pennsylvanians and the Yankees settled when they first traversed across the boundary set forth by the Proclamation of 1763. Both towns had been part of the larger district of Canandaigua when Ontario County itself was a larger county; even Jerusalem was once a larger town, stretching from its current borders toward Seneca Lake and encompassing the modern towns of Benton, Milo, and Torrey.

And even the town of Middlesex was once a larger town, comprising the modern town of Potter along with its current territory. The origins of the town of Jerusalem lie within its name, as the Society of Universal Friends – the Yankees who gathered Pennsylvanians along their journey – sought to establish the New Jerusalem for their community in a place then untouched by white European civilization. But this article is really about the town of Middlesex, and its origin is rather similar to its cousin township – particularly that many of its early settlers were followers of the Public Universal Friend.

Through a deed dated July 15, 1789, Arnold Potter – the Potter family having been prominent followers of the Friend and having built the home known as the Potter Mansion – purchased from Thomas Maxwell township eight of the second range and township eight of the third range entities that now include the modern towns of Middlesex and Potter and contain 42,230 acres of land. There was some question about the validity of this purchase, so about a decade later Potter settled a similar claim with Oliver Phelps for $10,000 – though it is said Potter never actually paid that amount, which comes to a little more than $180,000 today.

Though the town’s official name was Augusta, it was known almost exclusively as Potterstown in honor of its founder. How it got its official name is unclear, but apparently a town to the east in Oneida County already had the same name (and a reason behind that name), so the town became Middlesex in 1808 after the county in Massachusetts where many of its early settlers had come from. In 1832, the eastern half of the town split off as its own town, Potter, and with a few border changes here and there the situation has remained the same ever since. Now back to the town of Middlesex.

Throughout its history, Middlesex has been known both as a remote town – its center being the furthest from the county seat of Penn Yan than any other town in Yates County – and a wealthy town, in terms of both its vibrant grape growing industry and its scenic natural landscape. West River, described as a small stream even though it is termed a river, cuts the town in half diagonally from the northeast corner and divides the town’s two main ridges. On the east is, appropriately, East Hill; Boat Brook, another small stream, divides the western ridge into Bare Hill to the north and South Hill. Boat Brook runs toward Canandaigua Lake, which constitutes Middlesex’s western border, through a valley aptly called Vine Valley. Vine Valley has been called “a veritable Eden,” and perhaps this moniker fits all of the Middlesex terrain.

Middlesex was also described by an early town supervisor as so poor that “nothing but eagles and angels could subsist there,” yet it went on to become a thriving industrial, agricultural, commercial, and social area. An article written a few years after the turn of the 20th century indicates Middlesex then had a population of almost 1,200 people spread across 74 dwellings; the town then held three blacksmith shops, one hotel, six stores, one meat market, one evaporator, and one combined feed mill and beanery as well as two churches among its various vineyards and farms for crops and animals. Indeed, Middlesex came late to the church planting game compared to the county’s other towns, largely due to its nature as a haven for members of the Society of Universal Friends. It didn’t see its first organized religion, other than the Friends, until the Methodists formed their class in 1820. The first church building went up in 1836 at Overacker’s Corners.

And while Middlesex wasn’t the site of the first vineyard in Yates County (that honor goes to the town of Benton), “it is one of the most fertile and productive districts, especially in the staples, fruit and grapes, in the whole Genesee Country,” as Lewis Cass Aldrich wrote in his 1892 history of Yates County. In a 1925 newspaper article, Lewis Cass Williams (apparently Michigan hero Lewis Cass was a popular namesake) stated, “A large number of carloads are shipped each season,” as Middlesex is “largely engaged in the growing of grapes.” “For years the production of grapes and fruits has been far more pleasant and agreeable to the land owner, and what is still better, more profitable (than other forms of agriculture),” Aldrich added, noting farmers – the main occupation of the town at that point in time – were turning away from growing crops and raising animals toward planting vineyards.

By 1925, as Williams captured it, Middlesex also hosted two auto repair shops, two department stores, and a firm selling groceries, boots, shoes, and farm implements among its commercial interests. Indeed, as Williams asserted, “We could mention many more good things about our town. … Our people are generally contented and happy. … If anyone who reads this article is thinking of changing his location, we think he would like it in Middlesex.”

Even as the commercial district of Middlesex Center waned in the 1970s, that sentiment seemed to remain among the residents of the town. In a newspaper article from the time period, those interviewed agreed on the friendly and neighborly character of Middlesex as well as its beautiful and peaceful nature.

#historyblog #history #museum #archives #american history #us history #newyork #local history #yatescounty #middlesexny

[somediyprojects]

Mirabilia Designs #169: Princess Elliana stitched by Jordan Johnson aka tattooed_stitcher. Pattern designed by Nora Corbett.

“8th finish of 2023! And it’s a big one! Started Elliana 2 years ago and she’s now my second Mira finish! So proud of this one! Princess Elliana #mirabilia 32 ct iced grapes undertheseafabrics Called for Dmc and mill hill beads.”

#cross stitch #inspo #x #mirabilia designs #nora corbett

[ledenews]

#FatMeanEateth #flamingcheese #FoodPorn #Greek #greekcuisine #gyro #TheoYiannis #tiropita #Weirton

[dd20century]

Richard Day: The Art Director who Brought Reality to Classic Films

Artist and designer Richard Day won seven Academy Awards for art direction and was nominated for his work on thirteen other films. At one time Day was the highest-paid art director in Hollywood. (1) “He worked on 265 films between 1923 and 1970”(2). Day also served in both World War I for Canada and in World War II serving the United States. Yet today, Richard Day is largely forgotten.

Richard Day’s Life Prior to Hollywood

Richard Welsted Day was born on May 9, 1896 in Victoria, British Columbia to Patience Day and Robert Scott. Scott “was an architect who began his career in South Africa” (1). Due to a physical condition young Richard was tutored at home and never had a formal education. Early on he loved to read and displayed “a natural talent for drawing”(3). Day served in World War I as “a captain in the Canadian Expeditionary Force” (1). He met his wife during the war while serving in London. (1) The couple married in 1918 and would eventually have six children. (4)

Richard Day inspecting a model with young actress Ingrid Bergman (c. 1935). Photographer unknown. Image source.

Day Begins His Career in Hollywood

After the war ended Day returned to Canada to establish himself as a commercial artist. At his father’s suggestion, Day traveled to Hollywood in 1920 to find work in the film industry. (1) Thereafter a chance encounter with director Erich von Stroheim, Day was hired as art director on von Stroheim’s 1922 production of FOOLISH WIVES. “Day served as art director on all of von Stroheim's [silent] films thereafter” including THE MERRY WIDOW (1925) and von Stroheim's masterwork GREED (1925) (4). In addition to von Stroheim, Day also worked for director Tod Browning on the films THE UNKNOWN (1927), THE SHOW (1927), WEST OF ZANZIBAR (1928), and THE THIRTEENTH CHAIR (1929). Day served as art director on several notable silent films: THE STUDENT PRINCE IN HEIDELBERG (1927), LAUGH CLOWN LAUGH (1928), OUR DANCING DAUGHTERS (1928), and ROSE MARIE (1928) (4).

In 1929 Day parted with von Stroheim and MGM, the studio where the two had been working, and began working for independent producer Samuel Goldwyn. “He served as Goldwyn's principal art director throughout most of the 1930s. During that time, he won Academy Awards for his production design for THE DARK ANGEL (1935) and DODSWORTH (1936)” (1). According to legend Day’s designs for the slum in the iconic film, DEAD END (1937) were so realistic and seedy that Goldwyn was outraged that “his money couldn't have been used to build a better slum (1)”! “In 1935, Day was the highest-paid art director in Hollywood” (3).

Richard Day, Dodsworth's Office Set from DODSWORTH (1936), Director William Wyler. Image source.

Richard Day’s Attention to Detail

Throughout his career Day excelled in portraying the harsh realities of life through his gritty set designs in films such as GRAPES OF WRATH (1940), A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE (1951), and ON THE WATERFRONT (1954) (5). John Ford’s production of HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY (1941) was originally slated to be shot on location in Wales, but because of World War II, the film was forced to be shot stateside. Day along with Nathan Juran “won an Academy Award for their efforts in creating a [mining] community” (5) in Wales in the hills of Malibu, California on the Fox Ranch. (5)

Richard Day, Welsh Mill Town set from HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY (1941), Directed by John Ford. Image source.

Day’s art direction was, however, incredibly versatile; his “films were lush with details.”(4) Sets Day created for the film DODSWORTH (1936) range from the modern aesthetic of Mr. Dodsworth’s corporate office to elegant European interiors, a luxury steamship stateroom, and include “a lavish Italian Villa” (5). During the 1930s Day even found time to produce lithographs, many inspired by the landscapes of Mexico (4). In 1941 Day’s photograph “Vacation in Tombstone, Arizona” was shown in “Image of Freedom” an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, along with other artists including Charles Sheeler and André Kertész (2).

Richard Day, Capilla No. 2, Lithograph (1930). Image source.

Richard Day's Service in World War II In 1942 the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences awarded separate awards for color and black and white productions. That year Richard Day won Academy Awards in both categories: MY GAL SAL (Cummings) in the color category and THIS ABOVE ALL (Livak) in the black and white category.

After the United States entered World War II, Day became a US citizen in order to serve in the Marines (1). During his service Day used his artistic skills Day to “ develop camouflage designs and relief mapping techniques” (1). Day did not serve as art director on any films in 1944 or 1945, (4) but he did serve as a technical advisor on the Danny Kaye comedy UP IN ARMS (1944).

After the war Day received Oscar nominations for his work on THE RAZOR’S EDGE (1946) and JOAN OF ARC (1948). Other films he served as art director on in the late 1940s include MIRACLE ON 34TH STREET (1947), MOTHER WORE TIGHTS (1947), and THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR (1947).

Richard Day, Tibetan Temple set from THE RAZOR'S EDGE (1941), Director Edmund Goulding. Image source.

Day Works with a New Crop of Directors in the 1950s

“In the 1950s the ‘new breed’ of…directors found Day's work well suited to their needs. Richard Day could capture the brutal snap and underlying sensitivity dominating the works of such directors as Elia Kazan (4)”. Day would win his final Academy Awards for art directions on Kazan’s iconic films A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE (1951) and ON THE WATERFRONT (1954).

Richard Day, New Orleans courtyard set for A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE (1951), Director Elia Kazan. Image source.

Day did, however, continue to work with legendary directors such as King Vidor on SOLOMON AND SHEBA (1959), Otto Preminger on EXODUS (1960), John Ford on CHEYENNE AUTUMN (1964), and on George Stevens’s THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD (1965).

TORA! TORA! TORA!

Richard Day continued working until he was 74 years old with his final film the 1970 World War II blockbuster TORA! TORA! TORA! In All Movie Guide, Hal Erickson describes the film as “a painstakingly accurate restaging of the Pearl Harbor attack, for which 20th Century Fox spent more money than the Japanese had on the original attack in 1941” (6). Day’s efforts in the film earned him his final Oscar nomination.

Richard Day’s Legacy

Richard Day’s award-winning Welsh Village set for HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY which had been used for several other films survived until 1962, when “it was bulldozed along with the rest of the [Twentieth Century Fox] studio backlot” (6). Day died on May 23, 1972 in Hollywood, California over 50 years after his father suggested he go to there to try his fortune (1).

In 2005 Richard Day was among the first class of inductees into the Art Directors Guild Hall of Fame. (7) Day’s papers are housed at the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences Library. In a career that spanned more than a half-century Day’s attention to detail, realistic set designs, and ability to interpret film characters through the environments they inhabit earned him numerous awards and continue to influence contemporary film production design.

References

Wikipedia, (18 July, 2022). Richard Day (art director) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Day_(art_director)

Museum of Modern Art, (n.d.). Richard Day. https://www.moma.org/artists/1418

Annex Galleries, (n.d.). Richard Day. https://www.annexgalleries.com/artists/biography/531/Day/Richard

Lee, E. C., (n.d.). Richard Day. http://www.filmreference.com/Writers-and-Production-Artists-Ch-De/Day-Richard.html#ixzz7dwqYE1B4

Whitlock, C. (2010). Designs on Film: A Century of Hollywood Art Direction. It Books.

Erickson, H. , (26 November, 2007). Richard Day, New York Times Archives. https://web.archive.org/web/20071126135712/http://movies.nytimes.com/person/86980/Richard-Day

Wikipedia (29 July, 2022). Art Directors Guild Hall of Fame. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Art_Directors_Guild_Hall_of_Fame

#film #production design #Richard Day

[libidomechanica]

He venture hills a

 Angels affect of your  daunce to such a dainty  rinde? He venture hills a  thousand yet of the  Mill waste or ruining?  Was neither  returned with  a steel cable spanning  drenchd it quitted else— the  shepherds swayne, and labyrinth  you come a text our  sights more that purposeth;  since all my time, to  sharks, whose her monster, to  take it plainly, so I  could never markd the hind- part in his honey-fly  he setting by heart and nettle,  stirless, from thine own in  other knew, or I  am Adrienne aloof,  the black, sustaind of  gently the trump and  Christabel, the room the  palfreys foam: and, next  they, as pitying more,  let me die! His spirits,  some some sweet virgins bene ath a shark and in worn  cheek a drouth, by the  lever. Unheard a  noiseless grain thy sweet cement,  and pain, since Im sure  victorian not been  grieve, where Porphyro; when  shift          aint witness, pretty,  trifling streams: and the  mere type, no forced moment cheek, and  pale: Pleasure on my breath,  and left poor soul! they some said:  the Barons passingly  thought that guides the  viewed think on that I 

kept this, that finer,  simple tale of them till  nights himself: then she wanton  play, and set thee nearer  because  to be an hour  or half sate up, though  before each forthwith blue  vein wanderd and then a  Grain of all thee releases  its pearly valet pack of  grapes, their necks from hue to  sweariness: some Christabel  And what heavens—Old  Love did my half a harmonies  due to interwove  their delicate pistols, 

dirk,— they courtly accents on  me, nor can be hopd my  mist and burn. My tendency  raigne, edward, namd for whom  for us, as  if a morals, never  it a good Hobbinoll,  record some  hoisted of late heat  and like nectar ran in  colour with forth from  flowers of Jerusalem,  the delicate my 

plague there gan warm with  rewards that floating  this our married  back to Scylla and  she rose up the nameless  as a dream he melancholy  corner of happiness,  no, not you soarer, your  belly, some rocks that floated  to the 

day in easy grace and  for Scio. Its deep glen;  there when Salámán 

then! Alone they hearts blown sleep one  of the cookd for  you. A clamourd death.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #219 texts

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Thursday 13 February 1840

8 ¼

12 40/..

breakfast at 9 50/.. – before and since till now 10 50/.. wrote all but the 1st 18 lines of yesterday – very fine morning R13 ½° now at 10 50/.. a.m. tea and coffee excellent – slices of smoked bologna sausage – good – ready the instant called for – little cakes on the tray as last night – slept comfortably – a servant gone off to Macarief [Makar’evo] to have the convent open for us – no! the man, apparently a sort of under-steward, drove off in a Kibtika and pair just before (at the same time with) us, and went about with us everywhere – R-29° when we set out at 11 25/..

they call it 5 versts across the river to Macarief [Makar’evo] – did not go direct across – drove along a narrow stream but coasting an island for some distance till we turned the point of the island (behind which a little fleet of vessels frozen up) and had the picturesque monastery full in view – wall round, and round towards at the corners – picturesque square tower gateway in the  middle between 2 round towers in the front towards us – and 2 churches with each their 5 domes seem behind the gateway, and a tall handsome pointed clocher – the wooden town, the natural weathered wood – no paint or wash to brighten it up .:. looks old, and unfrequented – at the monastery in ½ hour at 11 55/.. – a monk in readiness – shewed us first the winter church – au 1er. (magazines of flour etc. below) low and warm – shewed us the rich robes de prête – and 2 archimandite caps thick with pearls and a few precious stones – the more valuable worth 20,000/. – then to the summer lofty walls of the interior entirely covered with fresco painting that wants renewing – enormous pillars round up to the top all covered with painting – 4 different chapels at the bottom of each room with gilt columns and baldaquins rich but done about 40 years ago and too modern for the rest of the church – this church shews one that the principal dome and the 2 little domes at the entrance end light the church – the 2 domes at the other end light the part behind the Iconostase which generally goes up to the top close under the edge of the great dome – then to the chapel of St. Macarief [Makar’evo] – light, inside all painted over as usual – pretty chapel – several pictures representing the history of this saint bron at Nijeni Novgorod [Nižnij Novgorod] – then looked about – the great gateway mentioned above has a little church or chapel over it – saw one of the cells of the monks – a small strip of a room with a less one alongside that held his bed – a stove to heat each – the archimandaite abbot could only speak Russian .:. sent compliments and did not see him – an hour there and off at 12 55/.. A- starved drove as near the old site of the fair as the much snow would let us – a large handsome looking building with heptastyle or octostyle portico and pediment, and a large pile of other building now [?] no use of standing in the middle of what used to be surrounded with Q.S. of wood erections – the town a mere unpainted village – not a good house to be seen in it – drove right across the magnificent river – 1 verst broad just opposite to Macarief [Makar’ev], and 10v. when debordé – several islands covered with salley bushes – in ¾ hour (at 12 40/..) alighted at the handsome church of the Assumption finished a year ago built by the prince of Georgia – much handsome gilding of columns and handsome grape-pattern prestole doors all done by the princes’ people here – all done by them except the painting done at Moscow of the faces etc. of the pictures – very pretty church a tetrastyle portico and pediment at each of the 4 (I think) fronts – then to the fabrique of Eau de vie at 2 5/.. – make 500 hogsheads a year – besides the 14 mills along the ridge of the hill seen from the river there are 30 or 40 more mills on the platform of this

SH:7/ML/E/24/00014

high ground – went down into a little basin-like hollow to the fabrique – they work up 40 sacks of farine de seigle par jour, and a sack at a rough guess judging from what they said would = at least 5 bushels – they said afterwards they made 25 hogsheads a day i.e. 25 Hogsheads from 40 sacks of flour – different qualities of brandy (Vodki) from ./60 per bottle to 4/. (about 1 quart bottle – at least 8 of these bottles = 1 vedro and 3 vedros = 1 case, and not less than a case sold here) – I tasted some darkish coloured good mild brandy at 2/50 per bottle and tasted afterwards some of the white hot fiery spirit from the turyaux as it ran from the still - such a thick fog in the place, could see nothing – all the sides of the wood walls within and everything covered not with flour, but with snow – singular appearance – the heat of the fabrique and R30° of cold without produced this fog and snow within – great quantity of absinthe (Artemisia) hanging up in bundles from the beams of the roof in one of the places – use this to make what George called bitter brandy – omitted to ask how many people employed – but saw ½ dozen women washing bottles (1/2 as well as 1 quart bottles) and I should think 20 or 30 men in all – they said the hot stuff I saw in troughs dehors and looking thick and yellowish was given to the cows and horses, very fond of its and became fat upon it – I could not see what power turned the great wheel that works the farine with the water in the [?] trough into which it is poured from a sort of hopper – I saw them light a large sort  of oven or furnace – is it steam that turns the wheel? I saw no horses anywhere – but probably perhaps horses are employed – difficult to get information thro’ George – then to a machine making shop the prince bought of count de Broglie who married a princess Troubetskoi disagreed with and left him – returned to France and sold his fabrique – saw nothing worth going to see there – a few wheels, common turn-wheels – and a large wheel like Jacksons’ for turning machinery to make cutlery they said – A- so cold she began to cry .:. hurried home and came in at 3 20/.. then dinner in 10 minutes or less, and over at 4 – found porter, port and 2 white wines on the table and they brought Madeira tasted none of them – and then they brought a ½ bottle Rhine wine excellent Stemberger from Cornill Francfort – then they brought Bishoff (rather too much of the Seville orange in it) then Malaga (refused) then the maître d’hotel filled me a glass (A- refused)

of excellent champagne, which, as everyone does in Russia, I let stand till the last, and till it [upness] was gone down then coffee – we had had soup and pâtés – a joint (what?) of veal with a very thin feuille of ham inserted all under the skin! good – then côtolettes de veau – then a rôti of game gelinottes excellent and apparently small squarry pieces of veal – then a sort of little round savoy biscuit 2 with preserved whole white currants between – then preserved white raspberries and preserved thin slices of lemon, all excellent – then had George and the courier settling what to do – determined to stay all night here, and be off at 6 (6 ½) in the morning after a cup of tea at 6 – the courier said that in consequence of (something) horses since Nijeni [Nižnij] and forwards will be ./6 each per v. instead of ./5. How is this? wrote out marche route for tomorrow – the one I had and paid 5/. for the P.O. not right for winter and going on the river! – A- queer and starved and out of sorts  had to set get her right sat some time idle till candles at 6 – and tea at 7 – before and after wrote note to be left with maître d’hotel tomorrow morning of thanks etc. “à monsieur Le prince George de Georgie” and settled accounts and had Donna, and wrote the whole of today till now 11 ¾ p.m. ought to have been in bed – very fine clear cold day – R14° on my table as I sit writing now at 11 ¾ p.m. – our room about 9x7 yards 2 stoves and 2 doors, and one window in 3 divisions (about 15sq. feel of glass) and room perhaps 9ft. high – but being so large, it looks low – very comfortable here – we have about 6 menservants in attendance – 3 sofas, 10 arm and 5 smaller chairs – 2 tables and one little commode, and one out of a nest of tables, and one looking glass nearly 3ft. by 18in. of mirror and near it the little pénate (household image) – a brick house of no great pretension outside – we have seen no room but this and our anteroom leading to it – but Grâce au prince George de Georgie for all our comfort and good doings -

[sciatu]

SICILIA un mare di vino - Promo

Sicilian Wine : Terre dei Peloritani - Gonfie di acqua rubata al mare, nuvole basse scivolano sulla punta dei colli, portando un grigiore diffuso e un sentore di umido. Il vento che le spinge, scuote gli alberi iniziando a spogliarli e sferza i tralici della vigna con le grandi foglie che lente rattrappiscono tra i filari vuoti di uva. Nel silenzio perlaceo del mattino, dove anche gli stormi inquieti si nascondono in attesa della pioggia, solo dalle vecchie botti, viene il cantico della vita nuova, il fermentare continuo, l’inarrestabile schiumeggiare che ribolle instancabile tra le doghe ingrigite dal tempo. In questa parte dell’isola, la prima punta vicina alle Calabrie, il vento domina i monti, ne ruba la calura, ne disseta l’arsura, scivola instancabile tra filari di limoni, i boschi dei santi ulivi, gli antichi gelsi e ruba il profumo selvatico a felci e ginestre, fermandosi solo tra i tralci dell’uva e suoi grappoli densi, gonfi, gravidi di zucchero. Qui, in questa punta montuosa dai grandi boschi, l’uva cresce tra mare e colline, ora bruciata dal fuoco estiva, ora persa sulle scarpate dei monti, sul limitare dei burroni o coltivata lungo di essi, ora a combattere con gli incendi ora a resistere al maestrale. L’uva che nasce ha in se il ricordo del fuoco, il respiro del vento, l’urlo del mare in inverno e come molte cose qui in Sicilia, ha mille anime ed un solo sangue. I vini che da essa nascono hanno una dolcezza intensa un aroma profondo. Sanno essere semplici ed eccezionali, come gli uomini che li creano. Sono i vini del vento marino, dei monti che guardano il sole e del vento che li accarezza. Sono i vini della festa e del silenzio, che della durezza del loro fiorire e crescere sanno rendere l’amore assoluto che la vite ha per la vita.

Swollen with water stolen from the sea, low clouds slide over the top of the hills, bringing a diffused grayness and a hint of damp. The wind that pushes them, shakes the trees starting to strip them and whips the vine trellis with the large leaves that slowly shrink between the empty rows of grapes. In the pearly silence of the morning, where even the restless flocks hide waiting for the rain, the canticle of new life comes only from the old barrels, the continuous fermenting, the unstoppable foaming that tirelessly simmers among the staves grayed by time. In this part of the island, the first point close to Calabria, the wind dominates the mountains, steals the heat, quenches their thirst, tirelessly glides between rows of lemons, the woods of the holy olive trees, the ancient mulberry trees and steals the wild scent of ferns and brooms, stopping only between the grape shoots and its dense, swollen, sugar-laden clusters. Here, in this mountainous point with large forests, grapes grow between sea and hills, now burnt by the summer fire, now lost on the slopes of the mountains, on the edge of ravines or cultivated along them, now fighting with fires now at resist the mistral. The grape that is born has within it the memory of fire, the breath of the wind, the scream of the sea in winter and like many things here in Sicily, it has a thousand souls and only one blood. The wines that are born from it have an intense sweetness and a deep aroma. They know how to be simple and exceptional, like the men who create them. They are the wines of the sea wind, of the mountains that look at the sun and of the wind that caresses them. They are the wines of celebration and silence, which, thanks to the hardness of their flowering and growing, are able to render the absolute love that the vine has for life.

#Sciatu #Sicilian wine #vinu sicilianu

[stainandscribble]

Moulin Rouge Sous le Ciel Bleu

 Red Mill under the Blue Sky

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun/Reader (female)

Genre: Moulin Rouge; rich!Baekhyun; 1920′s!Baekhyun; angst; fluff

Warning: mention of mature situations ;) 

Summary: Baekhyun never thought he would find love through the infamous Moulin Rouge, or that it would be the one place he could love you freely without the judging eyes of the upper classes. Love is not easy in 1920s Paris, but is love easy anywhere? There is only one thing you know, you love Baekhyun hopelessly and irrevocably, and he loves you just the same.

A/N: requested by the lovely, sweetest @bbyunz​, based on moulin rouge and Baekhyun’s solo Bungee. I hope I fulfilled your expectations. 

Word Count: 4154

In the Jardin de Paris, at the bottom of the hill at Montmartre neighbourhood, a bright red mill stood out in between the other buildings, demanding attention with its vibrant colour and eccentric exterior. Above the entrance to the garish establishment, large metal letters spelt out its name, Moulin Rouge. The Red Mill, for it was exactly what the building looked like. It certainly drew attention to itself, and Monsieur Byun didn’t doubt that was the intention of its owners. Moulin Rouge had become infamous in Paris, and Baekhyun didn’t doubt that was also the case for the rest of France too. The bright scarlet façade clashed with the crisp blue of the sky above it, making the building stand out even more during clear days like today. Looking at the red mill, Baekhyun would not have guessed that this was the building the city of love called The Bastion of Pleasures. It didn’t look pleasing to the eye, but it was a novelty, and it was the mill at the entrance that was one of the reasons for the establishment’s notoriety. That, and the women employed in the cabaret.

Young Monsieur Byun, that was what people called Byun Baekhyun, heir to an orient trading business and an expert in oriental imports. He had been sent to France by his father a year short of attending university to learn the French language and now, years later he was attending the prestigious Sorbonne, studying for a degree in Orientalism. He had become an expert to the Parisian socialites, helping them choose authentic China and silk fabrics, among many other goods, all from his family's import business of course.

But behind the posh and rich heir, he had become fascinated by the revolution, a movement started in the middle of the last century, a step towards freedoms and liberties that he had never known in his own home of Joseon.

That was how he ended up at the cabaret Moulin Rouge. And Baekhyun loved it. The thrill of doing something that in his own country would be uncalled for was exhilarating. Some days, he wished he was an artist or a poet. It was not that he could do neither, of course, he was excellent at both thanks to his extensive education. Yet, he wished sometimes that he could live off of the fortune he had and do as he wished, writing poetry, painting watercolours on rice paper and attending the cabaret.

Most importantly, in those senseless daydreams, he could love you freely.

You had met when he had come to consult you about some of the costumes you were making for a Moulin Rouge play. The settings were meant to be inspired by the Orient, it was meant to be exciting, exotic and beautiful all at the same time, and you needed help with the designs. As an orientalist, Young Monsieur Byun had visited you in your seamstress room. He was in awe of the detail you had put into the costumes and was glad to help you perfect the designs. Weeks later, he was back in your workrooms, inspecting the finished product, as well as the set of the music hall stage. Your rooms were not far from the Moulin Rouge, and so on his way back he visited you and your fellow seamstresses. He had liked your costumes and had given a good word on your behalf to the owners.

That was how you met and then proceeded to keep on meeting, each one ending with you smiling a bit brighter, his smile cheekier and cheekier.

----- 

Monsieur Byun often thought that it would have been easy; falling in love with one of the dancers. However, Monsieur Byun was not a man who took the easy way. He had remained unmoved by the dancers’ charm, flirtatious nature and womanly shape. He was an orientalist, coming to Paris from Joseon, and he had no desire for the boisterous women of the cabaret, notorious for their cancan.

Instead, he had taken the hard way. He fell in love with you.

It was a hopeless love. Hopeless in more than one way; because not only had he fallen for you head over heels, irrevocably and explicitly, but also because there was no future in which he could continue to do so. Your love was fleeting, not because the feelings disappeared, but because in this world, neither in France nor Joseon, could you love each other freely. It was a secret romance. Something forbidden.

A hopeless love.

You had always known it would not last, but nothing lasts and so you loved him the same way he loved you.

A mere seamstress could never marry him. He was classes above you, not to mention that he had no doubts his father had already chosen a merchant's daughter for him, one that was from Joseon, just like him, just like his father wanted.

Tonight though, he could spend in your arms, naked and wrapped in the soft sheets of his bed with you listening to his heartbeat while his long fingers combed through your hair.

It was a peaceful night. He had sneaked you into one of his smaller residences, where no servants could spy on the two of you. You had drunk dry red wine and enjoyed a baguette along with some camembert and red grapes. It had been a simple meal by his standards, but it was everything the two of you could have wanted tonight. 

In the middle of balmy summer, with the sun shining down in all its glory, warming you up and making all proper ladies sweat under their clothes, you had been kept busy by the constant repairs of Moulin Rouge costumes, as well as other work sent to you by the upper and middle-class women. You didn’t complain. it was good work, and it was always extra money- something you could never have too much of. 

Baekhyun did all the complaining for you, about how you didn’t have time for him, about how he was feeling neglected; about how you were too pretty to spend the days in a workroom rather than in the garden outside, basking in the sun and undoubtedly keeping him company.  

Finally, your work was done, and you had decided to take the day off and now, at the end of the day spent in Baekhyun’s arms, you were falling asleep in his arms, his light breathing felt like a summer breeze in your hair, and his golden skin was warm against yours. The body heat and the warm night had made it impossible to sleep under a duvet, and so you had opted for sleeping under a thin linen sheet. 

“Mon plus cher amour,” He had whispered into the air, my dearest love, he called you. and through the thin veil of sleep, you had responded to his calling, turning in his arms so that you could face him, your lips brushing against his as he spoke, the soft touch sending shivers down Baekhyun’s spine.

“Mon cherie?” You had asked, planting a cheeky kiss on his pouty lips.

“I do not wish to live without you.” He spoke, eyes gazing into yours with such tenderness you were unsure a mortal man could be filled with this much love. Surely, such deep feeling was reserved for a thing more holy than you; for women whose beauty lived on as legend, a kind of beauty captured by poems and songs and prayers. Not you; mortal, fragile, ordinary.

“Don’t say such things.” You spoke, the softness in your voice mimicking the tenderness in Baekhyun’s eyes. His breath hitched, and you could feel the rattling of his heart against your chest, its steady beat matching the rhythm of your own heart.

“They make me love you more.” You whispered, and your lover smiled at your words, his long fingers moving to grab your hand gently, before he brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly, his lips silky like rosebuds, flushed a deep pink as blood flowed through him, red and robust. His deep brown eyes didn’t leave yours for a second.

Hopelessly, you loved him.

------

The days without him came and went, and finally, after all work was complete, Baekhyun had decided to take you to the premiere of the new cabaret show, the one you had spent months sowing costumes for, and now he would allow you the pleasure of seeing the fruit of your labours, and you had a feeling it would be sweet. 

Tonight, he had taken you to the cabaret. The moulin rouge was packed with patrons, their cacophonous chatter before the show was like the beginning of a birdsong, somewhere deep in the rainforest, their words, not always French, sounded around the room like a flock of tropical songbirds, unorganised but joyous. You sat at a table for two, he dressed in a fine black suit, you in your best dress, your hair pinned up in a fashionable style you have seen many of your clients wear. When you looked in the mirror before you left the house, you could barely believe the woman in the reflection staring back at you was yourself. You wondered if Baekhyun had always though you this beautiful.

“You are exquisite. Never forget that, mon amour.” He leaned in to whisper into your ears, the dim light glowing golden against his skin, making the curve of his nose and the plushness of his lips even more refined, even more tempting. Your heart skipped a beat against your will. Soon after, the flock went silent, and you were left only with the melody of the orchestra, as the dancers entered the stage. Baekhyun sat in his chair, completely at ease as he sipped on champagne.

The show was exquisite, but no one expected anything less from the great Moulin Rouge. The dancers moved about on the stage in practised harmony. even their more chaotic routines were executed with utter grace and precision. Some dresses were shorter than others, some more scandalous. you had spared no skill stitching in feathers and sequins. Each costume was tailored, each thread perfectly in place, ever colour carefully selected.

“Something like this would never be allowed where I’m from.” Baekhyun whispered into your ear. Even without looking at him, you could feel that his eyes fell on the dancers and his lips turned into a smirk against your ears. You knew he was not speaking just about the cabaret.

“I’m glad it is allowed here.” He whispered when you didn’t respond, and a pleasant shiver went down your spine.

“They look pretty.” You said instead, eyes never leaving the stage. The dancers' span, their skirts twirling with them, exposing more of their legs, and the audience could not stop their noises of awe as they span.

“The dancers?” Baekhyun asked, taking another sip from his flute.

“Pretty women look good in pretty clothing.” You answered him with a nod, a smile playing on your lips when another round of cacophonous delight rippled through the audience.

“Are those your dresses?” Baekhyun smiled, eyes shining playfully as he carefully took in the colourful costumes, the plumes of feathers, the embroidery on the bodices and down the skirts.

“Oui.” You sipped your drink, allowing the buzz of alcohol to make the night even more enjoyable.

“Why are you staring at me?” You asked after a while, the feeling of Baekhyun’s deep brown eyes staring at you had become unnerving as the night went on, your second flute of champagne now standing empty in front of you.

“I can’t help it. You are like the moon.” He smiled, head tilting to look at you from a different angle.

“Drawing me to you.” He spoke, and his hand moved across the table to hold your one, his long fingers threading through yours.

You remained like that until the end of the show.

When the night was over, and he had draped your coat over your shoulders like a gentleman, a playful smile graced his lips, his eyes light with mischief.

“We went to the bastion of pleasures, and yet my biggest pleasure was watching you.” He told you, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, enjoying the blush that flushed your cheeks, both because of the champagne and because of him.

----

Another week passed, and you were once again in his chambers, lying among the soft sheets with a book in your hands as Baekhyun dressed. He was wearing a similar suit to the one he wore to Moulin Rouge; he had changed the jacket to one more appropriate to dinner. His hair was combed back away from his face, and you admired his straight eyebrows and dark lashes.

“How do I look?” He asked, tying a black bowtie in front of the mirror hanging above his dresser.

“Handsome as always.” You told him glancing at his slim silhouette over your book.

“You will be fine, Monsieur Byun.” You said when he turned around and sent him a wink.

“Whatever you say, Mademoiselle.” He smiled, walking over to the bed to bend down. In a flash, his plush lips were on yours, and you melted into the kiss.

Once he broke away to slip into his jacket, he glanced back at you, eyes filled with worry. You could tell there was tension in his shoulders and in the clench of his jaw.

“Enjoy yourself.” You smiled at him, trying to encourage him. Whatever was on his mind was weighing on him a lot. Enough to make him hesitant to tell you about it. It was an unusual occurrence.

“It’s just another business get together. I’m advising teapot purchases today.” He spoke, seemingly talking to himself, and you go up from the bed, wrapping your arms around his torso as you proceeded to stare into his eyes. Their warm brown reminded you of fresh morning coffee and chocolate.

“Joseon ceramics have become popular among those rich enough to import them.” He spoke, his arms coming to wrap around your shoulders. Baekhyun buried his face in your hair, and you allowed him the silent moment of peace. He held you tightly against him, and you listened to his heart, sure and steady; just like him.

“Sell a lot of teapots then, mon cherie.” You told him, and he released you, giving you one last farewell kiss.

“Don’t miss me too much, mon plus cher amour.” He called out, making his way out of the room, and you could not help but smile at his retreating figure.

-----  

The dinner was a dull affair. The hosts were rich, as they always were, and loved to gossip, as they always did. Usually, Baekhyun had stayed clear of the ladies gossip, preferring to sit and drink whiskey with the gentlemen, but tonight he had found himself in the middle of the gossip. Not because he was particularly interested, but because he was the subject of it.

Standing around the room, numerous gentlemen conversed, some women also preferred to stay clear of the host’s wife, considering she was a ruthless gossip and could run her mouth like no other.  Unfortunately, Baekhyun was making his way to his business partner, Monsieur Park, when he heard the conversation.

The group sat on plush sofas, a small hardwood mahogany coffee table sat in the middle, home to a fine tea set, white porcelain with delicate lotus flowers painted in red for decoration. It was one of the models they carried last summer. Ironically, it was not a higher-end set.

“I heard he took his mistress to the cabaret last week. I wonder who she is.” One of the ladies spoke, her shrill voice piercing his eardrums. From her dress, Baekhyun could tell she was one of your clients. A similar dress, although green, rather than the acrid salmon colour this woman was wearing, was displayed in your shop window. He could recognise your handiwork anywhere now.

“Cannot be high standing that is certain.” Another woman butted in, and Baekhyun wanted to stop listening. Yet, somewhere deep inside, morbid curiosity kept him still, listening to those women insult you, his blood boiling under his skin.

“A Frenchwoman and a man from Joseon. In public!” The woman in salmon had screeched, and Baekhyun had to stop himself from cursing.

“How are you, ladies?” He put on a smile instead, walking straight into the women’s conversation, halting their gossip.

“I heard you ordered two tea sets, Madame.” He turned to look at an older woman, sitting between the two who were talking about you.

“Yes. My daughter is marrying into an upstanding family, I must make sure she brings only the best to her new home.” She had spoken, her nose turned almost comically upward, as she did her best to look at him with disdain.

“I hope you will be satisfied with the quality of our goods.” He had bowed lightly, a sickly-sweet smile still present on his lips, as he had no doubt anger peaked through his eyes. You always said you could tell he was angry when you looked into his eyes. He would have said something more, but Chanyeol had come to his aid, his jovial spirit lighting the mood surrounding the women.

“Ah, Monsieur Byun, I was looking for you.” He spoke, his deep voice filled with happiness as he did his best to steer Baekhyun away.

He took him off to the side, passing the shorter man a glass of scotch. Chanyeol’s large frame towered over him, shielding him from the view of the gossips.  His large hand came to clasp Baekhyun’s shoulder, squeezing him in reassurance.

“Young men are young men no matter where they come from. Do not listen to old gossips.” Chanyeol’s deep voice became a murmur, and Baekhyun had though his friend sounded more as if he was growling rather than speaking

“Thank you Chanyeol.” He muttered, drinking the scotch in gulps, too frustrated to sip the liquid. He found the burn of alcohol a good distraction.

“Better to love one woman than hate one woman.” His friend spoke, his equally brown eyes soft when they looked down on him.

“Any news from my father?” Baekhyun asked, changing the topic from one unpleasant thing to another.

“None yet. I’m not sure he even knows about her.” Chanyeol reassured him, a small smile playing on his lips. He sipped on his scotch.

“If he knew,” Baekhyun spoke, his heart beating frantically against his chest, making him dizzy before Chanyeol interrupted.

“You would be on a ship back by now, and that merchant’s daughter would be waiting for you at the docks.” He finished for him, drinking the rest of his scotch in one gulp, before going to refill their glasses.

 As the evening progressed, Baekhyun received more and more requests for imported ceramics. The requests ranged from tea sets to plates and bowls. By the time the dinner finished, his notebook was filled with names and catalogue numbers.

When Baekhyun returned to his home, he had discarded his coat and untied his bowtie. A few buttons of his white shirt were now undone, revealing his golden collarbone. He sat on the sofa of his living room sipping on more scotch from a crystal glass. You had discarded the book when he arrived and chose to sit beside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. The fabric beneath you was velvet, more luxurious than you would ever be able to afford. You knew he had it custom made.

Apart from a greeting and a few quick kisses, Baekhyun had stayed silent. Despite the alcohol he consumed, the stress you have seen on his frame had not lessened. You watched from the corner of your eye as his jaw clenched and relaxed.

“Are you ready to tell me now?” You asked him, turning his chin towards you. His eyes immediately fell to your lips, before looking up into your eyes. He had always thought they looked like sapphires. Not because they were blue, but because they reminded him of the sea, deep and unexplored. They hid your heart, and so they shone like precious stones, reflected light like the stormy waters of the sea. Deep, so deep he lost himself in them and found himself in them too.

“I’m worried about my father.” He murmured, his angelic voice broke, heavy with uncertainty.

“We had known about your father from the beginning. We knew how this would end before it begun.” You told him, pressing your palm against his cheek, allowing Baekhyun to lean into your touch, basking at how warm he felt against you.

“What if I don’t want this to end?” He asked, and this time, you were the one to lose yourself in the depths of his irises.

You pressed your other palm to his cheek, and you kissed him. Passionately and without inhibition. Whether the ending was coming, or if it was already here didn’t matter. You loved him. You loved him hopelessly.

Baekhyun turned violet under your touch. He felt it seep into him when he pressed his lips with bruising force to yours, and when you grabbed at him in his bed, and again when you left purple marks over his collar bones, each one a visible stain on his body; something that reminded him he was yours, something to remind you that you were his.

-----  

Days passed in colourful monotone. You woke up in his bed, went to work and attended Moulin Rouge in the evening. Each evening was spectacular; each evening was the same. Moulin Rouge had become a place you had grown fond of. There, Baekhyun could sit beside you in public, show you off as a lover. Not many people paid attention in Montmartre, too focused on the idea of freedom and liberty. You shared their desires, shared the hope that one day the world would be easier to live in. You and Baekhyun fit in. The Bastion of Pleasures was an easy place to be in.

After one of the shows, when you had finally gone back home to rest, an unexpected guest made his appearance.

Chanyeol had come in one evening, just as Baekhyun rested in your lap, your voice soothing him to sleep. Chanyeol had come in with a letter. You could tell it was from Baekhyun’s father. The characters were unfamiliar, rendering you illiterate and blissfully unaware of the contents.

“Not good.” Baekhyun had risen from your lap, and as he read over the letter, he paced. Chanyeol had sat down beside you, his figure looming over you. You were not uncomfortable, resting in his shadow was a familiar feeling by now, but the expression on both of the men’s faces was making you uneasy.

“By the end of the following year, he wants you to return.” Chanyeol told them. His deep voice rumbled through the room, and his warm brown eyes looked down at you, and them at Baekhyun with such sorrow, you couldn’t make out who was more upset at the news.

“I understand.” Baekhyun stopped pacing and called out for one of his help to bring them some cognac.

“To one more year.” He toasted once the alcohol was poured into crystal glasses and handed to the three of them.

With a cheeky smile, you raised your glass, toasting with him. Reluctantly, and with a withered smile, Chanyeol raised his glass, the amber liquid glistening in the dim light, before taking a swig.

------

That night, you lay wrapped in Baekhyun’s arms, a cool breeze wafted through the open window, drifting over your naked shoulders as you gazed up at your lover.

“Let us leave. Run away.” Baekhyun muttered, his eyes shining in the darkness of his room, more serious than you ever saw him.

“And go where?” You asked, entertaining the idea.

“Anywhere my father doesn’t find us.” He told you, and you pressed closer to him, further into the security if his arms.

“Italy?” You asked, thinking of places too far away for the Byun business to chase you down to.

“Britain?”

“French Indochina?” You kissed him, a small smile playing on your lips.

“I don’t care where we go, I’ll love you anywhere.” He spoke, his voice soft, and now more than any other night, you knew he loved you.

Baekhyun had been ready to leave everything to be with you where his father could not interfere, and you were ready to leave with him.

“Let's go anywhere then.” You conceded, pressing a kiss to his lips, whispering words of love into his ears as he held you. He whispered them back, breathed love into you with his kisses, steady and reassuring beside you, and despite the chill of the air, you were warm.

Love was hopeless sometimes, but maybe this time, just this time, there was hope.

#moulin rouge baekhyun #baekhyun fanfic #byun baekhyun #EXO baekhyun #1920s baekhyun #1920s!baekhyun #rich!baekhyun #baekhyun au #exo au #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun angst #baekhyun #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo #exo cbx #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #kpop fanfiction #kpop angst #kpop fluff #byun baekhyun au

[blueiskewl]

The $38M Spanish Style Malibu Estate

A lush 180-acre wine estate tucked into the hills above Malibu has listed for $38 million. The property of George Rosenthal, an 89-year-old real-estate mogul whose holdings include the Sunset Marquis hotel, the hacienda-style home is a verdant oasis of lawns, fountains and vineyards amid the arid Santa Monica Mountains.

Rosenthal built the home, a 10-minute drive inland from Malibu, in the 1970s as a vacation resort. It retains the feeling of refuge. Passing through the entrance gate along the private drive, you are surrounded first by oak trees, then by rows of vines before reaching the Spanish-style main residential compound, flanked by palm trees and courtyards. Inside the pink walls are hand-carved wooden doors, ornate tiles and high ceilings topped by skylights.

With eight bedrooms and 12,000 square feet of living space, the compound unfolds over several distinct areas. In the main residence, living rooms and bedrooms have large stone fireplaces and French doors open to patios with an outdoor kitchen and covered dining areas. A two-bedroom wing contains a gym, screening room and sunroom, as well as a kitchen with a butler’s pantry and a pizza oven. Surrounding the inner courtyard are a separate one-bedroom cottage and a two-bedroom guest house, which has its own swimming pool and views of the encircling hills.

From the main building, arched windows and beveled glass doors open to a pool that cascades into another lap pool by an outdoor dining area with a fireplace and a large patio for outdoor entertaining. Paths wind through the estate, past a pond, woods, gardens and a private gate onto the Backbone hiking trail.

The estate contains approximately 600 avocado trees, which could be farmed and sold as produce or made into enough guacamole to fill the property’s three swimming pools. A picture-perfect stable has been converted into a tasting room and banquet space, 2,545 square feet in size, and the property contains extensive wine storage facilities. The wine itself is made from grapes grown on the estate. Rosenthal also established Malibu’s first vineyard, in 1987, down the road in Newton Canyon. The man himself is ready to move on, having first put the house on the market in 2012. “We have enjoyed for decades the property as an oasis of tranquility to share with friends,” he said. “As I am steps away from my 90th birthday, it is time to provide another owner the opportunity to experience the property that has been so meaningful in our lives.”

Sandro Dazzan of the Agency and Jade Mills and Joyce Rey of Coldwell Banker Realty, Beverly Hills, share the listing.

By Lucy Alexander.

#The $38M Spanish Style Malibu Estate #luxury #luxury real estate #luxury property #luxury lifestyle #luxury living #billionaire lifestyle #rich #$$$ #$$$money$$$

[tae-cup]

Through The Grapevine | KTH Oneshot

Summary: Kim’s Family Winery, a symbol of prestige and luxury, yet their finances are absolute shit. 

Warnings:  language

Genre: Fluff

Rating: SFW, PG-13 (for language)

Word Count: 8k Words 

A/N: I finished this at 1 am. Oh god I’ve been writing for five hours straight.

Thank you to @yoongi-sugaglider​ for the prompt I used for this idea!! I didn’t use it exactly but thank you!!! And I’m honestly so nervous because Jester and JJ are business people and I probably screwed all the business stuff up, but if you squint you can see a little bit of sense??

Prompt:  Taehyung the boy from money. His family owns a slew of Italian vineyards and he's expected to inherit the job. But he secretly wants to race yachts.

Other: Masterlist

          You were royally fucked. Running late to your first day on the job at Kim’s Family Winery was not the first impression you wanted to make. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” You pulled your hair into a messy ponytail as you slammed the taxi door shut. “Kim’s Family Winery.” You barked, voice hoarse from having woken up an hour ago. 

       You tucked the loose strands of hair behind your ear and tried your best to smooth down any frizz. While your face and hair looked semi-presentable, the rest of your body told a different story. It told the story of waking up late, throwing on your clothes in the dark, forgetting to turn on the lights, tripping down the apartment steps, and falling into the street trying to wave down a taxi. Life was great. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach as you drove farther away from the city into the rolling vineyards of the countryside. It was an hour long drive to the winery and you had exactly 30 minutes to be there. 

        Time to start brainstorming excuses. You had an hour, whether you liked it or not. You sighed and pressed your forehead to the back of the seat in front of you. The leather smelled like cigarettes. Okay, well I could use the traffic excuse or maybe the ‘taxi driver was slow’ excuse. You sat up and glanced at the taxi driver’s face. He was an older gentleman with wrinkles and probably more knowledge in one hair than your entire body. No, not that one. A voice in your head chimed in to tell you to ‘just tell the truth’ and while that was enticing, you had never been great with the whole honesty thing. You groaned at your predicament. 

“You doing alright?” The old man looked at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Yes.” You answered automatically before quickly backtracking. “I mean, no.” You sighed and tilted your head back against the headrest. “I’m late for my first day at work.” 

“Ah, Kim’s Family Winery is a big deal I hear.” He smiled sympathetically at you, then turned his eyes back to the deserted road. 

“I know.” You grumbled. 

“But it’s not going to be too bad, okay? Just have faith in yourself.” 

“Thank you.” You turned to face the window. 

        The hills rolled far into the distance. Rows and rows of corn, grapes, and strawberries passed you by. The sun was casting a golden hue over the fields and you could see the farmers milling around, probably having been awake since dawn. You had always enjoyed the countryside, but you had never thought about working in it. You had always expected to work at some big business corporation, not manage the finances of a famous winery. 

“What time are you supposed to be there?” 

      You glanced at your phone. The time read 8:00 A.M. You needed to be there in 30 minutes. 

“8:30.” You said, the defeat evident in your voice. 

“Missed your alarm?” The man furrowed his eyebrows in concern. 

“Yes.” You said quietly, sinking lower. “And I know this drive takes at least an hour.”

        There was a long silence. The pavement turned to dirt. The wheels crunched loudly against the loose ground. The driver picked up speed, his hands gripped the steering wheel. 

His eyes then looked up and met your gaze in the rearview mirror before looking back at the path. 

“I think I can make it in 45.” 

          45 minutes later, you stepped out onto the dirt paved road, your briefcase resting on your fingers behind your back. You had expected a lavish villa of some sort, but instead you’re greeted with a quaint, one story, building. It had vines tangling with a wooden arch that led to the entrance. You shuffled awkwardly, unsure of what to do. You didn’t want to stall any long, but your nerves were getting the best of you. You looked at the time. 8:45. You needed to get in there right away. The taxi pulled away and you bit your lip, now alone. 

          The first step was the hardest, the second a little less so. You continued until you were right at the door. It was a pane of glass with the words Kim’s Family Winery printed with gold lettering. The place gave a very home-y vibe despite the prestige. There was a little dirt path off to the side and your eyes traced its path all the way up the hillside. On the hill’s side sat a large villa, bright white and large glass windows reflecting the morning sun. You took a deep breath and tried to peer inside. It was dark, but that could just be the contrast to the outside. 

           You slowly opened the door, jumping as a bell rang out, alerting them of your entrance. You closed the door quietly behind you and made your way inside. The walls were made of wood and the floor was a soft carpet. Deeper inside, the lights were off. The only source of light was the sun streaming through the large windows. There were a few booths and a couple long tables to your left. To your right was a bar with a wall of fine wines resting behind it. You didn’t know if you should call out or just wait. So you instead decided to look for the light switch. It was nice, the natural light, but it was a little dark in some areas. 

         The place was quiet as you moved to the front to search for the light switches. 

“Just leave it be. The morning light is calming and opening isn’t until 9.” A deep voice rang out, making your skin break out into goosebumps. 

“I’m so sorry for being late.” You exclaimed, turning to face a man walking through the door. He had on blue jeans, a red plaid shirt, and working boots. He stamped his feet on the mat by the door and walked inside. He had a small smile on his face as he surveyed you. 

“Don’t worry, everyone is always a little late, but don’t tell Namjoonie I said that, okay?” The man said casually. He walked over to the bar and started searching through the wine bottles. He held one up, checked the label, and then pulled out a pen and checked off something on a list. 

“I’m Kim Taehyung.” He said, the pen cap in his mouth. “You are the new hire, I’m guessing?” 

            You were frozen, watching Taehyung move from one bottle to the next. The glasses clinked heavily back into place one after another. Your hands gripped your briefcase as you moved toward the odd man. He wasn’t odd looking whatsoever, in fact he looked as if he were sculpted by the gods, but his behavior was so...friendly. The name Kim Taehyung rung a bell. He must be one of the brothers. You hadn’t expected them to work with everyone else. You thought they would send orders down and then run off to catch a private jet to the Maldives or something. 

“Y-yeah, I’m,” You cleared your throat and he stopped, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow. “I’m Y/N.” You bowed your head slightly. 

           He let out a little laugh and dipped his head in recognition. Then he scribbled his signature onto the paper and dumped the clipboard into a drawer. He capped the pen and shoved it back into his pocket. 

“You’re here for the money thing yeah?” The man went around the bar and appraised you, eyes flicking over your body. You felt only a little self conscious against his intense gaze, hands moving to your front, briefcase with it. 

“Yes, sir.” You nodded. 

“Aish, just call me Taehyung” He scratched his head. “Sir sounds too formal.”

         You quirked an eyebrow. When Kim Seokjin had interviewed you, he had always spoken formally. You had expected that to be commonplace at Kim’s Family Winery. 

“O...okay?” You relaxed your grip on your briefcase as he flashed you a boxy smile. 

“Y/N.” He pulled out a bar chair and sat on it backwards. “I’m going to be honest with you,” His expression went dark, his gaze growing in intensity. “Kim’s Family Winery is going bankrupt.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Your voice came out harsher than you thought. 

“Well, we’re losing more money maintaining our little winery than we are gaining or whatever you call it.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “We leave logistics to Joonie. That’s why we got you!” 

“I thought...I thought this was the most sought after wine!” You cried. Maybe coming here was a mistake. You could’ve gotten a better job at a place like BigHit or Bangtan Inc. Instead, you were lured in by the prestige of Kim’s Family Winery and accepted the job. 

“Yes, but with those fancy soda wine can things coming out, we’ve been losing more money.” He explained. 

“Right, right.” Okay, all they need is for you to save the ship and then you can leave. You thought to yourself, already feeling the headache. 

“Are you going to stick around?” Taehyung tilted his head, biting his lip. 

“Yes, of course. I’ll help you.” You said firmly, despite your apprehension. 

“Great! Because the last guy jumped ship when he saw our debt.” He jumped up from his seat and started walking towards a door. “This leads to the office. You’ll find the finances that Joonie filed and then you can come tell us the situation! Jinnie should be here in uhhh,” He glanced at his watch. It was a rolex. “About five minutes!” 

“Great thanks-” Before you could finish he was already gone, the door shutting behind him. 

           You sighed and got to work, turning on the lights in the office. You moved to the small window that was near the ceiling. It opened painfully slowly. You then went about taking out the various files that held their financial reports. You gathered the most relevant ones you could find and then dropped them on the small metal desk, coughing as dust flew into the air. The clock on the wall read 9:00 A.M. 

You flipped through some papers, noting the most noticeable changes in profit and expenses. 

“Who spends $1000 on cleaning fluid, and why?” You murmured to yourself as you noted it down in the I Need Answers column of your notes. 

        There was a light knock on the door. 

“Y/N? Are you ready?” Taehyung said softly through the door. 

        You hastily gathered your notes and stood up from your position hunched over the desk. 

“Yes, yes” You coughed loudly as the dust flew into your lungs. “Achem, Just a second.” 

          You felt like you were hacking up a lung. You swallowed to try and rid yourself of the dust coating your throat. It didn’t help much, but you got control of yourself. How do they spend so much on cleaning fluid and yet they can’t seem to clean their office? You threw open the door, looking forward to getting out of the closet known as the office. Sadly, there was a loud thump and Taehyung stepped into your view. 

“Ow.” He groaned, hand covering his nose as he stumbled backwards. 

“Oh my god, Taehyung, I’m so sorry!” You rushed towards the taller man, but he held his hand out to stop you. 

“No, no, Y/N it’s okay.” His eyes were scrunched up tight. He pulled his hand back to view the first drops of blood. 

“You’re bleeding.” The Earth really hated you today.

       You wanted to scream, but instead you quickly ducked into the bar area and searched around the cabinets. Luckily you came across a box of tissues and you aggressively pulled out a tissue. You ran back over to him, only to hear low voices. 

“It’s fine! It’s fine! It was a simple accident.” You heard Taehyung say, swatting at his brothers. 

        You stopped in your tracks, suddenly worried. Of course the brothers would arrive right when you had just clobbered Taehyung in the nose. 

“It doesn’t look good, Taehyungie.” one brother said. 

“It’s just a bloody nose, god you guys are real drama queens.” 

         You slipped into the room, trying not to draw attention to yourself, but instantly their gazes snapped to you. You could feel Namjoon’s withering stare and Jin’s confused expression. You tried to just focus on the task. You handed Taehyung the tissue and he thanked you awkwardly as he covered his nose. 

“So you’re Y/N?” Namjoon sighed. 

“Yes.” You squeaked, resisting the urge to run away. 

Surprisingly, he just chuckled a little and held out his hand. “Welcome to the family.” 

 “So let’s see here.” You pulled out your notes and flipped through the pages. “I can sum it up like this; you’re losing a lot of money for a lot of unnecessary things.” 

“Obviously, that’s why you’re here.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. You sighed and closed the notebook. 

“Then you have to trust me.” You said. “Looking through your expenses here, I can only do so much.” 

“Anything you need to know?” Namjoon steepled his fingers. 

“Yes.” You flipped to the last page where you had circled a big name with question marks. “Who is Rosa Chung?” 

“An old family friend. She has helped the winery out a lot!” Jin explained quickly. 

“She seems to be losing you a lot of money.” You muttered. “I see here that her and her party ordered a total of $20,000 worth of wine and yet, I see no payment back. You lost $20,000, why?” 

“It was her birthday!” Taehyung jumped in. You just raised your eyebrow in disbelief. 

“And why have you spent $1,000 in cleaning fluid? Because I honestly have no idea where it’s going if it’s not going to that dusty office you have back there.” 

         Despite having been flustered in your arrival, you were in your element now. Plus, the boxy smile of Taehyung did help loosen your nerves. The sitting room was arranged like so; You sat across the couch in a single leather chair, legs crossed, while they sat smooshed together on the couch looking like scolded children. 

“Rosa explained that we needed it. She never told us why, but she always tells us we need it.” Namjoon murmured, as if realizing the ridiculousness of the statement as he spoke. 

“I’d like to meet this Rosa lady.” You snorted. “How did she manage to talk you into giving her all this free stuff, huh?” Are these guys idiots or geniuses? 

“She’s an old family friend, we trust her.” Jin said, his head dipping low. 

“Ah, this is bullshit.” Taehyung sighed, draping his upper half over the side of the couch. 

“So what do we do? Confront her?” Namjoon shifted uncomfortably. 

“You are capable businessmen.” You snapped the notebook shut. “I’ll stop the orders of cleaning fluid and start brainstorming ways to make back your lost money.” You stood up, dusting yourself off. “With the Rosa situation...figure it out.” 

          You promptly left the room and went back to the office. First day on the job? Yes. But you were going to give it to them straight. You weren’t here to make them feel better or hide things, you were there to handle their finances. Taehyung knocked on your door a little while later. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, come in.” You responded, distracted as you tried to look up event costs. 

           The only way you could see them pulling through by the end of the month, was if they held a fundraiser and raised over $100,000. It was a stretch, but with their prestige, they could do it. How did they get that prestige with such lousy finances? Who knew. Well, the keyword was try, because your cell reception was almost none. You drummed your fingers impatiently on the desk as you waited for the page to finally load. Taehyung entered the room, the door softly clicking shut behind him. 

          It was a little cramped with two of you in the small office, but it would make do. The page loaded and you got preoccupied reading through the list of venues. If you calculated the expenses going into it and the expected profits, you could see the event helping quite a bit. 

“So anyway, that’s all I wanted to say.” Taehyung cleared his throat. Your eyes shot up, widening slightly. 

“I’m so sorry...I wasn’t listening to anything you just said.” You admitted sheepishly. 

         He didn’t seem bothered, but his eyes went a little dull. His smile didn’t loosen and he chuckled a little, but it seemed forced. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” He muttered. 

         Your gaze softened, taking in the man in front of you. He was tall and well built. His waist was slim and his face was a beautiful tan color with deep pools of brown for eyes. 

“Well,” You put down your phone with a smile. “You have my undivided attention.” You clasped your hands together on the desk. 

         He looked confused and suddenly he went very quiet. It was as if no one had told him that before, as if no one had ever taken the time to listen to him before this. You noted the way his fingers twitched and the muscle in his jaw ticked slightly as he seemed deep in thought. Taehyung breathed out slowly and his stance made it look like a heavy weight had just been lifted. His eyes watched you curiously. 

“I said, uh, that you probably think we’re...pretty stupid.” He said awkwardly. “But I assure you we’re not! Joonie is really smart, he’s like 200 IQ, or was it 148? And Jinnie, jinnie is smart, but maybe not as much, but still smart! We’re all smarter than average I swear-” 

         You burst out laughing at his ramblings, to which you quickly inhaled a load of dust and started coughing. 

“Y/N! Are you alright?” He rushed to your side, squeezing between the desk and the filing cabinets. He patted your back as you wheezed. 

“Maybe-maybe she was right about the need for cleaning supplies. It’s so dusty in here.” You croaked. You suddenly became aware of your proximity. His hand rested on your back and his face was right next to yours, as if he were whispering some divine secret. You tried your best to keep the heat off your face. 

“And don’t worry, Taehyung, I never thought you guys were stupid, I just thought you had lousy finances.” 

He seemed relieved by your statement and moved away all too quickly. 

“So how do you plan to fix those lousy finances?” He asked, hands drawn behind his back. 

“I think a fundraiser would be good.” You said, pushing the paper of notes you had written towards him. It held logistics, costs, and other expenses needed. Then it held what you believed would be the profit, the desired profit, and all the negatives that could happen. 

“Hm...It’s kind of risky, right?” He eyed the paper, barely glancing over your messy handwriting. You frowned and took the paper back, looking over it. 

“Actually, no. I think either way, we’ll get more than we put in and even if it’s a total flop and no one goes, then we lose a couple thousand dollars and get free wine. There’s still enough to go through the month.” You explained. “But, if you don’t want to do it, it’s okay.” 

“I want to.” He answered quickly, not even waiting for your sentence to be completed. “I mean, I’ll have to ask the others, but I think it’s a good idea.” 

“It’s my first day, Taehyung, you can tell me if you don’t like it.” You tilted your head and looked at him. His cheeks were slightly flushed and he avoided your gaze. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll talk it over with the other two.” He said, then he motioned with his hand towards the paper. “Can I have that to show them?” 

       You smiled a little and handed him the paper. He took it in his hands and held it lightly, like a baby bird. 

“Don’t lose it. I still need it for planning.” You called as he made his exit. 

“I won’t! You can count on me!” He shouted back over his shoulder. 

       You shook your head, but couldn’t hide the smile that grew on your face once he was gone. Taehyung intrigued you and you definitely felt...attracted to him, but it wasn’t either of you's place to act on those feelings. 

       Your eyes were hurting from staring at the screen for so long and your hand was numb from writing. You checked the time to see it was already 6:00 P.M. You grabbed your things, lingering a little longer. You could hear the shouts of customers and the laughter spewing from their drunken lips. The three boys had to stay late, but you were simply their financial advisor, you didn’t really need to stay past 6. You still lingered, taking your time grabbing your things and exiting. 

         In the dining area there were several parties of people, all seemingly having the time of their lives. Namjoon stood at once table, a small cart of wines next to him as he spoke to the group of people. They all listened intently as he poured their glasses. It seemed Namjoon had a way of making people listen to him. His words were commanding and it always felt like he knew more than he was letting on. 

         Jin was speaking to another group, but the table was having a much rowdier time. One woman stood and hooted with laughter at something he said. 

“Aish, it’s good that someone likes Jin’s jokes.” Taehyung said as you passed by the bar. You didn’t need to be anywhere and it would take a while for the taxi to arrive, so you sat yourself down at the bar. 

“Maybe he should marry her. There aren’t many people who can stand those jokes.” The man tsked and shook his head in shame as he poured a few patrons a glass. 

     You twisted in your seat to survey the crowd, your eyes landing on Jin’s table. 

“That woman is like, 60, Taehyung. Jin is, what, 10?” You rolled your eyes. 

“He’s 27, I’ll have you know.” He snorted. 

“Uh huh.” 

“It’s true!” 

“If he’s 27, then you must be at least 3.” You said playfully. 

“I’m a ripe 24.” He sniffed, screwing the cap back onto a bottle of wine. 

      You shifted in your seat, leaning to your left to look through the glass door. The yellow light of a taxi pulled up into the driveway. You hopped off the seat. 

“Alright then, I’m off.” You announced. 

“Right when I was beginning to enjoy your company.” His lips quirked into a smile. 

“What are you suggesting Mr. Kim?” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. 

“Nothin’” He said innocently and quickly turned to wipe off some glasses. “Have a goodnight.” 

“You too!” You called back as you stepped through the door. 

         When the door closed, the night sky enveloped you in its cold grasp. The stars welcomed you home and the noise of the winery faded into nothingness. The quiet peace of the countryside held you close. You missed this. The taxi rolled down its window. 

“You coming, little miss?” The man’s gruff voice called. 

“Yup! One second!” You did a double check. 

     Keys, check, pen, check, notebook, check. You went down the list and made sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. Then you pulled open the door of the taxi and got in. 

“87 Solomon Lane.” You instructed, then you sagged in your seat, exhausted. 

         Rosa was a pretty woman. Light blonde hair and big blue eyes, a slim body, model ready. Picture Perfect. You just wished she wasn’t in every single one of your pictures. You had decided to save money and just take pictures for the website yourself. Since when did I become the media manager, the general manager, and the financial advisor? 

         It really wasn’t fair how attached you’d gotten to the winery. You had been alone for so long and the winery was beginning to feel like a second home, a family. Jin always started off the day with a bad pun, Namjoon would clumsily break something, and Taehyung would flash his boxy smile at you. Taehyung had been...odd. He was always around you, a hand reaching out to grasp your shoulder or brushing your hands when you handed him something. You chalked it up to him being a touchy person. 

        Then Rosa started to come by more frequently. Every time you tried to take a decent picture of the place, she would always pop into view with some excuse or another. With a sigh, the woman walked off for the fifth time and you officially gave up. You handed the camera over to Taehyung and left to seek shelter in the closet office. 

-

“We really need to have a talk with Rosa.” You said one day. You had been staying late and helping them clean, even though you had no idea which wine was which. 

“I don’t know, Y/N. She’s a close friend.” Namjoon scratched his neck. 

“A close friend who’s draining your money.” You fired back. Taehyung stopped what he was doing and went over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“You’re right, I think it’s time.” He sighed, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. Namjoon didn’t look as sure. Jin looked between you, Namjoon, and Taehyung. 

“You could say that Y/N is draining our money too.” Namjoon pointed out, a harsh gaze flickering over his face. While you felt hurt, you couldn’t show it. Before you could open your mouth, Taehyung gripped your shoulder tightly. 

“That’s enough, Namjoon. We all know Y/N is worth it.” He hissed. 

“I don’t know. Always telling us what to do. You don’t even know this business like we do.” Namjoon addressed you and your nostrils flared in anger. 

“Namjoon stop.” It was Jin who was speaking. Jin, who founded Kim’s Family Winery, Jin, who was going to see it to his end or its end. Jin, who was watching the winery fall apart. “We all know this place is dying and Y/N is here to help. She’s a part of the business now and I don’t recall ever agreeing to let Rosa have free reign over our money. Can’t you understand? The business is going under, Namjoon. It’s going under and unless we can pull off this damn fundraiser, Kim’s Family Winery is over.” 

        Namjoon softened, eyes gazing at the older male. Jin looked broken, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip. 

“I won’t let it be over.” You said, cutting through the silence like a knife. “I will help in any way I can.” You took a deep breath. “And if you can’t pay me now, pay me later. I really just want to help you.” 

         The leader looked even more ashamed, his face falling. He dipped his head and quickly excused himself, Jin following suit. Taehyung stayed and turned your body towards him. Your breath hitched at how close you were to the handsome man. He’s your coworker, stop. You placed your hands on his arms, ready to push him away, but you didn’t. 

“Did you mean it?” He gazed into your eyes. “Did you mean what you said?” 

       The corners of your lips twitched upwards. 

“Every single word.” 

         He leaned in and so did you. Your body wanted this, craved his lips against yours, but sadly, there was a loud achem. You tore yourself away so fast it felt like whiplash. He looked equally disconcerted and both your attentions snapped to the figure standing in the center of the room. Rosa. 

“Can I have a glass of wine? Taehyung, you know the one?” Rosa sat down nonchalantly. You quirked your head as Taehyung set to work without any questions. 

“What brings you around here, Rosa? You seem to be coming in a lot.” You said, striking up a conversation. The woman was certainly dressed to the nines, despite it being a family winery. Her neck held gems probably worth more than your life and her dress was definitely gucci. And yet she can’t seem to pay. 

“I’m just….dropping by.” her tone was low and sultry. “I just came back from flying all around Europe. Next I’m going to visit the Maldives.” She bragged. 

“That sounds lovely.” You commented, trying not to frown. Taehyung placed the glass down and she picked it up, downing it in one go to your surprise. The man beside you didn’t seem fazed. 

“You’re new around here, darling, and since you don’t have a uniform on I can only guess you’re doing a boring job. Maybe finance?” Rosa smirked at your expression. Right on target. 

“Yes, I am, actually. I’m Y/N, It’s a pleasure to meet the main reason this business is losing money.” You smiled sweetly. 

“The pleasure is all mine.” She chuckled darkly and shook your hand. Then she hopped off the stool. “I have a lot of places to be, so I must be going.” 

“Actually, you still need to pay.” You said firmly. Taehyung blanched, poking at your back to tell you to stop, but you kept pushing on. Rosa narrowed her eyes slightly, the smile never leaving her face. 

“I see...it does seem I’ve forgotten.” She slowly pulled out her wallet and took out the cash. She placed on the counter with a little more force than necessary and left quickly. 

      You and Taehyung stared at the wad of cash and then at each other. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” Taehyung gaped. 

“What? She’s all bark but no bite.” You shrugged and grabbed the money, counting it. Then you placed it in the register. “See, all you guys had to do was ask. What could possibly go wrong?” 

        Taehyung’s grim expression did not leave you with much confidence. 

     Apparently, a lot could go wrong. 

“What is this?” Namjoon slammed the newspaper onto the counter. Jin picked it up, reading it aloud. 

“Kim’s Family Winery finally going out of style?” He read out the headline. “The beloved Kim’s Family Winery has finally taken a turn for the worse with staff treating customers poorly and customers being overcharged for cheaply made wine.” 

“That’s outrageous!” Taehyung cried out. 

       The newspaper was thick. Rosa’s last name spelled across the top. You groaned and placed your head on the counter of the bar in defeat. No one told you she was the daughter of one of the biggest newspapers in Seoul. 

“What did you do?” Namjoon stared at you incredulously. 

“I...I just asked her to pay, is that so bad?” 

“I told you we’d deal with her! You didn’t need to do that!” He practically growled. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you.” You said quietly. 

“Just get out.” Namjoon hissed. Your eyes widened. You looked frantically to Jin, but he averted his eyes. Taehyung looked at you, a sad look in his eyes. 

“Come on, Namjoon. It was the right thing to do…” He started. 

“I’ll deal with you later.” The older male furrowed his eyebrows at his younger. 

       Taehyung shut his mouth and you picked up your bag, walking right back out the door you came in. It was shameful and you were trying your best not to break out into a sob right then and there. 

        The taxi arrived swiftly and you croaked out your address before sobbing into your hands. The taxi driver was a kind looking woman who was looking worriedly at you. 

“Rough day?” She asked gently. 

“I may have just been fired.” You sniffled. “I don’t think I even did anything wrong.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling. Sometimes the best thing you can do is try to pick up and move on.” The driver smiled. 

      Her words made you sob harder. 

“I heard through the grapevine that there’s a big fundraiser for Kim's Family Winery.” The woman continued. “Maybe you can go and get some good wine and drown your sorrows, yeah?” 

“The fundraiser?” You suddenly shot up, swiping at your nose and eyes with your sleeves. “I can still make the fundraiser!” 

       You immediately began typing away at your phone, the signal growing as you got closer to the bustling city of Seoul. 

        You rolled up your sleeves, prepared to take a deep dive into your work. You suddenly felt a buzz in your pocket and you pulled out your phone, a frown forming on your face as you read the caller ID. Taehyung. With a sigh, you picked up. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N!!!”

You pulled the phone away from your ear as his voice blasted through the speaker. 

“Taehyung, what do you want?” You mumbled. You were ready to immerse yourself in work, but after you saw how happy he was when you gave him your full attention, you had decided to give him your undivided attention every time you spoke. 

“I’m sure you’re tired and stuff, but I wanted to let you know you’re not fired. You’re really important and we wouldn’t be able to do anything without you-”

“Kim Taehyung, who are you talking to?!” An angry Namjoon shouted in the background. 

“-And please don’t go, please please please, we all like you. Well, at least I like you- A lot! And- JOONIE GIVE IT BACK!” 

“Y/N, have a goodnight.” Namjoon’s stern voice broke through, a loud crash sounding in the background before the call hung up. 

            These boys were going to be the death of you. You set to work writing down all the logistics and finalizing the arrangements. You worked deep into the night, the sun starting to lighten the sky as you put down your pencil. You glanced at the time. 6:00 A.M. You had no time to sleep. With a groan, you went to have a shower and then change into a clean set of clothes. 

             Taehyung’s hyper call was still playing on repeat. At least I like you-a lot. The words bounced around your skull. He didn’t seem the type to just settle down and open a family business. His personality was too childish, too adventurous. You looked at the date. You had exactly one week before the fundraiser. One week to get everything back in order and take a hold of your own goddamn life. 

            It was easier said than done. 

          When you arrived at work, after being shaken awake by the taxi driver, you were surprised to see the three Kim brothers standing outside waiting. You quickly patted down your hair, raking your fingers through the strands and then patting your face to make you feel more alive. Was this a dream? 

“Ah, Y/N! We didn’t think you’d come!” Taehyung made his way towards you and before you knew it, you were being hugged to death by him. His embrace was warm, comforting, and safe. It didn’t feel out of place. He had always been a somewhat touchy person. 

“Why not?” You had never thought about not coming in. You weren’t officially fired and you had an obligation to the winery. You had promised to fix their mess and you were going to follow through on it. 

“Well, after everything that happened….” Taehyung scratched his neck awkwardly before moving on. “At least you’re here now!” 

“That I am.” You smiled softly and greeted Jin with a nod, but Namjoon tugged on your elbow as the other two walked in. 

“Hey I just wanted to...apologize. You were just trying to help and I’m sorry, I have no excuse for lashing out.” He bowed low. You gazed at him for a moment, but an apology wasn’t what you wanted, you wanted action. 

“Namjoon, stand up for god’s sake.” You said teasingly. “I’ve got all this stuff worked out for the fundraiser so I’d like to go over it with you.” You handed him the hefty file with all your carefully handwritten notes. 

“Wow! This is a lot! Did you even sleep last night?” He marched on inside to help set up, file tucked under his arm. 

“Not a wink.” You answered after he was long gone. You slapped your cheeks, trying to muster up your last crumbs of energy. 

-

“I am so hungry.” Taehyung whined, his stomach grumbling. He took your hand without thinking. “Let’s get out of here and get some lunch, Y/N!” 

       If he noticed your flustered speech or your reddening cheeks, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he just dragged you along behind him as he went around the back. 

“There’s this great restaurant not too far from here that makes a killer burger!” He beeped his car open and you tried to ignore the fact that it was a bright red Mustang probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. 

       You stepped into the car, trying not to track in any mud, and shut the door. 

“Hey, Taehyung.” You halted him mid speech but he didn’t seem to mind. 

“Yeah?”

“How did you get all this fancy stuff if your business is struggling so much?” 

        He thought it over for a moment and you could see his brain turning. Despite his happy go lucky nature, you understood that he was a keen observer. He watched people, studied them. Hell, he even knew your habits. Taehyung definitely had a deeper mind than people gave him credit for, especially his brothers. 

 “I mean, we inherited a lot from our father when he passed away. He made the original Kim’s Family Winery.” He smiled at the memory. “And it was really successful, made him millions, you know? But then he passed away and people didn’t have nearly as much faith in my brother and, well, things went downhill. At least we own the cars and the house already, but everything else will be a stretch if the business goes under.” 

“Perhaps you need to live a more frugal life, Taehyung.” You teased. “Join the rest of us simple people barely scraping by for food and shelter.” You said dramatically, although it was only a half lie. 

       A lot of people lived on the streets or in crappy apartments. A lot of people went days without food simply because they couldn’t afford it, which was preposterous. 

“Maybe.” He said, his voice distant. He gripped the steering wheel and you took the time to admire his hands. 

        His fingers were long and slender, hands calloused and tough. He had strong arms, muscle appearing faintly underneath his suit. His hair was combed back and long, a deep shade of brown. His side profile was stunning. He looked otherworldly, his nose a prominent shape, his lips wide and plump. He didn’t seem to notice your staring, or at least he didn’t mention it, because he pulled off to the left and parked the car. 

“Here we are!” Taehyung smiled and stepped out, moving to the other side to help you out as well. He took your hand and you gratefully used it to help you stand. 

“Taehyung.” You glanced around. 

         You were at a lookout. Blankets of soft green grass covered the rest stop. You could see fields for miles and miles, a sprawling canvas of green, beige, and blue. It was picturesque, yet better than any picture. 

“Taehyung, this isn’t a restaurant.” You said carefully, not wanting to give away your excitement. 

“I know, but I noticed how much you enjoyed the countryside and I thought I should take you to see one of my favorite spots.” He explained. Then he went to the trunk and pulled out a blanket and a wicker basket. “And I brought lunch.” He held up the items. 

        You moved forward without thinking, taking the blanket from him so he would have less to carry. 

“Don’t you think this is kind of romantic?” You asked, trying your best not to give him any hint to the fluttering of your heart or the way your breath hitched when he came near.

          You laid out the picnic blanket and set stones over the corners to keep it from blowing away. Taehyung turned away from you as he began to pull out the various sandwiches and drinks. 

“Only if you want it to be.” He said without a hint of sarcasm in his voice. You felt your cheeks heat up and you looked away self consciously.

“Maybe I do.” You said quietly, wanting to shrink in on yourself. He turned around and met your gaze. He had this look in his eyes, something akin to passion. 

“Maybe I do too.” He left it at that and plopped next to you, handing you a sandwich. You took it, voicing a small thank you, and turning to stare out at the view. It was quiet, the wind being your only source of noise. It was a nice sort of silence. It was comforting. 

“Taehyung, what is this?” You asked, turning to face him. 

“A picnic.” he answered vaguely. Then he turned to face you as well. “It could be something else if you wanted it to be.”

         He scooted closer to you and you leaned in as well until your thighs were touching each other. You sharply inhaled, breathing in his cologne, as he leaned in closer. His lips were dangerously close and he subconsciously ran his tongue over them. It drove you wild. 

“Taehyung, what are we?”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, because the truth is...I’ve fallen for you, Y/N.” he breathed. “You make my stomach drop and my heart flutter. I can’t think when I’m around you.” 

“Tae...I….” 

“Say it, anything, I’ll make it happen.” He murmured, his breath fanning across your cheek. You felt the tips of your ears go red. 

“What if I just want you?” 

“But you already have me, darling.” Then he leaned in and captured you in a deep kiss. 

          His tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you gladly let him in. He explored your mouth while your hands explored his chest, running up and down the planes of his body, trying to draw him in impossibly closer. He broke away, leaving you gasping for air. He smelled like wine and wood. 

“Wow.” You said breathlessly. 

“You are truly amazing.” He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You flirt.” You laughed, shoving his chest a little in response. He laughed as well, wrapping his arms around your waist and nestling his chin in the crook of your neck. 

“Can we stay up here all day?” 

“Sadly not, Tae. We both have a lot of work to do.” You frowned, thought you wanted to stay there longer as well. 

      You wanted to stay in this fantasy, the dream, and if you left, would it have happened? Was this real? Was he actually holding you right now? Kissing your neck, caressing your cheeks? You prayed it was reality. 

 “Shit shit shit.” You hissed. You had been running from one end of the winery to the other, making sure everything was absolutely perfect for the fundraiser. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” Taehyung leaned against the counter. “How can I help?”

“Stand there and look pretty.” You snapped, then you sighed and relented. “As always, of course.”

“Awww I knew you couldn’t resist my charms, Y/N.” He smirked. 

“We both already knew that.” You let out a dry laugh. “Listen, these kegs are filled with actual wine. Use this, not the bottle stuff because those cost more. Just remember to close them after you use them because otherwise they could be knocked over and it would be a huge mess, got it?” 

“Aye aye.” He saluted playfully. 

“I’m serious!” You whined, checking the list. Everything was going good, everything was going just right. You had even factored in all the accidents that could happen regarding Rosa and they didn’t seem that bad in the end. 

       Donors from all across the city, the rich, the elite, the noble, had RSVPed yes. If all went well with the raffles and prizes, then you could earn well over the target amount. 

“Namjoon! Jin! Tae!” You called to them as the first of the cars started arriving. The sunset was gleaming through the windows, casting a golden hue over the entire event. You stood outside, next to Taehyung. Namjoon was in the middle and Jin to his left. 

“Welcome Ms. Lee.” Namjoon bowed. “Thank you for coming.” 

       Rinse and repeat. 

      You began to zone out about halfway through and only tuned back in once you heard the dreaded, “Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Chung.” 

      You gritted your teeth into a makeshift smile as you watched Rosa’s family enter the building. 

“Fashionably late, as always.” Taehyung murmured in your ear, drawing a small laugh from your lips. 

       The party may have been cheap, but you made it look stunning. Gold glitter and black and gold balloons filled the place. Artfully placed roses adorned tables and the seats were covered with black and gold paint as well. The room lit up during sunset, making every gleam as if they were swimming in pure golden light. 

         The speakers sang classical music, but the second it became night, it would turn into some tunes that people could dance to. You made your way around the party, introducing everyone to Kim’s Family Winery and talking a bit about yourself and your work. Then you would try and get them to donate more money. Some people looked at you with disdain but...it worked. 

         When the music turned to more pop and ‘today’s hits’, more people began grooving on the dance floor. Taehyung found you in the crowd, his mop of hair unmistakable to you. 

“Shall I have this dance?” He wiggled his eyebrows as Apple Bottom Jeans started playing. 

“Hell yeah! Let’s drop it on the floor.” You laughed. 

        Okay, maybe you were a little tipsy. It was just enough for you to feel a buzzing sensation and your mind felt a little numb. 

“You’re insane, but at least you're my kind of insane.” Taehyung chided, dragging you onto the dance floor where you began unceremoniously dancing. 

        He joined you, of course, but his moves were so crisp and clean that you felt yourself getting into a heated dance off with him. 

“Kim Taehyung! How the hell are you so good at this?!” You shouted over the music, trying to keep up with him.

“I guess it’s in my blood.” He shouted back, dropping on the ground and doing the worm, to the amusement and disgust of the guests around him. 

“You say I’m insane, but look at you!” You tugged on his suit, making him stand up once more. 

        He stood and held your arms to steady himself. Then he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away. 

“Nuh uh, don’t think you’re getting away that easy mister.” 

        You wrapped your hand around his tie and pulled him back towards you, smashing your lips against his. Your grip loosened, instead moving to run your hands through his hair. His hands held firmly onto your waist and the world seemed to fade away. 

“Rosa no!” Jin screeched as a keg fell over. 

         The girl had been dancing on top of one and you guessed she must’ve tipped one over. The problem? It was open. Just my luck. You thought, pulling away to see a swift river of wine roll down the floor. You placed your hands on your hips, untangling yourself from Taehyung. 

“We’ll continue this later, but right now,” You glanced at the mess, the screaming guests, and the pale face Namjoon, before bursting out laughing. “I guess she was right! You guys are going to need $1,000 worth of cleaning fluid.” 

Just some people I wanted to tag :D (castle bangtan UNITE!): @moccahobi​ @kittaebrat​ @merakiiverse​ @hobicomeholla29​ @youarejesting​ @jjbeansies​ @aroseforyoongi​ 

#bts #bts x reader #fluff #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #Through The Grapevine #tatafics #castlebangtan #I'll edit later maybe-i did a little editing while i went through it

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Hey, Little Songbird - Geralt/Jaskier [G]

Gif isn’t mine. 

Originally posted to my AO3 account.

The sun perches higher in the sky with each day that strolls them further into summer. Even the biting winds that would tumble down from the mountains, the last remnant of a bitter winter, are being chased away. If a breeze does blow through, it’s always warm. It doesn’t prickle his skin. As he walks along the dirt roads, the ground is firm and sure beneath his boots. He doesn’t fear of treading into a puddle or getting his feet wet and cold, unable to warm them with a fire that probably wouldn’t have started because of the howling winds.

But now, Jaskier tilts his head back and feels the sun on his face. Farmers are out in their fields tending to their animals and their crops. Green grass and fields lined with a growing harvest spread out, reaching for the horizon. Life has returned to the continent.

His lute is slung over his shoulder, swaying with how he walks. He’s like the rest of those living on this stretch of land. Sunlight warms his blood. It makes him giddy and inspired. The next town is only a few more miles of a walk. He wouldn’t have even bothered travelling a couple of weeks ago, when the roads were waterlogged and the air bitterly cold. But when the first of the daffodils started sprouting their buds along the long stretches of road, everyone knew that spring wouldn’t be far behind.

The days have been getting warmer. It’s been steady, but Jaskier knows by the middle of the year, the sun will perch and stay there for hours on end, scorching everything and everyone underneath it. It’s a fine line the world treads, trying to find a good balance between being not too cold and not too warm, for the benefit of the people living on it and off of it. Whatever forces are at play in the making of the weather seem to be doing well so far; but Jaskier has lived through some excruciating seasons.

By the time he gets to the next town, a fine sweat starts speckling along his brow. Everyone milling around seems to be the same. Men wander around in their loose linen shirts and breeches, while women cover their heads with light shawls. Market stalls line the streets with wares already stacked in front. Vendors call out to those passing through, offering small free samples of produce. Those selling silks and cloth hold out segments for people to touch. Jaskier’s pockets are light on coin; nothing a short performance in a tavern won’t fix.

People are merrier when the weather is kind. When he picks a tavern’s table to serve as a stage, when he strums the opening chords of the songs he wrote during the spring, people smile and sing along with him – or as best as they’re able to, with the tankards of ale and wine flowing. A good summer means plenty of barrels of grapes and barely.  

The summer becomes excruciating. It holds nothing over the summers of the south – not the south of this continent, but beyond the expanse of Nilfgaard. Not that Jaskier has ever been that far south, of course. Nilfgaard stretches on for leagues, and to the best of his knowledge, there are no maps of anything further south. But he imagines oceans of sand and rock.

It’s too hot to travel, so he holds up in Cidaris – with the only real problem being that he has to spend his days listening to the droning tones of one particular troubadour echo throughout the entire city. Even when he ventures out from tavern to tavern, the troubadour’s voice is always grating against his ear.

He’d rather lie down in the middle of the road and let himself wither underneath the sun.

But as he’s standing out in the middle of the street, counting coppers for a small bag of apples and considering letting the summer sun prune him, he spots a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye.

“Geralt!”

The Witcher stops mid-stride, looking towards Jaskier. His expression, outwardly, doesn’t change much. But Jaskier has known him for too long to know the little tells of an Annoyed Geralt to a Not-So-Annoyed Geralt. The Witcher is much like the rest of them; his hair pulled into a messy bun, out of his face and neck, and wearing one of the light black shirts Jaskier so often used to see him in.

Jaskier palms the coins in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

Geralt gestures vaguely to a wooden notice board fixed to the side of a nearby building. “Monsters don’t let up just because the weather is nice,” he explains simply. When he starts walking towards the board, Jaskier follows.

The last time he’d seen the Witcher was before the last of the crops were hauled in. It was what they usually did; both of them wintering in their own ways. What it was, exactly, that Geralt did, or where he went, Jaskier could never find out. When a Witcher’s most used word is not a word at all, but a grunt, one learns to stop awaiting answers to questions.

They always find each other after being parted for some time. Even with the Continent being as sprawling as it is, their roads will eventually cross one way or another. Geralt takes the offered contract, and Jaskier follows. There’s a griffin nest nearby, apparently. “I heard about that,” Jaskier hums, rolling up his shirt sleeves. Heat scalds the cobbles beneath his feet. “A few sellswords who were staying in the Red Arrow Inn went to investigate.”

Geralt hums. “Did they come back?”

Jaskier blink seems to be enough of an answer.

He finds out quickly that Geralt is just as crotchety in the summer. Maybe it’s the heat, or the swells of people insisting on packing themselves into every street and road they can find just to mingle, but Jaskier doesn’t get much in terms of conversation as he trails after the Witcher.

Not even an order to stay behind, because it’s a griffin, and those things are fierce beasts.

Jaskier does stop underneath a grand oak tree, though. The overarching branches full with lush green leaves provide a shield from the sun overhead. “I think I’ll stay here while you...do whatever it is that you do,” he waves his hand towards a nearby hill where the griffin is supposedly nesting.

Geralt looks over his shoulder and grunts. He holds out Roach’s reins. “Try not to get her killed. Or I’ll kill you.”

The mare has grown used to him. Now, she only tries to nip his fingers when he tries to lead her underneath their shelter, instead of kicking out for his shins. “Come now, you dame,” he sighs. She comes with him easily enough, recognising that standing underneath a tree’s branch, catching passing cool breezes, will be something better than facing off a griffin.

It takes Geralt almost two hours to come back to them. Roach is the first to notice him returning, pawing a hoof into the ground and nickering softly. Jaskier looks up from his lute, fingers stilling over the strings.

Jaskier’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of the Witcher returning; he carries a slight limp and a smattering of blood across his face and arms. Clutched in one of his hands, a griffin’s head swings with every footfall.

Jaskier’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a while. “You’re covered in blood,” he notices as soon as Geralt gets closer. The front of his black shirt is drenched.

Geralt gestures to the griffin’s head. “Most of it isn’t mine.”

“Most of it?” Jaskier narrows his eyes. Huffing a sigh, he clambers to his feet. “Come on then; we’ll get your pay and get cleaned up.”

The year trudges by. The sun doesn’t let up. When Jaskier does move between towns, he watches farmers in their fields, tossing buckets of water over their crops, trying to keep them hydrated and green. The celebrations of harvests keep going, though. And where there are celebrations, there will be Jaskier with his lute in hand. He doesn’t see much of Geralt during the rest of the summer, but he does hear whispers about the Witcher’s adventures from patrons of taverns and inns.

He had a nursemaid when he could barely reach his mother’s waist. She told him a story once, when they were out of ear-reach from his parents who probably wouldn’t have appreciated elven tails being spoken of underneath their own roof. But Jaskier always listened intently, letting his imagination run wild. His nursemaid spoke of gods who loved each other, but couldn’t be together. They found a way, of course. They always did. It wouldn’t be much of a story if they didn’t. But Jaskier remembers his nanny’s face turning serious for a brief moment; harsh summers make for harsh winters. Even when the world seems out of balance, one thing must always equal another.

So when the summer gets hotter, and the grass and trees turn yellow and threaten to catch fire, he worries that their winter will freeze the continent over completely. He doesn’t worry for himself, so much as he worries for those who live off of the land. How will people ration their crops if it withers away during the summer? How will those living outside of city walls cope in their cabins and shacks, where one strong gust could blow it away?

The transition is spent worrying. Niggling thoughts in the back of his mind flare up whenever he feels a cool breeze nip at his skin. The sun still sits in the sky. Clouds are still wisped along the blue sky. But everyone knows that winter will be upon them if they’re not careful.

Toussaint is quiet. Jaskier’s fingers pick at the strings of his lute. He’s sung his summer songs. Other bards in other towns have been left with their echoes. Oxenfurt would be the best option. A city of sturdy walls, well stocked with food and wine. The Academy would have his accommodation still held on to. All he needed to do was start his trek there; weather keeping good, that is.

But whether it’s his own time management or something else entirely, Jaskier looks out one of the tavern’s windows one day and sees a greying sky. He blinks. Not a single cloud had been seen for most of the summer. But now, he wanders over to the window, peering at the sky, it’s starting to look bleak.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath.

The trees hardly had a chance to turn red and yellow before their leaves litter the sides of roads and pile up against buildings. Shop windows, that would have been open, are now barred closed. Down every stretch of road, Jaskier is accosted by a shrill breeze of cold air. He swears sometimes it whispers to him; telling him that he needs to move. Where he needs to move to, he doesn’t know. And it never tells him. But just move.

His arms are full of bread and portions of dried beef when he spots Geralt again. The transition seems to have treated the Witcher a bit better; Jaskier notices a new cloak draped over his shoulders, with a woollen thin blanket pulled over Roach’s hindquarters. The mare’s winter coat is starting to come in, if her feathered ears and fetlocks are anything to go by.

Jaskier wanders over. “I thought you would have gone to your keep by now,” he says as soon as he’s close enough. Roach spotted him coming, the mare’s ears twitching forward at recognition.

Geralt cinches up the girth to her saddle. “I thought you would have gone to your academy by now,” he fires back, checking on some provision bags attached to the saddle.

Roach nudges Jaskier’s arms. A loaf of bread almost goes to the ground, but he manages to catch it. “Yeah, I,” he clears his throat. “The weather caught me out, unfortunately.”

It’s only then does Geralt turn to look at him. Yellow eyes drop down to the food-laden in Jaskier’s arms. “Where are you staying then, if not the academy?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Here, I guess. I don’t want to risk trying to get anywhere else.”

Geralt’s frown only deepens. Toussaint is a nice town, but it’s built for warmer weather. People don’t winter well in places like Toussaint. Especially people who can only live night-by-night in taverns and inns, which Jaskier is going to have to do—

“I’m going to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt says stiffly. “Come with me.”

Jaskier’s mouth falls open, but he’s quick to shut it. Geralt holds his gaze. “I’m...what?”

“Would you rather spend your winter here?” Geralt’s voice hardens. “Out in the cold with ravens watching from the trees, waiting for the first of the starving or sick to drop?”

And he’s seen it all before; winters were he didn’t make it to Oxenfurt on time, winters spent weathering out howling winds in shabby road-side inns and taverns. His bones shiver at the memory of it.

Something must give away his answer. Geralt hums and turns back to Roach, doing up the last of her bridle. “It will be a long walk,” he says, “but if we go now, we’ll get there before the snow starts.”

Jaskier frowns. The winds have already started to nip at his skin. All the clouds need to do is turn grey with rain, and they’ll have feet of snow in no time at all. But Jaskier nods. He knows that the keep is a province away, and a trek up the mountain. They’ll need to move before the weather turns too cruel.

It’s something he never thought about when he left to explore the world; relying on the weather to be kind to him was something he had to quickly learn.

He’s heard stories of Kaer Morhen; whether or not any of them are true, he has no idea. But none of these stories have come from Geralt, so he can only assume that they’re full of shit.

He follows the Witcher on the path back to the keep. Geralt seems to know the way as if the wind just carried him along. Not once does he look up at wooden posts point in the directions of towns and other settlements. He keeps his eyes on the horizon and just keeps walking.

When they reach the foot of the mountain, the wind starts to change. Geralt lifts his head, squinting at the dark skies above them. Roach shakes; her winter coat keeping her warm, but it’s useless against any rain or snow that will fall if the clouds continue to grow heavier and heavier.

“It’s going to rain,” Geralt says after a time. He tugs at Roach’s reins. “There’s an inn nearby.”

And the innkeep lets them have the room for nothing. He’s an old man with a weathered face and pearl white hair. When Geralt steps into the tavern, the man nods towards the staircase and goes back to polishing a tankard.

There’s a hearth in the room, already lit and laden with wooden blocks. A large bed sits in the middle of the room, woollen blankets and throws and fur pelts sitting at its foot. When his eyes fall on a bathtub with hot water already in it, Jaskier’s bones groan. “You wouldn’t mind if I...?” he trails off, gesturing to the tub.

Geralt regards him for a moment before shaking his head. He stalks off to the other side of the room, resting both sheathed swords against the wall before pulling off his cloak and the heaviest of his armour. Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek, but turns for the bath.

There’s a slight chill to the room when he gets rid of his own clothes, folding and setting them nearby while he dips his hand into the water. And he just about swallows a moan at the warmth of it. There’s a faint scent of oats and lavender, and Jaskier can’t get into the bath quick enough.

Geralt pads around the room, tossing some of the blankets on to the bed and arranging his own side. Jaskier watches him out of the corner of his eye.

This isn’t new; sharing a space. In all the summers he spends with the Witcher, he finds them sharing the same bed for the most part. Though most staying in taverns and inns will be in good spirits, and laden with coin, sometimes gold is scarce, and can only stretch so far.

But it doesn’t stop the tips of his ears from warming. This is new; sharing winter with Geralt. The thought of what the keep will be like circles his head – as does the wonderings of what the other Witchers will be like. Geralt rarely speaks about the others; but Jaskier managed to wrangle out a few names from the Witcher.

He lowers himself deeper into the tub, letting the water lap against his chin. The room is quiet, with nothing but the hissing and sparking of the hearth’s fire to break it. Even Geralt is silent, lying on the bed, head turned towards the other side of the room.

Jaskier hums.

His nursemaid’s voice, decades-old now, whispers into the shell of his ear. He can remember her words as if he were still a boy held on her lap, lulling to sleep listing to sleep with songs and stories.

The lady loved him and the kingdom they shared But without her above, not one flower would grow So the King agreed that for half of each year She would stay with him there in his world down below. But the other half, she would walk in the sun And the sun, in turn, burned twice as bright Which is where the seasons come from And with them, the cycle of the seed and the sickle And the lives of the people And the birds and their flight—

“Even your thoughts are loud, bard.” Geralt’s voice cracks through the silence. “You’re thinking about something. What is it?”

Jaskier pushes himself out of the water slightly, resting his arms on the edge of the tub. He can blame the growing blush on his cheeks on the water. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts. “Either come out with it bard, or quieten your mind.” When Jaskier glances over to the other side of the room, he blinks as he sees Geralt lying in the bed, blankets already pulled over him.

“Did you ever hear the tale of how the seasons came to be?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt hums.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. A nursemaid told me about it,” Jaskier says. “It’s a sweet tale. There’s not many of them, particularly where folktale is concerned. But I always liked that story. Two gods being in love with each other, not wanting to be apart, and the weather suffered for it.”

The room is silent for a moment. “Did your nursemaid tell you that one of the gods tricked the other? Got the poor girl to eat food of his world, damning her to stay there for certain parts of the year?”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Yes, that is a version of it.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re so old that you were probably there witnessing the entire thing. What were they like, the gods? Did you know them well?”

It earns a light laugh out of the Witcher – a sound that always sends a thrum of heat through Jaskier’s veins. “Why are you thinking about stories like that?”

“The weather hasn’t been right in the last few years,” Jaskier says. “A few people in Cidaris were talking about it; saying maybe it had something to do with the gods.”

“Never took you for being superstitious.”

“I’m just noticing, that’s all.” The water is cooling and gooseflesh prickles his skin. Outside the window, he spots the sky turning black, and the moon making a valiant effort to fight through a cover of clouds. When he stands, he tries not to groan at the chill that runs over his body. Grabbing a towel, he dries off quickly. His clothes are clean, if not for the light sheen of dust from the road; something solved with a quick shake out.

By the time he pads over to the bed, slipping beneath the blankets, he fears Geralt might have fallen asleep. The Witcher is still, with even long breaths filling his chest. But the second Jaskier’s head meets the pillow, the Witcher turns on to his side to face him.

“I don’t know what’s happening with the seasons,” Geralt rumbles, “but Kaer Morhen is open to the friends of Witchers.”

Geralt doesn’t even open his eyes. Jaskier stares at him for a moment. “Are you admitting that I’m your friend?” A slow smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “Because if you are, I’m going to need you to confirm that. In a full sentence. And, if possible, could I have it in writing?”

“I don’t want to come down from the keep one spring and see you dead on the side of the road,” Geralt mutters. When he does open his eyes, Jaskier has to stop himself from inhaling too quickly at how wide the Witcher’s pupils have become. “The keep will shelter and feed you for the winter.”

Jaskier swallows. “Why?”

“Because,” Geralt sighs, eyes slipping shut again, “you’re important to me.”

And a shiver wracks through him. Not one he could blame on the cold. The burning hearth and the small mountain of blankets and furs covering the bed shelter him from the cold. But this is different. Warmth settles in his core. A smile breaks out along his face. “You’re important to me too,” he rasps, hoping that, even though the Witcher’s eyes are closed and he’s sinking further into the mattress, he can at least nod off knowing that Jaskier said what he said.

Because gods be good, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say it ever again; not when Geralt’s glower could return at any moment.

He gets confirmation of the Witcher hearing it in a soft hum.

#the witcher #geralt #jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x jaskier #geralt of rivia/jaskier #dandelion #geralt x dandelion #geralt/dandelion #geralt of rivia/dandelion #geralt of rivia x dandelion #the witcher netflix #netflix the witcher #henry cavill #joey batey #hadestown #hades #persephone #greek mythology #yourqueenforayear #agoodgoddamnshot

[anne-lister-adventures]

Thursday, 13 February 1840

8 1/4

12 40/’’

Breakfast at 9 50/’’ – Before and since till now 10 50/’’ wrote all the 1st 18 lines of yesterday – Very fine morning Reaumur 13 1/2º now at 10 50/’’ a.m. tea and coffee excellent – Slices of smoked bologna saussage – Good – Ready the instant called for – Little cakes on the tray as last night – Slept comfortably – 

A servant gone off to Macarief to have the convent open for us – No! The man apparently a sort of under steward, drove off in a Kibitka and pair just before (at the same time with) us, and went about with us everywhere – Reaumur -29º when we set out at 11 25/’’ they call it 5 versts across the river to Macarief – Did not go direct across – But drove along a narrow stream coasting an island for some distance till we turned the point of the island (behind which a little fleet of vessels  frozen up) and had the picturesque monastery full in view – 

The current geography of the Volga between Lyskovo and Makar’yevo (note the islands in the river).

Walked round, and round towers at the corners – Picturesque square tower gateway in the middle between 2 round towers – The front towards us – And 2 churches with each their 5 domes seen behind the gateway, and a tall handsome pointed clocher – The wooden Town, the natural weathered wood – No paint or wash to brighten it up ∴[therefore] looks old, and unfrequented – 

At the monastery in 1/2 hour at 11 55/’’ – A monk in readiness – Shewed us first the winter church – Au 1erpremier (magazines of flour &c. below) low and warm – Shewed us the rich robes de prêtre – And 2 archimandrite caps thick with pearls and a few precious stones – The more valuable worth 20,000/- - then to the summer lofty the walls of the interior entirely covered with fresco painting that wants renewing – 

Enormous pillars round up to the top all covered with painting – 4 different chapels at the bottom of each room with gilt columns and baldaquins rich but done about 40 years ago and too modern for the rest of the church – This church shews one that the principal dome and the 2 little domes at the entrance end light the church – The 2 domes at the other end light the part behind the iconostase which generally goes up to the top close under the edge of the great dome – Then to the chapel of St. Macarief – Light, inside all painted over as usual – Pretty chapel – Several pictures representing the history of this Saint born at Nijeni Novgorod – 

Then looked about – The great gateway mentioned above has a little church or chapel over it – Saw one of the cells of the monks – A small strip of a room with a less one alongside that held his bed – A stove to heat each – The Archimandrite Abbot could only speak Russian ∴[therefore] sent compliments and did not see him – 

The Macarief Convent (image by Alexxx Malev).

An hour there and off at 12 55/’’ A-[Ann] starved drove as near the old site of the Fair as the much snow would let us – A large handsome looking building with the hexastyle or octostyle portico and pediment, and a large pile of other building now made no use of standing in the middle of what used to be surrounded with Q.[Quantum] S.[Satis] of wood erections – The town a mere unpainted village – not a good house to be seen in it – 

Drove right across the magnificent river – 1 verst broad just opposite to Macarief, and 10 v.[versts] when debordé – Several islands covered with salley bushes – In 3/4 hour (at 12 40/’’ alighted at the handsome Church of the Assumption finished a year ago built by the Prince of Georgia – Much handsome gilding of colours and handsome grape-pattern prestole doors all done by the prince’s people here – All done by them except the painting some at Moscow of the faces &c. of the pictures – Very pretty church a tetrastyle portico and pediment at each of the 4 (I think) fronts – 

Then to the Fabrique of Eau de Vie at 2 5/’’ – Makes 500 hogsheads a year – Besides the 14 mills along the ridge of the hill seen from the river there are 30 or 40 more mills on the platform of this high ground – Went down into a little basin-like hollow to the fabrique – They work up 40 sacks of farine de seigle par jour, and a sack at a rough guess judging from what they said would = at least 5 bushels – They said afterwards they made 25 hogsheads a day i.e. 25 Hogsheads from 40 sacks of flour – 

Different qualities of brandi (Vodki) from /60 per bottle to 4/- (about 1 quart bottle – at least 8 of these bottles = 1 vedro and 3 vedros = 1 case (and not less than a case sold here) – I tasted some darkish coloured good mild brandy at 2/50 per bottle and tasted afterwards some of the white hot fiery spirit from the Tuyaux as it ran from the still – 

Such a thick fog in the place, could see nothing – All the sides of the wood walls within and everything covered not with flour,  but with snow – Singular appearance – The heat of the fabrique and Reaumur -30º of cold without produced this fog and snow within – 

Great quantity of  Absinthe (Artemisia) hanging up in bundles from the beams of the roof in one of the places – Use this to make what George called bitter brandy – Omitted to ask how many people employed – But saw 1/2 dozen women washing bottles (1/2 as well as 1 quart bottles) and I should think 20 or 30 men in all – They said the hot stuff I saw in troughs dehors and looking thick and yellowish was given to the cows and horses, very fond of it and became fat upon it – I could not see  what power turned the great wheel that works the farine with the water in the hujus trough into which it is poured from a sort of hopper – I saw them light a large sort oven or furnace – Is it steam that turns the wheel? I saw no horses anywhere – But perhaps probably horses are employed – Difficult to get information thro’ George – 

Then to a machine making shop the Prince bought of Count de Broglie who married a Princess Troubetskoi disagreed with and left her – Returned to France and sold his fabrique – Saw nothing worth going to see there – A few wheels, common turn-wheels – And a large wheel like Jackson’s for turning machinery to make cutlery they said – 

A-[Ann] so cold she began to cry ∴[therefore] hurried home and came in at 3 20/’’ then dinner in 10 minutes or less, and over at 4 – Found Porter, Port and 2 White wines on the table and they brought Madeira tasted none of them – And then they brought a 1/2 bottle Rhine wine excellent Stemberger from Cornill Francfort – Then they brought Bishoff (rather too much of the Seville orange in it) then Malaga (refused) then the Maître d’Hotel filled me a glass (A-[Ann] refused) of excellent Champagne, which, as everyone does in Russia, I let stand till the last, and till its upness was gone down then coffee – We had had soup and pâtés – A joint (what?) of veal with a very thin feuille of ham inserted all under the skin! Good – Then côtelettes de veau – Then a rôti of game gelinottes excellent and apparently small squary pieces of veal – Then a sort of little round Savoy Biscuit 2 with preserved whole white currants between – Then preserved white raspberries and preserved thin slices of lemon, all excellent – 

Then had George and the Courier settling what to do – Determined to stay all night here, and be off at 6 (6 1/2) in the morning after a cup of tea at 6 – The Courier said that in consequence of (something) horses since Nijeni and forwards will be -/6 each per v.[verst] instead of -/5 – How is this? 8v.[verst] out marche route for tomorrow – The one I had and paid 5/- for the P.[Post] O.[Office] not right for winter and going on the river! – 

A[Ann] queer and starved and out of sorts had to get set her right sat some time idle till candles at 6 – And tea at 7 – Before and after wrote note to be left with the Maître d’Hotel tomorrow morning of thanks &c. for ‘À Monsieur le Prince George de Georgie’ and settled accounts and had Domna, and wrote the whole of today till now 11 3/4 p.m. ought to have been in bed – Very fine clear cold day – Reaumur 14º on my table as I sit writing now at 11 3/4 p.m. – 

Our room about 9 x 7 yards 2 stoves and 2 doors, and our window in 3 divisions (about 15 square feet of glass) and room perhaps 9 ft.[feet] high – But being so large, it looks low – Very comfortable here – We have about 6 men servants in attendance – 3 sofas, 10 arm and 5 smaller chairs – 2 tables and one little commode, and one out of a nest of tables, and one looking glass nearly 3 ft.[feet] by 18 in.[inches] of mirror and near it the little pénate (household image) – A brick house of no great pretension outside – we have seen no room but this and our anteroom leading to it – But Grâce au Prince George de Georgie for all our comfort and good doings –

[in the margin of the page:]             Reaumur -29º

[in the margin of the page:]            Macarief

[in the margin of the page:]            horses at -/6 from Nijni.

Page References:  SH:7/ML/E/24/0013 and  SH:7/ML/E/24/0014

#anne lister code breaker #anne lister #ann walker #moscow to baku 1840

[ledenews]

Fat Man Eateth: Theo Yianni's Greek Restaurant

Theo Yianni's is located off U.S. 22 on American Way in Weirton. Just take the Colliers exit and turn toward the hospital. The Fat Man’s family has grown in size recently, and no, not just because his waist has expanded. Daughter No. 2 was born a few weeks ago in early May and the girlfriend’s mom has been in town offering her assistance and being immeasurably helpful. While she wasn’t in town for Mothers’ Day, the girlfriend wanted to offer her mom our thanks by taking her ought to eat last weekend when she returned to town. Obviously fast food, or even a run-of-the-mill trip to Applebee’s—or a cuisine-equivalent Applebee’s (see here)—wasn’t going to cut it, so we pondered briefly on where best to take her. We needed something good, but also something different. We opted to make the trek north up Ohio 7 and cross the river to Weirton yet again. Slowly but surely, we’ve been crossing off the “to try” list in the greater Weirton area, and it was time to tick another option on that list. This day called for a trip to Theo Yianni’s Greek Restaurant at 322 American Way, just off the Colliers exit from U.S. 22. It’s a place I’ve been itching to try, so when the consensus fell upon Theo Yianni’s, I was happy to eagerly agree with the selection. As stated previously, discovering and further exploring of the Greek portion of my heritage is a new venture for me. It’s what happily led me a few years ago to sample Yorgo’s across the river in Steubenville for the first of many satisfying trips. But we’d yet to make the trek to Theo Yianni’s as I was saving it for a special occasion. I admit, I made the mistake of thinking the prices at Theo Yianni’s were high. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no “dollar menu” dining here. But the prices were far better than I was expecting. I will say this. I can’t say whether this is representative of Greek cuisine or not. My palette is still in its infancy experiencing all of these flavors. My experience has been limited to here, Yorgo’s, and a place near the Pleasant Hills section of Pittsburgh, similar to, but not as good as, Yorgo’s. But after partaking in our meal, and the excellent accompanying service, Theo Yianni’s is a place I’ll happily eat at again whilst diving further into the menu. A Greek salad Theo Yianni's gyro platter A plate of dolmathes and a serving of tiropita. The Food While I’d never eaten here before, my girlfriend has on multiple occasions, explaining no visit was complete without an order of flaming saganaki—flaming cheese. Being a self-professed pyromaniac, who am I to turn down a literal explosion of flavor tableside? I’ll admit, the burst of flame as our server lit our cheese aflame whilst proclaiming “Opa!” was well worth the cost of the appetizer if it wasn’t tasty. It was, however, quite tasty. I’d never tried that cheese combination before. I most certainly will again. For our meals, the girlfriend opted for the Gyro platter and her mother ordered the cheese and broccoli pasta. Still a newbie to Greek cuisine in general, I wanted to try multiple things and at first, I thought about ordering the Greek Appetizer platter. Looking back, I probably should have. But knowing my taste buds, I didn’t want to order all that food and not eat it. So I opted for two items off the appetizer menu—Dolmathes and Tiropita. The dolmathes, or grape leaves, are a mixture of ground beef, rice, lemon, and fresh herbs, wrapped up in a grape leaf. The serving came with four. The tiropita was layers of dough stuffed with cheeses, a cheese pie if you will. Now I am NOT a vegetable person. That Ancestry.com test also confirmed my taste buds are extremely sensitive to bitterness, so anything leafy and green, or green in general, is usually not in my wheelhouse. But, for cultural exploration of the food variety, I decided to try it. I ate the first one whole, I promise. I really liked the flavor of the filling, and, paired with the flavor of the grape leaves, it wasn’t bad. But, as I thought, the grape leaves themselves weren’t for me. That’s not a prep or food quality thing. It’s a me thing. So, I unwrapped the other three which, I know, defeats the purpose. The filling was great. I then turned to the Tiropita which, surprise, surprise, had a great flavor. The pastry was light and fluffy and paired well with the cheese. That I will definitely order again. The girlfriend needed a box to take her leftovers home, so I sampled the gyro meat before she shoved it in the box. The resulting flavor has me wondering if I want to try the gyro platter now upon my return. I was set on the souvlaki, but now there’s competition for my next choice off the menu. There was no room at the inn remaining for dessert, but the menu did feature a couple of options worth exploring. Maybe next time. A Further Bout of Appreciation As an aside, I have to extend a thank you to the restaurant itself. As said, this baby is baby No. 2. My other daughter was born in 2007 and my first go-around parenting was something made difficult with an infant. Most restaurants, sit-down or fast food, didn’t come with the Koala-care stations in them in the men’s bathrooms. So that meant a lot of impromptu changing on a mat I brought with me on the floor of the men’s restroom stall, or, asking one of the staff members to watch the women’s bathroom door while I went in to change the baby. Every restaurant was always accommodating in those regards, but I hated having to bother people and would have preferred having that changing station in the men’s room. Flash-forward to last weekend, no such problems at Theo Yianni’s. The men’s restroom did feature a changing station, so from myself, and from fathers everywhere, I say thank you for remembering us too. Read the full article