#rye posting

[a-bakers-honor]

Aftercare isn’t common. Not for people like us, like me and him. Not when the ruinous filth that he did to me was more than I’ve ever let anyone do. Most would leave after that. A pleasant thank you is the most I have known.

Yet here his is. He remains. Slept the whole night in my bed, arm over my waist. His armor is back in his barracks just as he should be. But he’s here. Standing by my bed, holding the most rubbery burnt looking excuse for eggs. His scars proudly on display in my home. Long healed, unlike mine that are still a bit red.

He looks at me with a gentle gaze and says something I can’t quite catch. I’m just fixated on the food.

A gift, to give food to one who always feeds others. A gift, to sit with someone like me.

I eat the burnt eggs. I break bread with him. And when he leaves, I rise, being horribly late to open my shop. And as the tunic falls over my chest, I hope he visits me soon. And will give me a chance to learn him as he has learned me.

[beclight]

THIRTY. THIRTY SEVEN NOTIFICATIONS AND 35 OF THEM ARE RYE. RYE ARE YOU OKAY

[a-bakers-honor]

There is peace in the monotony of my days. An early wake. Wander the streets before others even dream of opening their eyes.

Down the road, boisterous laughter carries from a tavern. Rowdy knights, soldiers of the like, spending a late night with friends and comrades catching up. Comparing scars. Telling drunken stories. It calls to me, lures me like a siren in the water, hungry for blood.

So, I ignore the call. It’s easier these days to do so. To continue with my routine, as I have for many years now. Even though we are the same, the knights, the soldiers and I. Same build, same hands. Same callouses. Same blood lust.

But that life is not mine anymore. And entering that tavern will not bring back those I have lost. Only pull me deeper into a drink I didn’t want to begin with.

The doors of the bakery unlock clean, with a quiet click. I only need to light one candle these days. I know this place like the back of my hands. I know every floorboard that creaks, the bags of flour I need to use first. Where every pot, pan, and tray is located. I could work here blind if I so needed.

But I know soon the sun will rise. My doors will open so the smell of fresh goods waft into the roads. And I will greet the faces of people I used to protect. And in some ways I still do. Providing food, and goods is how I keep my oaths.

In some ways, the knights, the soldiers, and I, we never stopped being the same. My oaths never broken. They just changed with time.

[a-bakers-honor]

It’s blistering today. The heat sears into my flesh but it is a welcomed warmth. It is home. Farmhands and I looking no different from one another, as I fight with brambles and thorns to collect berries.

It is simple work. Pluck, drop, pluck, drop.

The creek gargles near by and the grass beneath me whistles as I pick. It holds secrets that the winds cannot carry. I have whispered many of mine to the grass before.

In quiet nights amongst the brambles. Him and I. When it didn’t matter who saw my scars running along my chest, so long as it was him. He saw what I was. And he kissed me without a second thought. Strong hands like mine. A tan like mine. Strong bodies that met amongst the ground of the earth, that melted next to the brambles.

The grass held that secret. A secret between him, and I, and the earth.

“I think I’ll make a wild berry cake. It was always his favorite,” I mumble to the grass. Another secret for her to hold. Things about him I don’t want anyone to know. In those ways, he’s still mine.

[a-bakers-honor]

It’s hot out today. Hotter than I think I’ve remember it being in a long time.

Today’s special is an elderberry lemon tart. But I don’t think it mattered much to me today how many sales we made. A rare occurrence, to be certain. But I feel that I must trust my gut on days like this.

So I brought an extra bit of today’s special out to some local knights.

The ravenous creatures devoured the tarts without a second thought. It was a nearly fearful sights.

Perhaps I will not be trusting my gut anymore.

[a-bakers-honor]

A cloaked figure who looks vaguely like the prince came by today. He told me a tragic tale of a long lost love.

So anyway, that’s how I lost 20 customers, the knights of the towns guard trashing the place, and a not-prince-who-was-definitely-the-prince holding up my line before making a grand escape.

He tipped well at the very least.

[a-bakers-honor]

Welcome to The Rise Bakery

Call me Rye. 23 and trans masc. Masc adjacent pronouns and queer.

I carry a deep love for food and the people who make it. I also carry a deep adoration for medieval blogs. Thus, two loves are combined. However this blog will engage with kink at times, so minors and ageless blogs, do not interact.

The Rise Bakery is located in the center square of the capital, a busy place to be certain. It sees many faces, from knights, to jesters, farmhands and blacksmiths. So please, do not be shy.

My asks and dms are open

Tags: #rye posting for pretty much everything, from kink to one off posts

#rye proofing for photos which will most likely be food that I make

#order pickup for asks

[beclight]

Aimes-tu les tours jumelles ?

RYE. RYE JE SUIS MUSULMAN RYE.😭😭😭😭