#So I had a little and made some pierogis and then had the other half of that single bar

[stardustedknuckles]

We're still a little unclear on the details of what exactly happened last night and there are two leading theories, but I've decided it's funnier to conclude that if you have 5mg of thc on an empty stomach it's apparently a complimentary trip straight to eeby deeby. I did not have a good time. It was such a low dose. What the hell.

[traipseartist]

July 22nd - 28th - Toronto / ([ˈtɹɒnoʊ]) /Terannō & "The Food City"

When I was a small child, my parents took my sister and I to Niagara Falls. It might be my earliest memory, as my mom claims that I was either just barely or not yet three. I can remember, faintly, the family in ponchos my dad kept in the Astro van's back seat glove (?) compartment from Disney World (which, I think, insinuates that either my Aunt Laura bought us Disney-themed ponchos for a trip to the Great White North, or my family had already spent money to take me to Disney world even though my little play-doh ball of a brain wasn’t in the business of forming lasting memories, yet). I recall my father lifting me up, Simba-on-Pride-Rock Style, and the water from the falls reaching what felt like miles away across the roaring gap and the plexiglass railing to splash me.

I remember in my youth thinking of this memory with a bitter sense of betrayal. Human shield! To keep him dry! But as an adult I find the image in its own way a little funny. I’m sure my jelly-sticky hands were pressed to that plexiglass, watching the water drip down. My sister, tall for seven and a half, probably had her chin on the smooth aluminum of the barrier. I can’t help but think I surely laughed before I cried, as three-year-olds can do in a turn. Joy veering into terror and back into joy again.

Perhaps that’s why I was a little disappointed that Toronto was less… emotional? I suppose I wasn’t looking to be moved by a city truly only just over the border from my home country… but Mexico felt like something distinct despite the southeastern United States also being Mexico for so long. I kept looking for the slight identity of Canada that deviated from the US, something beyond All Dressed Lays chips and the sticker shock of the Canadian Dollar. I wasn’t going to see it with my eyes.

I was going to feel it in their kitchen.

I feel like trying to describe what Toronto the City felt like is going to be like trying to describe a lesser-known band’s sound with other lesser-known band names as descriptors: unhelpful and--even if you did know what I was talking about (because you’re also so cool)--likely pretty reductive. I was there for a week. And working remotely during the day—so I didn’t even get the dopamine hit of trouncing around a novel landscape, free from the binds of my daily grind.

But! I feel confident in describing the food culture of the ~3-mile radius in which we stayed, as I made sure my mother and my sister came with me to hell-and-gone to eat and drink our way around town.

I was told Toronto was a Food City™ which, yeah—ok—what major cultural hub isn’t? NYC is a “Food City.” San Francisco is a “Food City.” New Orleans wouldn’t forgive you if you left it off of the list. Los Angeles would like to have a word. I think I’ve always taken this descriptor to be “you have a lot to choose from.” Living in Pittsburgh (and hearing some people attempt to also describe it as a Food City, which, like, bless you, but you’re wrong) I’ve come to understand the value of this. I really can’t get high-brow Mexican food at the drop of a hat anymore. The sushi of Pittsburgh, PA quivers in the enormous, crushing shadow of the Thai that dots the pizza-slice. I won’t contest that Pittsburgh has good food. Certainly, don’t sleep on Apteka, The Vandal, Morcilla, Pierogi Palace—but you’re not rolling in off of the sidewalk to be wowed by every establishment you hole up in. And frankly, Stinky’s pub doesn’t really need to serve anything more than dumpster nachos to be worth the visit.

But this is not in defense of Pitty! Come to town, I’ll show you around. I know more than enough to make it worth your time. This is intended to do a little bit of smithing on the digram: Food City.

New York has its fair share of junk places. I ran into plenty of grimy, middling donut joints in Los Angeles (whilst searching for the good ones). San Francisco is notoriously hit-or-miss. And Toronto of course has its own spots hamming it up for the occasional tourist. But Toronto’s food scene felt like it had deep heart in ways that the most stunning of establishments in many cities I had visited before in the US had not managed, despite Toronto being, for all intents and purposes, incredibly American (minus the metric system, which… well, I’m coming around but I don’t want to talk about it). The city had captured something from its European predecessors that Americans dropped on the ground when we started outsizing the value of things beyond the dinner table: a way that the feeling of being/eating/drinking in a restaurant was more than the sum of its parts.

I have a thrill in a new city of following an industry-rabbit down a hole: Where does the bartender at this quirky dive get breakfast? Where does the woman putting salsa on my burrito eat lunch when she’s sick of eating burritos? Does the barista putting chocolate milk in my cappuccino have opinions on the neighborhood I’m three blocks over from? In some places, this can be a dead end (especially in places with a troubling wage or class disparity… because it means the people who are serving you don’t eat where they work, sometimes), and you must be a judge of more than just taste when talking to people giving you recommendations—an entirely separate skill I certainly haven’t mastered. But! People who work in the food I like, if they can swing it, are as hooked as I am on the intoxication of a good haunt.

And Toronto is full of them. While many of them came as advertisements from the industry humans that float among them, some of them were so easy to pick out from the street I kept holding my breath waiting to be disappointed by the subtle cues that usually indicate a place is worth eating in: People dwelling at empty tables over an already paid bill. Maybe someone actually thought about the art that’s on the walls. If they gave up on the décor, they’d didn’t chintz on the wine glasses. They have a gin on the shelf I couldn’t find in an airport lounge. Somehow everyone who works there looks like they’ve always worked there.

Even the greasy spoons were not hard to spot, because it felt like the people of Toronto cared about them, too. Every place we ate or drank, we shouldered our way up to bars or were tucked into corners from the traffic of locals and tourists alike. Refreshingly, we had servers unabashedly tell us what to dodge on some menus, what everyone ordered but they didn’t think was very good, what they had a hand in creating, what they kept trying to kick off the menu, but the regulars kept dragging it back in like a dead cat.

Canadians are in some ways, fiercely practical, and unlike some cities in America that feel eager to have immigrants assimilate and adjust their dishes for a more homogenous palate, the places that stuck out were run by very recent immigrants, or immigrants that never saw the value in doing anything but highlighting or reinventing their unique dishes with ingredients they could never get their hands on (or get away with combing) in their countries of origin.

I had crème brulee with caviar dotting the surface and fatty duck salted, cured, and sliced like salami. We tasted ravioli made with tomato puree and spinach puree, separated only by the pasta’s seal and raw cacao nibs were sprinkled over the foam of my mocha to bring a bitter crunch to the usually-too-sweet drink. I had hot. Apple. Pie. With. Gruyere. Grated. Over. The. Top. IN FRONT OF MEEE!

Some of the innovations made me feel stupid. Of course Lillet Blanc made an incredible spritzer with black berries. Yeah, actually, spicy cajun brisket and pickled carrots do go in bahn mi. Why hadn’t I wrapped a whole-ass shrimp in egg-roll skin and deep fried it in one go? Or made “ribs” with corn, elote style?

Maybe we had gotten lucky, perhaps we had chosen well, and not every dish was amazing in every establishment, but every place we managed to stumble into felt like it was working to make more than it had been given. Though Toronto is not the land for street fashion or incredible scenic views, it more than makes up for it with the way they’ll make your plate. I will be delighted when I get to reprise the role of Pac-Man in that city on the lake, some day, soon.

Find all the places we ate here and play along at home.

[bomberqueen17]

(casserole anon from… a very long time ago 😅 here to say thank you so much for the series on casseroles!! I have saved all the recipes and I am excited to try them; the pierogi casserole sounds especially intriguing. I hope you’re staying warm!)

ah! yes! i did comfort foods at the beginning of winter... I innovated a new casserole since then!! I should share it!!

Well. It's not insanely innovative. It's just that I took an old family recipe from Dude's family, which we'd made a few times, and combined it with an amalgamation of half a dozen things off the Internet, and have come up with an easier way of eating the recipe than the original one which was off the back of a packet of seasoning or something.

So, I present:

Modified Chicken Parisienne

The main important thing here is the sherry. It's distinctive because of the sherry. I also like to flavor it with thyme. The original recipe had you bake the chicken in the sauce and then cook the rice separately, and then remove the chicken and thicken the cream sauce with sour cream at the last minute.

This seems silly to me when you could just bake the rice in as part of the dish. So I looked up chicken and rice casserole recipes, and am making that now! Since it’s fucking snowing out and the heat’s broken at work and I froze my ass off all day, here’s a good chance to share it!

So you can use basically any vegetables in this. For excitement, I took my bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs and browned them briefly, skin side down, in a hot cast iron Dutch oven, in lard, while I got everything else ready, and then left them sitting on a plate to the side while I did the rest of this.

Start with aromatics. I used several small onions and two medium carrots. You could also use like, celery, fennel, celeriac, whatever. I put those in the hot fat for like 5-10 minutes while I chopped everything else.

I diced some garlic and threw that in. Then I cut up a whole bunch of fresh broccoli, dicing the stems really well and cutting the florets apart. I threw those in and mixed them around, and then threw in a cup or two of sliced mushrooms I’d bought special for this because I love mushrooms. You could also use spinach, kale, cauliflower, green beans, peas, corn, I mean, any vegetable you care for. (Ideal way to use up anything in your freezer you have no other plans for.)

I stirred all that around, and then put in 1.5 cups of white rice, and stirred that really well also. I then tossed in about 1/4c of sherry. Stirred that around some, and then put in 1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup.

To that I added a cup of water and 2 cups of milk, and then put in a little extra water just to make sure. I added salt, pepper, oregano, and rosemary, because I’m almost out of thyme, which lends itself to puns but does make me sad.

On top of that I nestled my 2 chicken thighs. The recipes call for more chicken than that but there’s only two of us and so I don’t bother.  I’d say put a piece of chicken (thigh or breast or leg) per person you’re serving. I don’t bother having enough chicken for the leftovers, as I find skin-on chicken doesn’t reheat appealingly. You could also shred cooked chicken into here if you’d rather, it doesn’t matter.

Then I topped the whole thing with ehhhh like a cup of shredded cheddar cheese, because the chicken casserole recipes call for it and I love cheese. It’s clearly optional here. I had the chicken thighs skin-side-up so I put the cheese around them, not on top of them, in the hopes that the skin will crisp a bit.

Into a hot oven I put the casserole, uncovered. Bake at 350-375 until the chicken is done, 35-45 minutes probably.

Serve hot.

[incarnateirony]

Hi uh, are you a destielgate blog? What's been going on? I tried to read on your latest posts but I guess I got out of touch because I couldn't follow a single thing. Did Brazil leak a script??

Oh good lord RIP

I don’t know what all has fallen under “destielgate”, but I’ve seen some people tag some of my posts that. 

I’ll TRY to get into this with cliff’s notes history of events ‘round here.

 September 2nd a group of fans received information passed from the Brazillian dubbing studio including that a Me Too would come from Dean, even though this isn’t in the US script (as several things even in the US version are not in the script). The fans spent about 2 months trying to debunk it, including eventually re-establishing contact with the source who had disappeared because of covid (because Brazil), and eventually acquiring more information.

This fell into obscurity because it was never publicly posted to begin with due to the means of receipt, among other things. But admittedly the related blogs were full of clownwhistles about it, etc. Then LatAM dub came in with a steel chair with it’s “And I, You”, which then of course made this two countries involved in this.

Some people remembered the Me Too bloggers and pretty much everything in our orbit lit on fire as a result. People, Misha included, threw the “rogue dubber” excuse around, until someone who even worked for the same dubbing company (LatAM, not the Brazil one -- just on other shows, not SPN) explained how impossible that was. 

Summarily, it was explained the tiers of production and corporate approval needed for it, and that “rogue dubber” was impossible, so the content came from somewhere; they also highlighted the difference between “bad dub” lines being thrown as excuses and just pretending people can totally make shit up. But that’s when “conspiracy theory” started getting thrown around.

Which is actually pretty funny, because one side just has a dubber going “uh, that’s impossible, this came from somewhere, here’s how dubbing works.”

The other side has built in their own head a two country wide spanning international rebellion of rogue hellers at multiple tiers of production (script receit, translation, the director, the voice actors, and the person at LatAM WB that had to approve it for air). Which, IDK man. Sounds like a conspiracy theory to me, fam.

Around that time, a lot of weird shit happened in my orbit-- the CW employee prattling on and not realizing I was pulling corporate details out of them, a variety of hilariously bad blogs fishing for what exact kind of content we had. Any attempts at addressing the situation so far had the CW falling on its ass. We choose to be very vague about this as a result, because it doesn’t let them make another statement, since they know they can continue to fall on their ass.

After this, people started accusing us of being “cult like”, because we didn’t give out the leaks we have -- be it the Brazil leak, or any other number of leaks. We were incredibly cautious with distributing them for a number of reasons (source security, potential for being fake [they all went through debunk periods, etc]). 

Ironically, the people spreading the “cult like” accusation, for a group of quiet fans minding their own shit in a discord collecting information, are the same fans that sit in big Destiel servers talking about how ITK they are, what their sources say, and to DM them for leaks, which is itself perfectly hilarious. They started saying they believe in “open source” information and just spent a week dragging me around the block.

So, I decided to post some open-source information! Unsurprisingly, they’re summarily yelling “NO NOT LIKE THAT.” because it was never actually about how we handle or distribute information. In fact, half of it sources from a hate campaign from a big name fan who has a grudge because I disagreed with her on her use of the word subtext A YEAR AGO. She’s done it in waves, this is the third wave since.

Are we supposed to be open sourced? Closed source? Just-the-way-that-keeps-them-relevant sourced? Can somebody make up their minds? 

Either way, that’s about the history of where we’re at and WHY we’re at where we’re at in this little corner of the woods.

Oh and memes. Apparently memes like “pierogi” and “Castiel’s uterus”. Also vry scary and cultlike.

[sheyshen]

Some tidbits about my John Shepard that I had posted on discord since we’re a week out from MELE!!!

John has medical training. Not enough to be a doctor, but enough that he can tend to injuries on the field or on the shuttle back.

His mom was a nurse and he wanted to be one too before she had died, so when he joined the military he took medical classes on the side.

He has a terrible eating habit. It takes so much effort to get him to sit down for a meal since he favors quick things like sandwiches and nutrition bars (outside of major get togethers and dates it takes a lot for kaidan to convince him to sit for a full meal. and this is the guy who loves to cook)

I'm going to say KFC is still around in ME times... He's gotten that half gallon soda bag and chugged the entire thing in one go on a dare once. The real feat was him not getting sick immediately after.

He's an empanada master and knows how to make them from scratch. He really only does for holidays but will make a ton of them and freeze them so he can warm them whenever he wants. (he's trying his hand at pierogis more recently with his free time since they're similar)

He has a shelf of cook books that he breaks out around the holidays and will share stories for things his mom used to make when he was a kid.

His mother was christian but he's agnostic and hasn't been to church since her funeral.

His father died in a car crash when he was a toddler. He keeps a photo of him and his mother in his wallet (but wears his mom's wedding ring on a necklace at all times). John was in the car when it happened, but he only had a couple bruises.

He's debated on starting a band once or twice, but when he brought it up to his crew the only ones who seemed interested were jacob and kasumi. miranda later forwarded over a sound file of her singing that he took as her own interest in joining. Joker offered to be a roadie as long as he doesn't have to setup anything, he'll drive but that's it.

Post reaper war, he likes to spend the warmer days in a lounger on the deck of the house he shares with Kaidan, strumming his guitar and just enjoying the ocean breeze.

He spent a lot of time in the ocean post retirement because after growing up in chicago he only ever saw beaches and oceans (like not lake michigan beaches) during missions so never got to actually take time to enjoy them until then.

The first day at the beach he had a massive burn from being out in the sun all day. It hurt like hell but he had no regrets but is more careful about sunscreen now than before.

His caffeine intake is on an unhealthy level, especially since it's almost entirely soda or energy drinks since he hates coffee (too bitter) and isn't a fan of most teas.

His record for going without sleep is 4 day 18 hours. he passed out while standing and his squad had to lug him out of the airlock and drag him to his cot. He was super sore since they couldn't get his armor off so he slept nearly 20 hours in it. He got the lecture of a lifetime from his CO after that.

He's got a bad habit of picking at scabs. He know he shouldn't but he still does anyway. His doctor was pissed at him because he even did so post op for both his appendix removal and top surgery as well as for various other injuries he had on the field (he's had only a few that needed stitches but lots of scars are lots of wounds). actually removing the bandages and picking at the incisions to the point he needed new stitches for a couple of them. He claims he couldn't help it, he was itchy.

He's since gotten payback for that after needing to stitch close a wound on kaidan's arm and the biotic would not stop picking at it when he wasn't paying attention. (He love K with everything he's got and thinks the best of him and adores him but he will admit that got on his nerves so much) (John watching Kaidan scratch at his newly scabbed up injury: "Now I know how Dr. Park felt...")

He's a fan of old sci-fi movies/shows. star wars, star trek, stargate, pacific rim, etc.

When he was little he dreamed of meeting aliens, and quietly nerded out the first time he met one face to face, and pestered nonstop the first who would answer his questions.

he dressed up as gipsy danger for halloween when he was little, he was that big of a fan

He's made "drift compatible" jokes about him and kaidan's relationship once or twice, and joked that biotics are like the force too

An extra tidbit: He is Chilean, Mongolian, Italian.

[copperbadge]

swords-n-spindles re: oktoberfest pie

German who lived in Munich for 25 years here. Am wheezing in horror at this pie abomination. Also the opinion of locals about the Wiesn (yeah, nobody but tourists says Oktoberfest, sorry) is both "horribly overpriced spectacle for tourists, work makes us go each year, we hate it, make it stop" and "that's OUR party, of course we're going, it's tradition, here are seventeen paragrafs on where to get the best Brathendl".

Oh! So kind of like the Christmas Market in Chicago. “Don’t go, it’s horrible, but if you do there is only ONE CORRECT PLACE to get potato pancakes. Wait, I’d better go with you, I do need to do some holiday shopping.”

thegollux re: dumplings

serious question: what is the benefit to pre-cooking half of the chicken stuffing. this feels like food poisoning waiting to happen.

It’s actually a way of keeping the filling cohesive inside the wrapper while avoiding food poisoning! :D 

So, the thing is, when raw ground meat is boiled or steamed inside a wrapper like this, it coheres into a little meatball inside the wrapper, so it doesn’t just fall apart all over your plate when you bite in. But in order to fully cook ground meat inside a wrapper, you generally have to cook the dumpling until the wrapper is way overcooked, making it gummy or tough. 

There are other solutions, like binding the meat up with egg or a sauce, but they don’t give quite that same texture, and can get difficult to wrap, so the solution is to cook SOME of the meat, so some is already pre-cooked, and leave just enough raw to hold the rest together while it boils/steams. You don’t have to cook as long to be sure the meat is fully cooked through, but you also don’t get the “this turned into a pile of crumbled meat on my plate” issue. 

spaci1701 re: dumplings

I'm very jealous. I've only got a hand cranked pasta roller and it's very challenging to roll sheets by yourself - just not enough hands. The best part of doing your own filled pasta is that you can make all the really weird filling combos you want. So far my fave has been Sheppard's pie pierogi.

That sounds amazing! 

Yeah, Mum asked if I was sure I didn’t just want a countertop version, where the same amount of money could buy me a wider roller, and I said that it came down to hands -- if you’re cranking with one hand and feeding with the other, you need a third hand to catch the dough. 

junker5 re: dumplings

Does your mixer have a name? He looks like he has an awesome personality, like DumE orSci’s Calcifer! 😊 The dumplings look amazing.

LOL! No, I never bothered naming him -- I usually only name things if I’m going to be referencing them in conversation with other people, and I never got into the habit of whimsically naming things because in high school I would do that and whatever I had named would break, so I stopped :D 

geekgirl76 re: dumplings

Yum! Side question, how do you like your soda stream? I'm a carbonated water junkie and I'm seriously considering one, even though I have a rule about no appliances that use propriatrary inserts. (though, with the internet, I suppose that's not as big a deal as it used to be, someone, somewhere would either start selling them or create a hack.)

There are definitely adaptors you can buy to hook it up to a non-proprietary CO2 canister, but between the perils of dealing with pressurized canisters and the inconvenience, I’ve never bothered. Sodastream makes it super easy to return your canisters (the only issue right now is supply) so I don’t mind if I’m paying a slight convenience fee for that. Now, that said, you also have to buy proprietary water bottles, some of which aren’t dishwasher-safe, and you’re supposed to replace them every 2-3 years, and those aren’t cheap, so bear that in mind. (If you want the machine washable ones, you have to buy a specific type that only fit a certain number of the machines, so do your homework before buying.) 

I do like my sodastream -- that’s their cheapo version and I’ve had it for 10 years, which tells you something about its durability. Especially if you don’t care about flavoring and just want carbonated water, it’s great. The flavor syrups are hit and miss; a lot of them for me have an acrid aftertaste, and again supply right now can be an issue. But the nice thing about having plain carbonated water is you can make your own flavorings. I often make super-concentrated tea and add a shot of that, or just sprinkle Pure Lemon in. 

Anyway yeah -- it’s not the most ideal setup but I do feel like I save a LOT of money and packaging waste with them. 

lionheartmadre re: dumplings

can i just say i love how you gave your mixer a retro fighter plane look? cause that's frikken awesome.

Thanks! I wanted to decorate it up a little and asked Mum for some decals for Christmas one year, and she really came through :D 

katriel-tumbles re: dumplings

Kreplach FTW. I've never had or made them (a tragedy for this Jew) but I get the feeling they're simpler than they seem.

The dough is a little tricky, because it’s got eggs in it which makes it sticky, which in turn makes it a little more difficult to work with without making the end product rather tough. But yeah, if you can get round the dough issues it’s not that complex. 

fanmouse re: dumplings

Finland: piirakkaa, India: paratha, both similar to pierogi. (I am facinated by how similar the words are in the different language families.) Good luck!

Pierogi was on the list, but good reminder about paratha and I’d never encountered piirakkaa! I’ll look it up :D 

[bigbeautifulmothwoman]

Family Values Ch. One

Martin Mathias x (S/I) Lena Wilusz

Braddock nightlife is almost non-existent, and that was how most of its residents liked it. A collection of old and new, families and singles. Braddock was religious, intended to be pristine under the light of the sun and quiet in the dark of night.

Braddock was not the best place for Martin to be. Martin Mathias, young and inquistive. Preferred his hair longer but dressed simply. He always felt as though he stuck out like a sore thumb by his mere existence, and as such worked tirelessly to make himself as unassuming as possible. Dressed plain, acted plain; he kept to himself in town, never wanting to make a fuss…

...So he took the night train to the next town over. By train or bus, it was about thirty to fourty-five minutes to Pittsburgh, close enough to be back home in time but far enough that his name wouldn't reach back to his family's ears. The day was for showing Tata Cuda that he was in fact not a monster; the night was to be one.

Stepping off the train in the Pittsburgh station, he found his way into directions towards the bustling center of town. If Martin was any one thing, it was careful. He always got what he needed, safely and how he wanted it. His first nightly adventure in Pittsburgh, he had decided, would be reconnaissance. Just thinking the word made him feel like a man out of the movies- he was already armed with the tools of his trade, packed away neatly inside the small leather case he carried them in. Just in case, he thought.

Just in case.

This night he wandered around town looking aimless, taking note of what kinds of things the place offered. It was already more diverse than Braddock was: a few larger grocery stores, a candy store, a small theater, and a multitude of restaurants lined the streets along with a number of other things to enjoy. Unlike Braddock, there were still a number of people roaming around at this hour; couples and singles alike. Martin finds it strange to see so many people out on an average night, the clock just barely hitting nine p.m. But this was only natural, he was only used to small towns after all.

The man comes to a stop rounding out his investigation back onto the strip of restaurants he'd passed before; his stomach growled. Dinner at his home wasn't always substantial, especially when he had no say in the menu. It was another night with a half full plate of something he could barely stomach. A decent amount of cash tucked in his pocket leads him into the first establishment that catches his eye.

The place was called The King's Tavern. His first thought was that his feet were leading him to some kind of bar, but stepping inside gave him an entirely different sensation. He couldn't understand how a place could look so much like his black white thoughts and yet still make him feel so...safe and comfortable. The entire inside was lit by false lamplight, with wooden tables and chairs. Some corners had booth seating with velveteen lined seats. His first instinct was somewhat correct, there was a small bar space with a woman standing behind it mixing drinks and pouring ales into steins. In this place, everyone else was out of place. For him, it was like stepping back into his own eastern Europe.

Confidence beside him, Martin slides into one of the available booths, still not looking for extra attention. He sat, waited, observed, and he saw her. A woman approached another table just before his. Somewhat petite, a corset keeping her linen blouse tucked against her skin and resting just over the waist of her skirts. An apron was tied around her waist, adorned with colorful floral embroidery in contrast to much of the dimmer atmosphere. Her face is soft but her eyes exhausted, a notepad and pen readied in her hands.

"All I'm saying is, the point is moot if you aren't going to keep everything to fact. No one in the 15th century would be wearing sneakers or have synthetic fabrics."

"Sir please, this is just a restaurant-" The woman tries to keep her cheerful work façade up despite her frustrations.

"It's just a little bit of extra effort, for the true authentic experience." The customer insists. By the look on the woman's face, Martin can tell a nerve has been hit.

"Well sir, the cobblers been ill and price of linen is up. We can make you a meal, but you'll get no women here. Now, can I get you something?" A thick European accent coats over her words, sounding impeccably natural. Martin can see that finally the man in front of him is appeased enough to let her slip from his attention and finally move onto his table. She sighs one more time before him.

"Good evening sir and welcome. Have you been with us before?"

“Ah, no, this is my first time. A-and uh. I’m sorry about...that-“ He says.

"O-oh...Thank you. It's kind of stupid, people seem to get really...annoyed? Irritated? Something like that. They don't even know what it's like there...only ever seen it in books. I'm sorry, you came to eat not to listen to me talk, please, what can I do for you?"

"I only have so much cash...do you have something easy? As, as long as it isn't stuffed cabbage?" He must have said something funny, because the woman chuckles happily at his remark.

"I'll surprise you then. And no cabbage, I promise." She departs as quickly as she comes, leaving Martin to sit in his own quiet. Shifting his fingers, eyes darting between spaces of decoration. His hands itch to dig into his bag and reset the organization of his tools another time, just to ensure they're in their proper places.

He keeps his hands planted on the table. You don't know who's watching, Martin.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the woman returns with a plate of food in her hands and a glass of water.

"I hope water's fine, I forgot to ask what you wanted… I can get you something else too."

"This is fine, thank you."

"Swell! I uh. I hope this isn't too forward but...do you mind if I ate with you? My shift is ending soon and my boss is letting me grab some dinner because of the time...and really I just don't want to sit alone. I-if it's not okay that's fine! I just thought I'd...give it a shot." Martin bites his tongue. Instead of speaking, he gestures towards the seat opposite him in invitation.

"Oh thank you! Let me go get my plate!" She scurries off again.

This was a surprise. Never in all his years, or at least the recent ones, had a woman throw herself so willingly towards him. Perhaps there was something new to him? No, he was sure everything was quite the same when he got up that morning, and no sickness magically changed anything about him. Not that there was any magic at all. Once again, she's back in his sight, another plate and glass in hand.

"I just got us both the same thing. Leftovers of today's rouladen special, leniwe pierogi, and some vegetables. No cabbage, I made sure!" She laughs again.

"I hope you enjoy it." She says.

"Thank you." They both dig in, enjoying their meals in relative silence as life continues around them. Martin is reminded of a past time, sitting at a table in quiet comfort, candles burning and exchanging longing glances sat on either side of the wood between them…

"Uhm...may I ask your name?" Martin wakes from his daydream once again, eyes now fixated on her, blinking slowly.

"Ah. It's...Martin."

"Pleasure to meet you Martin. My name is Lena. Lena Williams."

"...Lena?"

"Yeah...it's Americanized. Magdalena Wilusz, my family is from Poland."

Something somewhere in him felt like a dream came true.

A stout older man approached their table, two glasses in hand. He assumed, and assumed correctly, that this man must of been her boss, and the owner.

"Mr. Kaufmann, what's this for?"

"On the house, dear. You've worked hard this week, just enjoy your weekend off."

"...Thank you sir."

"My boss," she says, "he's a good man, really looks after us. He really is too kind…" She takes hold of one drink, glass frosting with cool condensation from the liquid inside. She takes a drink with eyes closed, sighing.

"It's really good, sweet like apples. Try some!" Martin is unsure what’s been brought to the table, but he trusts her. And she’s right, the flavor is light, crisp, and refreshing. The thought crosses his mind that this is alcohol, and alcohol can make him clumsy and clumsy is not what he needs if he is intending to feed, which wasn’t his intention in the first place with this trip… But the bite of it is only as harsh as cold lemonade in

summer and encourages him to continue swallowing the drink down as he enjoys his meal. The two continue talking, drinking as the evening winds down in the dining room and their food dwindles.

“H-huh, oh dear, its getting late isn’t it...this is about the time the bars start letting out...s-shit- oh! Sorry, I usually d-don’t curse…” Lenas face is molded with concern as the minutes continue to tick down. He thinks she must be worried about the influx of men flooding into the streets…

“I...i could walk you home…?”

“Martin, I couldn’t burden you like that-“

“You’re worried, a-about the people? You drank some and just want to get home safe, right?”

“...Yes. Even when I eat I leave fast...you’re really a gentleman aren’t you, Martin? I’m sure...I can find something to repay you.”

“I-I’m sure you can, if that’s what you...need to do.”

Martin was ecstatic. It still raised a conflict in his somewhat addled mind, but the ease of solving his sickness for one night also held high. As minutes passed on, the facts and choices began to swirl into a haze. Dinner was finished and the plates left to the closing staff. Coats were donned, Martin's bag of tools secured, and on they went with Lena leading the way. She kept herself steady by clinging onto his jacket sleeve, pointing out vague instructions to her home. It wasn't very far at all, if not a roundabout from her place of work. Just under thirty minutes from the restaurant, only taking so long due to their somewhat inebriated states.

"S-see? Not too bad...thank you Martin. You're such a sweet guy…" Lena says, finally arriving at her front door. She's still unsteady on her feet, wobbling just a bit as she stares down at her hands and the concrete steps.

"S-so, Martin...do you… mind if I do something stupid?" The man in question remains silent, merely nodding a positive response. Sure of herself, she plants her lips to his, fisting her shaking hands into his coat.

"U-uh, if that was b-bad of me, I'm s-sorry, uhm...but. Y-you're welcome to come in, j-join me-"

“Join me, Martin."

Echoes of her flitting about dim halls in a white gown guided his hand over hers, turning the handle and letting them both inside. He was going to do this. He was going to do...something. Combined, they bypass the dark living room and go straight through to her own space. Her room is messy, as that of any busy employee's, and gently illuminated by the one wide window with the drapes drawn open. A socket mounted night light assisted the moon in keeping the floor lit. Returning from a quick trip to the bathroom, she stands anxiously by the bed.

"I-i uhm...i-i don't know what to do, I-ive never...brought someone b-back like this…"

"I-its okay. I know what I'm doing. I-i'm careful." He tells her. It's a truth and a lie mixed together, not fully aware of what outcome will occur. Both of them have toed off their shoes, and again Martin guides Lena to her back, on her bed. She's softly cradled by her sheets, and when he rests his forehead to hers, she kisses him.

In the time that Lena was gone, Martin was quick. In moments, he prepared an appropriate dose of his sleep agent, and carefully stowed the exposed syringe inside his jacket sleeve. Knelt over her, he runs his hands up and down her legs, both removing her skirt and seeking out the best spot for injection in her thighs. He finds his chosen location, squeezing gently as she sighs. Again, he kisses her as he maneuvers the needle carefully and pushes down on the plunger. Breathless, her eyelids already begin to flutter.

"W-wha...M-martin, what was that…?" She questions, her voice high and airy.

"Don't worry, i-it'll...it'll make you feel better." Lena, now on her path to sedation, he begins removing his own clothes. First shirking his coat, he gets back up to carefully place the now empty syringe on the beside table, and follows up by then ridding himself of his pants. Next he goes towards her top, fiddling with the ties to loosen and remove the corset over her linen shirt, her own fingers lacing into his to pull the strings apart. He continues to run his hands over her exposed skin as the sedative runs its course through her veins. She sighs softly, the gentle treatment combined with the power of the sedative and alcohol has her eyes barely fighting to keep open. She finally succumbs to sleep as Martin cradles her face and kisses her nose.

“It's all going to be okay…” He promises to her sleeping body. Finally, he’s safe enough to do away with both of their shirts and her bra.

Her skin was perfect, soft. It was of course marred by a cocktail of imperfections: stretch marks, discoloration, one generous scar on her belly. But it was warm and comforting to the touch. He no longer needs to kneel over her, the next step…Without gathering his materials, he lays beside her, pulling her close in imitation of a loving couple.

He is so tired… He keeps admiring her skin. The minutes pass as he tucks her limbs into his own body. In her sleep she takes advantage, wrapping herself tighter around him, fingers coming to rest delicately on his cheek.

Martin was there to be a monster. He was supposed to take and leave as easily as he came, then to never see her again.

Instead, Martin falls asleep.

[creamypudding]

Woeful WIP Wednesday

I last touched this WIP in August 2020. It was for the AkuRoku beard event I had tried to get underway for World Beard Day which is annually on September 1st. I never finished the story because it was getting very technical with beard related care products and a lot of sex. Like a lot of it. I have notes where they fuck each other like 4 times? On the couch, in the shower, in bed. I don’t know why I stopped writing it. It’s outlined but I ran out of steam and interest.  As much as I am a smut-writing champion you’d be surprised how often I write stories only to run completely out of steam once I get to the smut. Go figure. In this story Axel and Roxas are in a long distance relationship and have a wager on who can grow the better beard. It is rated T and stops a bit before the ‘good stuff’ was going to happen. Word count - 2385 If you enjoy this, or any of the other WIP’s it would be great if you would let me know. Cheers.

Homecoming

The date, time, and location were set; 1st April, 6pm, Olga's—a favorite haunt of their family and friends’, and the best place to get Polish sausages. Roxas stood a little way down the road from the establishment, his two suitcases; a small one stacked on top of the large one, in hand as he looked at his reflection in his phone's camera. He brushed at his Banholz beard; big, bushy and grew to about his mid-chest. He had oiled, brushed, trimmed, and shaped it to look its best, for today was a monumental day. 6 months ago he had been dared to grow a beard by his boyfriend, Axel. Roxas had agreed but only if they would have a competition to see who could grow the best beard, to be judged by a panel of their relations and peers. 

Roxas thought himself ready and walked on, wheeling his suitcases along behind himself. This competition was the precise reason why Roxas now entered the cozy restaurant. It had been booked out for the occasion and was filled with family and friends who all greeted Roxas with raucous cheers of— 

“Roxas! You’re back!”

“Good to see you!”

“Is that really you under there?”

“Axel! Axel, your competition has arrived!”

The suitcases were tugged away from Roxas and the throng of people around him cleared revealing, there, across the space, standing at the head of a banquet table laden with bigos, golonka, pierogi, schabowy, placki, pączki and a range of drinks like compotes, oranżada, piwo, and żubrówka, was Axel in familiar jeans and a black shirt with flame motifs that Roxas had bought him as a gift two years ago. They looked at each other across the space.

Voices sang out, praising the magnificent beards they both sported.

Roxas saw Axel’s thick, dark beard; a Bandholz, like his own. They walked toward each other and stopped in the middle of the floor. Roxas craned his neck to look up, Axel smirked down.

“You look like a real Viking,” Axel said.

“You look like a mismatched pirate. Didn’t feel like dyeing your beard?”

“It’s too much red. Makes me look like a tomato. I’ll show you the photos of when I tried.” “Cool.”

They grinned at each other and Axel threw his arms around Roxas, lifting him off the ground in a tremendous hug. Roxas’ face got smothered in the scratchy beard but he still giggled and when he dropped back to the ground hooked his hands around Axel’s neck and gave him a chaste peck on the lips.

They pulled apart laughing a little. 

“That’s something new to get used to,” Axel commented, rubbing his lips.

Roxas nodded and threaded his fingers through Axel’s.

“Come on everyone,” Sora, Roxas’ half-brother, shouted over the crowd. “Now that both our competitors are here let's get the judging going and then eat!” Cheers of enthusiasm rose and Axel and Roxas were ushered before the panel. 

Roxas and Axel were examined in turn, their beards evaluated for physical appearance: thickness, length, feel. And then for popularity, which opened up to the entire group of assembled people.

Roxas grinned up wildly as he was crowned Beard King and received a victory parade amongst the shoulders of his friends to wild chanting before he was dropped on his ‘throne’, which was just a high backed chair in the middle of the banquet table laid out. He was presented with an enormous hamper of goodies relating to beard care and then Axel took his seat next to Roxas and everyone joined in on eating all the delicious food before them.

Much talk was had over dinner regarding Roxas’ time away—as he studied in a different state and only came back home over the summer and Christmas breaks. He was caught up in everyone else’s lives as well and then after three hours of eating, chatting, and boozing, wished everyone a good night as well as thanking everyone for crowning him king and coming out, and then he wheeled his luggage to Axel’s red Kia Cerato coup parked at the restaurants car park and got in to go back to their place.

“What does my liege want to do when we get home?” Axel asked, fondling the tip of Roxas’ beard as he drove along the street.

“I want to go through that basket of goodies with you, play with your beard, and play with you. I’ve missed you so much.” Roxas clasped Axel’s hand and rubbed it against his cheek.

Axel stroked him when he stopped his rubbing motion. “At least we get three long months of being together until you have to go back to college.” Roxas groaned. “It’s going to be so good, even when I do have to go back because we’ll be able to video call and won’t have to keep this beard stuff a secret from one another anymore.”

Axel nodded. “Yeah. If I had known what we were getting into I might not have agreed to this. Six months is too long without seeing your… well… rugged face. I can’t really call you pretty now, can I? I didn’t actually believe you’d look so much older with a beard.” “C’mon, you didn’t even think I could grow one. Not that I know why. You’ve seen dad, he’s always had a really respectable circle beard.” Axel shrugged. “I guess I look at your baby face and just… could never picture it.” “I’ll make sure we take a lot of photos so you’ll never forget. Have I shown you photos of dad from when he didn’t have a beard? I get my baby face from him. Underneath his beard, you’d think he’s twenty years younger than he is.” “Can’t say I’ve seen those. So when you’re fifty you’ll look thirty?”

“You know it. I can be your baby-faced sugar-daddy.” Roxas cracked up laughing at Axel’s bewildered scowl.

“For one, you are only two years older than me, and two, at this moment I’m your sugar-daddy since I work.” “True, but once I finish my degree and start working I’ll make so much money that you’ll be able to go part-time and look after our fur-babies.”

A strangled noise left Axel’s throat. “This is why I love you so much. You’re willing to protect me from a grueling working life.” Axel quickly leaned over, Roxas also leaned in and they shared a small kiss.

Roxas giggled. “So tickly and hairy.” ----------------------------------------------------

They arrived at their small cottage-esque house which they were renting. It had an undercover carport, a disheveled wooden fence, dry grassy patches, and a dead flowerbed. The door opened up right to their living room. A hallway ran through the door on the right, leading to the two bedrooms, and bathroom, with a separate toilet, and to the left of the living room was a door which led to the kitchen and laundry. Their backyard was an overgrown monstrosity which Axel only tended to when the landlords came around for inspections. The house was drafty, they were pretty sure black mold grew in the vents in the laundry and bathroom, but it was affordable, small, and let them live together when Roxas came home over college breaks.

Axel helped Roxas get his bags out of the car, they stowed them away to deal with later and sat on their plush, tan faux-leather couch whilst rifling through the content of the prize basket.

“It was really nice of everyone to pitch in and get us this gift basket,” Axel said, pulling out a beard-care kit consisting of several brushes, some oils and waxes, and a few trimming essentials.

“What do you mean us? This is mine.” Roxas glared, but he couldn't repress the bubbling-inside grin.

“You're really gonna use all of this Beard Candy and King of Wood all by yourself?” Axel held up the respectively named balm tin and oil bottle.

Both of them giggled.

“I might.” Roxas grabbed for the bottle. “I am king of wood.”

“You're more candy, darling.” Axel snatched the bottle and shoved the tin at Roxas.

Roxas gasped with playful offended. “Not true. I am King Beard. Everyone thinks so. We had a vote, remember?”

“We did. You really want to keep all this to yourself though?”

“Nah. WHat’s mine is yours—Oooo! There’s dye and glitter!”

Axel looked at the packets Roxas held up and went diving into the basket. “Ribbons too. Who do you reckon snuck this stuff in?”

Roxas thought for a moment humming and hawing. 

“Sora!” they both shouted in unison and cracked up laughing.

Axel put the items he held down and got up. “You want anything, babe? Tea? Hot chocolate? Water?”

“A tall drink of something hot and sweet.” Roxas made eyes at Axel, who grinned broadly. 

A spark of lust ignited in Axel’s eyes. He stepped close to Roxas, bent down and kissed him, pushing him against the couch. The hairs against Roxas’ lips tickled. He wrapped his arms around Axel’s shoulders, pulling them chest to chest and Axel climbed up to straddle Roxas’ lap. Roxas pushed his tongue into Axel, who sucked gently. Both of them hummed and pulled apart. 

“I do actually want a drink though,” Roxas sniggered.

“On its way, sugarplum.” Axel slid off and headed to the kitchen.

Roxas’ cheeks were plump and hot from all the smiling. He had missed Axel so much. He listened to Axel banging away in the kitchen, as taps turned on and off, drawers and cupboards opened and shut, and container lids popped in and out of place. Roxas kept looking through the goodies in the basket. He really appreciate everyone's support, but most of all Axel's for doing this with him—even if they were pitted against each other. 

Axel talked to him from the kitchen. They talked about Roxas’ flight home, Axel's job and then Axel was back, carrying a tall mug of steaming liquid, gasped with whipped cream. He set that down on a coaster before Roxas and put a much more sensibly succeed mug down for himself, filled with what smelled like chili tea.

“It's so good to have your back, babe.” Axel leaned over and kissed Roxas, who cupped Axel’s cheek and stoked along where skin met beard. Roxas could taste the light spice on Axel's lips as he had been sipping his tea before he had come in.

Axel left small touches on Roxas’ arms, trailing up to his neck where slender fingers caressed and rubbed. Roxas melted into the touch and hungered with his kissing of his boyfriend.

Axel pulled away, licking his lips. “Have your drink. I slaved over it.”

“Oh, what hard work it was to push buttons, wait for water to boil, and open the fridge to get whipped cream out.”

“It was the hardest. I had to do it all without you there.”

Axel was being ridiculous but it twinged in Roxas’ heart. “Okay, I retract my previous sarcastic remark.” He grabbed his drink, snuggled closer to Axel, and licked at the cream and sipped, humming with appreciation.

Axel looked down at Roxas and simply said, “Yum.”

Roxas huffed out a small laugh and felt his cheeks turning pink. He was glad for his beard.

“You're giving me all sorts of ideas looking like that.” Axel quirked an eyebrow.

Roxas’ stomach knotted. Having been debited their webcam sessions made him feel excessively deprived of his boyfriend touch. “Kiss me.”

Axel obliged, leaning down, sucking Roxas’ lip onto his mouth for brief moments and then flicking his tongue over Roxas to lip, licking the cream off which gathered in his beard.

Roxas held his drink away from the both of them and gently pulled on the end of Axel's beard, drawing the other man in for another kiss. Roxas pulled away then, humming. “I've missed you, babe. Let's never have a comp like this again.”

“Your beard as itchy as mine feels?” Axel scratched at his chin.

Roxas chuckled. “No. It feels pretty good, but I mean the not being able to see each other bit.”

“Ahh, yeah. Agreed. I mean, this,” he brushed the fuzzy edge of Roxas’ beard, “is actually surprisingly attractive on you, but I get what you mean.” Axel leaned in and hushed against Roxas’ love, “Your voice in my ear is honey to me but seeing you touching yourself is my bread and butter.” Axel kissed Roxas behind his ear, making him shiver.

Roxas nuzzled Axel's cheek, making them both giggle because their beards tickled.

Axel clapped Roxas’ thigh. “C'mon, let's do some beard stroking and grooming. I want my beard to look like Nori from the Hobbit. Which dwarf do you want to be?”

Roxas laughed. They had been talking about the wacky beards of the dwarves from that movie trilogy for at least two months now. “Gloin. His beard is magnificent!, plus, I found a packet of beads at the bottom of the basket.”

Axel nodded. “All right, my glorious Norse God. Let's doll each other up.”

Roxas giggled with delight.

They spent the next two hours taking turns combing and braiding each other's beards. Roxas split Axel's dark, silky beard into three prongs, found done large clasps to target the end and hair-sprayed the shit out of the two outer parts of the beard to make them stand stiff and jut out from Axel's face.

Then it was Roxas’ turn. Axel sectioned parts off, braiding and beading the thick, wiry hair into the desired shape. 

They shared many kisses throughout and traversed down memory lane as they recalled the early days of growing out their beards and how itchy the first few weeks were. Thinking about it made both of them itch.

When their beards were all finished they took a photo as a keepsake.

“Are you sure you want to shave off our chin-curtains tomorrow?” Axel asked, touching Roxas’ dark blond hair.

Roxas burst out laughing. “Chin-curtains? Are you getting attached to yours? You've been doing nothing but complaining about it for months.”

“Well, I like all the touching. I like us sitting together and doing each other.” Axel couldn't keep a straight face as he said that.

Roxas rolled his eyes as he smiled brightly. “We can still touch each other no matter what.” He slid an arm around Axel's waist.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 7: Forget Everything You Know]

Hi y’all! I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for reading and for showing me and my fics some love. You better believe that I see EVERY. SINGLE. reblog, comment, tag, and message, and they mean the absolute world to me! I know that a lot of content creators are frustrated and taking breaks right now, but rest assured you will not be able to get rid of me if even a SINGLE person looks forward to something I write. I’ll finish this fic (eventually), and I’ll finish the next one too (it already has a name!), and I won’t disappear or leave the Queen/BoRhap fandom at any point in the foreseeable future. Lots of love to you all, stay safe, and I hope you enjoy! 💜 💜 💜

Chapter summary: Y/N brings home some friends; Brian attempts an intervention; John draws a line; Roger gets an answer.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Smile, everyone!” Your dad peeks through the viewfinder of the Canon F-1 and beams. “One...two...three...say Queen!”

“Queen!” you all shout gleefully. The flash illuminates the dining room, and you blink away momentary blindness. The table materializes back into vision: lobsters, clams, haddock chowder, sourdough bread, fried oysters, pierogis with Vermont cheddar cheese, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes...and, of course, Boston cream pie for dessert.

“Ah, perfection,” your dad sighs contently. “Please continue, Mr. Mercury.”

“Mr. Mercury!” Brian whines, incredulous. “Like he’s got a bloody PhD or something!”

Freddie cracks a lobster claw. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses or wrist-full of clanging bangles off all afternoon. Your parents are profoundly confused by him, but welcoming nonetheless. “I’m a professor of lusciousness. Pay attention and you could learn something.”

Brian rolls his eyes and dunks a hunk of sourdough bread into his chowder.

“So,” Freddie tells your mother between bites of lobster dripping with drawn butter. “Our darling damsel in distress was in the clutches of that horrid, dodgy wanker when none other than our very own Roger Meddows Taylor—”

“You weren’t even there!” Brian protests. “I wasn’t even there! This is, what, a third-hand account?!”

“Eat your soup, peasant. Thank you. Anyway, our beloved Roger comes raging out of nowhere, red-faced, nostrils flaring, a terrifying sight to behold, grabs this guy by his hair and slams his despicable face directly into a marble column. Broken nose, cracked orbital socket, blood everywhere! It was magnificent. I’ve never been more proud.”

“Good for you!” your mother cheers, patting the back of Roger’s hand encouragingly. He smiles at her, warmly, radiantly, like the wildfire he’s always reminded you of. And you marvel at how every human on this earth is made of the same fundamental components—blood and muscles and vessels and nerves, hearts and enigmatic brain matter and ribs, vulnerable parts, armored parts, all webbed together like nature’s own organic circuit board—and yet the marks they leave on you can feel so different: burns, scars, bruises, shadows, imprints that are deep enough to brush bone and never fade.

“Mom, the guy could have died!”

“Did he?” she asks innocently.

“Nope,” Roger says.

“Well then, Mr. Taylor here is a hero in my book.”

“Mr. Taylor!” Brian groans.

“I was petrified he would turn out to be the son of an executive or producer or something and the band would be ruined,” you say. “Fortunately he was just someone’s annoying frat brother from college who already had a reputation for being a sleazebag. So, we were in luck.”

“You were in luck that Mr. Taylor was there,” your mother points out, gazing at him dreamily. This delightful English boy is going to be my son-in-law and give me gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says.

“Yes, a literal superhero,” John says ruefully, sipping a Manhattan. Your dad has a passionate love for mixing cocktails, especially for guests who also happen to be rock stars.

“Mom. Don’t make his ego any bigger, please. I’m begging you.”

Roger snarls around a mouthful of Boston cream pie, sending your mom into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, dear.” She smooths your hair. “And that you have people to keep you safe all the way over there across the ocean, and that you’re happy.”

“Yes, your work environment is much improved, isn’t it?” Brian says. “That supervisor you had at the hospital was an absolute bear!”

Your dad strokes his short grey beard. “Well...” he admits. “That may have been my fault.”

Brian’s brow crinkles. “Really?”

Your mom turns to you. “You didn’t tell them?!”

“Oh, is there a scandalous backstory?” Freddie inquires, elated. “Do tell, darling!”  

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away—just kidding, it was here in Boston—my archnemesis Patricia and my dad dated.”

Roger drops his fork, appalled. “No!”

Freddie’s nose wrinkles in revulsion. “Why?!”

Your dad rocks back in his chair and laughs loudly, heartily. “She wasn’t always so cantankerous, if you can believe it. She was a sweet girl, wonderful even. But then I met my future wife, and...” He smirks guiltily. “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants!”

You nod along. “And I got the illustrious honor of being an outlet for the frustration stemming from Patricia’s lifelong unrequited love.”

“You saucy minx!” Freddie playfully lashes your mom’s shoulder with a cloth napkin. “Homewrecker!”

She chuckles, not the least bit offended. “People get together under all sorts of strange circumstances, and you know what? You can’t wreck a home if the home wasn’t already half-wrecked before you got there, that’s what I think.”

Roger raises his Patriot’s Punch. “I’ll drink to that.”

Brian clutches his New England Express, bewildered. “Are we...toasting to infidelity?”

“Oh, does that horrify you?” Rog asks sarcastically. Brian grimaces, but dutifully raises his glass.

“We’re toasting to love,” your dad clarifies. “However it comes, as long as it’s true.”

John holds his Manhattan aloft. “To love.”

Freddie clinks his Flying Elvis against the other beverages, including your parents’ wine glasses and your Cranberry Crush. “Cheers!” Then Fred glances at the clock and swiftly polishes off his slice of Boston cream pie.

“Can’t you all stay a little longer?” your mom pleads, collecting plates and gazing longingly at Roger. “This has been so much fun...”

“They have soundcheck at seven, Mom. We have to leave for the stadium soon.”

“Well, before you jet off to your next adventure, can I treat anyone to a long distance call?” your dad asks.

Brian perks up. “Really?!” You know there’s a ring in the future for Chrissie; not an expensive or extravagant ring (not that Chris would want that anyway), but a ring nonetheless. You know because Brian has taken you shopping to help him choose one.

“Of course! You can use the phone in my office. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. I’m sure there are some lovely ladies back in jolly old England who would be over the moon to hear from you.”

“That would be very much appreciated!” Brian says. “And thank you so much, this has been such a treat, you have no idea how long it’s been since we had a proper homemade meal.”

“I had to rehabilitate the reputation of us Yankees, didn’t I? Now come on, Mr. May, I’ll show you to the office...”

“Mr. May...I like the sound of that!”

“Ten minutes, Bri!” Freddie calls, following them down the hallway. “Then it’s my turn...!”

You begin gathering up the empty glasses, but Roger promptly snatches them away. “No way, Boston babe. You go relax. I’ll help your mom.”

“I think she’s in love with you.”

He grins. “Do you have a secret stepdaddy fetish I could exploit?”

“Oh my god. Roger.”

He snickers and sweeps off into the kitchen. It’s only then that you realize John has disappeared. You check the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the study, and finally the front porch; John is standing outside in the cold, smoking and watching the setting sun. The sky is threaded with cerulean, rust orange, lavender, indigo. You pull on your coat and go out to join him.

“We’ll make it to Florence one of these days,” you promise John, resting your arms on the wooden, white-painted porch railing. Your mother hung baskets of fresh flowers for the band’s visit, which swing lazily in the breeze. “Crank out a few more hits and we’ll get the record company to add it to the tour itinerary.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Are you going to call Veronica?”

He shrugs, frowns, exhales a lungful of smoke into frigid New England air. “I don’t know if I should.”

“You don’t think she’d like that?” you ask, confounded.

“I think she might like it too much.”

“Ohhhhh.” You read his soft greyish eyes, which are faraway and somber, sad even. “I’m sorry, John. You know she’s wild about you.”

“I know it.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. “She’s the first person who ever was, actually. The first person who ever noticed me. Came up to me out of the blue at a disco and asked me to dance, me! So I said yes, like you do when you’re the guy nobody notices. And then I said yes again, and again, and again, until one day I realized...oh, this girl thinks we’re getting married. When the hell did that happen?”

“I noticed you,” you contest.  

John chuckles and nods. “You did,” he agrees. “Right away. Tried to win me over when I was too nervous to finish a sentence around you. But that was long after I’d met Veronica.”

“Well, you can’t break up with her tonight. On Valentine’s Day?! That would be traumatic.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll have a few days in London between the American and Asian legs of the tour. You can think it over and decide what to do then. I’m happy to arrange the getaway taxi if that’s something that interests you.”

“Yeah.” Again, he peers out into the Western horizon, into rising stars.

“John?”

Now he looks to you. He’s a little too thoughtful, too low. There’s something you’re not seeing.

“...Is there somebody else?”

He doesn’t speak; he just stares at you with those velvety azure-grey eyes, drums his fingers against the railing, lets the ash from his cigarette crumble into the snow-dusted Blue Pacific Junipers.

Roger barrels through the front door and out onto the porch. “There you are, Deaks! I thought we were going to have to find a new bassist. Enlist Nurse Nightingale’s mum or something.”

John smirks and crushes the rest of his cigarette in your father’s ashtray. “I suspect you’d do just fine without me.”

“Oh no. No way. Not happening.”

“That’s kind of you,” John says, unconvinced.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” Rog holds out his calloused hand. “If you ever leave, I leave too. Come on, Deaks, shake on it. It’s official. It’s a pact. There’s no Queen without John Deacon.”

Reluctantly, trying not to show how pleased he is, John shakes. “Alright.”

Roger grins triumphantly. “Signed, sealed, delivered. You’re ours for life, baby.”

“Deaky, do you want the phone?!” Freddie yells from inside the house.

John sighs and exchanges a knowing glance with you. “I guess I should say hi.”

“Okay, but quickly!” Rog presses. “We gotta go!”

“So bossy...” John ducks inside; and Roger, though he’s not wearing anything over his pale pink button-up shirt—sufficiently sophisticated to impress your parents—comes to the porch railing to join you.

“You’re not staying out here, are you?” You eye his thin shirt worriedly, the goosebumps rising over his collarbones, his bare forearms where he rolled up his sleeves to help your mom wash the dishes.

He tosses you a mischievous wink. “I’ve got no one to call.”

Roger looks up at the hanging baskets of flowers, plucks out a cerise carnation, and offers it to you. You mean to say something witty, something sardonic, something that will make him laugh; but all your words vanish into cold February air. You take the carnation, smiling helplessly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Roger whispers.

You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?

Okay.

He turns to go back inside the house.

I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him.

Then Roger pauses in the doorway. “You coming, Boston babe? I can’t have you catching pneumonia or something. I won’t know how to fix you.”

Oh, you realize, with horror and yet relief, all those grueling lies stripped away. It’s too late.

~~~~~~~~~~

You knock on the frame of the dressing room door. “Hi Bri!”

He glances over from where he sits in front of the mirror, rimming his eyes with inky liner. Soundcheck went swimmingly, and now Queen has thirty minutes until they need to be onstage. You can hear the disembodied reverberation of voices from the waiting crowd through the walls. “Hello, love. Come in.”

“Freddie said you needed to see me. Did you rip a sleeve or something? I brought my kit—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pats the chair beside him. The boys practically always get ready together before a show, but you suspect profoundly introverted Brian is experiencing one of his post-socialization crashes after dinner with your parents. Something about him is tired, very tired, almost drained to empty. “Join me.”

“Sure,” you say cautiously. You shove your medical kit onto the countertop and then reach to feel his forehead. “Are you feeling alright...?”

“I’m fine, love. I just have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

Brian sighs deeply, sets down the eyeliner, swivels his chair towards you. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to start seeing Roger.”

You titter, deflecting, brushing Brian’s hair away from his troubled, angular face. “Well, as the official Queen touring nurse, I see him quite a lot.”

Brian catches your wrist. “I’m being serious.”

Now your brow knits into tight agitated lines. “I’m curious as to why you think that’s something you have a say in.”

“Bloody hell, I’m not trying to offend you—”

“Job well done.”

“Dear, please, listen to me—”

“Eight months,” you hiss through your teeth as you tear away from him. “For eight months I’ve listened and avoided and resisted and ignored and it’s not going away.”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian breathes in despair. “You love him.”

There are tears biting in the periphery of your vision; you don’t want them to be there, but they are. Your voice is hoarse and trembling. “Bri, please don’t.”

Brian shakes his head and motions with his hands frenetically, desperately, trying to make you understand. “Look, sometimes...sometimes the people we love, the people who own us, the people who fucking set us on fire...they’re not the people we end up with. And that’s not always a bad thing. It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.”

You gape at him, furious, stunned. “That’s just fantastic, Brian. You’re a true romantic. Jesus christ, does Chrissie know about this? Is that why you’re with her, because she’s, what...safe?!”

“No, that’s not fair, Chrissie’s great, she’s steady and supportive and she��ll make a wonderful mother one day, and my parents adore her—”

“Those aren’t reasons to marry someone, Brian!”

“They are!” He leaps to his feet. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You have to think about these things, you have to be rational, you have to protect yourself—”

“Why the fuck do you care?” you flare bitterly.

“Because you saved my life.”

“Stop it, I didn’t.”

“You did, I truly believe that. And I want you to stay with the band. And I want you to be happy. But, dear, please, I’m begging you...this is not the way to do it.”

“I’m not going to go out to some pub and drag home a random guy who’s suitably passionless and predictable enough to be Brian-May-approved.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do—”

“Because you’re such an expert on relationships!” you shout, exasperated. “Planning to propose to Chris while you’re still secretly pining over some fling from New Orleans, fucking groupies and then having the nerve to mope around guilt-ridden the next morning as if anyone but you was responsible for that decision, and do I say anything about it?! Do I ever say a single fucking word about it to you, or Fred, or Roger, or your future wife, or anybody?! No, because it’s not my life!”

The dressing room door flies open and John storms inside. “What’s going on?!”

You cross your arms and stare at the floor. Brian’s wide green eyes flick to John, to you, back to John. If it was Freddie, Brian would tell him in a second, would try to enlist him in the effort, and it would probably work; but John is a different story. John won’t side with Brian over you, everybody knows that. And John has a talent for sharpening words into blades. “Um. Nothing.”  

“I could hear you in the hallway,” John says flatly. “Obviously it wasn’t nothing.”

Brian points to you. “Have you tried to talk her out of this? Maybe you should, maybe she’d listen.”

“It’s not my choice to make, just like it isn’t yours. Worry about your own body count. It seems to be growing exponentially these days.”

Brian scoffs. “Because you’d be so thrilled if she ended up with him, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” you demand.

Brian and John glare at each other from across the room. John raises his eyebrows, daring Bri to answer. Brian gnaws his lower lip, but doesn’t elaborate. The air is heavy, tense, electrified.  

“Don’t upset her again,” John says darkly.

Brian shows the white palms of his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

John waves for you to follow him. “Come on.” And he slams the door behind you as you both escape into the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” You chase away stray tears with the back of your hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get anyone worked up right before the show...”

“Don’t worry about it. I treasure any excuse to harass Brian.”

You study him, seeking answers, seeking more than you know how to put into words. “Do you think I’m being stupid? If you do, you can tell me.”

“No,” John responds carefully. “I think you’re being hopeful. And I’d like to believe that stupidity and hopefulness are two very different things.”

You smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s very inaccurate.” He fluffs his hair with his fingertips. “Do you want to touch it before we go on stage?”

You feign demureness. “Hmm...”

“Oh come on. You know you want to. It’s extra voluminous right now, Roger shared some of his magical mousse or whatever. Something way too expensive. You should thoroughly berate him for it.”

You laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.” You comb your hands through his brunette hair, and John’s right; it’s extraordinarily full and soft, and smells like honeysuckles. “You always know how to get me smiling, don’t you?”

“You do insist that I have game. Though I remain skeptical.”

“Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”

John’s rough thumb lifts your chin, then whisks away a tear you missed. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“I always am.” And that’s the truth; you haven’t missed a Queen show since you met them.

He beams, those gentle grey eyes incandescent. “Then we’ll have an ocean of luck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly twenty-four hours later, Queen is in New York City.

The thunderous bassline of the opening act shudders through the concrete walls. You’re staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror under harsh florescent lights, your palms gripping the cold rim of a white sink, your eyes shimmering with black and gold shadow, your lip gloss slick and crimson. There’s not a single thing left to do. You’re running out of time.

You breathe in, breathe out, snatch your purse off the floor, breeze out into the hallway.

You can hear the boys’ laughter even before you open the dressing room door. Inside, Brian is tuning his Red Special with his mantis-like legs propped up on the countertop, John is attempting to teach Freddie how to make popcorn in a microwave without setting anything on fire, Roger is scrutinizing his hair in the mirror and frowning as he rearranges it with a comb.  

“Hello, darling!” Freddie warbles. “Can I interest you in some delicious and expertly-prepared popcorn?” He opens the microwave, and smoke pours out. “Oh, you bitch!”

“I’ll pass, Freddie.” You glide to where Roger is sitting, knot your fingers through his blond hair, and tug his head back so you can kiss him. He tastes like mint gum and the ghost of smoke and reckless intemperance; he tastes like everything you’ve ever wanted. There are gasps, and surely dropped jaws as well; but you don’t have eyes for them. “Okay,” you tell Roger.

He stares up at you with huge, starry eyes, a dazed grin slowly lighting up his face. “You changed your mind.”

“Come find me after the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You move to wipe your blood-red gloss from his lips, but Roger stops you, knits his hand through yours, stands to meet you.

“Leave it,” he murmurs. “I want them to know.”  

“Want them to know...?”

His lips touch yours again, smiling and scorching and ravenous. “That I’m yours.”

[vesperlionheart]

Lady of the Blackthorn Trees 3

Read it all on AO3 Birthday fic for @frostmarris​! It’s finished, happy belated my dear. I hope you enjoy. :D

Part 3

Sasori sniffed, inhaling the dust and ink scent that seemed to hang heaviest in the corners of the store. It was a nice smell, one he associated with only happy memories.

“The Sage of the Six Paths was a hack, you know that right?” Sakura huffed, leaning over his shoulder. Sasori was proud at how he didn’t flinch at the new proximity.

“There is still something to be harvested from the minds of madness,” he quoted.

Sakura sighed dramatically and all but danced away, curling to the opposite side of the low shelves. “You’ve learned too much from me. I have nothing more to teach you,” she sighed.

“And yet you keep me around because you enjoy my company,” Sasori said.

“Maybe.” Sakura shrugged and then pulled a different tome off the shelves. “I think this would suit your style more.”

Sasori accepted the new tome and smirked at the the title. “It’s not subtle,” he huffed before passing the book back.

“You don’t want it?”

“Grand Mage Chiyo was my grandmother, I know more than the author.”

Sakura flipped the book open and turned it around to show off. “But wouldn’t it be interesting to entertain the perspective of someone who wasn’t her family? You were about to read about a stupid hack who stole all his work and knowledge from his mother.”

“I don’t want to know what the lover of my wrinkled, old, dead grandmother has to say about the art of puppetry.” Sasori looked up from the worn spines and frowned at the picture Sakura had stopped at. “And I feel it would only frustrate me to read too many mistruths concerning her legacy.”

“Does that mean you’re not finishing your puppets?” Sakura asked, sounding as casual as ever while Sasori knew better.

Sakura would be far too delighted to see him building more Kugutsu dolls. The first few he had constructed in her tower delighted her even after falling apart from the mess of interwoven enchantments. Without augmenting himself he would never be able to manipulate the dolls to the degree he desired.

It was frustrating to have to watch his work constantly fall apart in front of her. Even after five years in her tower under her tutelage, Sasori still feel far too inadequate to show off his weaknesses where she could see them.  

He hadn’t been able to make perfect puppets since Orochimaru destroyed his ‘mother’ and ‘father’ dolls during the takeover. Even after growing and maturing, Sasori was frustrated about his regression in puppetry or the kugutsutsukai combat magic. It had once felt so natural to him, but now the magic steps fought him at every junction.

It just wasn’t worth the effort anymore, not when he was becoming such a proficient fire mage.

He tried not to think about the third shell that sat at the back of his study’s closet. The body was empty and bare, ready to be designed for his third attempt at a Kazekage model puppet.

“Well, it’s unfortunate that kugutsutsukai and puppetry are two areas where I am unable to assist you, as I have never been trained in the art form or tutored in its theories. I feel like there is little left for me to help you with,” Sakura sighed.

“You help me plenty,” he said.

“I take you places and tell you things you already know.”

“That’s not how I see our discussions.”

“It’s a bit intimidating how fast you picked things up. Five years in and you’re this proficient. It makes me wonder if I’m just that good of a teacher or were your previous instructors the reason for all that you’ve accomplished.”

Sasori smirked. “All I’ve accomplished. What have I done that’s worthy of such praise.”

“So many things.”

“Like what?” he pressed.

“You make the best breakfast out of anyone I know.”

He was caught between amusement and disappointment but, as was often the case with Sakura, ended up chuckling when he saw her face. It was almost unsettling how easily she swayed his dark heart to laughter.

But only her.  

“How many other mages do you have cooking breakfast for you to judge me by?”  he teased back.

“Not enough. I’m hungry now, so I’m going to go look for some pierogi in the market. Will you be much longer?” Sakura asked.

Sasori picked up the book on his grandmother and the other on the Sage of Six Paths, ignoring her knowing grin. “I’m already done here. Let’s pay and go together.”

It was the most natural thing in the world to come up alongside Sakura and guide her towards the front, where the counter waited for them. Sasori didn’t even notice it anymore when his hand found the small of her back and rested like a ghost there.

Sakura made seamless small talk with the book shop owner, inquiring about his family and the town itself while Sasori pulled out the money and counted it out. He was mindful to set aside enough money for a couple of marzipan pierogi-her favorite.

That’s when he noticed the black raven outside.

“Sakura, I wanted to run one more errand. Will you buy us our pastries and meet back our front?” Sasori asked, leaning in close to her ear and turning away from the raven to hide his lips.

Sakura felt the money Sasori tried pushing into her palm and pushed back. “I can pay for the both of us!” she huff. “Just tell me what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter. Get whatever you want.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “Of course it matters. You want the cinnamon apple, I know you better than that. Don’t be long.”

Sakura took off first and Sasori collated the paper bag of his books and folded it under his arm, crinkling the protective paper before stepping out and heading a few shops south of where Sakura had turned.

The raven followed him.

“A year later and you’re still skulking in the shadows like a gargoyle.” Sasori stopped at the mouth of a natural alley between two homes. At the end of it Itachi was already human formed and brushing feathers off his shoulders.

“A year later and you’re still clinging to the cloak ends of her good graces,” Itachi smoothly retorted. He sounded as snooty and high born as ever. “At least I have a job.”

“What are you doing this time? I doubt Sakura could possibly be needed so soon after your last impromptu abduction.”

“Better than your silly shopping trips,” Itachi muttered before turning to glare at Sasori more directly. “Until how long do you plan to stay at her side? It’s about time you moved on. The Golden Sands are as far from here as they are vast.”

Sasori sneered. “You make it sound like I should want to return to that homely sandbox.”

“You’re a leech.”

“I’m also all but done with this conversation, so if you want to do something more than throw half baked and mediocre insults at my face, say something I haven’t heard before.”

“You should move on before someone moves you,” Itachi said, dark eyes flashing red in the dark where he stood. “Realize what’s good for you and for her.”

“I don’t think I will.”

Itachi drew back his shoulders and his entire frame rippled with passive magic as he glared at the redhead. The action wasn’t unfamiliar, the Uchiha was channeling subtle magic into his eyes in a n attempt to intimidate. Sasori brushed off the action and fixed Itachi with an unimpressed look, above such base cantrips.

“You don’t think you have enemies that wouldn’t love to see you suffer and all your near ones too?” Itachi taunted.

There was a new undertone of assuredness to Itachi words that unsettled Sasori. “You know nothing.”

“Do I, Sasori of the Red Sands?”

The title was one from his princely days, back when he was heir to the falcon throne under his grandfather Ebizo. All who would one day sit upon the throne and wear the headless of their king took up a title to replace their last name. The royals had no simple last names, but earned their titles through conquest or action. The red sands were a testimony to all Sasori had warred for and bled for.

Plenty of people had once known his title back home, but on this strange new continent he was nothing more than a bum and a vagrant someone picked up off the street. How did Itachi know anything?

“You’re speaking of useless things now,” Sasori said. He wished he was back in the bookshop with Sakura, or in line to buy food. He didn’t need a title or a throne, he just…needed her.

“Don’t bring her into your messes thinking you can use her to our own ends. Our council will take a very dim look on things if Sakura dares to meddle in foreign affairs without the empire’s approval. I would not take it well if Sakura’s prospects or reputation suffered because of you.”

“I have no intention of allowing that to happen. I’ve cut ties with my old homeland.”

“But has it cut ties with you?”

Sasori growled lowly. “I’m done with you, retched corvid. Leave before Sakura returns and sees you in all your disgrace.”

“Leave her.”

“I refuse.”

Itachi’s eyes flashed a brilliant red, brighter than fire and thicker than blood. “I won’t let you be if this tarnishes her. Take my advice and move on before that happens.”

Sasori didn’t respond, nor did he flinch as Itachi dissolved into raven feathers.

-

Sakura awoke suddenly, tasing blood on her tongue and damp from a cold sweat. She had bitten through her tongue in her sleep and needed to heal it again. With practiced ease, she calmed her breathing and centered her focus on something to help ground her in the moment.

It was just a nightmare.

Sakura spit out the blood from her mouth and then sat up the rest of the way, realizing she had passed out again in the observatory. She was setting a bad example for Sasori. The huge ass telescope was for studying the stars, not getting drunk and passing out under.

When she moved to stand up her fingers brushed against the letter and crinkled its edge. With a groan she pulled it up to straighten out and reread. A drunk night and some nightmares hadn’t helped with the weight of her developing situation.

Half a century ago she had grown her tower and accepted subjection to the emperor because it was the easiest thing to do. She was world weary and wanted a subdued life after all the damn war and loss. With the right negotiations she could have that within the empire, the only downside to such an arrangement was being necessarily summoned for the random magical puzzle or problem she was contractually obligated to see to. For years it had never been an issue, until the second clause of her obligations was invoked.

“What do they think they’re going to win with this war? Those lands would be useless to anyone other than the tribes.” Sakura tossed the letter aside. “This dynasty is a mess. It might be time to cut and run.”

It wouldn’t be the first time she had uprooted herself and fled across the continent to somewhere just as fast and far. Did Sasori know that her teacher after Tsunade was Chiyo? It had been a long time since she left Chiyo’s tutelage to return to Tsunade’s ancestral lands, but maybe it was time for a change of space.

Alternatively, she could go to somewhere new. There were far flung islands that were barely explored or cultivated. Maybe it would be fun to live on an island with dragon eating creatures for a spell. It would be exciting at the very least, but Sasori would probably miss his book shops.

Sakura stood and then paused as the thought echoed in her mind.

Sasori

Since when did she include him in thinking about her big life changes and decisions? Consciously she could admit that life was better with him around. He made her happy and kept her from being too bored. With his conversations every weekend she felt a little more alive and all their outings to markets and cities had been…the best…oh Sakura turned soft in her thoughts as an uncomfortable truth surfaced.

She liked Sasori. She wasn’t prepared to live her life without him and she wasn’t prepared to suffer through another war with him.

Oh no!

Sakura rubbed at her face and began to pace back and forth in front of the telescope. This was going to get her in trouble, this was such a bad idea. Did he know she liked him? Did he suspect? Is that why he had teased her and asked for a kiss? They lived together so many he noticed before she did-wait!

They lived together- and this was her house!

Yeah joked about being a ‘kept’ man or a giggle or whatever it was called these days, but she didn’t want him to feel unbalanced in this. She was plenty older and stronger, but he had phased into adulthood long ago, so the disparity in their ages wasn’t anything a magic user would look twice at. Plus he was sassy and confident enough around her to likely consider her more an advanced colleague than a teacher since this last year.

Sakura stopped pacing and summoned a decanter of something strong to help her wake up. In place of bourbon or rum the glass was filled with something dark and static. She drank it down and groaned at the taste but finished it off for her own good.

This stupid letter had unsettled her too much and she was worrying over silly things. She didn’t need to unravel herself on her own. It was better to address these feelings, thoughts with him like it was just one more of their weekend conversations.

Where was he?

Right away she knew he wasn’t in her tower, so that meant he was either out running errands or in the grove with the blackthorn trees. If he was out shopping he would have tried to tell her, but since she decided to get plastered on her own with the mail she couldn’t rule out an impromptu shopping trip outside of the property. She almost regretted warding him against potential trackers and scrying eyes. She’d need to reword his wards so that she could find him when she needed to. It was disheartening to realize she was alone in the tower and would have to wait for his return.

This might be better, actually. Maybe she should just wait for him to come back. She could use the time to work on options for where she could go next.

Sakura instead went to take a long and papering bath. Her invisible servants brushed out her long hair and rubbed her skin with sweet oils until she glistened like a polished stone. Then she opened up the doors to her wardrobe room and paused the different rows of favorite dresses. She fingered a lovely lilac dress with a full skirt before her fingers wandered to one of her favorite ‘blooming’ gowns.

The invisible servants dressed her in the skirts first before unrolling the bodice section up and over her breasts. Unlike other dresses, the upper portion that was meant to cover her chest was composed almost entirely of lace and enchanted flowers, complements with a handful of beaded dragonflies, hidden underneath the petals. Most of the dress was a mature blue green, dark with hints of slate gray to complement the blush pink flowers.

“And will you spend a little longer on my hair today?” Sakura asked, watching herself in the mirror be dressed. “Nothing extravagant, just enough to be nicer than usual.”

She hated to admit it, but Sakura always felt a little better when she bothered to spare extra time papering herself. A nice bath and a pretty dress were just the things she needed.

It was also a great way to kill time.

Her servants finished and Sakura checked the time, realizing more than two hours had passed and there was still no sign of Sasori reentering the tower. That was disheartening. She finally had enough sense to figure out what she wanted to say. Maybe he was in the grove. It would be easy to search since it was nearby.

She stepped into her wold walking heels and turned towards he grove, taking a single step before the world went from blurring to stark white.

All the trees were in full bloom and weeping from an overabundance of blooms.

“Sasori!” she screamed, running through the blackthorn trees. Sakura could still feel his magic somewhere but it wasn’t the only magic she could distinguish. Someone else had made it into her grove while Sasori had been there.

There was so much white it was hard to see through. The fallen petals had made a thick carpet on the ground she had to stand atop of. She ran and searched, but the grove was empty.

Where?

Before she could keep from panicking Sakura screamed and the trees started to crackle with her magic, infighting and burning one by one until ever white and fluttering bloom was more like a falling star than a flower.

How could this have happened? What happened? Where was Sasori?

-

At least his cousins were still safe. His first fear upon realizing where he was had been for their safety. Apart from their wellbeing he was less concerned about the other consequences to his capture.

It just sucked this had to all happen after her found something to live for.

“It’s a generous gift,” Orochimaru hissed while standing next to Pein on the outside of the cell doors. “You said this was from the new initiate? How delightful.”

“I see no reason to reject the application of such an accomplished individual. Even if they are a continent away it would help to have someone we could reach out to for such rare occasions,” Pein said.

A dozen years ago Pein had barely been able to control one of his cadaver bodies from the remote shell Chiyo had constructed for him, but now it looked like he was getting along just fine with Orochimaru’s help.

From behind Pein Itachi Uchiha emerged, wearing their signature red and black colors. He said something in a quieter voice that Sasori couldn’t overhear before bowing out.  

“I should have known,” Sasori hissed, still tasting the Uchiha’s magic when he spit blood.  

“You shouldn’t have been bad, little prince,” Orochimaru mocked. “Your parents always used to say your fat mouth would get you in trouble one day, didn’t they? I can’ scarcely believe they’d appreciate it today if they heard how you only managed to make enemies an ocean away.”

Orochimaru talking about the deceased first prince and princess who were also Sasori’s mother was only something to rile him up. He refused to let Orochimaru get a reaction out of him.

“That’s enough, you talk too much,” Pein chastised. “He’s what you need for the inheritance. Do what you need to do.”

The snake faced fellow dropped his leering and instead leaned towards the bars and poured out magic into a spell that hit Sasori like a wave, knocking him back, ass over ankles.

“Ugh, the brat prince had too many enchantments on him. Some of those protective charms will take a few days to break.”

“You don’t have a few days,” Pein snapped. “Now.”

“Would you like to help?”

When Pein didn’t reply Orochimaru muttered under his breath and went back to rubbing off the magical enchantments and protective spells that kept Sasori safe. Until those were gone neither man could kill him the way they wanted to.

Sasori braced against each wave, suffering blow after blow and feeling every loss as it went. Sakura’s anti scry spell, her enchantment against blades, his ancestral fire resistance, all of it was getting stripped layer by layer.

If only had hadn’t been so stupid. Chasing down Itachi when he caught sight of the raven spying obnoxiously from just beyond the barrier’s reach couldn’t have looked more like a trap. Itachi knew Sakura was sleeping or out of it, so his intentions couldn’t have been good. But Sasori hadn’t been in the mood to ‘be good.’ Itachi had been pissing him off since day one. Even now, Sasori wanted to punch his smug little face in and then burn the remains. The guy was such an entitled asshole. He had known Sakura for nearly a decade and they were still only friends. Itachi should have given up and admitted defeat and left Sasori alone with Sakura.

He had been happy.

The realization of all he had loss hit harder than Orochimaru’s magic and he set his jaw against the nausea. His head hurt and his knees buckled when he tried to stand.  He was being stripped of his power now, something that would hurt far more than the removal of a few hexes.

“What now?” Pein snapped in irritation.

Sasori looked up through his lashes to see someone new had entered the room and was interrupting. Orochimaru had even paused, looking tired and winded, to listen to whatever it was the Zetsu clone was saying.

Pein dismissed the clone, melting him into a pile of white ooze to sink in between the floor tiles and out of sight. In that moment of lapsing Sasori felt no more drain on his magic. Orochimaru was also distracted but hadn’t bothered to reinforce the cell-that hex had been left to expire once the draining process began.

It was an opportunity and Sasori wasn’t about to let it go.

He rolled onto his feet and took a single, flickering step the way Sakura had shown him to do without his spell books. Like mist-he was there and then he wasn’t. There were shouts in the previous room as Sasori emerged in the main hall outside the prison cells. It was too familiar not too spur him into a dead sprint towards the main audience chambers.

There was shouting behind him and he turned sharply, knowing all he could do without his spell books was rudimentary cantrips, but he did what he could to throw the sound of him screaming and running in the opposite direction.

He heard Kakuzu and Hidan arguing far off and looked up into the sky once he exited into the outer halls, fearing the shadow of one of Deidara’s clay birds. He had once thought himself a partner to the artist, but they were now his enemies and he knew better than to get caught a second time.

There was a teleportation circle in the main hall as well as several in the gate quarters where dignitaries were to be received. Gate quarters were the best place to be, but they were on the opposite side of the palace and no one apart from the royal family knew about the camouflaged seal behind the thrones in the main hall. It was a cleverly disguised family secret they had kept for generations.

He just needed to-

The floor exploded behind him and he went sailing through the air, rolling across the stone and debris as smoke trailed ever upwards, betraying his position. Overhead Deidara swooped with more bombs ready.

“Little bitch-ass snitch,” Sasori hissed, digging his hands into the mess and grabbing onto loose stone. It was burn so that would have to do. He bit his thumb and bled over the material before invoking the spell, relying on one he could remember without the spell book. It was so much harder without his medium, but he felt the magic catch and a pillar of fire erupted, striking Deidara’s bird. The damage upon contact wasn’t sever, but the clay bird was full of explosives so-

BOOM

The whole palace shook as the sky erupted in combustive fire. It made Sasori stagger and trip. His ears were ringing and he swore he felt blood from one of them.

He picked himself up, gasping for new air, and limped towards the main reception chambers. He just needed to get to the Falcon throne.

But Orochimaru was already there, waiting in front of the throne on the raised dias with a knowing smirk.

“I wasn’t done with you yet,” he hissed before a snake shot out of his mouth for Sasori. He dodge the fangs and rolled away, but choked and staggered when trying to stand. He was still dizzy and fighting was making him sick.

“I’ll bother to make it less painful since you took out one of the others in such a believable way. That’s one less trash article for me to have to take care of later on,” Orochimaru said.

Sasori noticed the other man’s hands were red and dripping, thick with blood. Was it a coup within a coup? Did it even matter if he was going to die?

“I hope you fucking choke,” Sasori coughed into the stone floor, inhaling through wet lungs.

Orochimaru laughed and it was a sound loud enough to fill the whole room. It bounced off the far walls and echoed far beyond.

Kakuzu showed up in the back and was content to lean against one of the far pillars and watch while he cleaned his red and bloody blades. From the sounds of it, Hidan had been put out of commission and maybe even the other members, like Pein’s wife Konan, had also been killed. Kakuzu looked rough enough to look like he had just come from a fight that actually made him sweat. Beside Kakuzu Itachi and another member, the blue one called Kisame, approached.

When Sasori looked for it he saw the small audience of disciples and allies Orochimaru had filled the palace with. There were old servants and house guards too, some who had served his mother and father before him. They were all watching him now, like a crowd outside an execution.

Sasori almost dropped his head, sick at the thought of his people watching him being slaughtered so theatrically. The refraction of colored light off a dragonfly’s wing made him hesitate. There was one perched on the nearest pillar, colorful enough on its own without the additional good crystal growth down its body.

“Sakura?”

The room rippled with new power but instead of quarts and crystals, the floor split open for the rapid growth of a handful of angry, twisted blackthorn trees. Unlike the ones in the grove, these were towering and sparkly planted, so that their branches could reach without feat of touching.

None of them bloomed, but the one in the center of the room swelled wider than the others. Its interior filled with light, throwing shadows out of the growth inside before a vertical scar bisected the front of the tree. Crystal growth filled the wound before the tree shuddered and groaned, almost bending backwards as the scar opened. Two delicate hands pulled the crystal edges back and Sasori could have sworn he was dreaming when Sakura emerged.  

Kakuzu didn’t hesitate but moved when Orochimar ordered him to and it was a simple thing to watch how his body became pierced with the blackthorn tree that grew out of him. All the different parts on his body where his secondary, and tertiary hearts were hidden all bled freely, but Sakura’s magic was no so forgiving as to kill him there. Kakuzu gurgled and struggled on the tree before it slowly began to pull him apart.

“Burn them down!” Orochimaru roared, raising up his own magic to incinerate the room.

Fire flared up from multiple mages as well as himself, but none of the trees burned and the crystals that grew along their edges only seemed to expand with the use of magic against them.

Sakura stepped out of the swollen tree and onto the pink quartz platform waiting for her. The sound of her heels on a smooth surface tickled the base of Sasori’s brain stem, delighting him to almost inhuman levels.

“What is this?” Orochimaru hissed. “Who are you? Did Konan send you?”

Sakura brushed off a stray petal from her shoulder and glanced around the room, ignoring Orochimaru and his fire mages. She glared at the place where Itachi had once stood, recognizing the traces of his magical presence.

Sasori could see from where he lay on the ground how powerful she looked, dressed in splendor and adorned with a halo of pearlescent olive branches that gradely reflected the light. She looked far more suited to a throne than anyone he had ever seen.

Apart from Orochimaru who stood next to the thrones and Kakuzu, there was one last swordsman member of the Akatsuki left in the room. When Sakura looked his way he laughed and backed away.

“I’m not touching this. You’re on your own, snake man. I don’t get paid enough to die.”

“You coward,” he roared at Kisame. “Come back here and finish the job!”

“Sire,” one of the mages hissed, trembling where she stood at the bottom of the dais. “What is it?”

“It’s human enough to die, kill it with necrotic damage.”

Sakura didn’t speak and she didn’t give them a chance to attune but cast through her trees and severed the hands of every mage who gathered magic to follow their leader’s orders. The room filled with hailing and the trees began to bloom red and pink blossoms with the new blood. Several tried to run but ended up like Kakuzu, impaled on a blackthorn sapling that was growing up through their body.

“What do you want?” Orochimaru asked, shouting out with necrotic magic already gathered in his hands.  

“Only what is mine,” she said before lifting both hands and channeling magic there.

Orochimaru struck first and his magic turned her arms black, before the disease peeled and fell off her form in immunity. Sakura’s magic manifested into a single point and then with her forefinger she pointed at Orochimaru’s chest. Before either could see or know what she was going to do, the hole was there and the damage was done. A beam of death had struck him dead on, faster than the eye could track.

Slowly, the hole began to grow, eating more and more of Oroachimaru’s body, even as he howled in pain and tried to counter it with his many spells. Sakura’s trees only bloomed brighter with more pink and red flowers.

Sakura approached the soon to be corpse of Orochimaru and lifted her skirts to step over him atop the throne’s platform. Her heel came down hard on one of his arms and he screamed when it broke off, crumbling to dust.

“You stole from me what was mine, what did you think would happen?” Sakura said.

Before he could answer she lifted her hand and his head splattered against the far wall as a stain.

There was moaning and cries in the room from some of the mages who lost their hands but none of them approached Sakura or made an effort to confront her. One had already bled out and was breathing his last breaths while another sobbed openly about their life being over.

It would have been merciful, maybe even just, to leave them with their wounds and their lives, but Sakura stopped in her steps when she saw Sasori. He was watching her from on his side on the ground. There was still blood from his ear on his face and soot staining his hands. When he managed a weak smile for her Sakura felt her heart break. The moaning behind her abruptly cut off as each mage fell dead, bleeding out to turn the pink blooms red.

“You came for me,” Sasori chuckled, too mesmerized at the sight of her.

“Hush and stay still. I’m going to heal you now,” she said, kneeling down at his side to address not only his ruptured eardrum but also the many broken ribs and bones he had suffered from the explosion earlier.

“You’re very pretty.”

“You need to stop talking,” Sakura said. She focused, trying not to think about his words or how warm they made her. She felt like her stomach was filled with dragonflies.  

“You’re always saving me.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Even when you’re not killing people to free me you’re always saving me. Saving me, cause now I want to live.”

“Everyone wants to live.”

“I didn’t,” Sasori said. He blinked hard, hearing with his repaired eardrum now that Sakura was finished there. “I didn’t want to live before you.”

“You don’t…” Sakura closed her eyes and hiked her shoulders. “Just, let me heal you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Sakura sputtered. “Sasori!”

Even broken and bleeding Sasori reached up and cupped the back of her skull and pulled her close enough to share her breath with his. “Please.”

She didn’t answer but she leaned in and took his lips first while all around them the quartz crystals glowed with a rainbow of colors as the blackthorn trees bloomed and shed their petals for a drizzle of pinks and red to obscure them from the outside world.

[weeklyhumorist]

Big Dave’s XXL American Buffet Is Back And Better Than Ever!

If the last 15 months have taught us anything, it’s the importance of family, which is why the team at Big Dave’s XXL American Buffet wanted to reach out to you, our loyalty rewards members, The Plate Posse, to let you know of some exciting new changes coming over the next few months. In preparation for our grand reopening, we’re introducing a whole new look and feel that we know you’re going to love.

We’ve changed our name

Call it a rebrand. Call it a reimagining. Call it whatever you want, but as of June 1st, Big Dave’s XXL American Buffet will be known simply as “David’s Bistro.” While we felt our previous name did serve as an apt description of what the consumer could expect upon entering our restaurant, we feel it no longer reflects who we are as an establishment. But don’t let the name change fool you, we’re still serving up the same quality “grub” at reasonable midwestern prices.

We’ve raised our prices

So maybe not as reasonable of prices, but close! Long gone are the days of our $1.99 all-you-can-eat scrambled eggs buffet or our afternoon ribfest, where patrons could eat as many ribs as they wanted for whatever they had in their pocket. We decided that that business model no longer really made sense for us, if it ever really did at all. Expect to pay a little more moving forward, but know that your hard-earned money will be going to a good cause, a waitstaff. We’re excited to finally be able to provide our patrons with the opportunity to get refills on their drinks, have plates that are washed on both sides, and not have to fight over who called “next” on an open table. We assure you that despite all the small price increases, our menu will remain otherwise unchanged.

We’re changing our menu

So yes, with our name change, will come a slight alteration to our menu as we’ll no longer only be serving just “American” food. If you think about it, that was a pretty silly idea in the first place and also not entirely accurate as our buffet routinely featured spaghetti, pizza, stir fry, egg rolls, pierogies, and even crepes (which were marketed as pancake roll ups). We’ve decided that limiting ourselves to just one type of cultural cuisine is narrow minded. So with that in mind, we’ve hired a millennial Chef named Tim “Spice” Buckson, to help bring our menu into the 21st century. True to his name, Chef Buckson does indeed use spices on most, if not all of his dishes, which will be new for us and for our patrons.

In addition to the changes to our food menu, we also intend to roll out an extensive beer and wine list. We view this as a marked improvement from our previous menu which only offered something called “Secret Coke,” which was just Evan Williams Whiskey in a styrofoam cup. We think you’re going to love ordering alcoholic drinks like real adults! While we understand that these might sound like significant changes, but restaurants go through menu updates all the time, it’s just part of the business. We’re of the belief that it’s not really our food that makes us who we are, it’s the environment and the people.

We’ve got a new location and we’re banning the Davis Brothers

We’ve relocated from our previous location next to The Auto-Salvage Yard into a quiet strip mall about a half a mile away. We recognize that many folks found the Auto-Salvage sounds of smashing vehicles and electric saws to be peaceful, but we’re going to assume that an equal number did not. As an added bonus, visitors no longer have to worry that their vehicle will accidentally be brought into the salvage yard and demolished. Additionally the Davis Brothers, who we recognize many of you know and love, will no longer be allowed admittance into our restaurant. They were, indeed, an entertaining duo, but they started too many fights and insisted on always cooking their own food, which was a definite liability. We wish them the best of luck at whatever wateringhole they choose to inhabit next, but it won’t be ours. In spite of the move and the absence of the Davis Brothers, we vow to you, our loyal customers, to keep those heaping buffet style-portions intact.

We’re no longer a buffet

Okay, so I know what I just said, but if you really think about it, no one ever needs more than one plate of food. We promise to make the plates really big (not quite as big as the garbage can lids we used to use) and to fill them very full, but you’re only going to be getting one from this point on. Unless you decide on ordering two meals which you are more than welcome to do.

Hey, we’re still the Big Dave’s XXL American Buffet you know and love. We just have a different name, menu, exterior, interior, theme, staff, and overall ethos, but other than those things, we haven’t changed one bit. So we invite our loyalty reward members, formerly The Plate Posse, now “The Olive-garchs,” to please stop by and see us real soon. We’ve missed you!

Big Dave’s XXL American Buffet Is Back And Better Than Ever! was originally published on Weekly Humorist

[iamtaran]

Mushroom Leek Soup with Parsley Dumplings - ATTBTA

There have been multiple people who have asked after this soup recipe. It is hands down my favourite soup I’ve ever made, both at home as well as professionally. It’s the kind of soup that makes my dad say things like, “now, that’s so good it’d ‘bout make your tongue slap your brains out,” which always makes my mum look at him as if he’s lost his mind. Hopefully you will enjoy it just as much, brain-slapping notwithstanding. Measurements of spices have been guestimated as best I can, but in the end it all was eyeballed from the start and so will be more like alchemy and art than following a recipe. Try it yourself! Add more onion, more mushrooms, use shallots, mix it up! Figure out how you like it, what looks right, and enjoy! As a warning, this soup can take quite a while to make (a couple hours, I’d say?) as there are multiple pots used and, of course, making dumplings takes a bit of time. If you’ve someone to help you, make an event of it. Eat snacks, drink beverages, laugh and listen to music. Or, if you are working by yourself, have the same fun with yourself. :) Recipe details below the cut.

INGREDIENTS

SOUP

2 cups water

3/4 ounce dried porcini mushrooms. Very important that they’re porcini!

2 1/2 Tbsp oil, olive or rapeseed

3 Tbsp butter

6 garlic cloves, minced

1 pound crimini (baby bella) mushrooms, sliced

1 Tbsp dried thyme. Fresh works too.

Fine sea salt

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

1/3 cup red wine (minimum), any kind-- fruity, dry, tart, been open for 3 weeks (oops)

1 large onion, quartered and sliced

3-4 leeks, washed, halved, cut into wee half moons up to the pale green. Tops can be kept frozen with other veggie bits to make homemade vegetable broth later.

8 cups vegetable or chicken broth, chef’s choice. Never tried it with beef but I don’t doubt it would be good

Pinch of red pepper flakes; heavy pinch if it’s cold out.

1 heaping Tbsp of paprika

Big handful of fresh chives, chopped, for garnish. You’re going to want a lot, trust me.

1 tsp white sugar

A whole bunch of black pepper. Don’t be shy. A bay leaf. Two bay leaves. The whole tree. (No, only 2) **Optional: a heavy dash of worcestershire in with the broth/liquid!

DUMPLINGS

1/3 cup sour cream

6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) butter, room temperature, chopped into cubes or pats

2 large eggs, room temperature

1 cup all purpose flour, divided

1 teaspoon fine sea salt

Heavy pinch of ground nutmeg

1/4 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese

3/4 cup finely chopped fresh Italian parsley. Or just a bunch. Eye ball it, all the above measurements are made up with a shrug anyway.

PREPARATION

Bring 2 cups water and porcini mushrooms to boil in small saucepan. Let that sit to the side, covered, while you do the next few steps.

Heat oil in heavy large skillet over medium heat. Add crimini mushrooms and saute a couple minutes until they start releasing moisture. Dump in thyme, paprika, chopped garlic, black pepper, and red pepper flakes. Sprinkle with sea salt and sauté another couple minutes until the garlic is fragrant. Pour in the red wine and red wine vinegar and let it bubble away for a bit until there’s a bit less liquid and your mushrooms and done.

Melt the butter in another heavy large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion; saute until they start to go limp and translucent. Add in the sugar and stir, continuing to cook until they start to brown juuuust a bit. Add leeks; reduce heat to medium, sprinkle with sea salt, and sauté until vegetables are soft and golden, stirring often, about another 15 minutes. Don’t worry if the bottom of the pan starts to get little brown ghosts of onions appearing on it. That’s a good thing, scrape all that up with the onions and dump them into your soup pot where you cooked the mushrooms.

Return to your porcini mushrooms. Take them from the (now dark brown) mushroom liquid, squeeze out the excess, and shop them small. Toss your porcini bits into the pot with everything else. Pour in reserved mushroom cooking liquid, through a sieve to catch any sediment. Pour in your broth of choice and bring to a boil. Simmer 10-15 minutes so the flavors can percolate and deepen.

DUMPLINGS:

Mix together your flour, salt, nutmeg, and parmesan. Add in the two eggs and mix, with a fork or with your fingertips, until you have a bunch of semi-moist lumps of flour. Add in your sour cream and 6 Tbsp butter and work together, again with fork or with finger tips. As the dough begins to come together, toss in your chopped parsley and fold it in. This dough is wet and sloppy, but should be workable. Add up to another 1/2 cup flour; it all depends on your humidity, you want it still sticky but workable! Once it’s come together, fold for another 2-3 minutes. Add a little more flour if you want firmer dumplings similar to pierogie dough or if it’s too wet and sticky to manage;

Bring large pot of salted water to boil. Using a teaspoon or just your fingers, scoop pieces/pinches of dough about the size of a cherry. Drop into boiling water. Working quickly, repeat about 10 more times. When dumplings rise to surface, simmer until cooked through, 2 1/2 to 3 minutes. Using slotted spoon, transfer dumplings to large plate. Repeat with remaining dough. Make double dumplings if you, like me, are here for the dumps. Also, if the water isn’t too heavily salted (though the dumplings do absorb some as they cook), let it cool and dump it on your garden or lawn for a little pick me up for the plants. Or maybe ladle one ladlefull into the main soup pot for a bit extra of that flavor. Whatever pleases you.

Melt 3 tablespoons butter in large skillet over medium heat. Working in 2 batches, add dumplings to skillet. Cook until browned on each side, 2 to 3 minutes per side.

Chop chives. Place 6-10 little dumplings in a large bowl. Put 12 in. Put a solid 15 dumplings in your bowl. Ladle soup over top. Sprinkle generously with chives. Enjoy the best soup you’ve ever had.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 74

Time for the enormous family dinner that Maverick asked for! This chapter beta'd by @satan-parisienne and @baelpenrose. I may end up writing the other half, showing interactions with everyone who didn't show up in this chapter, and to allow a smoother transition to the treat I have in store after.

Only content warnings are for food.

P.S. This is posted on mobile, so I wasn't able to enter the Read More, and for that I apologise. When I get to my desktop this evening, I'll add it in.

P.S.S. Fixed it!

“I’m convinced you two are actually telepathic,” Maverick mused as he reached stealthily for a carrot stick.

Without even looking up from where she was piping devilled eggs, Tyche swatted his hand. “Those are the spicy ones, you don’t want them.  And that is not an invitation to steal the other ones!” Her voice escalated as he tried to sneak toward the ‘safe’ carrots.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he pouted. “You can’t even see me!”

I laughed from where I was folding what felt like a million dumplings. “She doesn’t have to.  She could hear you the first time, and logic took care of the second.” Running out of pierogi filling, I reached for the bowl of potsticker filling. “And we aren’t telepathic, we’ve just been cooking together a long time.  She always helped me in the kitchen when we were kids, and it kind of turned into this well-choreographed dance as we got older.”

Tyche and I were currently in the kitchen of the Undine, working to put together a smorgasbord of finger foods for our entire family.  After some stern negotiations with Sebastian, he ended up being willing to trade a seat at the table and any 5 recipes he chose in exchange for renting the place out for the night.  As a result, she and I were doing our best to show off: fajita chicken rolls, cottage pie tarts, miniature wellingtons in both beef and vegetarian options, spicy roasted carrots, crudites, miniature kebabs in various combinations…

And dumplings. Every ethnic dumpling we knew how to make. So far we had a meat and a vegetarian option – each – for empanadas, pierogis, and I was just starting on the potstickers. Bao were last on the list, since they needed to be served hot. Tyche was even planning on apple dumplings with the desserts.  We even tried banh bot loc, but ours were so ugly and lopsided – far from the round, translucent, authentic ones we both had the pleasure of trying at one point - that we decided not to serve them.

Tyche waved a hand, shooing Maverick toward another workstation. “Ingredients and recipes are over there for sauces.  Are you okay to put them together?” As she spoke, she sprinkled a red seasoning over a platter of eggs.

“I don’t have to taste test all of these do I?” he asked skeptically as he walked over.  Narrowing his eyes, he gave me a critical look. “You two taste test everything, and I’m pretty sure a lot of these are spicy.”

Tyche neatly stuck a sign labelled “Spicy!” in the platter of eggs she just finished, not even aware of the irony. “We did a run-through for the sauces and actually measured everything to ensure consistency.  You don’t have to taste any of them if you don’t want.”

“Then I’m on it.” He gave a sloppy salute before grabbing the first recipe.  Knowing his need for precision and consistency, I was confident those sauces would turn out perfect.

We worked in silence for several minutes before the door to the kitchen opened again.  “Hello, goddesses of delicious foods, your humble worshipper is here to offer his fealty,” Conor joked as he made a sweeping bow, hair still damp from his shower.

I shoved a tray full of vol au vents into his arms as soon as he stood. “Hey, love. Can you please take these out and set them on one of the serving tables? It’s the little ones, about waist high on me, that look like they might hold a lamp.”

He nodded before standing patiently with an expectant look. I chuckled when I realized what he wanted and tipped my face up for a kiss.  He gave me a brief, smiling kiss, before stepping over to do the same for Maverick. For good measure, he dropped a kiss on top of Tyche’s head, eliciting a squawk. Dodging her hand as she playfully lashed out, he backed through the door and disappeared. 

The four of us worked like that as we finished up preparations for dinner. The moment Maverick and Conor carried out the last tray of morsels, Tyche and I pulled off our aprons.  I indulgently allowed her to smooth my outfit and touch up my hair before we went to greet our extended ‘family’. We were greeted by deafening applause, cheers, and whistles as we walked out. I felt my face ignite and glanced to see that Tyche was equally flushed.  It had been one thing, on Earth, to have polite applause offered when either of us had been recognized for achievements or led a seminar, but to have less than twenty people give us such raucous enthusiasm just for feeding them…. There was little in my life that made me feel as appreciated as I did in that moment.  Even my newly re-found friend, Arthur, was smiling and giving a barely-awkward thumbs up.

With an embarrassed smile, I waved back and made my way to a table that was, largely, in the middle of the room. Tyche followed my lead and sat beside me.  Conor and Maverick sat to the other side, leaving a seat for Antoine. I waited patiently for my sister’s partner to be seated before realizing, belatedly, that he must be held up with work.

Sure enough, the four of us had just poured our drinks when Antoine threw himself into his seat. Breathless, he explained, “I beg your pardon, I lost track of what time it was.”

Tyche and I glanced at each other, matched confused expressions on our faces; Antoine’s punctuality rivalled my own in its degree of overcompensation. Still, she turned and rubbed his shoulder. “That must have been a stressful case.”

He only nodded in response before changing the topic. “Congratulations, both of you. I am sure everyone is excited to try everything, especially since you put so much effort into it.”  His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but I chalked that up to whatever case held him over at work. With an expression that I hoped was reassuring, I gestured toward the tables.

The five of us made our way through the crowd, surrounded on all sides by excited chatter. Not a single person even attempted to be subtle as they met new people and discussed the topic they clearly had in common.

“Oh! They made the spicy eggs! You have to try those – they are amazing!”

“Just look at the shells on these tarts.  So thin and crisp.”

“Are those the spicy dumplings?” “No, these are the pierogi.  Try them!”

“See how these are fried and then steamed? That’s how they should be made.”

“They always make a vegetarian option.  It just makes me smile…. Everything on the Ark is vegetarian, but they like making sure it’s familiar. It's such a thoughtful gesture.”

“Oh my god, this one is curry… you have to try it!”

By the time we got to the tables, my face hurt from blushing and smiling.  We weren't, by any stretch of the imagination, the best cook and baker on the Ark, but we tried our best.  Everything was made by hand, even if the ingredients were from the consoles. Hearing the appreciation of that – even when it was for Tyche’s paper-thin pastry crust that I could never hope to make – made my eyes water with tears I refused to shed.

Eventually, we were back at our table, plates loaded down with a little of everything for us to share. Tyche and I nibbled, too engrossed in the reactions of others to properly enjoy the fruits of our labors. Conor and Maverick, however, had no such qualms – they dug in like it was a competition, each trying to beat the other with the effusiveness of their praises. The comedy of it led to an elbowing match between me and my sister, only interrupted by people stopping to thank and/or congratulate us.

Just as I was about to make a joke to Tyche, a conversation from the next table over broke through our little bubble of bashful pride. “Oh, for fucks sake, she��s my sister! That’s just – Xiomara, that’s disgusting!”

Wide eyed, I whipped my head to follow the voice, only to see Arthur Farro looking at Xio with an expression that matched the disgust in his voice. “What in the – “ At no point since our reunion had he mentioned that his sister was on the Ark.

While Xio and Arthur were engaged in a glowering-match, Grey calmly turned toward me. “Xiomara may have heavily implied that Educator Farro has…less than honorable intentions towards you, and that he would be sorely remiss in any inclination to intervene in your current domestic situation.”

As I parsed that statement, Tyche just snorted. “That has, at no point in reality, been on the table from either of their perspective. Even I knew that, Xio. Chill out.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Arthur chimed in. “Your taste in men is… Impeccable, I’ll be honest.” He shrugged at Conor and Maverick, feigning apology. “But Sophia is just… not my type.  She’s more like what I would have been in a kinder reality. She adopts strays, for the love of fuck…”

Oh. He meant me….I gave a watery smile and gestured around the room before pointing at him directly. This was a conversation we had hashed out, several times, over a decade prior.  Friends, yes. Siblings, yes. Lovers? Disaster. I was a pushover, he was a bulldozer.

Finally, Xiomara’s glare gave way to unbridled laughter. “Farro, ridiculing her tendency to adopt people – of which you are one – is an incredibly ironic thing to say about a woman you just shouted is your sister.  Didn’t you mention, before you realized you knew each other Before, that adopting people is an ‘annoying tendency’ your mysterious ‘she’ had?”

“I never said I didn’t, just that she was annoyingly, profoundly consistent about it.” His face serene, he took a sip of his drink. “Hmmm… Not a fan of the sangria, Sophie.  I know you like it, but… Not my thing.”

Xiomara sputtered with incredulity. “Wait – is that how it started?”

“How what started?” I asked, suspicious.

“Xiomara, don’t,” was Arthur’s stern reply.

Xio leaned back and gave Arthur a calculating look in response. “No, seriously, Farro. Is that how it started.”

Sighing, Arthur nodded. “Partially.  That, and I didn’t know where my students could go if their families died in the blasts.”

I surged forward in my seat, shoving plates away from me. “Wait, what are you talking about? What blasts?”

“Sophie, you have to realize – anyone further south than… oh, the Mason-Dixon line, I think? – didn’t just have blackouts. We had explosions from the fallout of the EMP blasts at the End.  People died, and violently. We had to make our way in a future that was only predicted in fiction.  I did what had to be done.”

“He was a warlord,” Xiomara clarified, entirely unnecessarily.

“Oh.” I had known him in the Before… he was very pragmatic, to say the least.  To find out he was a warlord was less than surprising. At least, until I looked around: Tyche was studying the ceiling, Conor and Maverick were suddenly fascinated by the appearance of their food, and Antoine was looking over his shoulder. “Wait. Did everyone know this already?”

A pregnant pause hung in the air for a beat, then two, before Grey finally broke the silence. “That does appear to be the case, Sophia.”

“Et tu, Hodenson?”

“Conor consulted me,” they admitted. “He was concerned, because he knows he is prone to overreact in situations where you may be in danger.  I was consulted as a logical third party in the situation.”

“I wouldn’t’ve known if Maverick hadn’t said anything,” Conor immediately ratted out our third.

“Hey, if I knew, it was only fair that Conor knew as well,” Maverick held up his hands in surrender.

Xiomara raised her hand, tentatively. “I told Maverick.  I already knew, as Councillor for Security, and thought he should be aware.  Military bond, and all that.”

Expectantly, I stared at the side of Tyche’s head until she caved. “Fiiiine. I didn’t trust the situation… your dead online friend from Before is suddenly alive and on the Ark?  Sus as hell. So, I asked Derek to get his files… all of it.  He checked out as being who he said he was, so I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell you what he did in the After.  We all did shit we regret, I didn’t think the speck in his eye was any more relevant than the planks in our own, so… And before you ask, yes, I told Antoine.  Just because I decided not to tell you, it didn’t mean I didn’t need to tell someone.” Antoine only nodded, electing not to add anything.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to make sure I understood everything. “So, you became a warlord to make sure that your students would be safe in the new reality of Earth?”

“Pretty much,” Arthur shrugged.  I could have sworn he looked amused by all the finger pointing that had just taken place.  “I do want to meet this Derek, though. That’s the second time he’s been mentioned, and both times in relation to hacking things.  Unless I’m mistaken.”

Shaking my head, I laughed. “He’s at the table with Alistair, my assistant.  You’ll probably like him… Don’t let his demeanor fool you, he has the morals of a hurricane sometimes.”

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[legendofzeldaalinktothepast]

Pathetic, Clinging Poetry - Chapter 13 (of 25)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter 

I wonder if I'm doing this right. Are my kisses too long, my words too strong, My grip on your hand too tight? I feel so silly when you're near; I laugh too hard, blush too red, And scoff at all of my fears. 

* 

Rain pattered against the roof of the house, and a flash of lightning lit up the grey evening sky. Pearl tightened her grip on Amethyst's hand, bracing herself for the roar of thunder that would soon follow, yet she still flinched when it came. Amethyst turned her gaze up towards Pearl, looking a bit concerned. "You alright?" she asked.

"Just not a fan of thunder..." Pearl sighed, feeling somewhat silly about her irrational fear.

"Poor girlie." Amethyst said, gently rubbing Pearl's back in an attempt to comfort her. "Is this okay?"

"Mhm." Pearl slipped her arm around Amethyst's waist, adjusting her position just slightly so she could lean more comfortably against her shoulder. She turned her gaze back towards the TV, trying her best to focus more on the animal documentary they were watching and less on the storm roaring outside. "I hope Jasper's driving safely..."

"She's driven on the highway in the middle of a blizzard." Amethyst said. "She can handle a little rain, I promise."

"I suppose." Pearl twirled a strand of Amethyst's hair around her finger. It wasn't like she was late or anything, and she knew Jasper was a safe driver... But worrying was what she did best, as Peony had always told her.

'Speak of the devil.' Amethyst thought as she heard footsteps on the porch. With a groan, she sat upright and pulled her hand away from Pearl's lower back -- but not before giving her a peck on the cheek -- and leaned away from Pearl's side of the couch. Pearl tried her best to hide her disappointment, but she understood why it had to be done; not because they feared Jasper's reaction, but because the ambiguous state of their relationship wasn't a conversation they were ready to have with her just yet. Hell, they weren't even ready to have it with each other.

"Sup, butthead." Amethyst greeted as Jasper stepped into the entry room. Pearl rolled her eyes; even though Amethyst and Jasper had been talking more over the past few days, and most of those conversations had been relatively civil, the semi-affectionate, semi-rude name-calling still wasn't sitting right with her. 'At least Jasper doesn't seem too bothered by it.' Pearl remarked, noting the tired but unaffected expression on Jasper's face.

"How was work?" Pearl asked, hoping to set a positive example for Amethyst.

"Didja cut any people open?" Amethyst asked. If she was sitting any closer, Pearl would have jabbed her with her elbow. 'Her mouth really needs a filter...'

"Nah, not today. Mostly just talked with patients and shit like that." Jasper said. She dried her boots off on the doormat before unlacing them, lazily tossing them onto the shoe rack.

"Aww, lame." Amethyst teased.

Jasper shrugged, running her fingers through her hair as she made her way towards the kitchen. "That's what it's like having a job. Most of the time it's lame." she said. Pearl could tell she was biting back the urge to make a jab at Amethyst not having one.

As soon as Jasper was no longer in sight, Amethyst leaned back against Pearl's shoulder again. "Ughh, I was dying over there. Pierogi withdrawal..." Amethyst whined.

Pearl giggled and cautiously wrapped her arm around Amethyst's shoulders. "Drama queen." she teased. Feeling daring, she pressed a gentle kiss to Amethyst's forehead.

"You're the drama queen." Amethyst whispered back, pecking Pearl on the cheek.

"What's this?" Jasper called from the kitchen, and Pearl instinctively shoved Amethyst away, bonking her nose in the process.

"What's what?" Pearl called back, whispering an apology to Amethyst as she rubbed her nose.

"This paper I found on the table." Jasper said, entering the living room with the coloring page in her hand.

Pearl turned her gaze towards Jasper, her smile fading just a hint once she saw what she was holding. "Oh! That's just a coloring page I got from one of the kids at the library, heh..."

"Oh, I know that; I'm taking about what's on the back." Jasper said, turning the paper towards Pearl.

"Oh! Um..." Pearl nervously wrung her hands. "We just got invited to a little get-together with one of my friends, that's all!"

"Who's we?"

Pearl bit her tongue; even with all of the lying practice she got back when she lived with her mother, she still struggled to do it when Jasper was involved. She turned to Amethyst for support, but the latter simply shook her head. Pearl turned her gaze back to Jasper; oh boy, this probably seemed suspicious. "W-well, initially was just me -- but she said I could bring along friends if I wanted to! Friends in plural, so you could come along if you wanted to, but..." Amethyst was only shaking her head even harder, but Pearl wouldn't acknowledge it. "I'm not sure... you'd want to, is the thing."

Jasper stared blankly at her; from her standpoint, Pearl probably sounded like a crazy paranoid person. "Uh... if you don't want me to come, it's not a big deal--"

"I don't not want you to come!" Pearl interrupted. "T-trust me, I really don't want to make it seem like I'm leaving you behind or anything, just... There might be a reason why you won't want to--"

"It's Rose." Amethyst finally blurted out. "That's why Pearl's acting all weird about it." She turned her gaze towards Pearl. "There, I saved you from another twenty minutes of babbling."

"Amethyst!"

"What? You're a shitty liar and listening to that felt like I was eating glass."

"But you didn't have to tell her!"

"I'll go." Jasper said.

"No no no, please don't take it that way--"

"No, I mean I'll go with you guys." Jasper clarified. "If... you want me to." she added, her expression looking somewhat uneasy.

"...Oh." That wasn't the answer she was expecting to hear from her, but she certainly wasn't complaining... "Alright! Are... are you sure?"

"Uh... not really. I mean, I might change my mind later, but I think I wanna go." Jasper said. "Like, I'm not gonna get over myself by avoiding everyone who's ever pissed me off. And you guys really don't gotta walk on eggshells around me, either. Seriously. I'm not gonna get pissed off if you say her name around me."

Feeling rather foolish, Pearl cast her gaze towards the ground. "Ah... perhaps I shouldn't have assumed you wouldn't want to go."

"It's fine." Jasper shrugged. She dropped the coloring page on the coffee table, turning and heading towards the stairs. "Anyway, I gotta shower."

Once Jasper was gone again, Amethyst let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that went better than I expected."

"Right? I was expecting a trainwreck..." Pearl sighed. "But you know what? I'm glad she's coming with us. It seems very... out of character for her, but... maybe it's a sign that she's working on herself?"

"Maybe." Amethyst shrugged. "Or maybe she wants an excuse to kick Rose's ass."

"What? That's horrible!"

"Sorry, sorry, that was a bad joke." Amethyst said.

Pearl laughed nervously. "No, no, I just thought you were being serious."

"Still, though." Amethyst reached for Pearl's hand again, a smile spreading across her face. "Apology kiss?"

"Aw... of course." Pearl blushed, and Amethyst leaned up and softly kissed her on the lips. 

* 

Rose's house was surrounded by what looked like a forest of bushes; most of them were roses (ironically), but there were moonflowers, hydrangeas, and dogwoods among them as well. The steps of the front porch had little frog statues sitting on each end, some of which were chipped and faded from the sun, and a flowery wreath with a "Welcome!" sign in the middle hung on the front door. Pearl rang the doorbell, and not a moment later the door creaked open.

"Hey there!!" Rose greeted as she rushed out onto the porch, lifting Pearl up into her arms and spinning her around. Her bright pink hair, with blonde roots beginning to peek out, was tied up into a neat bun; she wore a silver crop top that showed off her pink navel piercing, and a pair of black jeans. "I'm so glad you made it! And you even brought along some friends!" After placing Pearl back on the ground, she extended a hand to Amethyst. "You must be Amethyst! Pearl told me all about you." Rose said with a wink as Amethyst shook her hand. She turned to Jasper, and her expression turned from enthusiastic to a softer, yet still warm expression. "And... Jasper. I haven't forgotten about you, either." She kept her hand extended for a moment, unsure if Jasper would be willing to accept her gesture, but the latter reached out and gave it a firm shake before she could shy away. "Neither have I." Jasper responded with a straight face. "Nice to see you again, though."

Rose held Jasper's hand in her own for another moment before casting her gaze back towards Pearl. "Ah, let's get inside, shall we? Steven's been so eager to see you again!" She held the door open for Pearl, and Jasper and Amethyst followed.

Pearl was immediately greeted by a massive, plump orange cat rubbing his face against her leg. He wore a neon pink studded collar that read "Lion", and it wasn't heard to guess how he'd earned that name. Steven pattered into the room not a second later and latched onto Pearl's other leg. "Pearl's here!!" he giggled, gazing up at her with his dark brown eyes. "Pearl Pearl Pearl!"

"Hey there, sweetie!" Pearl cooed, giving him a gentle hair ruffle. Noticing Pearl was feeling slightly overwhelmed by all of the sudden attention, Amethyst decided to deal with half of it and scooped Lion up into her arms with a grunt. "Oof, you're a heavy boy, huh?" she remarked.

"I was just about to start setting up the games!" Rose announced. "You guys can make yourself at home in the family room!"

Pearl led the way into the living room and seated herself on the loveseat. Amethyst sat beside her, allowing Lion to get comfy as he curled up on her lap. "What a cute little guy." Pearl cooed, scratching him behind the ears. After a few moments she glanced up, noticing Jasper hadn't sat down quite yet; she was wandering around the living room, glancing over the array of family pictures and various photography hanging on the wall. Pearl felt a slight twinge of anxiety; 'I hope she's not feeling too shy...' she thought, but didn't allow her mind to dwell on it for too long.

"I wanna sit with you!" Steven exclaimed, snapping Pearl out of her worried little daydream.

"What was that magic word I taught you, honey?" Rose called from across the room, still digging through the closet for the board games.

"Oh, right." Steven folded his hands politely. "Can I sit with you, please?"

"You sure can!" Pearl said, and scooted over so Steven could sit between her and Amethyst.

"Yay!" he said, and climbed up onto the loveseat, seating himself right where the two cushions met. He reached over to pet Lion, and then looked up at Amethyst. "Why's your hair purple?" he asked.

"Because I like purple, so I colored it." Amethyst said.

"Oooh." Steven tilted his head in curiosity. "My mommy has pink hair because she's a fairy. Don't tell anyone, though, it's a secret!"

"Alright, I'll be sure not to tell any total strangers like you just did." Amethyst burst into laughter.

"You're not a stranger! You're mommy's friend." Steven said.

"Oh yeah? Then what's my name?" Amethyst smirked.

"Am... Amber?" Steven said.

"Close enough." Amethyst ruffled Steven's hair.

Soon enough, the board games were placed on the large glass coffee table in the middle of the room, and Rose's husband, Greg, brought in a huge bowl of popcorn for everyone to share. Rose and Greg sat down on the couch across from Pearl, Amethyst, and Steven.

"So, we have Operation, Jenga, and Candy Land for tonight..." Rose said."How about we let our guests decide which one to start with?"

"Ooh, Operation!" Amethyst remarked. "Jasper's a surgeon, so she'll probably kick all of our asses at that." she said. Pearl shot her a glare and gestured to the child sitting between them. "Oh, sorry; kick our butts." Amethyst corrected.

"Operation! Operation!" Steven chanted. "I won't let Jasper kick my butt!"

"What do you think, Jasper?" Pearl asked, only to realize she was nowhere to be found.

An awkward silence filled the room. "Maybe she... went to the bathroom?" Amethyst suggested.

Rose, however, looked rather concerned. "Ah... one second. Greg, you can start the game. I have to go check something really quick."

"Huh? Oh, if you're sure..." Greg said. Before anyone could say anything else, Rose vanished just as quickly as Jasper had. 

* 

'Fuck.' Jasper splashed her face with water from the sink, taking in a deep breath. 'Why the hell did I think this was a good idea? Now I can't leave, and God knows how long Pearl will wanna stay here...'

A knock at the door made Jasper jump with surprise. "...Hello?"

"Jasper?" Rose called from the other side of the door. "Ah, may... May we talk when you're finished in there?"

Letting out another sigh, Jasper wiped her face with the hand towel and turned off the faucet. "Door's unlocked." she said.

The door creaked open, and Rose closed it behind her once she was in the room. "Are you alright?"

Jasper leaned against the sink and shrugged. "I dunno. I came here on an impulse and if I'm gonna be honest, I'm kinda regretting it. Nothing personal, just... ya know. Not sure I'm ready for this kinda thing."

"Understandable..." Rose sighed, gazing down at the floor. "But... since you're here..." she stepped a bit closer to Jasper, finally meeting her eyes. "I... I don't know. I don't think either of us are going to be able to relax until we... talk about what happened."

"Pearl told me all about it. You don't have to." Jasper said.

"But -- but that doesn't count. That isn't fair to you, and... And I feel awful for making her apologize to you for me. I mean, who does that?" Rose sighed deeply. "Jasper... What I did to you was terrible. There's no words for how sorry I am..."

Jasper fought back tears, cupping a hand over her mouth and turning away. "It's fine. I'm... over it, okay?"

"You're clearly not." Rose said. "I... I did so many horrible things back in high school, Jasper, but what I did to you was probably among the worst. I abandoned you when you needed me the most, all because I felt guilty about Pearl... It was just plain cruel. I'm so, so sorry..." Rose's voice cracked, and she finally broke down.

"Ugh..." Jasper sighed, wiping a tear from her face. "Come on, you don't gotta cry..."

"I know, but..." Rose sniffled, reaching for the toilet paper and tearing off a piece to wipe her mascara stained face. "You don't have to forgive me, but... These past few years, I've been trying so hard to undo all of the hurt I've caused. Not just to you, but... to other people as well. I at least want you to know how sorry I am. Pearl told me how much this has been eating at you, and... you don't deserve to feel that way anymore. I may not have talked to you in years, but... the Jasper I remember, at least, is a wonderful person, who deserves so much better."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Rose sobbed, while Jasper tried (and failed) to fight back her own tears. After a few minutes passed, Jasper finally drew in a deep breath. "Rose... you want me to be honest with you right now?"

Rose turned her gaze up towards Jasper. "What...?"

"We both look like we're wearing clown makeup." Jasper said with a teary eyed grin. "I say we wash our faces, re-apply our eyeliner, and get back to out there before anyone starts speculating."

Rose let out a sigh of relief and burst into laughter. "We do, don't we? This almost reminds me of our first homecoming dance!"

"Oh, don't even bring that up."

"Aww, but it's true!" Rose teased. "You cried your little freshman heart out after some boy dumped punch on your dress, and I was crying because Pearl's mom wouldn't let her come... And we redid each others makeup as we comforted each other in the girl's bathroom."

Jasper snorted. "Oh man, fuck that guy. Just for reminding me of that, I'm gonna tell your man about all the times you wore cat ears to school and ran like Naruto in gym class."

Rose gasped. "You wouldn't dare!" she cackled.

"I sure would!" Jasper responded, and pulled Rose into a tight embrace. Rose immediately returned it just as tightly, sighing with content.

"Guess I deserve it, after all I put you through, huh?" Rose giggled against her shoulder.

"You bet your ass you do." Jasper sniffled, giving Rose a playful nudge once she pulled away from the hug. "Now get me something to clean off this clown makeup, bitch."

"I'm on it, hold your horses." Rose huffed with amusement, opening up the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of makeup remover and an eyeliner pencil.

As she waited, Jasper leaned against the counter and ran her fingers through her hair. "Man... In all honesty, the main reason I came here in the first place was because I knew I'd feel worse if I didn't. Pearl's really the only friend I've got lately, and you know... I'm dealing with a lot of jealousy and shit. I'd probably spend the whole night moping if I knew she was hanging out with you and I was still alone... Guess my bullshit ended up helping me in the end this time, huh?"

"I guess so." Rose said with a smile. She dumped a few drops of makeup remover on a cotton ball, wiping away the makeup stains from her pale face. "But... I'm glad you came. And not just because it gave me an opportunity to apologize to you. I've really missed you, Jasper, and... if you'd like it, perhaps we could rebuild the friendship we had back then. I know it won't be the same, but..."

"Aww..." Jasper began, dabbing her face with a little bit of makeup remover. "You absolute fucking sap. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it too, though."

Rose smirked. "At least I'm not the only one." she remarked, popping the cap off of her eyeliner. "I wonder what everyone thinks we're doing right now..."

"I guarantee you Amethyst has made at least ten jokes about us having sex or some dumb shit." Jasper snorted.

Rose giggled childishly. "Ah, she's one of those types, huh? She seems like a pretty funny gal."

Jasper smiled awkwardly, glancing to the floor as she finished up her makeup. "Yeah... I guess."

"Well, let's not keep them waiting." Rose said once she was finished as well. "Ready?"

"Yep."

And with that, the two made their way back to the family room. 

* 

"There you are!" Amethyst remarked as soon as Jasper and Rose returned. "I thought you two had gone off to Narnia."

"No, we just had a little chat... We had some catching up to do is all." Rose smiled warmly. Jasper looked far more comfortable than she did before, to Pearl's relief. 'They must have talked things over...' she thought with a smile.

"Jasper, we need your doctor skills!" Steven exclaimed. "We keep trying to save this man, but it keeps going 'bzzzzzzzzt'!!"

"I forgot how bad I was at Operation." Greg said with an awkward laugh, handing the metal tweezers over to Jasper. "We've all had our turn, so you're next!"

"Alright, I'll give it my best shot." Jasper grinned, sitting down on the couch beside Greg. With a focused expression on her face, she reached in for the "funny bone", and plucked it out with ease.

"Yay!!" Steven cheered, running up to Jasper and holding his hand out for a high five. "You did it! You're the best!"

"Aw, uh, thanks kiddo." Jasper awkwardly high fived his tiny hand. "Your turn, Rose."

Rose seated herself on the other side of Jasper and reached for the tweezers. With Steven now sitting on the floor by his mom, the gap on the loveseat between Pearl and Amethyst was now empty... Pearl found herself scooting a little closer, and Amethyst did the same. The only thing stopping Pearl from reaching for her hand was the slight chance Jasper might look their way, but for the time being, Pearl was content with sitting just a little closer to her, now. 'Things are going to be alright.' 

[oreoambitions]

Scout’s Honor

You can thank @ripmecuzmemes for the most innocent part of this fic, and for encouraging me to write this instead of sleeping or working on Good Try. This is hands down the most inappropriate thing I’ve ever written.

----

"So," Nia says, her mouth twisting into a sly smile, "When did you first figure out that you were gay?"

Lena isn't sure how exactly Nia convinced the group that it was a good idea to play Truth or Dare at game night. She arrived late, delayed by the inevitable last minute crisis at the office, and missed all of the prerequisite discussion. Discussion which she assumes must have included a stern reminder that no one may request a truth or a dare which might expose anyone else's superhero identity in front of Lena. As if she doesn't already know the identities of everyone in the room. Please.

But it's been a relatively tame evening, and Lena has successfully restrained herself from asking the kind of question she's sure everyone else agreed not to ask before she even walked in the door. She's two and a half glasses deep into an excellent selection of wine, and she's only had to answer one uncomfortably sexual question about her previous relationship with James, and now she's curled up on the couch taking in the warmth and the smell of good food and the sound of familiar voices without really following the conversation. At least she was, until Nia decided to ask Kara about her sexuality.

Kara throws her hands up in exasperation. "I'm not gay, you guys!" She looks at Alex for support, but Alex is looking determinedly anywhere else. James is smirking into his wine glass.

Nia throws a pillow. "Hey! The rules of the game are clear! You're not allowed to lie!"

"It's true though! Scout's honor."

James raises a hand. "I'm pretty sure you can't say that unless you're an actual boy scout."

"Okay, but I never got the chance to be a boy scout because... because I'm not a boy..."

Alex shoots Kara a warning glance, and Lena wonders for the hundredth time how subtle these people really think they're being. Privately this kind of thing makes her blood boil. These are the people she's chosen for her family. They're the best people she's ever known. They still don't trust her with their secrets after all this time, and they won't even do her the courtesy of making a passable effort to keep those secrets properly hidden. But she loves them, and so she sits here in their distrust and tries to be patient.

"You should have been a boy scout though," Nia says, her expression far away. "All that stuff about honor and honesty and helping others is right up your alley."

Lena almost snorts into her wine. She covers it by taking another sip.

"You'd have been really cute in that uniform, too," Alex adds.

Kara rolls her eyes and settles back into her chair. "Sure."

"I don't know," Lena says, and then suddenly everyone is looking at her, and she's realizing that she's spoken out loud, and maybe this third glass of wine wasn't a good idea, but she finishes her thought anyway. "I think that uniform would still look pretty good on you, if you wanted to give it a go."

Lena can picture it in vivid detail. The boy scout shirt open one button too many, the loose red bandanna around Kara's neck, the tight green pants, a pair of scuffed up hiking boots, and a smile that suggests a recreational activity Lena is 100% sure Boy Scouts of America would not approve of. It's perfect. And if Kara's reddening cheeks are any indication, she can picture it too.

Kara clears her throat. "So uh, Lena. Truth or dare?"

"Oh, truth. I don't want to have to get off this couch."

Kara thinks about it. She scrunches up her nose and fixes Lena with such an intense stare that for a moment Lena is genuinely concerned about what might come out of her mouth. And then she asks, "What kind of dumpling do you like best?" and the room fills with laughter.

Lena takes another sip of wine while she pretends to consider the question, even though she already knows perfectly well what the answer is. She does it for the anticipation on Kara's face and for the giggle that Nia is trying to hold in, for James's knowing smile and for Brainy's expression of intense focus.

"Pot stickers," Lena finally answers.

Kara's smile is so bright that for a moment Lena thinks it might rival the sun. She could go so far as to believe that all of National City was lit up for an instant by the joy on Kara's face.

"Pot stickers are my favorite too!"

Which of course Lena already knows. And Kara knows that Lena knows. And James's knowing smile has suddenly deepened, because James knows that Lena's favorite dumpling is actually Polish pierogi, or used to be before she discovered Kara's reaction to pot stickers and decided there was nothing better. Lena suspects she's said too much this evening, given a little too much of herself away, and there will be teasing from James later. It doesn't matter; that smile was worth it.

"Alex," Lena says with a smirk. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Recite your favorite Shakespearean sonnet in your very best Donald Duck voice," Lena commands with a sideways glance at Kara, who is already fighting to keep a straight face.

"Hold on," Alex says, reaching for her phone. "I'm going to need Google for this."

Game night ends early, not so much by design as by happenstance, each member of the group trickling out for one reason or another until it's just Alex, Lena, and Kara lounging in the living room. Lena is just beginning to wonder whether she should find an excuse to leave so that Alex and Kara can have some sister time when Alex looks at her watch and stands up.

"Well," she says, "I have a meeting in the morning. I hate to leave you with the mess..."

Lena shakes her head. "I'll stay and help Kara clean up. You get home safe."

Kara begins to protest almost immediately. "Oh, Lena you don't have to-"

But Alex cuts her off. "It'll be good for you two to talk," Alex says pointedly. She pulls Kara in for an embrace. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Lena's stomach does an uncomfortable flip, and she questions for a moment whether Alex, like James, has picked up on something more than Lena would have liked. It's not that it's strictly speaking a secret that she has feelings for Kara. It's just that Kara has given every indication that she'd rather not return those feelings, regardless of anyone's suspicions about her sexuality or her interest in Lena specifically. It makes Lena feel almost guilty that she can't put her attraction to Kara away in a box the way Kara seems to be able to lock things away that aren't convenient for her.

When Alex is gone, Lena leans casually against the kitchen counter, holding her fourth cup of wine. It's probably a good thing that she's here to help Kara clean up, because even with super powers, this is the kind of mess that is really best tackled as a team. Nia and Kara ostensibly made cookies, but Lena has it on good authority that most of the dough was eaten before it ever made it to the oven, and a good portion of what remained seems to have been plastered on any and every available surface. It's like a cookie tornado passed through Kara's kitchen.

"How did you get flour on the ceiling?" Lena murmurs to herself with a bemused expression.

Kara trots into the kitchen with an armful of plates to deposit into the sink and makes herself busy. Lena indulges herself for a moment just watching her work, watching her serious expression, her deft movements, the ease with which she carries herself when it's just the two of them. And then Lena is rolling up her sleeves and reaching around Kara for the spare sponge.

"Truth or dare," Kara says after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"Excuse me?" Lena replies, eyes on a spot of what she thinks might be egg stuck to the side of the fridge.

"You heard me: truth or dare?"

Lena pauses and looks back at Kara, but Kara, busy with the dishes, is not looking at her. Maybe it's the wine talking, but maybe there's something dangerous about continuing this game alone. It's definitely the wine talking when Lena decides to go along with it.

"Truth. Maybe we should just play truths until we're done taking care of this mess."

"That's fair."

Kara is quiet for so long that Lena thinks maybe she's decided to call off the game altogether. Part of her is relieved, but the better part of her is a little disappointed. Maybe Kara wanted her to ask for a dare. She'd pay good money to know what that dare was going to be.

But eventually Kara asks the question. "If you could tell me anything with no consequences, what would it be?"

Lena hesitates. I love you. But those words do come with consequences, and she's not about to utter them over her fourth glass of wine, elbow deep in flour and dish soap, halfway up on Kara's kitchen counter. So she sidesteps it. "I can tell you anything with no consequences, Kara. You're my best friend."

"But you don't. Tell me everything, I mean."

And now Kara is looking at Lena, the water still running in the sink, a rag in one hand, the dishes for the moment forgotten. She wears such a searching expression that Lena holds her breath under the scrutiny. Then she feels rage prickle under her skin, and she turns away.

"That's pretty rich coming from you," she comments. Because her feelings for Kara aren't a secret even if she's never named them out loud. Of course they aren't. She'd never lie about something like that, not outright. Kara can't say the same about the secrets she's keeping from Lena. She can't pretend that she hasn't blatantly, directly lied about her identity as Supergirl to her own advantage. She can't pretend that she hasn't used Supergirl to avoid admitting that sometimes she doesn't trust Lena, that sometimes she doesn't know how to approach her.

Kara turns the faucet off. Lena refuses to look at her, but she can feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up as Kara approaches behind her. For a long moment they stand there, Kara watching Lena, Lena unmoving with her back resolutely turned until Kara wraps her arms around Lena's waist and presses her forehead to the space between Lena's shoulders.

"Alex is right," she says softly. "It would be good for us to talk."

Lena thinks perhaps she has forgotten how to breathe. She reaches down with the hand not holding a sponge to rest her fingertips on Kara's arm. Kara answers without hesitation by weaving her fingers through Lena's and straightening up to pull her closer.

"So tell me," Kara prompts. "What is it you're not saying, Lena Luthor?"

I love you. "I know who you are," Lena whispers.

Kara hums, her nose pressed into Lena's hair. "I thought you might." And then, when Lena doesn't say anything, she adds, "I'm sorry."

It isn't enough. Two words should not be enough. There should be screaming. Lena should throw the wine glass maybe, break a plate, make a scene. But the longer Kara holds her the more tension she feels leaving her body and those two words are so unexpected that Lena almost forgets to be angry. Almost.

"Truth or dare, Kara," she prompts.

"I thought we agreed only truths tonight."

"Okay. Were you ever going to tell me?" Lena's voice cracks on the last word, and she is painfully aware that if they keep talking about this she is going to start crying. In front of Kara. Barefoot in Kara's kitchen, holding Kara's dirty sponge.

Kara sighs. "I don't know. Maybe.... I don't know."

And it's the truth but it isn't the answer Lena wants to hear. She starts to pull away, but Kara, fingers tightening, refuses to allow it.

"How long have you known?" Kara asks.

"I don't know," Lena mocks. She wonders if Kara can hear her heart rate rising. She wonders if Kara will assume it's anger or if she understands what she's doing to Lena, holding her close like this, breath tickling her ear.

Kara tsks. "You're not supposed to lie in truth or dare," she admonishes gently.

Lena lets out a single bitter laugh. "Because you're a paragon of honesty," she says with a roll of the eyes that Kara cannot see but which Lena is hoping comes through in her tone of voice. She feels Kara shift her weight, imagines her biting her bottom lip.

"I was telling the truth today," Kara offers hesitantly. And then, "Even when Nia asked me... that."

Lena doesn't want to talk about this. She gestures with the sponge, hoping that Kara will understand she'd like to get back to her task, but Kara takes it from her and tosses it onto the counter so that she can take that hand for herself too. And Lena tries not to think about how badly she wants this moment to last forever, how comfortable it is to have Kara pressed up against her, arms wrapped around her, fingers laced through Lena's, strong and warm and solid and real. I love you. But Kara has just reminded her that she's not gay for the second time this evening.

"I don't care about-" she starts. It's a lie. The first lie she's uttered all evening, in fact.

"Don't say that," Kara interrupts.

Lena's mouth closes with an audible click. She thinks she can feel Kara's breathing pick up a little.

"I told Nia the truth," Kara repeats. "I'm attracted to men. I loved Mon-El; that was real." And then, with a deep breath, "But I'm also attracted to... someone who is a woman..."

Lena's heart jumps into her throat. "So you're not straight."

"Well, no. But I'm not gay. Bi erasure is a serious issue, Lena. Nia of all people knows how important representation can be."

And then they're laughing together just a little, and Lena is relaxing more deeply into Kara's arms.

"So really you dodged the question," Lena points out. "Which is a kind of lying."

"It isn't lying! I just... didn't tell the whole story. Luthors haven't cornered the market on evasion. I'm just not ready for everyone to know."

Which Lena thinks is fair, because she hasn't told the whole world that she's bi either. It hasn't been necessary, since the two women she dated in college were easily written off as a phase, and she hasn't dared tell anyone anything about her feelings for Kara. Kara, who has let it slip that she's attracted to a woman.

"Who is she?" Lena whispers.

Kara stiffens. This time, she's the one who tries to pull away, and it's Lena's turn to tighten her grip. Not that Kara can't do as she pleases, but she heeds Lena's unspoken request and stays. They're silent for too long, the clock on the wall suddenly deafening as the seconds tick by, Lena's heart racing, Kara's breath a little too fast in her ear.

"It's you," Kara finally says. She doesn't move, but she lets go of Lena's hands and Lena understands it to mean that Kara will let her leave if she wants to. "It was always you."

The clock measures out the seconds while Lena tries to catch her breath. She tries, and she fails, and she considers blaming the wine. She notices when Kara puts a little space between their bodies as she reads her silence the wrong way. I love you. She turns halfway round in Kara's arms to press a too-quick kiss to the corner of her mouth and then she lingers there while Kara's eyes flicker back and forth between her own with that same searching expression she wore when she asked Lena what it was she wasn't saying.

Lena turns the rest of the way around and reaches one hand up to grip the collar of Kara's shirt. The other she slips around the back of Kara's neck, and then she waits, because she's afraid that somehow she's misread this whole thing. Kara's arm tightens around her waist.

"Lena," she murmurs, a warning note in her voice.

And then Lena can't wait any longer. This time she's kissing Kara full on the mouth, and half laughing at Kara's sharp surprised intake of breath, except suddenly Kara is kissing her back and there is nothing to laugh about. There's only the feeling of those lips on hers, too soft for words. Kara is exceptionally gentle, almost too careful as her hand trails up Lena's back and into her hair, as she obeys Lena's insistent tugging on her collar and closes what's left of the gap between them.

Lena is not an impatient women by any means, but this has been too long coming for Kara to be this damn gentle, and so she sweeps her tongue across Kara's lower lip, all but demanding entrance until it's granted. She can taste traces of the wine, sugar from the leftover cookie dough Kara has been scraping out of the bowl all evening, and something more subtle that Lena might have been able to define except that Kara deepens the kiss and all thoughts of anything but that tongue moving across hers are lost in an instant. She's not even quite sure which one of them moans. Kara pushes her back against the counter, her fingers pressing hard into Lena's hip, and catches Lena's bottom lip between her teeth just sharply enough to draw blood.

She scrambles back inhumanly fast. "Rao, I'm sorry, I-" She brings both hands up in front of her as if to ward Lena off.

"Kara it's okay-"

"-I lost control, I should never have-"

"Kara." Lena hooks her fingers through Kara's belt loop and tugs, but she doesn't budge. "Kara, it's okay. It's nothing."

Kara looks away with a hard swallow. "If I can't be with you without hurting you, then I shouldn't be with you at all."

Lena runs her tongue over the broken skin on her lip. It isn't bad, really. She's had worse. If she's being honest, she's imagined Kara doing worse in the privacy of her own home, and in explicit detail. "It's just a little blood. Come back to me." And then when Kara remains motionless, Lena adds, "Maybe I want you to hurt me a little."

Kara turns to study her. She takes a step forward, runs her thumb over Lena's lip, and her eyes darken as Lena takes it into her mouth.

"Are you sure?" Kara whispers. She moves closer still. "Because I can't promise you perfect control. But I want to give you what you want. Whatever it is you want." She pulls Lena's ear lobe gently between her teeth and Lena's hips buck involuntarily against her.

"Yes," Lena gasps. "Yes, I'm sure."

Kara lowers her head to run her tongue over Lena's neck, just below the jaw, and Lena hardly has time to wonder how she knew precisely where to go before Kara bites down. She's vaguely aware that Kara is going to leave a mark, that it's going to be inconvenient on Monday morning, but she doesn't care. Kara is sucking a second bruise onto her neck and Lena is tangling fingers in her hair and giving up on holding in the small sounds that Kara's ministrations are so expertly drawing from her throat. She feels a thigh slide up into her center and grinds down on it as Kara moves to leave a third mark.

Kara's fingers slip under the hem of Lena's shirt, and then she hesitates. Lena is ready to swear on the name of every God she can think of that if Kara pulls away again she is going to lose it, but she doesn't. She nudges Lena's nose with her own and asks again, "Are you sure?"

Lena nods. "I'm sure."

"Okay. And you promise you'll tell me if you want me to stop?"

"I promise." And with a smirk she adds, "Scout's honor."

Also on AO3 for convenience.

[42wallaby-way-sydney]

@gangstertogangster​ so since we’re on a glee kick for the OCs, I figure now is about as good a time as any just to have more things that totally get said during domestic au lines.

Yelena: Veruchka that isn't how babies happen. Nika: Uh huh! You and mama are both girls and you have me! Yelena, eyes widening, sweats: ... Nika: Hey how did that happen anyway? Where do babies come from? Yelena, driving faster: Ask your mother. Nika: But you are my mother? Yelena: Ask your other mother! ~oOo~ Michael: Look, alcohol is an answer to any problem. It’s not always the best answer but it is an answer. So pass me my wine or not even God himself will be able to save you, Raphael! ~oOo~ Vasya: Nah, my Aunt Shauna loves Olive Garden. They have better bread. Michael: What’s wrong with my restaurant?! It’s authentic Italian! The real deal! Vasya: It isn’t Olive Garden’s. Duh. ~oOo~ Nika: Hey guys, do you mind if I ritualistically slaughter this chicken? Peyton, jaw dropped: Uh... yeah a bit. This is the stage where we’re, you know, about to have a musical practice. Not... make chicken nuggets. ~oOo~ Vasya: That bitch is crazy! He had me kidnapped! Adrian, looks away: ...  Alexei: Ohmygod... ~oOo~ Jack: Papa, where do babies come from? Vladimir: ... Russia and Spain. Matt: That is not- Vladimir: My babies came from Russia and Spain, Matvey! Matt: Well if you want to get technical! Jack was born in Hell’s Kitchen! You idiot! ~oOo~ Mariah: Oh, Misty. Lucille is just... such a delightful child... Misty: Thank you, Mariah. I just... adore Honor... Danny & Shades, both sighing: ... ~oOo~ Matt: What's wrong?! Why are you bleeding?! Vasya, crying: I think I have internal bleeding! Matt: Oh honey. Internal means it's on the inside. Vladimir, smacking the back of Matt's head: Asshole. ~oOo~ Lucille: Breathe in. Now breathe out. Breathe in. ... Jack. Dani. Wake up. Vasya: They don't like meditating very much. Jack, snoring: ... Danielle, snoring: ... ~oOo~ Karen: You taught her how to treat a hemorrhage but not a period?! Matt: I didn't think it was important?! ~oOo~ Taka: I’m like the Malcolm X of our community! ~oOo~ Jack: Hey Siri, what was it like being poor and Asian? Marie: Terrible from what I’ve heard from my grandma. Peyton: Well, the mangoes aren’t as good in America. ~oOo~ Toly: I love fencing. I get to make new friends then stab them. ~oOo~ Vasya: I think I'm dying! Matt: Honey we're all dying. Vladimir, smacks Matt on the back of the head: What is your fucking problem tonight?! ~oOo~ Ravdí: Peyton, when you asked us to choreograph a dance number for this musical, you did not say that it was for Maddie’s zombie love story. Peyton: Yeah! Isn’t it a great idea?! Maddie’s story makes for a great musical and with you and Vas making a dance, I think this will be a big hit! Vasya, staring at Jamie: ... uh huh. Got this.... Ravdí: ... fiiine. We’re choreographing a dance number for zombies in love. Let’s go, Vas. ~oOo~ Bucky, wearing galaxy print yoga pants: Look my pants are out of this world so shove it. Vladimir: ... damn that was good. High five, Yakov. ~oOo~ Honor: Richard, I can taste your axe body spray. Get off of me! ~oOo~ Vasya: Well a drunk Stalin called me and told me that if I wanted Russia, he’d just give it to me! Matt: ... we need new Sunday dinner topics... Shauna: Ooh! I got one! Vladimir! You smell like melted cheese! Jack, whispering to Toly: You owe me five bucks. Eight minutes in and they’re screaming at each other. Matt, sighing: This is fine... Anatoly: I have vodka. Do you want some? ~oOo~ Yelena: If that boy so much as touches her I am destroying him. Natasha: I've already thought of ways we can hide his body. Yelena: I love you so much. ~oOo~ Michael: Both of my girls could kick my ass without even blinking and I find it unbelievably amazing. ~oOo~ Brad: Ooh authentic Chinese food! Diane: It's not Chinese, it's Asian! André: ... ya'll bitches be trippin'. ~oOo~ Richard: So I talked to your sister about who's the boss on this group project. Jack: Uh huh. How'd that go exactly? Who's in charge on your project? Richard: ... it's still unclear. Jack: Right. My sister is in charge, isn't she? Richard, sighing: I can't tell her no. ~oOo~ Maddie: ... why is there a live bear in the house? Marci: What? ... Ahhh! Bear! ~oOo~ Vladimir, saluting lazily: Aye aye captain. Yelena, ugly snort laughs: Shut up Vova. ~oOo~ Bucky: So how's that Eurofest thing going? Vladimir, pausing: ... you mean Eurovision? Bucky, snapping his fingers: Yep! That's it. ... don't look at me like that. I was closer that time than I was earlier. Vladimir: ... this. Is true. I don't even know what you said earlier. ~oOo~ Toly: Hey, Al? Alexei: Yeah? Toly: What was that? Alexei: An icecream commercial. Toly: No the fuck it wasn’t! Don’t you lie to me! ~oOo~ Jack: So you love my sister? Michael: Sí, more than air. Why? Jack: Would you be willing to take a bullet for her? Michael: ... yes? Why? Jack: I'll see you at the pier later tonight, Moretti. ~oOo~ Alexei: Man if one more person tells me that I am appropriating my own got dang culture Imma beat someone's ass. ~oOo~ Richard: I can't believe you said that! If you weren't a lady, I'd deck you! Vasya: You try and I'll have you on your back so fast you'll think you're out on a date! ~oOo~ Raphael: Wait, wait, wait! Hold on. You’re dumping me? For him? Nika, rolling her eyes: No, I’m dumping you, period. And then I’m gonna be with him. Period. If... that’s okay with him, question mark. Francis: Totally. Exclamation point. Raphael: Oh puke. Parenthesis, bold, underline. Michael, holding Smolya: Snort laughing. ... period. Raphael: Why are you even here? Michael: This is my apartment! ~oOo~ Yelena, after explaining a plan: It’s brilliant, right? Vladimir: Not brilliant at all. Yelena: Thanks for being on board. Vladimir: No. Not on board. Yelena: It means a lot. Vladimir: Big mistake. Very big mistake. Yelena: This will be wonderful! Vladimir: We are going to die slow, painful deaths. ~oOo~ Yelena: You get them! Vladimir: No you go get them! Natasha: What is going on out here? Yelena: We thought- Vladimir: Ah! No! There was no 'we'! Yelena: Shut up! We thought that the girls needed some life lessons... Vladimir: It was Lena's idea. Matt: Don't you dare tell me that Vasya and Nika, who are small toddlers may I add, are somewhere up there on that 100 foot tall building! Yelena: Okay, we won't. Vladimir: ... again, her idea. ~oOo~ Vasya: Fuck you! Dimitri: Later. Now shut up. I was talking. ~oOo~ Jack: I want to kill those guys! Vladimir: No! Matt: What a shocking turn of events... Vladimir: I don’t want you to bloody your beautiful hands! I will do it! ~oOo~ Vladimir: Oh congrats! You’ve made my seven year old look like a whore! Shauna: I think she looks great! Vasya: I think I want a leather jacket and combat boots now! Matt, groaning: Our seven year old is joining the mafia! ~oOo~ Rikki: I am a chapstick lesbian- is that the proper term for this? Because I’m not a lipstick lesbian, I’m definitely not femme, but I’m not entirely butch either? So I think I identify as a chaptstick les- screw it. I identify as chapstick! Just chapstick! Darla: What kind of chaptstick though? Sasha: Is it cherry? Because I see you as a cherry. ~oOo~ Marie: I’m like a Little Ceaser’s Pizza. Always hot and ready to go. Jack: Oh my god... Peyton: You’re gross. And I hate you. ~oOo~ Alexei: Toly’s a crackhead. Toly: I am not! I’m a motha fucking ganster! Alexei: See? Smokes crack. Andrey: I’m seeing myself out of this argument. ~oOo~ Yelena: All these screaming babies and yelling mothers and angry dads and annoying teenagers. They make me want to shoot up this mall. Nika: You cannot say that in public! Yelena: Why not?! It’s my second amendment right to shoot up a shopping center! Nika: NO! ~oOo~ Darla: I’m not much into BDSM. If I wanted to be whipped and chained up I’d just go back in time. ~oOo~ Peyton: Oh my sweet, poor, Japanese cherry blossom... Taka: Thank you. ~oOo~ Michael: This person wants us to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to them?! What?! Rahphael, snorts: That’s not happening. What do they think this is? Applebees?! ~oOo~ Peyton: It annoys me so much when people come here asking if we have a table and then get so offended when we don’t have them because of incoming reservations. Jamie: Honestly! What do they think this is?! Applebees?! We are a five star establishment! ~oOo~ Anatoly: You three better eat these pierogies! I didn’t starve in Utkin for you to deny yourselves food! Alexei, Toly, and Andrey, sighing: Yes, sir... ~oOo~ Bucky: You are a whole ass menace to society! Yelena: I will live. ~oOo~ Wesley: ... I’ve lost Maya. Fisk: Again, Wesley? Wesley, sighing: Unfortunately. ~oOo~ Lucy: I fear nothing. Not even god. Dani, Vasya, and Honor, watching her drink a smoothie: You’re disgusting. Jack: Can I have some of your smoothie? ~oOo~ Daisy: Being an inhuman is genetic. Vladimir: She gets this from your side of the family, Matthew! Daisy: But... you two adopt- Matt: I know. Don’t ask. Go with it. ~oOo~ Ian: Ugh, what do I take for hangovers? Darla: How horribly caucasian. Marie, snorts: Ha! Darla: Well isn’t it?! Marie, shrugging: I don’t know. I get the Asian flush so I take medicine before drinking. ~oOo~ Vladimir: I wonder what she’s going to buy... Matt: I wonder where she got the money... Jack: Vasi’s buying a bag of pepperoni! ~oOo~ Shauna: Look, we all know Toly won’t get into Harvard otherwise- Toly: What if I don’t want to go to Harvard?! Shauna: Ugh fine! Yale then! Toly: But mom- Shauna: Harvard or Yale Anatoly Jr! ~oOo~ Vasya: At least you all woke up in a bed! I woke up in the garbage! Jack: Okay. But. That’s nothing new. Nika, elbows him: Don’t be rude. ~oOo~ Sasha: I was in the dumpster! The dumpster! Rikki: My mom is blue! Darla: So I can see that this is a very stressful time for you both... ~oOo~ Dani: Lucy’s gonna be a minute. Vasya: Did she wake up in the trash too? Dani: No, she woke up half Asian. Lucy’s having a full blown identity crisis. ~oOo~ Vladimir: Your house is full! Full of sadness and emptiness! Yelena: Alright first off, you’re rude. Second, you’re a hoarder! ~oOo~ Sam: We don’t need this! Bucky: Sam, need and want are two different things. ~oOo~ Matt: I may not have vision but at least I have taste! ~oOo~ Vladimir: Ooh! For realsky?! Vasya: For suresky! ~oOo~ Anatoly: No son of mine is going to listen to shitty rap about doing cocaine! Alexei, thinking to himself: Please don’t tell mom... Anatoly: And Alexei Anatolyevitch! I am telling! Your mother! Alexei: Noooo!!!! ~oOo~ Therapist: Mr. Murdock, I think that Ms. Natchios may be one of your triggers. Matt: Please! I don’t have triggers! I am fine! Vladimir, snorts and coughs to cover it up: Okay. Elektra: Suuure you are Matthew. Matt: I will throw this chair at you, I swear to God! Don’t test me! ~oOo~ Shauna, lunging for Wesley: Augh! I can’t take it anymore! Vladimir, watching her punch Wesley: Shauna has earned my respect. Matt: It only took you five years to give it to her... ~oOo~ Jack: I’m so American that my favorite food is a McDonald’s cheeseburger! ~oOo~ Vladimir: If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?! Vasya: I dunno! Maybe if they invited me! Matt, slowly rubs his temples: ... I have a headache now... ~oOo~ Yelena: I drive like I have nothing to live for. Which I don’t really. Vladimir: Remind me to never drive near you with my children in the car. Natasha: And remind me to drive Nika around from now on. ~oOo~ Rikki: What do Asian parents beat their kids with? Francis: I don’t know. Textbooks? Ian: Rulers with F’s written on them? Jack: Slippers? Marie, glaring: I’m judging you all harshly. Jack: But are we wrong?! Marie: They feed us! Francis: Well that’s not a punishment. Marie: It is if you don’t like the thing they’re making you eat. ~oOo~ Vladimir: Has anyone seen my son?! He’s about yay tall! Clearly gay! But we haven’t had the talk yet! ~oOo~ Yelena: SHOW ME LOVE! SHOW ME LOVE! Nika: Mom... what is going on? Natasha, stirring her coffee: Oh just the usual amount of bullshit I deal with on a daily basis due to your other mother. ~oOo~ Maddie: I’m supposed to be in class. Ravdí: It’s okay, I’m supposed to be at work. ~oOo~ Darla: Oh what do I know?! Only what’s best for you! Rikki: I’m self destructive. Darla: I was just kidding. Rikki: I wasn’t. ~oOo~ Anatoly: How’s your dad’s restaurant doing? Alex: Very well. Alexei: Grandpa deletes bad reviews off his facebook so it only has five star reviews. He sees two stars, delete! Five star, it stays. Alex: He needs to fix the roof. Anatoly: ... what’s wrong with the roof? Alex: It’s old. Alexei: It leaks. Alex: The AC needs to be fixed too. Anatoly: What’s wrong with the AC? Alex: It’s old. Alexei: It’s broken. Shauna: ... I love your dad’s restaurant! ~oOo~ Vasya: Does anyone know if the damage control shampoo works on PTSD? Adrian: What about emotions? Asking for a friend. ~oOo~ Yelena: Oh god it’s missing! Natasha: What is? Yelena: The... the thing! Natasha, turning to face Yelena with baby Nika in her arms: What ‘thing’, Lenosha? Yelena, sighing in relief: Oh thank god, you found it. Natasha: ... you mean our daughter?! ~oOo~ Francis: A four letter word starting with ‘c’. Go! Rikki: Cock! Jack: Cunt! Rikki: Ooh! Nice one. Vasya: ... mine is corn. Nika: Well that’s adorable. Darla: Cute. ~oOo~ Vladimir: So it’s just a girls night? Vasya: Yeah, we’re just going to see a movie, grab a bite to eat, talk to the dead, and, if we have time, try to commit arson. Vladimir: Okay, have fun and don’t come back too late! Matt: ... after all that you just let her leave?! She said she’s going to commit arson, Vladimir! Vladimir: No, she said they’re going to try! They have to talk to the dead first, Matthew! ~oOo~ Matt, on the phone with Brett: Yeah, hey, if you get a call about a fire, can you give me a call? No reason. ~oOo~ Ravdí: Hey! I waterboarded myself! ~oOo~ Honor: This is a three day vacation! Lucy: Where are we supposed to be sleeping?! Richard: Well I just assumed you two would be inside each other. Jack, spits his drink out: ... ~oOo~ Vasya: So I met this girl at this coffee shop this morning- Honor: Oh no... No no no no. Vasi. You will not come out of this alive. Vasya: Uh... excuse me? Honor: She’s clearly a cannibal. Have you looked at yourself? You’re clearly an easy target. You’re a ballerina and very well marbled. If I were stuck on a deserted island with no food, I would absolutely eat you first. Literally everyone just stares: ... ~oOo~ AJ, the highschool art teacher, very clearly drunk: Listening to Brad talk is like listening to a horny bear claw into a chalkboard. I’m not pleased. Matt: ... well neither am I with that in mind. Shauna: I’m going to throw up. Bucky: God I love PTA meetings! ~oOo~ Honor: Gay kid! Alexei, blinks a lot: ... Honor: Asian girl! Marie: ... Marie. It’s not a hard name. Honor: Asian girl two! Peyton, inhaling deeply: ... she’s a kid. Breathe... Honor: Panda Express! Jamie: ... I swear to god... Honor: Weird twins! Rikki and Darla, blink and roll their eyes: ... Honor: Creepy incest twins! Jack and Vasya: ... we are not- Richard: Okay! So theater club meeting is in session now! ~oOo~ Ravdí: Sloppy babies! You’re all sloppy babies! Dani: Maybe we shouldn’t be calling the freshmen that. And give them encouraging words of wisdom instead? Ravdí: No! They keep dropping their flags! Again, babies! ~oOo~ Richard: Aren’t most of you gay? Honor: How dare you! ~oOo~ Ravdí: I’m sorry. All this time I’ve been treating you like an unpaid intern. When what I should have been doing is treating you like a paid intern. ~oOo~ Jack: Buenos dias, fuckboy! Ian, screaming shrilly: ... ~oOo~ Alexei: We’re all going to die someday. Well. Some of us. Toly: If you figure out immortality you have to share. Alexei: Uh. No. You’re annoying. Andrey: Will you share with me? Alexei: Maybe. ~oOo~ Alexei: Let’s come together! Like Voltron! Andrey: I’m the leg! Toly, rolling his eyes, softly but with feeling: ... fiiine. Losers. ~oOo~ Jack: I wrote this song for my sister! Vasya, closing her eyes, softly but with feeling: Ohgodno... Jack: I wrote this song to tell her that I’m always by her side! Even when we fight! Vladimir & Matt: Aww! ~oOo~ Andrey: Sometimes I feel like Ugolyok films me while in the shower and is waiting to sell the videos on Craigslist. Toly: ... what is wrong with you...? Alexei: ... I... uh... kay. ~oOo~ Lucy and Honor, trapped in an elevator, staring at a creepy puppet on a bike: ... What the ... hell... The puppet: Hello, girls. Let’s play a game. Lucy and Honor, banging on the door: Get us out of here! ~oOo~ Dani: You’re not letting them out of the elevator, are you? Richard: Nope. Not until they confess their feelings. Vasya: This is maniacal... I like this plan. Jack: You are all. So fucked up. ~oOo~ Maddie: I’m going to start projectile vomiting any second now... ~oOo~ The Principal of the highschool: I say we release the hounds into the school. Nick, the highschool science teacher, eyes wide: Let us not do that. AJ, the highschool art teacher: I think it might build character and therefore I veto Nick. ~oOo~ Ravdí, screaming as she runs down the hall: Why are there so many dogs in the hallways?! Vasya: This is the opposite of a problem! Francis: I love them all! Nika, climbing up the lockers, and hissing: Leave me alone! Unless you’re planning on eating my math homework! ~oOo~ Vasya: I will stop at nothing until you are homeless and drinking gutter water. Richard: Ouch. You’re rude.