#he craves meat. or i think maybe a better translation is: he longs for meat. longs after meat?

[opens-up-4-nobody]

@themastertactician er sehnt sich nach Fleisch >:-)

[karasuno-chaos]

In His Orbit (Nishinoya x Reader)

On a lovely day in Nice, France, you reflect on the past few months and the many reasons you love your boyfriend.

I came sooo close to putting Noya in a flower crown for this.  Maybe next time.😆  -Giz

Word Count: 1,974

The market was busy, though it was still early in the morning.  Vendors were rearranging pallets into shoppable displays, piling produce into cascades of color, already calling to each other and the few early shoppers who, like you, were wandering between the stalls.  You loved the energy here.  Even though they had a long day ahead, everyone was buzzing with caffeine and adrenaline.

A year ago, you never would have guessed that you’d be in Nice, France at the famous Cours Saleya market.  You’d always thought you weren’t impulsive enough to travel the world with nothing but adventure to guide you.  It sounded unpredictable and impossible.  But you’d fallen in love with a wanderer whose thirst for excitement had pulled you across the world, and you’d never been happier.

You purchased a small container of raspberries and ate a few while you wandered between the stalls.  The fruit season would be ending soon, but the berries were still deliciously tart.  You took note of certain goods to come back for later before ducking out of the market to a side street.  You’d noticed a little cafe during your first passage through the stalls, and you were craving some caffeine.

A few minutes later you returned to the market balancing two drinks and the raspberries.  You could already tell there were more people, even though the crowds were nowhere near what they would be during peak hours that afternoon.  The Cours Saleya was rather touristy, but in many ways, you were a tourist yourself.  You’d been helping on a flower farm just west of the city for only two weeks, so much of the city was new.  You were excited to explore this corner of the world.

You managed to make it to the other end of the market without dropping anything.  You loved this part of the Cours Saleya.  While the food vendors were enticing, the truly unique magic of the market was the flower sellers.  The buckets and bundles of colorful blooms brought the charm of country fields into the city.  Their simple beauty was something you had come to view as quintessentially French, and the dazzling variety of colors and aromas meant there was always more to see.

You headed to the stall with the rustic orange buckets.  A kaleidoscope of blooms burst from the displays, barely contained by the careful arrangements of the vendors.  They’d almost finished setting up, so you didn’t feel too guilty for ditching them to scope out the market.  You’d put in your time to help as customers came, assembling bouquets and refilling the displays as needed.  Even though you barely knew any French, the languages of commerce and flowers were easy enough to translate.

“Y/N’s back!” one of the men at the stall announced.  Rin and his wife Chizuru had moved to France five years ago after falling in love with the French way of life.  Both had grown up in Hyogo on farms, so buying up a flower farm outside of Nice had been a natural transition for them.  You’d met last month in Spain while they were on vacation and you and your boyfriend were working at a futbol stadium.  You’d hit it off right away, and when they’d invited you to their farm, you’d readily accepted.

“Need a hand with anything?” you asked.

“Nah, we’re pretty much set.  Nishinoya’s just grabbing the last of the daisies.”

As if summoned by his name, your boyfriend appeared carrying a bucket bursting with daisies.  He set it down in line with the other flowers as though it weighed nothing, though you knew firsthand how heavy the buckets were when full.  He adjusted the blooms a bit so they looked welcoming to customers, stepping back to cast a critical eye over the display as a whole before giving a satisfied nod.  Only then did he turn his attention away and notice that you were back.

“Find anything good?” he asked, face breaking into a smile like sunshine.

“I’ve got coffee and raspberries.”  You handed him the drink you’d ordered for him, and he took it along with a handful of berries.

“Thanks babe.”  He kissed your cheek in appreciation before popping a raspberry into his mouth.

“The stall looks really good.  I think we might be the only vendor with so many lilies left.”

“The greenhouses were worth the investment,” Chizuru agreed, arriving with the cash box and little folding table that you’d keep out of reach of customers, “though the crop this year has been great in general.”

“All right!” Nishinoya cheered.  “We’re going to sell a ton of flowers today!”

You smiled as your boyfriend got psyched up.  His energy was infectious, and his dedication to the task at hand never ceased to inspire you.  It was just one of the many things you loved about him.

You barely had time to finish your coffee before a steady stream of customers was keeping all of you busy.  Many simply admired the blooms as they passed, but you knew that quite a few would come back later after perusing the rest of the market.  After all, why come to the Cours Saleya if not for the flowers?

The weather was nice, and the crowd steadily grew as you headed towards the afternoon.  You were grateful for the caffeine and reinforcements as other farmhands arrived around ten o’clock.  It was exciting to be consistently busy, and you felt part of a team even though you’d just started working with these people.  It was a privilege to be a vendor at this famous market, and you were proud to see the culmination of your work in the fields as you bundled bouquets and trimmed stems for shoppers.

You also loved working with your boyfriend and watching him rise to the challenge.  You’d always admired his work ethic.  When he was committed, he couldn’t be satisfied with doing things halfway.  He constantly challenged himself.  Sometimes you wondered if he ever got tired of the hustle, but he was always looking toward the next adventure.

You’d been surprised when he’d asked you to travel with him after graduation.  You’d started dating halfway through your third year at Karasuno, and while you had no doubts about your feelings for each other, you hadn’t considered tagging along on his world tour when it was still pretty early in your relationship.  You should have expected that he’d already worked you into his future plans.  After all, he never did things halfway, and that included giving his heart to you.

These past few months had been some of the best of your life.  You’d discovered so much about the world, about Nishinoya, and about yourself. Not knowing what you’d be doing next month could be challenging, but you were learning that not having everything planned out could be exciting, too.  Liberating, even.  And your boyfriend kept it fun.  You were really glad you’d decided to join him on his travels.

“Here.”  You offered him a chilled water bottle as you sat in the back of the transport truck a few blocks from the market.  He gave you a sandwich in exchange, the bread fresh and the meat sliced as you’d watched by one of the vendors in the market.  Everything seemed to taste better when you knew the people making it cared about the quality of the ingredients.

You savored the first few bites of your lunch in silence.  You’d been busy nonstop nearly all morning, and you welcomed the chance to sit down for a bit.  The weather had warmed as the sun arced through the sky, but it remained comfortably mild.  It really was a lovely day to be outside surrounded by flowers.

“I think we might sell out again,” Nishinoya observed, crumpling the paper wrapping of his sandwich into a ball.  The rate at which he ate never ceased to amaze you.  “That’ll be two weekends in a row!”

“No doubt it’s due to your charming salesmanship,” you mused with a grin.

He laughed appreciatively.  He attracted people like the sun pulled on the planets, and his easy-going straightforwardness meant he got along with almost everyone.  Even if your compliment had been partially in jest, you wouldn’t be surprised if his bright smile and enthusiasm were drawing people to the stall.

“I think it’s the flowers,” he deflected, picking up a bloom that had fallen out of a bucket.  “Rin and Chizuru’s farm is amazing.”

“Thinking of buying up a French flower farm yourself?”

He laughed again, and you thought that you could listen to that sound forever and never get tired of it.

“No way, it’s way too complicated.  I’d have to remember when to plant and harvest and water and fertilize, and then there’s all of the budgeting and hiring and way too much planning.  I can’t keep track of all of that!  You could probably do it, Y/N.  If you wanted to, I’d be your best farmhand ever.”

He tucked the flower behind your ear, and you couldn’t help the light blush that dusted your cheeks.  You knew Nishinoya meant what he said.  He never spoke without conviction in his words.  If you really wanted to buy a farm and settle down, he’d support you and help you.  He really would be the best farmhand ever.  But you wondered if he’d really be happy, being tied to one place when there was still a whole world to explore.  Would he tire of perfecting flower patches and grow to resent your choice?  Could he ever settle and be content in one place?

He was looking at you intently, smile undimmed, and you decided that you didn’t want him to settle.  Certainly not for yourself.  Someday perhaps you would tire of the travel and adventure, and then you would broach the subject of finding something more permanent.  You weren’t ready to ask that of him yet.  He was still blazing across the sky, and you were pulled along in his wake.  For now, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“That sounds like too much for me, too.  Besides, there’s still a lot to see, right?”

“Right!  We’re going to conquer the world together.”

“Let’s just focus on conquering the market today,” you chuckled, standing in the truck bed to grab a few buckets of flowers.  You’d need to refill the displays when you got back.

Your boyfriend surprised you by leaping into the truck bed and nearly tackling you from behind with a hug.  You laughed as he gave you a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, babe.”

“For what?”

“For coming with me.”

He said it like it was the simplest thing, his focus already turning to the buckets of flowers.  Warmth bloomed in your chest.  You’d follow him wherever he wanted to go.  You just couldn’t stay away.  Your universe wasn’t complete without its sun.

“Hey.”

He turned, and you surprised him by capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Yuu.”

“I love you, too,” he promised with softened eyes and a look of devotion he saved only for you, and for a moment, you thought you knew how the moon felt when she was set aglow with the sun’s reflection.  You kissed him once more before hopping out of the truck and hefting a bucket of flowers in your arms.

“Come on, let’s go charm some shoppers so we can sell out and get the rest of the afternoon off.”

“What, did you have plans for today?”

“Nothing particular, but we haven’t done much sightseeing since we got here.  I figured we could wander around a bit and find something fun to do.”

“Sounds good to me!” he agreed, and you knew that whatever you ended up doing, he would make it an adventure for both of you.

[muwi-translates]

Otomate Party 2019 Collar x Malice Drama “Reverse reality”

Short drama featured in Otopa 2019, this was also shown in the 2020 Otomate New Title Party livestream. 

HEAVY BASE GAME SPOILERS. There’s also some minor spoilers AND a CG spoiler for -Unlimited-. Either way, don’t read this if you have not finished the first game.

Highly recommend that you watch while you read, it will 100% enhance the experience. It’s also because there are some ad-libs that are better experienced while you can see the voice actors and be able to hear the crowd. Here is a timestamped link to the section (if it doesn’t jump there, it starts at 15:23)

**Please don’t move this translation or claim it as your own.**

---

Yanagi: 20XX, December. Vicious events that have been committed in succession have disrupted social order. Known as the X-Day Incidents, we, who were former police officers, have been investigating--

Okazaki: Aha, wait, Yanagi-san~

Yanagi: Okazaki…Don’t interrupt others when they’re starting their monologue.

Okazaki: Sorry, but this time it doesn’t look like we need a very serious atmosphere.

Yanagi: What did you say?

Okazaki: The title seems to be wrong, it’s actually this:

[Title: It was just a dream]

Yanagi: What?

Okazaki: Shall I give you a summary then?

Okazaki: On a day in 20XX, a party was being held in a corner of Shinjuku. Thanks to the magic of Otopa (Otomate Party), in a place where time and space become twisted, a group of people who normally cannot meet have gathered…

---

Yanagi: An izakaya… no, I really don’t understand what’s—

Shiraishi: If it were just Yanagi-kun, Okazaki-kun and I… 

Saeki: I feel like I’m intruding, sorry about that.

Mikuni: There should be no need to apologise. We were also forcibly brought here when we were busy.

Okazaki: Soooo… I believe that one is Ichika-chan’s co-worker from the police station, Saeki-kun, right?

Saeki: Yup.

Okazaki: And that one is the politician Mikuni-san?

Mikuni: Yes. I also know who you are very well. You’re the people from the detective agency who are investigating the X-Day incidents by yourselves. Since you’ve also been investigating the identity of the mastermind of Adonis, you must have discovered our involvement by now.

Yanagi: Hmph. Not gonna bother to hide it? Should I treat this as your confession?

Shiraishi: Hey, Yanagi-kun, you don’t have to think that much this time. All that about the incidents, arrests, they all don’t exist~

Yanagi: Excuse me?

Saeki: Ah, they told me before I came here, Today, let’s just throw away all that messy stuff from the main story. We can’t go dropping spoilers, yeah?

Okazaki: Haha, yup, it’s Otomate Party, after all.

Saeki: Yup, hehe~

Okazaki: So that means that it’s Saeki-kun and Mikuni-san’s first time meeting us, isn’t it?

Saeki: Ah, I know Shiraishi-san since he’s pretty famous in the Shinjuku station… but that’s about it.

Shiraishi: Ahaha… Mikuni-san, this should be fine, yes?

Mikuni: Are you trying to say that I should pretend I don’t know you, Num—

Shiraishi: Waitwaitwait… If you say it then what’s the point?

Yanagi: …Not enough...

Okazaki: Hm? Yanagi-kun, what’s wrong?

Shiraishi: Is there something wrong with your account book?

Yanagi: ...Not enough of Enomoto’s complaints...

Okazaki: Ah…. mm…. We do have a serious shortage of complaining.

Yanagi: Whatever. I can call you Mikuni, right?

Mikuni: Yes, even though I didn’t allow you to call me by name. The only one who has permission to do so is--

Shiraishi: S-S-Stop, didn’t we just say not to talk about the personal identity of that person today?

Yanagi: I can’t believe it… that Shiraishi’s thinking of other people?

Okazaki: Wait a second, Saeki-kun’s being left behind. I’m sorry, making you feel uncomfortable.

Saeki: It’s no problem, but… maybe I’m not meant to be here? You’re all important characters in the main story. I’m probably the youngest character amongst everyone here. Plus I’m just the friend of the protagonist.

Okazaki: What’s up with the weird reaction from the audience?

Saeki: You must be mistaken!

Okazaki: I must be! Haha~

Saeki: Hahaha

Okazaki: Ah, now that I remember, I’m so jealous you’re Ichika-chan’s coworker. I heard you two go out drinking together a lot.

Yanagi: That’s right, Saeki’s the only one who knows Hoshino well here.

Shiraishi: She’s still cautious with us, so I’m very interested in what kind of person she is.

Saeki: He~eh, Hosino’s pretty popular. But all I know is that she’s a really normal person. She’s always doing her best, and straightforwardly. Sometimes she can be discouraged and be in low spirits, but when she’s angry, she can be really scary. Ah! And when she gets drunk, she laughs a lot and gets really passionate when she talks to me.

Mikuni: …Is that it?

Saeki: Hm?

Mikuni: If Ichika Hoshino is as normal as you say then I believe she should not have been chosen by Adonis.

Yanagi: Oi, Mikuni, what do you mean?

Saeki: Oh… I don’t know how Adonis thinks, but I think she’s strong because she’s normal.

Mikuni: I don’t understand, even if I do want to, since she holds the key to us.

Saeki: Ahaha, to a brilliant politician like you, our worlds are completely different.

Shiraishi: ...Sorry, I can’t stand this anymore.

Yanagi: I can’t believe it… that Shiraishi’s losing his cool!

Okazaki: Truly a rare sight to behold.

Okazaki: That said, we’re in front of a gathering of girls, we shouldn’t be this aggressive. If our goal is to become friends, why don’t we play a game?

Shiraishi: Do you mean the friendship games that Okazaki-kun and Mineo-kun always play?

Yanagi: Those? It’s going to get more chaotic if so many people start drinking tequila. 

Okazaki: Then what about a ‘revelation game’? We’ll reveal our true thoughts on the subject written on the back of these cards. And you have to answer the question no matter what it is.

Saeki: Oh, I like it! I’d be happy to get to know everyone better.

Mikuni: It’s of no loss to me if I get information from you.

Shiraishi: Then let’s go clockwise from Yanagi-kun.

Yanagi: Why do I have to go first? Nothing I can do about it-- IT’S MY TURN.

[Card: What kind of gestures do you like in a woman?]

Yanagi: Gestures? I haven’t really thought about it, something like tying long hair into a bun, I guess?

Saeki: Ah, I get that! It looks really nice when they’re wearing a yukata.

Shiraishi: Really? Should I tie my hair like that?

Yanagi: I didn’t ask.

Mikuni: I see. I’ll add this to the data we have on Aiji Yanagi.

Yanagi: I. Didn’t. Ask.

Okazaki: Then it’s my turn next. What’ll it be~?

[Card: What’s something you want a woman to say to you?]

Yanagi: Is this really about friendship?

Okazaki: Hm… I can feel the coercive energy of Otopa… it’s like... a heavy pressure.

Saeki: Okazaki-san looks like he’s pretty popular. I wanna learn from you.

Okazaki: Haha, you sound like Mineo-kun. Words I want to hear from a woman… Yanagi-san, it’s better to give a more restrained answer, right?

Yanagi: Yeah, it might be bad if you’re too careless, ah, but there’s still a chance. I’d rather you say something that can be visualised, it’s okay if you say something that can’t. Anyway, I’m leaving it up to you.

Okazaki: I’m just going to follow what’s in the script, then.

Okazaki: The golden phrase “I don’t want to go back”. If she said it like that, it would be impossible not to want her.

Shiraishi: I don’t get it, what kind of situation wouldn’t let her go home? Does she work at a bad company?

Mikuni: Perhaps her family situation is complicated?

Saeki: Uh, are you two really fully-grown men?

Yanagi: ...Enomoto… come here quickly… I’ll even take Namikawa (Daisuke)!

Shiraishi: It’s my turn next, right?

[Card: What kind of food do you want a woman to make for you?]

Shiraishi: Hm. Nothing in particular. I could just make it myself.

Okazaki: So dreamless! Shiraishi-san, you always eat such dull things. Don’t you ever crave some homemade food?

Shiraishi: Then Yanagi-kun will make something for me, so no.

Yanagi: Oi, I’m not your mother.

Mikuni: So Aiji Yanagi has the ability to win people’s hearts with good food. This cannot be underestimated.

Shiraishi: No matter how you say it, home made food is--

Saeki: [Slams his cup down] No! There’s stuff like meat and potato stew! And karage! That’s romantic!

Okazaki: Oh… Saeki-kun’s drunk. When did he drink that much?

Saeki: Pfft- I ain’t drunk! The night’s still young~!

Yanagi: The alcohol’s gone to his head, here, drink some water.

Mikuni: It might be better to lie down, come over here…

Saeki: Nuh-uh. I wanna play… the revelation game!!!

[Card: What’s your type of woman?]

Saeki: Ooh! My type of woman… let me think. Of course, she’s gotta be cute… has style, she’s good at cooking. Someone who’s usually honest, but sticks to their beliefs… and responsible with work.

Shiraishi: So someone who’s similar to you? Or someone who has the same type of thinking as you?

Okazaki: Also… this… sounds similar to Ichika-chan.

Saeki: Hm? Nah, we’re not like that--

Mikuni: --Enough. I should be going back soon.

Yanagi: Oi, what’s with you all of a sudden--

Okazaki: Ah… my vision… it’s weird… Yanagi-san...

Yanagi: What’s going on… this sound…

Shiraishi: Ah, is it over already?

Mikuni: We have fully obtained the information required for analysis. You must be satisfied too?

Okazaki: What… it hurts…--

---

Okazaki: *gasps* Huh? ...A dream? My bad, did I wake you up? No, I’m okay. I just had a weird dream. Good morning. Is your body okay? Last night I went too-- ah! Hehe, so cute~

I didn’t forget. Our promise that we were going on a date today. But I just want to hold you all the time, because you’re too cute. So cute it’s trouble.

If I kissed you like this outside you’d get angry at me, right? So… can you let me keep you all to myself just for a little longer?

---

Shiraishi: Hm? Was I asleep? I was reading to the children… it looks like I fell asleep when we were together. Eh? You were looking at my sleeping face? What’s that about, so unfair. You know I wanted to see yours too. I’ll see it someday. That’s right, there’s still ‘someday’ after this…

I still think it’s strange even now. If I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t know that the sun was this warm, or that the breeze is so pleasant. Just holding hands with you makes my chest hurt. Even though I still have to make you feel lonely for a little while longer, don’t worry. Because we’re connected under the same sky.

---

Mikuni: Ah, it’s you. Are you reporting something for work? My complexion is bad? No… I just had a strange dream. How rare for you to worry about me. I know, this is just superficial rhetoric used by subordinates. However, after talking with you over these past few days, the way I deal with people seems to have changed.

I… quite clearly think that you are annoying, but I do not hate you. Even in a hell like this, the light in your eyes has not disappeared. It seems that I am drawn to your strength. 

No… forget what I said. That was just a joke that will disappear one day like illusions.

---

Saeki: Ah, sorry, I was just a little dazed. ...Careful! Almost dropped the crepe. It’s already sunset, after we finish, we should go. 

…! Don’t make that kind of expression. Hey, Hoshino. I know you’re at your wit’s end trying to figure out what path you want to take. You must have already decided in your heart, right? 

I see… I’ll always support you no matter what decision you make. And… I’ll resist like you are until the very end, if this is the ‘justice’ you believe in.

It’s sad, but let’s finish our date here today. Hey, will you go on another with me? 

Haha, how cold… I still want to be with you like this. That’s why, see you again.

---

Yanagi: ...It’s still night.... You’re awake? I sounded like I was in pain? ...I made you worry. It’s okay, it wasn’t the dream I usually have. ...It wasn’t the same, but I guess it was still a nightmare. 

Can I hold you? It’s not that I feel uneasy. It’s just that I can feel peaceful when I can feel you next to me. As long as you’re smiling next to me, I can push away any nightmare no matter what it’s about. And I can believe that I can welcome the dawn the next day.

We have the day off today, don’t we? Let’s go somewhere. I want to walk with you, through the streets of the Shinjuku I love.

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: A bit of angst

A/N: Sort of trucking along, now into chapter 4, which gets us into the meat of this whole story, so I guess this sorta qualifies as a slow burn?  Not sure.  Anyway, enjoy!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld , @lilkermit14 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

Part 2 – Well, It’s Valuable for Starters

Coral Gables Restaurant sits right on the banks of the Kalamazoo River, serving as the perfect backdrop to any lunch or dinner date.  It was Robert’s favorite place to eat and the whole staff knew him.  So, lunch dates for the two history buffs could last hours and no one would say anything to them.

Long after the lunch plates had been taken away, Robert nursed his beer and Rosemary leaned back in her chair, letting the early summer sun warm her skin.  As she sat there with her eyes closed, Robert let himself just watched her.  She was tall with a brunette pixie cut – the only hair style he’s ever seen her sport – and he noted there was greyer hair than when they first met and finer lines on the youthful face.

She took up a lot of space with her personality and that’s what he loved best about her.  Of all the people Robert called his friends, none were close to him like she was. When he met her not long after she started at the museum and it was an almost instant rapport.

He never had children of his own, never even gotten married.  But something about Rosemary drew him to her and he felt this love for her like he hadn’t ever felt for anyone else in his nearly seventy-two years.  When the doctor gave him the prognosis, he realized the sadness that had washed over him wasn’t about his death but the fact that he had someone he was leaving behind. It both hurt and consoled him.  He wasn’t going to be alone.

“Rosie.”  His voice was soft, but she still heard him and opened her eyes.  He smiled at her and she sat up and nodded, pulling her chair closer so she was more comfortable to chat.  The waitress appeared with refills for Rosemary’s lemonade and another beer for Robert.  They stayed quiet until she left.  When they were alone again, she raised her eyebrow and gestured for him to continue.

“If there are things in those boxes that you can sell for the museum, go for it.  There are a few I want the museum to have and one item it needs to take.”

“Well, I doubt I’ll take anything that will cause me extra work, but we can draw up the deed of gift on the other items as normal.  I already have my eye on a few things, which are probably among what you are already giving us.”  He nodded. “What’s the item you want us to take for sure?”

“The Cornucopia.”  Her eyebrow raised in confusion at the comment.  “It’s a priceless art piece, a friend of mine valued it at three-quarters of a million dollars. On the low end of things.”

“WHAT?” Rosemary’s jaw dropped.  Holy shit.

“I know, I was surprised it valued so high as well.  I bought it at an antique shop in Chicago years ago and given how valuable it is, I want the museum to have it.”

“Uh, hell yeah!”  Rosemary’s eyes began to gleam with glee and Robert laughed.  He knew she was thinking of Fred and he was pleased he could help her get a leg up on the man.  While Breyers had never been anything but courteous towards the storeowner, there was an underlying hostility to the curator’s words and actions.  Something about the greedy curator never sat well with Robert and he shared in Rosemary’s dislike of him.  

“When we head back to the house after lunch, we’ll talk more.”  The two sat back and grinned at each other.

---***---

“But, ma’am. . . Ma’am. . .” Agent Horacio paused, the murderous look on their face not even showing up in their voice.  “Ma’am, I get what you are saying.  I’m asking you to set up a meeting with me to go over the case. Yes, we reopened it.  Yes, we’re working on it.  Now if you would just. . .”

The ever-patient voice of the agent faded into the background as Carmichael skirted the table with a handful of photos, a small smirk on her face. She walked up next to Pike as they filled the evidence board with the last of the pictures from the case files.  A second and third board were set up on the other side of the room, allowing the team to make further critical connections to the cases they had so recently linked together.

They worked quietly for a bit, Carmichael subtly shooting glances at Pike, whose brow was furrowed in concentration.  Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she turned to look at her partner.

“Okay, spill.  How did the date go with Lucy in Accounting?” Her voice dropped to a whisper belying the eager look on her face.  Pike grimaced at the question as he pressed on the last of the push pins.

“There was no date. She stood me up.”  Her loud gasp caused a few of their team to look their way, but she ignored them, giving Pike a look to continue.  “I called twice, and she never answered.  Never even showed up to the date itself.  I don’t think I can go back to Bobby’s anymore.  Lindsey is starting to feel sorry for me.”

“Hell, I feel sorry for you, Pike.  That’s the third date you’ve been stood up on in, what? Two months?” Carmichael’s voice softened.  The poor man was having a rough time of it, what with Lisbon breaking his heart, his divorce before that, three failed short-term relationships after he came to D.C., and now this series of no-show dates over the last year.  She frowned and laid a hand on his wrist, which had stilled on the last pin as his words died on his tongue.

He didn’t look at her and she could feel him stiffen underneath her touch. He pushed down his growing frustration at the situation and turned to smile at her, the grin not coming close to reaching his eyes.  His shoulders squared up as if to say the conversation was done.  She had known the man for six years and just wanted him to be happy, but for the moment, she gave him a small smile to help him with his charade.

“It’s okay Carmichael, maybe I’m just not meant for a relationship.” His voice sounded almost sad at the tone and she bowed her head.

“I don’t think that’s true, Marcus.”

“Yeah, well the universe is working hard to tell me that I’m meant to be single. I should be listening instead of fighting it.”  He sighed and turned away, walking out of the room before anyone could comment on the large frown that had formed on his face.  She looked after him, a defeated look in her eyes.  No one loved as hard and as loyal as him, he deserved the world. She knew that the right person for him was out there, but she couldn’t understand why Pike hadn’t crossed paths with his soulmate yet.  

She turned back to the board, picking up the marker to begin labeling the photos they had posted.  While she wrote, she silently prayed to the universe that her partner’s heart found its home sooner rather than later.

-*-

Pike looked at himself in the mirror, droplets of water still on his skin and the strands of hair framing his face were damp.  Splashing water on his face helped cool down his skin, but Carmichael’s words of sympathy had stung, even if she meant well, and he had to leave the room before he got upset even more.  As he leaned against the sink, he bowed his head and took a few deep breaths. The small moment of zen from earlier in the day had faded and the headache had returned.

It was known that the agent wore his heart on his sleeve, that he was loyal and generous to a fault.  Most of his colleagues loved him for it and it inspired loyalty from those who worked under him.  But none of that seemed to translate into anything romantically successful.  At this point, he was certain that he was a running joke throughout D.C. and that women agreed to a date to see how long he’d wait at his favorite diner for someone to show up.

Last night, Lindsey comped his dinner because she just couldn’t take the defeated slump to the man’s shoulders one more time.  She even went home and hugged her wife, hoping a little of her joviality would seep into her bones.  If Pike knew that, he would have bitterly laughed at the idea that he can help other people love harder, he just couldn’t get people to love him back.

After letting the dark thoughts swirl through his brain for a little longer, he stood up straight and glanced into the mirror.  He wiped his face one more time and straightened his tie. Without looking back at his reflection, Marcus Pike vowed to himself that he wasn’t going to let anyone in anymore. He was here to catch art thieves and that’s what he was going to do.

He just prayed the yearning in his heart heard the declaration, too.

---***---

Rosemary huffed as she staggered up the walkway to the front door of the museum with the heavy box in her arms.  She cursed herself for thinking that she could carry such an awkward and heavy load by herself, but she was a stubborn mule and was determined to get it all done in one trip.  She sighed when she reached the top of the short staircase.

She reached out and kicked the frame of the door into the building knowing that their long-time volunteer, Bob, was at the front desk.  There was something about him that grated against Rosemary and if truth be told, he was a bad volunteer, but he was the only reliable one and so she had to put up with him and his nonsense.

She realized with a start that she’d been standing there for several minutes, and no one had come to the door.  She peeped through the glass and saw Bob sitting there, looking her way. Grimacing as she shifted the box, she kicked the door again, harder this time.

And he still didn’t move.

With a low growl, Rosemary shifted around and pressed her butt against the handicap button on the wall and with a sigh of relief, she walked through the now open door.  While the June day wasn’t particularly hot, the sun was still warm and the physical activity overheated her.  The cool air of the lobby felt like kisses of heaven on her skin and she slightly closed her eyes at the sensation.  When she opened them, she looked directly at the man in front of her.

“Bob, did you see me kicking the door?”

“Yep.”

“So why didn’t you come open it for me, you clearly saw my hands were full.”

“Kicking is rude.”  The man’s rheumy eyes stared at her and it took two deep breaths to ensure Rosemary wasn’t going to start screaming.  She gave him a tightened smile instead and she walked over to the elevator. “Rosemary, the elevator is for handicap people, you’re not handicapped.”

“Bob, the elevator is for everyone.  Goodbye!”  She entered the small space and leaned against the wall.  We need him, we need him, we need him, she chanted to herself, nothing convincing her that it was true.  The ride to the third floor was a short one, but the heavy box made it seem longer.  When the doors opened, she took a left down to the staff offices and her workspace.

She did her best to carefully set the box down on the bench, but she grimaced as she heard rattling inside.  When it didn’t sound like anything broke, she heaved a sigh of relief. She turned her head as she heard footsteps from the hallway and within moments, Helen enter the room.

“How did it go?”  She had a small smile on her face, coming closer to the work bench

“Not bad, I took one big box of stuff – good stuff, too.”  The curator grinned and Helen grinned back, curiosity all over her face.

“Nothing ugly?”

“God no.  As my grams liked to say, ‘God don’t like ugly.’”  She lifted the lid off the box and suddenly Rosemary screamed, scaring Helen and causing her to scream, too.  The latter jumped back towards the door, unsure of what was happening.  The sounds of the two women yelling echoed in the room until the scream Rosemary let out evolved into a laugh, tinged with adrenaline. “FUCKING ROBERT!”

“WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?”  Helen was now on edge and creeping back closer to the work bench, still wary. Rosemary reached into the box and lifted out the stuff monkey she passed over earlier.  Helen recoiled at the sight.

“I thought you said you didn’t bring back anything ugly!”

“I didn’t!  He must have put it in here after I told him it was worthy of the dumpster.”  The laughter continued as she looked at the stuffed animal.  Finally, she sighed and set the monkey down on the bench.

“You’re not putting it in the collections are you?”  The director still looked at the item with wariness.  It was truly ugly with its almost realistic eyes. She shuttered before looking away.

“No, but I’m going to keep it, though.  He’d probably make a better watch dog than Banana.”  Looking around, Rosemary turned to her boss.  “Speaking of which, where is that dog of mine?”

“He’s in your office, conked out on the couch and snoring away.”

“See?!  I need the monkey now.  My own dog, of whom I am his whole world, didn’t even come hither at my screams.  I am abandoned and unloved.”  Rosemary ended her dramatic comment on a sigh, her hand against her forehead.  The two women began to laugh again.

“By the way, please for the love of all that is holy, find someone to replace Bob at the front desk.  He watched me kick the door to get in and refused to get up.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yeah, ‘kicking is rude.’”  Rosemary mimicked the old man’s gravelly voice and rolled her eyes. Helen patted her shoulder and said she’d chat with Bob about it, but the curator didn’t have much faith in the forth-coming conversation.  The director left the room and Rosemary dove back into the box to pull out the rest of her treasures.

---***---

“Here is the paperwork on the history of The Cornucopia. Please promise me that you’ll list this as a restricted item.”  Robert sat down, a file folder in his hand.  “I know better than to make outrageous demands, but I want it in the paperwork that this item cannot be loaned out, it cannot be displayed, and it is to remain the collections for the rest of the museum’s existence.  I don’t even want it announced that you have the piece.”

He took a breath and Rosemary’s eyebrows furrowed.  He hadn’t been kidding when he said he had restrictions on the item.  He continued.

“The piece is valuable; I don’t want the museum becoming a target for it. I’m giving it to you because I know you’ll protect it.”  Rosemary nodded as she thumbed through the file, skimming the history of the sculpture. She looked up at him.

“Let me write up the deeds for you and we’ll note everything you want me to list in terms of restrictions.”  She got up and went to her computer set up on the table.  For the next hour, she sat asking Robert questions and filling out the forms, using the printer to create physical copies. After she was done, she sat back.

“We’ll take good care of it.  I promise.”

---***---

The next day, Rosemary sat at her desk, imputing the new collection pieces into PastPerfect, transcribing notes she had scribbled in her binder.   Most of the pieces she had taken were worth it; besides the map, she took a few pieces of pottery from a celebrated local artist, a couple of prints that dated back to the Fort’s early years, seven quilts, and several history books.  And of course, The Cornucopia.

She pulled the file out for the sculpture and sat back in her chair. After opening the folder, she began to read the files she had skimmed earlier.  The more she read the appraiser’s history more her eyebrows crawled up her forehead.

The Cornucopia was created for Russian Tsar Nicolas II by renown Ukrainian artists Artem Chumak.  The bronze sculpture was inlaid with rubies, sapphires, yellow diamonds, jade, pearls, and opals, most mined from around the Russian Empire.  Ukraine historically has been known as the breadbasket of Russia and the piece was commissioned by the Ukrainian government as a gift to Nicolas upon his marriage to Princess Alexandra of Hess.  It’s value at the time of creation was $250,000 USD.

It is known that Dowager Empress Maria took the piece, along with several other valuable items after the fall of the Empire and she sold it to the Grand Duke of Luxembourg in 1920, who in turn loaned it to the country’s National Museum of History and Art the following year. The museum returned it to the family during World War II to protect it from the advancing German army.  It was again loaned to the museum for another twenty years before the family chose to cease ownership.

The piece was then sold via Sotheby’s Auction House in 1965 to a private collector in the U.S. and has remained in private ownership since then.  Because of its history and the materials used, the value of The Cornucopia is approximately $750,000 for insurance purposes, but on the auction block, could fetch upwards to . . .

“Three million dollars?!”  Rosemary shrieked, her feet dropping to the floor as she sat up.  She looked at the sculpture sitting on her worktable and her face broke out in a grin.  Oh, ho ho ho, she really got the leg up on Fred Breyers this time.  This was the best gift that Robert could have ever given her.

[rocket-remmy]

Running Up That Hill|| Deirdre and Remmy

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @deathduty and @whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: A stroll through a cemetery and a stroll down memory lane. CONTENT: Suicidal ideation mentions, Descriptions of dying, PTSD Trauma, Guns

Life isn’t fair, Remmington. His voice echoed in Remmy’s head despite having not talked to him in almost thirteen years. Get used to it. Their dad had told them that a lot. The last time was when they’d come home bruised and battered, late, and he’d been there, ready to add to them. But he’d paused when he saw the shaking in their arms and the blood smeared on their face. And they’d asked him why, and that’s what he’d said. Later that night, they’d called the recruiter back and told her yes. A week later, they’d left for good. 

It wasn’t a fond memory, by any means, but it was the memory that stuck to Remmy’s head like tar stuck to feet. It stretched and burned and stuck and wouldn’t go away. Even as Remmy scrubbed at their face until the skin was raw and red. It healed in an instant anyway. Even when they beat their fists into the walls or the punching bags at the Ring until there were dents in both and everyone else around had backed out slowly. Even when they’d screamed into the night in the middle of the forest and Moose had whined and put his tail between his legs and suffered through it because he had to. Because he loved Remmy. Even after everything with Morgan, the words still clung to Remmy, as if they were a part of their soul now. Such simple words, too. Words that rattled in their head as they stopped in front of the cemetery gates and glanced around for Deirdre. They wondered if she’d come. They’d understand if she didn’t, though. She was mad at Remmy, she blamed Remmy for Morgan. And that wasn’t entirely wrong. But Remmy didn’t know their place in her life anymore. Even if she said she wanted to be friends. Remmy didn’t know their place anywhere, anymore. And so they just waited.

Time had its way of expanding and closer and escaping through Deirdre’s fingers. Or it did, recently. Normally horribly punctual, she found herself unaware of how time progressed, and where she stood among it. She made her way to the cemetery late, out of breath and apologetic--things unbecoming of her. Deirdre had lost much of who she was, it seemed apt then that she’d lose her grip on this one thing too. “Sorry I’m late, Remmy,” she flattened invisible wrinkles on her shirt, meeting Remmy’s eyes briefly. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but the forlorn look was a surprise. Of course, Remmy couldn’t have been taking this any better than Morgan was. And they’d been so sad before, so much longer before any of this. Dwarfed again by her inability to help, she moved closer to the zombie, arms outstretched. “Sorry, friend. I’ve been looking forward to this walk all week, you know.” She paused, offering a weak smile, “hug?”

Remmy looked over when they heard the crunch of gravel under shoes. Deirdre was making her way up the path, and even from this distance Remmy could see the weariness on her. It hung on her like a cloud, like it ached her bones or her muscles or maybe her soul. Remmy pushed away from the post they’d been leaning on and met her a little ways up the path, as if them doing that might make her trek up easier. Even when she reached her arms out and gave that tiny, weak smile, they wondered if there was a way they could be the one reaching out to her. Even through the pang of anger they still felt and held close to their unbeating heart. “It’s okay,” they finally answered, “you can’t really be late for something like this.” They moved in without a word and hugged her, falling into her arms very suddenly and tensely after a moment of hesitation. They hadn’t realized how much they’d craved this contact until it was happening, hands digging into the back of Deirdre’s shirt for a moment. When they pulled away, not looking up at her, they gave a matching, tiny smile, “Me, too.” 

"Can't I?" Deirdre wondered aloud. Couldn't she? This must have been one of those things, she decided, that Remmy simply said to make it better when it wasn't. But Deirdre was smarter, she knew not to fall so easily into false comforts. Even so, as she held Remmy and they held her, she could almost believe it—that she truly hadn't done anything wrong. But the hug broke apart, Remmy was back to finding Deirdre's eyes too atrocious a sight. But selfish, she pulled Remmy closer to her, walking with them with her arm wrapped around. The two of them had never shared any manner of bespoke physical intimacy, but she'd become skilled enough at learning what Morgan liked as a zombie, and wondered if it translated. Besides, if there was ever a time to reveal her embarrassing secret about how much she enjoyed being close to people, it was now. "Was Moose Day okay? I know it was a while ago but…" She never really asked, never really followed up. She sighed as she led them through the gates, into their long—and perhaps not as exciting as she first anticipated—walk. "I guess I'm asking if you're okay." But she assumed the answer to that was a resounding 'no'. 

“No,” Remmy answered as they started their walk. They noted the way deirdre held them close, even after they’d left the hug. They didn’t know if it was to help her feel better or them, but they weren’t about to move away. It did make them feel better. It also made them feel worse. How could they be angry at her if they craved her closeness so much? Why was it easier to yell at Morgan and not Deirdre? It was too much to process right now. Right now, they just wanted to go for a nice walk with a friend. They could yell later. “Moose-- oh. Yeah...it went fine. Blanche did some stuff with me and had us take a lot of photos. Moose was happy with the meat cake I made him, too.” Passing through the gates seemed to signal something. Whether it was a start or an end, Remmy wasn’t sure. Glossy eyes looked up at her. Well, one glossy eye. The other was still covered with a patch. “But I’m not okay,” they answered, gaze dropping to watch their feet. They weren’t walking in tandem despite their arms intertwined. Remmy didn’t bother to try to make them, either. “I don’t think I’ve been okay for a long time.”

Good then, Deirdre noted. Remmy used the word 'fine' but it sounded better—comparatively at least. The admittance that followed was less inspiring. Deirdre frowned. She had suspected as much, she knew as much about Remmy, but it was different to hear it. She had nothing to offer, just as she could barely carry Morgan through her own pit, she didn’t know where to start with Remmy’s. “That makes two of us…” she sighed, mumbling. “I’ve heard it said that admitting it is just the beginning.” She barely had the facilities to be a good person, there was no capacity to become a therapist. Deirdre continued to walk, her strides were longer than Remmy’s, and she moved faster--but she slowed herself, hoping Remmy would spare a glance up at her. “Can I make it okay?” She asked quietly, “can we--can I--Is there something I can do to help?” She paused, wondering if the question was too daunting. She tried one with a simpler answer. “Why do you think you haven’t been okay? Is it the anger?” 

“I guess,” Remmy admitted, “I just wish I knew where to go from here.” Their feet weren’t interesting, and Remmy didn’t notice Deirdre slowing her pace to try and give them leeway. They didn’t look up quite yet, but moved their gaze from the path to the grass that lined it. “I don’t know,” they answered truthfully, though that was a fallacy. If only they could take the time to think about it, if only they could take the time to remember what happened, maybe they could know what to do. “I’m not okay because I died and I can’t remember and now I’m having blackouts and everywhere I look I see my squadmates’ faces and I can’t concentrate on anything. And it makes me angry. It all just makes me angry. And you make me angry and Morgan makes me angry and everyone who told me that this was okay makes me angry. And I don’t want to be angry at any of you, but I don’t know how else to be anymore.”

Deirdre listened, her face fallen into a frown. There was one simple answer, and several more complicated ones. "It is okay, Remmy," she sighed, knowing it wasn't as convincing as it used to be, especially with Morgan vocally against any part of zombieism. "Is that it?" She tilted her head, now forcing them to halt their slow walk. "That you want to know how you died? I can do that. I can summon that vision." She didn't imagine it would help, but she knew enough to say that Remmy certainly thought it might. And if she could offer some peace to her friend, she would. But what happened then? If it didn't? If Remmy held hope just for another thing to crush it. Deirdre's face betrayed her skepticism, "are you sure you want to know? I can—If you really think it will, then you don't need to live without the knowledge any longer." She couldn't summon her odl arguments to convince Remmy that being a zombie truly wasn't terrible, but she always knew how to summon death and its visions. This, at least, she could do. 

“No, it’s not and I wish you would stop saying that! I wish you all would!” Remmy said, pulling away from Deirdre. “Clearly it’s not okay if this is what it does to people! If the only thing Morgan can feel is this anger and pain and sorrow! Clearly it’s not okay!” And it wasn’t and they weren’t sure they’d ever think it was. Or had ever believed it was. “I-- you-- you can?” They stopped, still parted from Deirdre’s grip, looking at her with confusion and hurt mixed on their face. “H-how? What-- you mean you can see how I died?” The desperation clear on their face. They knew it wouldn’t solve all their problems but the reality had been a black space in the memory for so long, since they woke up, that it had to have some sort of catharsis for them, right? It had to. I had to. “Yes,” they said, “I want to know. I need to know. Please. I-- I need to know.”

"It is," Deirdre replied evenly, though she did not push it as far as she might have weeks ago. In her heart, she held the belief that if Remmy truly had thought it was completely terrible—completely hopeless—they wouldn't have bitten Morgan in the first place. And whatever it was they were experiencing, it would pass. "She says she loves me still, and if there's the capacity for that, there's always hope for more. And there is for you too." She sighed, far too exhausted to explain this. It would have been nice to just give in, give up, crawl back to Ireland and pretend everything was one long, bad dream. She held her hand out, "I can. I'm a banshee. This is…" What they did. What she did. And though she was a failure by most accounts, she could do this still. "...what I offer." Her frown grew deeper, with her eyes she spoke a silent desperation: this will not help. She didn't think it would. But, then again, what did she know of help? Her best efforts only served to push people away, the best things she ever did was….murder. What did she know, really? Deirdre gestured to her open palm. "Give me your hand, Remmy. And I can start." And though she knew little of gods, she prayed Remmy could find the pace they were after. 

Remmy didn’t want to argue the point anymore. They were tired of listening to people lie to them about it. It wasn’t okay, no matter what they said. Cearly, it wasn’t okay. But Deirdre was offering something Remmy had wanted since the day they’d woken up. A memory that was lost to trauma and time and the hole in their head. The doctor had told them that it was probably for the best, that they didn’t remember. It was too traumatic, and their brain had purposefully blacked out the memory. But they needed it now. They needed it because they needed to know, they needed to understand. How they died and why no one cared and why no one cried. They needed to know what made them different from Morgan. They needed to know if they were alone. Remmy reached out. Deirdre’s eyes told them this wouldn’t help, but they didn’t believe her. It had to help. Silently, they took her hand.

Deirdre squeezed Remmy's hand back, offering a small smile. At once, the whites of her eyes flooded with deep black. The world darkened with it and she searched around her for the right threads to pull. This was always harder in a cemetery, so many people had died and all of them clamored for attention. She pushed through newly deceased housewives, around worn men and past confused children all to pull at the core of Remmy in front of her. She tugged. The visions met her with resistance. She tugged again and again until she tumbled backwards into it. She was consumed by sights and sensations that were not her own. All she understood, suspended in time, was that this was how Remmy had died, and death had granted her the vision of it—her body lurched until suddenly it was not her own. The cemetery dissolved into the rocky desert. The lazy sun above, not yet pulled to its height, still burned with a ferocity Deirdre did not know, but that this body she was in had grown accustomed to. The body was light for a moment, then sharp pain split across their chest in an instant. The body did not move, the body could not. The body fell backwards by the simple force of the impact, caught by the arms of another. He was handsome, despite the circumstances, though fear and panic twisted his soft features. He took the body tenderly against his dark skin, curling himself against them. He sobbed, his words lost to the whistling sounds of gunshots overhead. He tugged on the body a moment later, quick for even the way the world had slowed to a crawl, clawing across sand to drag them behind a rock. The body's eyes rolled lazily to the cover, Deirdre could feel the inevitably of it: the rock was too small, there was too much happening around them. She tried to will the body to speak, to tell this man to leave as the body's gaze turned back to stare up at him. Yet all sound was consumed by gunfire and shouting, as if their little world behind the rock was not sacred enough, not precious enough to be protected. Tears streamed free from the man's face, he pulled the body closer to him, a hand futilely pressed to their chest. The body watched helplessly as bullets struck the man, red staining his military browns. The body had stopped feeling pain, perhaps so far consumed by the kind that rippled out of their chest. The body watched the man cry. The body was—"Remmy."

Deirdre's eyes blinked back into their usual whiteness, she dropped Remmy's hand, needing hers to clutch her chest as she heaved, then as she tried desperately to pull out a bullet that wasn't there. She picked at her shirt, unaware her face was lined with its own tears. She spoke Remmy's name desperately, choked up by sobs. Her fingers ran frantically over the fabric of her shirt, drawn to her eyes only to verify that there was no blood. The lazy morning sun had been replaced with the cool midday one she knew, and there was no rock too tiny for their bodies. Slowly her body relaxed, and slowly she brought her gaze up to Remmy. "W-who is he?" She asked first, swallowing as she knew he'd died too—they all had, hadn't they? "There was this guy—" She began to mime the shape of his hair, the way his face wrinkled when he cried. "He had a good smile, I think. I couldn't see it. But I bet he had a—I could tell he had a good—" It was wrong to see him so struck by horror, she could tell. "W-who was he?" 

As Remmy waited, they wondered. They wished they could see it, too. They wished Deirdre didn’t have to go through this. Tears were forming in her eyes. “Deirdre?” Remmy asked, but she didn’t move, still caught in the vision. Remmy’s body tensed. They shouldn’t have done this, they shouldn’t have asked her to do this. Was she hurting? Did this hurt? Had their death been so painful that it was hurting Deirdre, too? She cried out their name. Not loud, not fearfully-- but desperately. As if searching. Remmy caught Deirdre’s other hand, trying to steady her, until she pulled away. They watched her frantically pull at her own clothes, her own chest, and something struck a chord in Remmy. A painful throb, just above their heart. Remmy looked down, bewildered, but nothing was there. No blood, no bullet. Blinking, the pain was gone, like a ghost. They found Deirdre’s desperate eyes again, shaking with the memories fighting to claw their way back into their head. Her words echoed in Remmy’s head. Who was he? The one with the gentle smile? Remmy knew. Remmy knew right away, but his name wouldn’t form in their mouth. Who was he? He was their everything. He had been their everything, even after they’d decided they couldn’t be together. Remmy had been ready to start a life with him. “After we get back,” they had said, “maybe we could settle down? Retire? I think we’ve earned it.” They hadn’t known what was going to happen back then. “Darius,” they finally said, found themself fraught with tears of their own. “His name was Darius Mullberry--” a strained chuckle, “--we all always made fun of his last name. It’s just funny sounding, isn’t it?” They weren’t sure what they were saying, or why they were saying it. Deirdre didn’t need to know this. Remmy’s jaw quivered. “Did he-- was he in pain? Did you see him? Was he--?” the thought of their own death suddenly unimportant. “Was it quick? For him? Please, I-- I don’t want him to have suffered. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t even want to be there. He was only there because of me. I told him I’d keep him safe and he--” died. Their failure had gotten the one person they’d loved with all their heart killed. Remmy crumpled. “He was a good person. He didn’t deserve that.”

“Darius,” Deirdre repeated the name with reverence, holding the sound of it against her tongue, against the memory of the man she saw, burned into the back of her eyelids. She could see them together, laughing about the Mullberry. She could feel a flicker of Remmy’s life, what she knew her mind manufactured, but what felt no less real. All her visions were of death, her mind toyed with the idea of a vision of life instead and she held the story to her heart. She wished she could have seen that instead. She closed her eyes and tried to force it to play out. “I don’t know.” There was nothing. She opened her eyes. “You died first, I think. And he was crying so much I couldn’t tell if--I don’t think he was thinking about anything else besides you, Remmy.” And she hadn’t really stayed long enough in the vision to replay it, or start picking it apart. “You’re a good person too. You didn’t deserve--” Her voice caught, she gulped away another onslaught of sobs. Deirdre wanted to ask for more stories about the jokes they shared, about why Mullberry was so funny or if he ever said anything about Remmy’s name back. Instead, she sighed. “How could you have known it would’ve gone that way? How could you hold on to that? To any of this? Is this what you carry, Remmy?” This. Their mother’s death. Was there an end to Remmy’s pain somewhere? An easy answer on how to release the poor zombie from it? “You died in his arms. He wept. He died holding you. Some time later, I imagine you awoke.” Hungry, probably. Did someone move Remmy’s body or did they eat---Deirdre gulped. “Was he special to you? Darius?” They seemed special to him. Special enough to hold, to cry for. To die by. 

Words flew by Remmy. He had cried for them. He had died holding them. He had lost everything in that moment as well. He had cried for them. Someone had cried for them. Someone had longed for them. Someone had cared for them. Remmy didn’t even notice the stream of tears down their face as they looked back at Deirdre. She was asking so many questions, but they couldn’t hear them. Their mind couldn’t process them. It was just words. Flying by them. Floating around them. The memory of his face. His smile. The way his eyes scrunched up when it got too big, the way his cheeks puffed when he smiled so big it became a toothy grin. As if it couldn’t be contained. The way he could see everything about Remmy even when they couldn’t. They way he knew they loved him but could never be with him like they both had wanted. They way he had always looked at them like they were the world, even when no one else noticed. When no one else cared. Was that why they’d loved him? Was that why they’d asked him to be theirs? Remmy didn’t know anymore. Is this what you carry, Remmy? 

They couldn’t see through the tears as they looked up at Deirdre, crushed under the weight of the question, of her words, of their memories. They wanted to reach out, to touch, to hold, to feel something, to know someone. Would they ever know someone like that again? Frozen in their spot, frozen in time, frozen forever. They looked down at their hands, their feet below them. The dirt underneath them. Searched for a metaphor in it, in the way the grass scrunched under their shoes, the way the neatly paved path held everything in place, in the way the dirt caved under the weight of their shoes. But they found nothing. Was he special to you? Remmy’s eyes wandered back up to Deirdre’s. Was he special to them? “He was the first person I ever loved,” they finally said. And it was all they said, and they couldn’t look at her anymore.

Deirdre’s hand twitched at her side. She ached to reach out, to hold Remmy the way she learned to care for Morgan--learned to care in general. She stepped closer, hovering beside them, a hand awkwardly raised as they cried and she could do nothing to soothe the pain. Was it better or worse to be doing this in a cemetery? Surrounded by people who had lost in this same way, who had perhaps lost more, who had come out of pain without their lives--or those that had passed with peace, something Remmy could not be offered. He was the first person I ever loved. Deirdre swallowed. She gave in and reached her arms around Remmy, pulling them tightly against her. This was not her job, this was far from something she even thought herself capable of doing, but in that moment, she thought nothing of her short-comings and only of comforting her friend. What could she say no except that she was sorry? Would Remmy even want to hear it? “Do you want to tell me about him?” She asked softly. “Do you want--What can I do? Tell me what I can do, Remmy. Please.”  

Remmy just crumpled further, trying to fold themself up so they could be put away and not have to deal with anything anymore. Maybe Deirdre could slide them into her coat pocket and take them away and none of this would have to happen. They wouldn’t have to face their death or his death or any of this. Any of this unfairness that life was dumping on them. They were drowning already, and the room was still filling with water. Remmy pressed their face against Deirdre’s shoulder and sobbed. And finally, it felt relieving. Like they were deflating with each sob, crying out the sticky tar that had swallowed their insides. “I’m sorry,” they said after a long moment, “I’m sorry. You don’t need-- I’m sorry.” They drew in a breath and held it-- not for the breath itself, but for the feeling. Closing their eyes, counting to ten. Letting it go. The exercises they’d been taught back in the hospital. They wiped their hand across their one good eye, prodding the patch over the other. “You’ve done enough, Deirdre,” they whispered quietly, drawing their knees to their chest. “You’ve done so much.”

Where had she heard those words exactly before? Deirdre held Remmy tighter, gritting her teeth. Hadn’t Morgan told her something similar? How could she be doing enough if there was still so much pain? How could she be doing anything at all if nothing was better? At least death made it clear when she’d done a good job, at least her family told her when she did her job well. What proof was there that she was helping anyone at all? “You can’t live like this, Remmy,” she said, her voice rising with anger at the helplessness of Remmy’s situation--of their life. “You can’t be this---it can’t be like this for you. All this suffering, all this pain. You can’t live like this. You can’t live holding on to Darius like that. With anyone’s death like that. Remmy--” She loosened her grip, tilting her head to try and meet Remmy’s eyes--well, eye. She’d have to see about getting them a new one. “--you need--” Help? Someone better at taking care of people? A new life as someone else? “--something.” They said answers would help. Did they? “I won’t let you carry this, Remmy. So you tell me what you want and I’ll do it. But you’re not keeping on like this. What’s in the past is in the past. You move forward and you…” Deirdre’s voice finally gave to her muted sobbing. She wasn’t sure why she was crying exactly, but something tore up her insides watching Remmy this way. “Tell me what to do, Remmy.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Remmy asked immediately, still not looking up at Deirdre. “Where am I supposed to leave them? On that battlefield? At the memorial? In their graves? If I do that, then they’ll be gone forever. I can’t do that. I won’t do that to him. I can’t let them be forgotten. It’s why I-- it’s why I woke up, right? Why I’m here? To carry them. To make sure they’re not forgotten on that battlefield. So that they didn’t die in vain.” They shook their head violently, planting their hands to push themself away from Deirdre on the ground. “Stop, please. I don’t-- I don’t need anything. You’ve done enough, Deirdre. I-- I can’t ask anything more from you, please.” Because if they did, they’d just ask for everything. They’d ask to be held and loved and carried and cried for, just like Morgan. They’d ask to be happy and soft and gentle, things so far out of reach right now they wondered how they’d even gotten there in the first place. They’d ask for a do over. They’d ask to just be done with it all. They’d ask for just...just one person to look at them they way Deirdre looked at Morgan. Just one. Because the one they had was gone now. And they didn’t get to watch him wake up. And they didn’t get to hold him again. And they didn’t get to cry with him again. Even if he’d cried for them in their death, who had cried for him? They did. They would. That’s all they understood, now. Why they’d woken up. Why they were still here. Someone needed to cry for them. Remmy clenched their shoulder, where the tattoo was. Remembered the touch of the needle, even if they hadn’t felt it. Remembered the warmth of Luce’s hands. They wanted to feel again. “Just make it all stop,” they said quietly, “I just want it all to stop.”

“Maybe you hold them.” Deirdre sighed. Once, she had known so much about death and loss. Once, she might have had true words of wisdom to offer. But what she once knew laid still under the weight of everything else. The Deirdre that could have helped was dead; perhaps she had never been capable of help at all. “Maybe you hold them in your heart, instead of carrying them. Maybe you keep it safe, and warm, and treat it with kindness...instead of...pulling it along with you. Maybe it’s different, Remmy. I don’t know. All I know is...that you can’t keep on, carrying everything alone. And maybe that just means you let someone else carry something too. I--” she swallowed. “I don’t know.” She let herself be pushed away lamely, unable to summon the strength to fight this too., to rend herself in there. She thought of Regan, with her hatred of her wings--begging them to be taken away. Her mind fell to Morgan, grappling with the loss of her anchor, asking to be turned back. She considered Remmy, another person asking for something that couldn’t be. And how many more were there? If she focused, she could feel hundreds of ghosts asking for the same thing. When did it end? How did she begin to help? Why did she want to? Why was this suddenly her problem? Why did she care? And why did it hurt not to? “I can’t do that.” She replied, curling into herself on the ground, defeated. “I can’t. You know I can’t.” She sighed, offering a meek glance up at Remmy. “You can ask for more, Remmy. I can’t give it, but you can ask. You should ask. You should ask for more things, Remmy.” She swallowed, thinking back to the vision. “He wanted you to live. And you’re living. And as long as you’re living, there’s always something to be done. And don’t---life is more than just a heartbeat, or the echo of where one used to be.” With great hesitation, she summoned a quiver: “what do you want to stop, Remmy?”

Remmy watched Deirdre from the side of their vision as she, too, curled up in defeat on the dirty ground. Remmy’s fingers curled against the skin on their arms. “I don’t know how to do that,” they said, “how to put them there. I don’t know if I can do that. What if I can’t do that?” they asked, a desperation in their voice that couldn’t quite figure itself out. As if they couldn’t possibly have a big enough heart to put them in, to carry them in. “I can’t ask anyone to do that. I don’t--” have anyone? And those that they did have-- Blanche, Skylar, Morgan, Deirdre-- they were all already carrying so much. They shook their head again, this time much slower, in defeat. “I can’t.” Repeating Deirdre’s words, in the same tone. Neither of them could. It was an impassable situation, stuck between the fallen rocks of their failures and the sheer cliff of what was ahead of them. “What’s the point of asking if no one can give it? What’s the point, Deirdre? Please, tell me. What’s the point? I don’t-- I’m not strong enough to know the answer. I can’t-- I can’t take it anymore.” They wrapped their arms tighter around their legs, head burrowing into their knees. “I want him to be alive again. I want him to be here instead of me.” 

“You have to,” Deirdre asserted, her voice equally as desperate. Remmy had to. Something would give, eventually, it always did when carrying something like that. And either Remmy figured it out or--Deirdre swallowed. She didn’t want to think about the alternative. “You will,” she said, a fierceness took her then, and she looked over at Remmy with a steadiness. “And you ask. You do. You have to. You need to ask as many people as you can, no matter if they can’t give you anything. You have to ask. You have to let people try. You can’t---asking is half the battle, isn’t it?” And it had to be. It would be. She couldn’t let Remmy live like this. She wouldn’t. She didn’t know the first thing about care or comfort but she needed to do something. “Everyone can give you parts and pieces and maybe they make a whole if you let them Remmy but---” Deirdre reached across, the palm of her hand pressed firmly into Remmy’s shoulder; a strong presence, not a forceful one. Her voice took the same quality, stubbornly sure now that something had to be done. And that she wouldn’t let remmy succumb to defeat, not if she had to personally fight it herself, tooth and nail. “Absolutely not. One life is not more precious than the other. And you love him, and I’m sure he loved you, and no one who cares that much would ever agree to such a thing. You are alive. And you will live. And you��ll figure it out, what you need to do, the kind of things you should ask people for, and where to hold this pain in your heart. You have to, Remmy. I know it’s--” she swallowed, weavering for a moment. “I know it’s hard. I know it’s unfair. I know I sound like I’m spewing crap at you right now, Remmy. But you’re my friend.” Deirdre paused. “And I love you too. And I won’t let you think that way, not forever. Maybe we can figure this out. And maybe for now it starts on the floor curled up in a ball but…” she inched closed, her voice dropping to a gentle breath. “Will you let me hold you, Remmy?”

The sudden turn of Deirdre’s voice threw Remmy off. The sternness, but it wasn’t filled with anger. It was filled with assuredness. As if she’d simply figured something out in the moments of silence that had hung between them. Her palm pressed firmly against Remmy’s shoulder, a steadying grip, somehow both pulling Remmy up and keeping them grounded. They blinked through their haze, through the pain still clawing at them, as their mind continued to process all the new information it had been given, still not reaching the spot where they’d been told how they’d died. Deirdre’s eyes were blazing and gentle all at the same time. They didn’t know how she did it. How she stayed so steady and so firm and so soft at the same time. How she could confidently say these things and support all the people in her life, while still holding all of her own pain, all of her own misgivings. If Remmy could help her, even a little, even with one small thing, it wouldn’t even hold a flame to all the things Deirdre gave and never asked for in return. They wished they could offer that for her, too. For anyone. They wanted to be to someone what she was for them. Hands gripping tighter for a moment, Remmy finally let out all the tension they’d been holding in. “I don’t wanna be alone anymore,” they finally admitted quietly, whispered into their lap. They lifted their head to meet Deirdre’s gaze. “I’m tired of being alone.” Of being angry, of being tired, of only remembering pain. There had to be more, didn’t there? There had to be more. And maybe there was. They hadn’t been alone in death. Maybe that was enough to hold onto for now. Remmy nodded in answer to Deirdre’s last question. 

Deirdre waited until she had an answer before she moved forward, wrapping her arms around Remmy again, holding them tightly to her. There was not much else she could say that she hadn't already. Not much else she could do. This, at least, she hoped could be some manner of a start. "You're not alone now, Remmy." Not anymore. And they never would be again. 

[profitinaecho]

So You Wanna Spin Ch 6

Once in Santa Fe, Max and Liz roll their luggage to their separate but adjoining rooms and carefully avoid each other for the rest of the afternoon. Their conversation in the car had been very intense- and arousing. The lines were starting to blur between business and pleasure while they were on the road and Liz wasn’t sure that was a good thing. As a latina woman scientist, it was important that she keep up the utmost job integrity to be taken seriously.

“What should we have for dinner?” Liz doesn’t even ask if he wants to eat together any more. It is a guarantee that they are a team and eating together on the road.

“Not italian.” Max doesn’t even need to check his caller ID. He knows her by her voice by now.

“Why?” Liz is kind of craving eggplant parmesan.

“Too much garlic and what if you want to kiss me later?” He’s just teasing her- mostly. He wouldn’t complain if she wanted to though. He thinks about her more than he does any normal coworker. She drives him crazy.

“Max!” She doesn’t know how to handle this flirty side of him. She loves it, but she definitely shouldn’t encourage it. Not if she wants to stay professional.

Max chuckles. Her walls are starting to come down around him again. He can feel it. But he won’t push it until she is ready. He wants her to come to him willingly. “Italian it is. I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten.”

—————————

The next morning, Max and Liz find themselves interviewing a family that only speaks Spanish. Max tries to lead, but Liz ends up being the translator. The house is decorated eclectically and bright but homely.

“Buenos Dias” Mrs. Lopez smiles after leading them to the kitchen table with hand crochet lime green placemats. She sets a plate of meat and tortillas on the table for Liz and Max then turns to get them coffee. She is a petite middle aged latina woman with a cropped haircut that the younger generation would call a “Karen” haircut, but she just likes it because it’s faster to get ready.

Max picks up a couple pieces of carne asada, and loads them into a tortilla making a taco on his plate. After daintily sprinkling some salsa on it, he nonchalantly asks, “no lo quiero con preservativos?”

Mrs. Lopez gasps, scandalized as Max said he prefers to go without a condom and looks to Liz for an explanation. She expected them to come here to talk about her missing daughter not their sex life.

“I’m so sorry! I think he meant does this meat have any preservatives, right Max?” Liz quickly repeats herself in Spanish for the woman who nods in understanding and tells Liz that he is trying to impress her by speaking Spanish. Liz shakes her head and flushes at the idea. Whispering in Max’s direction, Liz informs him, “You told her you don’t want to wear a condom.”

“What? I… What?” Max flushes from the tips of his ears to his hairline. Technically, he does not. But this is not the time. Max clears his throat and tries to apologize. “Lo siento, estoy embarazada”

Liz shakes her head. “Max, you aren’t pregnant.” Liz explains to Mrs. Lopez that Max apologized and is embarrassed as Max suddenly darts out of the house in a tall bow legged breeze of cologne.

“Se fue corriendo” Mrs. Lopez comments, watching Max scurry out of the house.

Giggling at the woman’s observation that Max ran away, Liz quickly assures her that he did not and is just embarrassed at his poor recall of high school spanish. She continues the interview, taking diligent notes on her daughter, Heather’s last known whereabouts and any enemies she had.

—————————

After a long day of interviewing families and having dinner at a roadside diner, they return to their rooms to shower and get ready for bed. Digging through her suitcase, Liz realizes she is out of clean things to sleep in. She could sleep in her last clean outfit, but then she wouldn’t have anything clean to wear for work tomorrow. Giving in, she pads barefoot over to the door separating her and Max’s rooms and knocks twice quickly hoping he hasn’t gotten into the shower yet.

Opening the door shirtless in his unbuckled work pants, Max looks to Liz concerned. She only comes to him when she really needs something.

Liz gulps at all of the skin on display and tries to remember why she knocked in the first place. “Max, I’m out of clean pajamas to sleep in. Do you have a tshirt I could borrow or something?”  

Max steps back, inviting her into his room and walks over to his suitcase. Digging around, he pulls out a worn blue cotton shirt that he was going to sleep in but he will go shirtless so that she can have something to sleep in tonight. Handing it to her, he whispers, “If we don’t catch this bastard, he’s going to kill again.”

Liz gently takes the shirt from him and steps into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Oh, Max. We will figure it out.”

Max slips his arms around her waist and pulls her closer, resting his chin on top of her head. “It just feels like we’re two steps behind the killer, you know? We don’t even know who some of these victims are yet.”

“Hey? Max?” Liz takes a step back and waits for him to look at her. “We will. The two of us are an amazing team. If anyone can do it, it’s us.”

“You think so?” He looks at her hopefully, like she’s his world.

“I know so.” Liz can’t think straight when he looks at her like that. Before giving it too much thought, she hops up onto her tiptoes and crashes her lips to his. The world stops spinning as they find their way to each other once again.

Max traces the seam of her lips before gently slipping his tongue in her mouth. Their tongues briefly dance and at her groan, he squeezes her ass and pivots her towards the bed. The second Liz’s back hits the mattress and she feels Max’s erection pressing against her thigh, she shoves his chest- hard.

“Nope, nope, nope. I’m not going to be this girl, Max.” Liz is breathing hard and deliciously disheveled.

Max is rock hard and so confused. “What girl?” The girl of his dreams? The girl that rocks his world? The girl he gives everything to? Whatever she wants she can have it, just as long as they don’t stop.

“The girl who fucks her coworker on a trip and acts unprofessional then gets fired. That’s what girl.” Liz looks like she is going to cry she is so disappointed in herself.

“But what if we…” Max starts, wondering if they were in a relationship if she would feel better.

“Not right now. Thank you for the Tshirt, Max.” Liz quickly strides out of his room, before she does something stupid like turn around and jump him.

Once alone again in his room, Max rearranges his hard on and gives it a gentle conciliatory tug. You can’t always get what you want, he thinks.

After her shower, Liz pulls on fresh panties and Max’s shirt. She’s surrounded by his scent. It smells like rain.

—————————

“Put your hands up! Give me all the kisses you have, real slow.” Max whispers, coming into Liz’s room the next morning to bring her a cup of coffee just the way she likes it.

“Maaaaax.” Liz warns him. She hasn’t even brushed her teeth yet and last night was a mistake. She thinks. Maybe? The kiss was out of this world but they work together and she is always on the road working with different precincts. What kind of future could they have?

“Nice and easy….” He continues, taking a step closer. A shiver goes up Liz’s spine at deepening of his voice like it did when they were in bed together. Max is in low slung gray sweatpants and his curls are wild first thing in the morning

“We can’t.” She definitely can’t. She’s just wearing his worn Collective Soul t shirt and if she puts her hands up, it will lift up sinfully high and she will end up flashing him. Not that Max will mind.

“We could” Max sets her coffee on the bedside table in her hotel room and turns to face her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“We shouldn’t” Liz tries to remain stern.

“Why not? We would be great together.” Max gently takes her hands in his.

“Because it risks my entire career if I become that girl that fucks her partner then moves on to another precinct when things go badly.” Liz tries to maintain eye contact when Max flinches at her words.

“What if it doesn’t go badly, Liz? It could hurt my career too. I’ve never been willing to risk it for anybody but you. You’re worth the risk.” Max wills her to believe his sincerity with his eyes.

Liz sighs, her morale weakening. “I’ll think about it, okay? I promise. We got to get ready for work. Last day of Santa Fe then we will drop off all of the samples to be sent to be tested and pack for the next week in Las Cruces and El Paso.

“That’s all I ask.” Max assures her, leaving her room to go get dressed for the day.

[lallemanting]

44 & 55 for the angst/fluff prompts please! 💫

44: “You’ve always felt like home” & 55: “I’m not going anywhere” // also on ao3

(I am sorry this took so long, but thank you so much for sending Tara!! this is pure fluff, but I hope you like it!!)

____

Lucas is on his way home from work, groceries for dinner slung over one shoulder, golden rays of light hitting the building and sidewalks like they always do and Lucas thinks he’s never been happier.

He’s almost skipping home, even as he descends into the grimy underbelly of the metro. The thought of a weekend without his roommates, a weekend alone, sounds almost too good to be true. And yes, okay, it’s not really a weekend alone, Lucas knows Yann will argue because obviously Eliott will be there. But these days, Lucas doesn’t even register the difference. Eliott not being there, not being around him any time he could be just doesn’t even sound like an option. Somewhere, in the two years they’ve been together, alone translated to alonewithEliott.

Lucas is surprised the first time he notices it – that the time he used to need by himself in his room with the door shut without anyone bothering him, doesn’t seem to include Eliott. With Eliott, he always feels recharged and happy, like his body physically craves to be near him. And who is Lucas to fight that.

And as that feeling continues to settle, as Eliott’s presence becomes the fuel for his body, for his heart, Lucas relaxes into it. It was Eliott’s mom after all who told them she knew she would marry Eliott’s dad because he was the only person she could stand to be around all the time. Lucas thinks she was on to something.

Already the comforting promise of Eliott’s presence washes over Lucas, calming him as he wades through the crowded metro, gently pushing his body into the next train to arrive. Normally, the packed cars would overwhelm him, stress him out, but Lucas knows that in 20 short minutes, he’ll be wrapped in Eliott’s arms and his shoulders instantly relax.

He has to fight a bit to get off the train, struggling through a whispered string of pardon, excuse-moi, pardon, excuse-moi until he finally reaches the doors and pushes the button to get them to slide open. But as he steps out on the platform, his smile is still there, wide on his face. A few people give him slightly strange looks because, yes, Lucas will admit that looking that pleased after work during rush hour probably is not normal behavior. But, oh, if these people only knew Eliott, knew who Lucas had waiting for him (sometimes he still quite can’t believe it), they’d be smiling just as big.

He breaks out onto the sidewalk, the sun still fighting to stay up above the horizon and Lucas breathes in deep. It’s his favorite time of day, when the sun is almost setting and everything is encased in its golden tendrils, setting the city on fire. It reminds him of Eliott, of the way Eliott makes him feel every time he looks at him.

Lucas lets out a little laugh to himself, because god, he can’t believe he just formed that thought it’s so goddamn cheesy, but he can’t help that Eliott makes him think things like that. A vestige, probably, of all the pretty words and promises Eliott has lavished on Lucas every opportunity he can. Lucas was bad at first, at taking those pretty compliments, too delicate for how he saw himself. But the more Eliott kept saying them anyway, the more Lucas started to let himself enjoy them, and maybe, believe them – just a little.

He practically bouncing as he makes his way up to his apartment. Eliott had texted him that he was already there – gone straight from his class, using the spare key Lucas had given him as part of his one-year anniversary present. (Because at some point it was stupid to make Eliott go all the way home and wait for Lucas when he was just going to come over right away anyway.)

It’s been two whole days since he’s seen his boyfriend, which, sure, doesn’t seem like a lot at first glance, but for them, it’s an eternity. Eliott had a huge project he had to finish for one of his classes, and Lucas had been balancing a test and extra shifts he had picked up to save a little money, so they’d spent two long nights apart, making this weekend that much sweeter.

He puts his key into the lock and barely starts to turn it before the door is being whipped open and Lucas is pulled into a bone-crushing hug. Lucas’ arms immediately encircle Eliott’s waist and he feels Eliott’s arms around his neck pull him closer. Eliott presses his face into Lucas’ hair and they sway, just a little, in the entryway.

“Welcome home,” Eliott whispers against his temple, and Lucas turns his face to meet Eliott’s in a gentle kiss.

“I missed you,” Lucas says and maybe some people would laugh at that, missing each other after only two days, but Eliott only hums and squeezes him tighter.

“I missed you too.”

Lucas extracts himself from Eliott’s grasp as gently as possible so that they can actually make it through the front door. He sets his bags down heavily in the hallway and kicks off his shoes. He picks up the groceries and follows Eliott into the kitchen, where Eliott jumps up lightly to sit on the counter, looking expectantly at Lucas.

“Yes, I brought food for dinner,” Lucas sighs, feigning annoyance but not bothering to mask the smile that spreads over his face as Eliott grins over at him.

“Good, because you have no food in the fridge,” Eliott says, laughing.

“You already checked then?”

“Oh yeah, as soon as I got here.”

It’s Lucas’ turn to laugh then, and he sets about unpacking the groceries and pulling out a pan to cook. Eliott simply watches from his perch on the counter, but it doesn’t bother Lucas. He likes having Eliott there with him. And it’s probably best for the both of them if Eliott stays away from the stove.

“I wish you would let me help,” Eliott says then as Lucas chops up some vegetables. “I always feel bad just watching you do all the hard work.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Lucas responds, not looking up from the food in front of him. “I don’t mind. I like cooking. Especially if it’s for you.”

Lucas doesn’t hear him but suddenly Eliott’s arms are encircling his waist and Eliott’s chin comes to rest on Lucas’ shoulder and Lucas feels his warmth radiating all across his body.

“Please let me do something,” Eliott whispers into Lucas’ neck making him shiver. He gently presses a kiss into the space where Lucas’ neck meets his shoulder.

Lucas whirls around in Eliott’s arms, grabs his face and kisses him forcefully on the mouth. Strong and eager, the kiss is white-hot fire and then it’s over as Lucas turns around again to keep chopping the veggies. Eliott staggers back slightly, and swallows, taking a few seconds to regain control of his thoughts.

“What was that for?” Eliott asks weakly, reaching out and running his hand down Lucas’ arm.

“I just really love you,” Lucas says, quickly. “Now, if you really want to help me you can turn on some music and set the table.”

Half an hour later and they’re sitting across from each other, dinner spread out in front of them. It’s simple really, just some meat and vegetables Lucas had picked up at the farmer’s market (mostly because Eliott kept insisting that those were so much better than the produce at the grocery store), but Eliott is smiling into every bite like it’s some kind of nectar from the gods.

“What?” Lucas asks laughing, trying to decipher exactly what has Eliott in such a good mood.

Eliott looks up at him (and it’s enough, really, to make Lucas’ legs go weak). “I just really love you,” he responds, teasing him.

Lucas rolls his eyes, but feels a traitorous blush spread across his cheeks.

“And,” Eliott pauses, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Lucas feels his heart stop briefly. It’s stupid, he thinks, that his default reaction is always panic. But as those words come out of Eliott’s mouth, Lucas’ thoughts immediately go to Eliott wanting to break up. Which is stupid, as he’s literally just said that he loves him, but Lucas can’t help the first thoughts that cross his mind. He swallows.

“Calm down,” Eliott says gently, reaching across the table to grab Lucas’ hand in his own. Lucas forgets sometimes how much Eliott knows him. “It’s nothing bad. At least, I don’t think so.”

Lucas smiles back at him. “Okay…”

“It’s just that,” Eliott starts, and then he stops, taking a breath and looking at Lucas the way he sometimes looks at the night sky. Full of admiration and wonder and love. “It’s just that I know your lease is up in a few months, and I know our schedules will be busier next semester, and we always talk about wanting to spend more time together. And I was just thinking that maybe we should move in together.”

It all comes out in a rush, but each word rings in Lucas’ ear and his breath catches in his throat as he plays them over again in his mind, turning over each word, making sure he heard Eliott right.

“You want to move in together?” Lucas asks, and this time it’s his voice that sounds weak, like the air has been knocked out of him. Because it has, in a way – like it does every time Eliott finds a new way to tell Lucas he loves him.

“You’ve always felt like home,” Eliott says shrugging, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Lucas feels his heart clench and then soar. He’s not sure he’s ever had a home like that – not really. And now Eliott wants one. With him. And Lucas doesn’t know how to say that this will be the moment he goes back to when things get hard. The gentle way Eliott talks about them, together, like they were inevitable, like he can’t imagine a life without the “us” he now uses regularly. Like Lucas is the thing that both keeps him tethered to Earth but also makes him feel alive.

“It just feels like the right next step, to make it official,” Eliott is saying, looking back down at his food. “With our schedules this year not lining up and with everything picking up I want to be able to spend as much time with you as I can.”

Lucas simultaneously wants to scream yes and tackle Eliott to the ground and kiss him all over. Instead, the only thing that makes its way out of his mouth is a small whimper.

Eliott looks back up at him, trying to read his expression. “But only, you know, if you want.”

Lucas stands up quickly and moves around the table with a speed and force that makes Eliott’s eyes go wide. He gestures at Eliott to move his chair back and when Eliott does, he straddles him and sit down gently holding Eliott’s face in his hands.

“Shit, Eliott,” Lucas whispers. “Of course I want to move in with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, god, please,” is all Lucas can say before Eliott is kissing him, soft and feverish all at the same time.

“Can I be honest?” Eliott breathes out between kisses, their dinner laying forgotten behind him.

“Always.”

“I was kind of scared you were going to say no.” Lucas pulls back, giving Eliott a questioning look because in what world would he have said no.

Eliott sighs and looks down at the ground sheepishly. Lucas forgets sometimes how small he can make himself.

“I think it’s just, sometimes I worry I’m a lot to handle,” Eliott says. “And if we live together you’d never get a break.”

Lucas looks at him, really looks at him, and his heart pangs that Eliott has ever had to worry about that. “I don’t want a break. I never want a break.”

And Eliott sighs, the relief flooding over his face as he hugs Lucas tighter.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Lucas asks, peppering Eliott’s jaw with kisses. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He sits up for a second, thinking.

“Well, unless it’s with you.”

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 37)

Jaig Eyes (37/?)

Summary: Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she's involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

-------------------------------------------------

Chapter Thirty- Seven: Jabba’s Palace

I watched from my table in the corner as the band made of seven Bith played their upbeat music. I’d seen them performing in cantinas around Mos Eisley before, and wasn’t surprised they’d made their way to Jabba’s Palace. They were good. And clearly threw a good party.

The finest scum of the underworld mulled about the throne room, downing far too many drinks than was wise, even for the more alcohol-tolerant species. A particularly grungy looking Weequay seemed to have a bit of powder beneath his nose. It seemed alcohol was not the only recreational substance being used at this particular party.

That didn’t matter to me, though. I was content in watching the partiers from my place in shadow, slowly nursing a Tatooine Sunrise. And the party-goers were more than happy to leave me in my solitude. The few who had wandered over to try and entice me for a drink or a dance had backed away swiftly when my pistol appeared from the shadows of the corner.

Many still stole glances, but they were for reasons other than fancy now. 

Their eyes were looking over the kyr’bes that was still painted in 501st blue, despite my having been departed from the GAR for almost a month now. My heart twinged a bit, my own stare sliding down to see the top of the painted skull fading. 

I should repaint it. Maybe I’d do red this time.

I leaned back in my seat, trying to force myself to relax. A long drag of the Tatooine Sunrise helped a bit in that. Though I was craving some of Jango’s rarely shared black ale. Of course, that wasn’t something Jabba kept in his stores.

Jabba, though pleased to see me again, was distant. Despite him not filling me in, it didn’t take much prodding for some of the regular working girls to tell me what was going on. I’d heard about Bane taking the senators hostage a week or so before--which included Padme. Aurra had been part of Bane’s crew. She just couldn’t seem to find it in herself to stay dead and leave me alone.

I half expected her to be on Tatooine, considering it was apparently Jabba’s doing that released Ziro from prison via the hostage situation. Of course, if we happened to cross paths, we likely wouldn’t fight in respect to Jabba.

At least, not in the open where he could find out.

Still, Jabba was apparently supposed to be at a Hutt Council meeting on Nal Hutta, but elected to stay in his palace with his son. I wondered why, but none of the workers seemed to know.

Despite the Hutts being a bit hard to read, I could still sense great fear in him. 

From what I could surmise from my gentle prodding of the staff...Ziro had information on the Hutts. And knowing Ziro for the slimy scum he was, I understood Jabba’s fear that his uncle would try and undermine him.

I watched the massive crime lord as he took a long drag of smoke from his hookah, letting the steam swirl from his wide nostrils. His protocol droid stood beside him--in the position I once held as a slave--still as stone. Jabba was nervous, but there was also a smug, content air about him. 

As if he knew of a plan that no one else did. Which was so often the case.

My gaze pulled to the doorway as a shaggy form with gray fur and glowing yellow eyes stalked down the stairs. I couldn’t help the small grin that tugged the corner of my mouth upwards. I didn’t move as the anooba raised its massive head, sniffing the air, its huge ears twitching as it surveyed the bustling room.

A few people--those who weren’t used to the anooba’s presence, shuffled away uncomfortably. They were rather dangerous beasts, after all. And very difficult to train. 

My eyebrow raised slowly from my place in shadow as the anooba’s head tilted to the side. It would have been cute, had anoobas been anything close to cute looking. His nose twitched before his glowing eyes zeroed in on me across the throne room floor. 

I was more surprised by the screaming working girls who flung themselves out of his way than the fact that the anooba was bounding towards me at top speed. Some criminals even drew their weapons, but they knew better than to shoot a hunter’s pet. Especially with this particular hunter.

So instead, they drew their weapons to defend themselves if need be as the anooba practically plowed over the party goers. They didn’t care what happened to me, though. Or they figured I’d handle myself.

They were likely all sure I was dead meat, since anoobas were rather deadly. Of course, I knew from the long tongue that hung out of the side of his mouth and the flapping ears that he meant me no harm. Jabba, having known me for a good portion of my life, knew this too. He let out a loud, boisterous laugh as the anooba leapt onto my table, standing over my propped feet and breathing hard in my face.

With a loud bark, he finally leaned forward and gave my face a long lick.

I let out a groan, pushing the anooba away with a laugh. “Marrok, that’s disgusting! Stop it!”

The tension in the room ebbed as the anooba’s long tail swished back and forth happily. I pulled my feet off the table, careful not to tip my drink, before giving the anooba a hard shove to bring him back down to the ground. He obeyed, thankfully, but his massive stature kept him able to reach my face even from the ground.

A short whistle finally pulled the anooba off of me, but even his obedience couldn’t control his excitement. Marrok’s long gray tail thumped happily against the ground, his wide mouth hanging open with his tongue dangling out. Slobber dripped from his jaws.

It was gross, but I’d seen those jaws dripping with various shades of blood, so I guess slobber was a lot more pleasant.

“Nice to see you,” I greeted without looking up, my hand mindlessly scratching Marrok’s neck.

Embo let out a small grunt in response as he took a seat across from me. He earned a few concerned glances, considering the silent threats I’d given to all others who approached my table. Of course, I didn’t mind Embo’s presence. He wasn’t trying to hit on me, for starters. And I doubted that he would even buy me a drink. He wasn’t really like that.

He babbled in Kyuzo at the droid that approached him. Thankfully, the droid knew languages, so we didn’t hit the usual frustration of a server not knowing what Embo was asking for. As much as he appreciated my translations, I think his language barrier pissed him off sometimes.

Of course, he understood the common tongue. He just didn’t use it. He’d once mentioned something about how it was ineloquent and brash. I understood. There were words in Kyuzo that didn’t translate to basic well, if at all. For someone with a native tongue so unique, finding words in a simpler language was frustrating to say the least.

After ordering, Embo’s eyes returned to mine from beneath his wide brim hat. He jabbered at me in his native language.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I responded with a smile. “And my employment with the Republic was temporary. That contract has...ended.”

Embo, being a hunter of few words, merely watched me while his beverage was sat before him. He took a swig while I turned to Marrok, giving the anooba a deep scratching behind his big ears. 

Silence between us was common. It was honestly soothing...usually. But something was still bothering me. I still hadn’t gathered the courage to pursue Moraband. My dreams were filled with the voice in my head...as well as images of the swamp world I’d seen Qui Gon on. I never saw the late jedi again, but in my deepest of dreams, I felt something like him trying to get into my thoughts to no avail.

Embo broke the silence first, pointing out Jabba’s absence at the Hutt Council. He said it was probably for the best, considering.

I paused, my drink barely touching my lips. “Considering what?”

Embo’s brows lifted. He explained in his curt and to-the-point manner that Ziro had escaped his prison on Nal Hutta and that the remainder of the council had dispatched Cad Bane to bring him back.

I hummed in thought, touching the pads of my gloved fingers to my lips. “With Ziro’s recent releasing from prison, I have no doubt the Republic are pursuing him too.”

Embo hummed in agreement before revealing that two jedi were present before Ziro’s escape. 

“The jedi don’t have him?” 

Embo shook his head in response. I glanced over at Jabba, seeing the powerful Hutt puffing at his hookah without a care in the world.

“He knows something we don’t,” I expressed, nodding my head in the crime lord’s direction. Embo turning in his chair to look, before grunting in agreement. Of course, we had no way of knowing what was going on. And to be honest, I knew it was just small talk. Neither of us were being paid to get involved, so we didn’t really care so long as Jabba remained in a position of power to keep paying us.

Thus, brought me back to my original musings. “Embo,” I said softly, Marrok’s ears perking at the familiar name before nuzzling my hand for more scratches. “If I asked you something, could you swear to keep the matter a secret?”

The Kyuzo watched me silently for a moment, likely doing his best to read my mind. He couldn’t do that, of course, but he had known me for as long as I’d been a hunter. Silent types often read others better, since they were watching rather than speaking.

He nodded slowly before speaking in his native tongue. He didn’t bother to be quiet, since no one but the protocol droids and myself would understand him, but I blanched and shushed him anyways.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, doing my best to school away the blush that was flushing my face. Embo repeated his words, still no quieter than before. “What do you mean ‘who is he’?”

Embo’s head tilted, not unlike Marrok did sometimes. He was skeptical of me. He reinforced that suspicious with his next spiel of words.

I forced a nervous laugh. “Love is for idiots, Embo,” I teased gently, despite my chest seizing up. Even a month after leaving, it was still hard to think about Rex and what he’d said to me. 

And how I hadn’t said it back.

I cleared my throat, pushing the thoughts away. “Jango never found a spouse because of this job. You know that.” I leaned so I could meet Embo’s eyes under the brim of his hat. “What kind of life would we be bringing someone into?”

His face rippled in a frown, but he let the subject fall away. He asked what I could possibly want from him.

“Hey now,” I scolded gently, taking another long drink of the Tatooine Sunrise. “You owe me a debt.”

He responded that I owed him a bounty, so we were even.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. It was true, in a way. His bounty for killing Padme all that time ago would have likely been enough to retire. Of course, Anakin would have hunted him down and ended that retirement rather quickly, but still.

Finally, I sobered, watching the bounty hunter--my friend--as he swirled his drink mindlessly. “Do you know about Moraband?” I decided to keep the question vague. I had a feeling it was a planet, but then again, the voice had only chanted it. A city, maybe?

Unfortunately, my recent evacuation of the Republic premises made my access to records a bit tricky.

Embo seemed a bit surprised by my question, leaning back in his chair as Marrok put his big head in my lap. At least some of us were relaxed, I supposed. He mumbled gently that he did.

“What do you know?”

He asked why I couldn’t just look it up myself. Public databases were free, after all. 

I scowled. “My contract with the Republic ended a bit...prematurely,” I allowed. “I seem to have pissed them off.”

Embo chuckled--a nice sound, if you knew it wasn’t at your expense. He understood that I couldn’t risk the Republic being able to track me. I had a feeling the jedi weren’t going to let my case go easily, so I needed to stay off their radar and out of their way for as long as I could. 

Finally, Embo allowed that he knew Moraband was a planet in the Outer Rim. He rambled off some details, like how it was mostly desolate and abandoned, considering the past wars fought there, but there were trading posts there.

“The Commerce Guild?” I asked, earning a nod. “If it’s a popular trade off point in trade, why is it abandoned?” I thought through his words again. “What wars, Embo?”

His brow lifted under his hat as he mumbled his next words. “Korriban,” I heard within his Kyuzo words.

My breathing stilled, Marrok even noticing my change in demeanor by letting out a low whine. I’d heard that name before, when I’d spoken to Hydan on Nal Hutta. That had been so long ago, when I was first discovering my heritage...the heritage that immediately branded me a threat.

Though, considering my frightening outburst with the Force when I fought Dooku, maybe that branding was validated.

“Why is it called Moraband if it was originally Korriban?” I asked.

Embo shrugged, mentioning something about Republic databases changing the name. He wasn’t sure why.

I had a feeling it was an influence from the jedi, considering the wars between sith and jedi that had occurred on that dark planet. I swallowed slowly. “You don’t happen to have access to those coordinates, do you?”

My friend stared at me in silence for a long moment before grunting a single word in Kyuzo. “Why?” he’d asked in his native tongue.

“Does it matter?” I responded immediately. 

His eyes narrowed as he explained that Korriban was a dangerous world. He’d been there only once and didn’t fancy another visit.

“I can handle myself.”

He went on to describe the planet as deadly, filled with destroyed remnants of the old society that once bred fear and death. He told me about dangerous creatures the Commerce Guild had warned him about upon his arrival--terrible creatures that were corrupted by the dark side that had been flowing through that planet for so long.

“Embo,” I cut him off gently, trying my best not to lose my nerve. “There are things I need to understand. Questions I have...that can only be answered by going there.” 

He was suspicious, I could tell. But he trusted me, so sighed lowly. He admitted that he could get me the coordinates from his ship’s database, thought he disagreed with my going still. After a moment of appreciative silence and another sip of his drink, he stopped and looked at me. He asked if he wanted me to come along.

It was the nicest thing he could have said, especially considering his usual detached demeanor and reputation of being brutal, not to mention, lethal.

I couldn’t fight the gentle smile on my face. “Thank you, but no. This is something I need to figure out on my own.”

Embo finished his drink as he stood, leaving the empty cup at my table. Around us, the party was dying down a bit, the lights dimming as they milled about to other parts of the palace. Jabba remained however, glancing expectantly between his protocol droid and the door.

Hmmm… he was expecting someone. 

Embo whistled, Marrok pulling away from my hands with a small whine of protest. The bounty hunter gave me a nod, explaining that he had to leave for a job on Ryloth--Tatooine had just been a resting location to fuel up his ship. He promised to send the coordinates to me when he got back aboard his vessel.

I gave him a small smile and a nod, rolling my eyes as he grumbled something about my being like Jango, having to do things alone all the time.

I brushed off the comment easily, since I knew going alone was for the best. I trusted Embo, but I trusted Obi-wan once too. Yet, he’d done very little to defend me to the Jedi Council. How would Embo’s perception of me change if he saw what awaited me on Korriban?

Even I wasn’t sure what I’d see there. Wasn’t sure what would happen. But I knew it was connected to the Force.

And I was scared out of my mind.

I sat in silence, finishing off the remainder of my drink as the throne room finally quieted. There were only a few of us left, and apart from Jabba, I was the only one coherent enough to watch a Pa’lowick brush past Embo as he ascended the stairs, casting him a look full of batting eyelashes and pouting lips.

I rolled my eyes, watching her long legs carry her into the throne room. In the better lighting, I recognized her. She was part of a band that played in Jabba’s Palace on occasion. Sy Snootles, I believed her name was. She was a good performer, from what I remembered.

Jabba let out a loud laugh, all tension that he had hidden so well beneath the surface melting away as the Pa’lowick approached him. His laughter only turned more victorious and boisterous as Sy leaned forward, handing him an object that had been tucked under her arm.

It looked like a holodiary.

He chuckled out some words in Huttese to his protocol droid. “Jabba thanks you for delivering the holodiary,” it translated, shuffling forward to offer a handful of unmarked credits to the Pa’lowick. 

Sy snatched them immediately, popping her hip to the side with sass. “No one would suspect that a lovely creature such as myself could do a bounty hunter’s work.” 

My eyebrow arched, my fingers tapping at the rim of my empty cup while I put the pieces together. The holodiary, which now cast a faint glow over Jabba’s face as he examined its contents, likely contained the information Ziro had on the Hutt Council. And by Sy’s prideful demeanor that masked a broken, vengeful heart, I figured that Ziro was dead.

So...both Bane and the jedi had failed, then.

The protocol droid gestured for Sy to follow it, likely leading the Pa’lowick to where she’d be staying. I waited until they left the room to stand and approach Jabba’s throne. I gave him a respectful bow of my head before smiling gently.

“Ziro is dead, I take it, considering you seem much happier than you were earlier.”

Jabba looked away from the holodiary with a small frown before chuckling. He scolded me in Huttese, claiming I was too inquisitive for my own good.

I wasn’t put off by that comment. “It’s my nature, you know. A nature that has made a few of your more difficult jobs successful.” Jabba let out a laugh, closing down the holodiary for now, but cradling it at his side. “Anything juicy?” I asked, nodding towards the diary.

Jabba gave me a scowl, explaining that he would destroy the diary personally and finally put the Hutt Clan at ease.

I smirked. “No, you won’t.” He seemed taken back by my words, but I plowed on, unafraid. “You’re smarter than that, Jabba. You’ll delete information on you, but you’ll keep the information on the rest of your family. You need the insurance, as one of the most powerful members of the Hutt Clan.”

For a moment, I half expected Jabba to drop me into the rancor pit. Realistically, even if I could enter the rancor pit when I was younger without dying...I wasn’t sure if that particular oddity would continue all these years later.

I didn’t really want to test it.

To my relief, Jabba laughed, expressing that my nature would get me into trouble one day. If only he knew how true that was.

My wrist gauntlet beeped, drawing my gaze. Coordinates flashed on the screen. 9254.62, 6991.44. That was where I’d find Korriban, according to Embo. And I trusted the Kyuzo with my life.

Jabba’s words interrupted me, asking if I had a job.

“Of sorts,” I responded vaguely. “It’s more a personal matter, really. Don’t worry. I won’t be interfering with anything in your jurisdiction.”

Jabba laughed, giving me his blessing to leave. As I walked out of the palace and across the sand that was beginning to cool with nightfall, I felt my heart creep into my throat.

I was finally going to the place the voice had come from. I would finally see its source. And that thought terrified me so much...that I almost turned around. But no, I had to know. I had to understand who I was. What I was.

And then maybe...I could find a new meaning. And forget everything I’d lost.

[mihanada]

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

(back to masterpost)

I might have been silently screaming this entire chapter despite knowing our main characters obviously make it out of here alive.

Chapter 53: Courage (Part 3)

No joke, this chapter really was quite awesome. Aside from the brief fight against Xue Yang in the Yi City arc and a few scuffles with the mysterious face-concealed dude, there hasn’t been much fighting or longer action sequences. Also, I finally get to find out what happened with this giant tortoise thing after hearing about it a while back through spoilers.

So, at first I thought the maple leaves were sort of funny in a cognitive dissonance sort of way, but turns out that they’re quite significant for getting the hell out of this place.

“Wei WuXian, “… What a large… tortoise…””

don’t you love his reaction.

I’m actually kind of surprised Wen Chao didn’t scream his head off the moment the tortoise-snake looked at them. He held it together until it blew out steam, I’ll give him that.

lol this line (”beast craved slaughter more than anything”) seems on par for giant beast thing except it’s probably been stuck in this underground cave for years? is the hole at the bottom of the lake even big enough for it to fit through? it’s probably starving and looking for a good meal haha

“one suddenly started twitching like a worm” very accurate description of Wen Chao, yes.

and welp there goes your only weapon. maybe aim for the eyes next time?

you know, narrative, you conveniently left out why this guy is called the “core melting hand” >.> 

“...as though something was about to be sucked out of his arm...” doesn’t sound too good. I was on the edge of my seat at this part though, like damn, we have a giant tortoise snake wanting to munch people and a guy with a mysterious power called “core melting”...

What is Wang Lingjiao’s problem, geez. Literally, her three helpers are shot down and she just merrily continues to try to burn Mianmian’s face like wtf I’d at least be concerned if I was next to get an arrow in the back??

I wonder if we get to find out her fate later on...

And that’s how Wei Wuxian got his brand! Finally found out, 53 chapters into the story! ...will it be over chapter 100 by the time we get to find out how Lan Wangji got his?

Wei Wuxian really has this hero-like disregard for his own safety as a kid, and he never hesitates in helping others. He’s almost always the first to act as long as someone isn’t holding him back. But, it’s kind of ominous and scary that he’s really so flippant about himself. He even tells Jiang Cheng “there’s a piece of cooked meat here. You want to eat it?” talk about gallows humor. at the same time, this bravado really can’t last forever, can it?

“Wen Chao saw that his eyes were bloodshot and had on a terrifying expression.” think he’s talking about Jiang Cheng here. Ah, Jiang Cheng is still but a youngling, I don’t think his scary face is nearly as terrifying as when he becomes an adult haha.

I’m still wondering how anyone knew a beast was in the area but ok. Everyone is now trapped underground. I’d be concerned if I didn’t already know these guys all survive at least this part of the story.

ah, poor Mianmian, literally this happened just because Wang Lingjiao was jealous. and will we ever learn your whole name.

“Okay, enough, Jiang Cheng, stop carrying me. It’s not like my leg is broken.”

OH, you little shit. Ha. Remember when they were in the Cloud Recesses and he got whipped a bit, then was a drama queen about it and Jiang Cheng carried him? Now he’s more terribly wounded and saying ‘let me down’.

well, this also why he feels no qualms about offering to carry Lan Wangji. he gets carried by Jiang Cheng all the time lol. though, I think by ‘carry’ in this scene they mean he’s got an arm wrapped around his shoulders, otherwise there would be no need to say ‘propped him up’ earlier.

“No matter what, it’s better than waiting for our parents here and doing nothing.”

in a sort of meta sense...what irony. Wei Wuxian would be waiting forever, because he doesn’t have parents anymore.

I dunno, I like that the Yunmeng Jiang is the water sect where everyone’s good at swimming xD

ahh and despite being injured so badly (seared to a human crisp), Wei Wuxian takes charge. truly our lovable mc, right? He still does this in the present, just in a more teacher-ly sounding way.

like I keep mentioning: character consistency.

 “Jiang Cheng raged, “What are you doing?!””

every time I read ‘Jiang Cheng raged’, I laugh. Ah, I really love this guy, asshole that he becomes. let me not bore you though.

also: GOD DAMNIT, NAMELESS LAN SECT DISCIPLE. shame on you. wtf you hit the guy trying to save your asses with a stray arrow you saw that arrows did absolutely nothing to this thing. he’s just lucky Wei Wuxian isn’t the vengeful sort of guy.

ahh don’t you know not to pull out things stuck in your body and preventing you from bleeding out?? >.< I guess not lol. um, lucky it wasn’t the main artery in your arm??

I probably did a low screech when Lan Wangji came to save Wei Wuxian. It’s the first time we get to see him really act reckless and out of his usual composed shell (aside from the times Wei Wuxian prodded him enough to get him to snap), and it’s to save his crush. :3 Granted, Lan Wangji does have a good character so it’s understandable how Wei Wuxian never figured out he liked him. Still, there’s something nice about knowing a guy was willing to get munched on by a giant beast for you??

ouch I winced for poor Lan Wangji’s leg though, they were in a really dire situation here. If they weren’t the main characters and we know for a fact they don’t die or get crippled here, it’d be really scary and tense

ahhh and Wei Wuxian also does not disappoint, literally throwing himself at the tortoise thing and stopping its jaws with his whole body. it’s true though, people can achieve herculean strength in desperate times. And suitably, as soon as the one he was trying to save was in the clear, it no longer could hold out

“The two rows of fangs were already deep into Lan WangJi’s blood and bones.”

uh...ew...and poor Lan Zhan. it’s a good thing this is a fantasy world where we have magic cultivation stuff because it’s doubtful he’d realistically ever be able to heal from all the damage unless he got really lucky.

“Hovering on his back, Lan WangJi’s voice possessed the rare emotional fluctuation, “How could this be pleasant?! Let me down!””

indeed, let’s savor this moment.

“Wei WuXian’s mouth refused to rest even as he was running for his life,”

Accurate. This is literally his character. xD

“Wei WuXian, Oh no, Lan Zhan’s injury will worsen again.”

see his total unconcern about his own pretty bad wounds. Instead, he’s worried about Lan Wangji’s injury, which is actually quite dire.

So...let’s see what happens next. I’m really liking this flashback so far.

(quotes from ExR’s translations)

← back・onward →

[kelleyish]

long overdue

SO!  I have been trying to get around to writing a post for several weeks now.  God knows what all I was going to say, I’ve probably forgotten half of it.  But here we go.

It’s currently raining and thundering outside.  I love it.  My dog is a little less thrilled.

I turned 41 about 2 1/2 weeks ago.  As if that wasn’t shitty enough, the night before I somehow managed to hurt my leg/hip/back.  While laying in bed! Doing nothing!  I could hardly sleep because laying on either side hurt, and I can’t sleep on my back.  I spent a good part of my sleeping time the next couple of days in my living room recliner.  When I tried to walk, I had this sideways limp thing going on, looking like Quasimodo, and I couldn’t walk far enough to even go to the store.  I was very angry about the whole thing.

Here’s one thing that stupidly hurting yourself for no reason and turning yourself into a cripple overnight is good for - weight loss motivation!  I got back on keto that day, and barring a box of Cheez-its I demolished later that very day (oops), I have been on it since.  Like I said that was 2 1/2 weeks ago, so I’m firmly in ketosis and my appetite has decreased considerably, which is awesome.  I’m currently eating just one big meal a day at dinner, with a small snack at lunchtime if I have to.  It’s not strict intermittent fasting but I’m not stressing it because:

My currently philosophy is “good enough.”  Eating bread substitutes, and sugar substitutes like erythritol, or even some Coke Zero is ok, if it keeps me on the diet.  It’s still 125% better than not being on the diet at all.  If I’m hungry, I eat.  There will be time for more strictness later.  I have to quit focusing my energy on losing as quickly as possible, because that leads to slipping and falling off the wagon and I get nowhere.  I’ve made sure to cook keto treats and keep them around for when I need something, like keto peanut butter cookies or keto mini cheesecakes.  My father has lost over 60 lbs since I introduced him to keto last September (if only I had stayed on it myself!!) and he’s lost that weight by doing exactly this - making sure he has access to keto-approved carb substitutes instead of trying to eat nothing but meat and vegetables forever.

I don’t know how much I’ve lost because I gave my scale to my parents to keep several months ago.  But I can tell my pants are already looser, and my body feels 5X better in general.  My body obviously doesn’t like carbs, I just wish I could convince my mouth.

To that end, I’m trying to do this with the mindset of an alcoholic staying sober.  No, I cannot reward myself with that sugar-laden drink as a treat, just this once, because it will set off a chemical reaction in my body and brain, ruining my hunger suppression and resistance to cravings, causing me to fall off the wagon.  I have to stay 100% dry, for a gooooood long while.

I’ve been jobless (or self-employed) for about six months now.  My brother and I are starting a web based business but it’s taking a lot longer than we thought to get it going.  In the meantime, I got a wild hair to try writing and selling stories on Amazon.  It’s not a get-rich-quick scheme in the slightest, and will probably never make enough to support me, but maybe, if I’m very successful, it could be an extra $1000 bucks in my pocket per month.  That goal is a very, very long way off though.  I published my first story on my birthday, about 2 1/2 weeks ago. I made what I later realized was a mistake, giving it away for free the first few days.  I thought the ‘sales’ numbers would contribute to my ranking after the free period was over, but it didn’t.  And likely many of the people who downloaded it for free wouldn’t have paid for it, but I am enrolled in the Kindle Unlimited plan, so people who are subscribed (it’s like Netflix for books) can read it for free, but I get credit for their page reads, so I probably lost out some of those to KU subscribers that just “purchased” it for free rather than reading it through KU.  Since then I’ve probably earned about $6 from it.  Not big bucks.

I just finished my second story today.  My first story was 5 thousand words, this one ended up being three times as long.  It still needs some editing and I need to create a cover for it, so maybe I can put it up next week.  The general consensus in this game is the faster you write and publish stories, the more you will earn.  But I am not the world’s fastest writer, it seems.

Did I mention I’m writing erotica?  I’m writing erotica.  It’s a low bar, and I only have to construct the barest of plots, and then throw in lots of dirty scenes.  The real money is in romance, but I’ve never been a romance reader, and I’m not sure I could write a novel-length story.  But who knows, I did triple my word count on my second go-around.  I guess I need to start actually reading some romance novels, see what it’s about.

Ok I have actually read at least one romance novel.  I was in 5th grade, and I stealth-borrowed it from my friend’s mom.  I snuck it out of their house and read it while sitting on top of the monkey bars at the park.  I remember it had a scene where the guy lays the girl down in a meadow, and licked her pussy through her sheer underwear.  And all off a sudden i started feeling a crazy throbbing between my legs as i was sitting there on those monkey bars, and I was like wtf is happening to me down there?? Lol.

On Monday, I was getting ready to gather my laptop and go sit at Starbucks and write, when I got an email from my former co-worker, asking me to call her.  So I did, and she asked if I would want to come back to work.  She said things have picked up, and my immediate boss wanted me back. I said I’d have to think about it.  So I sat in Starbucks trying to write smut and couldn’t stop thinking about my old work.  I ended up deciding the adult thing would be to go back for now, if they need me, because I’m not making any money right now and I’m going to have to pull more from my retirement account in another couple months if that doesn’t change.  Even though I told myself I didn’t ever want to go back, I didn’t leave on bad terms, and it would be way easier than interviewing for new jobs and more pay than temp jobs, probably.  So I texted her back yes, and she said she’d talk to the big boss.

For the last three days I’ve been dreading going back.  It feels like I’m a kid again, dreading the end of summer and having to go back to school.  Days were going by without me hearing anything, and I was like when do they even want me to start?  I still had questions about salary and insurance, etc.  Then my co-worker texted me back today, saying the big boss would look at the budget, and that my immediate boss probably didn’t need me as soon as he thought.  Translation - it could be months before they actually call me back.  Or it could be two weeks from now, who knows.  But man I feel good knowing I’ve gotten another temporary reprieve.  “In terms of instant relief, canceling plans is like heroin.” - John Mulaney.

There’s probably more I could say, but this damn thing is long enough.

[falafel14]

Okja Meta: It’s all edible. All edible except the squeal.

Is Okja is a vegan film or not? I want to offer my personal perspective on Okja's layered messages on the meat eating and factory farming and what responses the film proposes. I’m writing this as someone who has been a vegetarian since I was fourteen (Mija's age in the film) and this year I've been attempting to make the transition into veganism. I'm also a person who grew up in a house next to a cattle farm, walking family dogs through fields of cows that would disappear to slaughterhouses at the end of every summer. We’re raised to have very different feelings towards animals who are our pets and animals bred as livestock and most movies propagate this distinction rather than breaking it down. With Okja we have a film that introduces its titular animal character as a beloved pet, loyal and loving as any family dog, then we see her re-categorized as a product, as a piece of meat to be killed and consumed. This transition has led to some critics to complaining about the film’s "jarring tonal shift" from its cutesy child-friendly opening scenes to the graphic slaughterhouse scenes at its ending. But this is not propaganda. It is simply reality. This is the hypocritical way different animals are treated. Kids are encouraged to love their pets and eat their meat and now critics are worried over a film that highlights this? If the inescapable message of Okja is that the animals we love and the animals we eat are the same then what response should we have? Should we all go vegan? 

Even as an aspiring vegan myself, I'd say Okja’s message is not that simple. I have read several articles now arguing that Okja is not anti-meat eating but anti-factory farming. Pro-meat eating Okja fans are quick to point out that Mija herself is not vegetarian. However I'd argue back that there's a difference between how our farm girl heroine eats meat and how most westerners eat meat. The opening of film dedicates a lot of time to showing how Mija consumes all food in harmony with nature. When Okja rolls into a tree to dislodge its fruit, Mija warns her pig not to hit the tree so hard it'll fall down. When they go fishing, Mija takes only one fish for her supper and throws the others back in the water. She also uses Okja's eco-friendly excrement to fertilize the pool and feed the fish. And it should be noted that while Mija and her grandfather don't abstain from meat, the vast majority of their diet is plant-based, their dinner table crammed with vegetables. We only see them eating their own free-range white meat as opposed to mass-produced red meats that are so damaging to the environment. Mija could be more accurately described as having a flexitarian diet. Plus she knows exactly where all her meat comes from because she prepares it all herself. So if you are a western viewer watching and thinking it’s fine to eat meat because Mija does, I have to ask - are you a farmer living in the mountains catching or rearing your own meat sources in balance with the natural world? Or are you eating factory farmed meat from the supermarket? Because if factory farming is what Okja is really railing against and factory farmed meat is what you personally consume then isn't Okja still anti the type of meat you’re eating?

While we identify most with Mija as the film's protagonist, if we don’t live on remote farms in the Korean wilderness then we have to look to Okja’s western characters for their stances on ethical and sustainable food consumption. And here's where the message gets complicated because all the western characters - whether pro or anti meat - are portrayed as flawed and questionable. First I want to consider the Mirando corporation characters, who are largely perceived as the villains of the film, though I'd say Lucy is probably more representative of the average westerner than any other US-based character. Does Lucy really care about creating a new livestock industry that is kinder to the animals and leaves a minimal carbon footprint? Or does Lucy only care because she knows that in a progressive western society these things make for a better company image? Like Lucy, the progressive westerner would like to say they are animal lovers and they care about the environment but most also want to eat meat that "tastes fucking good". Lucy promotes herself as a savior to the hunger crisis and she greenwashes Mirando’s very tarnished corporate reputation. But her primary motivation is to make herself and her customers look good, rather than really doing good. As soon as the ALF exposes the “little white lies” behind her super pig campaign and she faces bad press, Lucy just gives up on her supposed humanitarian mission and surrenders the company.

Another Mirando stooge who surrenders themselves to the company's corruption is Dr Johnny Wilcox, a character who I actually had some pity for. I don't think Dr Johnny would have become a qualified veterinarian and zoologist if he hadn't genuinely cared about animals at some point in his life. I can believe that Johnny loved animals as a child and he does seem sincerely awed and emotional the first time he meets Okja. I also felt there was a real despair in Dr Johnny ranting - "I shouldn't even be here!" while he is drunkenly abusing Okja in the squalid  Mirando laboratory. For ten years Dr Johnny himself has been the "prize pig" of the Mirando corporation and during that decade I imagine he has been party of a lot of animal mistreatment. But Dr Johnny has stuck with the company because he craves fame above all else and as a has-been celebrity Mirando is likely only real option that he has for continuing with his media career. Johnny's alcoholism could just be put down to his bitterness over his fading stardom and that after so long as the face of the company he is being “put out to pasture” too. But I think it is more interesting to view him as a former animal lover who's been driven mad by his complicity in animal abuse. Johnny seems sadistic in his torment of Okja but I sense that Johnny is lashing out, rather like Okja herself lashes out after being mated in the Mirando labs. Johnny offering Okja his bottle and telling her that the booze will "make her feel better" suggests to me that his alcoholism is the only thing Dr Johnny has to make himself feel better too.

The main character who embraces the meat industry’s cruelty without qualm his Nancy Mirando. The capitalist mindset that Nancy represents isn't evil so much as it is pragmatically amoral. Nancy is not sadistically motivated by wanting to murder a young girl's beloved pet pig. Nancy doesn’t care whether Mija’s pet lives or dies. She only cares about making a profit and when it comes to pig farming she reasons that she can “only sell the dead ones”. So when Mija offers Nancy gold in trade for keeping her pig alive, Nancy is perfectly happy to accept the deal. In the end Mija can only save Okja by bargaining with Nancy’s capitalist industry on its own terms. It is significant that this is the one scene where Mija speaks English because she is speaking Nancy's language in more ways than one in this moment. Appeasing the Nancy's desire for profit is the only way Mija can win. She has to hand over further riches to an already mega-rich company that is murdering hundreds of other super pigs just like Okja. Fighting for animal welfare is largely portrayed as a hopeless cause. At the end of their mission, the ALF team have been arrested and their stunt has only succeeded in destroying Lucy's company image and not in saving the pigs from slaughter. They inflicted some economic damage, likely hurting their sales with a scandal, but as Nancy reasons even with the PR damage they can still shift their product because "if it's cheap they'll eat it". It's not hard to imagine that Nancy is right given that in the real world most western consumers are more concerned with price comparison than ethical shopping. And in the case of hungry poor people worldwide, they will just eat whatever food they can best afford. 

Unlike Mija, the ALF group’s mission against the meat industry is driven by their  ideology rather than by a personal connection to a specific animal. We are told in their character posters they are vegans and vegetarians, but I’d say that ALF leader Jay in particular represents what so many people find alienating about veganism. That to be vegan you must be a purist and you must be judgemental towards anyone who doesn't meet your high moral standards. Jay talks about his compassion for all living creatures, but in early scenes his manner is cold, formal and impersonal to those around him. Jay is always correcting his fellow ALF gang members and threatens to exile them if they say or do anything that conflicts with his version of their ideals. Jay is a perfect example of a “the left looks for traitors” mentality. After K makes an honest and reasoned confession to mis-translating Mija’s consent, Jay inflicts a beating on K even whilst telling him that he still holds him dear to his heart. Jay has clearly taught his little ALF gang to avoid hurting people during their missions, but Jay dishes out violence and a banishment on a friend maybe only to serve as a warning to the rest of his team to follow his idealism absolutely or suffer the consequences. Early on Jay shows more concern over strict adherence to ALF credo than he seems worried over one of his teammates starving themselves. Silver exhibits a dangerous extreme to ethical consumption where his ideals have led to him damaging his health for the cause. I think that is where a purist judgemental vegan mindset can lead - if you live in the western world and you are determined not to eat food that harms animals or the environment...where do you draw the line? With that mentality you will start to find even tomatoes objectionable.

Jay begins his mission with the lofty ideal of saving all the super pigs from slaughter even if it means compromising Okja's personal safety. But when this results in Okja being raped and abused, Jay finally does start showing his true heart and takes personal responsibility for saving the super pig he used for his own political ends. As Jay silently holds up his 'We love you' sign to Mija and then warns her not to look at the screen as the ALF expose Mirando’s animal torture to the world, he is trying to protect not only their lives but their emotions from further harm. There’s two more lovely moments of silent solidarity between Jay and Mija in the film; one where Mija stares at Jay removing the splinter from Okja’s hoof (as she would’ve done) and the other where Mija prevents Jay from striking Okja when the super pig is biting down on her arm. If Jay learns a lesson from Mija then I think it is that love should drive his activism, not his credo. After all, Lucy points out that the ALF’s pig-napping did little damage to Mirando but the image of one girl who loves her pig being dragged away by cops was a PR nightmare. This type of love was always there deep down in Jay. Even after his mission fails he goes with Mija all the way to the slaughterhouse just to save her pig, sacrificing his own freedom just to support her. And in the post-credits scene where Jay released from prison it is also implied that he took responsibility for the ALF’s activist crimes so his teammates could walk or at least serve shorter sentences. Jay's loyalty and self-sacrifice make me pleased that K came back to him even after his very violent expulsion. And just as Mija brings Jay back to his heart, I think it is fair to say that Jay inspires a greater idealism in Mija. Earlier on in the film, Mija only cared about her personal connection to her pet and refused ALF’s ‘greater good’ mission to attempt to save all the super pigs. But once she witnesses the horrors of the slaughterhouse, Mija is clearly devastated at having to abandon the other pigs and takes the risk of rescuing one of the piglets, which is an ALF action more so than a personal one for her. 

So after considering all the main characters viewpoints, I don't think Okja leaves you with one message, but rather three potential messages for how to respond to meat eating and factory farming from now on. First there's the response that’s represented in the Mirando characters which is simply to go along with it, accept this is how our ugly world works and keep handing over your cash to the factory farm industry. Or you could have the Mija response - have a flexitarian diet and care for the animals that you personally keep. But also if you buy something with your gold, pay for animals to live not die. Mija does this by paying for Okja, but metaphorically we can follow Mija's example by giving our money to cruelty-free products, which naturally includes vegan food. Going vegan or vegetarian isn't the simple solution to the issues raised in Okja but it is not the wrong response either. You could even follow Mija's example in a more literal way by donating to sanctuaries that rescue animals from factory farms and allow them to live out their lives in peace and safety, like Okja in the mountains. Lastly, if you watch all the way to the post credits scene, the ALF gang represents yet another possible response - that being to get involved in animal activism. Even though the ALF gang fail in their mission to save all of the super pigs, it gave me hope that they had not given up the fight and were even gaining new members. And if they are accepting former Mirando employees into their group then they aren’t being too purist and exclusive either. I loved the final beat of the ALF offering a ski-mask to the prim looking middle-aged woman on the bus. It felt like they were holding a mask out to the viewer too and saying "Wanna join?"

(If you read and liked this meta please help me out with a reblog because my hashtags aren’t working on searches for this post)

[lesliedeestumblr]

10 moments that make life worth loving

1. driving with the windows down, music blasting, warm spring air, and the scent of freshly cut grass ... 

i was honestly going to write just the scent of freshly cut grass or smell right before it rains, but we can take it to the next level.  why? cuz we’re still stuck inside from the quarantine and just learned that it got extended. 

2. karaoke time ...

whether it’s solo in the shower/in the car, at home having a party dranky drankin, when boy starts to play old songs on the guitar (usually emo crap lol), when mom starts playing all her old cds and blasts it for everyone to hear in the house as she does chores, or getting together with friends and singing ballads like we are whitney or mariah ... OFF KEY TOO LMAO.  the best :)

3. anytime mom tries to tell a funny story or a joke

no lie, she is laughing after the first few sentences ... if she can even get past the first few sentences.  usually it’s hard to understand and it takes her maybe 15 minutes to finally tell it.  but then it takes another 5 to 10 minutes for her to try to translate the joke/story into english and the funniness getting lost in translation.  but she laughs, so i laugh ... then she pees a little and it makes me laugh more.  OR, when she finds a funny clip online and watches it religiously at least once everyday ... she has to show it to everyone and they mama.  in the beningding LMAO she’s the greatest

4. the look

when you wanna say something, but you can’t cuz it’s mean.  but you and whoever you are with know each other well enough to know what exactly they are thinking ... it’s that telepathic read your mind bullshit.  and just bust out laughing when you’re finally in the clear.  those moments are usually with hoosband ... sometimes mom and boy ... usually erasmo and heidy.  damn i miss those bitches.  also happens when it’s an inside joke.  

5. puppies

i wanted to say when you walk through the door and the pups are crying or wagging their butts all crazy and excited to see you ... but let’s be honest, they can do anything and bring a smile to my face.  they’re silly.  they’re selfless and selfish. they know how to please.  even when they’re being little turds.  they are our turds, i want them to last forever

6. friendships ... real friendships ... and real moments

some people are fortunate to have friends that they’ve had since idk ... grade school? high school? hell even college ... the thing about friendships is that as you get older, the things you value change.  if your friendship can last past all those changes in your life, i guess this works for relationships too, it’s precious.  if you can go how many fucking days/weeks/months without speaking to them, but the moment you meet up/call it’s not awkward, it’s like picking up from where you left off with a lot of shit that happened in between.  but it’s there, the way you genuinely care for someone.  knowing that there’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do for them.  knowing you can depend on them, run to them, and knowing that they will be there with open arms.  i guess you can also say it’s family.  they’re no longer a stranger, sure you don’t have the same last name or no blood relation but ... they’re closer.  you chose them, and they chose you.  it works.  i guess the stem of this post is because i went on my fb adventure and stumbled upon a post, that led to a friend who had passed away.  it still hurts, i still wonder if you actually reached out to me and i just didn’t pick up the phone cuz it was a random number.  i wish i was there, i wish i could’ve stopped you, i wish i could’ve held you, i wish many things.  i just wish things were different.  i wish a lot of things.  it’s been almost 5 years, and now i just wish you are at peace now.  i wish that you are at your happiest, because you deserve it.  

7. being a fat ass ...

being able to fucking throw down when it comes to eating.  the joy of eating something so delicious. or when you’ve been craving something for so long and you finally get to taste it.  i’m salivating just thinking of that moment, and i don’t even  have a particular food in mind.  i miss it all.  i miss going out to eat with my family to sit down at a restaurant, picking off of each other’s plates. i miss singing/humming and dancing while eating, cuz it’s just SO DAMN GOOD. i miss meat sweats.  i want bubble tea ... and i want to drive to fucking chicago if i have to ... in the damn traffic ... whatever.  suck it up buttercup, you want it go get it LMAO.  but i can’t enjoy eating alone, well maybe, hold on ... i can.  but it’s better when you are sharing that moment with someone else.

8. cooking/baking something new and having your hoosbang love it? like it?

when you realize that other people don’t cook well, and the shit you make is edible ... well past edible (most of the time) ... that’s a pretty damn good feeling.  having your hoosband say ... i want something homemade, and not frozen pizza or just getting sick of take out in general.  shit i miss hosting.  i miss cooking in the kitchen while we are having a party.  i like people eating it as soon as i’m done cooking and LOVING it, shit fighting over it because i didn’t make a lot cuz it’s new ... lol.  i miss having family parties ... i miss it all

9. game night

we don’t have a particular routine ... i just know that when we break out game boards or cards or mahjong ... we are fucking go at it. i don’t care if you are mom ... or boy ... or hoosband.  i know, that we all want to fucking win. LMAO.  we are competitive as fuck.  and maybe if mom and dad knew how to play video games on the computer ... they might be as addicted as we are.  we got it from them lol.  doesn’t even have to be with family, but don’t trust no one when family is playing uno.  and well when tony and kel come over, we all are just trying to fuck each other over lol. it’s FUN! 

10. doing everyday shit with hoosband

he’s my best friend.  we could be watching youtube videos and it would be fun.  couch shopping 2 weekends in a row ... exhausting ... frustrating ... but fun.  night fishing in lake geneva ... cold and scary ... but fun.  how can you not have fun with your best friend?  i may not be the best at showing it, and sometimes when you say the words repeatedly it may lose meaning and it just becomes a habit, but it’s true.  everyday, in almost every way, even when we wanna slap each other silly, and piss each other off on purpose ... i love you.  i really really fucking do.  thank you for loving me and putting up with me for so long ... it’s been ... 9 years?  and it’s flying by.  but 9 years is nothing compared to the rest of our lives.  let’s do this ... 

[jmuo-blog]

New Post has been published on https://jmuo.com/what-were-cooking-this-fathers-day/

What We're Cooking This Father's Day

amzn_assoc_placement = "adunit0"; amzn_assoc_tracking_id = "fresh17-20"; amzn_assoc_ad_mode = "search"; amzn_assoc_ad_type = "smart"; amzn_assoc_marketplace = "amazon"; amzn_assoc_region = "US"; amzn_assoc_title = "Shop Related Products"; amzn_assoc_default_search_phrase = "cooking"; amzn_assoc_default_category = "Kitchen"; amzn_assoc_linkid = "51fe4d035c7af8dc5928e6f5e5b79c4e"; amzn_assoc_default_browse_node = "284507"; amzn_assoc_rows = "4"; amzn_assoc_design = "text_links";

[Photographs: Vicky Wasik, unless otherwise noted]

Father’s Day is many things—some of them sweet and sentimental, yes, but accompanied by a fair number of holy-crap-what-do-I-DO anxieties. I’m the only child of divorced parents, so making Father’s Day a special occasion falls squarely on my shoulders. And, let me tell you, Atlas ain’t got nothin’ on me. First of all, my dad’s birthday consistently falls in the same week as Father’s Day. Considering that he’s hard to shop for to begin with,* finding a way to treat him not once but twice in the space of a single week can be an overwhelming prospect. Which is why I try to go all out and whip up a master meal as a gift unto itself.

* If you’re having similar struggles, you may want to check out our Father’s Day gift guide.

I asked the rest of the Serious Eats team to share what they’ll be making for their fathers this year, and what I got was a pretty impressive array of options. Come Sunday, I know I’ll be putting more than a few of these recipes to good use, from a towering devil’s food cake to crispy risotto pancakes.

Papri Chaat

For as long as I can remember, the first thing my dad did after coming home from work, even before kicking off his shoes, was to throw together a quick chaat. It’d be a pretty impromptu endeavor; he’d toss in cereals and crushed-up tortilla chips, along with some fresh aromatics and herbs. His chaat changed day to day and depended on whatever was in the pantry. For Father’s Day, I’d like to make him a real-deal, homemade papri chaat. It’s a whopper of a recipe, with two chutneys, two fried things, and, of course, a chaat masala made with a laundry list of ingredients. But I think nothing would make him happier than an upgrade to his post-work snack. (Yes, my dad works on Sundays.) —Sohla El-Waylly, assistant culinary editor

Choucroute Garnie

One of the dishes my dad would make from time to time when I was a kid was a pot of sauerkraut cooked with pork chops. His dad grew up an orphan in Germany during World War I, wandering the streets barefoot and collecting scrap metal to sell for a few coins. When he emigrated to the United States as a 13-year-old, he brought very little of his early German life with him—understandably, the pressures to assimilate and leave behind any trace of being German were strong during that period. His habit of eating pork and kraut was one of the few traditions that survived. Sure, choucroute is technically French, hailing from Alsace, and sure, June isn’t the best time for such hearty fare, but it’s the most glorious version of that meat-and-cabbage combination I’ve ever tasted, and I think my dad would agree. —Daniel Gritzer, managing culinary director

Devil’s Food Cake

Back around Mother’s Day, I went on at length about the balanced, nourishing, vegetable-heavy dishes I like to make, or imagine making, for my recently vegan mom. With my dad, whom I actually may be cooking for IRL this Father’s Day, that’s all out the window. In food as in few other aspects of his life, my dad has a weakness for the rich (German chocolate, bacon, lasagna) that’s matched only by his love of the over-the-top (unreasonably hot chili peppers, perilously strong coffee, the brightest of all bright-orange cheese puffs). And moderation isn’t his strong suit: My dad is the sort of guy you could imagine eating so much that he pukes. Okay, maybe not these days, but I’m just positive this happened when he was a kid.

Of all the dessert recipes we have that could stand up to such an appetite, the devil’s food cake that originally appeared in Stella’s book is the most likely candidate. I’ve never made it before, but the combination of Dutch cocoa, chopped dark chocolate, brewed coffee, and a whole mess of butter—along with Vicky’s photos of those dark, brooding layers sandwiching fluffy chocolate buttercream—is enough to sell me. The biggest challenge won’t be making sure I have the right equipment on hand or that it’s cool enough in my parents’ Mississippi kitchen for the buttercream, but keeping my dad from stealing chunks of cake and spoonfuls of frosting while I work. —Miranda Kaplan, editor

Hi, my name is Tim, and my dad is a chocoholic. Think party-size bags of M&M’s at every gathering and Max Brenner sampler packs for Christmas. So this is really a no-brainer: three layers of dark, rich chocolate cake, smothered with a generous helping of chocolate Swiss buttercream, topped off with chocolate cookie crumbs. Plus, dark chocolate is good for Pops’ blood pressure, right? RIGHT?! We’ll keep telling ourselves that as we go back for seconds and thirds. —Tim Aikens, front-end developer

Extra-Crispy Fried Chicken and Buttermilk Vanilla Waffles

My dad isn’t much of a cook, but he is a great cheerleader. Ever since I started cooking, back when I was a kid, he’s been the ultimate taste-tester, a finely tuned human smoke alarm—his acute sense of smell detects the slightest hint of overdoneness well before the timer has gone off—and an inquisitive observer. He’s deeply interested in the hows and whys of recipe alchemy and history—sometimes to my chagrin when I’m elbow-deep in a marinade, peering over my shoulder to gauge if the butter on the stove is more nut brown than golden brown, and trying to remember to stop the stand mixer whirring on the counter before those soft-whipped peaks pass the point of no return.

Process and context have always been as important to him as the result, something that translates seamlessly from food to life and back again. Pairing Sohla’s honey butter–doused fried chicken with Stella’s buttermilk waffles would be the perfect multi-component project. Not only would the combo satiate his sweet tooth, it’d also hit that perfectly indulgent craving for pure fried goodness. They’re recipes I could tackle in parts throughout a weekend, with plenty of opportunities for him to sporadically poke his head into the kitchen for taste tests and long, spirited conversations that spin off in a dozen different directions. It’s rare that we get the time to do such things anymore, and, as a bonus, we’d get some stellar fried chicken and waffles out of it, too. Win-win-win. —Marissa Chen, office manager

French Onion Soup

My dad once, rather infamously, spent a great deal of time and money attempting to make a very fancy French onion soup. Unfortunately, the return on investment was pretty dismal, and we haven’t made French onion soup since. He still orders it whenever it’s on a menu, though, and waxes poetic on every caramelized, cheesy, toasty bite. One recipe that delivers all the hits and definitely won’t fail is Daniel’s French onion soup: It’s easy, relatively quick, and once we’ve made it together, my dad will be able to replicate it whenever a craving strikes. —Kristina Bornholtz, social media editor

Fresh and Creamy Lime Pie

My dad is decidedly Team Pie, and in the realm of pie, he’s particularly fond of meringue (although he wouldn’t turn his nose up at cherry or blueberry, either). To balance out the potential heaviness that often goes hand in hand with family cookouts, I’ll be serving up this light and fresh lime pie—seasonality be damned. It’s as cold and refreshing as a glass of limeade, and the perfect palate cleanser to end a summer meal. —Stella Parks, pastry wizard

A Thai Feast

[Photograph: J. Kenji López-Alt]

My dad lives across the continent from me, so I’m pretty sure I won’t be cooking anything for him this Father’s Day, but if I were, I’d make a spread of Thai food (one of his two favorite cuisines). I’d start with this Spicy Chicken, Banana Blossom, and Herb Salad, packed with fried alliums and coconut. (You can sometimes find banana blossoms in Asian or Indian markets, but this salad will work just fine with shredded cabbage in their place.) Then I’d move on to some Pork Larb (a sweet and hot meaty salad flavored with toasted rice) and Phat Bai Horapha (stir-fried beef flavored with chilies and basil). Fred’s not so into rice, but I’d still whip up a batch of this easy Crab Fried Rice, if only for my own sake. It’s Father’s Day for me, too, after all. —J. Kenji López-Alt, chief culinary consultant

Crown Roast of Lamb

My dad is an incredible cook, and he always pulls out the stops when he has me over for dinner—I’m talking Moroccan pastilla, osso buco, vitello tonnato, and many other trademark concoctions. So I’m always on the lookout for new special-occasion dishes I can make to return the favor. This Father’s Day, I’m turning to a recipe I’ve had my eye on for years: Daniel’s crown roast of lamb, which is filled with a couscous stuffing and topped with a bright pistachio-mint sauce. It checks off all the boxes: some of my dad’s favorite ingredients, a stunning presentation, and guaranteed delicious results. —Niki Achitoff-Gray, executive managing editor

Risotto al Salto and Chili Crisp

My father and I have a somewhat contentious culinary relationship, in large part because, while he loves Serious Eats and makes our recipes regularly, he doesn’t ever seem to follow the instructions. It isn’t laziness, nor is it absent-mindedness; it’s usually because he thinks he knows better. Which is why I always dread receiving the email each week in which he announces his intention to make some new recipe or another. I can generally tell whether or not he’ll be successful, and it often has to do with how much attention to detail a recipe requires.

Case in point: Daniel’s risotto al salto, which, while straightforward enough, does require a little fussiness; you need to rotate the rice pancake in the pan to ensure even browning, and Daniel takes great pains to point out that flipping the thing is a relatively tricky endeavor. Of course, my father made his attempt, using risotto with rather large pieces of sausage in it (which, I SHOULD NOTE, Daniel specifically says to avoid the first time out), and sent me a picture of his failure, including the entirely unnecessary message “This recipe did not work for me.” Anyway, if I were making him a Father’s Day dinner, I’d make the flippin’ pancake, and I’d serve it alongside some of Sohla’s chili crisp, since my father has asked me why anyone would make it when you can buy the stuff in the jar at your local Chinese market. Because it’s better, Dad! —Sho Spaeth, features editor

Singaporean Chili Crab

When I was young, having crab at home was a treat, but still cheaper than eating it at a restaurant. I have memories of cautiously peering into the sink as my father handled the pinching crustaceans with force and speed. He’d stir-fry them Cantonese-style, or simply steam them with soy sauce on the side. This Father’s Day, it’ll be my first time making a crab dish (yikes!). But with a Serious Eats recipe and my dad’s guidance, I’m confident this Singaporean Chili Crab will be a hit. —Vivian Kong, product designer

Skillet Chocolate Cake

My dad loves chocolate cake. (It’s a love I have very much inherited.) For Father’s Day, I’ll be treating him to Stella’s skillet chocolate cake: The ganache frosting is super luscious and rich, and the cake (typical of Stella’s recipes) is perfectly moist and deeply chocolaty. And in the future, he can make this recipe for himself without much trouble. He already has the cast iron pan, and the whole thing comes together right in it. I can only hope that he’ll think to return the favor and make it for my birthday. —Ariel Kanter, marketing director

amzn_assoc_placement = "adunit0"; amzn_assoc_search_bar = "true"; amzn_assoc_search_bar_position = "bottom"; amzn_assoc_tracking_id = "fresh17-20"; amzn_assoc_ad_mode = "search"; amzn_assoc_ad_type = "smart"; amzn_assoc_marketplace = "amazon"; amzn_assoc_region = "US"; amzn_assoc_title = "Shop Related Products"; amzn_assoc_default_search_phrase = "cookware"; amzn_assoc_default_category = "All"; amzn_assoc_linkid = "b45319dac495d29e17b5eff312392025"; Source link