#i love the rendering so much looks crispy

[windvexer]

hey!! Your blog is really cool and has a ton of great info. I love the way you talk about things :)

Just wondering, I’ve been having a really hard time trying to control my brain. Been bad recently. Just a lot of accidental telepathy and silly brain things that I don’t quite have a grip on.

I like all the power, don’t get me wrong, but it’s just a lot to deal with day to day. Do you have any tips on how I could put a handle on it? Even just a little

Thanks^^

Hello!

Lee Morgan said it well (I'm sure it was his book), albeit in reference to witchcraft, that practicing is like a fire that burns away your fat. Like, we're all slabs of bacon and we can throw ourselves on the skillet to cook. Using your skills is exposing yourself to the raw flame of the Other.

And we can render out very nicely and produce something lovely.

But, also, when your "protective layer" is burned away, then problems start. Then the fire starts licking your brain directly.

And that's not good.

So really you've got to take breaks. People don't want to, because it's lots of fun to practice and they get enamored with how their brain pops and sizzles when held directly over the firepit.

But you have to take breaks. And I don't mean fifteen minutes a day of not-practice. I mean, days off. Weeks off. A season off - or two, if you've really gone overboard.

Imagine that your craft is a fireplace, and every time you intentionally practice you are laying another stick of wood on the fire. And that fire is getting bigger and bigger. And if you keep going, your house is going to be too hot to stay in.

The house is your self. You cannot leave.

But even when you stop putting wood on the fire, well - you've still got a raging fire! It's going to have to burn itself out and calm itself down. And that process is not a few minutes of deep breathing. That process is waiting. Days, weeks, seasons. You have to let it cool down.

So you have to look yourself in the eye and say, "is my house getting too hot? Can I really afford to keep putting wood on this fire?"

And besides, you're never going to be able to sweep out your fireplace and clean your chimney while the fire is still going, but that's a metaphor for another time.

During one long period of my life I had been going through Too Much Input, and all these things were happening to me and around me that was a lot to deal with, on a day to day basis. My boyfriend is quite wise in the ways of wizardry, so I asked him how he handles it. How do you handle all these things you can perceive and know?

And he shrugged and said, "ignore it."

I was gobsmacked! Ignore it? Just pretend it isn't happening and get on with my day?

Well he was right, wasn't he. That's a crispy looking psychic stick, sun-dried and well aged. I'm just meant to ignore it? I'm not supposed to snap it up like a rowdy dog and drop it directly onto the bonfire of my mind?

I'm meant to just walk the trail without grabbing every single piece of kindling I can stuff in my mouth?!

How else will I burn my house down??

So another thing is, you can't let yourself chase after it all like a Golden Retriever after tennis balls.

There will always be another message, another snippit, another tidbit, another spirit.

You've got to learn to let them go past you, like you're in a Ghibli movie on a sun-lit hill on a cloudy day, watching cars far below you on the freeway.

It's a freeway. There will always be more cars. Let them go. Let them go before your house burns down.

"What about such-and-such psychic technique for turning off power?"

Oh, sure. There are plenty. Imagine a valve closing. An amulet to limit sensing. Shielding techniques.

The danged heck of it is, such-and-such techniques are tinder. More psychism to stop psychism is just fire on fire.

They're good tricks to know. They're the equivalent of an iron shield to dissipate heat, or building a flue to control the air, or wearing fire-resistant clothing.

But they don't put the fire out, do they.

One day, when your fire is not making your house too hot, perhaps you'd really benefit from knowing such-and-such techniques to more expertly control your hearth.

Let it cool down. Sweep the ashes out. Check your chimney. Do not be afraid of never being able to light the fire again.

Lighting it is easy. Putting it out is the hard part.

Strive to find balance. Some people like a huge bonfire once a month. Other people have tiny little fires to warm their feet that they keep going constantly. Others never let the coals get cold, and only stoke them for mealtimes.

Figure out what you need to make your house a home. Figure out how often to feed the fire to make meals for yourself and your friends, to keep the house warm, to make it a lovely place.

Learn how to let it die down. Do not chase after all shiny things. Learn as many such-and-such techniques as you like, as long as you understand they're fire too.

[contentment-of-cats]

Just give me the coffee, I will do the rest.

Loki is settling in. Mostly, he wants to eat and sleep. The few times I have let him out of the Borg Cube, he's been out for 10 minutes, gets overstimulated, and runs back to his Safe Place. Right now he is learning how to play with toys, and loves his scratching posts and pads. He's been through so much. I have asked that the ex get a visit from his karma.

Unpleasant Subject Ahead

Another thing that this whole thing has driven home is how important it is to get your affairs in order - even if you don't have cancer. Loki's mom was getting a divorce and fell so ill so fast that she was unable to make her own medical decisions within days of admission. Even if you are getting a divorce, even with an actual protective order, your spouse is still the legal default person to make decisions for you. They are your legal heir. If you don't have a legal spouse (marriage certificate), it's your adult children, if you have no kids then your parents make those decisions even if you're a legal adult. If you have no immediate family, then your extended family gets called in.

Power of attorney legal and medical

Will for personal property

Living trust for investments and real estate

Medical orders (supersede those of the POA) such as Do Not Resuscitate

A health care directive like this one.

It's hard to think about, but when your surviving extended family is a mess (like mine) you want these things in order. Hell, have them notarized so that a judge can look at the plaintiff and say, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Golden Treadmill

I'm strapping myself in with another 'write to spec' contract. Yep, it's more porn. I negotiated for one every six weeks from February to November. I need to visit Amazon and stock up on barf bags and brain bleach. I did say that I won't write noncon or (yes, this is a thing) racist tropes. It's hard for me to write hardcore body horror. I might be writing horrible porn in order to pay off my medical bills that makes my pussy slam shut like an angry clam, but I have standards. That being said, the editor delivered the advance to my freelance bank account and the outline to my inbox.

Whoo boy.

In my defense, I did not know that 'monster fucking' was commercially viable.

Cat in the Kitchen

Rediscovering food has been a wonder. As promised, my rearranged innards make it trial and error, but the errors seem to be self-correcting. Gut flora does come back, but I have not been brave enough to venture into my spicy Indian, Chinese, and Mexican foods.

I've been making casseroles/hotdish because they freeze well and sometimes the fatigue renders me incapable of anything other than pushing a button.

For casseroles/hotdish you need:

Vegetables: Frozen works fine. Canned is saltier, so if you go canned use 'less salt' brands. If you are using mushrooms, frozen, fresh or dried is best. I find canned mushrooms have a very weird metallic taste.

Starch: Potatoes, rice, pasta/noodles, bread. Yes, tater tots count.

Protein: Can be vegetable protein, beans, canned tuna or salmon, or meat. Smoked salmon is delicious in casseroles and soup, so I go to my local deli on Friday to get lox ends and trimmings.

Sauce: Canned soups (cream of ____), jarred or canned pasta sauce, or packaged cooking sauces and gravies.

Topping: Cornflakes, tater tots, cheese, potato chips, stuffing, etc.

Flavor: Dried herbs, onion and celery, garlic, spices.

Slowcooker meals are great, too, and follow the same rules as casseroles/hotdish. But my favorite caserole dish is my Gran's Lancashire hotpot - lamb neck chops, potatoes, onions, and more sliced potatoes on top for a crispy lid.

Back to work.

[whinlatter]

Hello,

(Apologies in advance for my poor English - it's my third language) I want to say how excellent your stories are, particularly Orchards and Beasts. They're both favorites of mine and I reread them often. You're so skilled at writing emotional moments - it's like Ginny's and Harry's (and Hermione's, Ron's, Bea's ect) emotional states come off the page and into life!

<He looks down at his plate and is surprised to see four immaculately crispy roast potatoes, truly world-class crispiness, O, outstanding>

^^ Insane - in a positive way - for you to write that segment.

I also have a question, if you don't mind. I'm not new to writing fanfic, and I've had serious relationships, but I have never been in love (Thank you, Catholic parents and Catholic country, for preventing me from discovering my true sexuality until the age of 26 🙄). Cause of that, I'm struggling to show characters falling in love in my own works. How did you represent the process of Harry falling in love in Orchards so truthfully? I understand this process changes between people, but there must be some things shared? Many thanks!

Really, really treasure this message — thank you so much, anon 💌

Have been mulling over your extremely kind and incredibly interesting question ever since you sent this, and trying to think of a response that is better than ‘I’m extremely honoured you think I managed it but I mostly just winged it and worried about it and hoped other people thought I’d got enough of it right’, which was honestly my first thought (other than yes! for sexuality discovery, especially under adverse and/or hostile circumstances — you’re a boss, and I wish you only good things, including tons of love in the form that you seek it).

The thought I’ve settled on is that I absolutely don’t think you have to have been in love to write about falling in love. Works of art that I love that depict falling in love, or any kind of emotional arc that feels true, feel that way not necessarily because the authors lived them themselves, but because a) the authors saw the characters involved very clearly and deeply and rendered those characters shrewdly, and b) because they didn’t claim to be depicting something universal (‘this is what falling in love looks like’), but instead let the love story or whatever other emotional arc between characters be extremely partial, individual and particular (‘this is what this very particular example of falling in love might look like’). I feel wildly unqualified to be discussing this, but I’ve tried to think through some of these ideas in a little more depth below and hope some part of it is helpful to you for your own writing, (which I know will be good because good writing comes from people who care about trying to get it right). It’s waffle because I don’t know what I’m talking about! But hope there’s something in the waffle that means something to you!

It’s true that there’s a lot of power in people telling stories about or based on their own experiences of living in and moving through the world. Writers writers put themselves into their work, both consciously and subconsciously, every time they write, and the results can be very compelling. It’s also true that people writing about things they have no knowledge or experience of can go horribly wrong (and, in the case of depictions of marginalised and dispossessed groups by people who do not belong to a marginalised or dispossessed group, can be wildly offensive). If the aim of writing is to make things that feel true, drawing on personal experiences can be a powerful way of making art that does just that.

Equally, though, lots of people have been in love and would do (or have done) a horrible job of rendering it in art. People don’t always see themselves that clearly, especially their own experiences of romantic love! And lots of people haven’t been in love (or at least, haven’t felt or received romantic love either by choice or by circumstance), and yet can still write a story of people falling in love that will feel true to readers. I say this because I think sometimes we mistake the liberating potential of sharing our experiences of the world as being the only way to truth, when actually most people writing fiction are writing things that haven’t happened to them all the time — yet there still tends to be all this stuff that feels true and real around that must feel that way for reasons other than personal experience.

I actively draw on some of my life experiences in my writing. How I see the world shapes the work I produce in ways I probably don’t see all that clearly. I also write stories about experiences I haven’t had. I can’t say there aren’t elements of my real-life experience of romantic love folded into Orchards, because there absolutely are. But my experiences of falling in love are partial and particular to me, and I’ve never been a traumatised, griefstricken, obtuse (sorry, Harry) teenage boy falling in love, which is what Orchards is about. Part of the fun of writing Orchards was imagining how a character who is so very different to me could possibly develop the strength of the feelings Harry develops for Ginny in canon and not notice. I found it much less useful to think about my own experiences of falling in love than trying to think specifically about what fifteen-turning-sixteen year old Harry looks for in people he is drawn to (eg. compassion, loyalty, deep mutual understanding, a sense of emotional shelter), what he finds sexually attractive (humour, daring, athleticism, bangin’ hair, frankly) and also what he searches for in life as a character (family, permanence, futures).

Another example is that I also write a lot these days about grief and grieving. I’ve been very lucky in my life (touch wood) that I haven’t yet had much experience of really deep grief for someone very close to me. I worry about rendering that truthfully in my work, and am trying to do the work to approach writing about those topics by reading a lot of other people’s works, fiction or nonfiction, about them, and trying to hear the people around me who have experienced huge grief when they describe what it is to live with it. Would I do a better job of writing what it feels like to grieve someone close to you if I’d experienced that? It’s very likely. But it felt less truthful to the stories I’m trying to tell in the fanfiction I’m writing to avoid that topic because I don’t share the experience of it with the characters, so doing the work it is.

The thing I think it boils down to is it’s more important to try and see people and their stories clearly, and to understand what is individual and specific about them, than it is to have had some dubiously universal experience of falling in love. I think it’s much more important to do other (quieter, harder, more underrated, boring, crucial) things like be empathetic, be interested in trying to understand who people are: their influences, their worldview, their fears, their way of conceptualising and expressing themselves, their hopes and fears and capacity for change. For what it’s worth, if you’ve had any kind of meaningful relationship with another human being, I reckon you can draw on that to write about being in love. Making characters’ emotional arcs feel true as a writer, including but not limited to them falling in love, is about working hard to see people for who you they are, and that’s the basis for having any kind of good relationship with another human being, including platonic and romantic relationships: empathy, selflessness, generosity of interest in all that a person is, seeing a person clearly, not idealising them but admiring some parts of them and accepting the others without judgement. We definitely reify romantic love at the expense of platonic love, even though the latter demands all of these things just as much, if not more, than romantic love, and I think you should trust yourself that you probably have it in you to write and render these stories well if you come from a place of humility, empathy and deep care and investment in the characters whose stories you tell.

[thana-topsy]

Love the OC questions, how about some for you! Either 7 or 8, these were interesting

No OC specifications, so I'm picking the Hollow Men cast to answer!

Do they regret journeying to Skyrim? Or, if they were born in Skyrim, do they wish they could leave?

Corimir:

"In a sense, yes, I regret journeying to Skyrim, and yet I do not. I can't deny that there are days when I wish that I had never left Summerset. I have experienced deep, suffocating regret over many of my choices, or choices that were taken from me. But, in another sense, had I not come to Skyrim, I might have never met two of the most important people in my life. I think there will always be a give-and-take. I'm still learning to reconcile the good parts with... everything else."

Elanwe:

"Never. How could I even begin to regret something like that? If nothing else, I loved my years at the Bards College and wouldn't trade them for anything. And even though my life is... far more complex, now, than I could have ever imagined, I can't say that I regret a thing."

Gwilin:

"Absolutely not! Skyrim is full of beautiful people and places and experiences. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't decided to move to Skyrim. Now, I don't know if I'll spend the rest of my days here, but I'm certainly enjoying this part of my life's journey."

What is their favorite kind of food that can only be found in Skyrim?

Corimir:

"Only found in Skyrim? I don't think I have anything specific that comes to mind. I always look forward to Gwilin's meals, but I don't think Skyrim has anything to do with that."

Elanwe:

"Snowberry crostatas. Yes, I know, you can probably get them elsewhere, but the fresh snowberries make a difference, and they don't grow many places outside of Skyrim."

Gwilin:

"Oh, goodness, how could I pick? There's so much good food here. I love a good, hearty stew. Hmm... maybe fingerling potatoes rendered in duck fat, a nice slaughterfish with a crispy sear from a well-seasoned pan. What else, let me think... Oh! Not for the faint of palate, but fermented horker fat! It absolutely melts in your mouth. A little salt and it's a divine experience, trust me."

[mitchamsocialuser]

Pancetta Dish

When you want to add a bit of extra flavor to a weeknight dinner, look no further than pancetta. It’s salty, savory and a delicious addition to a number of dishes, from pasta to breakfast quiche.

Like prosciutto, pancetta is air-dried and fully cured, but it’s not smoked. It’s sold in slabs or cut into pieces that can be fried, sliced or used for pizza topping.

Cooking Tips

Pancetta is a delicious addition to a variety of dishes. It has a flavor that’s somewhat similar to bacon, but not as smoky. It can be used in many dishes, including soups, omelets, and even broth.

It’s a versatile ingredient that can take your cooking to the next level. You can use it to make a simple breakfast quiche or add it to your favorite pasta dish, and more.

To cook sliced or cubed pancetta, you’ll need to render out as much of the fat as possible on a lower heat setting so that it crisps without burning. This doesn’t take long, but you should use your eyes and nose to know when it’s done just right.

A common method for preparing pancetta is to cook it on the stovetop. You can also bake it in the oven if you prefer.

Another way to prepare pancetta is by rolling it. This technique enables the pork belly to retain moisture longer during the curing process.

The rolled version is a little more complicated, so be sure to roll it as tightly as you can and truss it well. Any remaining air pockets will spoil the meat.

Hanging flat pancetta for aging is a good option if your aging space is humid enough to prevent case hardening. You can use either meat hooks or a loop of butcher’s twine to hold the meat in place.

Ingredients

A simple yet satisfying pasta dish that’s perfect for a weeknight meal or a special dinner. This dish features al dente spaghetti, kale, and pancetta that’s tossed with heavy cream and lemon juice. It’s sure to impress your family and friends.

Pancetta is a salt-cured pork belly that has a great flavor and texture. It’s often used in carbonara and other pasta dishes to add depth and texture to the dish.

It’s easy to make at home and can be stored in the freezer once it has cured. It’s also a great recipe to start with when you are learning to preserve meat.

When preparing your own cured meats, it’s important to take the time and make sure you do it right. Bacteria can be deadly if you don’t cure meat correctly, so it’s best to start with salami and then move onto charcuterie — whole muscle cures like spallas, prosciutto, duck bresaola, pancetta and filetto.

The first step to making your own pancetta is to buy a sustainably raised fresh pork belly. I suggest buying it from a company that supports heritage breeds and focuses on raising it in a way that minimizes environmental impact.

Preparation

Pancetta is salt cured and often spiced, making it an ideal addition to risottos, stews and soups. It is served sliced, cubed or in thin strips, depending on the recipe.

You can make your own pancetta with a few simple ingredients like pork belly and salt. It takes less than an hour to cook and can be re-used over and over again.

Another great option is prosciutto, which is made from the back leg of a pig and cured in about one year. It’s very soft, smooth and buttery with a strong salty flavor that works perfectly in this dish.

This dish also uses roasted garlic, which you can roast ahead of time for added flavor and texture. You can use a variety of garlic for this dish, including green or white bulbs.

It’s important to not over-cure pancetta, as it can dry out quickly and develop mold. If you spot any mold on the surface, wipe with a clean cloth dipped in vinegar.

Whether you choose to use slab or sliced pancetta, you’ll love the salty depth of flavor this artisan meat adds to your dishes. You can use it to top grilled chicken or shrimp, add a crispy edge to a pan of fried potatoes, or toss with pasta to create a simple yet decadent dish.

[enterunderscore]

Could you tell more about how you recreated the PlayStation 2 start up animation? In particular I’m wondering about the motion blur, aliasing, and other PS2 specific rendering quirks. Thanks <3

gladly! actually most of that stuff is done in blender’s compositor! i can break it down for you.

early game console motion blur was not true motion blur -- that is, the physical simulation of a camera shutter being open for too long while something is moving. to do this today, the renderer takes note of the location of every vertex in the scene during the last frame, and compares those locations to the current frame. then it will take those positional differences (sometimes creating a few extra “steps” in between those two positions for extra data) and create a blur between them, achieving this:

the PS2 (and the other consoles at the time) was a graphical powerhouse compared to its predecessor, and thanks to new rendering techniques, was able to sort of simulate motion blur without the full cost of actually simulating motion blur, like we do today.

to do this, there was a technique often referred to as “color accumulation blur”, where the last 2 or 3 frames were simply overlaid on top of the current frame at a lower opacity. it cost next to nothing, reduced aliasing (or jaggies) on some edges, and for the time was a pretty convincing full-screen motion blur effect—at the expense of it looking like “ghosting” or “afterimages”:

now, without doing some crazy render layer trickery, blender doesn’t necessarily have the compositing tools to do this exact effect (at least to my knowledge, i’m not a wizard or anything), but it’s very convenient that during the PS2 boot animation, the camera moves smoothly forwards in a single direction. 

we can't use blender's default motion blur feature for this effect, because it'll actually be high quality motion blur instead of the kind we want. blender just so happens to have a very nice feature in its compositor called directional blur.

here is first bit of the compositor node setup. here, i take the currently rendered frame, and pump it through a directional blur node, which will blur the frame outwards from the center. those “zoom” and “spin” sliders modify the intensity of the blur and the spin of the blur, and i animate those upwards as the camera gains speed towards the end of the animation. the iterations slider is what determines how many copies of the original image will be overlaid against each other to create the blur, and considering what we learned above, i set that to 2 so it looks nice and choppy.

after that, i hook up the original image and the new blurred image into an add node, adding them together!

this one's pretty simple. the PS2 typically rendered graphics at a resolution of 640x480 (it could do 240p and 480i, but for simplicity's sake i stuck with 480p). so in blender's render settings, i set the resolution to 480p.

anti-aliasing is a technique where you take a rendered image and through one technique or another, reduce the appearance of jagged edges on pixels—allowing the image to look smoother and cleaner.

the common anti-aliasing techniques of the time were extremely expensive especially for a console, so most titles didn't use it at all. this is why a lot of older games (and a lot of new ones too) can have graphics with pixelated shimmery edges. however we mostly had CRT TVs at the time back then, and CRTs are notoriously good at covering up aliasing.

blender, however, has anti-aliasing enabled by default. to fix this, we need to head over to the scene tab, and go to film > pixel filter.

blender's anti-aliasing method is called pixel filtering, and by default the "width" (strength) is set to 1.5px, which will sort of let each pixel affect the next half-pixel in all directions. it ends up looking like this:

don't worry i barely understand it either, we just need to turn it off. so i set the width to 0.01px, and bam! crispy jaggy aliasing.

finishing touches

finally, i had to give the render an old-school analog feel. the PS2 rendered digital images and sent them through a low-quality analog cable. that’s right, i’m talking about these bad boys:

since only one of these cables were used for sending a video signal, they had to send chroma (color information) and luma (brightness information) data through the same pipe... so naturally you’d get some crosstalk between the two, resulting in some odd looking color smearing: 

to achieve this in blender, we do some more compositing!

here, i am taking the frame with all effects applied up to this point, splitting it into its red, green, and blue color channels with a separate RGBA node, and then ever-so-slightly applying a blur to the blue and green channels before re-combining them back together with a combine RGBA node. it’s definitely not accurate to how chroma-luma crosstalk works in real life, but it’s good enough that the effect is convincing! (NOTE: for this screenshot i’ve dialed the blur way up to make it more apparent for this post—it’s much more subtle in my final render)

...aaaand that’s about it! 

there’s definitely a lot more at work here to make it PS2-authentic but those are the big ones! i also rendered the little colored balls of light as a separate render layer and added them on top of the frame, lowered the contrast a bit to look more like a recording of a real PS2, and turned off raytraced shadow casting.

here’s what the frame looks like before it hits the compositor:

and here it is after:

thank you for asking and thank you for reading! i love talking about this stuff.

[xeni-ya]

what program/brushes do you use for your art? I really love the texture of everything!

Hey anon! I'm not sure which art you are specifically referencing, but I migrate between Paint Tool SAI 2.0 and MS Paint, so here are my settings for both!

Paint Tool SAI 2.0

This is the one that I use to create oil-like, smooth, blended effect with sharp edges! Here are examples of what I mean:

To achieve this effect, I mainly use the following tools:

- Pencil: this is a sharp, opaque tool used for blocking in colour, adding sharper lines where needed and sketching.

- Brush: this is a no-texture round brush that I use to roughly blend the blocks of colour, the strokes that you make with it is what gives the rough, painterly look that you can see on two bottom left examples!

- Blender: I use this to smooth areas I would not be able to with the brush and when I go for a "glow" effect (like in the eyes of the middle bottom picture). I use this conservatively because this can give a "soapy" effect when overused, unless you are deliberately going for something like the top left example.

Here are the settings, however I often change these to suit my needs for a particular paintings and based on my mood. The key idea is that you have a solid, non-blendable brush and a hard-edge blendable one with which you smooth the edges:

MS Paint

This process is much simpler, but a bit more time consuming imo; it has a pixelated, sharp look to it, such as the examples below:

I really just use the pencil tool and a bucket tool to fill the larger areas! Maybe spraypaint one where needed, but all of the sparkles are done individually by hand! Here are the steps:

1. Sketch in what you need with the pencil tool, can be messy, the bucket tool will help us later ;).

2. Use the bucket tool to block in the colours in your sketch, make sure all of the edges are connected so it wouldn't fill in the unwanted areas.

3. Using a lot of strokes, use the pencil tool in a bigger size to roughly shade and highlight needed areas.

4. Refine with smaller pencil tool and a fuckton of little strokes to add crispy and 'detailed' texture! I recommend also using rendering techniques such as hatching and crosshatching or really any other rendering technique that can be used with a regular pen.

Sorry that this is so long, but hopefully I could help and you found the answers u were looking for! :B

[karmasuna]

》12.50 am

pairing; dabi x reader

genre; fluff

wordcount; 688

synopsis; “y/n and i are no longer friends.” “that’s a terrible way to announce that we’re dating.”

a/n; yes this is kind of ooc and yes i realize the quality of my writing is 📉😔 idk what i’m doing honestly

 “y/l/n, toga, dabi. you’re in charge of lookout this time.” 

the girl squeals in delight as shigaraki continues to rattle off the groups for the mission, clinging to your arm and going on about how much fun you would have spending time together. 

 “any questions.” red eyes flick around the room behind greasy locks, scanning the dimly lit room. 

 “i don’t want to be with that crazy bitch.” everyone’s attention turns to dabi, who’s glaring in your direction with a distasteful look. 

 “and by crazy bitch which one do you mean, exactly?” your leader retorts back, voice flat and completely unamused. spinner fights back a snicker, but quickly catches himself when both you and the scarred villain send him an icy glare, awkwardly trying to avoid any more eye contact with either of you. 

 toga frowns, latching onto you even tighter than before. “no one cares about your opinion, crispy man. y/n and i belong together forever, right?” cautiously you take a peek at said crispy man, trying to gauge his reaction before nodding, giving her a gentle pat on the head. “best friends,” you agree. 

 your heart’s racing from the very blatant affection you’re getting from the girl, trying not to worry about the consequences of being so touchy with someone else that wasn’t your boyfriend. 

 “you see, i’m not friends with y/n anymore,” he begins, folding his arms and leaning against a bar stool. 

 “good, then we can just be on lookout without you! ” toga doesn’t miss a single beat, grinning happily at the news. you swear you can feel the room heating up a few degrees, and a quick glance at him tells you that you should probably try to calm him down before the situation escalates even further. 

 “that’s a terrible way to say we’re dating.” you sigh, gently prying toga’s hand off you and smiling apologetically at her when she lets out a betrayed gasp. you move to stand next to dabi, who doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you smugly and press his lips to your temple, a silent thanks for being by his side. 

 “gross,” shigaraki scoffs quietly, but his comment is quickly overshadowed as twice bursts into tears, congratulating you through sobs. behind him spinner’s rendered speechless, still not having fully comprehended the fact that you were taken, by dabi of all people no less. 

 “so you don’t love me anymore?” toga’s face is eerily blank, devoid of emotion as she stares at you, waiting for an answer. 

 “of course not, himiko, you’ll always have a special place in my heart.” lowering your voice to a stage whisper for dramatic effect and giving her a reassuring smile, “i love you even more than dabi, but don’t let him know, yeah?”  

 “okay!” and with that you manage to avoid any hurt feelings. that is, if you ignore dabi’s tightening hold on your waist, worried that one day you’d leave him for someone who could give you a better life than the one you currently led, committing crimes and constantly having to escape the law. 

 “if you guys are done, let’s get going.” shigaraki’s already standing by the door, looking less than pleased that he’s being kept waiting. 

 “make toga do something else,” dabi states bluntly, hands sliding down to lace his fingers through yours as you head toward the door. “i don’t care about your petty beef or whatever. get your shit sorted out by the time we’re done with this mission, got it?”

 “you’re an asshole,” dabi retorts back. 

 “and this asshole is your boss, so shut it.” 

 you squeeze his hand, a reassuring gesture that prompted him to just drop the topic. “we both know you don’t hate her, so you might as well try and get on better terms,” he’s obviously not convinced so you continue, “ at least do it for me, alright? she’s important to me.”

 he’s at least considering the idea, that you’re thankful for. he’s still disappointed he can’t spend the night with only you, but he’ll make an exception this time.

 “fine, but only because you’re so pretty, doll.”

[halfway-happyyy]

Hold You in My Arms

AN: This is short ‘n sweet and soppy as hell, and inspired by this lovely little ask that I got a little while ago. Hope you lovelies enjoy. TW: pregnant reader, mentions of pregnancy.

It is late into the evening when Alexander arrives home and you do not really tend to sleep well when he is gone, so you are already awake when the sound of him creeping his way up the stairs finds you from your cocoon of blankets. He hesitates outside of the bedroom door, deciding whether he is going to risk rousing you from your already troubled slumber. You hear the creek of the opening door a second later, see the sliver of yellow hallway light spill open through the crack and smile softly to yourself. Alexander pads over to your closet, loosening the tie from the collar of his white, starched shirt as he does so. You can tell from the sound of his gate that he’s indulged in a few cocktails this evening; this being his first public event since the pandemic took hold, you aren't at all surprised. He removes the clothing wordlessly from his body, draping them over the chair in there, and disappears into the on-suite bathroom. A second later, the tap begins running and you hear him spit into the sink a couple times. He emerges a few minutes later, the waft of mint toothpaste hangs heavy in the air behind him. He sidles down in the bed beside you, and relief washes over your very being like a tidal wave. Alexander reaches for your hand beneath the covers and grasps it tightly; he’s surprised when you grasp it right back.

“You’re awake?” He asks, sleepily.

“Yes.”

Alexander turns to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he does so. “Mm, it’s good to be home kid.” Instinctively, his hands move to the curve of your burgeoning belly, where they caress the bump slowly growing there. “Hi baby,” He whispers.

It's the little things you'll miss the most when he's back on set.

He peppers gentle kisses around the hollow of your throat. "Is there anything I can get you?"

As if on queue, a ripple runs rigidly along the inside of your belly- featherlight, but definitely the product of a miniscule finger. “You know what I could go for right now?” you ask, and you can almost feel Alexander beam into the crook of your shoulder.

“What's that?”

You rub the roundness of your belly lovingly. "We would kill for a grilled cheese sandwich.”

Alexander lifts his head from your shoulder, expression amused. “You and our unborn child, hey?”

You nod sleepily. “With pitchforks and everything.”

Alexander lets a small puff of air escape his mouth in the shape of a low whistle. “I better get on it then, hey?”

You squeeze his hand gently. “I’ll come down and keep you company.”

Following him down the stairs to the darkened kitchen, you are in mild anticipation for the midnight snack you are about to recieve. Alexander is entirely too gifted a cook and can slap just about anything together, and have it be delicious. “How was your night?” You ask, stifling a yawn.

He sets a small frying pan atop the bottom right burner and heads to the fridge for the butter. “It was good to see everyone again,” He muses while the gas burner flickers to life. “I had forgotten how nice it felt to put on actual clothing and to just be in a completely different setting…” He cuts a large portion of butter from the block and drops it into the pan, the satisfying sizzle of it causes your mouth to water hungrily. “Quite a few people asked about you,” He murmurs as he slices two pieces of fresh, homemade sourdough bread. He sets the first piece into the pan of scorching butter and slices a few pieces of aged cheddar cheese, laying them on top of the crisping bread. He places the other piece of bread on top of the cheese and turns to you, a large smile in place on his face. “Not that I’m surprised in the slightest,”

“Surprised about what?”

Alexander shrugs. “That you were asked about multiple times this evening. You’re pretty fucking awesome.” It is never lost on you how loved he makes you feel; that someone could look at you the same way that he is looking at you now- that someone could love you enough to make you a grilled cheese sandwich at an ungodly hour of the evening, is still an insane notion. “Almost there, kid.” He announces a few moments later. You watch him in the golden light of the kitchen lamp, the way his hair is still done up and full of product from hours before. You notice the way the muscles in his back and shoulders ripple and flex as he flips the sandwich in the pan. His sweatpants, the ones he owns multiple pairs of and has only really worn them during quarantine, hang teasingly low on his hips. He reaches for the cupboard to his left and produces a plate, which he dumps the sandwich onto expertly. Next, he grabs the ketchup bottle from the fridge, squirts a large, squiggly heart next to the grilled cheese and places it gently on the placemat in front of you.

You peer down at the crispy, glistening masterpiece in front of you and rub a thumb over the back of Alexander's hand. "This smells amazing, thank you my love." It's quiet in the kitchen as you sink your teeth into your first bite of food. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you,” You throw a cheeky wink his way.

Alexander leans back in his chair, a small smile tugs at the edges of his lips as he shakes his head in mild disbelief. “Me neither, kid.” He cocks his head to the side, his face brimming now. “Quarantine has offered me so much time with you, and I feel like one of the luckiest men in the world.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I’m not exactly sure why!”

Alexander gestures to the clock above the stove. “It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning on a Sunday morning and I’ve just made the love of my life, who happens to be growing our baby in her belly, a grilled cheese sandwich.” His eyes are wide and glassy, his expression slightly incredulous. “For the first time in my life, I can say honestly that there is no place I would rather be than right here.”

You swallow the last bite of food in your mouth, and curse for the millionth time during your pregnancy, the hormones that have wreaked havoc on your already fragile emotional state. “Alex, I-

“I mean, I have been with you every step of the way for this new journey. I haven’t missed a single doctor’s appointment, or phone call… this is living, kid. This is it.” And there is really nothing you can say at this point because Alexander has succeeded once again, in rendering you utterly speechless. He takes the empty plate from you and deposits it into the sink with a dull thud and then turns and heads into the living room. You follow him wordlessly, watching with a small smile as he turns on the record player in the corner of the room, next to the bay window. Ray LaMontagne’s beautiful voice suddenly comes to life above the muted scratch of the needle. “Dance with me?” He asks, quietly.

“Of course,”

He holds you close to him, his warm hand rests easily against the small of your back, but your bump presses against his stomach and he can’t help but glance down and laugh a little. “Hi baby,” He murmurs, and it causes goosebumps to rise in patterns across your body.

“You’re going to be such a wonderful papa,” You whisper into the warmth of Alexander’s bare chest.

Alexander kisses the top of your head; lets his lips linger close as he speaks. “I can’t wait to meet them…”

You sway like that for what feels like hours, not at all aware of when the record finished. “Thanks for staying up past our bedtime with us, Alex.”

He beams down at you, and your breath hitches in your throat as you watch the way his blue orbs glitter wildly. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, humming contentedly to himself. “Kid, I’d stay up past your bedtime with you a million times if it meant that I got to slow dance with the two of you,” He splays a warm palm against your belly. “A million times, just to feel even an ounce of this happiness.”

It is the little things that you will miss the most; and right now, you are all too content to live in this moment with him forever.

[mm2305]

The anniversary

Fandom : Lucifer (tv series)

Warnings / words : none this is pure fluff / 2.1 k

Pairings : Lucifer Morningstar x Chloe Decker 

Disclaimer : none of these characters are mine ,rights to the rightful owners

Description :  After Lucifer's return from Hell, Chloe has made preparations for their six month anniversary as a couple.

Author’s note : Hello everyone! I wrote and posted this back in June but I just realised I only posted the link to the ao3 and never the fic itself! Better late than never right? English is not my first language so please be kind. Also a big thank you to my amazing beta @forever5hines  / @tossacointoyourmorningstar .

Enjoy!

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

It's funny how life turns out, isn't it? If someone had told Chloe 4 years ago that she would fall in love with that jerk, Lucifer Morningstar, she would have laughed in their faces. But here she is, shopping for their six month anniversary.

There were several obstacles in their way. The more they worked together, the more Chloe liked him. He had adopted the character of a playboy, a diva, but it wasn't exactly who he was. He was all these, but he was also smart, honest, respectful and supportive. He had a softer side which he chose to hide, in order not to get hurt. The only one who broke through his facade, was her. From then on, he did everything in his power to keep her safe. Dealt with Malcolm, his mom, his brother, Cain, went to Hell twice to save her.

When she learned the truth though,she ran and conspired with Kinley, tried to poison him. Betrayed him. Abandoned him. Even though they continued to work together after a while, nothing was the same anymore. She realized that she was in love with him and as  time went by, she accepted him too. All his sides. The good, the bad and the crispy.

He had to leave though. That night at the balcony she finally told him she loved him. Even though she begged him to stay, he left. It was partly her fault, because she brought Kinley to Los Angeles. Kinley then brought the demons up to Earth. She understood why he left. The demons had to be contained. And only Lucifer could do that.

Six months later, he came back, putting an end to both his and her misery. From then on, they began talking about their feelings and visited Linda a few times. In the end though, they decided to get into a relationship.

They were happier than ever before. Worked together, spent lots of time with each other, had dates. Of course, they had their problems too. Lucifer was still struggling to believe that there were people in his life who loved and appreciated him. To him, it seemed like a good dream, that's bound to end very soon. Chloe reassured him many times,but the feeling remained rooted deep in his heart. Chloe, on the other hand, was dealing with her own guilt. She tried to poison and hurt him. She wondered, even now, why the hell she tried to do that. What she also wondered, was if she was good enough for him. Chloe Decker, a human, a nobody , good enough for the Devil? The Lightbringer? They both had to work on their feelings, that's for sure.

At the moment, she is at a mall with Ella. It's their six month anniversary the next day and she had prepared a dinner at LUX for herself and Lucifer. For this reason, she wanted to get a new dress. Maze was babysitting Trixie and Linda had a therapy session scheduled for a patient. Only Ella was available. The problem is that they've been searching for hours and they've got nothing so far.

"Come on girl, tell me how's the relationship with the Devil going?", Ella inquired.

"It's been good. More than good, actually. He makes me very happy.", she replied smiling.

"I can see that. You're glowing Chloe. He is too. I've told you that I ship Deckerstar, haven't I?"

" Yes Ella. Many, many, many times.  Anyway, I'm telling you, if we don't find anything in the next 30 minutes, then I'm going to wear one of my own dresses. It's been 3 hours and we haven't found anything! " she complained pouting just a little.

" Oh shut up Decker. Look I found this. It's beautiful, isn't it? "

" Mmm… I'll try it. In fact that's the last I'm trying. Then I'm going home. " she said taking the dress from Ella.

When she came out Ella gasped in awe.

" Oh my God! You look gorgeous!", she commented  shocked.

"Really? ", asked Chloe turning around to look at herself in the mirror.

Ella has excellent taste , she thought. No one could deny that. This satin dress was simple but elegant. Not too formal, but still perfect for her purpose. It had a color almost identical to her eyes. Icy-blue. The fabric soft and feeling wonderful on her skin. The dress hugged her figure but it wasn't clingy. It reached to just a little more than her knee. It really was perfect for her.

"I'm getting this.", she decided after a few moments.

                                                 ***************

Lucifer loves speed. It makes him feel free and freedom and free will are things he has and will always stand up for. At the moment, he is racing through the highways of Los Angeles, in the comfort of his beloved, black Corvette,at high speed. The air landing on his face as he passes through the roads, the whole feeling of freedom, still seems incredible to him. That's one of the main reasons he bought a convertible. Something else he loves even more than this though, is his beloved Detective. Chloe. He's known her for years, and she wormed her way into his heart, since the first moment he met her. They've been through a lot. His mom, Cain, her leaving and coming back, and the most recent: him going back to Hell.

The night he left, when she told him she loved him, accepted him completely, he thought his heart would burst out of his chest. Seeing his Detective's tears and pleads for him to stay, broke his heart in a thousand little pieces. However he couldn't risk the safety of his friends and the family he had here. When the problems in Hell were resolved, he came back. Doctor Linda helped him a lot after that. Chloe too. For him it was much much more that six months down there. In the end though, they managed.

Tomorrow is their six month anniversary. He got her a ring. Not an engagement ring. A promise for the future. That he'll always be by her side no matter what. Love her, protect her. Anything she needs,anything she desires. The stone was the exact color of her lovely eyes. A favor called in here and there, helped him achieve his goal.

After a few more minutes going around, he set for LUX. He had a few matters to attend to and he was needed there. He'd meet his Detective tomorrow.

                       *******

When Chloe came back from her shopping spree (she ended up getting a pair of short-heeled shoes, in the same color as the dress), she was exhausted. After taking a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she proceeded to hog the bed, like someone once told her.

Chloe woke up with a smile the next day. Checked if things were going well, ate breakfast, spent some time with Trixie. Then she started getting ready. Followed her skin care routine - the results were amazing, soft skin and all -, showered and shaved thoroughly. Then she dried her hair and styled it into waves. Afterwards, she did her makeup. Simple, not heavy, in light colors. Lastly she put on her dress and shoes. I do look pretty good, she thought while looking at herself one last time at the mirror. She took Lucifer's present with her, too.

One of the very few things she had left from her father were his cufflinks. She wanted to give them to him. Not even Dan knew about their existence. She had gone to a jewelry store to get something extra etched on them. She added an 'M' in the outside and a 'C' on the inside. In this way she wanted him to understand, how much he meant to her. With the 'M' they would become his own , while with the 'C' she wanted him to have a part of her with him. Will he like them though?, she wondered anxiously. To her it was something important, but could that measure up to the person who created the stars? Come on Chloe, relax. It's going to be alright. With that she went out of her house, to get to LUX.

                                                    *************

Everything was ready. Lucifer's favorite dishes were ready to be served. The candles around, check. The DJ ready to play a special song for tonight, check. Comfortable, low lighting, check. Lucifer…check.

They both gasped at the sight of the other. Lucifer was wearing a black tuxedo, with a white shirt and a red handkerchief. He looked sharp and  very handsome. Chloe was wearing her new dress, looking absolutely gorgeous.

"Darling, you look exquisite," said Lucifer with adoration.

"I could say the same for you too, Lucifer", replied Chloe with a radiant smile.

"How about we sit down babe?"

"Of course, my dear."

After sitting down and getting their food, they made a toast.

" To us. May this be the first anniversary of many more to come"

" To us, love." he replied with a clink of their wine glasses.

They talked about the future, laughed about Trixie's adventures at school and when they finished their dessert they went on to exchange their gifts.

"Lucifer,I didn't buy you anything… Instead, I wanted to give you something special.These are my dad's cufflinks. I added something though...On the outside you'll see an 'M' for 'Morningstar'. On the inside,however, there is a 'C' for 'Chloe'...I wanted I'd give you a "piece" of me through this to have with you… If you don't like it, it is possible to have it changed… I just wanted to give you something that is very important to me, because you are one of the most important people in my life and… "

"Chloe, darling, I love it. In fact, you have rendered me speechless. Thank you so much, my love. ", he interrupted her giving her a genuine smile.

"Do you really like it or are you saying that just to make me happy? I mean, this isn't some of the extravagant things you're used to and I don't know… Maybe you would like something else… ?",she asked him nervously,looking at her feet.

"Chloe, love, look at me.", Lucifer told her lifting her chin to look at her lovely eyes. "You know I don't lie, don't you? Then trust me when I say that this is the best gift I've ever received. I know just how much your dad's death hurt you and by giving me one of his belongings…You've made me so happy and grateful, my dear. So, you don't need to worry about that alright? "

" Okay ", she sighed.

"Now it's my turn," he announced opening the little, black, velvet box. Chloe gasped.

"It isn't an engagement ring. It's my promise to you. I want to promise you that I will always be by your side. Your friend, your partner, your boyfriend, whatever you desire. Protect you, cherish you, support you in everything you do. Anything. You are the light in my life  and you've touched my heart in ways nobody ever has, in my long life. I want you to know I love you so much," he confessed while putting the ring on Chloe's finger.

" Oh Lucifer… I don't know what to say… Thank you, honey. I love you too, " she added hugging him.

"Dance with me? ", she asked him after a few moments.

"Anything for you, my darling. "

Chloe then signaled the DJ to put a very specific song on.

As they swayed, she whispered the lyrics to his ear.

"Do you feel my heart beating,

 Do you understand

 Do you feel the same

Am I only dreaming

Is this burning an eternal flame "

" Do you understand Lucifer? I love you with all my heart and I will always stand  by your side, too. Always.", she whispered teary-eyed but looking straight into his eyes.

"Even if I am the Devil? Who has tortured countless souls in Hell? A monster, like many others think?"

" Even if you are the Devil,who did his job in Hell. The Devil, who has been through many things, but never gave up. The Devil who is loving, adorable, caring, good-hearted and dangerous only to those who hurt his friends and family. The Devil who is a perfect boyfriend and  whom I love with all my heart. ", she replied tearfully.

" I love you too,my Detective. Let's continue dancing, love, shall we? ", he said kissing her sweetly.

And they did. The rest of the night was spent between the two of them. Lost in each other, their emotions, touches and kisses, they continued to sway on the dance floor. In their own, strange for some people, perfect for them, little world.

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

Thank you for reading!!!

[musings-sans-muse]

My Big, Fat, Brazilian Wedding

Summary: Good news change your outlook on life, after many years living just as your family expected. You decide to use the newfound joie de vivre to steer your life away from the same old you knew awaited you.

Warnings: some language / a bit of angst

Word count: 2,7k+

A/N: This is my submission to @arrowsandmixtapes​ Rom-Com Writing Challenge. My prompt, as you probably noticed was the movie My big, fat, Greek Wedding (2002). I know very little about the Greek culture and much less its language, so this will follow a Brazilian reader, but it won’t lean heavily on the culture clash. There will be references to food and cultural aspects of Brazilian life, though. I’ll do my best to describe them.

For this part: Sambadrome:  parade area built for the Rio or São Paulo Carnival in Brazil. The venue is also known as Passarela or simply the Sambódromo in Portuguese. Feijoada:  a stew of beans with pork. Served with  white rice and oranges, as well as couve, a side dish of stir-fried, chopped collard greens, and a crumbly topping called farofa, made of manioc flour. Tutu:  consists of bean puree thickened with manioc flour or corn flour. Cracklings:  pieces of pork rind that have been fried until brown and crispy, and most of the fat has been rendered out. Manioc: commonly called cassava, manioc, yuca, macaxeira, mandioca, kappa kizhangu and aipim, is an edible starchy root. Often called yuca in Spanish America and in the United States, it is not related to yucca. Can be steamed, boiled, baked, or fried before being eaten on its own, mashed, or added to other dishes. Its starch is called tapioca.

Thank you @shellbilee​ for making sure I didn’t write anything weird. 

🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉

It was raining.

I remember it clearly, because my hair was all frizzy in the reflection of the restaurant’s huge mirror by the entrance. There, as I hung my coat, I wondered if my life would ever change.

Being the middle child of a Brazilian couple established in the UK, and the last to be born in Brazil, I moved here when I was three years old.

Ever since, my parents have done their very best to make sure our culture is not lost, and insist on doing everything ‘the Brazilian way’. That included outings, making sure we studied Portuguese, our parties - including a very noisy carnival celebration with the broadcast straight from the sambadrome - family gatherings, social life, food.

So, when they opened the restaurant, of course it would have to be a family business, and of course all our time outside school would be spent holed in there. 

My sister lucked out, marrying (obviously) a Brazilian guy to my father’s content, his best friend’s son, as if they had been promised. But they loved each other, and I loved my three nephews, even if one of them was still on his way.

My younger brother, spending last summer holidays in our grandma’s house, in Brazil, met this girl he kept in touch with and from the look of things, they were pretty solid. He had a spring in his step as he worked in the kitchen - his feijoada was better than my mom’s - whistling when he wasn’t shouting at his sous-chef.

Which left me, in my early thirties, educated and skilled, to run the books for my dad in the restaurant. I knew I had talent for more and I could make more money, but talking to my dad once, as my graduation approached, made things quite clear to me.

“Our professor has contacts and said that I could find a job easily with my skills set!” I told my parents at dinner, my hands going wild with excitement. “And…” 

“What do you need a new job for?” my father asked, interrupting me. “ You’ve never complained about your job at the restaurant. Is your allowance not enough?”

His voice boomed louder with each phrase. He got up then, grumbling all the way into the kitchen to grab his nightcap.

I looked at my mom, who was looking at the threshold where my father had disappeared into. Her face was unreadable.

I lowered my head, trying hard to control the burning in my eyes as I held back my tears.

“Why must you bring up a subject like that during dinner? You know how he gets.” My mother sighed as my first tear fell. “I’ll talk to him.”

She got up then. My head shot up, my heart swelling with hope.

“Do you think he’ll come around?” I asked after a quick sniffle, with a shadow of a smile on my lips.

“Oh, you should know better than him. You do the bookkeeping.” She answered, waving a hand dismissively and turned to head to the kitchen.

“Mama, what do you mean?” I asked, honestly puzzled by her answer.

“Well, you’d know if increasing your allowance would be a problem for the business, wouldn’t you?” She shrugged and turned, disappearing into the kitchen.

I looked at my brother, who was intensely concentrated on his last spoonfuls of soup. He lifted his eyes to mine when the yelling started.

“They’ll come around eventually. Give them time.” he said as he grimaced. Apparently, he believed his words as much as I did.

That’s how I ended up staying, helping my father where I could.

And that day, with my mom sick with the flu at home, I was a waitress during opening hours and worked on the books after hours.

I was by the window, serving two plates of tutu, when I saw him.

Tall, towering over the people walking next to him, broad-shouldered, filling out the navy blue overcoat in such a nice way, I didn’t feel bad ogling as I noticed I wasn’t the only one.

He and his entourage sat by the far wall, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have gotten close to them. People definitely recognized him, and a good ten minutes of his time were spent on photographs and autographs.

Only after my dad got in there and told people to leave the man alone is that they were given menus, and my dad took their order himself as an apology for taking too long to intervene. The man told him he was used to it and that it was no problem.

Coming back to the counter, my dad put the order in my hand as I watched the group talk animatedly, my eyes mostly on him.

His eyes locked with mine.

“Did you hear what I just said?” my dad elevated his voice slightly, bringing the attention of many patrons to us and mine to him. “Get this to your brother. Prioritize it. Complimentary cracklings and fried manioc. I’m heading home to check on your mother.” he added, stern.

“Yes, father.” I lowered my head, and made my way to the kitchen.

He wasn’t the one to pay and the lunch rush got me too busy to have served them anyway.

I heard the waitresses talking, before we closed, that he was some super film star, but I was too tired to join the conversation and I still had to work the day’s numbers.

When I arrived home, I was glad to see my mom up and watching tv with my father sleeping, resting his head on her lap. I smiled at the scene and waved at her, making my way up the stairs to my room.

It felt like I had just closed my eyes when my alarm went off. 

My dad decided to stay home and make sure my mom wouldn’t overexert herself, which left me to “manage” the restaurant.

Things were pretty smooth until I was called. That never happened when my dad was there, so my brother and I exchanged a look.

Two gentlemen sat at the table in question, the one that had his back to me already middle-aged, his hair greyer than black. The one who sat facing me was completely bald, and had tiny, deep set eyes behind his round glasses. I didn’t recognize him.

“How can I help you gentlemen? Oh, Professor Mathison!” I said to the one who I couldn’t see before. “How nice to see you again!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my surprise.

“I’m happy to see you, too!” he replied “When I saw the name of the restaurant, I thought that maybe it could be your family’s. This is my partner, Kevin.”

We exchanged pleasantries and they invited me to sit with them to chat for a bit until the evening crowd was down to two tables when they said their goodbyes.

“So, what was so important that held you back for most of the night?” my brother asked me, concerned.

“It wasn’t a problem.” I said, still smiling and shaking my head at the frown on his brow. “That was my former professor in the Uni.”

“And you sat to reminisce?” he asked me with a bit of a scoff.

“No, they actually had a proposal.” I replied, averting my eyes to the look I was sure I’d see in his.

“Oh, dad won’t like that one bit. The day he chooses to leave things in your hands, you go and stab him in the back?” his accusatory tone irked me quite a bit.

“Excuse me? Stab him in the back? What the hell are you talking about, and who the hell you think you’re talking to Junior?” he straightened upon hearing the nickname I only used with him when he was being an ass.

“I’m sorry. But dad won’t like it anyway. What was this proposal all about?” he replied, his voice this time much milder, but still carrying a little discontent.

“They want me to work at their law firm. They need someone trustworthy to audit the companies they work for, so they know if they’re clean or if there’s money laundering, in case of lawsuits or investigations.” I explained, unable to hide my excitement.

“And you can do that?” his tone suggested genuine surprise.

“Yes. That’s why I studied as much as I did. This is everything I wanted.” I told him earnestly.

“And I bet you’ll make a lot more money.” he added, trying to hide the sarcasm but not quite managing.

It hurt me that he couldn’t be as happy for me as I was. But I understood. The things he wanted for his life didn’t matter to me, had and would never matter to me.

“Money is not what this is about. You know that. You all should know that.” my eyes burned with the tears I was holding back.

Mercifully, someone called me back to the dining hall.

“What is it Angela?” I asked the waitress.

“We have finished cleaning the hall and there’s one last order to be delivered, but Daniel has already left.” she told me with a grimace.

“I’ll deal with it. Does my brother have it?”

“Yes, Jean is already working on it. Good thing the man called when he did, because they were already starting to clean up the kitchen.” she added and said good night.

I said my goodbyes to her and the other waiting staff, to the cooks that were leaving, and waited by the kitchen for the order.

“What about the books?” my brother asked me.

“I’ll work on it tomorrow. I’ve left everything ready upstairs to do it as soon as I arrive tomorrow.” I answered, waving my hand dismissing his concern.

“You be careful!” he added.

“Yes, dad!” I replied. “It’s paid for, so I won’t be carrying cash around. Nothing to worry about. Deliver, drive home, shower, sleep.” I clapped after I finished just for effect.

“Yeah, that’s a great plan.” he said, handing me the bag with the order. “Goodnight, I’ll lock up. Be safe.”

“You too, goodnight.” and kissing his cheek, I left.

The night was chillier than I had anticipated and I had left my coat in the restaurant. I decided not to go back, otherwise the food would be cold by the time I delivered it, and turned on the heating as soon as I got into my car, rubbing my hands on my arms. The wool cardigan I was wearing wasn’t helping much.

London was already quieting as I drove through its wet streets. The light reflecting on the asphalt only added to the chill, and my hands on the steering wheel were painfully cold.

The trip to the address stapled on the brown paper bag was not a long one, which meant I was still not warm as I left the car to knock on the black door of the white house. It had to stay a few houses down the street in the only available spot, as the street was already littered with the residents’ cars parked for the night. All the houses on that street were white I noticed with a pfft.

Immediately after my knock, booming barks reverberated through the house and could have woken the Queen.

“Cow, cow, quiet!” came a command as loud as the bark had been.

That’s why the Queen lives in Windsor! I thought, smiling and shaking my head.

The door opened, and so did my mouth.

The man opposite me also looked surprised.

We stared, open-mouthed, at each other until it got weird.

“Your delivery!” I rushed the words out of my mouth, shoving the bag at him.

“You!” he exclaimed at the same time.

“Me?” I asked, and my face undoubtedly contorted into a puzzled frown.

“Thanks!” he replied, once more at the same time.

Still confused, I uncomfortably laughed. He did too, and I wanted to take a picture of that smile, making a mental note to never judge fangirls for the rest of my life.

I shivered involuntarily then, the cold overwhelming any warmth the butterflies in my stomach had generated.

His smile fell and he lifted a finger to tell me to wait, taking the bag from my outstretched arms. Our hands touched. His leaving a searing trail in their wake. 

He yelped at the contact.

“Your hands are freezing!” he said as he retreated, opening the door to what was probably his living room and putting the bag by a massive curious dog.

“Cow, leave!” he commanded.

He then opened a door to his right, probably a closet.

“Why did you name your dog Cow?” I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity.

He was still hidden in there and poked his head out, with a laugh.

“It’s not cow.” he said, diving back in there, and coming out with a coat draped on his forearm and gloves in his hand. “It’s Kal. K-A-L.” he spelled with a smile.

“Oh, what an odd name.” I wondered, under my breath.

“Here, put these on.” he said, and before I could protest was already holding the heavy coat open for me to slide my arms in. It was huge and engulfed me almost like a blanket. 

“Much better.” he whispered, as he tied a knot around my waist with its belt. “Put these on too, they’ll protect your icy hands.”

Words failed me as to why the gigantic man was so kind and pushy. Also, the smell of his cologne was intoxicating, it was hard to say anything as I inhaled deeply.

“Thank you.” I finally replied, and let go a long and deep sigh.

“Don’t mention it.” he said, smirking. “Just bring it back before spring.”

I stared at him for a second.

“It was a joke.” he said, the smile ever present.

“Oh.” I paused. “Is that a way to get me to come back?” I asked, a newfound boldness overtaking me. 

So many great things had happened so far, why not push my luck a little?

He puckered his lips, and looked up for a few seconds.

“What about dinner? Whenever you’re available?” his brows shot up to his hairline where his lovely messy curls waved in the icy breeze. He put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Nervous.

I frowned as I couldn’t fathom why such a man would be nervous about my reply. He must certainly have models lining up to dine with him.

“Thursday is my day off. I’d love to.” I answered smoothing my features, which led to him relaxing in turn.

“Smashing! I loved the food in your restaurant, but something tells me you’re fed up with Brazilian food.” he said, eyeing me from under his lashes, which was kinda comical with him being so tall.

“You’d be correct.” I replied, nodding. “What about Japanese? My friend owns this restaurant in Soho.”

“That would be perfect! At seven?” he asked, a contagious enthusiasm in his voice.

“Works for me.” I said, and there didn’t seem to be enough air in my lungs. I wanted to jump along the street like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain.

The moment stretched as we stared at each other for a few seconds once again. Smiling this time.

Now if the objective me were to examine this scene from the outside, she’d see two dorks smiling at each other like fools. But she wasn’t around at that moment.

He finally sighed and cleared his throat.

“Will you give me your number?” he said, and it felt like he wanted to add something but decided against it mid sentence.

“Oh, sure, duh.” I picked up my phone from my pocket and handed it to him. 

As soon as he handed it back to me, I sent him a winking smiley face with my name. I looked up then and told him my name.

“Oh, shit, yeah! Forgive my lack of manners. I’m Henry.” he said, making a face, as if it were obvious. It must have been to the fangirls.

“So, see you Thursday, at seven.” I said in lieu of a goodbye, and waved briefly.

“See you then.” he replied. “Drive safely.” he added, when I was about to descend the last step.

I half turned and looked at him, haloed by the light coming from his entryway.

“I will.”

[rustdream]

Mustache Kid makes a New Friend hee hoo

Yea! A smol story for @promisedangel‘s roleswap AU! I wrote this at night so some things may be grammatically incorrect. I hope this is good!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The air was full of tension as Mustache Kid stood infront of the ice walls that surrounded her destination. By some sort of miracle, they were perfectly intact, despite the immense heat the forest gave off daily. While it’s a neat discovery all on its own, it would mean that she would have to bust her way in. She was taken out of her thoughts when she heard a chuckle behind her. The voice belonged to none other than the Matriarch, the ruler of Subcon and the pain in the butt that’s been threatening her into doing favors for her. “It’s quite the feat, isn’t it?” The shadowy being asked, floating besides the girl.

Mustache Kid sighed in annoyance, causing the ghost’s angelic features to distort. “Now don’t take that ton with me, child. This will be different than the other favors you’ve done!” The passive aggressive tone had set in, as she feigned cheerfulness. The Matriarch clasped her hands together, “You’ll be delivering a gift to my special Prince for his birthday!” Mustache Kid turned to her as the gift box was born from red flames, the embers forming the luxurious bow. As much as she hated to admit it that box had a pretty darn cool shade of red. “Okay…but why don’t you do it? Since it’s your gift.” Mustache Kid questioned, as the Matriarch’s expression softened. “Oh, how I wish I could give him the gift myself! Unfortunately, my temper had gotten the better of me and…we got into a fight. Now the poor thing’s scared of me.” It was clear that queen of Subcon was being exaggeratingly dramatic right then, as she had no qualms about threatening children with execution twice fold. Still, the kid didn’t have much choice, as the box was shoved into her hands. Mustache Kid had a couple of moments before she realized that her bombs were gone. “Hey!” 

“Oh and, by the way. The Prince is very finicky, so these,” The Matriarch held the bag of bombs in her hands with the heat threatening to set them off, “are out of the question. Now get to it.” As Mustache Kid jumped through the ice pillars infront of her, she could her the cold-hearted monarch say something about burning her if she was to break the box. But she was used to those threats, and there wasn’t much to worry about anyways. She continued, occasionally having to break the walls with the fiery fruits and Dwellers hiding around. Eventually she had made it to the other side of the labyrinth of walls and was immediately hit with the extremely cold weather. She adjusted her cape to cover herself and waded through the thick snow, in the direction of the manor in the distance. When she neared the front porch, she could see glowing yellow eyes peer at her through the attic window for a quick second, before blinking out of sight. Hopefully, this ‘Prince’ wouldn’t be as much as an immoral jerk as the Matriarch was. She went to knock on the door before the wood had turned to ice and being rendered unopenable. Mustache Girl groaned as she kicked an ice statue near, but her attitude quickly changed to fear when said statue came to life and tried to smash her head open. Running from living creatures of cold terror, she had ducked into the cellar in the back and shut the doors. While one might think this wouldn’t stop them from breaking in, it did. In fact, they seemed to leave as soon as the door had locked!

Well, she already made it in the house, might as well deliver it personally. She skidded through the cellar floor, the spilled wine having been frozen over the years. Managing to make it upstairs without busting her bust on the slippery ice, she was relieved to find that the rest of the house’s flooring wasn’t in the same state. Mustache Kid wandered down the hallways, the carpeted floors keeping her footsteps quiet. Suddenly, she had heard the sound of glass breaking coming from the room besides her. In an act of impulse, she opened the door, leading her to the library. There didn’t seem to be anyone in here. A broken vase sure, and an ice sculpture that was whispering to her. Wait. On closer inspection, it was a Wally! Though, he was frozen everywhere but his head. “Hey, Little Mustached Child, why are you here?” He asked, his voice shaky and low. Before she could answer, the air grew darker as footsteps could be heard. “Quick! Hide, Get out of Here!” Mustache Kid wasn’t about to question it, she simply slid under the low bookshelves, the gift box conveniently fitting through with her. Just in time too, as a shadowy figure entered the room. It had the same aura that the Matriarch gave off, but its figure was slightly deformed and monstrous. It was safe to assume that this was the Prince that she was referring to. His yellow eyes scanned the scene, panic present in them. 

His head snapped towards the Wally as the frozen man panicked. “H-hello Best Friend! I was being clumsy and um, knocked it over-” He frantically tried to explain, as the shadow interrupted him. “You promised, you promised that you wouldn’t break any more stuff last time you broke these. You broke my things, gifts to you last week and you said, ‘Wally will fix that’, ‘Wally won’t break stuff again’. But did you live up to that? No nononono, you didn’t you just lied and lied, and you know how I HATE liars.” The Prince ranted, as the ice on Wally’s body consumed more of him. Mustache Kid watched as he was frozen completely and smashed to pieces by this raving lunatic. The shadows mad shrieks soon dissolved into tears, burying his head in his hands. Mustache Kid slowly crawled out of her hiding spot, placing the gift behind the sobbing mess. She then tried to tip toe her way out of the room before a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Who are you?” The Prince spoke through sobs, as the girl turned to meet his gaze. She seemed to stammer quite a lot, obviously nervous. The royal’s gaze slowly drifted to the nicely wrapped gift between them, the sight swinging his mood straight into a happy delirium. “Did you bring this gift, a gift for me? I’m good enough for gifts?” He asked hopefully, pure joy blooming inside his chest when she had nodded. The Prince chuckled as he suddenly swooped both the box and Mustache Kid in his arms, straight to a bedroom. This caused the kid to become upset, not understanding why he was doing this. But, he simply placed her on a pile of pillows, as he ‘sat’(more along the lines of coiled on) the bed with the gift in his lap. As he tore open the wrapping, Mustache Kid looked around to determine her situation. Everyone but the two of them were frozen solid. Some of them are seals, cats, a lot of them Wallies. “Great, this might as well happen.” She mumbled, as she heard the Prince gasp in surprise. Well, she’s kind of stuck here, might as well find out what the gift was!

A pile of bacon. That was literally it. It wasn’t even good, all of it was charred to crispy charcoal. However, the Prince was very happy to receive this gift. He started scarfing it down quickly, as if as soon as he stopped it would be all gone. He then froze up suddenly. He could hear them. His friends, they were hungry too. They deserved this gift more than he did, and he’s just hogging it like the selfish friend he is. He doesn’t deserve such a nice thing as this, with how horrid he was being. Of course, Mustache Kid didn’t hear any of that. She just looked on in confusion as the Prince went around the room, trying to shove bacon down the ice statues’ throats. Though that went as well as you’d expect it to, as it either fell out (with the Prince eating it anyways) or it just stayed in the mouths of the frozen creatures around him. He made it to Mustache Kid, offering her a handful of burnt bacon. “Oh um, no thanks. I’ve already. Eaten on the way here you know and, snacks aren’t my thing?” She refused, thoughts of an elaborate escape plan flooding through her mind. The Prince sat back on the bed, facing away from everyone as he consumed the rest of the food on his plate. After he was done, he turned to Mustache Kid and held her hands in his freezing cold hands. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for this wonderful gift. I’ll cherish it, I’ll love it. Never forget it, thank you new friend!” He repeatedly thanked her, his breath hitching as he started to mumble incoherently to himself. He then stood upright, seeming to have snapped back into reality. “It seems like it’s getting dark! None of you, none of you are leaving, r-right? GOOD! Good, I guess that means that we can have a slumber party. You – YOU will join us, won’t you New Friend?” He asked the child, as ice started to form on her legs.

Mustache Kid sat on the pillow pile on the floor, bored out of her mind. Since her bombs are gone and this guy can freeze her in an instant, fighting her way out is out of the question. So is straight up running for the exit. For now, she just has to play along with it. However, the only entertainment right now was watching him start up conversations with the frozen people besides him. And even then it wasn’t really funny. Just sad. She would perk up whenever he spoke to her though. Mainly because he could kill her if she didn’t answer. “Oh, sure! I agree! No way!” After a long while of talking, the Prince stood up. “Okay everyone! I’ve gotten everything prepared for tonight! A nice view, snacks…wait. No, no snacks??” His head rotated 180 degrees (grossing the kid out a bit), facing the empty table meant for housing the refreshments. How could he forget? He should have thought this through! He has a new friend he needs to impress, and this is his first impression? A forgetful dumb stupid idiot who disappoints everyone he meets? He could feel the hateful stares burn up as he backed out of the room. “I’m, I’m going to go get the, snacks. Friend! New Friend, can you come with me?” He practically tugged Mustache Kid out of the room, and downstairs into the kitchen. 

Mustache Kid gathered up what small amount of treats she could find in the abandoned cabinets on the table, as the Prince got ready the tea. A couple of crackers, and some preserved fruits. She turned to the Prince, who was shaking as he continuously stirred the tea. At the very least, he was a lot nicer than the Matriarch. “Not many snacks…are there?” She questioned, more out of concern for how he’s been living all this time. While she figured that ghosts don’t need to eat to live, it seemed to cause the Matriarch pain when she missed a meal, imagine living with only this. The Prince put the tea kettle on the tray, along with the cups, before answering. “Hang on, there’s more, I’ll get them.” He walked hurriedly to a hollow spot in the walls, before sliding it aside to reveal some bigger snacks, such as a bag of fish chips of the CC brand and a slice of velvet jelly cake. All of it seems to have been frozen to last, the velvet jelly was absolutely solid when he placed it on the table. Mustache Kid grabbed the snacks, as the Prince carried the tea tray upstairs. “By the way, I’m sorry for being so forgetful. It’s really awful on my part, I hope you can forgive me.” He told her, as they set the tea and snacks down. Of course she’d forgive him, it’s not like he has anything he needs to apologize for.

The night seemed to have gotten better. The two were now talking about law, and frankly hearing about this planets views on justice and law enforcement was pretty interesting. Until he got into the nitty gritty details of it. Not that it was boring, it was just the simple fact that they have all these policies and fallacies and such. But it isn’t complex! There are bad people who need to be arrested, like the Matriarch, whole there are good people who arrest the bad, like herself! Still, she listened intently to his rambles about law theory. Something the Prince isn’t used to! Usually when he rambles to people, they ignore him. It always made him feel like he didn’t matter but when he asked Mustache Kid if she was listening she actually responded! Mustache Kid took a sip of her tea, and grimaced. The tea was ice cold. Which was understandable since the person who made the tea could freeze things with his bare claw hands. But there was also the fact that she actually wasn’t a tea person. The Prince caught on to this. “Is there something wrong? Is it not good enough? I’m sorry I’ll make a new kettle if you hate it-“

 “It’s good, it’s okay!” Mustache Kid assured him, almost becoming numb from the ice that had formed up to her knees. It was thin, luckily. She placed a hand on the Prince’s shoulder as he calmed down. “Oh, I’m sorry I just got worried and…” He eventually stopped talking as he leaned into her arms, humming as she petted his head. He liked this, it’s nice. She’s nice. Most of his other friends didn’t hug him like that, they didn’t even tell him nice things. He’s heard of BFFS, Best Friends Forever. Maybe people that nice are BFFs? The Prince never had enough friends to tell. He’ll need to hide her from Vanessa. She’ll come and burn him again, and maybe even burn his new BFF like everything other bit of happiness he hoarded. He didn’t want to think of that. Whenever he did his mind devolved into this dark place he can’t get out of. “So what’s the next event on our list of fun?” Mustache Kid asked, distracting the Prince from his thoughts. “A dance.”

[animefan-overran]

Returning Home (Pokeshipping)

This is a pokeshipping one-shot. (SMUT RATING: none)

It was a beautiful sunny day in Pallet Town. Ash woke up to the sound of a Butterfree tapping on his bedroom window. Sitting up, Ash rubbed the fatigue from his eyes, and haphazardly stretched his arms and legs. It has been about a week since returning from his last adventure in Sinnoh, and he still felt the ongoing effects of jetlag and the general strain his journeys have put on his body. Letting out a big yawn, Ash reached over to his bedside table, grabbed a glass of water that was leftover from the night before, and gulped it till it was dry. Setting the glass back on his bedside table, he looked over and smiled, as his still fast asleep Pikachu next to him. Pikachu was softly kicking his legs with an expressionless yet peaceful face. What could he be dreaming about? Ash wondered, as he carefully made his way out of bed, and tucked Pikachu back under the covers.

"Sweet dreams, bud" Ash whispered as he tiptoed out of his room, and made his way to the kitchen.

"Morning Ash! Did you sleep well? I made you some breakfast," Ash's mother motioned to the dining room table.  Ash made his way over to the dining room, and sat down. He looked at the fairly large display of food before him: a bowl of scrambled eggs, a plate piled high with toast and crispy bacon, and a pitcher of apple juice.

"Woah, thanks mom, you really went all out, didn't you?" Ash started to fill his plate.

"Well, I wanted it to be nice!" Ash's mom sat down at the table next to him, pouring herself a glass of juice. "We're having a special guest come over today."

"Really," Ash took a big bite of bacon, and wiped his mouth "who?"

Just as his mom was about to answer, they both heard a knocking at the front door.

"Hmm, that must be them, would you mind getting the door sweetie? They probably want to see you more than me." his mom informed, as she herself started to put together her plate of food.

Ash agreed and got up from his seat. Walking over to the door, he wondered who was going to be greeting him from the otherside. Most of his friends that lived in Pallet were out on adventures, even Professor Oak was out of town for the next month to research pokemon evolution with Professor Elm.

"Hello?" Ash opened the front door only to reveal the face of a familiar redhead and her Azurill. "Ah, Misty!" Ash choked out in surprise "It's great to see you."

"It's good to see you too!" Misty smiled.

"Azurill, rill" Azurill chimed in.

"Hi Azurill," Ash responded warmly while scratching behind its ears. "I know Pikachu will especially be happy to see you! C'mon in guys, my mom made breakfast"

Ash moved aside, and let them in. Misty took off her shoes at the front door, something that she always did when she went to a friend’s house. Misty took notice of Ash’s shoes- the same ones he had worn back when she traveled with him around Johto. Numerous memories of her shared adventures with Ash flooded back into Misty’s mind. Needless to say, they brought a warming presence with them that left her feeling nostalgic. Turning around, she made her way to the dining room. Trailing behind her, Ash mindlessly scanned Misty’s backside. The shock factor now gone, his mind was now able to really observe his old friend. Almost instantly, he took notice of how beautiful she had grown. He had never seen her in this way before, and he wasn't quite sure why. Everything about Misty was stunning, even a blind man could have spotted her beauty. Capturing his thoughts, Ash shook his head back to reality, reminding himself not to violate his friend. He fanned his face in an attempt to dissipate some of the color that had inhabited his cheeks. He thought it best, to keep his reactions to a minimum- for Misty’s sake.

They both made their way to the dining room, and saw Delia sitting at the table, and Pikachu on the floor, both chowing down on their breakfast.

"Hi, Mrs.Ketchum, it's nice to see you again. You too Pikachu, how are you doing?" Misty sat down at the table, and set Azurill on the ground.

”I see you woke up Pikachu!” Ash acknowledged.

"Pika, pi" Pikachu was happy to see Misty, but he was ecstatic to see Azurill.

Azurill ran over to Pikachu, who held out a handful of pokemon food to him in a friendly manner.

"Welcome, Misty. You must be starving after such a long journey to Pallet, I hope you came hungry!" Ash’s mom handed her a plate.

"I sure did," Misty confirmed as she started to scoop some eggs "Everything here looks delicious!"

After breakfast, Ash and Misty decided to go for a walk out on route 1. While they walked, Ash told Misty about his time taking in the pokemon league in Sinnoh, and all of Team Rocket's usual shenanigans, while Misty talked about all of the strong trainers that have come to battle her in Cerulean. 

"I'm telling you Ash, some of those trainers could easily give you a run for your money," Misty claimed "it seems as if everyday, a stronger opponent comes to challenge me."

"Wow, you must be getting stronger," Ash admired.

"I am, you and I are gonna have to have a pokemon battle before I go," Misty offered.

"Yeah," Ash's voice lowered "Before you go,"

"Is everything ok Ash, you know you can tell me anything." Misty slowed her pace so that she could look Ash in his eyes.

 "Yeah," Ash  perked up. "It's just, seeing you lately has had me thinking how much I miss having you at my side, you know traveling and seeing the world together. I just miss the good old days is all."

Misty was shocked at what she was hearing. Ash was never the type of person to openly state his feelings like that. What has gotten into him? Even so, underneath her shock, a warm spark of contentment emerged. It was comforting to know that her presence was missed.

"Misty, I know that you have a responsibility at the Cerulean gym, and that I am constantly busy trying to be a pokemon master, but from now on, let's not be strangers, ok?" Ash looked at Misty, who was rendered quite speechless "You see… I... I really like spending time with you." Ash blurted out, as he felt his face growing in temperature.

Misty stopped dead in her tracks, replaying every word that Ash was saying in her head. At this point, her stomach was tying itself in a million knots. "Oh, Ash I loved the thought of being by your side, and that feeling hasn’t gone away. I could spend forever with you, and never get bored. I just didn't know you felt the same way. ”

Ash shook his head "Well Misty, I'm full of surprises," Ash whispered as he closed the gap between him and Misty and matched his lips to hers.

[moonstruckbucky]

Fool for You [one-shot]

Summary: You want Bucky, but Bucky wants somebody else.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Lots of angst. Some self-deprecating thoughts, insecurity. Language because my potty mouth. Bucky’s a dick. Not a happy ending. You’ve been warned.

Notes: Inspired by Linger by the Cranberries, but keep in mind it’s not a song fic! I’ve been in such a writing funk lately. I hope this doesn’t totally suck. Enjoy! x

She’s funny. Her joke has Sam wheezing, Steve snorting, and Bucky chuckling. Even Nat has quirked a small grin. They’re so busy recovering their breath that no one sees the absolutely moon-eyed look Bucky directs at her.

Nobody but you.

It’s hard to ignore the rising bitterness in your throat as you sit on the couch, once ensconced in your novel until Sam began hooting like a broken trumpet, a result of her well-timed joke. Of course she’s funny. She has just about everything else going for her, including Widow’s respect, which is a national treasure all on its own.

She isn’t an Avenger, but she may as well be since she’s in the tower so much. It makes your stomach curdle. The super soldier at her side curls a loving arm around her shoulders, drops a kiss onto her hair, and the gesture has her beaming.

And Bucky looks about the same way you feel.

Because Bucky had to go and catch feelings for his best friend’s girl.

He thinks no one knows, but you’re his best friend. Of course you know. You know because he looks at her the same way you do him. You scoff quietly.

Cliches suck.

A weight drops onto the couch cushion beside you.

Careful, Y/N. Green isn’t really your color.

Wanda. Normally you take issue with the fact that Wanda sometimes implants herself in your head, but other times, like now, you’re thankful for it. Explaining it to anyone else makes shame bubble up in your gut.

You give Wanda a single, meaningful glance before your gaze is ultimately drawn back over your shoulder. She, Cassandra, is in the middle of telling a story that has everyone’s rapt attention, Steve looking down at her fondly while it goes unnoticed that Bucky is doing the same. You’re not sure if he realizes he’s doing it, but considering he’s doing it in front of Widow tells you he isn’t.

A quick glance at Nat shows her eyes bouncing between Bucky and Cassandra. Ah, so it wasn’t missed by the scarily-observant super spy. She catches your eye next, an entire conversation being wordlessly spoken. You avert your gaze with a sigh and miss the quizzical little head tilt Nat gives.

When Cassandra’s laughter bubbles up again, you can’t stand it anymore. Wanda frowns up at you as you stand, finger tucked into your book to save your place. You leave the room, wincing as the laughter picks up again.

Inside the confines of your room, you abandon your book to sit on the floor at the foot of your bed, your back against the mattress and box spring. You never meant to be part of probably the stupidest cliche to ever exist, yet here you are. And like that stupid cliche, you have no idea how it even happened.

Somewhere along the path of Bucky’s re-self-discovery, you fell for the man he’d become. Not the Soldier, not the smooth talking ladies’ man of the 40s, but someone somewhere in between. More self-assured than he’s ever been, though not without his faults or his setbacks. Really, though, how could you not have seen this coming?

You sigh into the dark, knees propped up and elbows resting upon them so you can drop your head into your hands. It’s stupid—pathetic, really—how your mind automatically begins to compare you to Cassandra, regardless of the fact that she’s taken. It’s more so because she has Bucky’s full attention, that moon-eyed look solely meant for her that you so wish was directed at you.

You’re a teammate, his close friend, and it seems that’s all you’ll ever be to him. It hurts, coming to that conclusion, knowing you’re one of those girls unfortunately and unfairly destined to experience unrequited love. You laugh mirthlessly to yourself and shake your head, tangle your fingers in your hair and tug, just a little, just enough to ground you before your mind sucks you into a maelstrom of self-pity.

You know sooner or later you’ll have to come clean to Nat, if the perceptive redhead hasn’t already put it together. Wanda is your closest friend aside from Bucky, but Natasha’s scary wisdom beyond her years comes in handy, especially in the tough situations.

You can’t imagine a situation any tougher than this.

So it comes as no surprise as, the next morning, the Black Widow corners you in the kitchen. You don’t bother to hide; stubbornness is one of Nat’s lesser, but more prominent, qualities, and she’s patient as all get out. Instead, you lead her back to your bedroom and spill. She doesn’t interrupt, only listens intently with her head tilted in that feline manner she has.

“Well, that’s quite a predicament,” she notes when you finish. Grumbling unintelligibly, you suck down your coffee. She leans back on her hands beside you. “So I take it there is zero chance of you talking to Bucky about it?”

“Why would I?” you retort, but Nat isn’t offended. “The only thing that’ll accomplish is ensuring our friendship is toast. Burnt as fuck, crispy toast. Plus, I’m not really in the mood to be humiliated when he says he doesn’t return my feelings.”

“How do you know he wouldn’t?”

“Uh, hello, I know you of all people didn’t miss the absolute head-over-heels look he gave her yesterday.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he’s going to act on that. Steve would pummel him, and it would probably end their friendship.”

“Regardless, I’m not having that conversation with him. I’m just gonna...keep a lid on it and act as if nothing’s off.”

Nat scoffs and you shoot her a look. “Honey, even if I wasn’t me I wouldn’t miss the looks you give him when someone’s not looking.”

You open your mouth and then promptly shut it. Releasing a sigh, you rub your temples. “Okay, so then what do I do? If I pull away he’s going to know something’s up. He’s far too much like you.”

Nat, for once, is rendered clueless on how to proceed. Then, with an actual physical shake of her body, she says, “Okay, so you pretty much have three options. Option one, continue as normal, hide your feelings, be his best friend,  and ultimately, probably spontaneously combust because you’re keeping them down instead of letting them out. Option two, tell him, risk the chance that your friendship might change or Bucky will decide to pull his head out of his ass and not make moon-eyes at a taken woman, thus eventually falling in love with you and the two of you live happily ever after. Option three, you start dating. Outside the Tower. Run the risk that you’ll find someone who completes you instead of pining for a guy who might not.”

“That’s it, huh?” you deadpan. Truthfully, none of those options sounds appealing, but more than likely you’re going for option one.

Option one, it turns out, is a goddamn pain in the ass to stick to. In order to throw off Nat’s, and even Sam’s, suspicions that he’s into his best friend’s girl, Bucky has latched himself onto you. Normally, this would be, well, normal. Now? It’s downright impossible to bite your tongue from telling him what’s been cooking up in your head, damn near inconceivable to not lean into him when he sits a little closer to you at movie night. 

The little niggling feeling in the back of your head tells you he has tricks up his sleeve, but you brush it off for now and bask in the slightly spice scent of his cologne.

Some weeks later, you’re faring no better. It’s growing even more difficult to bottle your feelings up and stow them in the back of your mind, especially when Bucky’s clinginess seems to multiply tenfold. You aren’t dumb, or naive for that matter, when you realize the only time he’s right on top of you is when Steve and Cassandra are present. When you first put it together, no words in the English dictionary are sufficient enough to describe the painful pang in your heart.

Yet you let it continue.

Nat criticizes you more than once, as does Wanda (who’s admittedly a bit gentler with her approach, but Nat was never one for beating around a bush). You promise both of them you’ll confront him soon, draw a line in the sand that he can’t use you to make his best friend’s girl jealous. 

Plus, his plan isn’t working anyways. Cassandra remains both in the dark and unaffected by what he’s doing, and she merely smiles genuinely when she notices Bucky’s arm around your shoulder or waist. As soon as she and Steve leave the room, his arm drops and his shoulders droop. It makes you angry, and it’s why you suddenly begin to dodge his advances. You stop playing along to his chagrin and befuddlement, and the fact that he’s even confused by your refusal to go along with it reignites your ire.

How dare he abuse your friendship, wordlessly expect you to go along with a pointless attempt to make Cassandra jealous? It’s callous and a little cruel of him; you thought you were friends. Friends didn’t treat each other like toys or tools to just use at one’s convenience. Even more than that, with Bucky’s sudden attention on you all the time, as superficial as it is, it only intensifies your feelings for him—both the positive and the negative.

On the one hand, a large, secret part of you revels in being pressed up against him so often, absorbing his warmth and being able to pretend, for just a little while, that his feelings for you aren’t a scheme, that they’re genuine. The smaller, more logical part of you knows you can’t let this continue, and it finally all comes to a head when Bucky asks of you something so unbelievably selfish that you snap.

“I’m sorry, you want to what?” you ask, turning your ear to him as if you hadn’t heard him correctly.

“We should sleep together,” he repeats with a careless shrug. He seems surprised when your gaze hardens and ignites all at once.

“Why? So you can continue your pointless scheme of trying to make Cassandra jealous? Is that why?” you accuse icily. Bucky takes a small step back, mouth opening and closing similar to a fish as he searches for something to say. You beat him to it. “No, Bucky, I won’t sleep with you to go along with your stupid fucking plan of pursuing a taken woman, much less the woman who’s dating your best fucking friend. I’m not stupid; I know what you’ve been doing, and I can’t even believe you would abuse our friendship like that, use me the way you have, without a second thought. Do my feelings mean absolutely nothing to you? Do you know how hard it’s been coming to grips with the fact that, while I struggle with my feelings, for you, you only see me as something to use, something to exploit?”

Bucky’s face continues to fall as you rant, unleashing every pent up thought and emotion. Your voice covers a range of emotion—anger, sadness, hurt—all in a matter of seconds that he nearly has whiplash. Bucky’s always had a strong poker face, but even he can’t hide the feelings rolling through him. The one he settles on is shame. Good.

“You...you have feelings for me?” he questions, quiet and meek.

You scoff. “Right now, I really wish I fucking didn’t. You aren’t who I thought you were, Bucky. Not even close. I was willing to let it go that you wouldn’t feel the same way for me, I’ve accepted that. What I won’t accept is being used as if our friendship means absolute shit to you.”

“No, honey, that’s not—” He stops when you shake your head, teeth clenched tightly and jaw wobbling as you fight to hold back your tears of hurt and heartbreak.

“It was what you were doing, Bucky, and I want no part of it. In fact, I think it’s better you and I don’t speak.”

Bucky looks crestfallen, regret and agony and the will to plead for your forgiveness swimming in his eyes. Bucky’s poker face was ace, but his eyes gave him away and you’d become an expert at reading them. Even if it’s not what he’d intended when he began this hairbrained plan, it’s what happened, and you had been caught in the crossfire.

“Ever?” he asks, a sob ripping from his throat while those pale eyes brim with tears. You glance away for a moment, but then you bravely meet his gaze, holding it.

“Ever,” you confirm. Your face remains stoic but inside your chest your heart splinters and cracks. It’s so painful to break off your most treasured friendship, but Bucky had taken advantage of you, whether or not he had been aware of your feelings. You voice this aloud. “I can accept you not returning my feelings, but I can’t forgive you for taking advantage of me. That’s not what friends do. Goodbye Bucky.”

The door closes softly in his face and Bucky leans his head against the wood, face crumbling as he lets himself go. How could he have been so stupid?

[artsychowroamer]

Pick of the Month: Fortify Kitchen & Bar

Author: ArtsyChowRoamer

Pick of the Month

FORTIFY KITCHEN & BAR IN CLAYTON, GEORGIA

One of the main reasons we decided on a road trip to Clayton, Georgia recently was all the noise we had been hearing about the Fortify boys. The friends from days at Lake Rabun together that led them to open their own place down the road a piece. This post will give you all the info on why they are my pick of the month.

Owners Jack Nolan and Chef Jamie Allred have put together a stellar farm to table concept which these days seems to be the mantra of every restaurant. But they really mean it; putting together a video on their website and naming over 20 different local farms they are sourcing from to prove it.

This kind of resources allows Chef Jamie to change up his offerings seasonally. Having just released the fall menu you might think the usual suspects would be on there but there are more than a few surprises and his own take on some oldies but goodies.

RESERVATIONS SUGGESTED

It was suggested to us before that reservations were a good idea even before Covid restrictions limited seating to get the social distancing right. Even though we were visiting mid week 6:30 was the earliest available the week before.

I sent a message that we would like to get in earlier if they had a cancellation at opening time of 5. Don’t roll your eyes at that. We just have found that getting in at opening time insures the least number of people, the speediest service for shorter stays and the best sanitized situation for the evening.

Happy was I to receive a call that day around 2 that they would be able to take us at the earlier time as requested. We left our hotel up the street and walked the few blocks where crowds were already gathering at the door; some with reservations and some without hoping the earlier time would net them a sneak in.

CASUAL COZY ATMOSPHERE

The host and hostess were wearing masks along with our server I was glad to see. The bartender was also masked up and busy with social distanced diners being seated at the bar. This reassured me feeling like they were putting safety front and center for their customers.

The restaurant had a nice casual atmosphere with a coziness from metal details, old brick and traditional light fixtures with a modern twist. I noticed a sign with an arrow that said Local Art and realized that everything on view was most likely for sale by artists living in the community.

I took the opportunity to snap a few photos for this post to give you an idea of what to expect and some of the art the restaurant sports on it’s walls. The waiter dropped by to give us our menus and tell us about the specials for the day while we decided what kind of wine to order.

They have a very nice selection so I tried the William Hill Estate cabernet while my husband decided on a German white Riesling. Both selections were excellent and were terrific with the different breads offered in our bucket along with flavored butters.

FIRST COURSE

Since fall was in the air I decided that a good soup was going to be my first course and went with the Butternut Squash with pumpkin seed pesto, fried sage and a maple drizzle. My husband went for the Short Rib soup on the specials list.

Soups, salads and snacks ranged in price from $6-13. Choices included usual suspects like a Spinach or Caesar salad and fried green tomatoes but Chef’s take and local sourcing added ingredients like pickled red onion, candied bacon, roasted sweet potatoes, poached apples, goat cheese and house made dressings.

Not the usual suspects would be coca cola braised pork cheeks, fried gouda fritters or clams done in a Mexican style. Let me just say those fritters are addictive. One arrived in the middle of my husbands short rib soup and it was heaven in of itself.

The meat was fork tender and tasty like eating barbecue with this crispy melty thingy going on! Hard to describe but most definitely delicious. My soup was luscious, thick and rich with cream. The pesto and sage provided background flavors and texture with added sweetness from the maple drizzle; a perfect cold night Southern dish that will please throughout the fall season.

HARD TO CHOOSE AN ENTREE

We looked over the menu again to pick an entree and it wasn’t easy. He went with the duck breast in a roasted red pepper sauce and I wanted to try seafood and waffled back and forth between the trout and fried shrimp platter ending up with the shrimp. Pricing ranged from $18-35.

Both dishes arrived in a timely fashion as I snapped my pics with nicely composed plates. The only criticism I would offer in this area would be wiped plate rims to meet a more perfect expectation of this level of dining.

I tried the duck first. We were asked if we wanted it medium rare or more. We ordered it medium rare which is the way I think duck breast should be cooked giving you a crispy skin hopefully with a texture on the meat similar to a medium rare steak.

A word about duck expectations. My husband is from Eastern Europe where the duck is most often offered with the bone thereby allowing them to render that duck into fall of the bone capacity. My husband is always expecting that even when it isn’t possible!

I reminded him you can’t do that with no bones-it will only dry it out and make it tough. I loved the dish both texturally and taste wise with a polenta cake and crispy relish of shallots, mushrooms and grapes. Having said that if there were anything to wonder about it was the red pepper sauce.

Lovely in conception but not quite sweet enough for duck I think but I could be wrong. My husband loved the sauce. My dish felt like a homegoing homage to the South with the fried shrimp set off with collard greens, coleslaw and hushpuppies.

Chef’s version of cocktail sauce was a miss for me without the horseradish zing you want. I asked for the Remoulade which was much better and seemed to work well with the other flavors overall. Something called comeback sauce was offered as well.

I’m thinking my next trip will include the trout with lemon scented rice pilaf, pecan roasted brown butter and fresh dill. You probably would be happy with the beef, chicken or pork dishes on offer as well. Sides like fried rice, Napa slaw, beer battered onion rings and buttermilk mashed potatoes all speak to seasonal freshness with a wink to Southern preparation.

DESSERT AND SPECIALTY COCKTAILS

While we were too full to try dessert the choices were tempting and several included chocolate. The photo below will give you a good idea what to expect if you have a sweet tooth.

Besides having nice wine selections Fortify is pretty proud of their signature specialty drinks. There are 8 on the menu for $10 that range from a sour, to an old fashioned along with a Pink Panther and a Smoking Jacket. There is a pleaser for any taste here. The video below will give you a better idea.

A WORD ABOUT PI

Fortify became such an instant hit that they decided to branch out and add the location next door known as Fortify Pi and it’s all about the pizza. You can have one of their designs with the latest and freshest ingredients or you can make your own with different price levels of choices.

They are making some good pie in that restaurant. Sitting at the bar, outside or at a socially distanced table this more casual atmosphere makes for a lively entertaining lunch or dinner choice especially if you can’t get in to the other location. They were crowded as we were leaving from dinner.

CONCLUSION

All in all we enjoyed our road trip to this little gem of an artsy community. You don’t normally find this level of dining and commitment to ingredients in the North Georgia mountains. I can highly recommend you visit the area and don’t miss either of their locations. You won’t be disappointed.

If you enjoyed what you read you might also like other posts under Edible Fare and on Clayton, GA too. Hey, don’t be a stranger! If you visit, let me know what you ate and what you thought. Look for more upcoming posts on this area soon. Until next time…

Cheers!

ArtsyChowRoamer

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[darealbellabelleoftheball]

Phantom Rambles

Chapter Twenty Three - The Tortures Begin 

The voice repeated angrily: “What have you done with my bag? So it was to take my bag that you asked me to release you!”

We heard hurried steps, Christine running back to the Louis-Philippe room, as though to seek shelter on the other side of our wall.

“What are you running away for?” asked the furious voice, which had followed her. “Give me back my bag, will you? Don’t you know that it is the bag of life and death?”

“Listen to me, Erik,” sighed the girl. “As it is settled that we are to live together . . . what difference can it make to you?”

“You know there are only two keys in it,” said the monster. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to look at this room which I have never seen and which you have always kept from me . . . It’s woman’s curiosity!” she said, in a tone which she tried to render playful.

But the trick was too childish for Erik to be taken in by it.

“I don’t like curious women,” he retorted, “and you had better remember the story of BLUE-BEARD  (Blue beard had a locked room full of heads i think?) and be careful . . . Come, give me back my bag! . . . Give me back my bag! . . . Leave the key alone, will you, you inquisitive little thing?”

And he chuckled, while Christine gave a cry of pain. Erik had evidently recovered the bag from her.

At that moment, the viscount could not help uttering an exclamation of impotent rage.

“Why, what’s that?” said the monster. “Did you hear, Christine?”

“No, no,” replied the poor girl. “I heard nothing.”

“I thought I heard a cry.”

“A cry! Are you going mad, Erik? Whom do you expect to give a cry, in this house? . . . I cried out, because you hurt me! I heard nothing.”

“I don’t like the way you said that! . . . You’re trembling . . . You’re quite excited . . . You’re lying! . . . That was a cry, there was a cry! . . . There is some one in the torture-chamber! . . . Ah, I understand now!”

“There is no one there, Erik!”

“I understand!”

“No one!”

“The man you want to marry, perhaps!”

“I don’t want to marry anybody, you know I don’t.”

Another nasty chuckle. “Well, it won’t take long to find out. Christine, my love, we need not open the door to see what is happening in the torture-chamber. Would you like to see? Would you like to see? Look here! If there is some one, if there is really some one there, you will see the invisible window light up at the top, near the ceiling. We need only draw the black curtain and put out the light in here. There, that’s it . . . Let’s put out the light! You’re not afraid of the dark, when you’re with your little husband!”

Then we heard Christine’s voice of anguish:

“No! . . . I’m frightened! . . . I tell you, I’m afraid of the dark! . . . I don’t care about that room now . . . You’re always frightening me, like a child, with your torture-chamber! . . . And so I became inquisitive . . . But I don’t care about it now . . . not a bit . . . not a bit!”

And that which I feared above all things began, AUTOMATICALLY. We were suddenly flooded with light! Yes, on our side of the wall, everything seemed aglow. The Vicomte de Chagny was so much taken aback that he staggered. And the angry voice roared:

“I told you there was some one! Do you see the window now? The lighted window, right up there? The man behind the wall can’t see it! But you shall go up the folding steps: that is what they are there for! . . . You have often asked me to tell you; and now you know! . . . They are there to give a peep into the torture-chamber . . . you inquisitive little thing!”

“What tortures? . . . Who is being tortured? . . . Erik, Erik, say you are only trying to frighten me! . . . Say it, if you love me, Erik! . . . There are no tortures, are there?”

“Go and look at the little window, dear!”

I do not know if the viscount heard the girl’s swooning voice, for he was too much occupied by the astounding spectacle that now appeared before his distracted gaze. As for me, I had seen that sight too often, through the little window, at the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan; and I cared only for what was being said next door, seeking for a hint how to act, what resolution to take.

“Go and peep through the little window! Tell me what he looks like!”

We heard the steps being dragged against the wall.

“Up with you! . . . No! . . . No, I will go up myself, dear!”

“Oh, very well, I will go up. Let me go!”

“Oh, my darling, my darling! . . . How sweet of you! . . . How nice of you to save me the exertion at my age! . . . Tell me what he looks like!”

At that moment, we distinctly heard these words above our heads:

“There is no one there, dear!”

“No one? . . . Are you sure there is no one?”

“Why, of course not . . . no one!”

“Well, that’s all right! . . . What’s the matter, Christine? You’re not going to faint, are you . . . as there is no one there? . . . Here . . . come down . . . there! . . . Pull yourself together . . . as there is no one there! . . . BUT HOW DO YOU LIKE THE LANDSCAPE?”

“Oh, very much!”

(Good try Crispy...)

“There, that’s better! . . . You’re better now, are you not? . . . That’s all right, you’re better! . . . No excitement! . . . And what a funny house, isn’t it, with landscapes like that in it?”

“Yes, it’s like the Musee Grevin . . . But, say, Erik . . . there are no tortures in there! . . . What a fright you gave me!”

“Why . . . as there is no one there?”

“Did you design that room? It’s very handsome. You’re a great artist, Erik.”

“Yes, a great artist, in my own line.”

“But tell me, Erik, why did you call that room the torture-chamber?”

“Oh, it’s very simple. First of all, what did you see?”

“I saw a forest.”

“And what is in a forest?”

“Trees.”

“And what is in a tree?”

“Birds.”

“Did you see any birds?”

“No, I did not see any birds.”

“Well, what did you see? Think! You saw branches And what are the branches?” asked the terrible voice. “THERE’S A GIBBET! That is why I call my wood the torture-chamber! . . . You see, it’s all a joke. I never express myself like other people. But I am very tired of it! . . . I’m sick and tired of having a forest and a torture-chamber in my house and of living like a mountebank, in a house with a false bottom! . . . I’m tired of it! I want to have a nice, quiet flat, with ordinary doors and windows and a wife inside it, like anybody else! A wife whom I could love and take out on Sundays and keep amused on week-days . . . Here, shall I show you some card-tricks? That will help us to pass a few minutes, while waiting for eleven o’clock to-morrow evening . . . My dear little Christine! . . . Are you listening to me? . . . Tell me you love me! . . . No, you don’t love me . . . but no matter, you will! . . . Once, you could not look at my mask because you knew what was behind . . . And now you don’t mind looking at it and you forget what is behind! . . . One can get used to everything . . . if one wishes . . . Plenty of young people who did not care for each other before marriage have adored each other since! Oh, I don’t know what I am talking about! But you would have lots of fun with me. For instance, I am the greatest ventriloquist that ever lived, I am the first ventriloquist in the world! . . . You’re laughing . . . Perhaps you don’t believe me? Listen.”

The wretch, who really was the first ventriloquist in the world, was only trying to divert the child’s attention from the torture-chamber; but it was a stupid scheme, for Christine thought of nothing but us! She repeatedly besought him, in the gentlest tones which she could assume:

“Put out the light in the little window! . . . Erik, do put out the light in the little window!”

For she saw that this light, which appeared so suddenly and of which the monster had spoken in so threatening a voice, must mean something terrible. One thing must have pacified her for a moment; and that was seeing the two of us, behind the wall, in the midst of that resplendent light, alive and well. But she would certainly have felt much easier if the light had been put out.

Meantime, the other had already begun to play the ventriloquist. He said:

“Here, I raise my mask a little . . . Oh, only a little! . . . You see my lips, such lips as I have? They’re not moving! . . . My mouth is closed — such mouth as I have — and yet you hear my voice . . . Where will you have it? In your left ear? In your right ear? In the table? In those little ebony boxes on the mantelpiece? . . . Listen, dear, it’s in the little box on the right of the mantelpiece: what does it say? ‘SHALL I TURN THE SCORPION?’ . . . And now, crack! What does it say in the little box on the left? ‘SHALL I TURN THE GRASSHOPPER?’ . . . And now, crack! Here it is in the little leather bag . . . What does it say? ‘I AM THE LITTLE BAG OF LIFE AND DEATH!’ . . . And now, crack! It is in Carlotta’s throat, in Carlotta’s golden throat, in Carlotta’s crystal throat, as I live! What does it say? It says, ‘It’s I, Mr. Toad, it’s I singing! I FEEL WITHOUT ALARM— CO-ACK— WITH ITS MELODY ENWIND ME— CO-ACK!’ . . . And now, crack! It is on a chair in the ghost’s box and it says, ‘MADAME CARLOTTA IS SINGING TO-NIGHT TO BRING THE CHANDELIER DOWN!’ . . . And now, crack! Aha! Where is Erik’s voice now? Listen, Christine, darling! Listen! It is behind the door of the torture-chamber! Listen! It’s myself in the torture-chamber! And what do I say? I say, ‘Woe to them that have a nose, a real nose, and come to look round the torture-chamber! Aha, aha, aha!’” (This part is so creepy...)

Oh, the ventriloquist’s terrible voice! It was everywhere, everywhere. It passed through the little invisible window, through the walls. It ran around us, between us. Erik was there, speaking to us! We made a movement as though to fling ourselves upon him. But, already, swifter, more fleeting than the voice of the echo, Erik’s voice had leaped back behind the wall!

Soon we heard nothing more at all, for this is what happened:

“Erik! Erik!” said Christine’s voice. “You tire me with your voice. Don’t go on, Erik! Isn’t it very hot here?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Erik’s voice, “the heat is unendurable!”

“But what does this mean? . . . The wall is really getting quite hot! . . . The wall is burning!”

“I’ll tell you, Christine, dear: it is because of the forest next door.”

“Well, what has that to do with it? The forest?”

“WHY, DIDN’T YOU SEE THAT IT WAS AN AFRICAN FOREST?”

And the monster laughed so loudly and hideously that we could no longer distinguish Christine’s supplicating cries! The Vicomte de Chagny shouted and banged against the walls like a madman. I could not restrain him. But we heard nothing except the monster’s laughter, and the monster himself can have heard nothing else. And then there was the sound of a body falling on the floor and being dragged along and a door slammed and then nothing, nothing more around us save the scorching silence of the south in the heart of a tropical forest!

(EEK! This is finally getting good!!!) (Tell me what you all think!!!) 

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