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gatheringfiki · 3 years

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The following ficlet was written by @flow-it-show-it based on this photoset.

Pairing: Fili/Kili Rating: M

Tags: Unrelated Fili & Kili, Established Relationship, Angst With A Happy Ending, Whump!Fic, The Afterlife, Life After Death, Eternity, Happy Ever After, Guardian Angels, Twin Souls, Strong Opinions About the Best Type of Yule Tree

Please note that not all italics are dialogue, but all dialogue is in italics.

Fiction written while listening to the songs “Heaven” and “This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)” by the Talking Heads. Hirokazu Kore-eda’s film After Life also tugged my sleeve.

You can also read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Heaven

—

Could a day be any more ideal? Unimaginable, so far as Kíli’s concerned.

It starts with light snow outside his apartment window— one flake at a time tranquilly spiraling down through the still December air. It’s gentle snow. Pretty snow. His favorite kind.

For breakfast, he makes himself a bullseye. Cut a hole in the center of a slice of bread, fry it on both sides in butter, crack an egg in the hole to cook sunny-side-up. Kíli’s loved this breakfast since… oh, all his life, he supposes. Forever.

Off to the Christmas market to choose a tree. He finds the exact one: balsam fir, five feet tall, perfect for the end of their bed— his and Fíli’s. They’ve collected so many ornaments over the years, dozens and dozens in all shapes and sizes and colors. Once they’ve all been hung, you won’t even be able to see there’s a tree underneath!

The snow comes and goes throughout the afternoon. Kíli curls up on the bed with a trashy novel, pausing every so often to breathe in the sweet-smoky fragrance of balsam fir needles. He’s set an alarm for four-thirty in case he nods off; he wants to leave plenty of time to get ready for tonight’s party. It’s happening at a friend’s uptown apartment, a place he and Fíli have visited many times before. Since they’re arriving separately, they’ve already agreed on a ‘home base’ – a certain lamp in a corner of their friend’s living room. Before leaving for work that morning, Fíli joked that he hoped their friend hasn’t decided to redecorate.

At the appropriate hour, Kili dons his best black jeans and a merino sweater, powder blue and soft as air. He also applies one dab of vetiver to the base of his throat. They both love that scent, he and Fíli; they joke that it makes it easy to identify him in a crowd. Tonight they’ll need it: as expected, the party turns out to be packed tight with revelers.

Kíli gets a glass of red from the bar and begins to roam, distributing holiday greetings to everyone he knows, which is damn near everybody present. He’s in no hurry; nor is he worried about finding his mate. Whenever they’re in the same place, they always home in on one another without error. Paths magically open up between them; it always feels logical and right that this should happen.

Sure enough, the crowd clears, and there’s his golden-haired, ocean-eyed other half, already beckoning. Happiness sets Kíli alight. He hurries over and catches Fíli’s hands in his own.

I got our tree, he says. It’s just what we wanted. We could duck out a little early and decorate it tonight, if you’d like.

I’d like that very much, his beloved smiles.

Back at their apartment, there’s more wine and peals of laughter as they take turns choosing ornaments to hang. None of them match, but each is precious for completely unique reasons, mementos representing a life lived together. Once it’s fully festooned, their tree is a memoir, a scrapbook, a history of love.

Afterwards they sink down onto their white comforter as if it were a cloud. Kíli pretends to make a snow angel in it, and Fíli chuckles, leaning over him until their lips touch.

They make love by tree- and candle-light and oh, it’s ecstasy. They know each other by heart. Everything else falls away until at last only the two of them and their love remains. When they come, they come together—not as each other’s half, but as one whole, sharing the pleasure as they share everything.

Afterward they lie sated, tenderly entwined. As they slide into dreamless sleep on their cloud, a hush falls over the whole world.

Could a day be any more ideal? Unimaginable— though to know for sure, you’d need something to compare it to, wouldn’t you? Kíli tries to recall another day as perfect as this one, but he comes up blank. Proof that none ever existed, yeah?

It starts with light snow spiraling down one flake at a time past the window. The air is utterly still— isn’t that something? This time of year usually brings frigid gales barreling like freight trains down canyons of stone and steel. But today the snow falls quietly, untroubled by any wind. It’s gentle snow. Pretty snow. Kíli’s favorite kind.

For breakfast, he makes himself a bullseye. He’s loved this breakfast since… oh, since forever. All his life. He seems to recall it being served to him on a special plate. Deep blue, with little red birds flying in an endless chain around the rim. His plate, lost years ago. Or was it broken? He hopes not. It was his favorite.

At the Christmas market, he scores a pretty good tree. A blue spruce instead of a balsam fir, but you can’t have everything, right? The foliage smells invigorating, like fresh cold air. It’s different than what he and Fíli usually prefer, but it’s good. Change builds resilience, people say. Have to stay nimble.

Though it proves to be a mite bigger indoors than it seemed down on the street, the tree looks very inviting at the foot of their bed. It will look even more so once it’s decorated. Kíli and Fíli have collected a lot of ornaments over the years—all shapes and sizes, all gold and white. Kíli hopes that color combination will look all right against the silver-blue foliage. Whatever the answer, they’ll have to wear gloves to trim their tree. Those spruce needles are sharper than they look.

It’s time to get ready for the party, which is being hosted by some friends in their brand new apartment. Fíli and Kíli have arranged to meet there. Kíli’s admittedly a little anxious about it, but that’s to be expected when you’re going someplace you’ve never been before.

It will be fine, he tells himself. I have the invitation. And I know this city like the back of my hand.

He dresses in his best black jeans and powder-blue sweater. One dab of vetiver, because his man adores that scent on him. He himself prefers amber, but he aims to please, so vetiver it is. Maybe it will make it easier to find him in the crowd. These holiday parties are always a mob scene…

Sure enough, the place is so packed, a soul can barely move. Kíli grabs a glass of red at the bar and tries in vain to determine where their hostess is. He runs into a few friends, thank god, but he’s definitely outnumbered by strangers— and he still hasn’t found Fíli.

Kíli’s not worried. No, not really. Well… not much. Whenever they’re in the same place, they find each other eventually, don’t they? Sometimes it’s as if a path opens up between them…. Surely it’s an illusion, but it always gives Kili a feeling he can’t explain. Overpowering relief, as if he’s reached secure ground.

When at last he sees his golden-haired, ocean-eyed other half, he feels so thankful he could cry. He hurries over and blurts, It’s too crowded here. I want to be alone with you. Let’s go home.

Yes, let’s, Fíli replies, smiling but puzzled. After all, he only just got here…

Back in their apartment, there’s more wine and plenty of laughter as they figure out how to hang ornaments on a spruce tree without the needles jabbing them under the fingernails. The result is lovely, if a little… well, humdrum, if you want to know the truth. Next year, Kíli will advocate for one contrasting color to break up the monotony. Wine red. Powder blue.

They lie down on their snow-white comforter facing one another. They’re too tired and distracted to make love, but it’s enough just to look into each other’s eyes by the flickering light of the bedside candle.

Can I hold you? Kíli whispers.

Of course you can, baby.

Grateful Kíli spoons his mate a little more closely than usual. The noise of the party, the moment when he looked around at the sea of people and thought that he might not magically find his other half after all—all of this falls away until at last only quiet remains. It takes a little while to fully relax, but Kíli tells himself, It’s just us two on our cloud, safe and sound.

And then sleep comes, and peace, and hardly any dreams.

Could a day be any less ideal?

Lost in thought, Kíli sullenly watches snow whip past the apartment window. It’s only just started, but they’re talking two to three inches by eight o’clock. The streets will be a mess—slush in daylight, ice by nightfall. Fantastic.

He’s supposed to get the tree today. It’s an errand he wishes he could skip, but the sooner he gets it done, the less he’ll have to be anxious about. The impending party fulfills that role nicely, thank you.

First of all, he and Fíli are meeting there rather than going together. The host is a colleague of Fíli’s whom Kíli has never met, so he’ll be a stranger walking in cold. Not the best start to a night of merrymaking, in his opinion. Secondly, it’s a place he’s never been before. Not just the apartment, but the street itself, whose name he flat-out doesn’t recognize. A new street in a city this old, a city he knows like the back of his hand? Pretty odd, if you ask Kili.

A snowflake strikes the windowpane with an audible plink! He studies it closely. They say each snowflake is unique, unlike any other that’s ever been or will be. Kíli’s not so sure. Certainly there must be duplicates—wouldn’t there be, over time? He’s not sure which thought is more unsettling, that no snowflake has a twin, or that thousands and thousands are exactly the same down to the minutest degree…

Determined to make his morning subtly different from others, Kili cooks himself two bullseyes for breakfast instead of the usual one. He fumbles the second bullseye during transfer the pan, but even that counts as an adventure. The orange-yellow of the broken yolk contrasts cheerfully with the deep blue of his favorite plate. Funny— he thought he’d lost it a long time ago, but there it sat on the cupboard shelf this morning, like magic.

He drags his fingertip through the last drop of yolk, pops it in his mouth and immediately thinks, Needs salt.

As expected, the tree market is a mob scene. There’s nothing left but Norway spruces, the worst needle-droppers. Kíli stakes his claim on the best one he can find, but as soon as he gets it upstairs – no mean feat, performed without help! – he realizes his mistake. It’s much bigger than will comfortably fit in the bedroom, where they normally have it. And its boughs droop; why didn’t he notice that down on the street?

It needs time to acclimate to the indoors, that’s all, he thinks. By tonight it will perk up—and it’ll look even better once it’s decorated.

Sure it will.

Kíli and Fíli keep their decorations in a storage bin in the coat closet. There are only three kinds of tree ornaments, chosen according to some stupid pact they made years ago to “live small”. Three dozen gold satin balls, all identical. Six ropes of pearl bead garland, all identical. Four strings of white lights, all identical. Simple. Elegant. Boring as hell.

What Kíli wouldn’t give for a tree hung with scads of completely mismatched baubles, each with its own story? He’d be able to randomly point one out and say, We got this the day we visited so-and-so in wherever-it-was and that THING happened, remember?

Inspired, he goes to study the framed photos that line the central hallway. Look at this one, for instance! Himself and Fíli, sharing an umbrella on Tulane Street in rainy Princeton. You can tell by the awkwardness of their body language that they’ve only just started dating. Or take this one: Salt Cay, three years ago. Their villa came with its very own banana tree complete with a single, ginormous phallic flower. They’d posed on either side of it, pointing and leering suggestively before dissolving into laughter. It was brilliant. Why not an ornament immortalizing that?

(Or a banana tree that lives year-round instead of a fir or spruce lasting barely a month?)

Kíli takes a shower but passes on washing his hair. They say it’s not healthy to go out in the cold with a wet head, and who knows how long he might be walking? He pulls on his best black jeans and blue sweater and applies one dab of amber oil to the base of his throat. Amber is his favorite. Not his lover’s, but that’s all right, isn’t it? They’re separate people. They don’t have to share every preference.

Before grabbing his keys and coat, Kíli downs a quick swig of wine to steady himself. So what if they were saving it to mull one of these evenings? Wine’s easy to come by; he can always pick up another bottle on the way home.

After a long pensive subway ride and a fair bit of roaming, he finally reaches the right address. He knows this must be the place from the sounds of music and merriment spilling out through the open, brightly lit windows. He takes out his phone and texts his partner (u here? im on street come down n find me) and then waits. And waits. And waits.

After five minutes he tells himself, Hell with it, I’m going in.

As expected, the place is a veritable sardine tin— too many people in too small a space, mixed with too much booze and too few places to sit. Is Kíli worried? Yes. He completes a circle of the room, then another, then another, glancing all around. He doesn’t know any of these people, and Fíli’s nowhere to be seen.

You look like you’re in search of something. This from a man – tall, black crewneck, silver hair at odds with his apparent youth – who has insinuated himself into Kíli’s path.

I’m so sorry; I’m looking for my partner and can’t seem to find him. He’s a friend of… excuse me… Kíli pats down his pockets until he locates the crumpled invitation. Dennis. Are you—?

Dennis; yes, I am. What’s your partner’s name?

Fíli.

Oh, FÍLI! Which makes you Kíli, yes? So glad to meet you. Dennis offers Kíli a continental cheek-kiss of welcome. Unfortunately, your other half seems to be running late. You didn’t hear from him at all?

No. You?

Sadly, no. But the bar’s here, the food’s there— mi casa es su casa. We’ll catch up later, yes?

Kíli finds himself perched on an ottoman with a paper plate of canapes on his knee, listening to a slender young woman in a candy-stripe dress regale him with how and when and where she first met Fíli. Oh, he’s a doll, she says. I’d steal him from you in a hot minute, if I got a head start.

Over the course of the next two hours, he texts Fíli several more times and keeps surreptitiously checking his phone for replies, growing more and more gloomy with each lack of response. After a certain point, it becomes clear that there will be no meeting to stick around for.

Oh, you poor kid, Dennis says. But it was so nice of you to come. You’ll let me get you an Uber at least, won’t you?

Kíli asks the driver to let him out a few blocks away from their building. If there’s going to be a quarrel, he wants to walk into it with a reasonably clear head. But the apartment is empty; it echoes his words – I’m home – right back to him. He slings his coat over the back of the living room couch and stares for a long, long moment at the bare-boughed tree in the corner.

It’s past midnight when a key rattles in the front door deadbolt. Kíli’s in bed, wakeful and stiff with fury. Every sound, however familiar – the tchk! of each door latch, the metallic tinkle of keys placed in their usual bowl – only stokes his ire.

When the bedroom door creaks open, he snarls like a guard dog in the dark: Where the fuck have you been?

You’re still awake. Fíli’s voice, soft and penitent.

You bet your ass I am. Don’t you dare turn on the light; I don’t even want to look at you.

I’m sorry. I wanted to call you, but I left my phone here.

Bullshit.

Baby, I really need to turn on the light.

Kili shields his eyes, as much from Fíli as from the lightbulb glare. He wants to hold on to his righteous anger, and that will be impossible if he looks. But he can’t help it. It’s no use hating the sight of the one you love, particularly when he’s so obviously the worse for wear—flattened here, creased there, nose and earlobes red from the cold.

Hugging himself half from chill and half for self-defense, Fíli gazes wearily around and then points. See?

There’s his phone, lying on the windowsill. And here’s Kíli’s cue to stop being sore. But after everything that’s happened, he’s not ready to collapse with relief into anybody’s arms just yet.

You had other ways of getting touch, he tells the ceiling, tight-lipped. Instead you left me to face a bunch of strangers all by myself. I didn’t know any of them, and none of them knew me. If I hadn’t brought the invitation, Dennis would’ve assumed I was a party crasher and given me the bum’s rush.

Kíli, I’m sorry. I really am. It’s been a shit day, and I promise I will tell you everything in the morning. But right now… The edge of the bed dips under Fíli’s weight, his hand touches Kíli’s ankle. I’m so tired. Can I lie down next to you?

Kíli cautiously moves over. It feels strange to be on this half of the bed, because it’s always been Fíli’s. Of course he’s still angry, and probably will wake up that way. But when you give the one who angers you the warm side of the bed, it’s a sure sign that forgiveness is coming.

Even so, for the first time Kíli can remember, they fall asleep out of each other’s arms.

Could a day be any more ideal?

Kíli wouldn’t know. He can’t remember any other day but this one.

Isn’t that strange? He’s felt his own forehead ten times, but that he can tell, there’s no sign of fever. And yet when he tries to think of another day, even yesterday, he comes up blank.

He woke up knowing some things. Today he’s supposed to go get the tree. The absence of a tree in the apartment proves that this task has yet to be done. And then there’s the party—the separate proof of which is embodied in the cardstock invitation lying on the kitchen table. The date of the event matches the date on Kíli’s smartphone, which is supposed to be very accurate.

If he could, he’d skip both. But he has to get the tree. And he has to go to the party, for his love will be there.

Where is his love now?

Again, Kíli is not sure.

It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? They live together; he should know these things. Maybe there was a conversation about an early morning commute or a work trip, but Kíli simply doesn’t recall it. He feels disoriented, ill-at-ease. He’s never quite right when his partner’s gone. It’s rather… what’s the word?… codependent of him.But it’s the truth. Left too long on his own, he feels like he’s dissolving ever so slightly around the edges.

Outside, it’s snowing like there’s no tomorrow. It only started an hour ago, but the news is filled with talk about falling barometers and increasing accumulation rates– two inches per hour, they say, after midnight. Not enough to warrant canceling the party, god knows. City life stops for nothing, not even a full-tilt blizzard.

Breakfast was a bullseye. Well. It would have been a bullseye, had Kíli not lost his focus. He had all the proper ingredients lined up on the kitchen island, and then he opened the cupboard to fetch a plate. The one his hand fell on was deep blue with cardinal birds around the rim. He took it down, set it on the island, and just… looked at it.

When he next raised his eyes, the wall clock told him that forty-five minutes had passed.

They say familiar objects are reassuring to those in distress. Kíli has spent the morning pacing up and down the apartment hallway, studying each and every framed photograph of himself and his love. All their shared life together is found in these frames. All the best days.

He can’t remember a single goddamned one of them.

Have you ever stood in the middle of a room, twirling in a circle as if the thing you seek will magically appear on the next rotation? That’s Kíli now, and with each rotation, his anxiety grows. Somethings’s wrong. He’s scared. He wants his mate. Why isn’t he here? Again, there’s got to be a reasonable explanation. But fright chokes Kíli’s logic off at the root; in its place, a thought – nasty and intrusive and utterly illogical – weasels in. He finds himself stumbling through the apartment, making a circuit of each room, looking for his partner’s most cherished personal belongings. They’re all right where they belong, next to his.

Stop. Stop, he whispers.

Fuck the tree market, then. He’ll only go to the party. He sets an alarm and lies down on the bed and tries to think of something – a poem, a song, a mantra – to calm himself.

Nothing. He’s got nothing.

The alarm goes off after what seems like only ten minutes.

Kíli drags himself into the shower. That is to say, he drags himself into the room that has the shower in it. He turns it on, but the white-noise hiss of the water unlocks tears before he can even step into the stall. He makes do at the sink with a washcloth, chanting at himself to be quiet. You cry too hard or too loud, the neighbors will call the cops.

He pulls on clean black jeans and a blue sweater and applies one dab of amber oil to the base of his throat. Amber is his favorite. Not his lover’s, though. They share many preferences, but not all. That’s good, isn’t it? They’re different people. Two snowflakes, unalike, drifting in the wind…

That last thought stirs up a vague sadness that Kíli finds difficult to shake. Before grabbing his keys and coat, he downs a quick swig of wine, then a second, to dull the panic in his chest.

After a long pensive subway ride, several wrong street-corner turns, and some dodgy directions from an inebriated passerby, he finally reaches the right address. He knows this must be the place from the bottled-up sounds of music and laughter emanating from the building. It occurs to him to take out his phone and text his partner (u here? im on street, come down n find me) but… the strangest thing. The strangest, strangest thing.

His phone’s contact list is empty. Not a single name. Not a single number.

Unnerved, Kíli reboots the device and shoves it back in his pocket. The data will have to sort itself out; his boyfriend may be already waiting for him. He’s got to get upstairs.

But it’s a mistake; the place is packed with strangers. He wanders through them in a daze. A number of them stare at him with open curiosity; he doesn’t know how terrified he looks. One man – tall, silver-haired, wearing a black crewneck – detaches himself from a small group and blocks Kíli’s path. Nothing about his stance or voice contains a particle of welcome. Is there something I can help you with?

I’m so sorry; I’m looking for my partner and can’t seem to find him. He’s a friend of… excuse me… Kíli pats down his pockets until he locates the crumpled invitation. Dennis— are you Dennis?

Clipped and tight: I am. You say your partner’s a friend of mine? What’s his name?

It’s, um… it’s… his name…

Kíli stops in horror.

He can’t remember.

Dennis is watching him with a very slight but very telling elevation of one eyebrow.

My boyfriend… Dizzy, Kíli reaches for the doorframe to steady himself. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Evidently Dennis wonders the same thing. His face softens, just a little. Are you all right? he asks

I am so sorry, I don’t, I— don’t feel well, Kíli gasps. I’m going to go.

Wait, ah… why don’t you sit down for a little bit. Dennis takes him by the elbow. I’ll bring you some water.

I’m— I’m not drunk—

I didn’t say you were. You could be dehydrated. Or hungry— do you have blood sugar issues? Dennis gently begins to steer Kíli deeper into the apartment. Let’s make you up a plate. Maybe by the time you’re finished, your boyfriend will come waltzing in, all apologies, and then you and I will make him suffer.

So Kíli lets himself be led to a side chair out of the swirl of merrymakers. Presently a slender young woman in a candy-stripe dress brings him a plate laden with canapes, each skewered with a festive twizzle-top toothpick.

Special delivery from Dennis, she shouts over the cacophony. He asked me to find out what your boyfriend looks like so we can keep an eye out.

This Kíli can manage. He’s shorter than me, has wavy blond hair, blue eyes, deep dimples, a mole on his left cheek…

I haven’t seen anyone like that tonight, but if I do, I promise I’ll send him over to you.

But he never arrives. Nor does his name or number – or any other, for that matter – reappear in Kíli’s phone.

Dennis offers to call him an Uber. For all you’ve been through tonight, he says. But Kíli declines. He doesn’t want to have to talk to any strangers. The idea twists him up inside with dread.

The journey home is so convoluted, so torturously twisting, Kíli fears that it will never end. He struggles to make out street signs through the dizzying snowfall and stays on his train so far past his stop that he ends up traveling the entire circuit—all the way to the end of the line and back. The whole time, his mind is racing down an equally perilous track: I’m losing my mind. Maybe I have a brain tumor. Or I’m about to have a stroke. Should I go to the hospital instead of home? But then my love will never find me.

With zero recollection of the walk to his building or the elevator ride to his floor, he finds himself staring at the number on his own apartment door. How long as he been standing here? He jams the key in the first lock, turns it the wrong way, reverses direction, gets it to work, goes on to the second lock and then the third, and finally the door opens.

I’m home, he calls out. Baby, I’m home.

The dark, empty apartment echoes his words right back to him.

All the lightbulbs in the living room have seemingly been swapped out for ones half their wattage. Either that or his vision is dimming; either way, Kíli refuses to flip any more switches. He drops his coat on the living room floor, fumbles down the dark hallway to the bedroom and clambers onto the bed, not even bothering to remove his boots. The snow-white comforter will be mud-sullied by morning, but he doesn’t care.

As long as this night ends. Please, he thinks. Let it end.

This morning, Kili didn’t get up.

He didn’t watch the snow, eat breakfast, pick out the tree, go to the party, meet his love or fall asleep in his arms.

He doesn’t know why; he just doesn’t want to leave this room, this bed.

So he doesn’t.

This morning, Kili didn’t get up.

He didn’t watch the snow, eat breakfast, pick out the tree, go to the party, meet his love or fall asleep in his arms.

He doesn’t know why; he just doesn’t want to leave this room, this bed.

So he doesn’t.

Kíli.

Something’s tickling his ear.

Kíli.

A fingertip. Breath. The brush of lips.

Kíli, wake up.

He jerks awake. His eyes clear to an astounding sight: the most beautiful man he has ever seen, leaning over him.

Hi, whispers Fíli.

Hi, Kíli whispers back.

Do you know who I am?

Kíli nods because it’s true. How, he doesn’t know.

Do you know my name?

Kíli shakes his head, because this is also true. He isn’t sure it matters.

Can I lie down with you? the beautiful man entreats.

Kíli cautiously moves over onto the half of the bed He has no idea why it feels strange to be there, but it seems only polite to give this stranger the warmer portion of the mattress.

They lie side by side, not touching, suspended in a silence that Fíli intuitively ends just before it becomes unbearable.

I was hoping to talk to you, he says—casually, as if this conversation was in no way singular. About the last time we saw each other.

Kíli doesn’t reply.

It’s all right if you don’t remember. We can start again. Fíli shifts around until he’s facing Kíli. I want you to know one thing, though. Whatever I tell you, and however you take it, I’ll always be with you.

Still no response, but a very slight letting-out of breath.

Do you remember when we met? probes Fíli, as gently as possible.

For a moment it seems that Kíli’s silence will hold, but when he begins to speak – hoarse and hesitant – his confession serves to dissolve, at least in part, the wall between them.

I don’t know, he admits. I don’t think so. When you woke me up, I sort of knew who you were, but… not what you were. Or are, to me. I think… I think we have some kind of history. Maybe even a long one. But I don’t remember any of it. His head tips to the side; he meets Fíli’s eye. All I remember is you waking me up.

That’s all right.

Kíli considers this for a minute, then: What is happening?

It’s… it’s hard to explain, but I’ll try. Fíli moves his hand so that his knuckles graze Kíli’s upper arm. It’s just enough contact for the telling to come; more than that might spook him.

Maybe you’ve noticed how… how alike every day is, he continues in a voice so soft it forces Kíli to lean a little closer so as not to strain his ears. Every day, exactly the same.

Kíli smiles. Is that good?

If you like it.

Another smile. I feel happy, if that’s what you mean.

I’m glad you do. Fíli strokes Kíli’s shoulder with the back of his hand. I think, though, that maybe you’ve felt some differences lately, and maybe they haven’t been so happy. Like yesterday. Do you remember?

Uneasy, Kíli shakes his head.

That’s how it’s supposed to be. Every day a clean slate. Every day happy from beginning to end, just like the day before. Exactly like the day before. Fíli says this more to himself than to Kíli, then regains his purpose. Because there is no day before, Kili. It’s all the same day.

Silence without a smile, but also curiously without fear.

We want it to be good for you, but something went wrong. Closing his eyes, Fíli presses his cheek against the pillow. His failure to halt the spiral of events fills him with deep disgrace. I didn’t realize and report it soon enough, he confesses. We’re trying to get to the bottom of it.

I don’t get the we part of it. Kíli sounds very sorry about his inability to grasp this thing he probably ought to understand by now. On a whim he reaches over and spirals one of his nameless friend’s curls around his finger. It seems like something he’s done before, so he has no qualms about doing it now. And since his companion seems to like it, he keeps doing it.

Maybe I should tell you what I can about myself, Fíli murmurs. The love he feels for Kíli is so powerful at this moment, and the last thing he wishes to do is mar it with more revelation. But it’s best to lay things out straight.

When you’re little, you’re only supposed to know so much, he resumes. If you found out all at once what you’re really supposed to learn a bit at a time, the shock of it would sink you. The moment when you realize for the first time that you’re separate from other people is a hard one, because you can’t be eased into it. So when it happens… Another backhanded stroke. They send us.

They send you? Who are they?

I don’t know what to call them. The artists. Designers. Creators. They set us a task, and that’s to get you through it.

Through what?

Life. To keep you living it. And if we succeed… Fíli kisses the place he’s just touched. We get this, with you, forever.

Kíli is quiet for a long time, putting it together, knocking it back down, trying again to make the pieces interlock. Eventually he clears his throat and asks in a very solemn voice, What are you?

I’m yours.

I know that. Kíli begins to play with Fíli’s lapel. I don’t know how I know. But.

I belong to you. A reflective pause, then: At first you saw me with your own eyes. Then, little by little, I melted into you. That’s the way it works for us. You absorb us, and we seem to disappear. But you felt me. And when you needed it – mostly when you were sad and discouraged – you dreamt of me, and I’d help you wake up happy again.

Kíli stiffens, not with anger or fear, but with something approaching epiphany. I remember. Feeling you. Some days, there’d be this sense of having a lovely secret. The sky just… it seemed endless. Full of promise.

Yes. You felt hope, and it would push you to keep going. When you died—

I died? I’m dead?

Yes.

How did it happen?

Fíli presses his lips to Kíli’s shoulder again. Oh, baby, you’re not allowed to know. It doesn’t matter anyway; I was right there waiting to catch you. And the creators…

Now it’s Kíli’s turn to wriggle around until they’re face to face.Kíli gathers the neck of Fíli’s shirt in his hand. Tell me.

They crafted all this for you out of your memories, the best parts of your life mixed with the best parts of your dreams. A sort of… Fíli pauses, searching for a simile. You know your favorite ornament, the little snowglobe?

The idea doesn’t anger Kíli. On the contrary, it perversely delights him to no end. They put me in a snowglobe?

No! Of course not. But it’s a little scene that surrounds you. Every person has their own, none are exactly alike. You get to live in it forever, at your happiest. You wake up, and it’s the best day. You live through it from morning to night, you go to sleep, and you wake up again, and it’s the best day, always. And I’m there with you.

This is insane. I’ve never heard of anything so crazy. In a different tone of voice, Kíli’s words would broadcast derision, denial. At present, however, he can barely keep his glee under wraps. It’s all so wonderful, so unbelievable, there is no way it can be the truth.

Let me show you, whispers Fíli. Close your eyes.

Why?

The creators are saying they want you to. I want you to. Will you do it?

Kíli covers his eyes with both palms.

Now look.

Kíli takes his hands away, gasps, and bolts upright.

There’s a tree at the end of the bed. The exact right tree— balsam fir, five feet tall, just right.

See? We make it for you, says Fíli. But you’ve told us in your own way what you want. You really like going to the market. It’s about so much more than picking out a tree— you like the bustling crowd, the sounds of talking and music and taxis honking. There’s a food cart that sells mint chocolate chip cannoli; you always buy one and eat it on the spot. And then there’s carrying the tree home and wrestling it upstairs on your own; it makes you feel strong and capable and in charge of our holiday.

Kíli is listening to all this with an expression of wonderment, as if it were a fairytale in a favorite book. But then the glisten in his gaze dims. You said it went wrong.

Fíli pushes himself up. Without having to think about it, he puts his arms around Kíli. Something got in. The artists aren’t sure what it was. If a change is made to the scene, even a small one, others changes occur, then more and more. It snowballed. It was awful. Sea-blue eyes plead for understanding. I hated to leave you alone on that last evening, but I had to go for help.

Thank you.

These two words are the last ones Fíli expected to hear. Kíli doesn’t know the price of the gift he’s just given, and he’s about to give an even greater one.

I think… His brows draw together. Can I show you something?

Of course you can, baby. Fíli blushes. He’s called Kíli that ten million times – literally – but every time feels like the first.

The snowy day unfolding outside has cast their kitchen in gloomy blue. Kíli elbows the switch, and then the room’s lit soft gold. He pads over to the cupboard and takes down the blue bowl, setting it on the island between him and Fíli.

It was my favorite, he mumbles.

Fíli doesn’t touch it, only studies it— even walking around the island to view the object from all perspectives, the better to slot it into his frame of understanding. When it fits, he hears the creators breathe in his ear one syllable: Ahhhh.

What do you remember about it? he asks Kíli, who touches its rim with one finger as if it were a talisman.

My Mum’s sister gave it to her for me before I was born, he explains—slowly, as it comes to him. It was a part of a set. Plate, bowl, cup, and a little round spoon that had, like… rubber on it so that when I started to teethe I wouldn’t bite down and hurt myself. It just kind of popped into my head one morning when I was making my bullseye for breakfast. Like, how bright would look. Yellow yolk on blue and red plate, you know? And then… I found it sitting in the cupboard. It was real. He peeks upward at Fíli, worried. Does it not belong?

Fíli’s reply is firm. It does not.

Did it make all the trouble?

It did.

Kíli turns the plate around and around on the counter, making the red cardinal birds fly in their neverending circle one last time. Then (looking as resolved as he does when lugging a Yule tree up four flights of stairs) he nudges it little by little by little toward the edge of the counter. At the very end, he vacillates, looking to Fíli for confirmation that this must be.

Fíli nods.

Kíli pushes.

As the plate shatters, its pieces do something quite extraordinary. They bounce off the floor and vanish in little eddies of iridescent smoke which dissipates in turn, leaving no hint of its source’s existence. Only the lump in Kíli’s throat remains, but two deep breaths easily dissolve it.

I love you, he tells the beautiful stranger, sounding fragile and determined at the same time.

I love you, too, comes the tender reply.

What is your name?

His companion smiles. Fíli.

Yes, Kíli muses. That’s it. Fíli.

Back in their room, it’s nighttime. The tree’s alight, decorated with all the motley ornaments Kíli and his partner have collected. Candles flicker; the mingled scent of beeswax, mulling spice, and balsam needles fills the room. It’s familiar. It’s heaven. It’s home.

Fíli kisses the palm of Kíli’s hand. It’s all for you.

Laughing, touching each other, they sink down together on their white cloud and start infinity over.

Could a day be any more ideal? Unimaginable, so far as Kíli’s concerned.

It starts with light snow outside his apartment window— one flake at a time tranquilly spiraling down through the still December air. It’s gentle snow. Pretty snow.

His favorite kind.

#Gathering 12 Days 2020 #Fili/Kili #FiKi #Durincest #the Hobbit #submission

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fishysfoodblog · 4 years

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RECIPE: Vegan Mushroom Bourguignon

This is pretty labour intensive, so make sure you’ve got somewhere to sit down whilst you’re making this. It can be left at various stages when it’s simmering, so it’s not too difficult to take a break for a cuppa with your feet up!

You can service this with whatever takes your fancy. I had mine with mash and steamed green beans.

Also, any mushrooms will work for this recipe so don’t worry about trying to find the fancy ones!

***ALLERGY WARNING: Mushrooms, tomato, onion, red wine***

INGREDIENTS

2 Tbsp vegan butter (or you could use an oil of your choice)

1 Tbsp olive oil

2 x large Portobello mushrooms

7oz of other mushrooms (i used Oyster mushrooms, but you could use dried Cremini)

6oz pearl onions or shallots

2 x large carrots

(optional) 1-2 sticks of celery

1 Tbsp fresh rosemary (dried is also fine) If you don;t have rosemary, mixed herbs work just as well

1-2 sprigs fresh Thyme (or a Tbsp of dried)

A bay leaf if you fancy it

2 Tbsp tomato puree

1 x cup red wine (those small bottles are exactly a cup i discovered)

2 x cloves garlic

2-2.5 cups mushroom or vegetable stock

2 tsp corn starch

sea salt & pepper to taste

(optional) a splash of Balsamic vinegar

HOW TO MAKE

I used my cast iron Le Cruset on the hob for this as it’s nice and deep and distributes the heat really well.

Heat the butter over a medium heat

Add all the mushrooms and brown off

Remove the mushrooms from the pan and pop in a bowl to the side for the moment

Add 1 Tbsp of butter in the same pan you cooked off the mushrooms in and add the carrots, onion, rosemary, thyme and seasoning (and celery and balsamic vinegar if you choose)

Saute for 5-7 minutes so that all the flavours combine

Add the wine and garlic and stir in

Now stir in the tomato paste and add the stock. I used the whole 2.5 cups

Bring to the boil

Simmer for 10-15 minutes

Add the mushrooms to the mixture and stir

Continue to simmer until the mixture has reduced by half. This took about 30 minutes for me so i went and had a sit down

Next, remove about 3 Tbsp of the liquid to a seperate bowl and add the cornstarch to it

Stir the liquid and corn starch until you get a slurry

Add the slurry to the pan and head on high until its nicely thickened into a rich, darkish brown

Serve with whatever you’re in the mood for!

This made 3 portions with mash and an extra largish portion for the freezer.

Check out my website Angry Old Spoonie for more recipes and Spoonie blogging

Consider becoming an Angry Old Spoonie Patreon

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#fishy's food blog #vegan #vegan recipe #vegan cooking #vegan kitchen #vegan food #spoonie diet #spoonie life #spoonie vegan #spoonie weightloss #carb cycling #food #foodporn #recipe #meal prep #vegan meal prep #batch cooking #vegan batch cooking

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srsly-messed-up-fruitloop · 4 years

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Tug of War (Ch 3)

ch 1 - prev - next

Word Count: 1,495

(AKA the random Christmas chapter)

The next week, Danny was greeted by the sight of a very pissed off Sam giving Tucker the silent treatment. He had warned him.

Sitting down in his seat, Danny hesitantly asked, “Hey Sam, how was your trip?”

Her vicious glare redirected to him. “Danny, how could you let him install the grill?”

Read on AO3 or under the cut

“Uh…” He looked over to Tucker, who looked like he was about to cry. “I told him it was a bad idea.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I tried, Sam.”

Sam glowered at him for a moment longer before sighing. “Fine. Trip was alright. But I’m so behind on everything now.”

He took notice of her slightly tanned face. “Didn’t get much time to study?”

“No, ugh. My parents wouldn’t leave me alone for a second.”

“Sounds like they’re gonna miss you when you’re gone off to college,” he remarked, remembering his own parents.

“I won’t be gone off to college if they don’t let me study,” she huffed.

Right then, Mr. Lancer strolled in the classroom wearing a Christmas sweater with “TO BE OR NOT TO BE JOLLY” knitted on the front.

Danny couldn’t help the scornful look that appeared on his face. He never could stand the holidays. Every year, when stores started playing their annoyingly repetitive Christmas playlists, every channel on TV kickstarted their broadcast of the same five Christmas movies, and everybody in his life began to treat each other with an exaggerated cheer, he just wanted to vomit. Call him a Scrooge, the Grinch, he doesn’t care. He’d rather go to sleep and wake up in January than go through it all again.

Later that day after school, Danny questioned his entire purpose as he weaved around the mall’s annoying Christmas decorations (more like obstacles) to chase Spectra. Apparently, for the last week, she has been making kids miserable by telling them Santa Claus isn’t real. Which...well, despite how true she is, it still isn’t right for her to relish in their despair.

“Aww Danny, you’re so boring. You won’t even let me have some fun, it’s almost Christmas,” Spectra teased as she shot an ectoblast behind her towards him.

Danny grunted, barely dodging it. “I think you’re misunderstanding the definition of fun. One, in any dictionary you will not find ‘making children miserable’ under ‘fun’. Two, nothing associated with Christmas is fun.”

“Ah right, I almost forgot how much of a Scrooge you are. But we know you act this way to hide something deeper. Tell me Danny, why do you bury those traumatic memor—”

“Shut up Spectra!” Danny yelled before shooting a blast back at her.

She easily dodged it, and smirked at how easily ruffled the boy got. His frustration was so delicious! Spotting Bertrand in his human form, quietly approaching with a string of colourful fairy lights behind him, her smile grew even wider.

Before Danny could react, Bertrand tossed the fairy lights like a lasso, catching his leg and slamming him to the ground. The mall tile instantly cracked upon impact.

Bertrand harshly pulled a Santa hat over the boy’s head before flying off with his companion, cackling.

Wes filmed the entire exchange with his brand new camera while he hid behind a trash receptacle. He couldn’t help but wince when Fenton hit the tile.

“Eh, he’s a ghost, he’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself, zooming in on Fenton’s form as he slowly got up.

Fenton yanked the hat off his head and grumbled, “I hate Christmas,” before chucking it to the ground and taking off to confront the two ghosts again.

Wes stopped the camera and frowned. Fenton hates Christmas?

How could anyone—okay, sure, no doubt the concept of Santa actually came from Satan and the holidays are practically an excuse in today’s society for corporations to milk more money from their consumers. But, even he himself couldn’t help but feel a little happier during the holidays!

Of course, this only further proves Fenton’s true identity. Only a ghost could feel so hateful towards such a merry time of the year, right?

Suddenly, an imaginary light bulb lit up above Wes’ head. His eyes locked on the nearest store selling Christmas decorations and he naughtily grinned.

If Danny could have it his way, he’d just spend the entire day lying in bed. His back was so sore from the fight with Spectra and Bertrand yesterday. Even his self-healing abilities weren’t enough to ease the pain.

Of course, he had to show up today, he had a math test. And a physics lab that counted for twenty percent of his grade. He couldn’t even tell himself that he could rest after school, his entire week was jam-packed with assignment deadlines. It was the last week before winter break but to Danny, it felt like an eternity would pass before he’d get to relax.

He was so looking forward to the break. Don’t get him wrong, he still despised everything to do with Christmas. But he’d happily welcome a break any day. Ghosts also generally calm down around this time because of their truce. Although, Spectra yesterday definitely was an exception.

Before he pondered any longer on that thought, Danny sluggishly opened his locker and froze at what he saw. Every inch of it was covered in loud red and green Christmas wrapping paper, flashing multi-coloured fairy lights lined the door, and ornaments hung from the two hooks. He went to grab his physics textbook and growled when he realized all of his books were also covered in wrapping paper.

“Woah there Danny, I thought you weren’t much of the festive type?”

Danny whipped his head towards the sound of Sam’s voice. “I didn’t do this! Wes—he even wrapped my textbooks!”

It only infuriated him even more when he noticed Sam trying to suppress a laugh. “It’s not funny!”

However those words were lost to her when she couldn’t contain it anymore. Danny scowled and began ripping off the paper on his textbooks.

A few moments later, Sam finally calmed down just when he started to harshly tug on the fairy lights. “You know, even though it’s pretty cheesy to me, people do this. The whole decorating lockers kind of thing. Heck, Paulina still maintains that shrine of you in hers. Maybe Wes just really likes Christmas?”

“But I don’t! It’s my locker too,” he angrily insisted as he continued to pull.

“True. You should still talk to him before doing that,” she said, watching him grip an ornament as if he wanted to crush it.

He paused. “Why are you even trying to defend Wes when you still won’t talk to Tucker?”

She instantly shot an indignant look at him. “That is totally different! I told him not to do it, yet he did it anyways!”

“ You should still talk to him ,” Danny repeated in a mocking tone.

“Ugh! Fine, go and tear down those decorations!” she snapped before stomping off towards their first class.

He coolly observed her retreating form for a moment before crushing the ornament in his hand.

Danny and Sam were already sitting at their lunch table toying with their food and complaining about all their assignments when Tucker walked up to them with a steaming tupperware container. Sam’s look instantly melded into a glare.

“Tucker seriously? I already told you to get rid of that grill and now you’re here making food for yourself?“

“Sam. Here, take this.” Tucker calmly offered the container.

“You know I don—“ she stopped mid-sentence when she noticed it was filled with grilled zucchini slices.

“Try one,” Tucker urged. “I promise, I cleaned the grill properly before cooking these.”

Danny was almost sure she was going to reject it. Except, she grudgingly reached out and grabbed one with her spork.

“What did you put on this?”

He shrugged, “Olive oil, some salt, black pepper, herbs, garlic and onion powder, oh and balsamic vinegar. Just like how you taught me.”

She eyed the slice for a moment longer before taking a bite.

“Look, by the end of lunch, if you still don’t want it, I’ll uninstall the grill, alright?” Tucker proposed.

Sam seemed much calmer now and Danny couldn’t tell if she liked the zucchini or not. “Tucker, I’m mad at you because you didn’t listen to me. It’s our locker we share together, we’re supposed to make decisions together.“

“I’m sorry Sam. I just...”

“Listen, you promise that you’ll take full blame when a teacher finds out?”

“No teacher is goi—”

“Tucker.”

“Alright, I promise.”

This time, Sam smiled and went to grab another slice of zucchini. “What do you say about me bringing in a spice rack tomorrow?”

Tucker looked at her in disbelief for a second before responding, “Heck yeah!”

Meanwhile, Danny was grinning. His friends will always have their squabbles. But somehow, they manage to work it out in the end every time.

Abandoning his own bland lunch, he picked up his spork just when Tucker began to dig in.

#look the meat eater vs vegan trope dies in this ok?#fic #the trio #wes #christmas #grooveactuallywrites #tug of war #the STDs

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littlethingwithfeathers · 4 years

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Quarantine Cuisine - Shepherd’s Pie

Here’s the next round! An old pantry standby... Shepherd’s Pie! Just like with the last one, I’ll offer up substitutions as I find them. There’s lots of wiggle room in this dish. I mean... it was originally designed to use up leftover stew and taters so... Use what you got! Ingredients:

4-5 cups of mashed potatoes (make ‘em from scratch. Make ‘em from a box. Doesn’t matter. But they should be stiff. Don’t go too loose. I like yukon gold taters, half and half and a few tablespoons of butter. The amount should cover your filling by about 1 inch deep) 4 Tablespoons oil (I use olive oil) 2 pounds ground meat (I use ground beef, but you could use ground vension, lamb, sausage, turkey, chicken... whatever. Mix and match. In the old days, this filling would be leftover stew so just use what you’ve got.) 1/2 of an onion, diced (or a small onion. I’m scrimping on my onions so I don’t have to buy more.) 8oz fresh or canned mushrooms (optional... I use them when I have them. White button, baby bellas, shitakes, or creminis all work great.) 3-4 cloves garlic 2 Tablespoons tomato paste (optional... but use it if you got it) 2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce (or soy sauce... or balsamic vinegar. Something that’s got that umami taste. If you don ‘t have anything, you can leave that out too. Just taste for seasoning... you might need a touch more salt.) 1/2 cup red wine (can also sub in additional broth) 1 cup broth (beef, chicken or veg.) 1/2 tsp thyme 1/2 tsp rosemary 1 1/2 cup small veggies (can be cut up carrots, frozen peas, frozen corn, green beans... anything that will thaw and cook through in about half an hour.) salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 350.

Make your mashed taters and set aside. In a large, heavy, oven-safe skillet (I love my trusty cast iron) heat oil and add onion. Cook until just starting to brown. Add mushrooms and cook until just starting to soften. Add your ground meat and cook until all liquid has cooked out. Then make a well in the center and add garlic and tomato paste. Stir around in the center until the tomato paste starts to stick, then stir in well and add Worcestershire sauce. Deglaze with wine and broth. Add seasonings and veggies. Allow to simmer for about 10 minutes. Then tamp down flat but not tight with a spoon, and smear the mashed potatoes over the top in an even layer (you’re shooting for about one inch thick) Bake at 350 for about half an hour or until the mashed potatoes start to brown and it’s bubbly at the edges. Allow to stand for about ten minutes before serving so it scoops out smooth and the layers stay separate. Otherwise it’s like lava and just turns into a mess. Another optional add on is about a cup of shredded cheddar cheese on top of the potatoes. I don’t always do it... but if you got it to use up...

#food #quarantine cuisine #quarantine #recipe

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mirandagoing4baroque · 4 years

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Field of Streams: Ariodante, in Concert, While Making Lasagna

The English Concert was supposed to perform Rodelinda in concert at Carnegie Hall on May 3rd 2020. Obviously they did not. In some ways I am lucky--if the Met hadn’t done Agrippina I might have made plans come to New York to see Rodelinda instead. It wouldn’t be unprecedented. In fact, in 2014, I finally got to call in an IOU over a decade old. As I mentioned on this blog, when I was in kindergarten and first heard Alcina, I managed to get my father to promise to take me to see Alcina live whenever it came to the east coast. And more than twenty years later we finally got to see the English Concert perform it in concert in Carnegie Hall. In the intervening years there was a debate about whether Toronto counted as the east coast, but my father insisted that he had only meant the east coast of the United States. And when the English Concert brought Ariodante on tour in 2017 they were kind enough to take the show to the Kennedy Center which was considerably more convenient.

As a replacement for the aforementioned cancelled Rodelinda concert, they streamed a recording of the Ariodante in Concert recorded at and live streamed from Carnegie Hall in 2017. As I mentioned above, I was lucky enough to see this concert at the Kennedy Center when it was touring, and I also watched the stream at the time, and then I rewatched it when it was streamed again this past weekend (twice, I regret nothing). So I am, shall we say, intimately familiar with this production.

Opera in concert is an interesting phenomena. I’ve seen three operas in concert (Alcina, Ariodante, Zelmira) and a few others that were only ‘semi-staged’ (Don Giovanni 2x, Radamisto, Giulio Cesare at Boston Baroque). Well, Miranda, you say, “the monkey paw has curled, and you got what you wished for in the Acis and Galatea review, an opera stripped of any ‘razzle dazzle’ or distractions. So, can the emotional drama stand alone?” On this subject I cannot speak for anyone other than myself but I believe it can and it does. I am sure that there are those for whom the grand sets and costumes are an integral part of the experience, and that is a legitimate position to take, but not one to which I ascribe.

However, especially in these times, watching operas in concert (stay tuned for my review of the Boston Baroque Agrippina stream) makes me think about what the bare essentials of opera are. The sets and costumes are fun, sure, and all other things being equal, I would rather have sets and costumes and the full spectacle. And they can cover a multitude of sins. It is far more difficult to create an entertaining production when it is just the orchestra, the singers, and an empty stage. But this production is, to me, as moving as some fully staged productions I’ve seen. So what is the immutable core of these operas? What is it that I am searching for when I am “Going for Baroque?”

The value I find in opera is as an emotional touchstone. This is not a novel concept, and I am not the first, or even the thousandth to think it. Why it is Baroque Opera for me and Jazz or R&B for you, I cannot say,* but when I hear this music performed well my heart (or my soul, or my grey matter, or whatever the thing is that is that feels the feels) stirs in response. So what I am looking for when I am going to an opera is not a spectacle. I am looking for a conflict that put the characters through a variety of feelings, music that is performed with care in a baroque style, and singers and musicians who will sing or play with pathos, so I can have the transcendental experience of sharing an emotional response with a room of strangers, and most importantly, with my father. We have been watching many of the same streams, and sharing our thoughts over the telephone but it’s not the same as sitting next to him in a hushed auditorium and seeing, out of the corner of my eye, a small small creep across his face as the horns come in because he knows they are my favorite. I am counting down the days until we can share this again.

But enough philosophizing. Let’s review the stream. So we know the standard, how did this production measure up? Well, I watched it four times, so that’s a hint. In fact as to music performed in the Baroque style, this performance could be considered a gold standard (of course along with the Glyndebourne Giulio Cesare). I am such a sucker for period instruments. To my ear the difference between Baroque Opera performed with and without period instruments is the difference between your average red wine vinegar, and an expensive aged balsamic. The red wine vinegar is fine, but the aged balsamic has a far more interesting, layered, intense flavor. This is especially true with respect to brass, where the natural horn is basically a completely different instrument from the french horn. The English Concert has never once disappointed me. Harry Bicket is always a master of the correct tempo, but in this concert, the flowing dance rhythms that undergird the arias really shone.

So next up we have a drama that puts the characters through a variety of feelings. If you need a refresher on the plot of Ariodante, I covered it earlier here (and if you’re too lazy to click the link, think the Hero/Claudius plot from Much Ado About Nothing), but there is no debating that it certainly takes the characters on a roller coaster of emotional situations. The stellar cast dug deeply into the libretto and squeezed every drop of feeling from Handel’s brilliant arias. Ariodante was composed when Handel was at the peak of his operatic abilities and it contains some of his most sublime music.

Mirroring the tasteful stylings of the orchestra the cast had subtle but effective ornamentations in the da capo sections that elevated the theme but did not obscure it (no mean feat in such arias as “Dopo Notte”). The King of Scotland was played by Matthew Brook, who I do not believe I had seen before and nor have I seen him since. I really enjoyed his performance and he was an especially capable actor. He leaned into the paternal aspects of the role, and I found his emotional arc quite moving. David Portillo was a wonderful Lurcanio, and I still hope to see him again in something (hint, hint, DC directors). I particularly enjoyed his “Tu Vivi.” In this aria Lurcanio tries to dissuade his brother Ariodante from choosing suicide after seeing a woman they believe (incorrectly) to be Ginevra let a man into her rooms. It is often sung in a rage, which allows for blistering speed and impressive displays of vocal prowess, but in David Portillo’s interpretation, it was a desperate plea to save his brother's life. By toning the aria down a notch, he accessed some very interesting interpersonal and emotional drama that added novel layers to a familiar aria.

This was my first time hearing Sonia Prina live, but I had fallen in love with her voice on many Baroque recordings. She has a wonderful vibrancy and fluidity in her lower register, which is particularly critical for women playing Polinesso, in my opinion. Sometimes they can sound a little stilted in the low runs, but she had full power and flexibility. I also appreciated her aesthetic. The punk rock bad guy Polinesso she portrayed was believable as a love interest for Dalinda, and as a villain. It is not her fault that Polinesso’s arias are all a little one note (think Iago’s extensive monologues in Othello).

I absolutely adored Mary Bevan’s Dalinda. I hadn’t heard her prior to this concert, and I eagerly await my next opportunity (still waiting......). She was believable as a young woman who fell in love with the wrong manipulative man and made a mistake. I loved her portrayal of the rising horror throughout the second half as she realized what was going on. I always love "Neghittosi, or voi che fate?", the aria where she calls on the heavens to strike down the man who wronged her, but I found her interpretation to be a particularly affecting vision of female empowerment and rejecting the notion that she was culpable, and laying the blame squarely at the feet of Polinesso, where it belongs.

This was also my introduction to Christiane Karg, who was a vocal standout as Ginevra. I would have liked a little more emotion from her, but, as I’ve acknowledged above, I like my Handel drama cranked to eleven, so that may just be personal preference. Regardless of the acting, her singing was note-perfect and I have no real complaints.

Which brings us at last to Joyce DiDonato. Her performance in this production is one of my most treasured concert memories, and the kind of magic you are just grateful to bear witness to. Any performance of “Scherza Infida” is a miracle of acting and vocal stamina. As I said in my last review of Ariodante, the song is 12 minutes long, and contains four lines of distinct lyrics. To hold the audience’s attention with no prancing dancers in nude bodysuits, with only your voice and the music--that is a gift. But you can google reviews of this production and read critics who know far more about this than I do raving about her “Scherza Infida” and her “Dopo Notte.” I want to talk about the redheaded stepchild of Ariodante’s third act arias “"Cieca notte." This is the moment when Ariodante learns that he was fooled--that he was betrayed by his beloved, that in fact he has betrayed her. (Apparently I have a thing for arias in which Handelian heros realize they have been fooled, see also, “Mi Lusinga” from Alcina) To watch her sing this aria, and to see the distinct waves of realization rolling across Ariodante’s soul as the aria progresses is to watch a master at work. I will at some point write up my magnum opus on how, when properly performed, da capo arias should replicate the structure of the Hegelian Dialectic, but that is a problem for another day.

So there it is, how you can strip away all but the absolute essential bits from an opera and still have a dynamic, dramatic, engrossing evening (even when you’ve seen the thing three times already). Because for me, I got what I needed out of it. I felt that resonance in my soul. I found a little comfort in these times. It’s no replacement for live opera, but it soothed a bit my parched throat. Okay, I lied, I do have a few things to say about “Dopo Notte.” Ever since I watched this stream, I’ve been listening to “Dopo Notte,” the bravura aria Ariodante sings at the end of the show, rejoicing in his reunion with Genevra, almost every day, because it is the tonic I need during these times (you can listen here if you think it might be the tonic your soul needs too). It is a promise I make to myself; permission to let myself hope. A promise that the sun will shine again, that these dark and stormy waters will not drag us under, and that someday I will sit next to my father in a dark opera house, and we will once again share in the experience of Handel’s glorious music.

“After a dark night, the sun shines in the heavens and fills the world with joy...”

*It was definitely the brainwashing.

#ariodante #joyce didonato #baroque #opera #english concert #carnegie hall

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dbhilluminate · 4 years

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DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 1)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Special Agent Gavin Reed, Director Thomas Falken Word Count: 2,842

Noah crashes an undercover FBI operation to say hello to a friend he hasn't seen or spoken to in a couple of months, but the mood is spoiled when the Zionist Inquisition shows up to deliver an ultimatum to Vincent Sharp, and issue a threat to anyone who would dare support the installation of an android suburb in Washington, DC.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 9:45 PM

From the outside, the looming auditorium locally known as The Mellon was unchanged. Whatever techno-aesthetics the Capitol had adopted in the last two decades, Washington, DC’s architecture was still mostly the same neoclassical Roman-inspired drivel the Founding Fathers probably thought the height of grandeur that any respectable city could model itself after. This particular building was very much a product of its time- a perfect encapsulation of the stiff right angles, thick brooding columns, and bleak texture-less walls, suggested nothing of what might actually be happening beyond the foyer. The red-green cutout projections of trees and reindeer and ornaments dancing across the Columbia pediment sculpted across its tented promenade and the delicate string instruments currently honoring an orchestral cover of one of a hundred classic Christmas songs was a hint though.

Noah stepped out of the Jaguar to be accosted by a shower of holographic white and blue snowflakes, mixed with the real-life equivalent wafting about that cold winter’s night. They swarmed like his very own plague of too-friendly gnats. Whatever property-wide projection program the event had been accentuated with, the programmer had evidently spent too much time re-watching Frozen as a child. He pulled his sunglasses down just far enough to peer over the lenses as a few flakes fluttered in, close enough for him to see their individual fractals, and gave an irritated huff through his nose. “Still bitter over the demise of Disney, I see.” A few seconds later, the shy valet swept around the roadster’s red taillights and apologized profusely for a near-nonexistent delay in offering to take the car to be parked. Noah felt nothing but amusement at their blathering, patted him on the shoulder and held the door open. “Quit fussing. It’s early yet, and you’ve a lot more rides to tuck in before the night’s over. Treat this one like the queen she is and there’ll be an extra fifty in it for you… Fredrick.”

The kitschy light-show and dear hapless Fred weren’t as bothersome as the front ranks of guards posted at the velvet rope-fenced entrance. The nearest man put up a hand and stopped him in his tracks at the top of the stairs. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is a charity function for contributors only. Have you made a donation?” It seemed only pre-approved guests were being permitted inside- a slight oversight on his part, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from his goal. He had a conversation to close out.

Noah popped his brows and donned a charming smile as he presented the falsified credentials, nestled in a flip-fold ID bearing the name Erwin L. Yvonne, complete with the most abhorrent manipulation of his likeness ever produced. “Not to worry, gents. I’m intimately acquainted with the curator, Mr. Sharp, and I’m here to deliver my contribution in the flesh.” Everything about the little white lie he’d spun on a whim was unnatural to him, but convincing to the two confused humans -poor, overworked and underpaid minions as they probably were- relaying questions into their headsets. After a few moments of conferring with whoever was heading security (most likely the Special Agents in charge of the sting this event was a front for), they motioned him through for a pat-down just beyond the rope. Noah didn’t bother feeling offended at them for only doing as they were instructed, but he did have a little fun making them as uncomfortable as possible as they searched his person for weapons. If his disguise, an old favorite thrown together on such short notice, held up to that much, then the rest would be a cakewalk- not that he had ever harbored a desire to actually go skipping through a fully-stocked dessert table. As fun as it sounded, he had enough messes splashed all over his real name without adding another to the list.

To his relief, the reach of the holographic snowflakes stopped at the door and vanished as he crossed the threshold of the foyer. The marble floor of the lobby had been buffed and waxed to a soft shine, and was still holding up to the foot traffic four hours after the meet’s commencement. Noah only paid enough mind to the guests still loitering about in groups no larger than six people to disinterestedly scan their faces at a glance and assign his background processes the menial task of matching names and dossiers to them. At the moment, he was far too focused on finding the one disguised face among them who was of any real importance to care about much else.

Mr. Vincent Sharp. Or should he say, Gabriel Reed.

The main hall was a wide, cavernous space, with rows of columns standing off to either side. Gold leaf sconced wall lamps provided an accentuating glow compared to the three giant chandeliers of brass and aluminum that bathed the room in ambient light. The dazzling light-show playing outdoors was only outdone by the splendor of one thirty-foot tall balsam fir erected in the center of the floor, adorned with no less than one hundred feet of multicolored string lights, dozens of strands of tinsel, swaths of garland, and a few hundred bauble ornaments. The topper, a white tinsel angel with glittery wings, faced the entrance with its hands pressed together and head bowed as if to thank all who arrived. A few outlying rings of cocktail tables surrounded the roped-off centerpiece. Those guests who weren’t conversing had taken seats to sip champagne or nibble on appetizers while they caught up on their gossip. Each cloth-covered table possessed its own small topper of a larger holographic projection of snowflakes hanging stationary in midair, which constantly shifted from one pattern to the next, spinning like a globe on a stand whenever a curious hand reached out to ‘tap’ them.

A small stage nestled in an alcove against the back of the ballroom hosted a classical band (ruled by one full-size concert piano) who looked as superfluous as the snowflakes that had greeted him outside. They wound through the last chorus of Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire as he descended the staircase, before starting back up with Jingle Bell Rock. Between the cello and violins, Noah’s hypersensitive ear detected at least three strings in need of tightening before he shunted that note aside to take a backseat with the rest of his anxieties. He hadn’t spent two hours biting his knuckles over ever approaching the Andrew W. Mellon Auditorium just to show up and critique its acoustic entertainment.

It wasn’t until a few curious eyes had turned his way, nodded and bid him good evening, that Noah realized how entirely inappropriate it was to be wearing sunglasses indoors, much less an event so high-class. The rest of his ensemble was tame enough- a dark navy blue suit bearing pointed lapels and a Zion sigil pin, complimented by a black dress shirt and loafers. The mild dose of glitter effect (same as could be found on the snow outside) projected into his black hair, accented with blue highlights, wasn’t as much of an affront as the pair of Ray Bans. Before anyone could make much of a fuss about it, he pulled them off and stashed the specs in his jacket’s breast pocket; in this kind of crowd, acting appropriate was of the utmost priority. Except when it wasn’t. Off to the left was a fully stocked pop-up bar- heads of the handful of people standing near it were turned away, giving off all manner of unapproachable vibes, including the only familiar silhouette in the room. Noah fought back a smirk when he spotted one particular set of ears before the facial recognition software even kicked in. As much as he would have loved to surprise him with his presence, he knew better than to sneak up on the owner of said ears. The last time he’d done so, Noah had wound up laid out over the fragments of his former coffee table, and he wasn’t eager to experience the cocktail hour equivalent of that encounter.

A half-hearted sweep of the room offered a few other suggestions of anything amiss, and that conclusion was about as dull as dishwater. Noah wasn’t really feeling making a scene with another guest (this event was far too classy for such delinquency), nor was he feeling at all confident enough to steal the mic off its stand and serenade the entire room. But that Christmas tree… it was giving off far too many signals to only be rigged with illumination accents. On his optical spectrum, a cloud of static encircled the poor displaced flora from top to bottom, a few of which were emitting from little lens-capped nodes disguised as burnt-out bulbs along the string. He drifted over casually and leaned in as if to admire his reflection in one of the gold metallic baubles, then carefully reached past the rope to twist and unplug one of the planted camera bulbs like plucking a petal off a flower. The fir gave only a whisper-quiet tink at this attack. The light strand continued to blink and cycle away, regardless of the missing piece. Noah held it up to eye level with a triumphant, yet mischievous grin. He knew exactly who was on the other side of the monitor observing the footage.

And having the most important discussion of the holiday season. On the other end of the feed, tucked away in the off-limits green rooms of the hall, Special Agent Reed was too busy engaging in one of his favorite pastimes of discussing classic action flicks with the unbaptized to notice that one of their cameras was moving. “I’m tellin’ you, man, Die Hard is THE Christmas movie, and if you don’t agree you’re just wrong .” “No way,” a second agent argued, “Bruce Willis himself denied that shit more than twenty years ago…” Reed let out a laugh that bordered on mocking, shook his head, and gestured to the man with one scolding finger lifted off his coffee cup. “John McClane would disagree-“ “Hey! Dumbasses! Stay focused!” Director Thomas Falken -who had insisted on overseeing the sting himself, in the event that something went horribly wrong - barked at the yapping men with a threatening leer that snapped Gavin’s head around and back into focus. On the feed of one of the bulb-cameras, an unrecognizable man rolled the glass node between his fingertips like a gem, and smirked as he held it up to the light. Reed’s brow furrowed in distress as he mumbled “What the fuck…?”, then swiped the walkie off the counter to relay the information. “Gabe.” “What is it, Reed?”

All done up in the swankest cocktail suit anyone would ever see him in, ‘Vincent Sharp’ turned, then leaned with his back against the bar and nursed a drink as he scanned the room through half-framed, squared-off, horn-rimmed glasses. One idle hand reached to throw back the hem of the tweed charcoal gray blazer, exposed the light brown waistcoat hugging his waist and hips, and slipped into the pocket of a pair of perfectly tailored, black slim-legged slacks. “We may have trouble, one of our spycams has been compromised.” Gabe tipped back his head and emptied the glass in his hand to smother the outward reaction of surprise, then set it down on the counter and gestured to the bartender for another. Rather than reach for any of the bottles displayed on the back counter, she went for a decanter on the shelf below the bar and refilled the glass with a burgundy brown liquid- thirium, distilled and dyed to mimic the appearance of Scotch. "Just one?” he asked in a curious tone as he searched the crowd around the tree. From his vantage point, he couldn’t clearly see anyone acting suspiciously. “Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing… little shit’s just holdin’ it up and grinnin’ like he knows we’re here…” And that he did. The harsh whisper to emanate over the commandeered camera’s mic said as much:

Good evening, Special Agent Reed. Fancy seeing you here.

From the other side of the room, Gabriel’s head turned a tic at the sound of crashing equipment and a few muttered ‘shit Shit, SHIT’s coming from the other end of the frequency he was currently tuned to. Like a bull in a china shop.

“How does he know you’re here… !?” Falken -known in his social circles as Tomahawk, for good reason- boomed from across the room as he rose from the couch and stormed over to the monitors. He shoved Reed’s chair aside, and scrutinized the face of the man making a mockery of their carefully planted monitoring equipment. Gavin’s heels scraped against the hardwood as he backpedaled and held his hands up in surrender. “I- I- I don’t… I don’t know, I didn’t tell anyone, I swear-” “Then who is THAT?” Falken punctuated with a slam of his palm against the monitor that made everyone in the room jump. “That’s… that’s, uh-...” He could explain that, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. No matter how he looked at it, he was to blame for his presence that evening. His negligence had compromised months of careful planning.

“...Gavin?” His target rose from a table toward the front of the ballroom and directed his attention toward the bar, leering with the clear intent of starting a conversation. What impeccably bad timing for this to go down. “Reed! Talk to me!”

Gabriel’s intrusion provided him with the convenient excuse he needed to disengage for a moment. One visibly-shaking hand swiped the walkie off the desk and Gavin turned to break away from the glower of Falken’s death-glare long enough to respond to his partner in the field. The other hand ran through his hair with a nervous twitch in his fingers and he glanced over his shoulder as he cleared his throat and swallowed, then mumbled, “It’s-... it’s Noah,” under his breath just loud enough for him to hear.

Gabe’s thought processes came to a screeching halt as his personal life collided with his alias for just a moment. To hear that Noah was in Washington, DC, much less at the Zion Founders Fundraiser, was the last thing he’d expected to hear that evening. As Reed continued to drop curses in the background, Gabe turned to face the bar and flashed a polite, but forced smile at the bartender as she eyed him with nervous sweeps. He didn’t reach for the glass right away as it was set in front of him on a small black napkin. “Please, tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I did…” he muttered internally as a dozen different possibilities for how the night would turn out flashed thumb-nailed pre-constructions across his HUD. But Reed’s uncomfortable sputtering confirmed what he was hoping was just a joke.

“No, you heard me right.” One hand swiped over his face in a downward motion and scratched in frustration at the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave in almost a week and desperately avoided Falken’s infuriated ‘what the fuck’ gestures in the background. “The bastard’s actually here, arrived in DC last night with Hannah and President-Elect Kamski. H-he stopped by the house lookin’ for you, but I told him you were undercover an’couldn’t make an appointment. I told him t’keep his nose outta our shit, but he-” Reed paused and squinted over Falken’s shoulder as Noah slipped the tiny camera into his pocket with a ‘Can you hear me alright in there?’ “Oh, son of a….” “What the hell is he doing…?”

The camera-bulb didn’t act as a walkie. And to their credit, all the personnel Noah could plainly see -now that his recognition software had sorted fact from fiction- didn’t stir, much less blow their cover. He knew without being told what this sting was about, and who it was the FBI were really here to keep tabs on. Perhaps him showing up was akin to being a ‘fly in the ointment’, but as yet he hadn’t done anything other than offend their Christmas tree. He gave the indifferent lens one more wordless glance as he rolled the bulb between his fingers. For a brief moment he considered winking at it, but decided at the last moment to pocket the device instead. Perhaps it’d come in handy elsewhere- for someone who hadn’t been properly equipped for this operation, it was the best he could do on such short notice. Failing that, he could always speak very loudly and deliberately at Gabriel’s collar mic, if he’d let him get close enough. The owner of the ear he recognized from before still hadn’t turned around. Outwardly he didn’t look very distressed. Only the new hunch in his shoulders, invisible to the human eye as it was, said it all. Far be it from him to keep ‘Vincent’ in suspense.

#rk900 #rk1800 #dbhilluminate #noriel #dbhiequilibrium #noah #gabriel

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starentertainmentdj-blog · 5 years

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#Iowa City DJ Iowa City Wedding DJ Iowa City Karaoke DJ Iowa City Music Bingo

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peggy-faces · 6 years

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Mad Men rewatch: Season 1, episode 2: Ladies Room

We didn’t get much at all of Betty in the first episode. In fact, she allegedly didn’t have any lines at all in the first draft of the script. So this is the first time we really get to meet her. Betty’s mother has recently died and she clearly isn’t coping well. To the point that she’s starting to experience stiff and shaky hands, and ends up crashing her car with the kids inside.

Don and Betty have a new neighbor who is *gasp* D I V O R C E D. I don’t know if it was the intention but I got the feeling that this didn’t help Betty’s anxiety. It’s implied that Betty does know about Don’s philandering and doesn’t want to admit it. The arrival of Helen Bishop makes her consider, perhaps subconsciously, that she too could one day be in the situation and it terrifies her.

From a modern perspective(and as someone who suffers from severe anxiety myself), it really is cringeworthy to watch Don’s dismissal of Betty’s mental health issues, but I guess that was par for the course for the early 1960s.

There is a sweet side to Don and Betty’s relationship. It gets lost in the wayside, but it’s there. The scene at the end where they’re having dinner at a fancy restaurant in the city is actually pretty cute. You can see why they got married.

At Sterling Cooper, Don and the dudebro brigade are having trouble with coming up with an idea for Gillette's new spray on deodorant as Roger and Cooper are trying to persuade Don to work on Nixon’s election campaign. I probably missed something but are they pitching directly to the Nixon campaign? Are they forming a PAC? Did they have PACs back then? It’s been a while since I’ve watched Season 1, don’t judge me.

Meanwhile, Peggy is having trouble fitting in at her work. Pete(who, as you’ll recall, she just had sex with last week) is off on his honeymoon and literally every man in the office is being a weird creep. She thinks she finds an ally in Kinsey, but then it turns out he’s just as much a creep as the rest of them. I love Peggy(obviously), but I generally prefer later series Peggy to early Peggy, but I have so much sympathy for her here, which is why the scene where she goes into the bathroom to cry but then decides that she’s not getting to let those bastards get to her is so satisfying.

The seeds of Peggy’s copywriting career are planted in this episode. While it’s clear he’s just hitting on rather than actually having faith in her abilities, Kinsey is the first person to tell Peggy that there are female copywriters. Then, after rejecting Sal and Kinsey’s astronaut idea(“who is this moron flying around space? He pees in his pants!”), Don says they should be targeting women who buy deodorant for men. Shame they don’t have any female copywriters on staff!

Random Observations

Peggy takes Pete’s postcard and hides it in her desk. NGL Pegs, that’s a tad stalkery.

I have problems with feeling in my hands/arms due to anxiety myself and it is truly terrifying so the scene where Betty’s hand start shaking and she crashes the car brought back some not great memories.

I don’t care how fancy that restaurant is, you couldn’t pay me to eat a raw egg.

We get our first glimpse of the legend that is Creepy Glen Bishop sitting on the steps as his mother struggles to lift a giant cardboard box with a pitchfork sticking out of it.

Francine is simultaneously the best and worst character on the show.

I love Mona. She and Roger have the most incredible chemistry, even when it’s clear that their marriage is unhappy. They are married in real life so of course they’d be great on-screen together.

Roger is apparently young enough to have had a nanny during the Lindbergh Baby debacle in the 1930s, which actually makes him only 2 or 3 years older than Don at the very most. That’s… weird to think about. The show makes him seem so much older. And I believe later events on the show actually contradict this claim so ???.

Don calling Betty “Birdie” is really cute, but hearing him call her “Bets” drives me up the fucking wall.

Peggy earns $35($294.48) minus $6.75($56.79) for FICA. Just a few years later she would be making the equivalent of a six figure salary.

Who is this guy? No really, who is he? Do we ever see him again?

The banana Peggy brings for lunch is the nastiest banana I’ve ever seen holy shit.

I always get a kick out of the scene where Don is doing push ups: “seven, eight, nine, ten *sees Betty get into bed* ninety-nine, a hundred.” Same, Don.

Audio commentary

There are two commentary tracks for this episode. The first is with January Jones and Rosemarie Dewitt and the second is with Michael Gladis and Elisabeth Moss. Jones and Dewitt do their commentary together and have some pretty amusing banter, but Moss and Gladis do theirs separately and the tracks are edited together. This is something that happens a lot on the Season 1 sets(but not on any other season, so at least they learned their lesson). I get that scheduling issues are a problem and there’s a limited amount of space on the DVDs, but it sounds awkward and weird tbh.

Harry Crane was supposed to kill himself, but Weiner ended up liking the character so he lived. I’ve heard this before and I vaguely remember there being more info in future commentaries but I believe this is the first it’s been mentioned so I’ll put it here.

Jones and Dewitt agree with me on the raw egg thing. Ewww.

The restaurant scene was shot in a restaurant/bar called The Prince in Koreatown in Los Angeles.

Despite being married IRL, this is the first time that John Slattery and Talia Balsam have acted together and they were nervous.

January Jones originally auditioned for Peggy and she got pretty close to landing the role, but Matthew Weiner told that she didn’t come across as “innocent” enough whatever the hell that means. Betty was originally supposed to be a very minor character but Jones made Weiner decide to expand her role in the series.

Jones complains that she never gets to see any of the actors besides Don and kids.

Dewitt didn’t want to cut her hair, so they made her wear a wig. But the wig looked so fake that they wrote it into the show.

This episode was shot a full year after they shot the pilot. The actors had no idea whether or not the show was going to be picked up. They also didn’t know if they were going to shoot in New York or Los Angeles(the pilot was shot in New York, but the series of the series in LA). Ultimately it came down to Matthew Weiner not wanting to move his family across the country. Moss argues that it’s actually more practical to shoot in Los Angeles because it’s not like they can make modern day New York look like the New York of 1960 and in LA, they have easier access to sets and such, there are a lot of restaurants and other businesses in Los Angeles(“there are a lot of places that look like they were abandoned in the 60s”) that are very reminiscent of that 1960s aesthetic, and the architecture in LA is apparently more period-appropriate than the architecture in New York.

Weiner told Moss that in every ladies room in every office, at some point you’ll see a female employee in there crying(???). How Matthew Weiner knows so much about what goes on in women’s bathrooms is unexplained.

Gladis says the character he played in the pilot(“Dick”) and Paul are considered to be different characters and he had to re-audition for Paul when the show got picked up. The main difference, he says, is that Dick smokes cigarettes and Paul smokes a pipe.

Moss has extremely high praise for Christina Hendricks, her most frequent scene partner in the earliest episodes, and calls her one of the most wonderful actresses she’s ever seen.

Gladis had bronchitis and was “drugged to the gills” during filming.

Gladis worked on the impersonation of the Rod Serling and watched a lot of the Twilight Zone. He loves that Paul is a sci-fi nerd.

Moss says that the closest thing Peggy has to a friend is Don because he’s only one not trying to fool her or take advantage of her.

Gladis says that his kiss with Peggy was his first on-screen kiss and he was very nervous.

“No one worries about the bomb anymore” says Michael Gladis. Man, I miss 2007 sometimes.

Anyway, pretty good episode. Six and a half bad wigs out of ten.

#tupf mad men rewatch

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bagsguatede1977-blog · 5 years

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rcmclachlan · 6 years

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I’m going to Boston for my birthday in May. I’ve never been before. Do you know any cool places or must sees to visit while there?

Hey there, fellow Mayby! There are plenty of things to do in Boston—it all depends on what kinds of things you like to do. Most of it’s outdoors, but don’t let that stop you! With a pub every six feet and more historically-themed gift shops than you can shake a Patriots shirt at, you’ll find something!

Outdoors

May can still be kinda chilly, so these are all weather-depending, buuuut:

+ Whale watch: Depart from Gloucester or Boston and head on down to Stellwagen Bank to see humpback and right whales! Last time I went with @nanoochka and @neenya and it was awesome. If you leave from Gloucester, make sure to try the clam chowder that some rando will be selling outside the marina for $5. It’s dubious in nature and the guy dishing it out will probably look like a just-escaped serial killer, but for $5 it’s the bomb.

+ Public Gardens: Stroll through the newly blooming Gardens for a glimpse of several species of waterfowl that will cut you for a piece of bread, and about 75 different wedding photo shoots happening simultaneously. But the squirrels will literally sit in your lap if you let them and people are walking all sorts of friendly doggos, so it all evens out.

+ Arboretum: If you love trees, then boy howdy, do I have a place for you. And since you’re going in May, chances are it’ll be, as all the flamboyant space radio hosts say, SUPER GREEN. It’s also free, so there’s that.

+ Freedom Trail: If you have approximately 4 days and the historical boner of a 67-year old who’s never cracked a textbook or watched The Patriot, then check out the 16 sites on the Freedom Trail!

+ Duck Boat Tour: I think the Duck Boat Tours were started by someone who, like the rest of us Massholes, was 1000% done with all the potholes and dreamt of just driving straight into the Charles River. Sit with a whole bunch of strangers on a weird semi-aquatic Hummer and, when the guide invites all the little kids on board to drive the thing, secretly root for them to run over someone in a kayak.

+ Faneuil Hall & Quincy Market: It’s a big, outdoor mall. The restaurant Cheers is there (it’s not that great, lbr) and so is this bakery that makes frosted sugar cookies the size of your head. Also, visit the Newbury Comics there—it’s the best one.

+ Newbury Street: Come one, come all, to the most overpriced string of boutiques, shops, and restaurants this side of Jupiter. But it’s a great place to people watch.

+ Harvard Square: Just to be able to say that you tripped over the uneven sidewalk outside of the Garage.

+ Skywalk: Schlep your way to the top of the city! It’s a guided walking tour and a reminder that Boston’s city grid is a fucking mess of old horse trails and terrible drivers. You can also see every Dunkin Donuts within 100 miles in every direction.

+ Plymouth Rock: It’s a rock. A small one. I’ve just saved you a lot of time and disappointment. You’re welcome.

+ The Middle East: I don’t drink, but it’s a great place to meet up, get some apps, and listen to some awesome live music. Check to see who’s playing. I’ve never seen a terrible music act there.

Indoors

+ Museums: Science, Aquarium (it’s a fish museum, don’t fight me on this), Gardner, Fine Arts, JFK Library, MIT, etc, etc. You want museums? We got museums. There are more. It’s just... how many museums do you really need to visit in one stop?

+ Legoland: Not sure if they’re letting in the whole public or if you still need a kid under the age of 14 to get in, but take a chance and grab a child off the street if you must. Legoland is worth it.

+ Boston Public Library: Half library, half Mr. Darcy’s foyer from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, it’s actually pretty awesome. I did a photoshoot there once.

Restaurants

+ Fogo de Chao: Make sure you’re hungry, and don’t make the rookie mistake of going to the salad bar and filling up on balsamic cocktail onions before Go Time. Also, don’t try to crawl into their literal oil drum full of parmesan shards. Which I’ve definitely never done.

+ Yume Wo Katare: Have you ever wondered what hopes and dreams taste like, or ever wanted someone to force you to say yours out loud? Then get ready for some delicious and uncomfortable ramen!

+ Hei La Moon: So much dim sum. So much. Eat an entire tray of sticky BBQ pork buns for me, please. Best if you go with a group of 5 or more so you can order a stupid amount of food and not feel bad about yourself (or the bill).

+ Causeway: This is north of Boston, in the lovely sea shanty town of Gloucester. If you’re already up there for the whale watch, then DEFINITELY make sure you go here. Best seafood, and the BEST clam chowder you will ever have. Ever. I am a clam chowder connoisseur and I have never found a better white fluid to put in one’s body. Also highly recommend the haddock au gratin. You’ll have enough leftovers to see you through like the next two weeks.

+ Legal Seafood: I’m kidding. If you go here, I will personally kick the shit out of you.

Any of my fellow Masshats want to chime in? Did I miss anything?

#i hate legal seafood #like let's start with the name #the best adjective they could come up with was 'legal'#'our seafood is overpriced and bland but at least it's legal!'#boston #massachusetts #massholes unite #poorlonelycasiopeia

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murkrees · 6 years

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it’s a date; moon taeil ft. ten

summary: “excuse me, but how do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?” based on this post

pairing: taeil x reader

genre: florist! au, sibling! au, fluff

“Hyung!” The chime of the bell that hung over the front door sounded, and Moon Taeil looked up from cutting the rose thorns to see a younger boy entering the flower shop, skidding to a stop in front of him.

“Don’t you have school, Jeno?” He wiped his hands on the white smock that was layered atop his casual clothes, ruffling the younger’s hair affectionately. Jeno smiled sheepishly, embarrassed to be caught ditching.

“I just dropped by to tell you that Jaemin and I won’t be taking over your shift later. There’s a big exam coming up and we need to study for it,” he mentioned. The wide group of high school and college-aged boys that he was part of ran a flower shop to rake in extra cash, taking shifts as they juggled school, uni and having a part-time job.

“All the more reason for you to be in school,” Taeil sighed, frowning, “What about the rest of the dream boys?”

“We’re all having exams this week.”

“And the rest?”

“Johnny and Ten hyung went to Chicago, Taeyong and Jaehyun hyung are working on their projects, Yuta hyung’s having a date tonight, Hansol hyung and Doyoung hyung’s cramming for their exams too,” Jeno answered simply, “Winwin hyung and Kun hyung have plans later.”

Taeil crinkled his nose in distaste, “Well, thanks for telling me. I’ll take the extra shift later. Make sure you study well, Jeno.”

Jeno nodded enthusiastically, already waving goodbye and running out the front door with an enunciated farewell. Taeil straightened his back, stretching before walking behind the counter to relax for a bit. He had a long day ahead of him, and he might as well do so.

He plopped down on the comfortable chair provided, suddenly feeling sleepy. A five-minute nap couldn’t hurt. His eyes were already fluttering shut, ready to doze off to dreamland. However, that was when the bell of the front door chimed once more. He didn’t bother to open his eyes before saying, “Did you forget something, Jeno?”

The only response he got was the sound of someone slapping something on the counter in a pissed manner. His eyes opened to see a 20,000 won bill in front of him, and the prettiest girl he’d ever seen standing on the other side. You had the sweetest, most poisonous smile on your face, fiery eyes and hair slightly messy in the most perfect manner. In an instant he stood up, clearing his throat as his cheeks flushed red in both embarrassment and awe.

“Excuse me,” you started, a melodic lilt to your voice that made Taeil do a nervous gulp, “But how do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

He did a double take, a little bewildered, “Excuse me?”

“Please, just answer the question,” you ran a hand through your hair, sighing through your lips, “It’s just that- my brother’s an ass and he left me here while going on a vacation without telling me. I just want him to have a little welcome present when he gets back tomorrow morning.”

“O-Oh,” he pinched his hand lightly in order to control the onslaught of color on his cheeks and get a grip on himself, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Well,” you gave an elegant shrug, and Taeil’s completely forgot how to breathe. He stepped around the counter and walked around the shop, you trailing behind him and peering over his shoulder as he picked out the flowers.

“You’ll want wild tansies to represent that you declare war against him, along with dodders to say that there’s something lacking between you and your brother,” he murmured, gathering the flowers in his hand.

“There’s something certainly lacking in that head of his,” you snorted softly. Taeil cracked a smile.

“We can put in red balsams for impatience, cyclamen for separation and geraniums for stupidity,” he turned around to face you, sending you an assuring smile, “I’ll wrap these up for you.”

“Thanks,” the fire in your eyes had softened to something akin of curiosity, “It’s cool how you have them all memorized.”

“It’s easy if you put your heart to it. I have nothing better to do in this sodding shop anyways,” he noticed the easygoing twinkle in your eyes, and he pinched his arm once to control the flushing in his cheeks and neck. He probably looked like a tomato at this point. He diverted his eyes from you to focus on tying the bouquet, wrapping them delicately and switching their positions so they looked pleasing to the eye before handing them to you, “H-Here.”

“How much will it be?”

“No charge,” upon seeing the widening of your eyes, he rushed to continue, “I mean – I – you seem upset so you could probably use the twenty thousand won to buy some comfort food or-“

“You’re cute, Taeil-ssi,” your eyes darted to the nametag on his smock. You let out a small huff of laughter, amused, “Keep the twenty thousand won anyway. Will you still be here tomorrow?”

“Y-Yes,” he answered without thinking.

“Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you were halfway out the door before he could say anything else, giving him a playful wave, “Have a nice evening, Taeil-ssi.”

“You too,” he answered weakly, plopping down his chair. Tomorrow was certainly going to be eventful.

Taeil didn’t want to admit it, but he was anticipating your presence ever since he walked in the shop. He had taken over Yuta’s shift because of his ridiculous slip-up, and he could only hope to not embarrass himself any further in front of you. Yuta already had enough suspicious with his sudden eagerness to work, but was grateful enough for it anyway. He distracted himself by rearranging the pansies and watering the flowers, making sure they all had his equal attention before sweeping the floors off of leaves and dust that had accumulated since morning.

The streets were empty, mostly due to the scalding weather outside. Even though fall was supposed to be on it’s way, it seemed that the skies decided to push the last of the season’s heat today. Anyone would be crazy to walk out in this kind of hot spell. This made for little to no customers coming in to buy flowers, which in turn made Taeil extremely bored. Taeyong and Johnny had pulled out the weeds and fertilized the flowers during their noon shift, so that left him with virtually nothing to do.

The minutes ticked by. Taeil felt himself growing more restless as time passed, and eventually decided that you wouldn’t be coming. Not under this hot weather, anyway. He still had 45 minutes until his shift ended. He sat himself down and folded his hands on the counter, resting his head on them. Within seconds, he was already off into dreamland.

Taeil didn’t know how long he dozed off for. Twenty minutes, half an hour? He heard the bell chime and decided to ignore it, thinking that it was Doyoung coming in to take over his shift.

“Taeil-ssi?”

His head shot up in surprise, looking up to see your profile. You were holding a bouquet of flowers in your arms, a little hesitant in waking him up. He quickly wiped an arm across his mouth to hide any traces of drool and stood up so fast he almost knocked the chair over. It was apparent that his soul hadn’t returned to his body yet, because he banged his hip to the counter in his haste, the sound echoing in the store. His mouth opened an ‘o’ of shock and pain, a hand holding the most likely bruised area. In an instant, you were by his side, pressing your hand against his atop his hip as if to make it better.

“Oh my god, are you okay? That was a nasty hit,” you fretted over him, your voice holding concern. Taeil nodded, biting his lip to withstand the pain.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” he winced at the slight crack of his voice, clearing his throat. It was then that he suddenly noticed your hand on his and the proximity of your faces – he felt his cheeks warm to the point where he was convinced he looked like a lobster. You pulled away, worry evident in your eyes.

“Make sure you’re more careful of yourself next time.”

He then noticed what you were wearing – due to the hot weather outside, you donned a frilly, off-the-shoulder white top paired with light blue jeans. He felt like he could faint from the sight. Too late, Taeil thought. He was already too far in with this stupid crush of his.

It was then that embarrassment hit Taeil – his cheeks turned redder (if possible), all too aware of the pregnant silence in the air, “So what did your brother say about the flowers?”

“Oh,” you let out a light laugh that took his breath away, grabbing the bouquet of flowers you brought with you from the counter, “Well, he didn’t specifically say anything, since I’m giving him the silent treatment. He left these by my bed, though. I was going to ask you what they mean.”

You handed the flowers over to him, which Taeil grabbed and examined. Hyacinths, tulips, and daffodils – all meaning one thing.

“He’s asking you to forgive him,” his lips quirked up in a smile. Your brother sure had a way with the ladies, communicating with flowers and all. He seemed to be well versed in the language.

“You bet,” you huffed, “After that stunt he pulled, it’s a wonder I’ve even forgiven him at all. I still want to tell him he’s stupid, though. Have you got any flowers for that?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stepped away from the counter and began making his way around the shop, with you trailing behind him. Willing the blood away from his cheeks, he cleared his throat once more and started with the bouquet.

“Geraniums for stupidity, yellow carnations for disdain, black eyed susans for justice, peonies for anger, and finally, chrysanthemums for honesty,” he turned around, finding you already looking at him. He mustered up a small smile, flustered, “I’ll wrap these up for you.”

You snapped to attention, red dusting your cheeks at the embarrassment of being caught staring at him, “O-Oh, of course.”

You stepped out of the way and Taeil walked back to the counter, grabbing some wrapping paper and sorting the flowers out so the colors were pleasant to the eye.

“Hey, Taeil-ssi, isn’t it kind of unfair that I know your name and you don’t know mine?” He looked up at you and found you smiling at him, which did nothing to quell his fluttering heartbeat, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Well, (Y/N), these flowers are on the house then,” he mentioned. Your eyes widened, insisting that you pay for them, “R-Really. You can use the money for buying ice cream with the hot weather outside, or something…”

“Are you sure?” You weren’t convinced, ready to pull out your wallet at any time now.

“Positive,” he tied the bouquet and handed them to you, which you took gratefully.

“Will you still be here tomorrow then, Taeil-ssi?”

Automatically, he nodded. You gave him a beaming smile, which nearly turned him into a puddle. With a “See you tomorrow, Taeil-ssi!” and a wave, you turned around and left the shop.

Not five minutes later, the bell chimed once again. Doyoung strolled in, raising an eyebrow at the red-tinted cheeks of the elder.

“What’s up with you, hyung?”

“Do you think Johnny would let me take over his shift tomorrow?”

Taeil walked into the flower shop, greeting Ten behind the counter. He made his way to the back, putting his bag down in the staff room and grabbing one of the white smocks that hung on the wall. Ten walked in as he rummaged through his bag for his phone.

“Isn’t it Johnny’s shift today, hyung?” He asked, already untying his own smock and hanging it on the wall. Taeil’s fingers brushed the corner of his phone, and he dug his hand deeper before pulling it out triumphantly. He quickly shoved it in his pocket.

“I’m taking over for him today. He’s taking over mine for Monday.”

“Huh,” Ten remarked, “I’ll chill here first, then, hyung. I have plans and I don’t want to arrive there too early.”

With a noise of agreement, Taeil walked out of the staff room to find that you was already there. The evening light illuminated the shop with an almost ethereal-like glow, and you gazed on each and every corner of the shop in a wonderlike state. He stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. The staff room door swung closed behind him with a loud click, and you turned to look at him. A smile instantly blossomed on your face, and you greeted him with a wave.

“Hi, Taeil-ssi!”

He broke out of his reverie, raising his hand in a shy greeting, “H-Have you and your brother made up yet?”

“I haven’t gotten any flowers from him yet today, actually,” you shrugged, “But I do feel kinda bad for yesterday. I’m thinking I should stop messing with him. Can I get a bouquet saying that I forgive him?”

“Sure,” he stepped forward and walked around the store, grabbing what he needed, “Daffodils to represent new beginnings, hydrangeas for heartfelt emotions and gratitude for being understood, and finally, white clovers to represent that you still love him despite his actions.”

He looked at you from the corners of his eyes, catching you staring at him once more. Your cheeks held a rosy hue, and Taeil had to quell the blood rising to his own cheeks.

“T-That’s perfect,” you cleared your throat, and he walked over to the counter to wrap it up. You followed behind him, watching him work, “Are you always this passionate about flowers and their meanings?”

“I mean, it’s a hobby of mine. It’s certainly interesting to learn about,” he let out a small huff of laughter, “Why?”

“Well…” you bit your lip, averting your eyes in an almost shy way. The pink dusting your cheeks deepened in color, and Taeil had to withhold a squeak, “If you didn’t mind, I was about to ask you if we could meet up outside the shop so you could teach me about it?”

Taeil froze, all the blood rushing up to his cheeks, “I – uh –“

A loud click sounded. Both you and him turned to see Ten walking out of the staff door, jacket slung over his shoulder as he held his bag in hand. He also froze, eyes zeroing in on you before they narrowed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Me? What are you doing here?” You clapped back, crossing your arms over your chest in an annoyed manner. Taeil gazed between the two of you confusedly, no doubt wondering how you knew each other.

“I work here! I thought you knew that!” Ten scowled. You scowled right back.

“And I thought you knew I’ve always wanted to go to Chicago! “

Taeil cut in, a bewildered look on his face as his eyes flitted between you and Ten, “Wait, he’s your brother? You’re her sister, Ten?”

“As luck has it,” you answered, scowl disappearing in an instant as you turned to face him, “So what do you say, Taeil-ssi? The coffee shop down the street at five tomorrow?”

“I – yes, that’d be great?” The last statement came out as more of a question rather than an affirmative. Regardless, your whole face lit up.

“Don’t worry about the flowers – my brother’ll pay for them. Take them out of his salary or something,” you winked at Taeil, turning him into a blushing mess. You spun on your heel, walking out with a wave, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Taeil-ssi – it’s a date!”

Ten choked.

cr. gif not mine unless stated!

215 notes · View notes

themealplan · 3 years

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25 - 31 July

I'm taking a YouTube knife skills "class" (I've decided to treat each video as a lesson and assign myself homework) so I'm chopping a lot of celery, practicing mincing, and cutting a lot of leaf-foods and the food plan this week will reflect that.

Sunday Lunch: Green salad of celery, lettuce, tinned salmon and a balsamic vinaigrette. Chocolate pudding with walnuts and bananas for dessert.

Sunday Dinner: Tuna Sandwiches

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Monday Lunch: Egg and cheese sandwich, celery, and a nice olive antipasto.

Monday Dinner: Fried tofu covered with "a thick sauce" which was made with random pantry ingredients and thickened with cornstarch. Egg white omelette on the side.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Tuesday Lunch: Plain hummus on white rice with a side of chopped celery.

Tuesday Dinner: We are hosting a potluck for which we will provide a fancy cheese which is usually served on a cheese board (Gouda).

Thinking Ahead: Make the pasta salad (tomorrow's dinner) today so that it has time to really marinate in and soak up the dressing.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Wednesday Lunch: Tortellini skillet meal from Wegman's with a side of chopped celery and chopped apple.

Wednesday Dinner: Pasta Salad

Notes: I did my first curbside order-ahead grocery order to make this pasta salad and they gave me double what I requested in parmesan cheese so I tossed the entirety of that into the pasta salad and it was forgiving and absorbed it all. Scrumptious.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Thursday Lunch: Boxed macaroni and cheese with frozen apples, watermelon, celery and cherries.

Thursday Dinner: Pasta Salad left overs.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Friday Lunch: Boxed macaroni and cheese left overs with melon, apples, celery and carrots.

Friday Dinner: Final servings of the Pasta Salad left overs.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Saturday Lunch: We went to a baby party at a friend's house and were fed all the snacks.

Saturday Dinner: Chirashi Don: Sushi Grade (AAA) Tuna on a bed of Instant Pot Sushi Rice

Notes: While the linked recipe says to put the rice up for 0 minutes at pressure, I found that putting it for 1 minute at pressure and letting it rest for 19 was more feasible. My Instant Pot likes to complain about 0 minute cook times. Also, for the fish, apply pressure ("cut") on the pull rather than the push or the chop.

#summer #potluck #microwave #rice cooker #blender #skillet #sauce pan #instant pot

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haidasndwch · 3 years

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Best Catering Services in Vancouver

Catersie Catering

Restaurant Name: Catersie Catering

Phone Number: +16046053354

Website:

Address: 1055 W Georgia St #242, Vancouver, BC V6E 3P3, Canada

Opening Hours: 7am–8pm

Dish Type: Caterer

Special Diet: Vegan Options, Vegetarian Friendly

Price:

Delivery: Yes

Yelp Rating:

Google Rating: 5

Zomato Rating:

Foursquare Rating:

Catersie Catering is a favourite corporate caterer in the Coal Harbour area. Free delivery on orders, scratch-made items, and a dedicated team make Catersie more popular in Vancouver. They present your orders beautifully with reliable services. Consuming fresh ingredients makes Catersie a fantastic caterer, which offers a wide selection of dishes. They are ready to cater to any small or large group corporations or organizations. People know Catersie as a catering leader in greater Vancouver. The distinctive menus with extensive items are unique at Catersie. No matter what kind of meal do you need, you can find whatever you want. Breakfast, lunch, platters, Bruschetta, Deli sandwich, Salad, and even Canapes all have a special menu. Also, don’t forget to check out boxed packages. Oven-roasted tomato and goat cheese can be a complete starter for your parties. But if you want to entertain your guests with something lighter, look at the mixed green salad with Arcadian spring mix, yellow peppers, and carrots in house-made balsamic vinaigrette. A variety of gourmet sandwiches and wraps from Deli can be a good choice for lunch events. Moreover, cold bowls are available as individually packaged meals. Everything from lasagna to BC chicken can be found on Catersie’s menu. Don’t miss out on this most beloved caterer that keeps customers coming back. They focus on the entire value chain and final presentation to impress your guests. They dedicate to always being on-time and responsive and put you at ease.

Sandwich Express Catering

Restaurant Name: Sandwich Express Catering

Phone Number: +16046893411

Website:

Address: 1233 Burrard St, Vancouver, BC V6Z 1Z5, Canada

Opening Hours: 9am–6pm

Dish Type: Caterer

Special Diet: Gluten Free Option

Price:

Delivery: Yes

Yelp Rating:

Google Rating: 4.4

Zomato Rating:

Foursquare Rating:

Sandwich Express Catering, a catering company in Denman Street of Vancouver, prides itself on its quality ingredients, friendly service, and great tastes. They can cater to small social parties or large corporate events. Also, office lunches or everything in between is possible for Sandwich Express. You will be impressed and delighted by mouth-watering dishes and superb service. You can relax with your guests and let Sandwich Express take care of all details. This family operated business specializes in satisfactory catering services and the best Canadian foods. How about checking out Sandwich Express’s menus. Choose anything you want from appetizers, main courses, sandwiches, salads, soups, and meat cheese platters menus. Also, don’t hesitate to look at the beverage list as they serve cool drinks. You may be attracted to gift baskets as well. An assortment of premium meats or a fine selection of domestic cheeses comes on a platter with tomatoes, lettuce, or freshly cut seasonal fruit. You can order veggie skewers if you are interested in. Ham, turkey, and roast beef are garnished with garden vegetables. A homemade cabbage roll is a proper choice for both meat lovers or vegetarians. Ginger lemon lamb chops are served with cranberries, roasted almonds rice, and chanterelle mushrooms. Don’t forget to try grilled free-range chicken along with basmati rice or whole wheat pasta and vegetables. Sandwich Express’s goal is to deliver the best service and taste to your events. You can ask them to host your conferences with the highest quality boxed lunches and early delivery. Sandwich Express is also cheaper than other caterers in Vancouver. We highly recommend this catering.

Seasons Catering

Restaurant Name: Seasons Catering

Phone Number: +16042153330

Website:

Address: 118 W 6th Ave, Vancouver, BC V5Y 1K6, Canada

Opening Hours: 8:30am–5pm

Dish Type: Catering Event

Special Diet: Vegetarian Options

Price:

Delivery: Yes

Yelp Rating: 5

Google Rating: 5

Zomato Rating:

Foursquare Rating:

Family business takes exceptional care of particular events all over the False Creek area of Vancouver. Seasons Catering grows every day by performing extra steps to upgrade its standards. This internationally trained team includes professional chefs since 2007. They provide personable services and exceptional culinary talents. Seasons pride itself on excellent foods, fast preparation, and pleasant presentation. Most wholesome and the freshest ingredients make Seasons’ dishes more popular among locals. You may experience challenging moments when checking out Seasons’ extensive menu full of different items served for breakfast, sandwich, wrap, soup, salad, etc. Slow-roasted tenderloin becomes the most delicious hot entrée item with the help of gravy and horseradish cream. If you are going to treat a large group of people in a crowded salon, the best choice of catering dishes can be platters. Fresh fruit, seasonal vegetables, domestic cheese, cracked boards, etc., everything is available on Seasons’platters. Don’ forget to observe beverages and desserts too. Their monthly features are changeable and customizable based on the client’s expectations. These favourite items will make you come back for your future events. Seasons provides catering services for a wide variety of special events, corporate or social ones.

A Catered Affair

Restaurant Name: A Catered Affair

Phone Number: +16046811198

Website:

Address: 422 Richards St Suite 170, Vancouver, BC V6B 2Z4, Canada

Opening Hours: 8am–5pm

Dish Type: Caterer, Catering Event

Special Diet: Vegetarian Option

Price:

Delivery: Yes

Yelp Rating:

Google Rating: 5

Zomato Rating:

Foursquare Rating:

A Vancouver’s premier catering service is located at Gastown and ready to handle your BBQ gathering. A Catered Affair grows its sales and profits due to paying attention to being loyal to customers. They also increase their productivity along with providing delicious dishes at corporate or private events. These experienced experts develop your planned theme, décor, and dish items. A Catered Affair guarantees to deliver excellent services based on its promises about careful attention. The quality of their catering service is something beyond your expectations. When you decide to gather your family together for a special event, it is the right time to check out A Catered Affair’s menu. The overarching decision needs good ideas about foods. You must adept selected dishes for your unique party. We can understand you; it is hard to choose your demanded option from the special menu. But don’t worry, the kind servers will put you at ease with the useful guides. A Caterer Affair makes the most glorious time for your guests.

Yo-Bones BBQ Catering

Restaurant Name: Yo-Bones BBQ Catering

Phone Number: +17788822376

Website:

Address: 3477 Kingsway, Vancouver, BC V5R 5L5, Canada

Opening Hours: 4–9pm

Dish Type: Caterer, Bartender Services, Breakfast & Brunch Catering

Special Diet: Vegetarian Options, Gluten-free Options

Price:

Delivery: Yes

Yelp Rating: 4.5

Google Rating: 4.7

Zomato Rating:

Foursquare Rating:

Yo-Bones BBQ Catering delivers the best quality of food and excellence of service at Renfrew-Collingwood neighbourhood. This skilled team exceeds your expectations. They offer not only well-garnished foods but they present dishes gorgeously. You will hit Yo-Bones’ work of art in Vancouver. This catering helps you to spend a smooth evening with your loved ones. Their professional attitudes make every guest pleasant. Yo-Bones ensures you about handling your event in the best possible way. You have to choose your event’s menu based on its function. BBQ, present menus, breakfast, sandwiches, etc., are available to be ordered for your next planned celebration. They serve some seasoned dishes in western palettes along with neither too spicy flavours nor pungent. Ask them to bring the great Greek, this classic and enjoyable dish, with fresh herbs or Greek salad. Gomae salad is made of fresh spinach and black sesame peanut dressing. Smoked maple baked beans can be served as a light lunch. Yo-Bones even lets you create your own sandwich buffet for parties. Take your hungry stomach to Yo-Bones so you can decide better for your next special occasion. Check out their schedule to plan an unforgettable day for your guests. Moreover, Yo-Bones does food truck catering from a simple lunch to a luxury wedding.

https://haidasandwich.ca/best-catering-services-in-vancouver/

#sandwiches #haidasanwich #burgers #burger #haidasandwich

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professorpalmarosa · 6 years

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Commander Saturn (Saturnalia)

There is no consistent personality for Saturn. He’s going to be completely different wherever you find him.

His game version (and therefore the Generations version) was organized, dependable, and somebody Cyrus apparently trusted enough to leave the organization to in case things went wrong. When I wrote Koyaanisqatsi, I tried to channel that version, along with his disillusioned comments in the Platinum end-game about how “extremism never solves anything.”

His anime version showed some of these traits, but we saw so little of him.

If you use his Special/Adventures version, he’s an agoraphobic man-child who loves to play video games and remotely torment people with his gadgets. The fact he puts tape on the floor and gets peeved each time Mars encroaches on it makes me laugh every time.

In Diamond Pearl Adventure, he’s fiercely loyal to Cyrus: even to the point of begging for a chance to redeem himself when he loses to Hareta. He’s a capable battler (more so than any Commander other than Mitsumi), and also clever enough to play a double agent role during Charon’s takeover so he can rescue Cyrus.

Although Saturn’s personality is all over the place, that loyalty and desire to support Team Galactic rang true in all his iterations. I decided to focus on that when designing his fragrance. It wasn’t so much about how the oils smell in Saturn’s case, but what the oils do. And hoo boy, do they do a LOT...

Saturn’s synergy (Saturnalia) promotes a relaxing, calming effect and soothes tired muscles after a stressful, frustrating day. Many of the oils inside the blend are good for alleviating physical pain, but two of the oils in this synergy are also fantastic for anxiety and insomnia.

The main note in Saturnalia is Roman Chamomile. There are two types of chamomile you can purchase in essential oil form: German and Roman. They both smell like a cup of chamomile tea by themselves, but the Roman is a little stronger and has more of a sedative effect. That and my cat loves the Roman Chamomile, so I keep buying it.

But since I wanted to give his more dimensions than just a tea dupe, I took a look in my inventory to see if I had any other cool, calming oils that would blend well with the chamomile, give me the results I wanted, and—I did!

The next oil I added to the blend was Sweet Marjoram, which has given me really good results with my back problems in the past. The problem then was that poor Saturn’s blend now smelled like delicious Greek food rather than something anyone would want to wear as a cologne. I wasn’t anywhere remotely near done!

So in went the Juniper Berry (the key ingredient in gin) for a cooling effect, paired with woodsy Blue Cypress and medicinally floral Blue Tansy.

The end result was a “hot cup of tea on a cold rainy day” sensation for my muscles and nose. I could feel the oils soaking in through my skin and the water turned a dramatic sapphire blue.

I got the support I needed from this blend. My back (my biggest pain area) felt spry and healthy the following morning. My dreams were pleasant. I didn’t wake up seven to eight times in the night due to pain or bad dreams. It was a soothing, calming experience from start to finish.

Now it’s time to talk about the pros and cons of these oils from a safety perspective…

Aromatherapy isn’t just about pretty smells and scented bath water. Essential oils are in such a high concentration that even absorbing them through your skin can leave you with the therapeutic (and potentially toxic) benefits.

If you are allergic to a plant, you are 100% without question going to be super allergic to the essential oil.

There’s also such a thing as contraindications: where some oils may affect you in weird ways if you have a certain medical condition or take certain medications.

The information below is for your safety if you want to attempt to make this blend at home (as a bath bomb, a body spray, or even scented bath salts). And do be sure to wear gloves. Some of these oils have recommended dilution rates as small as 0.4%. You don’t want that to slide on bare skin!

Roman Chamomile

There are actually two true chamomile Essential Oils on the market: German and Roman. Roman is the more potent of the two, so I mixed it into this blend. It worked. That bath bomb had me in bed by 8:00 PM because I was so sleepy afterwards!

Pros:

It’s one of the safest Essential Oils to diffuse around your kitty! While no Essential Oil is truly safe for a cat and you should always leave the door open so your kitty can escape if you’re using Essential Oils, Roman and German Chamomile are two of the least harmful for your feline friend. My kitty Gaius loves the smell, so I’m saving up to get it in Hydrosol form.

Fight off insomnia! If you’ve ever had a good calming cup of Chamomile or Sleepytime tea (Celestial Seasonings), then you are already familiar with the relaxing properties of Roman Chamomile. This Essential Oil (especially when mixed with other soothing scents like Lavender or Lily of the Valley) promotes a calm, peaceful atmosphere which makes it so much easier to sleep. It works for me, and I’m sure it’ll work for you!

Feeling nauseous due to stress? Fix it with Roman Chamomile! Roman Chamomile can be used for various stress-induced digestive disorders including indigestion, upset stomach, nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite, and bloating from gas.

Chamomile can be a girl’s best friend! A lot of women use Roman Chamomile (especially in tea form) for morning sickness and really painful menstrual cramps. It’s considered to be a “blood purifier” and general female tonic, reducing menstrual pain and better regulating periods.

Relieve pain and swelling! Roman Chamomile is great for reducing pain and swelling of the mucus membranes, sinuses, and joints. It can also be mixed into lotion and applied to the skin for swollen, inflamed areas. It can also be used on wounds, burns, eczema, frostbite, bedsores, hemorrhoids, and diaper rash.

Diffuse it to help your sinuses! Roman Chamomile can be diffused and inhaled for sinus inflammation, hay fever, sore throat (something I’m battling right now), and ear inflammations.

Cons:

Since Roman Chamomile can stimulate a period, pregnant women should avoid this oil to reduce their chances of a miscarriage.

Since Roman Chamomile’s effects on newborns has not been studied, it is best to consider it unsafe for nursing mothers to use.

Roman Chamomile Essential Oil has powerful sedative properties and should not be applied or diffused if you plan to drive, operate machinery, or perform a task that requires your full, complete concentration.

Although Roman Chamomile is good for relieving nausea, too much of it will actually make you more nauseous.

If you have an allergy to ragweed, marigolds, daisies, or similar plants, avoid Roman Chamomile and German Chamomile.

Sweet Marjoram

Sweet Marjoram Essential Oil (much like its cousin, Oregano Essential Oil) has a calming effect on your body, and the smell is lovely...just kind of “foody” by itself.

If you’ve eaten Mediterranean cuisine before or ever taken a good whiff of a gyro, Marjoram is one of the main spices you’ll smell. It has a very strong “seasoning” scent, but pairs well with a lot of gentler fragrances.

Pros:

It’s good for your circulatory system! Sweet Marjoram Essential Oil can increase your blood flow and lower blood pressure.

It’s good for aches and pains, especially on overused and exhausted muscles. This is my go-to massage oil after a workout. It’s also great for flu and fibromyalgia pain, sore muscle strain, and a queasy stomach. I originally bought it for menstrual cramps, but it’s worked best on my overexerted muscles.

Cons:

If you’re pregnant or breast-feeding, don’t use Sweet Marjoram Essential Oil and stick to only using marjoram in food amounts. This is also true for young children, as Marjoram Essential Oil isn’t a kid-friendly oil. Do not use this bath bomb for anyone under the age of 10.

If you have any of the below health concerns, I recommend talking to your doctor before using Sweet Marjoram Essential Oil in any capacity:

Bleeding disorders

Diabetes

Gastrointestinal or urinary tract obstructions

Lung conditions such as asthma

Ulcers

Slow heart rate or low blood pressure

Seizures or epilepsy

Juniper Berry

If you’re a weirdo like me and love the way a gin and tonic smells, you’ll fall in love with Juniper Berry Essential Oil the first time you sniff it. It’s got that cool, crisp, biting aroma along with a slight medicinal after-scent...all in a good way.

I love blending it with Grapefruit, Balsam Fir, Pine, Cedarwood, Camphor, or anything in the mint family. But Saturnalia is a special blend: truly therapeutic and relaxing. I can’t think of what could possibly be more relaxing than a Gin and Tonic...aside from a Basil Flower Gimlet--which also has gin!

Pros:

It’s a helpful digestive aid! Diffuse Juniper Berry for half an hour to an hour. The antispasmodic, tonic, and stomachic properties of this oil can help put that fussy tummy back into working order. Your twisted guts will unravel, you’ll build up more gastric juices, and be able to push whatever made you feel miserable out a little bit faster. Some people even use this oil to get some relief from constipation.

Carrying some extra water weight? Maybe Juniper Berry can help! I’m not gonna lie. I use it for this exact same reason, though I pair it with my Cardamom oil for a workout. I tend to bloat when I eat salty foods or my time of the month arrives. This flushes all that excess water right out! Juniper Berry makes your body sweat more, but also stimulates your kidneys. Just be sure to drink a lot of water if you use it for this purpose!

It’s good for arthritis, spasms, and cramps! Try a 1-3% dilution of Juniper Berry Essential Oil with a carrier (like jojoba, coconut, or sweet almond oil) and rub it into the sore area. It works quickly and should leave you feeling at least a little better in a few minutes.

It’s good for your skin and promotes a pretty complexion! Some people will use a 1-3% dilution ratio to treat eczema and psoriasis trouble spots. Try mixing it with jojoba oil (a carrier) for maximum effect. I’ll a drop of this (and Palmarosa Essential Oil) to my nightly astringent. I only get a zit or two during my cycle and that’s it.

Calm down, get a good night’s sleep, and banish all those stressful thoughts! Dilute the oil and apply it to the back of your neck or chest right before going to bed. I like to add a drop to my lotion and massage my temples after work, especially if it’s one of those days where I’m stuck in back to back development meetings and I think my head’s going to explode. Even a few drops in your bathtub should do the trick!

Cons:

Never apply this essential oil neat (undiluted) on the skin. Some people have reported irritation, redness, swelling, and a burning sensation when applied neat.

Prolonged use of this essential oil may result in kidney problems, seizures, and other severe side effects. Occasional use should be fine.

Juniper Berry is not an oil you should use if you are pregnant or trying to become pregnant. Juniper is a known abortifacent and can interfere with a uterus’s fertility.

If you are diabetic, you may want to avoid Juniper Berry Essential Oil. There have been reports of this oil lowering people’s blood sugar to unsafe levels.

Never take this oil internally, as it may irritate your gastrointestinal tract.

If you are on any blood pressure medications, contact your physician before using this essential oil in any large capacity, as Juniper Berry Essential Oil may make blood pressure harder to control.

Juniper Berry Essential Oil may make it more difficult to control your blood sugar before and after surgery. If you’re scheduled for surgery, ere on the side of caution and don’t use this essential oil (and therefore the Saturnalia bath bomb) at least 2 weeks before the scheduled surgery.

Juniper Berry Essential Oil is not a kid-safe oil. Don’t use this oil (or bath bomb) with any kid under the age of 10.

Blue Tansy

Ah…one of my favorite Essential Oils!

Blue Tansy comes from (believe it or not) a yellow flower. It gets its name because its oil is a dark navy blue. It’s a seasonal plant and one of my more expensive oils (about $60 USD for a 10ml bottle), but definitely one I plan to replenish once I run out.

The smell is reminiscent of German Chamomile, but so much stronger. I call it “Chamomile on Steroids” and is a very useful, versatile oil. It’s a cousin to the daisy flower.

Pros:

Treat fungal infections on your scalp, hair, nail, and skin! Blue Tansy has an antimicrobial and antifungal property. While you can apply it to bruised skin (safely diluted with a carrier oil), it’s never a good idea to put an essential oil neat (undiluted) on a cut, scrape, or wound. Still, if you’re prone to fungal infections, Blue Tansy may be your new best friend!

Treat seasonal allergies (without the grogginess)! Blue Tansy can be diffused to reduce seasonal or other allergies, as it is an asthma-safe oil. It has natural antihistamine properties, but isn’t a sedative. It’s cleared me right up and I’ve had wonderful results with this oil.

Fight aches and pains! Blue Tansy can be massaged into the muscles with a carrier oil to fight tired muscles after a strenuous workout or even the effects of rheumatism or gout. This oil has remarkable anti-inflammatory properties and can dramatically reduce swelling. I’ve even been able to kill a headache with this super-oil before.

Calm your jittery nerves! While Blue Tansy isn’t a sedative oil (like Roman Chamomile), it does have several calming properties. It promotes peace of mind, relaxation, and a more easygoing atmosphere.

Alleviate gastrointestinal discomfort! When applied (with a carrier oil) to the abdomen, Blue Tansy can help you with stomachaches, constipation, abdominal gas, and even menstrual cramps.

Get the perfect skin you always wanted! So long as it’s diluted first, Blue Tansy can be applied to the skin to moisturize the skin as well as kill many of the bacteria and fungi responsible for acne outbreaks.

Cons:

If you plan to purchase this oil, be sure you’re buying Blue Tansy Essential Oil, as opposed to Tansy Essential Oil. Tansy (not Blue Tansy) has a high concentration of the chemical thujone in it. Thujone is a dangerous neurotoxin and will really, really, REALLY mess you up.

Due to Blue Tansy Essential Oil’s high camphor content, people with Parkinson’s or epilepsy should avoid this oil. This also means it is absolutely NOT safe to diffuse around a cat or dog.

There are a whole slew of fake Blue Tansy Essential Oils on the market, so be sure you buy this one from a reputable source. I recommend Plant Therapy.

If you are allergic to daisies, avoid this essential oil.

Blue Tansy Essential Oil should not be used neat (undiluted on the skin) or ingested. Never ingest essential oils without first contacting your physician.

While Blue Tansy Essential Oil is considered safe for use during pregnancy, consult your doctor beforehand just to be on the safe side.

Exercise caution if you are using certain medications (antibiotics, antihistamines, antipsychotics, and antidepressants), as Blue Tansy Essential Oil may interfere with these medications.

Blue Cypress

There are multiple Cypress Essential Oils on the market (I have 3 in my collection), but Blue Cypress is my favorite. Alone, it is faintly woodsy and you have to use a lot of it to get its smell, but it makes up for its delicate smell by providing a whole slew of therapeutic benefits.

Pros:

Quickly heal cuts and scrapes! If you’ve scratched yourself, popped a pimple, or damaged your skin in any other capacity, you may want to consider adding a drop of Blue Cypress Essential Oil to your lotion or astringent. For some people, it’s been known to speed up the healing process. The oil contains an antimicrobial chemical (camphene) that helps keep some strains of bacteria and fungi from infecting a wound.

Cramping up or have a pulled muscle? Blue Cypress can help! This essential oil has antispasmodic properties, meaning it can help your muscles relax and ease up, even when all they want to do is seize tightly and make your life difficult. I’m not a physician, nor do I claim to be one, but studies have been conducted to determine Blue Cypress’s effectiveness on conditions like Restless Leg Syndrome and Carpal Tunnel. The results look promising.

Soothe aches and pains. Most aches and pains are caused by a buildup of lactic acid. Due to Blue Cypress’s diuretic properties, it can help your body flush that acid out faster, leaving you feeling better much, much sooner. Some people claim the diuretic effects of this oil can also help flush out several toxins.

This is an asthma-safe oil and can soothe a sore respiratory tract. You can breathe easy with a little Blue Cypress in your diffuser!

This oil promotes blood clotting. Another reason people like to use Blue Cypress on scratches and cuts is because it speeds up the clotting process. Blood vessels contract, blood flows more easily, and tissues can tighten up.

It’s a natural deodorizer! Although Blue Cypress doesn’t have a strong smell, it’s really good at neutralizing other odors. Try adding a few drops to your laundry detergent!

Had a stressful day? Calm down with Blue Cypress! Blue Cypress has sedative properties, which can make it easier for you to fall asleep after a long and trying day. As little as 5 drops in your bathtub can make all the difference.

Cons:

Due to the sedative properties of this oil, do not diffuse or apply this oil if you intend to drive or operate heavy machinery. It’s also ill-advised to diffuse this oil at work if your job requires your full concentration and alertness.

Since Blue Cypress promotes blood clotting, exercise caution if you are using a blood thinner or a clotting medication, as contraindications may occur.

Do not use this oil if you have an allergy to cypress or peaches. If you are allergic to a plant, I can guarantee you that you’ll be allergic to its essential oil.

Prolonged use of this essential oil may result in some kidney irritation.

There is not enough information available online to determine whether or not this oil is safe for breastfeeding or pregnant persons. Ere on the side of caution if you are nursing, pregnant, or intend to become pregnant.

#Saturn #Commander Saturn #Team Galactic #Galactic Bombs #Saturnalia #Professor Palmarosa #professorpalmarosa #Skye makes bath bombs

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