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strangunddurm · 3 years

Text

The Cabin

Masterlist

Pairing: Clyde Logan x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, self pleasure, fingering, masturbation, alcohol consumption.

Please accept my offering of my vision of mountain man Clyde.

A hike in the woods was meant to calm your mind and let you focus on yourself for a while; a sort of cheap alternative to going to a spa. However, you were anything but relaxed, and focused on everything except just yourself.

You were lost. Despite spending hours on YouTube trying to learn how to navigate, you had still taken the wrong turn and didn’t notice until it was too late. Thankfully it was the beginning of autumn, so it was still warm outside, and you didn’t need to start worrying about getting cold just yet, despite the sun slowly descending across the horizon.

The crappy phone which you had insisted didn’t need replacing had died long before you realized just how lost you were. You had a particularly bad habit of never charging your phone and it was coming back to bite you in the ass.

You had taken a, supposedly, easy trail. ‘Beginner friendly’ was the description your friend had given you when you asked for tips. You were cursing them mentally in your mind now, their definition of ‘beginner friendly’ was obviously vastly different from yours.

It had been hours, or at least it felt like it. You were steadily making your way through the granola bars you had packed. Your version of survivor mode consisted of trying to eat everything you could see due to anxiety, instead of saving it in case you’d be out here for hours.

It was the same rock you had passed a while back, you were sure of it, convinced that you were officially just walking in one big circle.

You hadn’t seen anyone else out on the trails which were surprising.; you figured trails were usually always packed with curious adventurers.

The snap of a branch pulled you out of your inner monologue, causing you to freeze and your heart to painfully contract in fear. You were sure that this was the moment you would die; a rabid coyote was surely bound to attack you at any moment. Were there even coyotes in West Virginia? You didn’t want to find out.

Turning around to see what it was that had made the sound wasn’t an option in your mind, it really wasn’t. Turning around would, in your mind, mean that you were accepting being mauled to death and despite your sometimes negative output you wanted to live for a while longer.

“Please, please, please don’t be a coyote… pleas-“ You let out a loud scream as a hand grabbed onto your shoulder, instinctively jabbing your elbow back to connect with the somewhat soft stomach of someone who was very much not a wild and crazed animal.

Whoever was behind you let out a low ‘ouff’ sound from your attack but did not seem overly affected otherwise.

“Sorry!” It was a man’s voice, judging from the deep tone of it. You whirled around whilst simultaneously attempting to take a step backwards, resulting in you falling to the ground ungracefully. There was definitely no chance you could run away from him now if he turned out to be less than friendly.

“Who are you?” You shuffled back against the ground, trying to put some distance between the two of you in naïve hope. The stranger, noticing your distress, put his hands out in front of him whilst taking a few steps back, increasing the distance between the two of you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare ye.” You surveyed him sceptically as he apologized. He looked like he was a nice person, but that only went so far, anyone had the ability to look nice. He blended into your surroundings, lacking the bright colours you were wearing; it was obvious that he did not share in your desire to want to be seen. He also looked like he was much more used to the woods than you were (not that it was hard).

“Are ye okay?” His question made you realize that you hadn’t replied, and you were still lying there like a seal on the ground. You stumbled up onto your feet with a huff, grabbing a stick that was laying by your hand just as you thrust yourself up.

It was a small stick, definitely incapable of causing serious bodily harm but you hoped that if you were desperate enough, it could poke out an eye. Or at least scratch it.

You held it out in front of you, wielding it like a sword. It was hard not to miss the smile that flew across the stranger’s face. You were most likely a funny sight, a flustered and oblivious city girl waving a twig. But you felt like King Arthur waving Excalibur and that was all that mattered. One lonely girl pumped full of adrenaline could do a lot of damage with a twig and a mean right hook.

“What do you want?” You spat. A tiny voice inside of you told you that you were being ridiculous. Here he was, a nice man probably just concerned over seeing you wander through the woods, obviously lost, so close to nightfall. But the devil on your other shoulder told you to trust no man, to kick him where the sun doesn’t shine and take off like a bat out of hell.

“I just wanted to see if ye were okay; it gets cold out here at night.” He still had his hands up like he was getting arrested. You considered his words carefully. You weren’t okay, you hadn’t planned on staying out until nightfall. All you were going to do was hike to the top of the mountain and go back down, but apparently, you were too incompetent to even perform that simple task.

“I called out a couple of times, but ye didn’t seem to hear me.”

“Oh,” You dropped the twig at the revelation. It explained a lot; you were after all notorious for getting lost in your thoughts and turning deaf.

“Sorry.” You said sheepishly as you lowered the stick to your side but still grasped it tightly (just in case). You sent him a small apologetic smile even though you didn’t owe him one.

“So, do ye need help?”

“Hmm…” Did you need help? You glanced around you, surveying your surroundings again. It was a lot closer to dark than you were comfortable with. The granola bars were all gone, you didn’t have anything warmer on than the fleece jacket you had dug out from the back of your closet. You had no way of contacting anyone and you were not competent enough to build anything close to a working shelter for the night.

You eyed him again as you thought over your answer. He seemed nice enough, he reminded you slightly of a big, burly bear. He was a behemoth of a man, standing tall and wide with dark hair and eyes, but there was some kindness there that made you feel as if you could trust him.

The thing that eventually won you over was his hand, it was obviously a prosthetic now that you were focusing on him. You hoped that a prosthetic hand meant that it was much less likely that he could grab a firm hold on you.

Clyde Logan wasn’t a very talkative man. If you were to google ‘mountain man’ he would pop up as one of the image results. The modern version of course, accompanied by the usual camo gear. You had always had a weakness for the lumberjack flannels and the thick moustache that tickled his lips had you wondering what it would look like drenched in your juices.

But it would be stupid attempting to seduce the grumpy man that had saved you from certain death, right?

He knew so much about the woods and the dangers that were surrounding you, making you realize just how stupid you were to be out there alone. But of course, he didn’t offer you all of this information on his own. No, you had to practically force the words out of his mouth, but thankfully you were the Master of Babble, and he was eventually forced to answer if he ever wanted you to shut up.

You were making your way to his cabin that was apparently just over a mile away. Clyde was leading the way with you practically walking on his heels trying to keep up with his long strides and sneaking looks over your shoulder in paranoia to see if anyone was following the two of you.

Clyde had said that it was too late to return to your car seeing how late it was. Apparently, you had walked in the completely wrong direction from the start and were now a couple of miles away from civilization. He had graciously offered you a sleeping spot in his cabin over the night with a promise to help you back first thing in the morning.

It was picturesque, Clyde’s cabin. Nothing less than what you expected of the man, and surprisingly a lot cleaner than what you had assumed from stereotyping.

“This is so cute!” You admired, sending a small smile up to Clyde with a tilt of your head. He almost looked embarrassed over your praise, only responding with a small huff as he took his shoes off and walking toward the kitchen area.

It was a studio type of situation. Everything was in one room: the small kitchenette, tv-area, and makeshift bedroom. Clyde had flipped a switch which turned on a light that illuminated the entire cabin in a soft glow.

“There’s a bathroom over there.” Clyde gestured to a door on the left, and you couldn’t help peaking in. You hadn’t expected a fully functional bathroom at all, seeing how you were in the middle of nowhere but here it was. And you were so grateful. Going potty in the woods was not on your bucket list.

“Are ye hungry? It’s nothin’ much but I have some sandwiches that we can eat.” Clyde ran his fingers through his hair as he asked the question nervously when you came over after your brief tour of the cabin.

“A sandwich would be great, thank you!” You took it gratefully from his hand as he offered it to you before plopping down on the couch.

You were a lot hungrier than you had though. Your stomach rumbled loudly as you unwrapped the sandwich and taking a bite.

“Have you had this for long?” You said after you had finished chewing your first bite, gesturing with your hand wildly to the cabin.

“Couple of years.” Clyde didn’t look at you as he responded, focused intently on his own sandwich.

He left it at that, not elaborating any further and you didn’t want to cross the obvious boundary he had drawn, so you stayed quiet.

You were never good with silence and awkward situations. When others were perfectly comfortable with silence you just had to talk. Googled had diagnosed it as a symptom of anxiety but you had never actually built enough courage up to actually have a evaluation.

“Do you like to read?” You had taken notice of the overflowing bookcase he had. It was hard not to, it was perhaps the biggest piece of furniture he had, spanning the length of an entire wall.

“Mhmm” Honestly, the hums he would do to answer your questions made you soaked.

“What’s your favourite?” He looked as if he was considering your question, leaning back into his seat and looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

“It would have to be In Search for Lost Time by Marcel Proust.”

“I love that book.”

“Is that so?” You nodded your head with wide eyes, happy to have found a subject to talk about. You loved books, yes, but to be honest you had never read that book. But you were hoping you could wing it enough so that Clyde wouldn’t notice.

“What’s your favourite part?” Okay, so maybe you hadn’t thought it through. You couldn’t hide the small wince you did at his question.

It would’ve been better to have said nothing at all, you just really wanted Clyde to like you. You didn’t know why; it wasn’t like you were ever going to see him again. It was just that there was something about him that made you want to kneel and say, ‘please daddy’ and you didn’t know how to get there with someone so reluctant to talk.

“Ye tryin’ to impress me?” He must be a mind reader.

“Oh, no I just-“ You trailed off, unsure over what to say that would not make you seem as desperate.

He stood up, watching you as he made his way around the room, but he wasn’t moving toward you; instead, he disappeared through the front door without a word.

You deflated like a balloon as the door shut behind him, sinking into the cushions and cursing yourself. Why were you so desperate to impress people? The answer was simple because you were you and you had an irrational need for people having to like you.

Clyde wasn’t gone for long. He had simply gone out to fill up on the firewood for the fireplace that you had neglected to notice before.

“It’s supposed to get below 30 here tonight.” Was it rude to say that you were impressed with how easily he did things despite only having one hand? It wasn’t that you expected him to not be able to function at all, it’s just that you were barely functioning yourself with two hands.

It had already started getting just a tiny bit colder, enough for you to have curled your legs onto the couch, leaning on the armrest with a blanket thrown over you. The cold was a fiend that you would never get along with.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are ye sorry for?” He looked truly bewildered over your words, stopping what he was doing and looking up at you from his crouched position.

“I shouldn’t have lied.”

“’S okay.” He continued with starting a fire. “We’ve all told a white lie.”

“That’s true, but I’m usually better at playing it off.” You joked and he shared a chuckle with you.

It was cozy once Clyde got the fire started. He turned off the lamp in the ceiling, muttering something about preserving a battery, opting to turn on another by the bed and then settled back down. He was sitting next to you this time, not across from you in the chair as previously. You could practically feel the heat radiating from his skin, he was so close. The couch was small, only a two-seater, but you suppose that he didn’t need much more seeing how he was only one person.

Clyde crowded your personal space. It felt like he was everywhere around you, suffocating you (but in the best way). He slung his arm over the back of the couch, just barely grazing your back. You were surprised with how forward he was being but decided not to question it too much, figuring he might take it wrong and shy away.

“Yer not from ‘round here are ye?”

“Is it so obvious?” Of course, it was obvious. You told him where you lived and there seemed to be a small glint of recognition in his eyes.

“Ye should get a guide next time, one of the rangers will take ye for free.” It was surprising how caring he seemed to be.

“One of the rangers?” You didn’t want a ranger to show you around the next time.

“Mhmm”

“Can’t you take me?” You diverted your eyes from his face as you asked the question, feigning being shy. You let them trace down his sculptured-by-God body, double-checking for a ring on one of his fingers. There was none, or well you assumed that it wasn't a wedding ring. It didn't look like one, it had more of a class ring vibe to it.

Clyde didn’t respond immediately. He was studying you, analyzing every crevice of your face it seemed like.

It was impossible not to get lost in his eyes. You tried really hard not to at first but gave up way too quickly. You wondered if he knew just how attractive he was. He had to have several ladies running after him, desperate for a getaway in his cabin in the woods.

“Do ye want me to?” He finally asked. It was obvious that he had tensed up at your question. His back was rigid, he was sitting as straight as you had ever seen a person sit.

“Maybe…” You were subconsciously leaning closer toward him, inhaling as much of his sent as you could discreetly. It was very vampire-like of you.

He smelled just as you thought he would. Like pine trees. There was just the smallest undertone of sweat and it drove you wild. It wasn’t usually your scent of choice for obvious reasons but on Clyde… On Clyde it was as if he had been doused in some kind of pheromones that made you completely drenched and mad with want.

You thankfully stopped yourself before you could release the moan that was bubbling in your throat. Who in their right mind moaned to a stranger that they hadn’t even touched over the way they smelled? (Only counting people that weren’t high or drunk, of course).

It was a battle getting you to lean away from Clyde again, but the rational part of your brain thankfully won. You had to dig your nails into your thighs, trying to pinch yourself through the fabric of your pants to bring you back to reality and gain some self-control.

“I’ll take you.” He promised with a nod, looking as serious as always. You wondered if he always wore that expression with everyone. You hadn’t been able to coax a lot of smiles out of him, despite categorizing yourself as a fairly hilarious person and having cracked some jokes on the walk to the cabin.

You sent him a small smile in response, feeling relieved not to have been rejected. That would’ve been embarrassing.

He surveyed you for a while more before finally asking if you wanted a drink.

The makeshift bar cabinet that he had was surprisingly well-stocked. Too well-stocked for him to be a raging alcoholic. You questioned him curiously about it. Finding out that he was a bartender was a welcomed surprise. You challenged him to make a drink you had never heard of, and he was quick to deliver.

It was delicious, making it easy to pay him compliments over his talent.

“I own a bar, ‘s called Duck Tape.” It was clear that he was proud over his business, with the way his chest seemed to almost swell with his words.

You told him about your own job, not exactly sharing the same enthusiasm seeing how your job was one of the main reasons for why you needed a stress-relieving hike in the first place.

You’d always been a lightweight. It was no secret; you had an uncanny ability to be able to get hammered on one glass of alcohol. Google told you that it could have something to do with your liver, but you did not want to go to the hospital to find out.

You neglected to think about this small fact when you asked Clyde to make you a drink and you were now suffering the consequences. You were drunk, or at least somewhere over the border of tipsy.

Clyde seemed to have relaxed from the alcohol as well. He was much freer in letting a laugh leave his body which had caused you to jump at first in surprise at the boisterous sound.

He had shuffled closer to you, or was it you that had shuffled closer to him? It had happened without either of the two of you noticing but you didn’t try to move away once you did.

You didn’t speak about anything of significance, not really. It was all nonsense, but you never wanted it to stop. Eventually, you mutually decided that sleep was a necessity if you were going to have the energy to get back to your car in the morning.

“Ye can take the bed if ye want.” Clyde motioned over the back of the couch toward the bed in the corner of the room. You glanced over at it, gnawing at your lip as you considered his proposal. Would it be inappropriate to say that you wanted him to share the bed with you?

The bed was too small for it to be shared in any way that wasn’t intimate which was exactly what you wanted.

You assumed that Clyde was as interested in you as you were of him. His hand was dangerously close to your knee as it sat on the seat of the sofa; if he moved his finger less than an inch it would graze your skin.

“Where would you sleep?” You feigned innocent.

“I’ll take the couch.” He knew what you were doing; you could see it in his eyes. They had grown even darker than before and were hooded as they watched you. It was easy to get lost in them, they were the most expressive eyes you had ever seen.

Both of you knew that neither of you would sleep on the couch that night.

There was a flurry of hands and all of a sudden you were in his lap, grinding down, lips connected to one another.

Clyde was a great kisser. Scratch that. He was amazing. He knew exactly how to make you completely drenched from just a few nibbles and strokes of his tongue against your own. He was a natural (Or a player, but you somehow got the impression that he didn’t lure innocent people to his cabin on the regular for a quick lay).

You could feel how hard he was despite the layers separating his bulge from your core. Hard and large and it made you dizzy to think about.

Clyde was taking his time running his hands up and down your waist, his right hand grabbing here and there, never moving under your shirt despite your obvious eagerness. A roll of his hips elicited a moan from you.

Your own hands weren’t shy in their movements; they were grasping onto his broad shoulders, holding on to the fabric as you tried to pull him closer to you.

He separated his lips from yours with a chuckle.

“Eager, are we?” His crooked grin was panty-dropping worthy.

He trailed his lips down your neck before you could reply, suckling gently over your pulse point.

The moan he pulled from you echoed around the room as you tilted your head to the side, allowing him more room to roam.

Your hands tighten their hold on his shoulders. You had always been extra sensitive around the neck and the combination of his lips and the tickle from his moustache was enough to send you into overdrive.

“Clyde…” You breathed out his name shakily, feeling tingles start to travel from your hands and up your arms from the excitement.

He hoisted you up surprisingly quickly from the sofa, causing you to let out a shriek in surprise.

He was strong. Of course, he was strong, you shouldn’t have expected anything else but still…

He carried you toward the bed, setting you down unceremoniously on the edge. You had to grab a hold of the sheet so as not to fall over.

“I want you to strip.” There was no room for arguing in his voice, and it was exactly what you needed. You didn’t want to have to think about your actions.

He was watching you intently, waiting for you to do as you were told, causing you to frantically reach for the zip of your fleece, pulling it down your arms and then throwing it mindlessly away from you.

Your shirt was the next thing that came off. Clyde’s gaze followed as your shirt revealed more and more skin. You didn’t miss the way he bit his lip hungrily.

Your bra wasn’t perhaps the sexiest thing you owned but you weren’t exactly expecting to be in the situation you were when you headed out that morning.

The bra joined the other items a bit slower. You wanted to drag it out; was it mean that you wanted him to have to suffer just a tiny bit?

You were basking in his obvious admiration of your body as you slowly slid the pants down and stepped out of them, leaving you in just your socks and underwear.

Perhaps it wasn’t the sexiest you had ever looked, but it was the sexiest you had ever felt, and that was the important part.

“Panties too.” He had started palming himself through his pants, huffing out small groans of satisfaction here and there. It had made you drenched and you did not doubt that it was obvious to him just how aroused you were.

You were finally standing there in front of him, completely bare, socks and panties having been removed. His eyes ran over every inch and crevice of you that was visible in the low light.

He was still fully dressed, having just unbuttoned his pants so that he could force his hand down to tug at himself.

“I want you to lay down and touch yourself.” Touch yourself? Couldn’t he do it? You opened your mouth to argue but one look from Clyde made you snap your mouth shut again.

The comforter was soft against your skin as you laid down on your back. You were shy as you separated your legs just enough so that you could slip your hand in between your legs.

The first touch was electric. You had never felt such a reaction from simply touching yourself. Sure, you were an expert in getting yourself off, but it never felt quite like this, not this good from so little.

You circled your bud, applying just the right pleasure that caused you to moan. Your eyes fluttered shut involuntarily, getting lost in the feeling building in your belly.

“Open yer eyes.” He had moved closer, a lot closer, with surprising stealth as you hadn’t heard even a low scuffle of feet. His eyes were commanding the attention of your own as he scolded you.

You withdrew your hand automatically from yourself, moving it up to rest on your belly, thinking that he must want you to stop. You were wrong, however, for his eyes snapped down to watch it and he scolded you once again.

“I didn’t tell ye to stop.” He only moved away once more when he was satisfied with your continued movements.

He walked over to the single chair by the living room table, dragging it with him back over to the bed, placing it by the end where he would get just the right view of you working yourself.

He pulled his pants down before sitting down with a huff. He had gone commando. You let out a whimper of need at the sight.

Clyde Logan was the owner of the most perfect cock you had ever seen. It was so heavy that it had barely been able to bob against his stomach, despite his sitting position.

You arched your neck, trying to get a closer look. It was swollen and huge and pink at the tip. His thumb was working over the head, smearing the precum that had leaked out.

“Ye stopped.” It was a statement, and he didn’t need to give you further instructions for you to once again start moving your hand between your legs.

You let it travel further down this time, to collect some of your wetness with two fingers before bringing it up to your mouth and tasting yourself. Sweet and tangy.

Clyde didn’t make a single sound to let you know if he was affected by your actions, so all you could do was assume that he was, and that was enough to spur you on.

You brought your hand back down, inserting a finger slowly, testing the waters. You were more than ready, your walls giving way easily to the intrusion.

A second soon joined the first and you set a steady rhythm, pumping them in and out with a squelch as your walls clenched around your digits. Your other palm came up to massage at your breast, twisting the nipple between your fingertips.

Your chest heaved with your moans that were penetrating the air. It was hard keeping your eyes open with the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling but you had to stay focus, you didn’t want to miss a second of seeing Clyde slumped from the pleasure of his touch as he fucked into his hand.

“I want ye to make yerself cum.” You were more than happy to give in to this demand. Your fingers were moving urgently inside of you, and your other hand moved on from your breast, coming down to pinch at your clit and then rub tight small circles over it.

The heat that had been steadily building inside of you, blossoming in your stomach, was slowly taking over your entire body now. Your toes were beginning to curl, and you were fighting your eyes from rolling backwards in your head.

And then, it all became too much for you and you let go and the best part of it all rolled over you like tidal waves, washing through you, soaking you with that post-orgasmic glow.

You let your fingers slowly slip out of you, letting your arms fall to your sides as you watched Clyde get up. You didn’t know if he had come, having been too focused on yourself, but it didn’t matter, he still stood at full attention.

Your mouth practically frothed at the sight of him, you could turn rabid from the need that you had for him. A whine slipped out of your mouth, an arm lifting up to reach out for him, needing to touch him.

He came close enough so that your fingers could just barely brush against the fabric of his pants that he still insisted on having on.

Rage took over your body. It was an irrational rage, why did he still have them on? You wanted them off and you wanted them off now. You had to see him, all of him, before you went insane from the deprivation. Was it even possible? To lose your mind over not getting to see another person naked? You certainly thought so.

You sat up, leaning on one of your shoulders as you looked up at him with a glare on your face.

“Take them off.” He was thoroughly amused by your attempt at a demand. You didn’t achieve quite the same rumble in your tone that he had which left no room for arguing, but still, he conceded and pushed the pants down his legs until they were low enough to be kicked off.

His shirt followed soon after, almost hitting you in the face as he threw it carelessly toward the corner of the bed.

You couldn’t help but admire him. A work of art, good enough to be hung in the Met, that was for sure.

You got on your knees in front of him, the height from the bed aiding you in being just tall enough so that you could place kisses on his chest- You placed the first one in the middle, right over his sternum whilst looking up at him.

Your eyes stayed locked as you planted another kiss over his heart, the next on his right pec, and so forth. They circled around one of his nipples, letting your teeth give it a small nibble before pulling it with you just a bit before releasing it and letting it revert to its original state, hard as a rock.

It was starting to get more and more obvious just how affected Clyde was getting, his arousal much more prominent, if that was even possible. You could feel it against your skin, you didn’t want to touch it just yet, dragging it out for as long as you could.

You enjoyed watching him become more and more flustered by your actions. His chest was heavy with each audible breath, cock tapping against your lower stomach, begging to be touched, but you kept your hands away. They were holding on to his thighs, caressing them in small movements that were making their way toward his cock at snail pace.

“Ye gon’ tease me all night?” You let out a laugh at the ridiculous accusation. If anybody had been the one to tease, it was Clyde.

“Are you going to tease me all night?” You threw the question back at him, biting your lip with an innocent smile.

He growled. He actually growled and you could feel how it caused a trickle to roll down your leg.

“Didn’t yer mammy or daddy ever teach ye not to talk back?”

“They didn’t actually” His eyes had steadily grown darker and darker as the evening progressed and were now on the border of black.

He smashed your lips together, grabbing a hold of your face with his right hand with a bruising grip. He kissed and nipped at your lips before pulling back and pushing you back onto the bed.

He was quick to follow you onto the bed as he guided you to lay on your back, spread eagle, with him kneeling between your legs. His hands were on his hips as he watched you. You squirmed under his gaze, trying to create some type of friction anywhere that would aid in bringing you closer to another release.

His kisses started on your inner knee, building their way up at a torturous pace. He didn’t leave a kiss between your legs; instead, he just hovered there so you could feel his hot breath tickle you before continuing.

You were practically sobbing for more when he finally made it to your lips.

“Please, you have to…”

“I have t’ what?” He looked completely serious as he looked down at you, balanced on one hand. He was expecting an answer from you, and you didn’t know what to say. You obviously wanted him to fuck you but for some reason, you were too shy to say it.

“Mhm… thought so,” He hummed before dropping down to his elbows pressing his entire body onto you.

You could feel all of him. His skin was electric against your own and you could feel his length brushing over your clit. He rolled his hips in a small wave and you arched your back from the moan that escaped you.

It had all built up so much that the smallest touch from him could cause you to completely fall apart, despite the orgasm you had had. It was because it was different when Clyde was the one that touched you; your own touch was nowhere near adequate in comparison.

He rolled his hips again, this time applying just a bit more pressure and you couldn’t help but to widen and draw up your legs slightly, wanting to give him easier access.

“I didn’t tell ye tha’ ye could move.” You were trembling from need at his words. You needed more; couldn’t he understand that?

You were reluctant as you started to bring your legs back down, but he (thankfully) hooked his left arm around your leg, stopping its descent. He hoisted it up to rest by the side of his hip as he simultaneously sat back upon his haunches.

“Do ye need me inside of ye?” Your head had started nodding before he could even finish the sentence, causing a wicked smile to spread across his face.

“I need t’ be inside of ye too.” They were the most glorious words you had ever heard.

His right hand gave a tug at his cock, but it didn’t need any more preparation. It was hard and as ready for you as you were him. He grabbed a hold of base, stabilizing it as he dragged it through your sweet and slickened folds before slowly slipping inside.

Your walls easily gave way for him as he finally pushed in due to your overflowing arousal. He stretched you as wide as you would go with little pain and raw pleasure. You were clenched tightly around him, walls squeezing him in a vice grip, trying to draw him in even deeper.

You could feel yourself grow more and more manic in your need as he sunk deeper and deeper into you. It was as if all other senses had disappeared and all you could focus on was his powerful thrusts that were drilling into you.

He kept your right leg at his hips, whilst his other hand was hoisting your left over his shoulder after just a few deep thrusts.

You choked from the warmth that spread through your body from this position. He was deeper than you even knew you could take him. The head of his cock tapping at your cervix with every drilling thrust but there was no pain, only excruciating pleasure that made tears leak from your eyes from happiness.

The carnal need was as fervent within Clyde as it was you. He couldn’t take it slow; his thrusts were forceful and intent on driving you to your next orgasm as quickly as he could.

“Fuck, ye feel good.” Clyde hissed. “Such a sweet an’ tight little pussy.”

Your eyes could barely focus on him, only catching small glimpses of him with his hair plastered to his forehead from the moisture that was collected there. Your hands were grasping onto the duvet, needing something to hold onto in desperation.

His thrusts were precise and well calculated; he hit that spot inside of you over and over again that made you let out guttural moans.

But he enjoyed torturing you and he suddenly came to a halt, retracting from you completely.

“Move over.” He helped to guide you in your haze. Your own movements were thankfully still quick despite your barely lucid mind as you shuffled to the side, and he laid down on the bed.

Clyde’s hand was supporting his base, helping it stand tall, ready for you to penetrate yourself onto it. You threw your leg over his hips to straddle him. You hovered over his cock, looking down to see how you were dripping on to him.

You didn’t stay there for too long before mounting yourself onto it, dropping down with a pant as you engulfed him within you.

The pace you set was frantic, chasing climax. Your hands came down to rest on his chest to better help you push yourself up and down his cock. The sound of your skin slapping against his echoed around the room, driving your wild.

He was a sight for sore eyes underneath you. Lost in the madness and wild from it all. His desire and pleasure were so clear on his face from the way his mouth was parted and the way his eyes admired you, following your every movement.

He used his right hand to help you ram down onto him again and again.

You got on your feet, gaining better leverage than you had had before on your knees, bouncing up and down. You were so, so close; you could feel your orgasm simmering there underneath the surface, you just needed a small push to get there. And Clyde delivered that small push.

“Yer such a good girl, takin’ me so well. You just love bein’ fucked, don’t ye?”

Your walls clamped down on him, legs shaking as you came to a stop, being unable to continue as you fell forward onto his chest, overwhelmed by the pleasure that filled your body.

He received you in his arms, letting his hand caress over your spine as you continued to slightly convulse from your orgasm.

“Such a good girl” He crooned in your ear with a kiss and tug on your lobe.

Clyde wasn’t as sweet when he pinned both your arms to your sides with one of his, holding you in place as he started slamming his hips up into you, chasing his own pleasure.

The sounds that came out of your as he rammed himself in over and over again were indistinguishable. You were gushing around him, your entire body vibrating from another orgasm, but he still didn’t let up. His hips were starting to stutter, however, thrusts being off-pace as he pounded into you.

And then a sharp thrust was accompanied by a husky cry as he ejected deep inside of you. He managed to pump into you a few more times as your walls milked him, your mixed climaxes collecting at his base.

You were exhausted, unable to move so he stayed there, deep inside of you as he grew flaccid.

You thought it was a fuck for the history books.

#clyde smut #clyde logan fanfiction #clyde logan x you #clyde logan #clyde #clyde x reader #clyde logan smut #clyde logan x reader #adcu fanfic #adcu fic rec #adam driver #adcu community #adcu fanfiction #adam driver character #adcu #oneshot

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randomfandomimagine · 4 years

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hey! would you be up for doing some Marty Mcfly x reader headcanons where he gets stuck in the future on Halloween and meets reader (maybe dressed as a 50s girl haha) and thinks they're a time traveler? sorry if this is too complicated haha, have a nice day :)

Oooh, this is interesting! Thank you for requesting :)

MARTY MEETS READER ON HALLOWEEN

It has happened again, Marty is stuck in a year different from his own

This once he’s trapped in the future, during Halloween

It’s pretty trippy for him, because things are very different

There’s lots of holograms, strange costumes and decorations

Most things feel like references that he completely misses on

References to movies and shows that don’t even exist for him

That haven’t even been made at the time he comes from

As he stumbles around the streets in a haze, he spots you

You’re dressed in 50′s clothes and for a moment he feels hope

It’s something familiar and comforting and relief washes over him

Maybe you’re like him! Maybe you’re from the past too and you get it

You’re alone and so he approaches you in a hurry, feeling lost

“Are you a time traveler too?” This strange boy asks you

He’s dressed in a costume you don’t recognize, with jeans

It doesn’t even look like a costume at all, to be honest

You’re very confused and decide to help this poor lost boy

He explains to you that he’s from the year 1985 and a time traveler

That his time machine left him trapped here with no way of going back

And that the person that invented it is no longer around at this year

You obviously don’t believe him at first, but he gives you proof

He shows you the car and tells you about Doc Brown, the scientist

He had become famous in the future for his inventions

There were rumors that he had created a time machine too

Most people didn’t believe it, but you did, you wanted to

And now appeared this strange boy wearing old clothes

Claiming to be a time traveler and having been drawned to you

So you helped him find a way back, having done research about it

You had been so fascinated by Doc’s work that you studied it

And had an idea on how to get the Delorean to work with ‘future’ stuff

You had daydreamed about something like that for years, and it came true

So you helped Marty (as he introduced himself) blend in first

You had heard a little about the McFlys too, and you liked him

He was a bit nervous and lost, but he was really nice and cool

And you had lots of things in common too, including your sense of humor

As you discovered when you took him to the costume shop

It was really fun to see him try on all those different costumes

You got him a Wild West costume while you figured it out

At least that way he would fit in during Halloween

Marty told you about the time he traveled to 1885 while you worked

Being reminded of it by the costume he was now wearing

And you two bonded during that little adventure to get him back to 1985

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @fortheloveofbenyandtom / @caswinchester2000 / @bravelittlesunflower // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

#marty mcfly #marty mcfly x reader #back to the future #bttf #halloween #headcanon #rfi writings #marty mcfly headcanon #back to the future headcanon #bttf headcanon #reader insert #requested #ask #anon ask #anon request #faves

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docholligay · 4 years

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Chinese Food in The American West

One of the things I frequently come across as a student of the American West* is that people get most of their information from movies and TV and then act like they know things. Wyatt Earp was not a Lawful Good champion who always did his level best even when it was hard to know. (You want Seth Bullock or Bass Reeves). Racism was far more complicated than white vs not white (I’ve talked about this EXTENSIVELY in Strange Empire, so I’m not going to bore you here**).

And they didn’t just eat steak. In fact, they rarely ate steak.

Steak as cowboy food isn’t INACCURATE, but it is MODERN. From about the early 1900s on, you had less and less drives and more and more ranchers who were staying put, with less and less hands needed, and so food was grabbed less “on the go.” Cows could be slaughtered and used to feed the family, allowing for more opportunities for things like steak, yes, but also things like chili, a play on sauerbraten, southern-style biscuits. The cattle drives were a real blend of culture and race, and a lot of what we have left as “Western food” owes a great deal to that.

And if we leave the cattle drives and head into the towns of the American West, as we will today, we find things like oysters, pies, and various things like that. Far more well-heeled than the general expectation.

I mean, here’s the menu from the Occidental Saloon circa the late 1880s:

Soups

Chicken Giblet and Consumme, with Egg

Fish

Columbia River Salmon, au Beurre Noir

Relieves

Filet a Boeuf, a la Financier

Leg of Lamb, Sauce, Oysters

Cold Meats

Loin of Beef, Loin of Ham, Loin of Pork, Westphalia Ham, Corned Beef, Imported Lunches

Boiled Meats

Leg of Mutton, Ribs of Beef, Corned Beef and Cabbage, Russian River Bacon

Entrees

Pinons a Poulett, aux Champignons

Cream Fricasse of Chicken, Asparagus Points

Lapine Domestique, a la Matire d'Hote

Casserole d'Ritz aux Oeufs, a la Chinoise

Ducks of Mutton, Braze, with Chipoluta Ragout

California Fresh Peach, a la Conde

Roasts

Loin of Beef, Loin of Mutton, Leg of Pork

Apple Sauce, Suckling Pig, with Jelly, Chicken Stuffed Veal

Pastry

Peach, Apple, Plum, and Custard Pies

English Plum Pudding, Hard Sauce, Lemon Flavor

This dinner will be served for 50 cents.

-I got this from the book “Saloons of the Old West” by Erdoes

But none of that is precisely why I’m here, I just can’t stop myself from talking about this, why I’m here is that one of the things I say that often surprises people, is that Chinese food was incredibly common for the, well, common man to eat. There’s very much a conception that we as a non-Chinese American people did not start eating Chinese food until the 40s and 50s, and its truer that it took longer to catch on in the American East than the West simply as a matter of proximity and choice.

Not MORE choice but LESS. Part of what made the West so unique, historically, is that the lack of choice and the basic scarcity caused people to work with and patronize people that their general prejudices would have kept them from using back east, because they had CHOICES. But out in the west, less so. There were few choices for a quick, cheap meal on the go. That dinner I just posted above is a lavish affair, and a great deal at approximately $20.00 in today’s money. (Which does not allow for the fact that cost of supplies has gone up and this dinner would most likely be offered for no less than 70 or so today.)

People desperately wanted something that was cheap and quick, and the other options in the American West were few, far between, and not intensely pleasing. No one had really come up with the sandwich shop as of yet, and in any case, fresh meats and cheeses would have been too difficult for the low-cost supplier.

ENTER THE CHINESE POPULATION.

If you have read my Strange Empire blogs, I hope you know that Chinese people were a huge presence in the American West, mostly working for the railroad and various mines, but also doing things like laundry, work that was extremely hard but took little in the way of English speaking. They existed in Chinatowns, for a combination of cultural and legal factors, but it’s a misconception that non-Chinese*** people never went to Chinatown.

People are not new, and it was not unusual for non-Chinese people to use the laundries, tailoring, and other services of Chinatowns while suppressing the rights of Chinese people int he same breath. There were always individual Chinese people any given non-Chinese person liked and did business with.

In time, they discovered the inherent wisdom of the noodle bowl.

I don’t mean to suggest that all these early restaurants served was noodle bowls, but that was where it all started. Remember, Italian food had little prominence in America at the this time, as Italian immigration didn’t really get into full swing until the 1870s in America. While there are noodle traditions half of everywhere, and there is nothing new under the sun, what we today would consider a stir-fry bowl was wildly new to most of the non-Chinese folks in the West. That it could be offered up so cheaply, was so filling, and so delicious (more on this later) was a wild revelation. Everyone from simple cowboys (which, fun fact! Was a slur back then!) to mayors were swinging by Chinatowns to try the dishes.

By the 1920s, chop suey, a fully Chinese American invention derived from the words for “various leftovers” was a hugely popular American food among all sorts.

Doc, you may ask, was it just that these folks coming through to get medicines or laundry were SO adventurous? Not at all! Chinese restaurants back then actually, in a very short amount of time, realized that their non-Chinese townsfolk were an excellent way to make money as well, and began to adapt and change dishes to better fit the Western palate, leading what we call American Chinese Food today, which is a legitimate foodway I will defend to my death. Unfortunately, none of these menus survive today--the only ones we have are from places in San Francisco, places that were much more posh, and not the subject of this essay.

There is a scene in Tombstone where Wyatt and his brothers are eating Chinese food, and it’s one of the things people often ask me about, assuming it’s anachronistic. Actually, it isn’t at all--the anachronism is that there’s broccoli in those noodle bowls, which had not yet hit our shores by the time of the OK Corral. Chinese food was a huge hit, Chinese restaurants were doing extremely well, and some Chinese restaurants were even beginning to attempt to print menus in English, with sit down areas, instead of serving simple fare from food carts.

As the food from these “chow chow houses” grew in popularity, as we can infer from the advertisements of their competitors promising free potatoes with every meal, and other such niceties to entice, there was, as ever there must be, blowback. Anti-Chinese sentiment grew to a fever pitch, and with this came overt pressure for ‘Good Americans” to patronize ‘American restaurants’. The social pressure is actually where we get some of that old racist jargon about Chinese people serving dogs and cats, which people often think was spread by competitors to degrade the Chinese restaurants, which isn’t UNTRUE, but was just as often said sheepishly by someone who couldn’t stop themselves from going and grabbing a noodle bowl or even the American dishes they offered, such as roast chicken or pork chop sandwiches.

(I won’t comment with anything but an eyeroll on the bullshit of people saying they’re ~allergic to MSG~ okay I’ll believe you when you stop eating processed food, meat, aged cheese)

It actually kept this type of reputation as being slightly scandalous well into the early 1900s, as being something you ate after the bar, something to be had in the shadows, but it was all for naught, because Chinese food became an important part of American identity. But for all that, no one ever pictures the Lone Ranger chowing down (the American phrase ‘chow’ for food actually comes from these ‘chow chow houses’) on some chop suey, but there’s every reason to believe he would have. American Chinese food is just as American as the Germanically-influenced hamburger.

(There’s a whole subtopic to go down about Jewish and Chinese communities and Kosher Chinese Food, two marginalized and othered communities coming together, but that’s a WHOLE other topic)

(Also someone please buy me Chinese food. This shit always makes me so hungry.)

*The American West is a specific time period, as far as the study of history goes. It covers the period between the end of the Civil War and the New Century, generally, and is, obviously, concerned with the western half of the country. It doesn’t cover stuff like Lewis and Clark (that’s Expansion) or even the Civil War itself, though you cannot possibly hope to study the American West in any level of seriousness without understanding the Civil War. Anyway! I know a lot about America between 1865 and 1900, and am just knowledgeable enough to be dangerous on everything else. Most History nerds are highly specified like this. We’re not as much help to your trivia team as you think.****

**I actually have had little chance to talk about ~European-style xenophobia~ as it played out in the west, because Strange Empire takes a more modern pass at it. But there was a hierarchy of “whiteness” as well, as still largely exists in Europe, land of intentionally clean ethnostates.

***I use the term “non-Chinese” instead of white because believe it or not, non-white people were not magically free of racism against Chinese people. It was horrific and BASICALLY every non-Chinese person was guilty of it to some level, a wild-ass level of hatred that led to Chinese folks not being able to PURCHASE PROPERTY BY LAW in ENTIRE STATES. Being Chinese or Native in this place and time was your Worst Bet.

****I actually was on a competitive trivia team, you DO want me.

#That was Oddly Specific #Holligay is 34: The celebration

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spnsmile · 4 years

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[Hello! I understand this can be upsetting to some so tags are on: RPF, ENGINE FAILURE, ANGST, EMOTIONALLY HURT/ COMFORT/ FLUFF] work of fiction BUT FLUFF/ KISSES

Response to @cocklesdestielfiction prompt BOTTLE (Cockles, a 5K story)

“The right engine exploded… like… BOOM!”

— Richard Speight Jr. (VegasCon 2020)

********

“Where’s Misha?” says Jensen above the steady hum of the plane’s engine blending with sounds of shuffling bags, pitter-patters, and clinking glasses but Misha can always hear him perfect pitch or not.

“Here.” he heaved himself from the end of the aisle after unloading his personal bag with the other smaller luggage. He can hear Cliff talking to the attendant by the coach but he’s just too tired to say hello.

“Hey, Cliff.”

Misha’s eyebrows rake up and unfortunately for him that’s all he can muster with his limp. There’s a blunt grunt from the security papa bear.

“Nappy time for you, Misha. You look shit.”

“Thanks.” he grimaces. After ten hours on set (and that’s without Jared), he’s just too exhausted. Stalking to the cabin seats, Misha joined the others with bleary eyes.

He catches glinting green whose cherry lips begin to form into a wild smile. There has to be some rule about instant rejuvenation just from receiving that dose from such a nice face.

Richard beats them both in whatever shit they were about to say.

“Service is slowing, Misha. Your customer’s been addressing his complaints to the not-so-proper authorities.”Misha sniggers.

“Who’s proper here, do tell.”

“Jensen’s not being proper at adulting.” Alex supplies staring out at the green primo uomo Misha’s been ignoring. The whine comes. It’s like a sweet tickle on his ears. Petulant and cheeky growly voice—signs Misha learned—since his first day—never to encourage.

“Misha! Mish! One more call you’re gonna deliver a bar.”

He turns.

“Been callin you out.”

“You do that to spite me, fucker.” Misha drawls, walking to Jensen and holding out another bottled water that has to be his 8th. “Here. Don’t believe the media when they tell you the world will never run out of water. Maison says the water sprites will invoke the right to strike just on principle.”

“Sweet faerie. But I believe you. You just hoarded eight hundred Aquafina.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

If Jensen wasn’t giggling so dorkily at him, he would have snatched the bottle and cursed him for the reminder. But Misha couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of lips. Even Rich and Alex hark laughter at the meaning.

Cause Misha Collins just had a truck of bottled water delivered on set that’s still causing stomach hurts from the cast. Recently, Jensen had taken up the habit of ‘mentioning Misha ’on set as a result of that one interview involving some intense heart eyes and delivery of drinks caught on camera. Nothing to deny there, relationships over ten years tend to turn if not bitter-sweet memories, then the opposite tooth-rotting.

This takes the cake. Everyone began doing the same.

Of course, Misha— pleased by the attention and a new game to distract himself from the already distracting Jensen, returned all summons. Misha who was never one to do things halfway and pledged on delivering all sorts of drinks every Jensen pings his name—except apple juice, jesus.

But it’s one of those feats that usually get out of control in Supernatural so by the end of the first week, everyone’s just going ‘Misha.’ He liked that a lot. Also, like the truckload of bottled water delivered on set much to their amusement.

When Vicky saw the number on their credit card receipt, she didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Oh, but he wanted to tell her anyway.

All fun aside, Misha’s particularly grumpy now for another reason. Sleep-deprived and emotionally drained after pouring everything on that last take, he’s now headed to Vegascon with this little group. It was nice Jared arranged his private plane to take them. The pretty convenient thing when a pandemic is out there.

Jensen looks tired too, dark lines under the eyes, lips dry— thus the water bottle Misha’s been carrying around— but how the fuck he managed to radiate with teenage energy even when it’s already late will forever evade Misha who wants to snuggle beside him but instead just looks him straight in the eyes.

“Fuck you,” he mouths, backing to his empty chair.

“Do it.” Jensen teases him and Misha will not appreciate that radiance of beauty pulling him in.

“Can’t, there’s our kid here. Don’t wanna make it awkward.”

Alex shakes his head. “Nope. I think I’ve seen the worst of it.”

“That’s what you think.” Misha chuckles.

“Buckle up, Mishano, signals on.” Richard turns his back from the window facing Jensen with red-light flashing above their heads. “Let’s save the Cockles once we’re in Vegas, kay guys? Innocent guy trying to avoid diabetes so save the Cockles.”

“Save the Cockles.” Alex fumbles inside his jacket to fix his earphones.

Misha and Jensen roll eyes at each other and Misha returns to his spot. Jensen is directly on his line of sight so it’s quite easy to check out on him, maybe snap adorable photos and stack it on his 100 terabyte collection he can post someday when he’s 90.

Taking his phone out after securing his belt, he hears the pilot give instructions as the plane begins to move. Soon, he’s immersing himself with replies on tweets and messages on his number using his extra handphone. Zoning out wasn’t difficult, especially when trying to block out the funny feeling of the engine preparing to take off. They’re all used to it by now.

A few minutes later, they all feel the usual sensation of slowing down bodily before the plane thrusts forward— Misha closes his eyes, hands clasping his chair until they feel the plane level after the accent. When he opens his eyes, he hears everyone including him take a deep breath. There are exchanges of words but he is already glued to his phone answering messages sleepily. He’s so tired he can sleep forever. His eyes begin to droop and he sighs in content, finally able to rest even for just minutes.

Till there’s a gentle nudge on his leg.

He ignores it.

Another kick.

No.

“Mish.” Kick again.

Misha grimaces. Such long reach for bowlegs…

“Misha, I swear—”

“Social distance, Jen?” he opens his eyes, obviously grumpy.

“A truckload of beer from Poland sounds nice, I’d prefer that.” Jensen wags the water bottle with mischievous dimples showing off on the corner of his cheek. Misha frowns and shuts his eyes again. Good god for distractions. Good god for soft manly middlemen with so much energy…

“Mish…”

Ignore him.

“Mish!”

Imagine if Jared’s around…

“Hey, Misha, Poland beer really—”

Misha’s eyes flutter open.

“No, honey, I will not argue with you about Polish ‘Alkohole,’ it’s not even articulated the same.” Misha throws a grumpy look over notorious green-eyed lynx whose chuckling over his misery, “You’re gonna fuck with me again and I’ll have another story in my head I am unable to tell a soul as its rightfully not for children, sorry, Alex.”

Ball on Alex’ court, he blinks from Jensen to Misha quietly then shakes his head.

“I am legally an adult.” He obviously could hear them from his pods. Misha raises a finger.

“Correction, the show says you’re 3. All fanfiction does.”

“I’m married.” Alex injects in amusement.

“Fanfiction says Misha and I are married.” comes from Rich’s corner.

At this Misha sits up, preparing his list of things why Misha-will-never-be-married-to-Richard-Speight-Who-Got-a-Rob impromptu—

“I’m married.” Alex retorts but Richard and Misha are bickering over the type of marriage to hear him.

“You both can say whatever the hell you want, Cockles will top.”

Sometimes Jensen just can’t bridle it. Sending Misha his heart eyes flirtatiously, he stops the argument with a wink. Misha giggles with all tiredness gone, replying to Alex about marriage while Rich says something about Jibcon to Jensen when things begin to go wrong.

Misha did not see it happen. He was busy looking over Jensen, admiring the bravado and confidence about the newly found comfort over their relationship (and their characters) when a loud bang from his right splits the air, followed by crashing sounds of that thing that Misha dreads, one of the worst sounds he never wants to hear in his life.

But that’s only just the beginning.

The first explosion rocked the plane violently forward, then topples without warning to their right. It throws them off with seatbelts tightening—making them grab around the seats, stomach in their throat as they keep their steady hold.

Misha looks outside to the cloud of smoke and crashing debris, his mind tuning only to the present and hears himself as well as Jensen and Richard cursing with jesuschrists. Misha doesn’t know. He was never a steadfast believer but for this one, he’s already calling out god.

The show’s influence is deeper than he thought. He thinks of all the near-death experiences he’s had but it’s nothing compared to this one. For one, he can only look at Jensen and the feeling sinks in the hollowness of his guts.

This is worse, much worse than the drop tower ride or any gyro drop his children always admired him for riding. No. Here the safety belts that kicked in didn't secure anything from the loud crashing sounds that pierced their ears, the shrill sound of the engine roaring like as it beat fragments unto the air leaving maybe nothing of its parts. How many engines are exploding?

Misha doesn’t close his eyes. He tries to deny the possibility that this is where him, Jensen— Alex, god Alex just got married! He’s so much more ahead of his life— and Rich just might finally find their end. An irony of life where the show that’s keeping their lives together now also on the way to its end. A kind of twist in reality that’s been shown by many, if not more famous names ahead of himself but Misha tries not to think about them. He tries not to think about the same profession that killed them. He can’t afford it, oh god his children…

He realized he didn’t even kiss West goodbye the morning he left. How he left the unkempt dish on the sink in a hurry. How he didn’t check Maison’s daily log of mischief she does while he’s away.

Now he may not return.

He closes his eyes as the plane shudders violently again. Please...

He calls Castiel’s name too, the back of his mind telling him they're dying. A more humorous, sadistic side of himself adding Dean is here, and that angel of Thursday isn’t going to let his husband die. They shouldn’t. He and Castiel shouldn’t.

But he’s no Castiel. He’s only Misha.

If anyone asked him how he felt when the plane steadies itself as the pilots pull for control, Misha is not sure anyone would believe him. For the briefest second, he feels this tug at the back of his mind telling him it will be alright and the remarkable part is, Misha believed it. Fucking believe the whisper.

That’s when everything settles down.

Misha quickly looks around at Jense, Rich, and Alex. All of them are pale and he knows he doesn’t look any better. He wants to throw up but the uncertainty of the flight kept him guarded, his grip on the armchair not loosening.

“You guys alright?” Jensen’s voice much deeper than Misha remembers barely managed a nod.

Alex is looking at the floor with concentration where laptops, neck pillows, cups, and stuff are all scattered on the ground. Richard looks as if he’s going to throw up the way he’s holding his stomach. Jensen is staring outside the right window while Misha tells himself to breathe.

“Are you alright?” comes Cliff’s low voice from behind Misha sounding obviously shaken too but still steady. Misha didn’t have time to collect himself. Not that he’s stupid, his body just doesn’t get it, but he quickly pulls his phone and begins texting Vicky and the children.

“What the hell happened?” Richard turns his head over the cockpit when the rumbling dies down.

“Right engine exploded.” Jensen is already unbuckling himself from his chair and casting everyone a look. “You all good? Mish? Cliff?” He doesn’t wait for answers. He shoots off to the cockpit and stops just by the door looking uncertain.

“Hey, uh… do we have a situation?” Nobody spoke while he was gone so it's easy to hear the response of the pilots ahead.

“We most certainly do. Get in your seat. Put on your seat belt. We’re doing emergency procedures.”

Calm. Collected. Professional. That’s all Misha had to hear. It doesn’t seem like he’s alone. Everyone else breathes in relief as they all watch Jensen amble back to his seat, nodding.

“Okay, you certainly have my attention, sir.”

He buckles up and lifts his chin. The look on their faces must’ve triggered Jensen to clap his hands together. “Hey, buckle up! Cliff, sit down. Rich, breathe, kay? It’s gonna be fine. It’s only one engine, guys, c’mon. This thing flies on three! You think Jared had anyone else to listen to about private jet education? We’re gonna be fine.”

Then like heaven-sent, the pilot begins giving them reports of the situation from the paging in a very clear and commanding voice. He tells them the right engine exploded which requires them to make a trip back to the nearest airport in Vancouver. That’s all he gives and a promise of an update as he wished everybody to stay calm and follow the protocol for emergency procedures.

“Hear that?” Jensen clears his throat, his hands clasping. Misha receives the full impact of the meaningful green eyes. The plane steadies itself with hum in the air. A full minute pass and the airplane did not drop.

“Fuck.”

Misha forces himself to relax as he drops his head back on his chair. He can’t feel his body. His hands are still trembling when he smacks it on his cold face. “Fuck!” He can’t seem to say anything other than that.

“Fuck, indeed.” Richard agrees, grabbing his phone, “Good thing I got my pods on, that sound coulda destroyed my ears.” he begins typing on his phone immediately. Alex begins a speed typing contest while Misha receives Vicky's reply after his first message.

‘Kids are mine, right?’

‘Because I cannot make them alone. What’s wrong?’- V

Misha goes on about the engine and the exchange of mail becomes rampant. When about twenty minutes pass with a few throws of questions around, Misha looks up when he hears the blubbing sound of whiskey. Jensen is pouring

“I’m gonna be drinking that scotch when I get back home,” he’s saying as he hands the glasses each to Richard, Alex and finally to Misha who shakes his head, putting the glass on the holder. Jensen takes the armchair beside him to which Misha is glad, especially when Jensen wounds his arm around his shoulder.

“We’re fine, Mish, stop shaking.” Jensen drops the side of his cheeks on Misha’s raven hair.

“I’m not,” Misha says shakily, wrapping his arms around Jensen’s torso and just pulling him into a tight hug. “Fuck!”

Continue reading: AO3

#cocklesdestielfiction #1kcockles #cockles #cocklesisreal #RPF #rpf fanfic #misha collins #jensen and misha #jensen ackles #emotional misha

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mimymomo · 5 years

Text

Love Is War ~ Orphydice

So I came up with this idea after listening to an English cover of the Kaguya-sama Love is War opening (that’s not important to the story at all). Also, I wrote half of this story in the middle of the night so...enjoy!

Eurydice was at battle. A hardened soldier in a losing war. Each day was getting harder and harder to fight, to resist her ever-growing urges to throw down her weapons and give in to temptation. If only the side she was fighting against actually knew they were at war...

“Heads up,” Persephone grinned cheekily, sliding into her seat next to Eurydice’s, “Orpheus is definitely gonna try and ask you out today!”

Eurydice groaned, “again? That’s gotta be the third time this week!” These fruitless attempts were becoming more frequent by the week. “Persephone, I know it’s you who keeps pushing him to do this. You’ve got to stop encouraging him to keep asking.”

Persephone was Eurydice’s closest, and maybe only, friend. She was in her late thirties yet acted like she was no older than twenty-five. Eurydice met Seph in her last class in the fall quarter of her freshman year.

Eurydice was exhausted―four classes a day had been a terrible idea, and by class number four, she was truly feeling it. She shuffled into the classroom at the end of the hall. And immediately, her eye was caught by a lady in a vibrant green dress.

Her wild, curly hair flowed in endless waves. Stray strands of gray hair perfectly contrasted against the brown. Sun-kissed skin shines under the harsh, fluorescent lights. She was older, Eurydice knew as such, but by how many years? Not a clue. It could range from one to twenty; the numbers never blended better. A spotlight shone through the one open window, somehow impeccably highlighting her frame. She looked as if she was a goddess. Eurydice couldn’t help but be drawn to the woman, taking a step to the empty seat next to her. One step, then another and another. Next thing she knew, she was seated in the chair and talking to the woman with an infectious smile and laughing for the first time that day.

Persephone, she had introduced herself. An ex-botany now wine studies major student, she originally enrolled in college years ago but dropped out after one year to marry her high school sweetheart. After a near divorce, she was looking for a new start and believed going back and getting her degree would help do just that.

“Sucks that starting next year I’ll be attending the same school as my baby nephew, but at least I’ll get to lovingly, embarrass him, so there’s a silver lining!”

From that moment on, the two grew extremely close. Eurydice gained a friend she could talk to and trust. Or at least she thought she could trust.

“Well maybe you stop forcing yourself to reject him, then he’ll stop asking you,” the older woman prodded. Eurydice just shook her head; she couldn’t do it, not again, not after every other man before. She had been hurt too many times, bruised and broken beyond repair- no one, not even sweeter than fresh cream Orpheus could fix that.

Orpheus Thrace, second-year and Persephone’s younger nephew? Cousin? She wasn’t exactly sure; there were too many halves and steps and god family relations involved to keep track. Eurydice had been smitten with the boy from the moment she first laid eyes on him. She could remember that day perfectly- walking into her poetry 107 class at the beginning of the fall semester last year. She was already irritated that day due to one, having to take a poetry class when it had nothing to do with her major (economics), two, the only time it was being offered, and it didn’t affect her schedule was at eight am, and three, adding sprinkles on top of the already burnt as shit cake, she had missed her alarm and was running late. So to say she was more than a little aggravated walking into the lecture that morning would’ve been an understatement.

She barged into class, her obvious bed head wild and sticking up and out in every direction, beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. The professor stopped speaking and nearly every head spun towards her direction.

“Well good morning and thank you for arriving fashionably late and gracing us with your presence Ms...”

“Mendoza.”

The elder man scoured over his attendance sheet before giving Eurydice a few quick up and down glances. “Ahh, yes, Ms. Mendoza,” he said slowly. “In the future, plan to show up on time for these lectures. Now, take a seat.”

Eurydice rolled her eyes at her professor’s belittlement and slunk over to the first open seat she could find- an aisle seat near the back of the room. Throwing herself into the seat, she brought her hands up to her face and sighed. Great start to the year... she thought bitterly.

“Now as I was saying before the...interruption, please take a look at the learning criteria for this course on the bottom of your syllabus,” Professor whatever his name was announced.

“Shit,” Eurydice muttered onto her hands. She didn’t have a syllabus and she definitely wasn’t going to ask for one now and risk yet another callous remark from the old coot.

“Um, excuse me?” a whisper caught her ear.

Eurydice groaned again, turning to the voice, and immediately she felt her breathing hitch. Oh shit, he’s cute.

The first thing she noticed was his eyes- what color were they? Hazelnut brown? Maybe a faded green? Was that a hint of pale blue in there? Whatever they were, they were enchanting. Eurydice felt herself drowning in them, swirling around unwillingly in their pool.

The tips of his straight, dark, brown hair just reached the top of his eyes a soft, hesitant smile painted his pink lips. Oh god, his lips, pretty pink and plump…

Eurydice shook her head, trying to get the picture of this stranger's model lips out her mind, “I’m sorry what did you say?”

The stranger smiled, his teeth were perfectly straight and pearly white, “sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to know if you wanted to share this syllabus with me? Since I knew you came in late and don’t have one.” He adjusted the front of one of his brown leather suspenders. Suspenders, a white shirt, and a...red bandanna? The man had an interesting style, that’s for sure. But Eurydice couldn’t help but be drawn to him despite that.

“Yes, please,” She whispered brightly, “thank you so much.” She flashed him a smile and his cheeks flushed a dusty shade of magenta.

“N-no problem.”

“Now, where are we?”

“Right! Uhh, we’re right,” the boy scooted closer to Eurydice, setting the stack of stoked paper in the center of them. He smelt of something warm, sweet with a hint of musk, like from being surrounded by old books. Was that his cologne or just his natural scent? Eurydice felt heart flutter in her chest, what the heck? “Right here,” the boy pointed at a stray bullet point midway down the page.

Eurydice spent the remainder of the fifty minutes struggling to pay attention to the monotonous voice of her professor or keep track of the never-ending words on the page, while her attention seemed to travel elsewhere. On a certain someone to be more precise.

By the time the bell tolled, Eurydice was spent. The cute stranger was packing up his things and slinging a...guitar? Over his shoulder. Had that always been there? I wonder if he’s good? Shit, I think he’s talking to you! Quit spacing out!

“I’m sorry?” Eurydice said, shaking her head trying to turn her attention the bandana banded boy.

He smiled a nervous smile, “I was just wondering if you would like to go get something to drink with me?”

“Ain’t it a bit early to be drinking?”

“Oh, oh no,” he scrambled, waving his hands in a cute, semi-frantic gesture. “I meant like go get tea or something. The student cafe isn’t too far from here I think. And I don’t have my next class until three pm.”

This boy...just giving away such personal information to someone he just met. Sure, she didn’t have another class until noon but that didn’t mean she wanted to spend her free time with some eccentric stranger she only met an hour earlier. Even if he was undeniably attractive. Eurydice smirked, doing her best to keep up her blasé appearance. “I’m more of a coffee person myself.”

“I’m sure they have coffee as well,” he assured. “My aunt who goes here said the scones are to die for.” His aunt? Eurydice paid no mind.

“I don’t even know your name,” she countered. She didn’t know why she was fighting so hard, or even giving his random man her attention, but there was just...something about him she could resist.

The man gave her the biggest, dopey smile, damn, no person should ever be allowed to be that cute. “I’m Orpheus.”

Orpheus. Orpheus. Orpheus, she repeated in her head.

“Hello Orpheus,” she loved the way his name rolled off her tongue, sweet like honeysuckle and molasses.

And against her better judgment, she replied, “I’m Eurydice.”

The two made their way out the double doors, and down the cement paths to the student cafe in the center of campus. They passed towering buildings and pushed through the bustling crowd of manic students coming in every direction. As they walked over a small bridge, Eurydice glanced at the tall willow trees that veiled over the river that ran throughout the campus. Colorful leaves floating on top of the dark water.

By the time they walked into the cafe, most students had left for class leaving the place nearly deserted. The two ordered their drinks - one tea and one caramel macchiato with an extra espresso shot - then sat in large, cushioned chairs near an electric fireplace.

They sat and chatted about everything and nothing. Where they’re from (both grew up locally but on different sides of the city- Orpheus on the east side, Eurydice on the west), what grades and majors they were (Orpheus: first-year music. Eurydice: second-year economics), and before they knew it, hours had passed.

In the middle of a heated chat over what Beatles album was superior (the White Album obviously), Orpheus’ phone began to buzz on the table. He picked the cell up and began typing away, his nimble fingers tap-tapping on the tiny keys. “Sorry,” he said placing the screen face down, “my aunt was texting me. Asked how my first class was.”

“You have a nice aunt,” Eurydice remarked, head in hand, elbow on the tabletop.

“She’s something,” Orpheus sighed, his smile slightly waning. “But I love her.”

Eurydice felt something twinge in her chest. Listening to stories of Orpheus and his loving family stung just the tiniest bit. She’d had enough time over the years to come to terms with her complicated family drama but it didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt sometimes.

“She said she wanted to stop by and check on me, face to face, I hope you don’t mind,” Orpheus groaned, his face scrunching up like an embarrassed child’s.

Eurydice shrugged, “‘course not.”

At that moment the jingle from the door could be heard and a familiar voice rang through the cafe walls: “Orpheus!”

“Lady Persephone,” Orpheus grinned, waving her over to the table.

“Poet, what have I told you about the Lady Persephone crap? I’ve known you since you were in the single digits and your parental guardian is my brother, just call me aunt Seph already.”

“Hey, I still call Mister Hermes, Mister Hermes!” Orpheus whined. “And besides you yelled at me the first time I called you aunt Seph!”

“That was years ago!”

“It was traumatizing!”

“Persephone?” a flabbergasted Eurydice cried out, deriving the attention to her and away from the twos ridiculous argument.

“Songbird! I see you’ve met my nephew Orpheus?”

“Nephew?”

Persephone quickly explained how Orpheus, as a small child, had been adopted by her older half-brother Hermes after his mother left. So, he had terrible parents too? Maybe they were more similar than she once believed.

From that day on, Orpheus joined the twos small friend group. And since that day to the present, Eurydice had been stuck at the ultimate crossroad. It was obvious that Orpheus had a thing for her, subtly was not one of his defining traits. And his constant invitations to go and do various activities with him wasn’t helping hide that fact either. And while Eurydice knew deep, deep down inside (well maybe not too deep), that she felt the same way. But she never could find her able to take that step, to cross that bridge. Each relationship before Orpheus had taken a piece of her, smashed her bridge to broken pieces, even chucked some down the raging stream. It had taken her so many years just to reassemble that bridge to some semblance of its former glory, she couldn’t risk having it damaged once more, especially by someone who came across as caring as Orpheus. His blow would shatter her past restoration.

“Quick here he comes,” Persephone whispered, dragging Eurydice’s attention back to the present, just as Orpheus bounded his way in front of the girl's table.

“H-hello Eurydice,” etched out across his face was a pure, innocent smile. The nerves in Eurydice’s gut fluttered about, batting against her stomach.

“Oh, uh, what do ya want Orpheus?” Eurydice cringed at how harsh her attempt at tonal indifference came out. She knew Orpheus didn’t deserve it, the poor boy too sweet and mirthful for his, and her, own good. But damn, did Eurydice not want to give Persephone the satisfaction of being correct on the status of her intense infatuation with the young musician.

He paid no mind, “I’m playing a gig at Mister Hermes bar in a couple of days, I was just wondering if you’d want to, maybe, come as well? Or maybe just help me practice? I could always use an audience.” Copious amounts of unfiltered hope and adoration bled through every word. Eurydice knew she should be annoyed by Orpheus' persistence, his blatant disregard of her previous refusals and body language. But she couldn’t bring herself to be; she knew the boy was not the quickest when it came to picking up on social cues. Plus Eurydice had a large suspicion that some aunt of his was pushing him to continue his trivial pursuit.

Ahh, so he’s taking a more gentle approach this time? she thought. No longer attempting to sweep her off her feet with bombastic musical performances or bouquets of expensive flowers that all mean love and heavy infatuation. Eurydice refused every offer- big or small- no matter how hard she wanted to agree. Today would be no different.

“Sorry Orpheus,” she said, fiddling with specks of nonexistent dirt under her nails. “I can’t.”

His shoulder sagged and smile all but vanished. Eurydice instantly felt bad for shooting the boy down that quick, but it had to be done, for both their sakes.

“Oh...okay,” his voice gummy and discouraged, like a stepped-on marshmallow.

“Oh give me a break,” Persephone snapped, slapping her hands down against the flat surface. “You can make it to that show, I know it, you know it too. Why are you lying?”

Eurydice felt something boil inside her, a pot left too long on high was now began to simmer over, spilling all its contents for the world to see. “I don’t see how this pertains to you,” she bit back, glaring the older woman down with eyes of steel.

“Well, you’re my friend and you’re lying to a member of my family, I think this does pertain to me,” Persephone said calmly, her carrying a twinge of an edge.

“Well, I’ve told you countless times to stop encouraging all these stupid advances!” Eurydice shouted, not noticing nor caring if she disturbed any passer biers. “I'm never going to say yes no matter how many times you get him to ask, and you of all people should understand that. Why can’t you get that through your thick skull?” Why did Persephone not get that this was hard in her? Why did she not understand that every time she had to turn down Orpheus, another piece of her heart chipped away, drifting downstream until it inevitably sank, never to be seen again? It hurt, it hurt so badly. But she had to do this, she couldn’t lose Orpheus, she couldn’t go through the pain of heartbreak again. She was a lone wolf on the field, she didn’t have time for a partner.

“But-”

“Aunt Seph, it’s fine.” The two turned their attention to the man of their conversation, both having forgotten he was even present. His face was blank, eyes glossy, staring down, off into space. “Eurydice is right. We should stop this.”

“But Orpheus-”

“It’s fine,” he asserted. He shifted the guitar case strap on his back, fingertips white from clutching on so tight. “I’m gonna go, class.” That was a lie. Eurydice knew his schedule like the back of her hand, Orpheus didn’t have another class for another hour, usually joining her and Persephone in a quick run to the student cafe for a fast breakfast. But Eurydice has no energy to correct him. She wanted to scream, to tell him he had the wrong idea, that she felt the same way. But she kept her mouth closed, biting her lip close to breaking the skin. She watched as Orpheus shuffled out the door, head hanging low, carrying himself like a scolded puppy running from the scene of an accident.

“Aunt Seph.”

“What?” Eurydice said blankly.

“He called me Aunt Seph,” Persephone scoffed. Eurydice felt something crawl in her stomach when Seph brought this significant word change to her attention. To many, saying ‘aunt’ and not ‘lady’ was no big deal, but to them, it meant everything.

The two sat in deafening silence until Eurydice tore away and all but sprinted out the door.

…

A few days after the disastrous incident, Eurydice found her racing through the crowded streets to a familiar bar. Hermes.

When she arrived, Hermes directed her upstairs to his and Orpheus’ living quarters where Seph was supposedly waiting. She raced up the stairs and down to the second door on the left: Seph’s guest bedroom.

“Songbird!” Persephone smiled, swinging the door wide open.

“Seph,” Eurydice yelled, charging in past the older woman. “What’s the emergency?” Eurydice was stewing alone in her apartment, trying and failing not to think about the young musician whom she guarded her heart against when she received a confusing text from the lady of spring telling her to get here quick.

She had been too worried about Persephone’s cryptic message to even consider the implications of standing in the home of the man whose heart she just recently broke. But Persephone looked...fine? Giddy even. What was happening here? “Seph, what’s going on here? I thought there was an emergency?”

“Oh, there is,” she grinned and Eurydice felt a chill travel up her spine. She didn’t like that smile, a hint of glimmering mischievous shining through the cracks. “Come on, the problems down the hall.”

Persephone guided her down the hall to a wooden door lit by the hall lights, a room Eurydice had never ventured through. “I lost an important paper for Hades when I was staying here and now I can’t find it. That brother of mine said he might’ve moved some stuff in here.”

“You called me here, thinking it was some huge emergency, just to help you look for some paper?” Eurydice gaped.

Persephone gave a quick nod, “like I said it’s an important document. And I figured two bodies would find it faster than one.”

“Did it not come across your brain that I could’ve been busy?”

Persephone pulled out a key and began to twist the lock, “if you were that busy, you wouldn’t have been here this quick. I know you’ve been holed up in your room think about that boy.”

Eurydice folded her arms, “you're the one who caused all this. I was fine keeping my distance but you kept pushing him to ask me out.”

Persephone unlocked the door, yanking out the key, “yeah, yeah, songbird, but think of this as me trying to fix things.”

“What do you mean, trying to fix-” Persephone sharply jerked the door open, light flooding in the dark. And there in the darkness, kneeled on the floor was a tall, skinny figure Eurydice instantly recognized.

“Orpheus?”

The young man tilted his head up, slowly standing, “Eurydice…?”

Suddenly, Eurydice felt a forceful shove on her back and she tumbled into the closet, falling into Orpheus’ arms. Slam! Then it was dark.

“Persephone!” Eurydice screamed, breaking away from Orpheus. She turned the knob- locked. She banged on what she hoped was the door. “What the hell? Let us out!”

“No can do Songbird,” she chirped through the other side of the wooden door. “You two need to handle whatever’s going on between you.”

“Seph,” Eurydice grumbled lowly, irritation seeping through her tone. Hard as the strongest steel, sharper than a razor blade. “Let me out NOW!”

“I told you Eurydice, I’m not letting you out until you and Poet figure out that relationship of yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Hades and I have a date. The counselor said it’d be good for us. ‘Bonding’ or some craziness like that. See you two in a few hours!” And with that, the two young adults listened to the sound of their freedom step down and out of the hall.

Eurydice continued to bang on the door, yelling for someone, anyone to come and answer her pleads, to come and open the door. She reached in her pants pocket, hoping she could use her cell to call Mr. Hermes to let them out. Nothing. She checked the other, then the backs, all empty. She must have left it back in her room.

“Great, just great!” Eurydice wallowed, slumping to the carpeted ground. She tucked her knees to her chest, “I can’t believe she locked me in here-”

“With me?”

Eurydice whipped her head in the direction of Orpheus’ voice. Even in the dark, his shadowy figure was easy to pick out- hunched over, fingers tugging at the loose ends of the old carpet. “What?”

Orpheus scoffed, “I’m sorry. I know you’d probably want to be anywhere else besides being stuck in a stuffy closet with me, the loser who apparently can’t take no for an answer. Who, even after being rejected, again and again, is still helplessly in love with you.” Orpheus sniffled, and Eurydice watched as he wiped cascading tears off his cheeks. “I told Lady Persephone that you didn’t feel the same, but just kept telling me to keep trying, that I was wrong, that I had a chance. And like a fool- I believed her. I kept trying, even though in my heart I knew the truth. I knew I stood no chance of winning your heart. You’re too good for me,” he gave her a wet, smile, eyes shut tight and throat clogged from holding back sobs. “But I still tried. And I ruined it.”

Eurydice felt her tears began to spring in her eyes as well, clawing at the back of her throat. Pricking needles on her tongue, “Orpheus-”

“I ruined it.” He wasn’t listening. “I ruined everything. Now, you don’t even want to be in the same room as me. I’m sorry Eurydice. I’m to blame for all this.”

“You’re wrong,” Eurydice sobbed, cutting the manic boy’s lament short. She shook her head, “you’re wrong. This isn’t your fault.”

“Eurydice,” Orpheus whispered half-heartedly.

“No,” Eurydice bawled, rising to her knees, dragging them over to Orpheus. She took his hands in her own, squeezing them, “you did nothing wrong. You, you were right all along.”

With a deep breath, Eurydice felt her battle armor slowly start to peel off, falling to the dirty, trodden ground. She was raising her white flag, why was she still trying to convince herself that fighting this exhausting battle was worth it? Why was so certain that she didn’t deserve love? Happiness? Him? She was done. Screw it, if this bomb blew up in her face, she’ll gladly accept the blow. This feeling and this man in front of her were worth the risk.

“I love you.”

Orpheus gasped, eyes so bugged out they looked as if they’d fall right out of their sockets. Eurydice wanted to laugh at his expression, but she couldn’t. She needed to focus. “I love you. Orpheus, I love you,” Eurydice sobbed, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have for a long time now. I was just too scared to admit that, to you, to Persephone, to myself...I’ve been hurt by so many people, more times than I can count. I just, I just-”

Orpheus wrapped his arms snuggly around Eurydice’s shoulders, holding her close as she cried, body wracked with wet heaves. He held her and held her and held her, running his hands up and down her back, letting every single salty tear spill.

When she finally calmed down, she pulled no more than an inch away. Orpheus places his forehead on hers, burning hot. They sat there quietly, just taking the other in.

“Is it true?” Eurydice stared into his eyes, a sliver of hope piercing through, “what you said, is it true? That you, that you love me?”

Eurydice cupped the sides of his face, fingers brushing against bristly, unshaven stubble. Her heart pounding- ba thump, ba thump, ba thump. With a nod, she gave him a warm smile, “it’s true. I do.”

A large grin overtook Orpheus’ face, “I love you too, Eurydice!”

Pink in the face from embarrassing excitement, Eurydice released a shaky breath, “I know Orpheus, you've told me plenty of times.”

“And I’ll tell you dozens more,” he chirped, a song of love filling his heart and head. He brought her in for a serried hug, their heartbeats thumping in a synchronized rhythm. Maybe laying down her weapons wasn’t sure a terrible decision in the end?

Then a horrifying thought popped into her head, “shoot.”

“What’s wrong?” Orpheus shot back panicked, had Eurydice already changed her mind?

“I just realized, Seph's never gonna let this go! Her being right, that is! She’s gonna tease us to high heaven once we pop outta this closet and she learns we’re dating…”

“Wait, we’re dating?” Orpheus asked gobsmacked.

Eurydice tensed, “o-oh, did you not want to? I just assumed-”

“No, no, no! I do!” He yelled. He couldn’t let her think about that reality, and he definitely couldn’t let her speak it into existence.

Eurydice smiled, “okay then. Now all that’s left is to seal the deal.”

“Seal the deal?” Orpheus asked voiced laced with confusion.

Eurydice nodded her head. With her eyes still locked with the taller boy’s and a sultry smile, she brought the tip of her pointer finger up to her lips and gave them a few quick taps. Even in the dark, Eurydice could tell Orpheus was blushing. She imagined the shades of pink that shadowed his cheeks and the redden tips of his ears. Due to their proximity, the young girl swore she could feel a warm heat radiating from the boy’s face.

“O-oohh...I see,” Orpheus stuttered, breaking his eyes away from Eurydice’s fervent stare.

She giggled at his nervousness and placed her hands gently to his cheeks, rubbing the pads of her thumbs over smooth skin. She had dreamed about this moment for over a year. Now, she finally had her chance, she wasn’t going to waste it. “I mean, they did lock us in here. We might as well take advantage of it.” And before he could reply, Eurydice closed her eyes, stood to the very tips of her toes and surged forward, pulling Orpheus’ head down slightly down in the process.

So hot, was Eurydice’s first thought as the two’s lips met. His lips- soft, hot, scalding even. After a few, too short, seconds passed, she pulled away. “Shit, I’m sorry. Was that okay...?”

Orpheus swiftly nodded his head. “Oh Gods, yes,” he whispered before swooping down and recapturing her his with his. Love and eagerness bleeding through his lips.

Eurydice placed her arms around Orpheus’s neck and ran her fingers through his brown locks, while he snuggly wrapped his around her waist. They stayed that way for a while then Eurydice had a sneaky idea. She brought one of her hands down and placed it at the hem of Orpheus’ shirt; glacially slipping her fingers under the fabric the teeniest bit, running them over a smooth patch of pale skin causing Orpheus to jump at the feeling.

“Is this okay?” Eurydice asked a fraction of a centimeter away, not wanting to separate their lips. Orpheus left out a huff and a fast nod, his eyes glossy and lips just starting to get puffy.

Eurydice smiled and brought their lips back together. “You know you can touch me too,” she teased through their kisses and continued with her touch; her feather-light strokes reaching farther, getting longer. She could feel Orpheus reach out to do the same but stopping just as he grazed her shirt. Sensing his hesitance Eurydice pulled her hand out and grabbed hold of Orpheus’, giving the long fingers, calloused from strenuous guitar practices, a few good squeezes, and rubs, before bringing it behind her back and up her shirt. She gasped at the sensation of delicate fingertips circling her lower back and sides, then up and down gently over the dip of her spine. Damn, this was getting much more intimate than she ever imagined it would.

Orpheus pulled back breathing heavy, swollen red lips wet and puffy, “that okay?”

Eurydice nodded, eyes glazed over, desperate to feel his touch again. She reeled him once more and continued their tango.

She doesn’t know how long they spend interlocked in the closet but she can’t bring herself to care. They shared searing kisses all over their mouths, necks, and throats, tongues battling for dominance. Frantic yet exquisite touches over and under clothes, nibbles on ears and collarbones and heavy breathing filled the room. A fiery ball of heat and jitters burned in the pit of Eurydice’s stomach. Months of longing, intense internal turmoil, and tiptoeing around feelings now poured out through their every action. The feeling coursed through her body, affecting every nerve and every sense until Orpheus and his lips, his touch, his scent, was all she could think of. Orpheus. Orpheus. Orpheus.

Suddenly, a long creak rang out and a blinding light shone in their faces. Both young adults pulled back from their make out and squinted, shielding their eyes from the onslaught of brightness before them.

“Well, what do we have here?” the voice snickered. They immediately recognized the saccharine, sing-songy tone. The same voice that they heard from the other side of the door just hours? Minutes? However long ago: Persephone.

Another voice sighed. With squinted eyes, Eurydice peeked back into the light and saw three shadowy figures- one an elderly man, the other two still older but not as much. “You wanna tell me why my boy and his girl were locked in the closet?” Hermes asked the room, exasperation oozing out into the air.

“My wife was acting juvenile once again,” Hades impossibly deep voice cut in.

“Shut it Hades!” she blurted hotly at her husband’s disapproval.

Flushed red with embarrassment from being caught in such a compromising position, the two young adults fully broke apart, scooting away to the opposite side on the confined closet. Eurydice felt her heart pounding in her throat as she sputtered about, trying to get some form of an explanation out in the air. “We, I mean, what happened was-”

Persephone laughed, her back bending forward from full-body chuckles, “we know what happened Songbird. You’re faces and necks are enough proof.”

Eurydice glanced over to Orpheus, his hair messily sticking up from where her fingers were threaded. Purple-red bite marks littered his neck and lipstick stains covered his flushed cheeks, lips bright pink and swollen. She placed her hands on her burning cheeks and neck, trying to cover where she was sure similar marks lingered.

Hermes swing the door open further, “you two come on outta there.” Orpheus and Eurydice stood to the feet and awkwardly marched out the closet, still too nervous to engage any form of contact. “Now, you two clean yourselves up, you look like you’re having a wrestling match in there.”

“They basically were…” Persephone muttered under her breath. Eurydice glared at her while Orpheus kept his eyes in every other direction.

Hermes paid his younger sister no attention, “just tidy yourselves up. And you,” he directed his focus to Orpheus, “you start in ten.”

“Oh yeah, your shows tonight,” Eurydice suddenly remembered.

Orpheus gave a quick nod, “will you stay and watch?” A hint of hesitancy detected in his voice.

A small, warm smile tugged at the ends of Eurydice’s mouth, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Orpheus gave her a cheeky grin, all traces of worry had melted away. He reached out and took her hand in his, intertwining his bony fingers with her plump ones.

“Well, we’ll leave you two to get fixed up,” Hermes said. “Come on, now,” he gestured to Hades and Persephone and the two followed him in succession down the winding stairs.

Orpheus and Eurydice headed to Orpheus’ room and straightened out their clothes and fixed their stray hairs. Orpheus tied his bandanna snuggly around his neck, hiding the numerous colorful marks in the process. “Well, I’ll see you downstairs,” Eurydice spoke while brushing down her bangs, turning to the door.

“Wait, hold on a second,” he chimed, lightly pulling her back. He snatched something off his dresser and handed it over to Eurydice: a spare bandanna. “I keep extras,” he shyly smiled, “I thought maybe you’d want something to cover up, you know.” He waved his hand over the area of her neck.

“Ahh, you don’t want people to see all your handy work, Orpheus?” she teased. Orpheus sputtered about, no words besides half-formed fragments and various sounds came tumbling out. Eurydice laughed, kisses his cheek and took the red bandanna from his hands. She folded it and wrapped it nicely around her neck, “there. Now we match.” She glanced at Orpheus, his mouth agape with a star-struck expression glued to his face. This felt intimate in a way neither had realized. Like they were connected, a true pair.

Eurydice took his hand once more and pulled him out the door and headed towards the stairs. She was heading towards a new battle, a fight she once thought she’d never be brave enough to face. But with Orpheus at her partner, maybe this battle would be worth the fight? Who knows, only the future could tell. But she prayed that her future included her dopey musician boyfriend close by her side.

#hadestown #orphydice #orpheus x eurydice #hadestown fanfic #my fic

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missblissy · 6 years

Note

Can I get prompt 13 (wine) for Arthur?

One Word Writing Prompts [pt. 3]

Send me a number 1 thru 50 for a word that I’ll use to write either a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🌀 for a random number instead.

13. — wine

((Thank you for sending in a prompt!! I’m sorry for the wait, anon, I hope you like it!! Enjoy the read! I had so much fun writing this!! I might do a part two or a few more stories on this AU!! let me know what you guys think!!! I’m calling this the Rich!Reader AU!))

The air was warm, muggy, and a little bitter. Anyone could tell that this party was not for the less fortunate. But here Arthur was, blending in with the rich like he was one of them, listening in on conversations of the wealthy in hopes to find some way to rob them. This was only his second week in the toxic state of California. Dutch wanted to try something new, so the gang headed west, as far west as you could go without swimming. The gold mines here produced wealthy owners, along with all the diamonds and other gems they were plucking from the earth.

Arthur had found himself in a very small and isolated city. It was more like a huge town because there was only one factory but dozens of mines and oil reserves. And somehow Arthur got stuck being the spy. He didn’t much like dressing up and mingling with people that obviously would have hated him if they knew who he really was. He needed a damn drink.

The party was being held in someone’s very large home. Arthur still had yet to meet the host of this party, which was his whole reason for being here. He didn’t even have a name. He was just told the host would reveal themselves when need be, and that Arthur needed to meet them, introduce himself as a lawyer from New York City, and ask as many questions he could about the gold mines here. The only other lead he had was that the host was the owner of the Southern Langdon Gold Mines Inc.

Just when he thought he’d leave and give up on this ridiculous plan, someone called out while ringing their glass. Arthur looked around among the people, then watched as they all turned one way and looked up. He followed their gazes and saw a woman dressed in all black standing top the grand staircase of this massive home.

You smiled wide, looking down on your guests, “Welcome, everyone,” Your smile was intoxicating. You held up a large and dark glass of wine, “I’m so glad all of you could make it to the anniversary of my mother and father. A shame they couldn’t be here,” Everyone laughed at your joke.

Arthur wasn’t sure what you meant or why these freaks were laughing. But he was fairly sure you were the person he was looking for. He expected a man, and an old one at that. Instead, he found a beautiful young lady, at least several years younger than himself. This couldn’t be right. Surely your parents were the ones he should be looking for, but apparently, they weren’t here. Arthur grabbed a glass of wine when a butler walked by. He lifted his glass as everyone else did.

“To a wonderful night, my friends!” Your voice was smooth and laced with an underlying ecstasy that Arthur just couldn’t understand. Everyone yelled out a ‘cheers!’ and drank their poison of choice, most of it was a dark red wine.

Arthur tipped his glass back, not particularly enjoying the taste of rotten and fermented grapes. But there wasn’t much else being provided here besides wine, champagne, and surprisingly absinthe. Arthur had tried the green toxic alcohol once before, and he watched all these freaks chug it down. He saw many people doing many kinds of drugs. Was this the equivalent of a teenage party when the parents were away? Or was this just what the wealthy did in their free time? Because there were young and old here alike.

You stood on your perch atop the stairs, listening to the soft music that played and watching your guest quite literally go wild. Yes, in case anyone was wondering, this was your version of a teenage party when your parents weren’t home. And where were your parents? Well… they were far far away in the deep jungles of Boston, and wouldn’t be home for another month. So surely their young daughter wouldn’t do anything bad while they were away. You smiled wickedly and turn to the head butler of your home, Henry, your most trusted servant.

“Look at them,” You said, “Everyone is going to have such a good time. You were sure to lock all the doors again, right?”

The stern and tall man looked at you and nodded his head. His hair was black and gray and slicked back, “Yes, madam,” He held his hands tightly behind his own back, “No one will be able to get into any rooms besides this one and outside,”

“Thank you, Henry,” You kept your eyes on your guest, peering at them, looking amongst them for anyone who stood out. To often did unwanted maggots worm their way into your home. You personally knew just about everyone you had invited. There could be no more than 60 people here, maybe 70. You took a slow sip from your glass of wine, the lowered it from your lips, “Henry,” Your butler hummed in reply as he tried his best to stand like a statue, “Who is that?”

You pointed to a man, handsome and quite dangerous looking, standing by the bar. You didn’t recognize him at all. Little did he know, but Arthur was found out, his cover was blown the second you laid eyes on him. You didn’t know who he was, or where he was from, but you knew he didn’t belong here. But there was a twisted little monster in your mind and heart. You wanted to mess with this man’s head, maybe play a few mind games before booting him out of your very private party.

“I’m not sure, madam, would you like me to remove him?” Henry asked in a monotone voice that honestly comforted you.

“No,” You held out your wine glass and he quickly took it, “I will take care of this pest,” As you started to walk, you had to lift the front end of your dark and simple dress. You weren’t like your guests, you enjoyed wearing simple clothes with as little decorative parts as possible. But your black and white dress was still high class and quite elegant in a gothic way.

Everyone moved out of the way for you as you surfed through the loosely packed crowd. No one wanted to cross your path, and the mystery man didn’t even see you coming. He was leaning on the bar when you got there, and you took your spot beside him. Up close he was much more rough and handsome. He did fit that suit well, though you honestly thought it made him look out of place.

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when your silky voice reached his ears, saying, “Hello there.” Wasn’t it his job to find you? Surely it was, but he already failed that.

Your smile was infectious and pretty and Arthur found himself startled and at a loss for words. He cleared his throat then horribly drawled out, “Howdy,”

“Oh~” Your mouth made a perfect little ‘O’ and your eyes sparkled with interest, “A cowboy? In my home? More likely than you’d think,” He could hear the seduction dripping from each word. Was his cover blown? Or was he just that bad at playing the part? He knew Hosea and Dutch should have come, he knew they should be the ones doing this… acting. He really was to dumb to pull this off on his own.

However, maybe it was the wine, no… it had to be the wine he was drinking because he found himself leaning towards you slightly. There was no denying that you were very attractive, and Arthur was young, he hadn’t even reached 25 yet, though he was shy a year at 24. He hadn’t found himself this attracted to a person since Mary Linton left him for.. for whatever the fuck that loser was last year. His heart went cold, bitter and ugly. Though this attraction had little to do with his heart.

Arthur slid his glass of wine closer to him, “I’m not a cowboy,” He said, “I’m just another rich man’s son, miss,” He at least tried his best to cover his true identity.

You waved your bartender over and whispered something in his ear while you kept your colorful eyes locked on Arthur. The bartender left, then returned with a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses, “Surely, maybe, perhaps you are,” You took the bottle and popped it open, pouring the brown liquor into the small glass cups, “I would doubt that, but, whatever you say, mister. Would you drink with me? It’d be rude to turn down your host,” You eyed him a way that got Arthur’s blood pumping. You were slowly mesmerizing him. What was it with woman and him? Was he just weak? Or did they love playing with him like a toy?

“Sure,” Arthur’s accent was heavy and liked it. He was a different flavor than you normally used to. You were the cute age of only 19, unmarried, and a mistress of the night. You were an intoxicating creature with features that showed off your body.

You took down your shot of whiskey like a champ, then leaned on the bar and batted your pretty little eyelashes, “You know, I know everyone here by name, so it doesn’t add up why I don’t know you, or your name.” Ah… So maybe that’s why Arthur’s cover was blown. This was an exclusive party, and the man he killed to get the invitation wasn’t him, obviously, “So will you tell me what they call you, mister?”

“Morgan,” He took down his own shot of whiskey. The warm familiar burn was more soothing than the wine, “Arthur Morgan,” He wasn’t much for words, was he? That only made him more handsome and stoic.

You held your hand out to him, he took it and gave you the most delicate shake, as if he could break you, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Morgan. I am (Y/N) (L/N). I’m sure you already know that,”

“No,” What? “Actually, I don’t.” This surprised you a bit. You took your hand from him and trailed your fingers across the whiskey bottle. You poured some more for yourself and him.

“Really now? Then do tell me, why are you here? I don’t think I invited you, Mr. Morgan. Though, looking at you, I’m a little glad you came.”

Arthur had to do his best to keep his eyes off you, so he stared down at his shot of whiskey, “Honestly?” He paused and took down the shot, “I came here to rob you, guess I can’t do that now.”

His honesty and straightforwardness caused you to laugh and laugh a lot. Listening to the chimes of your low giggle made him stare at you. You did this little thing, covering your mouth as you laughed, “Oh my! You’re so funny Mr. Morgan,” You lightly touched his arm, “I almost didn’t believe you!” You were something else, something that kept inching her way closer and closer to him.

A little taken back, and dumbfounded, Arthur deadpanned, “You’re not mad?”

Oh, he was so cute, a little dumb, but that made him cuter, “Oh so many people try to rob me every day, Mr. Morgan, you are not the first. I don’t think you’ve robbed me yet, so I have no reason to kill you, right?”

How did you make a threat so… sexy? Was it the way you looked at him with those dark eyes? Was it the little smile at the corner of your lips? Was it the way you curled your hair around your finger? Or was it how close you had gotten to him in the last four minutes of talking? You were so close he could smell the lilacs and lavenders you used to perfume yourself with.

Despite all this, Arthur didn’t move away, in fact, he leaned a little closer, “I don’t think you can kill me. I’m kind of bastard that just won’t die.”

He made you laugh again. Or were you just laughing to inflate his ego? Was anything he said really even that funny or were you just this easily amused?

“Oh, Mr. Morgan,” The giggle carried between your words, “Oh, my, you are funny, aren’t you? All somber and depressed like that, wishing for what sounds like death. Oh, how I’m so glad you crashed my party. I haven’t had a laugh like that since Daddy had a heart attack!”

What? Arthur raised a brow, you were a very odd creature, “Why would you laugh at that?”

“Because I gave it to him!” You laughed, “Daddy caught me with a criminal in my big bed upstairs,” You placed your hand on Arthur’s arm once again, this time keeping it there, “I do have such an infliction for the bad and ugly, as they call themselves,”

Your intentions were very obvious at this point, even Arthur could pick up on that. Maybe he wasn’t that stupid. Arthur faintly remembered the reason why he was here. To rob you of any money he could find, or information. Mostly the information part. The cogs in his head started turning and he thought how… well. This was a way of getting information. Sort of.

He leaned towards you, your hand moved to the corner of his chest and your arms touched, “What makes you think I’m bad? Or ugly?” His voice was low and raspy, like the engine of a train struggling to pick up speed. Your heart shot out a huge wave of lighting into the very depths of your body when he spoke like that.

It had been a long time since someone sparked your interests like this. He was no keeper, he was no amount of husband material, but he was made 100% out of a good time. That was for sure. You kept your cool, got even closer and whispered, “You’re more handsome than any man in here, but why don’t you show me how good of a time you are? I’ll even pay you, like the hookers in the streets, if that’s what you want.”

Pay him? Hm. Never before has Arthur been in a position to prostitute himself. But maybe he could get you to pay him in information, or even better some gold. Your family did own the most profitable and largest gold mine in all of California. What reason did he have to say no? Honor? Pride? Dignity? No. He didn’t have any of that.

“Which way to your room?” He quietly asked. His words made that dangerous little smile return. You did this thing were you pressed your lips together into a little line and bit at them. Dammit… Arthur could feel the rush of lust and desire wave over him.

You grabbed the whiskey bottle in your hand then without warning grabbed Arthur’s hand in yours, “Follow me, Mr. Morgan,” The low tone of your voice sent a shock through his body. You lead in through the crowd, some people stared but the most of them were to busy doing various amounts of drugs to pay attention. Classy and high society wasn’t much different than saloon full of drunks.

While Arthur followed close behind you up the grand stair cause of your castle home, you were giddy to finally start your night, and your own personal party of pleasure, as was the goal of every party you hosted when your parents were away. You were surprised you weren't pregnant by now. Maybe you were infertile? Or maybe it was because half of your other lovers were women, or maybe because these parties were very Greek in nature, and you took on many lovers at once. But Arthur Morgan was something else, a treat to experience all alone, and you could not wait to get started on that.

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elliepassmore · 6 years

Text

Rebel of the Sands Book Review

5/5 stars Recommended for people who like: fantasy, strong female lead, Arabian folklore, revolution

I actually read Rebel for the first time shortly after it came out because I was sorely needing a book to read and decided to let a friend pick one out for me. It turned out to be a good choice.

The story is a blend of Arabian folklore, with Djinnis and sultans and wronged princes, and the Wild West, think shoot-outs and horseback escapes and stubborn semi-reluctant heroes. The two sound vastly different, but Hamilton makes it work. The story starts off following Amani as she enters a shooting contest, and follows her as she escapes her dead-end town and goes on the run in the dangerous, Nightmare and Skinwalker infused desert.

Amani's an interesting character to follow, as she very much teeters between the kind of person who'd drug someone to get their supplies and then leave them in a half-abandoned town, and the kind of person who'd risk their life to save a group of people she barely even knows. She's strong-willed and has strong opinions, but she's also willing to change when she's wrong. She's also a trouble maker, though to be fair, a lot of her issues in the beginning of the book are a result of the people who are after Jin.

Jin is also an interesting character, one you can't help but like. He's funny and respects Amani, even if he has a bit more of an in-tact moral compass than she does at times. At times. Like her, he doesn't mind stretching the truth or leaving people behind if it means getting himself and the people he cares about out of a situation. It does cause issues between the two of them, of course, even when they're supposed to be working together.

The plot is a bit of a mystery going into the book since the synopsis doesn't give you much to go on. It is, of course, much more intricate than Amani finally leaving the town that thinks she's worth less than a grain of sand and getting into trouble with Jin--because of Jin? Both? Like the title might suggest, Amani falls in some rebels trying to wrest the throne from the current Sultan and give it to his rightful heir. Amani is, rather predictably, interested in the whole ordeal. *SPOILER* After she gets over the fact Jin lied about his involvement and her heritage, of course. *SPOILER END* As much as I like the set-up of Amani and Jin running around the desert and mucking this up for the Sultan and Gallan soldiers before they even stumble onto the rebellion, and as much as I like the relationships Hamilton creates between the people within the rebellion, Rebel very much feels like a set-up for the rest of the trilogy in terms of plot. Most of it really is Amani and Jin working their way across the desert and escaping the Sultan's men and the Gallan army, leaving only the last third of the book to seriously introduce the characters, and the readers, to the rebellion. Obviously, the first book of any series is going to have to set up the rest of the story line, but as much as I like this book, I am struggling to come up with what exactly the plot is supposed to be. Is is about *SPOILER* Amani finding out she's a Demdji? Because that doesn't happen until the end, even though there are earlier hints at it *SPOILER END* or is it about getting to the rebellion? Because again, we don't really recognize that as a goal until about the last third of the book when we're finally introduced to the rebellion.

Aside from some questions about the plot, the characters and setting are quite vibrant and alive, which for me, especially knowing there are future books, is enough to give the book 5 stars (I'm really predictable when it comes to reviews, aren't I?) Also, in case anyone gets the wrong idea from the synopsis, the romance mentioned really isn't at the forefront of the book at all. It's more like a sub-subplot.

#book review #rebel of the sands #books #alwyn hamilton #arabian folklore #wild west #ya #yabooks #young adult #strong female lead #representation #diversity #fantasy #magic #djinni

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mst3kproject · 6 years

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814: Riding With Death

Oh, goody, another compilation movie. Who thought these were a good idea?

The super-duper high-tech Backstory-O-Matic introduces us to our hero, Special Federal Agent Sam Casey. He’s not very interesting but he does have one superpower, the ability to become invisible. Rather than make any use of this, however, the spy organization Intersect assigns him to drive a truck transporting a sample of Tripolodine, a new fuel additive that could revolutionize the transportation industry. What nobody’s told him is that Tripolodine is dangerously explosive!

Having survived that, Casey’s next assignment takes him to a racetrack in Ontario, to seek the ultra-elusive saboteur Robert Denby. Denby also has something that blows up – an unstable metal called dutrium that goes critical when it hears a certain radio frequency. He has smuggled this stuff into the USA by having it built into a racecar, which is exactly where you want to hide an explosive. Once again, Casey finds himself having to get out of a vehicle before an experimental substance on board blows it up. Apparently the writers could only think of one plot.

All those shots of the super-duper high-tech Backstory-O-Matic are actually from Colossus: the Forbin Project, which Joel said in Master Ninja II was his favourite movie. I wonder what he would have said about their appearance in Riding With Death.

If you’ve ever encountered The Gemini Man outside of this MST3K episode, it was probably on a list of the fastest-cancelled tv shows in history – only five episodes made it to the air, and it most definitely did not leave legions of disappointed fans clamoring for plot threads to be tied up in a movie. Unfortunately, they gave us a movie anyway. Rather than film a proper one, however, they made Riding With Death out of one episode that was on TV (called Smithereens) and one that never made it (Buffalo Bill Rides Again). The result is… well, you can kinda see why they cancelled this.

I like to say at least something nice about these movies, so I’ll start by noting that direction and photography actually aren’t bad. The Smithereens half is quite competently shot and while dialogue scenes get a little long, the more actiony sequences are nicely edited. Despite what Mike and the bots have to say, the part where the truck has no brakes and Agent Lawrence is desperately trying to keep the Tripolodine from exploding is tense and holds the attention. I quite like Lawrence’s resourcefulness, using the torn-up laundry bag to suspend the Tripolodine bottle. The Buffalo Bill Rides Again half is not as well-made – the stock footage does not blend well with the stuff shot for the actual show, and there’s a distinct lack of tension in both the race and the scene of Casey and his friend Buffalo Bill trying to get the car away from people before it explodes.

The special effects are very limited, but not awful. Besides extensive pyrotechnics, the only effect they need is Casey vanishing and reappearing when he activates his invisibility watch. There’s nothing special to the effect they use but it works well enough. In terms of just getting stuff onto the TV screen, the people who worked on The Gemini Man were good enough at their jobs. That’s really, really faint praise, but I’ve seen so much worse doing this blog that I feel I do want to mention it.

On to the bad stuff. The biggest problem with Riding with Death is that the characters just aren’t engaging. I suspect part of this is because we never get to meet them properly. Instead, we arrive with the plot already getting underway, and the movie is much more interested in making sure we know why Tripolodine is important than telling us who Sam Casey or Abby Lawrence are. There are a couple of flashbacks, but they just repeat stuff from the Backstory-O-Matic. About the only personality trait given to either of them is that they’re competent and committed to their jobs, remaining calm under pressure and finding workable solutions to the problems presented to them. This is a good characteristic for secret agents to have, but it’s all we get. It doesn’t help that Ben Murphy and Katherine Crawford, not among the world’s more charismatic actors to begin with, don’t seem to care very much about the project. They turn in just barely enough of a performance to get a paycheque.

Not only do we get no idea of who the characters are, the relationships between them are also left more or less mysterious. Is Lawrence supposed to be Casey’s love interest? One tends to suspect she is, since he thinks fondly of her in his flashbacks and even today female characters in action movies are primarily love interests. They never have a ‘moment’, though, and Murphy and Crawford have no romantic chemistry. The scientist in Buffalo Bill Rides Again who berates the head of Intersect, Driscoll, for harassing Denby obviously feels he has a right to lecture his boss, but if it’s because they’re old friends we’re given no clue. There is apparently a long history between Driscoll and Denby, but this is narrated at us by the angry scientist guy rather than shown. All this stuff would be fine on TV, where backstory has to be filled in quickly to stay in the time slot and not every episode can follow something like the romantic arc. In what’s supposed to be a movie, it just leaves us with a lot of unresolved threads and stuff we’re not sure why we ought to care about.

When I watched Cosmic Princess I noted that the attempts to marry up the two disparate episodes into one story actually worked surprisingly well. In Riding with Death, they… don’t. The halves are connected as both feature a guest appearance by comedian Jim Stafford as Buffalo Bill, a man whose many non-talents include trucking, country and western songwriting, and racecar driving, but neither Wild West showmanship (sadly) nor tailoring human skin (fortunately). Buffalo Bill comes across as not too bright and somebody you’d probably find annoying if you knew him in real life, but his eclectic interests and the enthusiasm with which he tackles them does give him a lot more character than Casey. The friendship between Casey and Buffalo Bill is also the only relationship in the story that feels even halfway real, because we see it develop rather than just being told about it.

Choosing two episodes with a character in common seems like a pretty good start – that was how Cosmic Princess did it, picking two that both featured Maya! Like Cosmic Princess, Riding With Death also does some editing and ADR to help connect the halves, but in this case it is disastrous. Take, for example, everybody’s favourite line – you’re as elusive as Robert Denby. If they wanted to establish the existence of Denby in the half taken from Smithereens, they should have suggested that villain Dr. Hale was talking to him on the radio or something. That would have implied that he was also behind Hale’s scheme, making him the overall big bad of the entire movie. In fact, this seems to be what they’re trying to get across when they have Casey’s boss tell Denby he’s going to prison with Hale. Throwing that 'elusive' line in the way they did is jarring and mostly just emphasizes that Denby has nothing to do with what we’ve seen so far.

Even worse is what they did with the fact that Agent Lawrence wasn’t in Buffalo Bill Rides Again. The obvious thing to do with that would have been to make an excuse for her absence. Say she’s on vacation, on another case, on maternity leave… anything would do. Instead, the editors put in random scenes of her somehow watching what’s happening via surveillance footage at Intersect. Why did they bother? It only draws attention to her absence, which is the very thing they were trying to paint over! I don’t think this could have been less competent if they’d tried.

One place where Riding with Death does manage to resemble Cosmic Princess is an unfortunate one – they have one cool idea and they don’t do anything with it. Sam Casey has the ability to become invisible for fifteen minutes a day. Maybe in some of the episodes that did not become part of Riding with Death, this was more useful, but in this movie he doesn’t do much with it that he couldn’t have done without it. Any half-decent secret agent in a movie can take a couple of guys with handguns or sneak into a car unseen. James Bond or Black Widow wouldn’t have broken a sweat. Hell, even Super Dragon could probably have pulled it off, but Sam Casey relies on his invisible wristwatch.

This is especially annoying when the opening credits claim that this story was inspired by H. G. Wells’ The Invisible Man. That was a novel that explored the corrupting influence of power, and even the worst film adaptations of it generally try to do something with that theme. Riding With Death never even touches it, or indeed any other theme besides a brush with the 70’s energy crisis. Again, maybe other episodes did something with this, but in Riding With Death Sam Casey is never troubled by his ability to become invisible, never examines the implications of it, never feels any temptation to use it for personal gain. It’s a big part of what makes him so outstandingly dull.

The main impression I get from Riding With Death is just that nobody really put any effort into it. The writers didn’t bother to come up with an interesting way to use their ‘invisible guy’ premise, and stuck to mindless, often action-less plots that end in something blowing up. The actors didn’t bother trying to infuse their characters with any personality. The bad guys’ goals are never quite clear. It’s all very lazy and dumb, but at least it makes for good MST3K.

#mst3k #reviews #riding with death #70s

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beepbeeprichiellc · 7 years

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Color Me Envy

Richie wasn’t usually the jealous type. As he saw it, if people wanted to flirt and swing with one another then all the better, it usually made for a good time. Yet here he was watching Eddie with the gnawing green beast tearing at his chest. With every sideway glance, every agreed statement the animal grew bigger and bigger and he was worried that soon he was going to burst with envy.

Bill was so natural, so utterly hypnotizing that everyone within a five foot radius was pulled into his chiasmic attitude. He had Eddie under his finger without even knowing it. Richie had nothing against his best friend, hell he loved the guy but the feeling that had wrapped itself around the trashmouth wasn’t a rational one. It was rude, belligerent and agonizing.

But what pull did he have over Eddie? None. They weren’t dating and he still had no idea what team the little hypochondriac actually played for. It wasn’t sane and he knew that he had no right to feel this way over someone that wasn’t even his but when it came to his Eds he found that he often acted out of charter.

He loved the little guy, hell he was in love with him and deep down he wondered if it was pointless attraction. “Are we going to get ice-cream or what? I could’ve went two rounds with your mother by now.” Richie found himself spewing from the side of the street with the other four Losers.

“Calm down fuck face, we are trying to figure out where we want to go.” Eddie replied harshly, not even looking over his shoulder.

Richie flinched, internally he begged for Eddie to look at him. To actually notice him the way he noticed Bill but his gaze was set on his leader. It was always set on him. “Okay I think we figured it out, there is a Frosty King only a few blocks from here. We can cool off then decide what we want to do.” Bill announced, moving back towards the rest of the group, bike in tow.

There was an accumulation of agreement between the losers and they were off in no time. Jokes were thrown between them as their bikes rolled down the asphalt. Richie found himself lagging behind allowing the two leads, Eddie and Bill, to push the group toward their destination. The green monster that had burrowed itself into the trashmouth whispered softly in his ear ‘He could never love someone like you.’ Its warm breath sent shivers down his arm. ‘Your nothing compared to Bill.’ He could feel tears weld up in his eyes and he was forced to fight them back for fear of fogging up his bottle cap glasses.

“Hey man you okay?” Richie lost his concentration, nearly swerving into a collision with Haystack.

“What?” He muttered, correcting his bike’s path.

“You okay? You’re normally not back here with us slowpokes.” Ben replied, putting a little more space between them.

“I just wanted to know if your mom was single, it’d be a shame if she went to bed alone tonight.” The joke came out staggered and unnatural. There was a split moment when he thought Ben was going to question him but it passed fleetingly.

The group rode on.

The hot summer day began to come to an end as the Losers scattered around the lush field just outside the barrens. The sky began to darken, and with the setting sun the world was painted with beautiful colors. Reds, oranges, and yellows blended together creating Gods masterpiece for them all to witness. It was gorgeous ending to a noble day, one that any kid could appreciate.

Except Richie.

He sat furthest from the group, just up the hill. His hands ripped the dog grass from the earth, tearing it up into little pieces and littering his khaki pants with green stains. The trashmouth refused to look at the rest of the group, who had been ogling over Bill’s newest plan for their attack on It. What he had planned was stupid and near suicidal but Bill had Eddie drooling just by speaking.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Richie looked up from his lap and noticed the heavy set loser who had questioned him mere hours before.

“It’s a free world Haystack.” He replied, not bothering to put much variation in his voice. Ben merely nodded, taking a seat beside him. The conversation lacked and soon they settled into a comfortable silence.

Richie was indifferent, taking a moment to glance over at the rest of the group. They were sitting in a deformed circle, Eddie sitting closest to the leader. There was a slight rip of his core when his gaze was caught by Eddie and he looked away shamefully feeling a blush crawl up his neck.

“I see the way you look at him you know.” Ben mumbled, adjusting his weight beneath him.

Richie’s heart nearly stopped, “What are you talking about Haystack?”

“Eddie.” The name slipped past his lips effortlessly causing the trashmouths arm hair to stand on end. “You look at him the same way I look at-“ He stopped short, the name hanging in the air like weighted venom.

“Beverly?” Richie found himself finishing. He noticed the red head brush Bills arm, obviously adoring some kind of well-timed joke. His gaze went to Haystack, who nodded his head shamefully.

“It sucks loving from afar and at times it seems pointless.” Ben’s words echoed in Richie’s head, it seemed if he was talking about the trashmouth rather than himself. “I find myself wondering if I’m even noticed, if she even cares that I exist.”

“Yeah.” Richie replied, “Sometimes I don’t know if even I want to love him anymore.”

Ben nodded, “There are moments when I feel invisible, covered by Bill’s shadow. She loves him in a way that I know she won’t ever love me.”

Tears filled the trashmouth’s eyes, blurring his vision of the group. He found himself whipping his face with the back of his hand, wishing his feelings would disappear. Ben ignored his friend’s state, instead watching the sun as it settled low in the sky. Richie was grateful for this.

“But you know what?” He whispered so softly just the two could hear. “There are times when it’s all worth it. When she talks to me in her sweetened voice, when her face brightens up when she notices me, it’s those stolen moments that makes loving her worth the pain. I’m ashamed to admit it but I would rather spend a life time of hurt and jealousy if it meant that I could steal those moments away from everyone else.”

There was a long pause between them as they swam in their own thoughts. The night was gripping the Losers tightly, the sun settled in the West allowing the Moon to watch over the earth. “Do you think they will ever love us back?” Richie found himself asking, the question slipping past his lips pathetically.

Ben didn’t reply immediately, he lingered on the question as if unsure he would ever have the correct answer. “I-I don’t know. Crazier things have happened.”

“Hey guys!” Bill’s strong voice called out to them as he rose from the ground. “It’s getting late, we are going to head out!”

“Ben, want to walk me home?” Beverly’s girlish voice asked after Bill’s had subsided.

Richie watched Haystack’s face light up at the question. “Yeah sure.” He replied casually, a smile forever plastered on his beefy face. He looked over to his trashmouth friend, “Don’t ever give up. I know I won’t.”

“Thanks Haystack.” He muttered, watching his friend stumble down the hill towards his bike. There was a brief second of conversation between him and his secret love before they parted ways with the rest, heading towards the east part of town. Their sallowest were nearly swallowed by the night, lingering only momentarily somewhere along the overly walked path before disappearing.

“You were quiet tonight, is this going to be a new thing?” Richie looked over to Eddie who had slipped his way beside him. “If it is I approve.”

“Nah.” Richie replied, a sly grin growing on his face for the first time that day. “I’m just saving my pipes for your mom later.” Eddie didn’t reply, he only chuckled slightly offering him a sweetened smile that sent shivers down his friend’s spine.

Richie looked over to their lonely bikes, noticing that Bill, Stan and Mike had left without him noticing. “Aren’t you gonna walk with Bill home?”

Eddie offered a confused look, “What? Why? I always walk with you.”

“Right.” He replied softly, pushing his glasses up his nose hoping that Eddie wouldn’t notice the pink hue that began to spread along his face.

“Well let’s get home, if I wait any longer my mom is going to have a conniption.”

“After you Eds.” He offered, bowing his body slightly forcing his wild hair to cover his face.

“Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie replied harshly, starting his way to their bikes. “You know I hate that!”

“Whatever you say Eds.”

“God damn it Richie!”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #ben hanscom #it #it 2017 #the losers club #benverly

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awakeningofthedeath · 7 years

Text

Awakening of the Death-Chapter #6

Few weeks later

“I sear to the Almighty one, Jack, if these informants don’t give us a strait answer...” Hellen’s face turned red with frustration as they’d walked out of one of the assassin informants headquarters to find the mentor missing in action. “...then someone is going to notice they’re missing something in the...”

“Does everything have to involve the threat of removing a man’s...” Jack couldn’t even pul himself to say the words, even in the privacy of their apartment.

Hellen turned her head to stare at him. “Of course I do. It’s my signiture afterall. How else did I bring evidence of my targets being executed?”

“By removing the blood of your enemy with a handkerchief, all assassins have...”

“Well obviously I’m not like all the assassins. Out there. In the real west, you have no room for civilizations when you have to prove a point.”

As they walked, Jack noticed the mass of people coming and going of all cultures driving from the boats that were deceiving immigrants from Ellis Island. “Dare I ask, but where did you get the...inspiration to...”

Hellen gave a devious smile that made Jack feel that he was in for a surprise. “Believe it or not Jackass, I picked it up from a passage from the good book.”

Jack stopped and crossed his arms, and staring are her. Hellen turned and raised her hands. “It’s true! Believe it or not. When I was on my first mission at sixteen, I was walking through a wagon train circle when a circuit rider was telling a group of children a passage in the bible. 1 Samuel 18 I think. Can’t really say. But what caught my attention was that David was tasked by the King, Saul to kill 100 Philistines and bring their foreskins to him in order to marry his daughter. And David, being a bad ass killed 200 of them and brought all their...”

“Alright! Alright! I get the picture! You got inspired by a biblical figure to prove the assassin’s your completion.” Jack was starting to feel uneasy when Hellen gave such details of her inspiration. He was even shocked on how casual she was explaining all this to him as if it were tea time.

“At first, from what I’ve been told, the council was shocked about this new method of mine. They tried to discourage me from continuing on the matter, but then they’d realized that they really couldn’t catch a renegade assassin out west.”

Jack and Hellen continued their way. Jack pondered all that Hellen told him and he asked, “So are you considered more of a traitor or renegade?”

“Neither” Hellen replied with no thought needed. “I think more of myself as, a maverick. One who is part of something, but yet has more freedom to follow their instinct. I just...follow by the creed, yet have my own doctrine and interpretation of it. Like a church denomination.” Hellen gave a dry laugh. “Hell I remember Collin telling me one time how a templar actually started a cult following long before I was born. Even the templars couldn’t risk having him influence their order with the hog wash of philosophy that he claimed was “a vision from God”. I say, this fellow must of drank too much communion wine and fell into that cave when he had to. Some claimed he did saw an angel. Or...” Hellen looked around and whispered in Jack’s ear. “Some say from what I’d overheard was there was a peace of dean involved, but was never found. But like I said, this man and his right hand man was probably mad as a hatter. Mad enough to have a huge religious war in Missouri and have a so called “Exodus” all the way to the desert with nothing but sand and salt.”

Jack gave a small laugh.

Hellen raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing. Never knew a woman as ambitious as you can know so much knowledge.”

“So...you originally thought of me a simpleton?” Hellen asked with a raised voice. Before Jack could answer, Hellen kept on ranting. “Oh I understand now. Just because I’m a “wild savage” to the assassins and even in my hometown, dosn’t mean I can be smart at times. Well guess what Mr. came from a high class country we Americans loved gaining our freedom from, I’m...” Hellen gave an unexpected gasp. Her green eyes widened as they’d suddenly rolled back, and her body went limp.

Jack quickly caught her before anyone in the square could witness what happened. With speed, he placed her arm around his shoulder and dragged Hellen to an ally. He laied her sitting upright against the brick wall, and lightly smakked her face, trying to wake her. He placed two finger on her neck, and detected a heartbeat. She was still alive, but it was rapid. He looked at the side of her left shoulder to see a dart implanted. He quickly removed it from her and shoved it into his coat pocket. He knew without a doubt that this dart was posionus. He needed to get help. He scopped Hellen’s body into his arms and carried her another way back to the informants, for he feared the templars had set a trap for them.

“Hold on Hellen. Just hold on.” Was all Jack could say.

Meanwhile upon the rooftop of a building across from where hey’ve been talking, an assassin hunter stood, watching his prey escape. But he didn’t persue them, for he knew that they weren’t of this regions assassins. But mostly, he couldn’t beleive that he not only shot the most wanted assassin by McGriffon’s standards; he just saw the most astonishing prey he had ever seen. “Cudgel” Cormac took a breath as he placed the air rifle of his proud liniage upon his back. “Don’t think this be the last we cross lass. I’ll find you, even if it takes me a lifetime. So enjoy your victory. It maybe your last escape, if the poison is merciful.”

Fortunately, Jack got to the hideout of Hellen’s New York gang, The Dark Horses, just in time to have the romainian herblist making a remedy for the posioned Hellen. She told Jack to keep “the boss lady” in bed and to be sure she drank water, even if he had to tilt her head at times. And with the help of two female members, Jack took her home, allowing the women to change Hellen into the closest thing she had to a night gown. A shirt way too big for Hellen’s shoulders.

Jack would stay by Hellen’s bedside, making sure that she was comftorable and hydrated. He even took Hellen’s hand to check her pulse. The beats pounded against his ungloved hands. He couldn’t though stop holding it though, as if he would lose that beating heartbeat. He did however took the liberty to move a few strands of her hair away from her face. As he placed it behind her left ear, he traced the torn edges of then by accident, Hellen shifted and moaned; but didn’t wake her when Jack’s callused hands kept on feeling the details of this wound.

When Jack got up to release himself, he’d noticed upon Hellen’s dresser a bottle of Mexican voka that he had only recently seen at another time.

Days Earlier

“I feel like a porcelain doll, out of place in this monstrous dress.” Hellen growled as she fitted herself in the dress that Hellen managed to find in the rubbish bin near a tailors shop. She looked down to see that the front was torn to bits. “Did a tiger used it as a toy?” Hellen took a pair of sheers and started cutting away the pieces, making the dress suitable, yet couldn’t save the length. Hellen shook her head, “At the Dusty Rose, the girls would be greener then a cucumber; but I’m obviously going to stick out terribly.”

Hellen looked down upon the letter again from an assassin resource.

Grand gala on tonight. Target: Marcus Brown will be attending. Try to blend in with formal attire.

C.A.

Hellen wasn't sure of who the author of the note was. Though she’d suspected that Collin Anderson was involved.

Hellen looked down, embarrassed to see the only shoes that Hellen managed to snatch from the rubbish bin that were in surprise condition. A pair of dancing slippers in a golden satin with a small blood stain on the bottom right toe area. Still, she couldn’t complain since her boots would be sticking out like a sore thumb in the gala.

Won’t be like the Queen of England, but it’ll have to do.

“Not unless you wear this instead.”

Hellen gave a squick in surprise as she realized that Jack was standing behind her. He was holding a folded up bundle of blue and gold in his hands with some ruffle sticking out from one edge. Without a word, she took the bundle, to which it also contained some armor and hidden weapons that even Hellen was surprised. When she came out, Hellen was admiring the beautiful site before her. The dress was everything that matched her style of grace and intimidation, one that she could count as great improvement.

Moments after her admiration, Hellen smiled and said, “We can’t keep Mr. Brown waiting. Let’s crash this hoe down.”

At the gala, Hellen had definitely stuck out like a sore thumb, but in the most unexpected of circumstances. The men of the gala would stop and stare upon the beauty walking across the room. A waiter had offered a tray containing a few glasses of champagne, to which Hellen didn’t waste time to except the offer. She gave the sweet drink a good gulp for courage. Damn it! Where is that jackass? Shouldn’t take him long to find a monkey suit and blend in!

An older gentleman that was about Hellen’s high with a bulging red face and black beard with a belly that showed that he’d never missed a meal in his lifetime. Hellen cursed as she realized that this was not only a fat bastard that stood in her way between her and Brown, but is going to attempt to impress her.

“Excuse me miss.” Hellen turned to see Jack coming in with the conversation with Hellen and Brown. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

The man’s brows expressed his annoyance within the space“I’m afraid the lady and I were just...”

“Of course. Yes dear sir, I’ll dance with you Mr...”

“Patterson. Jack Patterson.” He took her hand and gave a kiss on the top upon a white scar near her index finger. Hellen took a good look at Jack, for he was wearing a red suit uniform that looked as if he had been

“Sarah O’Brien.” Hellen gave her alias name.

As Jack escorted her, she whispered. “Why using my family name Jack? You could get killed using it.”

“Not nessissary. They are looking for a Hellen Patterson, and a man with no name. So I took your name to save us both.”

Hellen’s eyes had a look of panic as she realized something she’d failed to mention to Jack.

“Wait, Jack! I...I don’t know how to waltz!” Hellen whispered.

“Your telling me this now?” Jack replied in a harsh whisper. He’d shook his head. “No matter, just don’t say a word and let me lead you.”

Hellen blushed slightly as he placed a hand on her waist, and another covering her small hand. She’s placed to see if the other women had some other detail for a dance, and Hellen noticed and reciprocated placing her free hand on Jack’s shoulder.

The music then began to play, Hellen felt herself being lead by Jack as they waltzed along the marble floor, like a horse legged into a certain position or lead. She did tripped over her feet a few time, but Jack would sweep her up quick enough for them to give the illusion of a move of the waltz.

“Where the hell did you learned to dance?” She asked Jack, looking into the mysterious blue eyes.

“I never learned.” He admitted. “But I’ve been to many missions where I’ve seen waltz. From present dance lessons to the queen’s ball.”

Hellen gave him a hard stare. “Seriously?”

Jack never responded back, but kept on leading Hellen into the waltz. Despite her being the most, “savage looking” among all the fine ladies of New York, Hellen felt strangely confident and beautiful in this gold and navy blue dress that she was wearing. Despite the face she was wearing leather gloves and hidden blades upon her arms. And for moments, Hellen and Jack were dancing to a smooth cadence to the slow waltz. As planned, Hellen touched Jack’s face to show the crowd the Cinderella touch to it. But for a moment, she felt that it wasn’t true. What is real? And what is pretend?

“Hellen.” Jack said softly.

“Yes?”

Jack leaned in closer to Hellen’s face. Her cheeks blushing red as she could feel his breath.

“Brown just took a maid out of the ballroom.”

Hellen opened her eyes as the waltz ended, applause echoed in the ballroom. She nodded and whispered, “Let’s see if he’s after fine Russian vodka shall we?” As Hellen gave a clumsy curtsey and Jack a bow.

Jack and Hellen managed to catch Brown going into the winery storage where he’d made affairs with a servant girl. Jack and Hellen surrounded him, and as she interrogated him about McGriffin’s plans, Jack found documents of recent reports from an Indian School.

As he died, Hellen was prepared to remove the jewels of Brown’s manhood when Jack stopped her and placed a white handkerchief in her hand. “People would suspect it was you due to your...signature.” Jack insisted, though his tone felt uncomfteble when mentioning Hellen’s signature.

Rolling her eyes, Hellen slipped the blood from Brown’s shoulder and placed it into Jack’s hands. “Happy now Jackass?” She remarked sarcastically. As the both left, Hellen looked at the clear bottle and cursed. “Liars! This is Mexican! Oh well. Better now then never, they do take their sweet time making this high quality.”

“What the...” Hellen sat up from her bed. Looking around, she was no longer in the bedroom, but in her small bedroom. “Ah! It was only a dream.” Hellen rubbed her eyes.

Hellen looked at the note that the assistant left her seven days before, and noticed the blood stained handkerchief that she’d brought as proof of Brown’s assassination.

Rubbing her eyes, she laid back down. How ridiculous that dream was. I gotta stop drinking this whiskey before bed. I will admit though. Hellen gave a small smile. It was a damn magical moment for an intoxicated dream. Best I had...ever really. Wondered if he’d ever danced. Nah. I know most of that happened. Before Hellen could repulse herself for asking that question, she’d realized, last time she was awake, she was defending herself from Jack’s suppose judgment. It wasn’t until she felt something sharp implanted her neck and it all went black. Holy mother of Moses! I was poisoned! But by who? How? Ah! My body feels like it been through hell in a hand basket. But, how did I get here? Unless...

Hellen turned to see Jack in a chair fast asleep, his arms crossed and using a rolled up blanket as a pillow for his head against the wall at the corner. He looked to be in high alert, even if his breathing showed he was asleep.

“Well damn, I should of known better.” She expressed this to herself out loud.

She slowly hoisted herself out of bed, grabbed a spare blanket and placed it upon Jack’s body. But before she went back to bed, she took the bottle of vodka from her dresser, poured a shot and raised it towards her sleeping savior.

“To a successful mission.”

#awakening of the death #jacellen #jack the lad #jack the ripper #assassins creed syndicate #assassins creed #dancing #ballroom #dance #dream #sequence #chapter 6 #main story

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fanfiction-and-coffee · 7 years

Note

First of all, I like your writing so much, it's so great ! W/ the last Overwatch comic , I had an idea that I wanted to share w/ you : characters on a kind of diplomatic mission (just choose whoever you want ???) trying to charm the fuck out an administrative to get informations/access to smthg. Some of them would be brilliant about it and others would fail so much (while probs thinking they are nailing it). Basically just OW babies trying to use their brains and charisma to do smth. Thanks !

thank you!! and oh man I love “socially awkward character has to charm their way into a base” situations this is great (just picking a few people because clearly I cannot do all of the characters or we’ll be here all day lol)

Widowmaker is obviously amazing at social stealth – she’s as deadly on the social field as she is in battle. She’s charming and intelligent and good at reading people and manipulating them, plus she’s not afraid to use flirting to get the information or access she needs.

It is kind of a pain to have to cover her ENTIRE BODY in foundation, though. Blue skin tends to draw attention, which isn’t exactly conducive to a successful infiltration mission.

She’s an expert at hiding in plain sight. I imagine her showing up to a black tie event in a scandalous little black slip dress, with a coy smile and a confident sway to her hips. All eyes are on her – and yet, all they see is a beautiful woman. A potential conquest, maybe, but not a threat. And she’s more than happy to use that to her advantage.

This is good for Talon, because Sombra and Reaper are both hopeless when it comes to social infiltration. Even without the purple side shave, Sombra is TERRIBLE at keeping a low profile, and she genuinely does not understand why she needs to be at the event in person when she can just hack the security system and get everything she needs remotely (and she doesn’t even have to change out of her pajamas!). Reaper, for his part, is really, really good at stealth stealth, but terrible at social stealth; even without the mask and hood, he’s just too intimidating. And it doesn’t help that he ends up glowering at everyone who comes within three feet, no matter how hard he tries to appear friendly.

I feel like McCree is lowkey really good at social stealth? Like yes, the whole Future Cowboy Aesthetic™ does draw a lot of attention, but that just means that people never recognize him without the hat, serape, and wild west persona. Unlike Widowmaker, his method for undercover assignments is to avoid drawing attention to himself. When he wants to, he’s really good at blending into the background of a party or event, and no one even knows he’s there until after he’s gone.

This only works if he’s able to keep his distance, though. He is AWFUL at undercover assignments that actually require him to talk to people. And if he has to flirt with someone to get information out of them, you can just forget it. He’ll stumble over words, go bright red, and totally forget what information he was supposed to be getting from them. And if they actually flirt back? The poor boy is done for.

You know who is shockingly good at charming information out of people? Ana. With a classy evening dress, hair in an elegant updo, and her eyepatch temporarily swapped for a high-tech cybernetic eye that almost looks like the real thing, she’s the picture of class and grace, with an air of mystery thrown in to boot. People can’t help but feel drawn to her, and she’s an expert in gently steering the conversation in the direction she wants it to go. She doesn’t need to flirt – people just want to trust her, which is what makes it lowkey terrifying to watch her work undercover.

(On a separate note: the Overwatch crew once had to flirt some information out of a target via email. It was a collaborative effort between Winston and Tracer. Neither of them likes to talk about it.)

#requested #anon #overwatch #overwatch headcanons #widowmaker #amelie lacroix #sombra #reaper #gabriel reyes #mccree #jesse mccree #ana #ana amari #winston #tracer #lena oxton

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basketnovel50-blog · 6 years

Text

THE SPIRITUAL BACKGROUND OF VEGAN “MEAT OF THE FIELDS” AND SEA-MEAT SEITAN RECIPES

Originally posted on Vegan Mainstream by Bryanna Clark Grogan on January 21, 2014 Here are some recipes that I developed for the Vegan Mainstream Cookbook Club as their "January Chef" in 2014. This entailed writing an article, with recipes and photos, and doing a video chat with the wonderful and patient Stephanie Redcross and Emma Laroque. If you'd like to see the video of the live chat, it's available here. It was fun chatting with Stephanie, who is in Georgia (USA) and Emma, who lives across the Straight, not far from where I live!

I grew up in California, most of that time in San Francisco, within walking distance to Fisherman’s Wharf. The majority of the rest of my life has been spent on the West Coast of British Columbia (pre-and-post-vegan). My father was Peruvian, with an Italian mother. These facts alone might explain why I have seafood cravings to this day, 25 years after becoming vegan.

Some vegans, the ones who turn up their noses at any sort of replication of animal proteins, might say “get over it and eat some nori seaweed” (which I do from time to time), but inventing dishes is my craft, if you will. I can’t help being inspired by memories of the delicious meals of my past. I have a keen memory for outstanding meals—the tastes, smells and textures of certain dishes.

Don’t get me wrong—I love beans and grains, nuts and vegetables, and we eat them regularly and enthusiastically. But certain dishes of one’s culture, family background, holiday customs, and where we grew up stick with us, conjure up wonderful memories and feelings of comfort and pleasure. To deny these feelings, especially those of another vegan, out of some effort to be “pure”, even when no animal is harmed, seems misguided to me.

BACK IN TIME

Interestingly, (considering the “purity” angle), fine vegetarian cuisine developed first in Buddhist monasteries. The importation of Buddhism from India during the Han Dynasty (C.E. 58-75) influenced the development of a sophisticated vegetarian cuisine, since one of the five abstentions of orthodox Buddhism is an injunction against taking life. According to Hsiang Ju Lin and Tsuifeng Lin in their book Chinese Gastronomy (Hastings House, NY, 1969):

“Buddhists are vegetarians, consequently a small pocket of gastronomy has developed, fascinating in its attempt to create the ordinary flavours and appearance of fish and meat by using vegetarian ingredients. The Buddhists, whether monks or ordinary people, mingled freely with the non-vegetarians, and because the manners of Chinese society are all-embracing and diffuse, felt obliged to provide food which looked and almost tasted like meat. This was a sign of hospitality.”

Wealthy ladies would make pilgrimages to the city temples, having ordered a vegetarian lunch in advance. (This was apparently one of the few occasions on which wealthy women could go out by themselves.) The authors continue:

“The school of cooking which originated in the temple kitchens expanded and was taken up by the Yangchow cooks, specializing in delicate pastries and noodles. The challenge of simulating textures and appearance was irresistible. They were, in fact, able to reproduce even the intricate diamond pattern of duck skin, by lightly scoring smooth bean curd and filling in the cuts with a soy sauce mixture. Vegetarianism, which had originated for ethical reasons, finally became the gastronome’s business, and fell into the fine hands of the pastry cook.”

The pious Buddhist Emperor Wu (Wudi) of the Liang dynasty (also known as the Southern Liang Dynasty, C.E. 502-557), who donned monk’s robes several times throughout his reign, wrote an essay entitled Forsake Alcohol and Meat, in which he urged Buddhists to become vegetarians. He modelled much of his rule after the Indian Buddhist Emperor Ashoka of the Maurya Dynasty (273 -32 B.C.E), establishing Buddhism as the state religion of China, and prohibiting monks from drinking wine and killing animals. From that time on, vegetarianism in China was linked with the Buddhist prohibition against taking life. To this day, many Chinese and Japanese Buddhists sects prohibit eating meat.

Although tofu and other Chinese soy products are strongly associated with Chinese vegetarian cuisine, it is less well-known that wheat gluten may have been introduced into Chinese cuisine as early as during the reign of Emperor Wu (see paragraph above). The making of a sort of proto-gluten is described in the Chhi MinYao Shu (Notes on Miscellaneous Affairs; C.E .544

[Liang Dynasty]). Eventually, wheat gluten was called mien chin, meaning “the sinew of flour”, and was a well-established term by the Sung period (C.E. 969-1279), mentioned in writings of the time. A passage about iron and steel from Shên Kua’s Mêng Chhi Pi Than (Dream Pool Essays, C.E. 1086) reads: “Steel is to iron as mien chin (gluten) is to mien (flour). It is only after thoroughly washing the dough that gluten is revealed.”

Gluten was mentioned over the centuries by many writers and scholars, even in novels, such as Hsi Yu Chi (Journey to the West, C.E. 1570) and Ju Lin Wai Shi (The Unofficial History of the Literati— C.E. 1740.). This indicates that gluten was accepted outside of the circle of Buddhist ascetics. Recipes for cooking gluten are found in the major culinary works of the Yuan to the Qing (Chhing) Dynasties (C.E. 1279- 1912).

Over the centuries, Chinese chefs devised ever more elaborate recipes for meatless “meats”, “seafood”, and “poultry”. Stella Lau Fessler, in her book Chinese Meatless Cooking, wrote: “To a Chinese cook, imitating certain meat dishes with non-meat ingredients is not simply a matter of replacing the meat. It is instead an effort to show off the great culinary art of China, to make the impossible possible.”

So, this is nothing new, obviously, and we vegan cooks who devise modern homemade meat and seafood substitutes have a great example and proud lineage to follow.

IT’S ALL IN THE NAME

What do we call these products, anyway? “Meat analog” or “meat alternative” or “meat substitute” sound dull and unappetizing, and “gluten”? Well, I’ll let my friend David Lee, founder of the Field Roast Co. from Seattle, explain why he coined another term for it: “You know, gluten, the word for wheat protein, is kind of an odd word. I think it’s kind of an unfortunate word. I wish it wasn’t called gluten because gluten is kind of—you know, ‘glue-tahn’—it’s just kind of an ‘uhh’-sounding word. It’s a word that I actually try to avoid.”

As you probably know, David calls his products “grain meat”. He explained to me: “…meat wasn’t exclusively associated with animal meats, or animal flesh. As a matter of fact, I think you can find in any dictionary that the word ‘meat’ used to mean ‘food’ or ‘meal’, and also meant ‘substance’ (as in ‘the meat of the story’ or ‘the meat of the matter’). Think also of the word ‘nutmeat’ and how soy was called ‘the meat of the field’ in China.”

He also points out how milk is not exclusively dairy-based anymore—there are bean milks, like soy; grain milks, like oat and rice; seed milks, like quinoa, hemp and flax; and nut milks, such as almond, cashew, coconut and hazelnut. Soy why not “grain meat”, “nut meat”, soy meat” , etc.?

IN THE KITCHEN AGAIN

Delicious modern gluten/seitan/grain meat-based recipes abound on the Internet these days (often with the addition of other grain and legume flours), and in the pages of vegan cookbooks, but it’s difficult to find good recipes to satisfy those seafood cravings I was mentioning before. There are fewer seafood sub recipes online, and there are commercial products that I’ve read about, but they never seem to be available where I live. So I have had to devise my own recipes. There’s a “salmon” recipe in my bookWorld Vegan Feast (Vegan Heritage Press, 2011), but what I miss the most is shellfish—not only the taste, but the texture. The basic recipe I’m going to share with you below is satisfying to me, versatile, inexpensive, freeze-able and relatively easy to make. (I’m also including some favorite recipes using the basic product.) I hope you will enjoy these homemade products as much as I do, and devise your own recipes for using them.

INGREDIENTS: Mushroom/Kombu Broth: (Make this first and cool thoroughly.) 5 1/2 cups boiling water 10 medium-sized dried shiitake mushrooms or Chinese dried black forest mushrooms 1/3 cup dried boletus, mixed wild, or porcini mushrooms (or, if necessary, use about 16 shiitakes or Chinese mushrooms and omit the boletus or porcini) 1/2 oz dried kombu seaweed Dry mix: 2 cup pure gluten powder (vital wheat gluten) (See this link for how to tell if you have the right product) 1/2 cup chickpea flour, white bean flour, soy flour, or urad dal flour 2 teaspoons sugar 1 teaspoon onion powder 1/2 teaspoon garlic granules Wet Mix: 1 1/2 cups cold Mushroom/Kombu Broth (see above) 12 oz extra-firm regular (NOT silken) tofu, broken up 1 tablespoon oil 1 teaspoon salt Cooking Broth: 3 1/4 cups hot Mushroom/Kombu Broth (see above at top of ingredient list) 1 tablespoon vegetarian “oyster” sauce (see recipe and info for commercial brands below) 1 teaspoon onion powder 1/2 teaspoon garlic granules

DIRECTIONS:

Mushroom/Kombu Broth (Make this first and cool thoroughly): Soak the mushrooms and kombu in the boiling water, covered, for about 30 minutes, then strain. Freeze the mushrooms for future use in recipes, if you have no use for them right away. Discard the kombu.

To cool off the broth quickly, place it in a shallow dish or bowl and place in the freezer until cool. DO NOT use hot broth in the Wet Mix! Hot liquid will make the seitan stringy.

For the Wet Mix, blend all of the ingredients until very smooth in a blender or food processor.

Mix the Dry Mix ingredients in the bowl of your electric mixer with dough hook attachment, or place them in the bread machine in the order given. Add the cooled Wet Mix and knead for about 10 minutes. (If your bread machine has a dough cycle-two kneads with a long rest in between, use that cycle. Otherwise, just run it through the kneading part and then unplug it and let it rest in the covered container, then plug it in again for another knead, then remove it.) Let rest for about 1 hour, covered. Divide the dough into 4 equal pieces. Roll each one out on a clean countertop with a rolling pin to make a rectangle about 3/4-inch thick. Cut each rectangle into 4 squares (more or less). Roll the squares out to about 3/8″-thick. The pieces will be thicker after cooking. Repeat until you have rolled all the dough out this way:

Preheat the oven to 300°F.

Place the seitan squares in 2 oiled 9×13″ baking pans. The squares can overlap a bit. Pour half of the Cooking Broth over the seitan in each pan. Cover with foil. Bake 30 minutes. Turn the cutlets over, cover and cook 15-30 minutes more. (You just want to let the cutlets absorb all of the broth, not really brown them, so keep an eye on them.) Separate them carefully. Cool them before proceeding. (You can place them on a platter and cool them quickly in the freezer, if you wish.)

To cut the Sea-Meat Scallops:

Cut as many rounds as possible out of the cooled seitan squares with a 1″ wide or slightly smaller round cookie cutter. (I had to buy a set of round cookie cutters in order to obtain one of this size).

Grind the scraps coarsely in a food processor to use for Chopped Sea-Meat (clam substitute). NOTE: All seitan freezes well.

Nutrition (per serving): 98.3 calories; 22% calories from fat; 2.6g total fat; 0.0mg cholesterol; 140.0mg sodium; 73.8mg potassium; 5.3g carbohydrates; 0.5g fiber; 1.3g sugar; 14.1g protein; 2.1 points.

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HOMEMADE VEGAN “SEAFOOD” SATISFIES SOME NOSTALGIC CRAVINGS

Printable Recipe

BRYANNA’S ITALIAN VEGAN PASTA WITH WHITE “CLAM” SAUCE

Serves 5

This is a “veganization” of an old favorite from my childhood. I cut the olive oil down as far as I could, but you MUST have some in this sauce! You can serve this with a vegan parmesan substitute, but this type of dish is normally eaten without cheese.

INGREDIENTS: 1 lb linguine, spaghetti or other pasta of choice (I used farfalle or bowtie pasta in the photo) 1/4 cup good extra virgin olive oil 1 medium onion, minced 6 cloves garlic, minced Optional: a few pinches of dried oregano or basil 1 cup Vegan “Sea Stock” (see recipe below) 1/2 cup dry white wine or white vermouth (can be non-alcoholic) 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 cups (loosely packed) Chopped Sea-Meat (see this link) 1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley Optional: freshly-ground black pepper to taste, or pinch of red chile pepper flakes

DIRECTIONS:

Place a large pot of water on to boil for the pasta.

Heat the oil in a large heavy skillet over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking. Add the onion, stirring, until starting to be golden, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic, and optional herbs, if using. Cook, stirring occasionally, until garlic is golden, about 2 minutes. Stir in the Vegan “Sea Stock” and wine, and boil, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until slightly reduced, about 3 minutes.

Cook the pasta in the pot of boiling salted water until al dente, then drain in a colander. While pasta is cooking, stir the Chopped Sea-Meat into the sauce and simmer, covered, stirring occasionally, 4 to 6 minutes. Remove from heat. Taste for salt.

Immediately add the drained pasta to the sauce along with the parsley, then toss until combined well. Add optional pepper, if desired. Serve immediately.

Nutrition Facts Nutrition (per serving): 551.0 calories; 22% calories from fat; 14.3g total fat; 0.0mg cholesterol; 440.0mg sodium; 338.0mg potassium; 77.9g carbohydrates; 3.5g fiber; 4.3g sugar; 23.8g protein; 11.5 points.

Yield: 4 cups This is a handy recipe for vegan “sea-meat” recipes.

6 cups hot water 10 medium dried shiitake or Chinese black forest mushrooms 1/2 oz dried kombu seaweed 2 teaspoons light miso 1 1/2 teaspoons vegetarian “oyster” sauce

(see recipe and info on commercial brands below) 1 teaspoon salt

Simmer the mushrooms and kombu, covered, in the water for 30 minutes. Strain in a colander. Save the mushrooms for another dish, if you like. Discard the kombu. Stir in the miso, vegetarian “oyster” sauce, and salt. Dissolve thoroughly. Strain through a fine sieve. Refrigerate.

Nutrition Facts Nutrition (per 1/2 cup): 18.6 calories; 6% calories from fat; 0.2g total fat; 0.0mg cholesterol; 318.5mg sodium; 75.3mg potassium; 4.3g carbohydrates; 0.6g fiber; 1.5g sugar; 0.7g protein ; 0.3 points.

Printable Recipe BRYANNA’S ANGEL HAIR PASTA WITH VEGAN “SCALLOPS” AND EDAMAMEServings: 6

This is deliciously simple Italian way to showcase your Sea-Meat Scallops. If you want a more “fishy” flavor, add a tablespoon or so of dulse or nori flakes to the sauce.

INGREDIENTS:

12 oz. Capelli d’Angelo (Angel Hair pasta– can be whole grain) 2 cups frozen or fresh shelled edamamé (green soybeans) 2 tablespoons good extra virgin olive oil 32 Sea-Meat Scallops (see recipe above) 1/4 cup Seasoned Flour (see recipe below) 2 green onions, chopped 4 teaspoon minced garlic (depending on your taste!) 1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary (or 1 teaspoon dried) 1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme (or 1/2 teaspoon dried) 1 1/2 cups Vegan “Sea Stock” (see recipe above) 1 1/2 cups dry white wine or white vermouth (can be non-alcoholic) Optional:1 tablespoon vegetarian mushroom-based “Oyster sauce” (see recipe and info on commercial brands below) salt and freshly-ground black pepper to taste) Serve with: lemon wedgesGoVeggie! Vegan Soy Parmesan OR walnut-based Parma! (or your own homemade sub

DIRECTIONS:

Place a large pot of water on to boil. When it boils, add the pasta and the thawed edamamé to the water and set the timer for 4 minutes. In a bowl, mix the Seasoned Flour with the Scallops until they are all coated.

Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy nonstick skillet. When hot, add the Scallops, green onion, and the garlic and quickly stir-fry over high heat until the Scallops are slightly seared. Add the Vegan “Sea Stock”, wine, herbs and salt and pepper to taste (and the “Oyster” Sauce and seaweed flakes, if using) to the skillet. Cook briefly at high heat.

Drain the pasta and edamamé when done and add to the skillet. With a large spoon and a pasta rake, toss the contents of the skillet while it cooks. You want the pasta to absorb most of the sauce, with just enough left so that it isn’t dry. Quickly divide the pasta evenly into 6 warm pasta bowls. Serve with salt, pepper, lemon wedges, and vegan parmesan substitute.

Nutrition Facts Nutrition (per serving): 478.0 calories; 20% calories from fat; 11.2g total fat; 0.0mg cholesterol; 338.8mg sodium; 602.4mg potassium; 61.2g carbohydrates; 5.5g fiber; 3.7g sugar; 55.7g net carbs; 25.5g protein; 9.7 points.

BRYANNA’S SEASONED FLOUR Yield: 2 1/4 cups

Have some of this in your refrigerator at all times for costing vegetarian proteins before browning– it adds great flavor!

2 cups whole wheat, or other wholegrain, flour 1/4 cup nutritional yeast flakes 1 teaspoon salt OPTIONAL: 1 teaspoon onion powder, 1 teaspoon garlic granules and freshly-ground black pepper to taste. Other spices can be used, according to the type of recipe you are making.

Mix together the flour, nutritional yeast flakes, salt, and, optional onion powder and black pepper, if using. Store in a covered container in the refrigerator.

Nutrition Facts

Nutrition (per 2 tablespoons): 50.4 calories; 5% calories from fat; 0.3g total fat; 0.0mg cholesterol; 105.7mg sodium; 89.6mg potassium; 10.2g carbohydrates; 2.1g fiber; 0.1g sugar; 8.2g net carbs; 2.7g protein; 0.6 points.

Printable Recipe BRYANNA’S FRIED SEA-MEAT “SCALLOPS” ON ASPARAGUS WITH LEMON-GARLIC SAUCE Serves 4 This recipe goes quickly, so make the sauce first and keep it warm, and have the asparagus steaming while you fry the “Scallops”.

INGREDIENTS: Lemon-Garlic “Butter” Sauce: 4 teaspoons vegan butter 4 cloves garlic, minced 2 cups light vegetarian “chicken” broth (do not use a very salty type because you have to reduce it—try using 1/2 as much powder or paste as you would normally) 2 medium organic lemons, grated zest and juice 1/2 tablespoon cornstarch mixed with 1 tablespoon water Optional Finish: 4 teaspoons vegan butter Additional: 2 lbs. fresh asparagus, trimmed and steamed until tender, but not mushy Fried “Scallops”: 32 Sea-Meat Scallops (see recipe above) whole wheat flour for dredging 1 cup plain soy, hemp, or nut milk mixed with 1 tablespoon lemon juice 2 cups panko (Japanese breadcrumb– look for Ian’s Whole Wheat Panko Breadcrumbs, if you prefer whole grain. Amazon carries them.) oil for frying

DIRECTIONS: To make the Lemon-Garlic “Butter” Sauce: Heat the first 4 teaspoons of vegan butter in a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and stir with a wooden spoon JUST until the garlic begins to turn golden. Add the broth and the zest and juice of the lemons. Bring to a boil over high heat.

Turn down to a high simmer and cook it down to 1 1/4 cups (important!). Stir in the cornstarch mixture and stir until thickened. Stir in the remaining 4 teaspoons of vegan butter, if using. Remove from heat and cover to keep warm.

To fry the “Scallops”: While the asparagus is steaming, set up shallow bowls with the whole wheat flour, the milk and lemon juice mixture, and the panko breadcrumbs in a line on your counter. Dredge the “Scallops” in the flour, then the curdled milk, and then coat all over with the panko. Place on a parchment-lined cookie sheet, not touching.

Heat an inch or so of oil in a large heavy skillet. When hot, add the coated scallops, turn the heat to medium-high, and fry until crispy on both sides. Drain on paper towels.

To Serve: Distribute the steamed asparagus on 4 plates. Pile 8 fried “Scallops” over each pile of asparagus. Drizzle warm Lemon-Garlic “Butter” Sauce over each serving, and serve more on the side.

Nutrition Facts Nutrition (per serving): 321.4 calories; 14% calories from fat; 5.3g total fat; 0.0mg cholesterol; 601.4mg sodium; 741.8mg potassium; 61.0g carbohydrates; 9.9g fiber; 11.7g sugar; 13.3g protein; 6.1 points. Printable Recipe VEGETARIAN “OYSTER” SAUCE:

Chinese oyster sauce is a favorite flavoring, thick, rich-tasting, and slightly sweet. I use the vegan version frequently to coat plain tofu for use in stir-fries and fried dishes instead of chicken, and, of course, it’s essential in some Chinese dishes. As well, it can add rich flavor to homemade seitan/grain meat. If you can’t buy it, it’s easy to make a very acceptable substitute.

You can find commercial vegetarian versions, made with mushrooms, in some Asian groceries and large supermarkets (and online, including at amazon). Sometimes it is labeled “vegetarian oyster sauce” or “mushroom oyster sauce”. It is also marketed as “vegetarian stir-fry sauce” (Lee Kum Kee brand). It keeps for a long time in the refrigerator. However, it can be difficult for people in some areas to find, so I am giving you a recipe for a homemade version.

BRYANNA’S HOMEMADE CHINESE VEGETARIAN MUSHROOM “OYSTER” SAUCE (ALSO KNOWN AS “VEGETARIAN STIR-FRY SAUCE”)

Makes 18 liquid oz., or about the same as a commercial bottle NOTE ON MUSHROOMS: For the dried mushrooms, you don’t need expensive shiitakes—just use the inexpensive dried Chinese mushrooms (or Chinese forest mushrooms) that are easily available. Snap off the stems and discard them, then grind the mushrooms to a powder in a DRY, clean blender or coffee/spice grinder.

1 1/2 cups boiling water 6 tablespoons ground dried Chinese mushroom

(see note above) 6 tablespoons Chinese brown bean sauce or paste OR use 5 tablespoons mild brown miso + 1 tablespoon water 6 tablespoons soy sauce 6 generous tablespoons brown sugar 1 tablespoon cornstarch (can be organic) dissolved in 1 tablespoon cold water

(IMPORTANT: leave the plastic cap out of the center hole in the blender lid and cover it with a folded towel, so that the hot liquid doesn’t explode

.) Pour into in a medium saucepan and heat to boiling over high heat. Add the dissolved cornstarch and stir until thickened. Cool and store in a covered jar or bottle in the refrigerator. Since it is quite salty and sweet, it should keep for several months.

NOTE: You can, alternatively, microwave the mixture, with the cornstarch, in a medium bowl and cook on 100% power for about 1 minute, then whisk. Repeat until thickened and store as above.

Source: http://veganfeastkitchen.blogspot.com/2019/01/the-spiritual-background-of-vegan-meat.html

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theonemosteffective · 8 years

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This Is the Ending Conservatives Always Wanted

You can draw a straight line from Reaganomics to Trump's budget.

Consistently, amid the keep running up to Halloween, when Jim DeMint goes to Hell's uber shopping center and sits on Satan's lap, he has a rundown of things he needs for the occasion. The guardians of the collected evil presences and imps behind him in line frequently get baffled on the grounds that the rundown is so long. On Thursday, the Trump Administration discharged its proposed national spending plan. It's been bound to happen, yet DeMint and whatever remains of the oily brutes at Heritage at last got the majority of what they requested.This proposed spending plan isn't outrageous. Reagan's proposed spending plan in 1981 was extraordinary.

This financial plan is silly, coldblooded to the point of being perverted, moronic to the point of immaculate philistinism, and shot through with the supreme and fundamentalist religious conviction that the main genuine elements of government are the ones that include weapons, and that the main genuine motivation behind government is to serve the rich.

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There is an expanded blending among professedly respectable traditionalists to separate themselves from the president* and his more hyper supporters in the Congress and out in the nation. To damnation with them. Like Haman, they're moving on a hangman's tree they invested years concocting. This financial plan speaks to the precious stone hard reality behind each one of those grandiose proclamations from oil-drenched research organizations, every one of those scholarly disquisitions in little, startlingly promoting free magazines, each one of those sincere youthful alumni of eminence colleges who devoted their minds to putting an informed gleam on ravenousness and numbness, and ideological disguise on retrograde strategies that ought to have kicked the bucket with Calvin Coolidge—or maybe Louis XVI. This is it, ideal here, this financial plan. This is the lover perfect of development moderate administration. This is the consistent, tragic end of Reaganism, and Gingrichism, and Tea Partyism, and the various Isms that development conservatism has incurred upon the political ward. This is the boundless, poisonous marsh into which each one of those tributaries of present day moderate thought have exhausted themselves. Individuals bite the dust in there, gobbled up in profound sinkholes of enabled fanaticism and class outrage.

Meals on Wheels?

Who in the hellfire zeroes out Meals on Wheels? Who chooses that a program that burns through $3 million to help volunteers encourage the elderly and weak in their groups is something that the nation can not manage the cost of anymore? Who are the men in the gatherings who make this sort of call? What are their names? Jog them out so the nation knows their identity. C'mon, David Brooks, discover their identity and clarify why National Greatness Conservatism has an issue with starving elderly close ins. The National Endowment For The Arts? The National Endowment For The Humanities? The Corporation For Public Broadcasting? (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); Who in the hellfire zeroes out the NEA, or the NEH, or the CPB? Who chooses that provincial historical centers, and Ken Burns, and Antiques Roadshow are excessively elitist for a nation loaded with honorable hicks? I'll reveal to you who does. Newt Gingrich does, that is who, and 23 years back Newt Gingrich was the genius of the traditionalist development, the scholarly stay of the advanced Right, until, obviously, he turned into an open shame. You know who else does? George Effing Will, just today, that is who. These projects did not get to be targets last November.

Who in the hell zeroes out Meals on Wheels?

Climate change?

Who the hellfire wipes out research subsidizing for the atmosphere emergency during a time of super tempests, and fierce blazes, and relentlessly vanishing coastlines? Who hauls the nation out of the Paris Agreement? Who takes the United States of Goddamn America out of the battle against the greatest existential emergency the planet has confronted since the space rock arrived close to the Yucatan? Well, why don't we take a wild figure and say it's the political party—and the political development that is its exclusive life constrain—that for a considerable length of time has taken billions from the extraction enterprises, set an atmosphere denier at the leader of the EPA—where he wouldn't have much to do, in any case—and named an oilman to be Secretary of State. Which reminds me… The fcking State Department? Who the damnation for all intents and purposes defunds the goddamn State Department? The gathering that endures a Tea Party hack like Mick Mulvaney, taking him in that capacity a genuine individual that he can get to be to be the executive of the Office of Management and Budget, rather than the radical nut case he's dependably been. Mick Mulvaney didn't require the ascent of Donald Trump to end up distinctly a maniac who might be minimized in any rational popularity based republic. He was dependably there on the edges. He is as much an animal of development conservatism as Paul Ryan seems to be, significantly more so on the grounds that Mulvaney was one of the prime movers in the defenestration of John Boehner.

Now, he's in a position to enact all those policies that made him a star. From ABC News:

There are different treats in here other than. The financial backing proposes to privatize the aviation authority framework, completing the work that Reagan began in 1981, and adjusting the framework to a theory that has worked so extremely well in the jail framework and in instruction. Discussing which, the Department of Education is taking a 13.5 percent cut, yet there will be $1.4 billion moved over into different contract and voucher conspires that have demonstrated useless by and by, however that warm the heart of Betsy DeVos, our against government funded instruction Secretary of Education. Pell Grants additionally try. I'm certain that any child from, say, McDowell County in West Virginia who longs for a school instruction will be excited by that news.

These programs did not become targets last November.

A considerable measure of this will make the individuals from Congress stifle, so a great deal of it may not pass. It's extremely presence is essential, however, as an archive that lays out plainly the vision of government shared wherever in current conservatism. This is a DeMint Budget, a Heritage Budget, a Gingrich Budget, a Reagan Budget, and a Tea Party Budget. It might be rough and do not have a specific clean, however its needs and objectives are clear. There is no present day Republican Party without development conservatism, and this financial plan is the most clear proclamation yet of that rationality. None of the general population who have turned out to be rich and powerful through sparkling this reasoning up required the decision of Donald Trump to end up what they are. On the off chance that the nation permits them to step far from him and his financial plan—the way they all ventured far from Gingrich when he got to be distinctly dangerous, or Reagan when he got to be distinctly feeble, or George W. Shrub, when everything turned out badly—then the nation does itself no great administration. This financial plan isn't what they need. It's their identity. Suppers on wheels? Jesus Christ, these truly are the fcking mole individuals.

Update (5:45 PM): Mulvaney turned out from under his scaffold to take inquiries concerning the financial plan on Thursday evening. The outcomes were as hacktacular as you can envision. This is the thing that he said in regards to nourishing kids in after-school programs: He said they demonstrated "no evident outcomes." He likewise says that Meals On Wheels is one of those projects "not demonstrating any outcomes." Sustenance, how can it work, in any case?

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