#like. I need to learn how to cook and no other food information source goes right through my head as much

[pepsimaxolotl]

I love that Adam Ragusea is making videos about fish keeping sometimes now /gen

[pascalpanic]

Cooking in the Crest (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Summary: You become sick of the endless prepackaged food you eat while living on the Razor Crest. From a holovid, you and Din try to learn how to cook.

W/C: 3.2k

Warnings: FOOD is a big warning here; this is all about food, cooking, and eating; some language, and mentions of violence and blood because Din is a hunter.

A/N: this was a request by lovely @binarydanvvers !! I hope you guys like it too :))

The Razor Crest was not exactly built to be a home. The beat up old ship, a pre-Imperial piece of garbage, was mainly meant to be a freighter, to carry loads and supplies around. It had a bunk, yes, but that was mainly for the pilot to sleep. Some ships were elaborately built and crafted to house people, even families; this was not one of them.

You could tell that from the moment you walked aboard. This was not built to be a home, but the Mandalorian and his little green child had made it one. It was endearing, really. It was still cold and harsh, not exactly welcoming, but there were little touches. A sling for the baby to sleep in above the man’s bunk. A few scattered toys for the kid. Extra clothing tucked away, and what seemed to be a makeshift kitchen.

It can hardly be called a kitchen. It’s more of a food storage area. The Mandalorian man has stored packets of food, dried or wrapped, water, and other assorted food necessities in a small corner of the ship. There’s also a device for heating meals, like the just-add-water foods he carries so many of.

The baby doesn’t complain. Well, he really can’t, considering that he cannot speak yet, but he never pushes away the food. Of course, his favorites are frogs and occasional organic things he picks up on the surface of the latest planet, but he’s never refused a nutrient bar or an instant bread loaf. The kid is always hungry; he’ll take anything.

You’ve been traveling with Din for a while now. He entrusted you with his name not long after he entrusted you with the care of his foundling. He’s a kind man, surprising beneath the layer of impenetrable beskar, with a warm laugh even through the modulator.

In this time, you’ve become exhausted over the endless routine of microwavable carbohydrate packs with dried proteins. A nutrient bar is a nice switch, but it’s endless days and nights of bland food. “Do you even eat? Does your species photosynthesize or something?” You’d asked Din once, teasingly knocking on his beskar.

“I’m human,” he assured you, voice dry. He presents himself as tired of your endless teasing, but you both know he could never be. You’re the energy, the entertainment to him and his little green child.

“I doubt that,” you teased, nudging his hip with your own as you walked past, the baby on your other side, giggling at your words.

The kid is smart. He can’t yet speak, but he can recognize meaning in words and the emotions you convey with your tones. You’ve been steadily working on teaching him the right morphemes to form words, but he’s just not quite there yet. He made a little babbling noise at his father, then turned and looked up at you, grinning with tiny white teeth.

Din must eat, you’ve come to notice. He never takes the helmet off; you’ve never heard his voice without the modulator, you’ve never seen him eat. But the stock of food dwindles at a quicker pace than it would for one and a half people, so he must consume some of it. You’ve noticed that the dried proteins or instant spicy grains go quicker- those must be his favorite. You’ve made mental notes several times to pick up extra when shopping.

As the three of you take off from the last planet, a lively and populous city center, your stomach is happy with its contents: you and the baby had gone on a culinary tour, trying different local delicacies. You glance at the kitchenette in the corner and wince at the protein bars. Surely you’ll be reduced to eating the dry and chalky sustenance the next time you’re hungry.

The baby sits in your lap, bouncing excitedly as the ship lifts off. He coos and waves his hands excitedly as Din turns and navigates, though it’s nothing too bumpy for the little thing to handle. There’s a jolt when you leave the atmosphere, and the baby squeals as the stars rush past when Din maneuvers the Crest into hyperspace.

Once the course is set, Din turns to you. You wonder what he’s thinking; it’s a shame you can’t see his face. “We should be at our next location in about a day.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, heightened over the prospect of eating more dried, flavorless food. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Do I know how to what?” Din asks, cocking his head.

“Cook. You know, make food in a way other than using the microwave.”

Din stares at you for a minute. “No, I really don’t. I’ve never had reason to.”

“You don’t consider eating this bland shit eternally a reason?” You ask, folding your arms. The little green baby on your lap mirrors your actions, looking at his father. “I don’t either, but I think we both need to learn. I’m sick of this endless dried food and nutrient bars and instant grains.”

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “Fine. How?”

“How what?” You ask, taunting him back from his earlier sarcastic question.

“How are we going to learn how to cook?”

You shrug. “We could take a cooking class on some populous planet. They have them for couples.”

Din looks at you, sharply even though you can’t see his face. “Okay, well, two people,” you chuckle, though you can’t help but notice the rigidity of his body. You’re skilled at reading his body language by now; something changed in him when you said couple. “Why the hell not?”

“Because, cyar’ika, I am a Mandalorian. I’m not exactly going to fit in with the happy honeymooners at a cooking class, searing bantha for my beloved.”

You frown at him. “You’re such a pain in the ass, Din. Work with me here.”

Din is frowning beneath the helmet. You can just tell. “I don’t exactly take orders from you.”

“It’s not an order,” you roll your eyes. “It’s a request. Please.”

Din sighs. He’s quiet for a minute. Then: “Fine.”

“Yay!” You grin and brace his beskar helmet in one hand, pressing a kiss to the visor. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

“I don’t know how fun that can be,” he grumbles.

-

The holonet turns out to be a surprisingly vast resource for cooking and recipes. You’d never expected this much to be uploaded to it. There are traditional dishes from Tatooine, Naboo, anywhere really. The first struggle is deciding what to cook.

You stop at another populous planet next. Thank the Maker, you mumble as you put the baby in the wrap carrier that straps him to your chest. “We’re gonna make something good, huh kiddo?” You ask and smooch the baby’s little green head. He just coos in return.

Wandering through the planet, you find various little specialty shops, and you mark off the list you’ve created. Spices from the shop specializing in them, fresh vegetables at a stall, meat from a grocer. When the foods are all collected, you return to the ship, where Din has purchased a portable heat source to be used for cooking.

The business Din has on the planet goes quickly and he’s back before you know it. You’ve barely had time to clean the vegetables under the small refresher sink before you hear the clink of beskar and the baby’s excited laughter at his return.

You carry the bowl of vegetables and grin as you spot Din on a crate in the corner, wiping down his armor of blood. “Welcome home, bounty hunter,” you tease as you arrange some crates to form a table and chairs and set the holoprojector in the center. “How’d we do today?”

“Wonderful,” he grumbles as he wipes a smear of mud off his chest plate. He finishes then looks at your arms, holding the ingredients. You set them down and the hot plate as well. “We’re cooking now?”

“I’m hungry,” you shrug.

Din nods. “I suppose. Do you want me to get piloting us out of here and then we can start?”

You shrug again. “We paid for a full day and night. Might as well use it.”

He nods and begins removing his beskar, leaving him in just his flight suit and helmet. You cock an eyebrow at him and tilt your head in confusion. “Don’t wanna get any food on the beskar.”

This makes you genuinely laugh, throwing your head back. “Oh, blood and dirt and mud are okay but no food? You have some odd standards, Din.”

No one has called him by his name since he was a child. You’ve never even said it aloud save for once or twice. The sound of your voice saying it is like the sweetest music; he could listen to it eternally. He’s a little nervous inside, tingly and fluttery from the feeling. Thank the Maker his helmet doesn’t let it show.

“Go wash your hands and let’s get going,” you order him, stacking two extra crates and setting the child on top so he’s the same height as the two of you. He’s delighted by the view, looking around.

You put the vessel on the hot plate then turn it on, unsure of how quickly it heats. Din returns not long later, sitting on his crate across from you. “First step?”

To answer his question, you turn on the holovid. A cheerful Zabrak narrates for you and shows you the steps, starting with the first: to chop the ingredients. Din reaches for his leg and you shoot him a glare, pausing the video. “You were not about to use that knife to prepare our dinner.”

Din just looks at you. “Why not?”

“God, you’re impossible,” you laugh, though it’s lighthearted teasing. “No, use this, a clean one.” You hand it over along with a few vegetables. Din starts cutting with neat precision, the yellow tuber vegetable falling in perfectly round slices to the surface you’d laid down before.

The baby whines in protest; he wants in. Looking around, you scramble for something before giving him the softest vegetable and a plastic utensil. “How’s that?” You ask him.

He’s delighted, slicing his vegetable and mirroring his parents and the video. When the step is finished, you press play again and it informs you to add some of the oil and cook the vegetables first.

Din pours them in, causing a sizzle from the hot cooking vessel. “Ooh, it must be ready,” you grin and drizzle some oil over the top.

“I don’t think that’s the order we were supposed to do it,” he points out, rewinding the video.

“Oh well,” you shrug and stir the vegetables. The aromatic plants waft from the steam, making you sigh in happiness at how wonderful the recipe smells, even now. “Can you smell under there?”

Din shakes his head.

You frown. “I’ll close my eyes. Lift your helmet and take a smell, it’s delicious.” You squeeze them shut as if to prove you’ll do it.

He would never trust anyone else like this. He’s surprised he even trusts you enough, but he unlatches his helmet and lifts it just enough to catch a whiff of the delicious smell. He sighs happily too and puts the helmet back on. “You can look again.”

You open your eyes and smile at him. “Well, we’re not doing terribly! What’s next?”

The video plays a little longer, telling you the next steps: add the spices to the cooking vegetables, stirring them in, then the broth you’ve purchased.

Picking up the bag, you rummage through for the intended spices. “You wanna do this part?” You ask Din.

“I’ll probably mess up.”

“Give it a shot,” you say with a warm smile and hand him several small pouches of spices and a measuring stick.

His fingers are thick and worn without the gloves, and the sight of them pinching the bright orange powder and sprinkling some in the pot is truly humanizing, indicative that this man is Din, not The Mandalorian like you knew him as before. He does that with the required spices, choosing to go by heart rather than the measured values.

You go next, adding the broth to the pot and closing your eyes to listen to the beautiful hiss of the liquid against the hot metal. “Do you think you could cook on beskar?” You tease Din. The man just shakes his head.

The recipe then indicates for you to cut up the meat and add it before covering and letting it boil. Din uses the sharp knife you’ve provided to once again, neatly slice the meat and add it to the pan. “You’re quite precise with that thing,” you inform him with an impressed nod.

He snorts. “I know the ten quickest ways to kill someone with it.”

“Still, precise to do that,” you laugh. You cover the pot and sigh, setting a timer on the holopad to the amount of time needed before the meal will be ready; thanks to the specialized tech in the hot plate, it won’t take long at all.

The baby shows you his knife work with the mushed vegetable. It’s considerably less impressive than Din’s, but you ooh and ahh over it all the same, making the baby beam with pride. “Your knife work rivals your father’s, little man,” you tease the baby and poke his side.

“Yeah right,” he snorts again and leans back against the metal wall of the Razor Crest’s hull.

While the food carries on its quick cooking, you prepare three bowls and spoons to eat with, setting each in front of where the three of you sit. The bowl is much smaller for the child, but he seems just as pleased.

The timer dings and you clap your hands together in excitement. “Let’s see!”

Lifting the lid, the smell that wafts out makes your stomach growl. “Oh, this is going to be good,” you sigh, setting the lid aside on the heatproof surface and scooping some into each bowl. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warn your boys as you a hand them their respectful bowls.

“It sounds wonderful but… you know I can’t eat it,” Din reminds you.

That makes you frown. “Of course you can. We made it together.”

“No,” he sighs. “I can’t eat it because I’d have to remove my helmet.”

The idea crosses your mind as quickly as his words. “Well then.” You stand and push your crate aside, then pull him up and do the same. With your bowl of stew in hand, you plop down on the floor and turn your back to him. “Now you sit with your back to me.”

“Cyare, I-“

“Just humor me, Din. Please.”

He sighs and gets on the floor, groaning at the creak of his joints and popping of his back. Din presses his back to yours, sitting with his legs splayed carelessly to either side. “There. This what you wanted?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Now eat. I won’t look, and the kid is your foundling, he can see you.”

Din is hesitant at first. He sits there for a moment while the baby slurps his dinner, pondering what to do. Then he remembers how much he trusts yoh. How you’d do anything for him and he’d do anything for you.

He removes his helmet, setting it to the floor with a heavy clunk. “There we go,” you smile and reach behind you to pat his chest. “Eat up. I bet you’re hungry from that hunt.”

“Hungrier from making this,” he grumbles as he scoops a spoonful, ungracefully shoving it in his mouth and moaning in content. “Oh, that’s damn good.”

“Isn’t it?” You laugh, eating some yourself and smiling at the flavor. “Seasoned just right,” you affirm him, resting your head back against his own. You can feel that he has hair- well, now you know he isn’t bald.

“Cooked properly thanks to you,” he reminds you.

“Ha! I don’t know shit about cooking. Thank that holovid,” you chuckle, nestling your back against his. You can feel every little notch of his spine, the lumps in a perfect line cascading down his body, as his back presses against yours. He’s warm, and you can feel him breathe in and out slowly- he’s relaxed. Good.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you eat your meals. The kid has long finished his tiny bowl and has passed out in his seat, which makes you laugh. He’s missing the sight of his helmetless father thanks to a post-meal nap.

No words need to be exchanged. There’s meaning in the silence, in the fact that you can hear his breathing and his real voice, the hard gulp of his throat as he swallows yet another bite. Maker, he’s so wonderfully human. You absolutely adore it.

When you’re done with your stew, you set your bowl to the side. Din does the same, and his back relaxes against yours. Neither of you are quite ready for him to put the helmet back on, so you breathe the unfiltered air with him, listen and feel him breathing, try to take in every detail of what his body feels like pressed to yours, even if it’s back to back.

“Din?” You ask softly after a few moments.

“Yes, cyare?”

“I promise my eyes are closed,” you tell him.

“What do you mean-“

Din is cut off when you close your eyes but turn, kissing his cheek. You can feel stubble beneath your lips, and above it smooth skin. God, he feels so damn warm. With your eyes still closed, you hug his neck. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

Din breathes slowly, forcing his heart rate not to accelerate into hyperspeed. “It’s not putting up with you,” he admits. “It’s enjoying you. I really do.”

The words make you flushed and flustered, honored that this strong and silent type has used such eloquent words to compliment you. “Thank you. For all of this, Din. Thank you for letting me know you.”

He’s grinning ear to ear, and he turns his face to kiss your cheek back. “You can know me all you want to, mesh’la.” Din puts his hands over your arms and takes one last moment in your arms. “Well, we need to put the child to bed, and I’m legally supposed to be wearing my helmet right now.”

You turn and sit with your back to him, smiling and nearly giddy from the moment. “Who’s gonna yell at you if you don’t? Mando police?”

Din groans and puts his helmet back on, ignoring you. When you both stand, you hug him for real this time, chests pressed together. “Thank you for a wonderful meal,” he mumbles through the modulator and presses his forehead to yours in a keldabe kiss. “Let’s do this more often.”

“I agree,” you nod and kiss his helmet one last time.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal

[greensaplinggrace]

In a recent malarklina post you mentioned having many headcanons 👀 Care to share with the class?

So I went over some character hcs for the three of them in this post! But here are a few that are specifically Malarklina. (Some of these are set in an Immortal!Mal AU and some aren't, sorry if it gets a bit confusing).

Aleksander has a competency kink and is attracted to Alina showing off her sun powers and Mal showing off his tracking abilities.

Alina makes them both little suns that follow them around to always light their path. This is especially meaningful to Aleksander, although he'd never admit it, because he used to be afraid of the dark as a child.

Mal reminds Aleksander of Luda, and he often goes into depressive states when considering the fact of Mal's mortality. Once Alina fully grasps the reality of the situation, she often suffers from them as well. During these times, Mal tries to be there for them as much as he can, but it's a heavy burden to bear alone.

They all have difficult relationships with gender and sexuality and at one point actually end up sitting down (completely by accident, because Aleksander is allergic to emotions) to talk about this aspect of their lives in more depth.

Aleksander usually sleeps in the middle because he's a) touch-starved and b) an attention whore, but they switch it up on occasion.

Mal is the most clingy sleeper in the history of sleepers. Aleksander and Alina have both woken up on more than one occasion to Mal literally laying fully on top of them and wrapped around them like an octopus. Aleksander likes the weight and usually just snuggles in deeper but Alina has to wiggle out of the way most of the time so she can breathe.

Mal likes Aleksander with short hair but Alina likes him with long hair. This is the source of many fights in their relationship, none of which Aleksander is actually apart of.

Alina and Aleksander both like Mal with longer hair and so he's press ganged into growing it out.

Mal and Alina love every single song Aleksander hates.

When Mal pisses Aleksander off it's no sex for a day even after a dozen apologies, but when Alina pisses him off all she has to do is say sorry and he'll just eat her out right then, not a care in the world.

Aleksander is very physically affectionate, but Mal and Alina have phases of liking it and disliking it, so they have to balance a way to take care of each other's needs without pushing boundaries.

Aleksander is directionally challenged because I said so and Mal and Alina constantly have to make sure he doesn't get lost.

Kissing scars has become a very intimate practice between them all.

Aleksander keeps an obsessively clean house but Alina's paint supplies get everywhere, that paired with Mal just shucking off his hunting outfits anywhere in the house and dumping his gardening/hunting supplies wherever's most convenient means that Aleksander is in a constant state of annoyance about their living situation.

Alina makes a Rule about Mal and Aleksander fighting after Mal straight up tackles Aleksander off the side of the roof when they're trying to figure out how to replace shillings.

They all spar with each other at least once every other day. This mostly started as a means of keeping themselves sharp in case of danger, but it quickly became a bonding routine of sorts. Turns out Aleksander has a lot of information stored up about fighting. That paired with Mal's military training makes for some very intense spars as well as the rapid growth of all three of them into some of the most dangerous fighters on the planet.

@mal-zoya now has me convinced that it will take at least 500 years for Mal and Aleksander to admit they love each other.

Aleksander likes it when they wear his clothes. Alina likes wearing Mal and Aleksander's clothes. There is a lot of clothing sharing going on. It gets to the point where the only way they can tell who's clothing is who's is based on color scheme and the quality of the cloth and occasionally (but not always) the size as well.

Mal and Alina infodump all the time about their passions and Aleksander eats it up. He loves it. He thinks his partners are the smartest people in the universe.

When Alina is suffering from artist's block she goes to Aleksander for inspiration. When she's inspired she goes to Mal to create.

Mal is generally the one who cooks all of their meals because Alina will get distracted when she's going on an art spree and Aleksander will just straight up forget he's a human sometimes. But when Mal doesn't do it Aleksander does it because he has Standards and he's not about to let his partners starve to death, thank you very much.

Aleksander and Mal used to cook plainer foods in the beginning of the relationship but they both slowly shake off some of the chains of their upbringings and previous ways of life to slowly try out more elaborate and lush recipes. Alina has come home on more than one occasion to see them collaborating on a new recipe Aleksander managed to flirt/finagle out of one of the old ladies from the nearby village.

Alina likes to ride out every day and sometimes ropes Aleksander or Mal into going with her. There are lots of picnics and packed lunches in their life. When they go to an especially scenic spot, she'll sit there for hours and draw.

Mal won't ever be able to fully understand the meaning of Alina's immortality. It would be impossible to, even with many explanations and having to deal with Aleksander's own traumas as a result. But that doesn't stop him from attempting to learn as much as he can to make things easier for both of his partners.

Alina attempts to join the local ladies' knitting group in the nearby village but hates it. Aleksander, on the other hand, finds it to be the most valuable source of gossip in the village. He rapidly becomes a part of the club and returns home with boatloads of gossip by the day. Alina and Mal have no idea what to do with literally any of this information, but Aleksander certainly does. Getting involved in small town drama is, in his opinion, one of the best things he ever decided to do. Mal and Alina are beginning to think he needs some therapy.

Mal starts a little farm outside of their cottage and Alina starts a flower garden. Alina also begins to amass a small library over time, with the help of Aleksander "is this an original text?! maybe so" Morozova. Mal is not expecting to come home one day to an entirely new room built into the house and a massive collection of books lining the walls.

Alina and Aleksander will use their powers actively all day. In fact, they both get so comfortable with summoning that they just start letting their emotions affect their summoning all the time. And so Mal has a very good indicator for whether or not his partners are upset or happy based on the way the shadows and lights flicker, much akin to the way people judge how their cats are feeling based on what their tails are doing.

Also, though, Mal just feels proud that they both trust him enough and feel comfortable enough around him and in their home to feel as if they don't need to watch themselves constantly.

Alina still likes mapmaking and, after a few years of peace where she starts to get restless, she slowly begins to do it again. Every two months or so she'll go out on a long trip to map a few of the nearby areas. She quickly builds up a side business of selling her personal maps to the people of whatever town they're living near.

Aleksander eventually opens up enough to share some of his past with Alina and Mal. He especially begins to engage more with the pieces of his culture that he had to forsake in order to assimilate over the years. Alina and Mal are always more than willing to help him puzzle through a half remembered recipe or a phrase in his native tongue that he's partially forgotten. They feel honored every time he shares a small piece of his history with them.

Nightmares are a common occurrence between all of them and whenever one happens a cuddle pile of epic proportions ensues. Also sometimes they talk about feelings have some pillow talk to work through things. Aleksander will also sometimes sing them back to sleep. His lullabies are haunting, but his singing voice is beautiful, and it usually does the trick. He refuses to sing for them outside of these moments, however.

Alina adores the height difference between her and her very tall partners. She thinks its fucking stellar.

Alina and Mal start up an orphanage on many occasions throughout the centuries. Alina loves kids and constantly helps them when she can. She mourns the fact that she won't ever be able to adopt without having to watch them grow old without her.

They've all discussed having kids at multiple points throughout their lives, and they all want to do so. But Aleksander wants to wait until Grisha persecution is no longer even the hint of an issue. Alina and Mal agree to wait, largely because they want some time to think on it too.

Mal tries to teach Alina how to shoot one day and she accidentally clips Aleksander as he's coming outside with lunch. He never lets her live it down and on more than one occasion attempts to use it for sympathy points, even hundreds of years later.

Aleksander is both the big spoon and the little spoon, but he likes being the big spoon (in reality he's a knife, of course). Mal likes being the little spoon but is often relegated to the big spoon, and Alina likes being both.

Alina paints a portrait of Mal and Aleksander cuddled up in bed once and no matter how much they entreat her to burn it she absolutely refuses to do so.

Aleksander is basically a walking, talking source of illegal activity, and he can't be taken anywhere anymore without expecting some sort of crime to take place.

Alina tries to adopt a little black cat one day and Aleksander gets outrageously jealous. He spends about two months being bitter, then another two months trying to chase it off, but the creature stays with them all until it dies of old age (and he'll never admit to privately grieving it's loss, although Mal and Alina both know it).

All of their communication skills are absolutely atrocious but Alina is the best. Mal is the second best. Aleksander doesn't even rank. Over time, they get into the habit of it, though. They practice at it painfully for years until they reach the point where healthy communication becomes second nature.

Mal proposes to Alina one day (after much talk between all three of them) and they get married. A couple years later they both propose to Aleksander (after zero talk, he is suitably surprised and also maybe a bit teary eyed). They have an illegal wedding on holy ground at midnight with a bribed and essentially kidnapped pastor.

Aleksander spends an excessive amount of money on Alina and Mal. He buys them things constantly and lavishes them with gifts. Alina loves it but it grates on Mal for a time until he realizes it isn't a means of manipulation as much as a love language and a shoddy attempt at communication and expressing feelings.

Once they reach the modern world (in an Immortal!Mal AU), they all get phones and send each other the most cursed texts in all of history. The group chat is a hellspace and the individual chats are just pure shittalking. Nowhere is free.

Shopping in the modern world consists of chaotic impulse buys and the excessive waste of money. They're all each other's impulse control, but they can't always go out together at the same time, so it's usually only in groups of two. Which means that when Alina's gone, Aleksander fills the cart with sweets. And when Mal is gone, Alina fills the cart with an inordinate amount of bananas (which are new) and microwavable easy to eat meals and paint supplies and oh! look at these pretty notebooks on display!. And when Aleksander is gone the cart its legitimately just a free for all. He comes home and there's mincemeat and apple pies cooking for some reason. Mal has a new apron. The fire alarm has been replaced. Turns out they stopped at an ikea on the way back and now they have a better dining table.

Alina is the best driver of them all. Aleksander goes way too fast but he never crashes. Mal refuses to even step foot in a car for about half a decade.

Aleksander is actually the one that gets into makeup. He quite enjoys it and thinks maybe his partners need to live a little for once. They both very firmly disagree.

Alina loses the tv remote constantly and it drives Mal absolutely wild. Sometimes Aleksander will steal it just to watch Mal go into a frenzy looking for it.

Alina builds up a large following for her art (and the art of her 'ancestors') over the centuries. Modern day Alina is basically famous, but luckily nobody knows her face.

[themadlostgirl]

Keeping Warm (2)

*Did I make a second part to this because one person asked for it? Yes I did. Come to me my Felix simps! Enjoy your fluff!*

~~~

That had to be the best sleep I’ve had in a while! This cloak was a lot better than my old one. I wonder how long I could get away with keeping it before the boys stole it back. I folded it up neatly and hid it under my cot so it wasn’t out in the open for them to steal back.

I left my tent and noticed that the boys that had been laughing and teasing me yesterday were keeping a wide berth from me today. I had no problem with that. The farther away they stayed the better.

Since I was truly well rested for the first time in a long time I decided to take advantage of my energy and practice my archery. Before Neverland I never had a need to learn how to wield a weapon but archery was fun and it helped in hunting small game. I grabbed my bow and quiver of arrows before setting off into the jungle. When it came to game on the island there wasn’t a whole lot outside of fish and some birds but they didn’t make for much food.

If you wanted a good meal you had to head into the dark jungle of the island. It’s where all the big game lived since anyone ventured in there. You could sometimes find a rogue boar running around outside of the dark jungle but they mainly stayed within the perimeter. Other than boars there was also a type of goat that lived there. The boys had tried keeping some of the goats for milk a while back but after the “incident” all the goats were shoved into the dark jungle and water became the only acceptable source of drink. Probably for the best.

I was out tracking for a while when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I tried to make it out through the foliage and saw the head of a goat pop up. Gotcha. I notched an arrow and took aim. I let the arrow fly and cheered when it went right through the goat’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Another head popped up, this time it wasn’t a goat though. Felix turned to look at me. “What was that?”

“Sorry!” I rushed over, “I was hunting and saw the goat head. I didn’t mean to shoot at you. What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you it seems. I had been tracking this fat bastard for over an hour.” He kicked the dead goat at our feet. “Almost had it too before you got it first. Nice shot by the way.”

“Thanks! I was really lucky this time around. I usually don’t get a clear shot like that.” I tore the arrow out of the goat’s head. “Since you’re here do you mind helping me lug this beast back to camp?”

“Sure,” Felix heaved the goat up and threw it onto his shoulders. “Let’s get moving.”

“This will surely make for a good dinner tonight.”

“You really wanna let those jerks tear into your catch?” Felix asked.

“I mean not really but this is way more food than you and I can eat so we kinda have to split it up.” I shrugged, “Why do you care anyway? I thought you liked the other Lost Boys.”

“They’re my brothers but brothers can get damn annoying.” He muttered, “Taking shit that doesn’t belong to them and whatnot.”

“Ugh, I know what you mean.” I sighed, “They stole my cloak out of my tent last night so I stole one of theirs as payback.”

“Did you now?” Felix trudged further ahead, “Did you give it back yet?”

“No and I don’t plan to. Mine was so thin it didn’t help at all but this one is really warm so unless they come and pry it away from me I’m not giving it up. It also helps that is smells good so I cuddle up in it even tighter.” My face started heating up after I realized what I just admitted. “Sorry, that was a lot of unnecessary information.”

“It’s fine,” Felix muttered.

I jogged to fall into step next to him. I grabbed an apple out of my bag and started cutting off slices with my knife. I wordlessly offered one to Felix. This time when I popped it into his mouth for him though I didn’t roll my eyes since his hands were full carrying the goat. We trekked back to camp in companionable silence. Felix set the goat down for the others to skin and cook while we rested.

We sat down on a log together while I picked bits of goat fur off his shoulders.

“Felix,” One of the boys approached us, “Pan was looking for you earlier but you were away from camp so he wanted me to pass on a message.”

“And?” Felix asked.

“He’s gone off the island on a mission of sorts. Says he may not be back till morning at the latest so you’re in charge till then.”

“Got it.” Felix nodded and the boy ran off again.

“Man in charge tonight,” I poked his shoulder, “Don’t crack under the pressure, captain.”

“Har har,” He rolled his shoulder ushering me off, “Being in charge for a night doesn’t entail much. I just have to make sure these idiots don’t go rogue during Pan’s absence and do something stupid like burn the camp down again.”

“These boys can really be just the dumbest things on the face of the earth, can’t they?” I shook my head. Then my body shook. A cold gust of wind blew through the camp. It wasn’t like the slightly cooler breezes that Neverland usually had. This was cold. Really cold.

The other boys felt it as well. All of them rushing to their tents and reappearing with cloaks and others running for firewood. “What’s going on?” I asked Felix as I rubbed feebly at my arms.

Felix sighed. “I almost forgot that this happens when Pan leaves. He so rarely does anymore it didn’t even cross my mind.”

“What?”

“When Pan leaves then time stands still. I don’t mean that in the way that tie naturally stands still here. I mean the island basically goes into hibernation without him around. Depending on how long he’s been gone we should start to see the beginnings of…” Felix looked up. The once clear sunny sky had been replaced with dark dreary clouds.

“Oh don’t tell me it’s gonna rain!” I pouted.

“Worse than that.”

We sat there for a minute as delicate white flakes started falling from the sky. “Snow?!” I gaped at the offending weather. “How is there snow? This is a tropical island!”

“It is a magic island too though.” Felix said. “You may want to grab something to put on, viper. It’s only gonna get colder.”

“Right, I’ll be right back.” I ran back to my tent and pulled the cloak out from under my cot. I put it on but while it was thick enough to keep out the chill of the night it was just another feeble layer against the bitter cold that we had been subjected to now.

I went back to the log where Felix and I had been seated but he wasn’t there anymore. I made my way towards the bonfire the boys had started and huddled as close as I could get to the flames. I really hope the boy I stole the cloak from won’t try to take it back now. I fear I’ll freeze to death without it.

The sky grew even darker and the island got even colder. We were quickly burning through our supply of firewood and I knew that it would run out soon. When that happened it was every man for themselves. I figured I’d hunker down in my tent and try to keep warm by myself until Pan returned and the cold went away.

I stayed by the fire as it dwindled down to faintly glowing coals. The snow had really piled up and my toes were numb in my boots. Oh no! I didn’t even take into account the snow! I ran as fast as I could to my tent but it was of no use. The snow had weighed it down and it crumpled. My cot was soaked and the beams I had used to pitch it had snapped. This was just great.

It looked as if the other boys had gotten the memo to keep the snow from piling up on their tents since they rest were still standing. Would have been nice if they mentioned something to me. I shivered violently against another harsh gale of wind and trudged away from my ruined tent. Maybe I could find Felix and he’d take pity on me and let me stay in his tent for the night.

I scoured the wintry white camp but saw no Felix. He was probably already hunkered down. If only I knew which tent was his.

~~~

Damn this cold. Why did the island have to go into hibernation just cause Pan wasn’t around? It really wasn’t fair. Felix hated it all the more since he didn’t have anything to keep him warm now that he had let you have his cloak.

Upon realizing just how bad it was going to camp Felix remembered something that could help him keep warm. He jumped up and ran into the jungle until he found the old, gnarled dead tree that years and years ago had been the first home of the Lost Boys. He knocked against the trunk until he found the hatch that opened up. It would be a tight fit but if he kept his arms close to his chest then...Felix slipped down the hollow trunk of the tree and was deposited into an underground cavern.

He lit a torch along the wall and breathed in the dusty but altogether warmer air. This place looked as if it hadn’t been touched in decades. It probably hadn’t. Felix only ever remembered this place when Pan left and turned the rest of the island into a wintry hellscape. He never told any of the other Lost Boys about this warm oasis since he didn’t want them crowding in around him.

Felix was down there clearing cobwebs and shaking out the dusty furs and blankets when he was hit with a sharp realization. He left you back at camp. He left the one person who cannot handle any amount of cold in any way back in a blizzard!

“Shit!” Felix hissed and climbed back out of the cavern. He raced back to camp and spotted you easily enough since you were the only one still outside. Why were you outside? Why weren’t you in your tent at least?

“Hey,” He shouted, pulling you away from where the bonfire had been, “What are you doing out here?”

“Tent collapsed under the snow.” Your whole body was shaking so bad that it even bled into your voice. “Was looking for you…”

“Come on,” He grabbed your hand and tugged you along, “I know someplace we can go to wait this out.”

Felix knew it was a bad time but he couldn’t get over the sight of you in his cloak. It was just like last night when he got that strange fluttering in his chest. He gripped your hand tighter and tried pulling you faster but you ended up losing your balance and tripping. Felix caught you before you landed in the snow but he could tell you were having trouble keeping up.

“We’re almost there, just a little further,”

“I can’t feel my toes,” You whimpered.

“Damn it,” Felix ran a hand through his hair. “Well we can’t stay out here. Hold onto me.” With that Felix gathered you in his arms and pulled you off the ground. He hiked his way back to the dead tree with you held in his arms. This was the first time he had really been this close to you. Your head nestled on his shoulder as your body trembled. He set you down long enough to open the hatch on the dead tree again and set you inside. You went sliding down and Felix shortly followed.

“Where are we?” You gazed around the cavern you both were in. “It’s warm in here.”

“My own little get away when the island goes into stasis.” Felix explained. He helped you up and ushered you towards the bed at the back of the cavern covered in blankets and furs. “You’ll keep warm down here.”

“Blankets!” He burrowed underneath the blankets with a content sigh. “I am never leaving this pile.”

“Thought you’d enjoy that.” Felix smiled. “Are your toes still numb?”

“A little.”

“Let me see, I want to make sure you don’t have frostbite.” He instructed.

You untied your boots and Felix grimaced when he saw that your socks had been soaked through. You peeled those off too. There was no way to make this awkward so Felix grabbed your feet and inspected them, pushing on your toes to make sure they hadn’t incurred any damage.

“Good news, you get to keep your toes.” Felix pushed your feet off his lap and pulled the blanket you were wrapped in back over them.

“That is a relief.” You smiled brightly. “Thanks for sharing this space with me.”

“Well I wasn’t just gonna let you suffer out there in the cold. The others deserve it but not you.” Felix said. The fluttering was back and he could feel it’s way creeping up his neck into his face. The air in the room suddenly felt too hot. He shuffled back to the foot of the bed further away from you.

There was a beat of silence.

“Hey Felix?” You crawled over to sit next to him.

“Yeah?” Felix tried not to look at you lest the pink in his cheeks be noticed.

“Where is your cloak? Don’t tell me you were out running around in this weather without grabbing it.” You said. Felix resisted a bark of laughter. Said cloak was still around your shoulders and you clutched it tightly in your hands as you looked at him.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” He pulled the hood up over your head and down in front of your eyes. “You kinda stole it, viper.”

“Huh?” Your eyes peeped out from under the hood. He watched with amusement as the realization hit you and you pulled the hood back down to hide. “I’m sorry! I had no idea it was yours! I thought it belonged to one of the jerks that stole mine!”

“It’s alright, you needed it a lot more than I did anyway.” He chuckled softly. “Glad to know you think I smell good though.”

“AGH!” You dove under the blankets to hide further. Your embarrassed voice still rung clear from underneath the furs. “I cannot believe I told you that!”

“Come now, it’s not that bad.” Felix couldn’t help the spark of joy he felt when he teased you. “Come out. I wanna talk to you.”

“Nope! I am never leaving again for the sake of my dignity.”

“Fine.” Felix took a deep breath and pulled the covers up over himself. Your face was inches away from his under the blankets. “I’ll just come to you.”

“Felix…” You muttered, you were still keeping your eyes down so you weren’t looking at him.

“I wanna know something.”

“What?”

“If you get so cold at night why didn’t you ask me for help? I could have brought you as many blankets as you wanted from down here.”

“I didn’t ask because I had already tried asking the other boys for help and all they did was make fun of me. I didn’t want you to tease me too.”

“Teasing you is fun but I’d rather you not freeze to death.” He said, “I also told the boys that if they steal anything from you again then they’ll answer to me.”

“Why would you do that?” You asked, “I get that we’re friends but you don’t have to fight my battles.”

“It’s because you are my friend that I want to help you, idiot.” He poked your forehead, “Which means threatening Lost Boys and letting you steal my cloak. It kinda feels like it’s my mission to keep you warm.”

“A noble cause indeed.” You laughed and Felix decided then that he had never heard a more pleasing sound.

Your smile softened and Felix got lost in your eyes for a moment. The fluttering was getting worse but he found he didn’t mind it. “Here,” You closed the distance between the two of you and left a quick kiss on his cheek, “A little token of thanks.”

Okay. Now he minded. It felt like a billion butterflies had gotten trapped in his ribcage. It was just a moment. A mere second of contact but it lit his body from the toes up as if he had stepped into a fire.

“You okay? Did I cross a line? Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just thankful for what you did and you’ve always been nice to me so--”

“Give…” Felix mumbled under his breath but it was enough to stop your mess of ramblings.

“You say something?” You asked.

“Give you…” Felix took a deep breath but it did little to calm his nerves. “Want to give you one.”

“Give me one what?” You asked.

“A...um…” he tapped his cheek. This was stupid! Why was he trying to initiate this right now? It was only meant to be a thank you kiss between friends and he was making it weird!

“Oh!” Your face got even hotter than it had a moment before. “I mean if you really want to then go ahead. Can I ask why first?”

“A thanks for never dropping a hermit crab in my mouth whenever you offer me food?” he joked. You laughed again, the tension between you breaking.

“I do deserve thanks for that.” You nodded and presented your cheek, “Go ahead.”

Okay Felix. Do not screw this up. There is not conceivable way to mess this up. He inched closer and left a darting kiss to your warm cheek.

“I bring you a lot of snacks,” Your voice was a whisper, “I think maybe that’s worthy of two kisses.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Felix turned your face so he could kiss your other cheek. “While we’re at it I think I’m owed more thanks for lugging that big goat of yours back to camp. It wasn’t light at all.”

“I suppose you do.” You grinned wider. This time when you kissed him you pressed it to the tip of his nose. “You also carried me here so if we think about it logically then I should--”

“Just kiss me already.” Felix pulled you closer.

“Yes sir,” You held his face in your small warm hands and kissed him on the mouth. Your lips were so soft and you tasted sweet like berries. “Felix,” You murmured against his lips.

“Hm?”

“If this is another way of keeping warm, it’s working.”

“Then we probably shouldn’t stop.” His lips met yours again. He couldn’t have you getting cold again after all.

---

(Part 1)

[of-faunsandyellowflowers]

Cernnunos (Kernunnos)

Note: This is my own experience with Cernunnos, and everyone’s might be different from mine! that is OK. He is a little bit different for everyone who works with him. If my experience is different from yours, please dont think this is me stating you are wrong. it is only from my experience that i can state my version of him. *Art By Ksenia Svincova*

Cernunnos, who also goes by Kernunnos, is a deity that originated from Gaul. Unfortunately there is not that much information when it comes to Cernunnos, due to the Gauls being killed off by the Romans. There is also little known about the other areas he was worshiped, but from what he has explicitly told me, he is known in other parts of Celtic worship. Cernunnos is incredibly old. Quite possibly one of the oldest dated deities I’ve researched. And he has also changed some over time, according to him.

Things he rules over/works with: Forests, trees (specifically oak), wild animals such as stags/elk, goats, deer, bulls, horses, ram horned snakes (snakes in general), boars, owls, hawks, ravens. He also is known for working with finances, underworld, death, transitioning into the afterlife, hunting and helping with the growth of plants, helping those who need grounding/healing, and balance of nature. (something must be taken in order for an exchange to happen. especially when it comes to healing. balance of nature)

Colors: Yellow, gold, greens (mostly forest shades), silver, and black

Aspects:  There is a parallel that he is also Herne the Hunter and the Green Man, but these are separate entities and protectors of the forest. He is also linked to Pan, a different aspect of him (I will most likely make a separate post for Pan because theres a lot to go into). He has shown me this aspect but I primarily work with the Cernunnos aspect. Due to the overtaking of Christianity in history, Cernunnos was cast out as ‘evil’ due to the depictions of him with horns/antlers and to him being a god of death/underworld. There are many other gods that Christians have claimed are Satan. None of these are Satan. (note: Satan/Lucifer is also not evil, Christians made him this way and that’s a topic for another day)

How He Presents Himself: Cernunnos has a few different forms that are presented to me personally, but it is a bit different for everyone. His main form is a very very tall faun, about 7-8 ft tall, with large stag antlers (with vines that wrap as well), long brown hair with braids, vines and moss wrapped around his arm, a snake twirled around his arm, loincloth and gold belt with a circular buckle that looks like a coin, and eyes that can change color.Sometimes he carries a gold torc, sometimes not. In other versions he is seen as a large white stag with antlers that i can best describe as like a chandelier. This presentation is what he shows during dreams/meditations for me. His Pan aspect is a large humanoid upright bull with a bull ring, loincloth, gold bracelets and extremely tall. He is also known for showing himself in a full human form, and one with long black robes and an elk skull as a face.

My experience working with him: Cernunnos has been with me throughout every life I’ve had. He is what I like to call my soul father. I am still learning more about him as I go! Cernunnos is very friendly but he can be very very stern. Working with him entails that you are ready to start doing self care, and growing to reach your highest self. He can be quite humorous when he likes you and quite chaotic when upset. Self care such as eating healthy (but not denying yourself a treat every now and again), staying grounded, connecting with animals, connecting with the earth, and respecting the life around us. He is incredibly stern when it comes to respect towards life. He understands that as humans, we eat meat, and use earthly resources to survive. Instead he asks that you honor the food that you are ingesting, and always give back to the earth to which it provides. As a god of the hunt, he finds the hunt rather fun, but only when the animal that is hunted is treated with respect during and after it is killed. Doing so would be that you use the animal in an honoring way, such as for food. He is appalled by trophy hunting and wishes people did not do this. When it comes to the earth, he asks that you pay respect when picking/clipping plants.  Ask before hand if it is okay followed by giving thanks to the earth for providing to you. He does NOT like when plants and trees are cut before their time. He is also known for helping with finances, energy healing (specifically animals) and a wide range of other doings. He loves to dance and is known to love folk music, Celtic music and music sung in Irish, French, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh, etc. I have also noticed he tends to have a soft spot for those of us who have been emotionally/physically hurt, and those of us who have chronic issues and are in need of healing. (i may add onto this post if i realize i have forgotten anything)

Offerings: Venison (ethically sourced), cooked meats (ethically sourced), roses, sunflowers, lavender, wildflowers, sandalwood scent, juniper berries and bark, oak wood carvings, wood carvings, green or gold candles, pine scents, cinnamon, cloves, allspice, nutmeg, pelts (ethically sourced), feathers, bones (animal skulls, ethically sourced), forest moss, antlers, horns, pine cones, daggers, gold coins (older the better), poetry, art, Celtic music and most importantly: respecting the earth and the animals that are with us.

How to talk to him: Cernunnos is known for sending animals our way when he wants to reach out. This mostly being (for me at least) deer, elk, hawks, owls and ravens. To talk to him, please ward your room/area you are in first, making sure only he can be the one to come through. There are so many bad spirits out there who would love to impersonate a deity in order to latch on, and its best to protect yourself. You can communicate with him telepathically, or out loud. He does prefer to be outside, usually within a forest, but if this isn’t something you can do, that is fine! If you are unable to hear, use divination. Meditate often, not only to communicate, but to strengthen your gifts! 

[t-o-m-hollands]

And so finally here it is, the fourth and final part of this series.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut. One scene contains memories back to an emotionally abusive relationship (not between main characters). This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up). Also features a PROFOUND misunderstanding of Nietzsche’s work.

Summary: Can you and Timothée make a life together?

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

READ THE PREVIOUS THREE CHAPTERS HERE,

this is the final part of this series.

August, 1953

The days are spent like this, one much like the other, settling into life without either one of you ever really noticing. The future is never mentioned more than a few days ahead and all plans are made for the day only.

But without really meaning to, you both make a home out of villa Marguerite.

Timmy buys a vespa from a man in town. It’s rusty and old but steers easily. His sore feet thanks him for no longer having to walk up and down the long hill each time you’ve forgotten to buy something in the village, instead he now just swings his leg over the saddle and swiftly sets out to buy it for you (“unpitted black olives, please”).

Each night you insist on doing the cooking, telling him you find pleasure in it; and well, who is he to deny you anything that brings you joy? So each night you cook and after the food and the wine shared on the terrace he goes back inside to do the dirty dishes. With shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows he sets to work, going over each utensil with great care. Louise snickers at him most nights, tells him there’s no need, that it is her job; looks at him with a knowing smirk he can’t quite translate to meaning. Still, he does the washing up. Wants to do it. Loves the domesticity of it, you cooking; feeding the both of you, and him cleaning after; helping out.

*

One afternoon as the sky above shifts in shades of pink and lilac Timothée and Marco sit by the square, playing chess. Marco is winning, a habit he has when they are playing together. Timothée in turn is trying not to sulk, something he spectacularly fails at, which is entertaining Marco to no end.

It is not the losing that has got him in such a terrible mood.

You have had to go back to London for a few days, (“there are papers that need to be looked over and signed”).

“Honestly” Marco says, as he takes Timothée's queen. “Why don’t you just tell her you are crazy about her?”

“Afraid that ship’s sailed, mate” Timothée mutters, taking one of Marco’s pawns, a small victory indeed when one has just lost his queen. With his head resting on his folded arms on the table he observes the chess board in front of him with vague interest, trying to figure out Marco’s plan of action.

“Why’s that? She has clearly not kicked you out of the house so she must be somewhat fond of your sulking ass?”

Timothée snorts. “Fond? How nice, the word we save for people we can’t force ourselves to love”.

“Then why do you stay there? Leave. Find another woman, let yourself heal.”

Timothée’s head snaps up, and for a second he’s stunned silent. “No” he says eventually, but not after having first considered the idea. “ No, I can’t do that” he says. It is not as if Marco had suggested something impossible, like walking on water or turning water into wine. Timothée could leave. He could go back to your home, pack his bags and take the first train back to Paris. It would not be an equal action to that of the resurrection. Marco moves his queen across the board but Timothée isn’t looking, has his mind somewhere else; far away. For the first time he truly ponders about the option to leave. To start anew; to forget he ever met you.

But he doesn’t want to.

It’s as easy as that. Living with you, sharing space with you; why would he ever leave that? Even if he’ll never get to kiss your soft lips again he’d still stay. As long as he sees you in the morning, unguarded with tousled hair; drinking coffee he’s made you; as long as his days end with a meal shared with you, drinking wine and talking.

Marco waves a hand before him, a sly smile on his face, “your turn, Romeo”.

Timothée rolls his eyes and moves his king out of Marco’s queen’s way.

“And shack mate” Marco says, a broad smile on his face as he knocks Timothée’s king over with his knight. “Next time maybe keep your focus on the game” he adds, winking at him.

“Oh you fucker” Timothée grumbles, taking a swing from his wine glas.

*

Later that night as he walks home, having drunk much too much to drive, he hears a small, injured whimper. He stands very still for a moment, trying to ignore all other noise, before he hears the sound again. Following the injured mewling he soon discovers the source. It’s a kitten. Looking not older than a few weeks old and tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand, with fur completely black from head to paw and eyes shining yellow in the night. It looks strangely like a very small panther. It looks slightly worse for wear as well. Skinny and small and with uneven fur. The kitten looks up at him, opens its mouth and lets out the same whimpering sound once again.

Timothée stands up, presses the small animal against his chest to keep it warm, and takes him home. He lets it sleep in his bed and it curls up beside him and the next day he takes it to the vet; who informs him that the creature, all though underfed, is in perfectly good health.

When you come back from London the next day, face more strained than before but seemingly happy to be back, Timothée tells you the story.

“What have you named him?” you ask, scratching the purring kitten behind his ear.

“Well, I thought that maybe you should be with me on the decision” he says, watching you pet his newfound friend.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well,” Timothée begins, suddenly shy. “I was thinking maybe Chopin?”

You smile at him, with genuine fondness in your eyes, and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Chopin it is. It was very good of you to save him, Timothée”.

And something like hope blooms in his chest.

That night as he lays in bed, Chopin sleeping on his chest, he reflects on his conversation with Marco and the words ‘let yourself heal’ comes back to him. The words had startled him, confused him, and maybe even shocked a little. He ponders over the words, the meaning and the implications, and decides that no. He cannot heal.

Because he is not wounded. He had been, after you left Paris that spring, he had been a wounded thing; a child who flew too close to what he wanted, only to find his wings melting and his body falling down into the sea.

But he wasn’t wounded anymore.

Through the other side of the wall he can hear how you walk around your room, going through the nightly routine. He hears the squeaking sound as you lay down on the big iron bed. Chopin purrs on his chest and Timothée closes his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

There’s no use in thinking ahead, he decides. What will be, will be.

*

September

Late one night Timothée is playing cards with some new-found friends.

Marco had finally given in and arranged a jazz night to Nathaniel’s and Timothée’s great joy. The Milanese jazz band consists of five free-spirited and unbound vagabonds. When they play the whole village square dances. After their performance Timothée, Nathaniel, Marco and the musicians sit down to play cards. The night passes and the rum flows as easy as the conversation. The room is quickly filled up with cigarette smoke and wild anecdotes of past victories. The musicians, although a cheerful lot, have not got much to bet with, so the stakes are kept low and the spirits high.

So how exactly it came about that Marco lost the old piano in the bistro to Timothée no one can remember the following day, for the details are blurry and stained by drink. Nevertheless, as they wave the five musicians off the following morning, it is clear to them both that Marco owes him a piano.

“Ridiculous” Marco grumbles, his Italian accent clearer when aggravated, as he and Timothée push the piano up to the truck. “You can’t even play the damn thing!”

Timothée snorts, “I can learn!”

“Oh really?” Marco bursts out, sarcasm heavy in his words “like how you’ve ‘learned’ Italian you mean?”

Sweat runs down his back, the afternoon sun is bearing down on them and the heat feels like a physical pressure against his skin. “I speak perfect Italian, thank you very much” he defends himself.

It is Marco’s time to snort, which he does with great satisfaction before announcing “speaking French while putting on an Italian accent is in fact not speaking Italian at all”.

His head is pounding; but he is in a good mood and so he laughs. With much effort and even more grumbling from Marco they manage to load the heavy thing inside the rented truck and after having driven it up the hill they carry it into the villa. Deciding to place the instrument in the drawing room they lean on each other’s shoulder for a bit, trying to catch their breath; laughing.

He offers the older man a beer, but Marco declines; has a business to get back to.

So Timothée steps out into the burning sun on his own, the stone floor of the terrace scorching his bare feet. The world feels peaceful in all its golden glory. He can hear the rhythmic waves of the ocean far below, the radio playing in the kitchen; the seagull’s calling in the sky. He takes a deep breath and tastes the salt of sea water on his tongue.

His oil paints and canvas are still where he left them yesterday, a half-finished attempt of a sunrise pictured on it. On the table stand a vase with bright blue hyacinth and blood red poppies that you must have picked.

For a few minutes he just stands there, soaking in the sun. With unhurried fingers he starts to unbutton his white linen shirt. Removing it he lays it on the sunchair beside him and his trousers soon follow suit. Turning away from the sun he walks down the hot stony steps by the terrace and down to the private beach. It’s a long walk down, but he feels a great need to wash himself clean of the sweat, the dirt, the booze from last night.

With his eyes glued on the steps in front of him he makes his way down, and only as he jumps the last hot stone does he rise his head; and he sees you. You are already out in the water, swimming on the spot, your face turned towards the horizon. He clears his throat, not wanting to pry on you, nor does he want to scare you. He fails, as you turn around, startles, and lets out a sharp gasp.

“Hi,” he says, feeling awkward, shifting from foot to foot, aware that he is only in his underwear. “Didn’t know you were here”.

“’s alright” you say, sinking down into the water slightly.

Knowing not where else to look he looks down at the ground, spotting with surprise a white towel thrown on the sand, next to your dress. It is only then he realizes that you are completely naked.

“Mind if I take a swim as well?” he asks. He’s almost certain that you will ask him yes; tell him to wait until you are done but you just shake your head.

“Hop in” you say “the water’s nice and cool”. And so he asks you to turn around, so that he too can rid himself of his last remaining piece of clothing before walking out on the jetty and jumping down into the deep water.

Swimming out to you he keeps a few meters distance out of respect. The water is still somewhat clear, and he doesn’t want to peep, even by mistake.

And so there, wading in the water, avoiding the others eyes, you both watch as the sea and sky in front of you slowly turn from vibrant blue to lilac as the sun begins its journey down the horizon.

“I, eh, I won a piano” he says eventually, wanting to break the somewhat awkward silence. You turn to him, wading the water, surprise written on your face. “A piano?”

“Yeah, put it in the drawing room, hope that was okay?”

You laugh, the sound clear and bright and something flutters in Timothée’s stomach like the wings of a butterfly. He tells you the story of how he came by it and you laugh some more and he can’t help but smile at the sound, can’t help but stare himself blind at your beautiful face.

You swim on the spot and you talk; about everyday life, how you both think Louise has fallen in love with a baker in the village, about Chopin scratching on the furniture, about the pasta you had for lunch. About life in all its domestic simplicity.

You’re looking at the sun. It is the golden hour and it has painted you golden as well. You seem to shine in the light, laughing at something he’s said as you wade the water in front of you, the water golden as way; a reflection of the sky above. It hits him almost with brutal force, how beautiful you are. He looks at you thinks; Aphrodite, who entered the world fully formed, born out of sea foam, the goddess of love and beauty. You blink up at him, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly and his chest feels too tight, as if something inside where his heart should be is taking up too much space

Without either one having realized it you’ve swam closer to each other. You are so close that he could easily reach out and touch you; could easily lean in and taste the saltwater on your lips. You are looking at his mouth and he is wondering if that is what you want him to do but he is not sure and because he is afraid to ruin the tender friendship you have built by blundering in - he doesn’t. And you don’t either.

‘But, we used to be lovers’ he thinks. His body used to know your body like it was a continuation of his own. And perhaps that is why it hurts so bad to be parted from you.

“I should get back” you say in the end, avoiding his eyes. “We haven’t even had dinner yet”.

“Alright” he says “I’ll come join you in a minute”. He turns away from the beach, leaves you to get out of the water and get dressed in privacy.

*

Later that night there is dinner, and drinks, and your bare feet as you dance in the dining room to a jazzy tune, a glass of sangria in hand as Chopin runs circles around the hem of your dress. Later there is laughter as Timothée tries to teach you poker, something you turn out to be disastrously bad at.

And later somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

One day is much like another. You wake up in the morning and Timothée makes you coffee and you share it on the terrace. Then he paints and you move through the house; going through the things that need to be gone through, doing the tasks of the day. You read your correspondents and write your letters back.

You set out to the market, chat with the vendors. You learn their names and their stories and in turn they share their family recipes for the perfect pasta vongole or ratatouille. You buy your vegetables and bread, your fish and meat, your wine and cheese, excited for the dinner ahead.

Sometimes you go to the tailor and you share a cappuccino in the sun with Claudette, the old woman running it. You chat about clothes, of fashion in the past versus the fashion of now, about the passing of time. She tells you about the war and the occupation. Of the rationing of fabrics and how she has learned how to make each cut of cloth work - wasting nothing.

In her store you pick out a light floral pattern chiffon and Claudette turns it into a beautiful summer dress, so light and different from the heavier material you wore in London.

You buy handmade pottery from the woman in the square. Big pots and jars and urns that she’s crafted with her own hands and with handpainted flowers and patterns on them; made by her sister. You keep olive oil and flour and flowers in them, and place them around the house in their rightful place.

You go to the beach and you collect seashells. Bringing them with you home you tie them up on strings and you hang them by the terrace door and with each dust of wind the gentle noise of the seashells rattling against each other can be heard.

You don’t talk about the future and never plan ahead. You are not together; just two people living in the same house after all.

*

You watch him, laying on some faded old sheets on the terrace floor, soaking up sun. Timothée approaches sunbathing the way he does everything else in life; with reckless abandon. Despite Louise’s warning words that he’ll burn his pale skin he lays under the scorching sun for hours, wearing nothing on his skin but white bathing shorts. His nose has already turned an angry pinkish colour that will surely change to red soon. Beside him lay an open book, Robert Graves - The Greek Myths. His half-finished landscape painting of today lay abandoned on the table.

In the kitchen you hear the clattering of dishes as Louise does the washing up after lunch. She’s singing along to a tune on the radio and without looking you know that she is dancing.

Walking back into the house, up the steps and into your bedroom, you lay down on the bed. The bedchamber had been your aunt’s at one point and her style still lingers over the room like her old perfume, a bottle of which still lay on the antique vanity. A comforting presence.

Staring up at the white ceiling you’re trying to put a name to the feelings you’ve been having lately.

It feels, you decide, like you’re playing a game with the past and you’re not sure you’re winning. Going back to London had been a mistake. You had walked the same old streets, dined in the same old restaurants and met the same old people as you had when you lived there with Freddie. It had been a mistake to go back, and hear all the tittle-tattle gossip of the divorce, of your absence from the London scene. You had sat there, in the great white dining room of The Luxembourg, you’re back straight and poise perfected, and the gossiping tongues around you had played in your head like an orchestra. You had seen your dinner companions mouths moving, but the words all seemed distorted and slow, coming to you as in a haze. Your face feeling strangely taut, as if you were wearing a mask over your own skin, unable to move the mask's features.

The only success of the journey had been that it made you all the more certain of your decision; to sell the Mayfair flat and rid yourself of the London scene once and for all.

You had visited your parents as well. Had sat through a luncheon with them and calmly listened to their grief and despair over your split from Freddie. Had heard their praises and glorification of your former husband and you had kept quiet all the way through it, poking at your food and feeling rather sick.

In London baron Freddie Fairfax was a constant presence even in his absence.

Your marriage had consisted of days filled with silence. Days spent apart, seeing different people; living different lives. Thought not at all really, since it was all in the same small social circle. Any secret relieved between friends between crystal glasses of wine at lunch would not stay secret for long. By cocktail hour it’d be known by one and all of the tight-knitted, blue-blooded social circle you called friends. Any secret shared to a confidant would reach Freddie’s ears before the sun set, no matter how much time you spent apart; dining and drinking in different restaurants.

The evenings, if shared just the two of you, would either be spent in total silence; during which you would turn on the radio just to fill the space between you. In the night he would touch you, move in and out of you with sharp thrusts as you pretended to be somewhere else, his grunts filling the only sound in the night.

Or, if he was in one of his moods, the evenings would consist of him leaning over your shoulder, wherever you turned. Breathing down your neck. Always ready with a comment, a sly remark on your clothes, your face, your figure; you’re thoughts and opinions. On the things you said, or on your defeated silence. He never asked you any questions about yourself, had no curiosity about who you were or what you thought. The only exception was when he interrogated you about the men you conversed with, or at times about your female friends; how long you’d known them, if they were dating anyone. How attractive he found them.

Your feelings were his to toy with, because in his eyes you were his plaything to do with as he pleased. Because to Freddie love would always go hand in hand with possession and to you love would always mean hunger.

Hunger for something gentler, warmer, and altogether different. Hunger for someone else.

Pictures of dark curls play in your mind. Timothée, his eyes furrowed and a pencil in his mouth, looking at the canvas in front of him with great concentration. Timothée, with blue paint splattered on his pale cheek, the sun shining in through the dirty windows of his artist flat, illuminating him.

Timothée who had slowly helped you put yourself together again when you fled to Paris; thought he’d never asked for glory for his role in the mending of your heart.

Nevertheless, he had. With great care and gentle hands.

Once in Switzerland you had gone with your father to the horologist. Your father was to have his watch repaired. You had watched the horologist with great interest as he sat down by his desk, thick glasses resting on his nose as he opened the back of the clock. The old man had furrowed his grey brows and with great focus and piety set to work with repairing the complicated machinery of the timepiece. Putting it together with the expertise of a mechanic who not only knows how each fragile piece works but why.

That’s how you imagine Timothée loving you; with great precision, knowing just how every piece of you fit.

And so maybe in the end that is what love means to you; not hunger, but being understood.

The windows are all wide opened, but no breeze makes its way inside and the room remains boiling hot under the late summer sun. The warmth feels like a heavy blanket covering you as you lay there in bed, just taking in the sounds of the house. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the seagulls screeching in the sky, the far-away sound of Louise singing in the kitchen and further away still; the ocean.

The bedchamber remains stuffy and hot.

Sitting up you reach for the cigarette package on your bedside table, discovering that they are Lucky Strikes; instead of your usual Gauloises. Timothée’s cigarettes then. You must have taken them by mistake. Grabbing the package you walk down stairs and out on the terrace again, where Timothée lay where you left him, sprawled out on the floor, the tip of his nose now bright red.

“You’re burning yourself” you tell him, throwing the cigarette package down on the ground beside him. Timothée lifts a hand to shade his eyes, otherwise blinded by the light. He looks at you with a lazy grin, before moving on the sheets to make room for you. Keeping his eyes on you he pats the spot next to him on the floor and so you lay down beside him.

“Think you have my Gauloises” you say, the entire world orange as the sun shines through your closed eyelids. “Must have taken your Lucky Strikes by mistake”.

Timothée hums, before rising and moving into the house. A minute later he is back with your package of cigarettes and an ashtray. Handing you the cigarettes he then helps you light up with his precious silver gift, his dark curly hair falling down his face as he does so. He smells of seawater and turpentine and as you lay down on the ground beside him on the ruffled sheets you feel like you can breath again.

Laying there under the sun you smoke and observe him. His hand with their specks of blue paint left from his work this morning, his legs slightly spread, his chest slowly moving up and down with each breath. His eyes are closed, and the ghost of a smile still plays on his lips. He seems at peace.

You wonder how long this fine line you both have been walking is going to last before one of you tumbles. The fine line between lover and ex lover. You wonder what will happen next.

Or perhaps this is the way things will always be. Each day lived out ad infinitum, one much like the other. A foolish thought; a childish one. For sooner or later he will take another lover, find someone new to cherish. Someone in no need of healing. And you think of Lucy, and her laugh as light as the bubbles in champagne, her easy charm and carefree personality.

You’ll wonder if he’ll take someone home with him one day, make her love to her in the room next to yours. Where he’ll learn her body like he once knew yours .

You wonder if you’ll do the same.

***

October

The days are cooler now, still pleasantly warm but not intensely so, and most of the tourists have left the stony shores; leaving the whole village less crowded and easier to move through.

For two weeks Timothée goes back to Paris. He sits in the street and paints the people he sees in their everyday life; reading newspapers on the park benches, friends sipping cappuccinos on rotting chairs outside the café, old women choosing their bread with great care at the boulangerie. He adds no drama or sensationalism to the scenes, but settles for painting the people in all their simplicity and its realism.

He visits his art dealer, who with great astonishment accepts nine landscape paintings and a handful of sketches. “No portraits then, monsieur?”

And Timothée tells him no. He is waiting for the perfect model for the job.

He goes to his artist studio, and is surprised to find that it feels less like home than before. He doesn’t linger for long, and when two weeks are up he books a new compartment on the Blue Train, treating himself with a first class ticket this time.

On his way to the station, his bag slung over his shoulder and a package of new pots of paints tucked in underneath his arm, he walks by a bookshop. Casting an eye at the shop window he stops dead in his tracks. A placard with William’s face stares back at him through the window, his mouth twisted into a wide smile and his hair styled neatly.

Timothée walks into the store and five minutes later he walks out with a freshly printed copy of ‘A siren calls’ in his hands.

He borders the train, lays down in his train compartment and he begins to read. And through the entire journey home he reads.

*

Villa Marguerite is much the same when he returns from Paris. Chopin greets him as he hears him come in, happily accepting scratches behind his ear as an excuse for his absence. Placing his bag and his paints on the floor, but book still firmly in hand, he walks out on the terrace in search of you, but finds it empty.

Walking upstairs he knocks at your door and upon hearing you call ‘enter’ from the other side he steps inside.

You are laying on your stomach on the bed, wearing your silk canary yellow robe, flipping through a copy of Tatler, the gramophone in the corner playing Chopin. You look up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

He clears his throat, unsure how to approach this any other way but straight on. “Have you seen this?” he says, and raises the book for you to see.

“Oh that” you say and sigh. “Yes, he wrote to me informing me of it weeks ago”.

“You knew?” he says, astonished.

“That William’s great piece of literature was going to be about me” you flip a page in your magazine “of course I did.”

Timothée leans against the doorway feeling like the air has been pushed out of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look up at him again, and again with a surprised expression on your face. “I didn’t know you wanted to know that” and then “is it any good? The Tatler’s reviewer calls him the new Fitzgerald”, you nod down to the magazine in front of you.

Timothée hesitates, unsure how to respond. “It's, well yes I suppose it’s alright. The prose is quite stunning, if not slightly overworked”.

“But?” you say, sensing an objection.

“He’s made a caricature out of you”.

“He’s written me as he saw me, just as you’ve painted me as you saw me. And you’ve both sold your works for money. On this, if perhaps on this only, you are the same”.

Again he is stunned. Then, voice slightly shaking with held back frustration, he says “please tell me I’m closer to the real you then this” and he holds up the book again “this rubbish. He’s made you out as this, this…” he wrecks his head for the right word before finally settles for the obvious one “siren. This woman he can’t help but love but his love for her is standing in the way for the life he wants to live of unbound pleasures. A siren that keeps calling him back from his path on the search for perfect bliss. This siren that drowns him with her love”.

Silence for a heartbeat, then “you were”. He blinks, and you continue “you were closer to, as you refer to it, the real me. But that doesn’t make his interpretation of me any less real. Like I said, I’m sure that is how he sees me”.

“Well he’s dedicated the book to you”

“That’s sweet”

“I’m not sure it’s meant to be. Before it could be up for assumption who the book is abou. Now it’s crystal clear for everyone to see.”

“You don’t think he’s meant that as a compliment?” Standing up you tighten your silk robe around you. “I think so. I think he’ll consider it a great honour to have a book written in your honour, no matter the subject matter”. You walk past him “but never mind, let’s have drinks on the balcony upstairs, I think it’s going to rain tonight”.

*

“You never talk about Freddie” he states. It is late at night, rain dipping against the ceiling above, and they are sharing a bottle of wine.

“There’s not much to talk about” you say, avoiding his eyes, eyes set on the rainy scenery in front of you.

“He was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”

“There are others who’ve had it worse.”

“Doesn’t make it less cruel” he says. Feelings are fighting with each other in his stomach, like a nest of vipers they twist and turn inside him, fighting for dominance. Feelings of anger, empathy, sadness and love.

He walks over to you, and sits down on the bench beside you, his warm hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes, looking ready to weep.

“I’m so sorry, ma chérie, I really am” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, moves his arms so that he holds you to his chest instead. Soon you let yourself cry. He holds you to him, his chin resting on the top of your head and as far beneath you the waves are crashing against the rocks and in the chill evening air he keeps you warm.

He holds you for the longest time and somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

An early morning some days later you walk out on the terrace. It is decidedly cooler outside this morning and the air feels crisp in your lungs and pulling your robe tighter around you you sit down by the laid table.

Timothée sits hunched over a book, a cigarette in hand, a cup of black coffee next to him. Despite the morning chill he’s only wearing his usual paint-stained linen trousers.

“What are you reading?” you ask, pouring yourself coffee into a small, porcelain cup. His eyes are still on the book, brows furrowed, and so you look around, take in the scenery around you; the cerulean blue sky stretching out over a landscape of hills and pastel coloured villas, and further down - the ocean.

“Nietzsche”.

“It’s too early for Nietzsche”

“I never went to sleep” he answers.

You try to keep your eyes on the horizon in front of you, but despite your might they dart back towards the tussle of brown, curly hair on the other side of the table. He’s hunched over his book and it is hard to tell, but you think you can see shadows of blue underneath his eyes. He looks tired.

“And what does Nietzsche have to say?”

“Well” he starts, before going on to read from the page. “Nietzsche claimed that the exemplary human being must craft their own identity through self-realization and do so without relying on anything transcending – such as God or a soul. This way of living should be affirmed even if one were one to adopt, most problematically, a radical vision of eternity, one suggesting the eternal recurrence of all events.”

“What does that mean, the eternal recurrence of all events?”

“That the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space”.

You stay silent, contemplating this momentous new idea.

“You know, scientists say that we are made out of stardust” Timothée says.

You don’t follow his train of thoughts but you go along with it and ask, “how could that be?”

“Well, everything we are and everything in the universe and on earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us still. It directly connects us to the universe, rebuilding our bodies over and again over our lifetimes. When stars get to the end of their lives, they swell up and fall together again, throwing off their outer layers. If a star is heavy enough, it will explode in a supernova. The brighter the star; the faster it burns. So you see, most of the material that we're made of comes out of dying stars, or stars that died in explosions. And those stellar explosions continue. And so, we have stardust in us as old as the universe, and then some that landed here maybe only a hundred years ago. And all of that mixes in our bodies.”

You stay silent for a while, him with his eyes stuck on the page in front of him, obstinately avoiding your eyes and you; eyes fixed on him, sipping your coffee.

“I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, Timothée” you say in the end.

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbones delicate like fine china, now tanned after months spent on the riviera. The sun is shining down on the both of you by now, and through tousles of dark curls you can now clearly see the dark shadows underneath his eyes. The wind whistles through the cypress trees.

“Just that there is nothing new under the sun” he says after a long silence. “And I guess that I’m trying to talk to you about destiny; how we are born, and reborn ad infinitum. Again and again and again our dice are cast, casting out our roles in life. We all have our parts to play. Parts that we are destined to play, and they are decided for us. It is beyond our control.”

“And what do we learn from this?”

“Amor fati”

“To love one’s fate?”

“To love one’s fate”.

***

One afternoon Timothée wakes up from a nap on the terrace. He opens his eyes and for a moment he’s blinded by the light, seeing only silhouettes in front of him. Stretching out his arms and legs, his body stiff from laying on the terrace floor, he groans. His limbs feel heavy and numb and his mind is unusually quiet, as it has a habit of being just after he wakes from slumber. Closing his eyes again he lets the bright sunlight turn the world white behind his eyelids.

Above him the seashells you’ve put up tinkle in the soft breeze. From way down below he can hear the ocean, steady today in this fine autumn weather. But he can hear something else as well. The clinking of a piano being played. Standing up, as in a haze, he follows the sound.

Walking into the house, past the tinkling seashells and white curtains, through the kitchen and hall he follows the sound into the drawing room.

You are sitting by the piano, playing Für Elise with unpractised hands. The sun is coming through the large windows, lighting you up, painting a halo atop your head.

“Can I paint you?” he asks, for the first time in months.

Your fingers fumble with the piano chords for a second before carrying on, showing no other signs of having heard him. You continue playing until the piece comes to an end.

Then, in the silence, your soft voice.

“Alright”

***

Someone has dug out an old Fletcher Henderson record and the music is blaring from the gramophone as people dance to the old jazz music, one woman has gotten up on the table and is stamping her bare feet along to the rhythm, twirling her dress and swinging her hips. Others are standing in groups, laughing and chatting; cocktail glasses in hand. Others still are sitting by the table.

You can’t tear your eyes from Timothée as he sits leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the railing and head thrown back in laughter. The afternoon light has turned the entire world golden, but Timothée seems to have been more blessed by the light than anybody else; as if he had been picked out and touched by Midas himself. He seems to shine as he laughs with his new-found friends, cheering them with a glass of cheap wine. They’re discussing new revolutionary ideas and he laughs as they clink their glasses in celebration of their own drunken brilliance. He’s wearing his nice white dress shirt and suspenders. The first couple of buttons are undone at the top, and sunkissed skin peeks through. His hair a mess of sea-salt curls, falling over his face, and pearls of water falling from his skin like little stars; the party having gotten back from a swim just moments before. They are mostly Timothée’s friends, though some are yours. Locals, whom you’ve befriended during your time here; with the added number of guests being a couple of british and dutch backpackers Timothée met up with on the way back to the villa.

You look at him, carefree and golden in the sun, and you know the image of him like this will stay with you forever – that you never will see anyone or anything this beautiful again. You don’t think of rebirth, or of reincarnation - of lives destined to be lived over and over again until the sun finally implodes and swallows you all; thus setting you all free from your destinies. You don’t think destined, star-crossed or fated.

Or of amor fati.

Instead you look at him and you think of immortality. Of gods and heroes of the ancient past and of all the holy creatures legends say has roamed the earth since there was anything to roam. You watch him in the golden afternoon light and you think of Achilles and of Apollo and of the archangel Gabriel.

(And you understand why the ancient Greek believed in heroes and god amongst men. You believe as well.)

On the first day God created light.

And so, the scientists say we are all made of stardust. You watch the golden boy in front of you, seemingly shining in the sun, and you wonder to yourself if perhaps the stardust he was made of ever really settled into human skin.

You have never felt more blue, like a sea creature dragged up to the surface against its will; but he is half boy, half ethereal creature. Something Holy. You can almost see it; heavy white wings sprouting out between his shoulder blades, casting a great shadow beneath him, wherever he goes; a golden halo atop the mess of curls on his head. There, at the table under the golden mimosa tree, he throws his head back in laughter again and the sound rings clear over the music, over the other’s voices.

His eyes meet yours where you stand in the shadow underneath the roof and the laughter seems to die in his mouth.

On the third day God created the seas.

The sun goes over the horizon; the golden hour has passed, and everything is set in shadow. You keep your eyes on each other while the rest of the party roars on around you. Their laughter, the clinking of their glasses and the loud music falling on deaf ears as he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

The sun has set, and the boy in front of you is no longer golden for you are all in shadow now; you are both human again.

Yet you still swear you can see the faint light of a halo atop his head and you can still feel the heavy weight of saltwater inside your lungs, taste it on your lips.

Eyes still fixed on his, you raise your glass to your lips, and you drown the last of your red wine. You can feel a drop slip from the corner of your mouth and make its way down your chin, your throat, your chest; down on your white silk dress. You put the glass down beside you and turn away from his gaze, walking away from him.

On the fourth day God created the moon and the stars.

The deep steps down to the water are wet from the passing tide and you move your feet carefully forward as you make your way down to the water. The sounds of music and laughter are soon replaced by that of waves. Passing by the old wooden jetty you walk down to the small piece of stony beach by the rocks. And there you stand. In front of you, a landscape of water so dark it appears black, and reflected on it from the sky above, the moon and the stars.

You hear the creaking sounds of someone stepping on the jetty.

And on the sixth day god created mankind in his own image.

Timothée stands in front of you, hands in pockets, his shirt undone and suspenders slightly astray; looking at you with such intent that you swear there’s thunder in the air, though the sky remains cloudless. Slowly, as if giving you plenty of time to retreat, he moves closer. Then, with his hands holding on to you, he kisses you. It is saltwater and sweet wine. It is red hot and wet and slow, until both of your breaths come heavy and your hands are fumbling over the other’s clothes. You tumble back against the flattened cliff wall behind you and you’re pulling him closer to you, tugging at his clothes until he’s pressed against you, chest to chest. Your hearts as close to each other as can be.

Your hands fumble with his zipper until it finally comes undone, and lifts up the skirt of your dress, pushing down your underwear until they fall at your feet. Hooking your leg around him you struggle for a second with finding the right position. Then, with a jagged thrust he’s inside you and you suck in a sharp breath. “Careful now” you moan in his ear, your arms around him holding onto him tightly. “It’s been a while”.

The reminder seems to soothe him, and the thrusts become slower, more dragged out but deeper too. His hands become gentler, less rushed, but still firm as he holds on to you; each hand pressing into the smooth flesh of your thighs. Your arms are clinging onto his shoulders, painted red nails digging into his back, your own back arched from pleasure. Moans and whimpers are falling from your lips and into his ear; his hair, still wet from the earlier swim, feels cold against your cheek.

There, in the dark; the night only lit up by moonlight, with waves crashing against the stones beneath your feet, he moves in and out of you and the air itself tastes of seawater.

You lean down and kiss his exposed tanned collarbones peeking through his half-opened white shirt and as you gently bite down he hisses and fumbles with the pace for a second, before regaining his posure; pressing you harder up against the wall again.

“That’s right” you moan, hands clutching onto his shirt and your head thrown back. “Fuck, harder!”

And he does.

And when you come it is white-hot bliss. Like the invisible strings holding together reality are all pulled out and you tumble through existence; unsure of where anything ends or begins.

Except that maybe the answer to both of those things are Timothée’s ragged breaths as he fucks you with feverish pace. Maybe there is where it all ends and begins. He comes in a whimper, your hands in his hair, his face in the crook of your neck.

And there you both stand, holding each other; fighting for air, as the waves crash around your feet.

***

You’re in the market and nothing feels real to you.

It is like you’re watching it all happen on film in front of you, the vendors shouting out prices and shoppers picking out their vegetables. It is like you are watching it all happen very far away.

The sun is high in the sky, and it is unusually warm for a day in late october. Your skin is clammy and your palms feel sweaty; yet you feel strangely cold. And you are trembling, feeling certain that if someone were to prick you with a needle right now – you wouldn’t feel a thing.

You see the people moving, arguing over prices of leek one moment and laughing the next. People carrying wicker baskets filled to the rim with ripe fruit and vegetables. It is like they all move in slow-motion, the sounds they make muffled and far off.

You step away from the crowd but when you turn around you walk straight into Timothée. He stumbles backward a step, unprepared for the collusion. He says something, swears perhaps, but you can’t hear him. There’s a ringing in your ear and the ground feels unsteady underneath your feet, the sun glaring down at you.

Then his hands are cupping your face, and you see him mouthing your name. He looks at you, eyes full of worry. He takes your hand, leads you away from the market and into the ancient church. His hand warm in yours he leads you down the aisle before turning into one of the box pews. You sit down beside him and he takes your hands in his.

“Your hands are cold” he says, before lifting them his his lips to kiss them.

He had been inside you just hours ago. You had cleaned up as best you could, before walking up the stairs again and re-joining the party. You had retired early, claiming a headache, while Timothée stayed out on the terrace with his friends. In the morning you had risen before him, heading down into the market before breakfast.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” he asks and you want to laugh. Because the question is so precisely what has been on your mind ever since last night.

You think of the ocean; the way it can carry you or drown you depending on its whim. You think of the seawater in your veins, of lungs heaving for air. You think of never ceasing, impossible blue. Of bones engraved with memories from the past. And how all of this is who you are, that it is not a temporary blueness.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” you ask back.

“I don’t know” he says. The church is cool and drafty, despite the warm weather outside and his hands around yours feels warm and safe. It wakes an unholy sort of wanting inside of you.

“Ask me who I am” he says.

“Who are you?”

“Someone that loves you.” His voice is low. You are not the only two people in church, a few rows ahead there is a woman praying and at the front two priests are conversing with one another. He continues in his soft voice, “I can’t promise you perfect happiness forever, no one can, and frankly; I’m not sure that is what you really want either. It’s perhaps what you think you should want, but that’s not the same as actually wanting it. I think part of you loves your melancholia”.

“Well then, what can you promise me?”

“I promise you that on the days you feel like you’re drowning I will keep us afloat and I’ll hold you until it passes. I’ll keep you warm”.

“And you don’t wish I was more yellow?” you ask, voice sightly trembling.

“You know, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’ve never felt the need to change its hue, despite its darkest blue”.

“It’s that easy?”

“It’s that easy” he says, and kisses your hands again.

***

On the balcony floor outside your bedroom you both lay that night, spread out on sheets and plush pillows you’ve carried out. You lay there, your head on his stomach, and stare up at the stars. Neither one of you is wearing a thread of clothing, but you are both tangled up in sheets. There’s an empty bottle of wine beside you and in Timothée’s hand his book on Nietzsche’s philosophies.

“So what do you think?” he asks. “Do we have a free will or is it as Nietzsche believes, that the dice have already been cast far before we’re born, leaving us to live out our stories without the ability to ever change the outcome. Leaving us to simply accept our fate; to love our fate”.

“It sounds terribly defeatist to me” you say

“Or brave” Timothée says, “I’m really not so sure which. Perhaps both.”

“So you agree with him? You agree with Nietzsche? We are not ourselves in charge of our lives?”

“No, no not at all” he objects “I don’t believe he’s right. I’ve made my own choices in life. I’ve created my own mistakes and fortunes. And my fate has never been to love you, I’ve done that intentionally.”

You love me on purpose?

Yes I love you on purpose. I chose it, I chose you”

“I chose you too”

*****

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

[diamondcitydarlin]

For anyone confused about the post where it's asked 'what it's called in your house where there's no central meal and everyone gets their own food' or thinking it means there's neglect going on, let me specify that a lack of a central meal in lieu of people taking care of themselves usually happens on an evening where multiple family members have already eaten a lot that day, eaten elsewhere, and/or otherwise there are not enough people hungry in the house to justify making an entire ass meal, so we all collectively decide we'll handle our own food individually. Of course, this does not fully apply to my son who is still too young to make his own meals and though he's learning, I always, always cook him something even if there aren't enough people in the house to justify making a full meal for everyone. This is something my parents did occasionally and something we do occasionally now in my house when it makes sense. Generally this also means there's a shitton of leftovers in the house that need to get eaten and can be easily reheated by anyone. This never means that a family member who cannot make their own food goes hungry.

I just want to kindly ask my moots to please be mindful of what you're commenting on my posts in tags or in reblogs. I don't mind explaining things! I am quite insecure, however, about being a parent and a caretaker to an older family member w/ physical disabilities and Alzheimer's and while I know no one meant to insult that directly with any tags the may have added to that post, I just want to make it clear that this is quite uncomfortable and slightly triggering for me, considering my son and I are both neurodivergent and have been criticized/judged/punished for it before in how we choose to structure our lives to best fit our needs. Perhaps the responsibility lies with me to keep information about how I structure my personal and family life to myself, and generally that's what I do for this reason.

Anyway that's all I'm asking; if I'm posting or reblogging something with info or insight into how I structure my home/family/parenting life (which won't be often) I don't want commentary about it, like one way or the other- because, no offense? But my family works with multiple therapists, psychiatrists and professionals that advise us on how to best structure things and I really don't think anyone on tumblr, whether qualified or not, is going to have the same insight into what is best for us. If you have commentary to add about those things, even if it is not directly aimed at myself, please reblog and add it from the source or anyone that isn't me lol. Otherwise I will have to unfollow, sadly, and I'd rather not!

Thank you, I appreciate everyone's understanding about how this is sensitive for me. I really don't mean to call anyone out or start shit, no one did anything wrong, this is 100% me laying down this boundary now because I don't really talk about it and I just want to make sure people know this is sensitive point for me that I really can't waver on.

But again, I get it! We're all separated by different countries, cultures, expectations, and we all need to learn from one another, and again I don't mind answering questions presented in good faith about a cultural aspect of American, I guess?, life that might be confusing to others (see: the Swedes don't feed people meme), but assuming that something I do once and awhile is neglect is going to be a problem, even if that implication wasn't aimed directly at me. I hope that makes sense. Please ask before assuming, thank you.

[lovelyirony]

the much anticipated second part for the amnesia-related fic. 

A wedding ring. 

This doesn’t mean that he and Tony are married except that he hasn’t seen Tony with a wedding ring and he hasn’t mentioned a wife and he doesn’t sound like he has a wife and if Rhodey-if Jim had a wife, then wouldn’t he know about her? Wouldn’t they have met by now? He may not know Tony yet, but he doesn’t think that he would be that cruel. 

“Colonel Rhodes-” 

“Friday, don’t,” Jim says, swatting at the air. “What-why did you hide that from me?” 

“Sir believed it would be best,” Friday answers, tone almost quieter. “He...wasn’t sure that you would understand.” 

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why would I marry him of all people? He’s not exactly my type.” 

“Since I am a learning program, I cannot say for sure. Humans do a lot of illogical things.” 

He’s trying to wrap his head around it and avoid Tony at the same time. 

Friday won’t let him see any wedding pictures, not until he remembers more. 

- 

Even though he’s been (mostly) successful at avoiding Tony for about a week and a half, the man is still so nice. 

He’s still operating under the assumption that Jim has no idea that they’re married, and he does stuff like leave out a cup of coffee and offer breakfast up or ask if he wants pizza for dinner.

Jim reads too much into it. 

And he doesn’t know why, because it’s not like anything has really changed, except for the fact that Tony won’t call him Rhodey. 

Jim gave him permission to, saw how much it killed him with every correction and every reminder. Told him “you can call me Rhodey, if you want.” 

And he doesn’t. 

Tony never does. 

He still almost says it, but Jim is quicker on the tongue, and he doesn’t make a move to try to push any memories at all. 

(Even though he remembers how happy Tony was to hear that memory about grocery shopping and Dum-E’s code source.) 

He does want to remember. He wants to remember why he apparently married Tony and was genuine about it, why Pepper and him are best friends and never were anything more, why he’s...why he’s so different from what he wanted. 

-

Tony knows that Jim’s acting differently. He’s not sure why. He’s not sure he wants to know why, because that might complicate everything. 

And he doesn’t want another thing to be wrong. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him except for the one damn person that probably should be, but Rhodey’s never been good at following rules. (But he’s good at fooling people.) 

Pepper talks to Tony a lot. Asks him how he’s doing, if there’s anything she can do. 

Repair someone’s memory is a little bit outside of her area of expertise. 

“It’ll be okay,” she says, putting her tiny hand over his. “Things will work out.” 

They both know that in Tony’s life, luck has never been quite what it seems. Or existent at all, at times. 

-

Ironically, it’s their anniversary of the wedding when Jim remembers something else. It actually comes in the form of looking in the fridge and not finding his apples. 

“Quit leaving honey-crisp off of the list just because you don’t like them you asshole,” he calls to Tony. 

Tony almost yelps. 

“Out of everything in your life and that’s what you remember? Your stupidly sweet apples?” 

“Are you gonna get them?” 

“Why don’t you come with me?” Tony asks, “just so that you can get your apples and maybe get out of the house for once.” 

“Hmph. Fine,” Jim answers. “Where’s my coat?” 

“Uh...” Tony trails off, trying to find the words. “Third peg on the...right, I think?” 

“You’ve known me for years, and you don’t know where my coat is?” 

Rhodey is always the one to hang up his coat, and then put his arms out for Tony’s. 

“To be fair, I am important and fancy and a big deal,” Tony scoffs. “Come on, go get your coat and then I’m going to show you what horrible things you buy from the store.” 

“It’s not that bad. And what, you don’t like good apples?” 

“As sour as can be, sourpatch. As sour as can be.” 

-

Grocery shopping with Tony is...interesting. He didn’t think it would take so long. 

“This is why you don’t usually come,” Tony teases him. “I take so long and you end up sitting in the car and cursing at Pepper or Happy about how much time I spend dedicated to snack-judging.” 

“And I put up with that?” 

“You do,” Tony says, grabbing the cart. “Because you love me and you deal with a lot worse from me.” 

“Like what?” 

“Best not to talk about it,” Tony says. “We’re in public after all, honey.” 

“Ugh, boo,” Rhodey teases. “Give me the list. I bet I can speed-run this.” 

“How? Technically, you don’t think you’ve ever been to this store before!” Tony exclaims with a gigantic, shit-eating grin. 

“Way to rub it in you bastard,” he says with a laugh. “Now come on, I wanna see what kind of salad you think we’re gonna get.” 

“Not you thinking you’re going to be eating junk food,” Tony sighs. 

“I lost my memory!” 

“That would’ve worked, like, two weeks ago. Now I know better.” 

Grocery shopping is...fun. They make fun of foods and different products, and Tony shows him which things he might like. 

“I like...I like fruit salad?” 

“Yes, yes you do Rhodey-dear,” Tony says. “Your favorite thing in the world for fruit.” 

“Seems suspicious.” 

“You’ll have to try it again, then.” 

Rhodey watches him as they’re shopping. He’s easy to be around, honestly. He has that sort of energy that makes you feel like he’s just happy to be in that moment. 

Tony also has very questionable taste in everything. 

“Quinoa?” 

“What? You’ve eaten it before! It’s not your least favorite thing that I’ve cooked?” 

“How is it not? Is it because I’m old?” 

“No, not because you’re old,” Tony scowls. “When you’d come back from the service, you’d eat literally anything I put in front of you. I once gave you a block of cheese and you just sat there. Eating it.” 

“There’s no way I did that.” 

“You did! Ask Pepper, she has a picture of it!” 

He goes back to quiet after that, remembering the picture. 

-

Jim isn’t even sure he wants to bring it up. He’s not even sure if he could love Tony again, and somehow that thought makes his head hurt. 

He knows that apparently, he fell in love once. 

So he needs answers. 

-

Jim had talked to his parents, but he hadn’t really had an opportunity to talk about anything important. Try as he had to get more information out of them, they weren’t giving much up, except for parts about his military achievements and funny stories that he’s written to them about. 

When he gets back home and he sees Mama, she knows. 

“Come here baby,” she says, putting him into her arms. “Let me answer your questions.” 

“Why him?” 

Mama laughs, grinning up at him from her place on the couch. 

“You reacted like this when you first started rooming together, too. I was worried that I’d be involved in a court case for attempted murder!” 

“And you weren’t?” 

“No,” Mama answers. “Instead, I get no phone call from you for three weeks, until the day before your holiday break started, and you told me that you were bringing who you used to call ‘the biggest nuisance since fruit flies’ home to Thanksgiving.” 

“Why did I...why did I bring him?” 

“I didn’t get that answered until he fell asleep,” she says. “I’m making you some coffee, alright dear?” 

“Okay, so long as I get an answer.” 

“So impatient,” she mutters as she makes her way to the kitchen, Jim following. 

He watches how easily his mom pours the coffee, and remembers in a brief flash that Tony always would bring the fancy, flavored creamer to the holiday events. 

“Oh come on,” Tony said. “You have gotten too used to my kindness, and there’s no reason to stop being kind. Besides, remember last year when you nearly cried because I bought creamer from the store? Yeah, not having a repeat of that.” 

“And would that be so bad?” he teased Tony, wrapping an arm around his waist, and-

He blinks. 

That was...that was definitely a new kind of memory. 

“James, are you alright?” His mother is looking at him, and maybe she knows, maybe she doesn’t know that he just remembered something. He’s honestly not sure. 

“Uh, yeah. Fine. I’m good.” 

Mama looks across the room, smiling. 

“He was a timid little thing when he got here. Fixed up the washing machine when it broke, just in time. Nearly wore a suit to dinner, said you didn’t tell him what kind of ‘casual’ we were going for...” 

He snorts as he slowly remembers that one. 

“What do you mean you didn’t mean a suit?!” Tony had wailed, gripping Rhodey’s shirt. “You said I had to dress nice!” 

“I meant literally anything but your Black Sabbath shirt!” 

“Why would I have worn my Black Sabbath shirt? Your mom would probably think I was a Satanist!” 

They both look at each other for a moment, and Rhodey’s the first one to break and laugh. 

“Listen you idiot, it won’t be so bad. We can just ditch the coat, ditch the tie, and you’ll be...okay. A bit nicer than most of us, but hey. That’s what I get for not telling you that suits are weird.” 

“Suits are not weird, you’re just uneducated in what is sophisticated,” Tony says, turning his nose up as Rhodey rolls his eyes. 

“Oh yeah, sure, because knowing which one is the dessert spoon is going to help me save people abroad. My bad.” 

Tony looks back at him, and his heart skips a beat. It does. Really, it does. 

It almost feels like someone’s reading back to him what he already knows at this point. 

His mom squeezes his hand, smiling. 

“You remember at least some of it, don’t you?” 

“Well...uh, yeah? I-I do.” 

“Does Tony know that you know that you’re...married?” 

“No,” Rhodey says. “I know some, but not enough.” 

“Give him a chance,” she says. “And get back home, I’m sure he’s missing you.” 

Rhodey embraces his mother, and prepares for the drive home. 

- 

Being missed is a weird concept to deal with. 

He also did not exactly think of that. So he’s currently driving back and checked his phone to seven missed calls from Tony, three from Pepper, and one text from Happy that simply reads “lol ur dead hahaha good luckkkkk” 

Well shit. 

Tony, understandably is pissed and scared and a tad upset. 

Not a tad. 

“Where were you?” He says as soon as Rhodey appears back in the kitchen. Tony’s hands wander close, and he almost leans in. 

Almost. 

“I was visiting my parents,” he responds. “Sorry, forgot to text.” 

“Please remember next time, your-well, Tony’s annoying when you leave,” Pepper says. 

(Okay Rhodey doesn’t know how they got away with this for so long, it’s really, really obvious that they’ve been covering it up.) 

“I will,” Rhodey says. “Did I miss anything?” 

“I’ve elected that we’re going to cook tonight,” Tony declares. “I am absolutely sick to death of takeout, and I’m pretty sure that with your lack of knowledge on recipes now, I have you beat in the kitchen.” 

“I can still read recipes, you dumbass. Besides, I just remembered your stupid ‘bake’ hack for your stupid casserole dish, so...” 

“Out of everything, and that’s the thing you remember today?!” 

“Well, I also remembered that apparently you wore a suit to my house for Thanksgiving!” 

Tony stops. 

“What else you remember from that, or was it just that?” 

He doesn’t want to say anything in front of Pepper, doesn’t want to say anything just yet. 

“I remember that you were weird about your suit!” 

Tony deflates a bit, but still smiles. 

God, he looks gorgeous. 

Rhodey blinks. Shakes his head out of the thought.

“So. What are we cooking?” 

- 

Tony and cooking is a very interesting concept because it shouldn’t work. 

He never stops moving, can lose interest quickly, and Rhodey would think that he could burn water. 

But he doesn’t. Tony hums along to music, and he tells him all about his favorite songs and why. 

It’s not any rock music, any heavy metal. 

“I don’t listen to that all the time,” Tony says. “You always think I do!” 

“Oh right, because someone who personally has Angus Young’s number just casually isn’t someone who listens to the band all the time, sure,” Rhodey says sarcastically. 

Tony grins, and it’s probably the best damned thing he’s seen all day. 

His heart zings at the realization that Tony smiling is what makes him smile now, what makes him want to stay and learn so much more about how they came to be, what they’ve done together. 

-

Dinner is fun. Tony tells him all about college and what they used to do, and what Rhodey had done. 

Memories are coming back easier. 

“You totally emailed the professor really petty responses!” Tony cries, laughing. 

“It wasn’t that petty,” Rhodey said, huffing. “He was an asshole anyway, he hated whenever we would come late because we wanted coffee, and your order was too complicated!” 

“It wasn’t that complicated!” 

“Oh I’m sorry, them having it written down behind the register for when you come in?” 

“Oh, like they didn’t have a description of you.” 

“Yeah, as your long-suffering companion,” Rhodey teases. 

“You’ve always been,” Tony says. “Because you’re the best.” 

Rhodey stops stirring the pot for a moment. 

“Rhodey? What is it?” 

“I...” 

Tony stands there, grinning. He’s nervously fidgeting, and it’s his move to say the vows. 

“You know, I wasn’t ever sure you’d be up to marrying someone like me,” Tony confesses. “Especially since I almost burned down our dorm room one time.” 

“Wasn’t just one time,” Rhodey teases. “But carry on.” 

“You loser,” Tony says. “Even now, interrupting my heartfelt moment.” 

There’s a ripple of laughter from the small crowd that’s gathered. Rhodey smiles at him, feels tears prick up around his eyes. 

“But I knew that I loved you ever since you would always buy my favorite ramen even though you hated it, and you were the one to get the pizza when I was sad. I knew I wanted the chance of seeing you every day, coming home to you at the end of the day. You’re home, Rhodey. You’re it. No one else could ever possibly hold a candle compared to you.” 

Rhodey startles, looking at Tony. 

“I...I remember. I remember!” 

“Remember what?” Tony asks cautiously. 

(He can’t be let down. Not again.) 

“You smashed cake in my face at our wedding!” Rhodey yells. “And we got married! We got married! Where the fuck is my ring?” 

Tony laughs, scooping Rhodey into a hug. 

“I can’t believe you remember.” 

“Well I was bound to at some point,” Rhodey says. “I can be smart, doofus.” 

“Don’t call me ‘doofus’ during an emotional outburst you absolute nimrod!” 

“I’ll call my husband whatever I want,” he teases, “although I still wanna know where my ring is.” 

“Come with me and get it,” Tony says. “I hid them in my room, just in case.” 

It’s all coming back, the steps they take, the way that Tony supports him as he moves slower. 

Iron Man, for one. War Machine the next. The dates they went on, the proposal. 

The rings are simple. They’re also not wedding rings. 

The class rings. 

Rhodey remembers getting them, remembers getting his initials and Tony’s on the inside, remembers how Tony made some “adjustments” after they received them. 

“You know that you got me,” Tony had told him. 

It slides on, and it feels right. Feels like something was missing. 

He looks up at Tony, smiling. 

“Show me the pictures, Tony.” 

- 

Pepper walks in to find Rhodey absolutely terrorizing Tony about the decor choices from the reception. 

“So I agreed with red and gold? I had no problem with it?” 

“Well, I did do some major convincing, so...” 

“What does that mean?!” 

"You’ll remember later and be sad,” Pepper says. “Or happy. But please don’t tell me if you remember it.” 

“You loved the color scheme,” Tony says. “Because you love me!” 

“Now I am doubting,” Rhodey declares. “I loved you enough to have those colors?” 

“You lost a bet, Boss,” Friday interjects. “That’s why there were those themes.” 

“Friday,” Tony whines. “Why snitch on your creator like this?” 

“I am not programmed to have loyalty, Sir.” 

Rhodey laughs, taking Tony’s hand in his. 

“Well, I guess I’ll still love you. Even if our wedding theme was weird.” 

“It wasn’t that weird!” 

-

It takes about another month before all of the memories are all back to normal, and in that time Rhodey learns (and relearns) a couple of things: 

1.) The best feeling in the world is waking up to Tony, who sleeps very lightly and also wacked Rhodey in the face a total of ten times. (That’s not a new thing, he remembers.) 

2.) He special-orders peppermint-flavored coffee creamer. 

3.) Tony was lying when he said that Rhodey’s new favorite movie was The Goonies. 

(He mostly forgave him for that one.) 

[viriyanon]

'tired' ? for your challenge :P

a.n. anon u... u reel me into a very dangerous thought okay. for the first 3 minutes, congratulation. but not after that. not toDAY SATAN!!1!1!1!!1

also. this is unexpectedly LONG. SO. LONG.

jiang yuelou sighs in annoyance after hanging up zhan junbai's phone call, telling him that his men failed to track down hong kong's emerging opium dealer that currently supplies jing city with an unidentified type of poppy. the whole police bureau is on fire due to this discovery.

"all i could confirm is that they indeed sell a new type of opium, presumably from india. but we failed to extract any information about the leader, let alone catching them. they were enforced by british authorities and my men suddenly were outnumbered," says junbai dimly from the other side of the line, clearly not liking the unpredicted variable in their perfectly planned undercover.

the executive offers an apology, which yuelou dismisses in a second 'cause executive zhan, regardless this one very failure, is still the best external alliance ever. the most reliable source, partner, and friend. yuelou can't ask for a better connection than zhan junbai.

but that doesn't change the current result. coming with that are mayor cai's aggravation and bai jinbo's wrath. song rong and sun yongren can only dip their head down watching the commissioner throw those paper in their boss' face, saying how incompetent yuelou is.

("well, let's see if commissioner bai can capture them by himself!" sun yongren says quietly, aggressively biting a baozi in his head 'cause it's pass dinner already.)

so, having a bad day is an understatement. it's beyond bad, it's bad bad. jiang yuelou is not someone who accepts defeat easily, he never wants to be one step behind. when he's one step behind, he must be in the chasing mode—he must be the one controlling the lane, the illusion of safety margin that manipulates the target's decision, the pace of their game. but today, someone else's successfully taking over him without his permission, dragging him around like a lifeless ragdoll.

thinking about him getting controlled by an unknown party burns him, anger boils in his vein—violence at the tip of his fingers, ready to transfer his rage to anything and anyone without mercy. upon seeing jiang yuelou disappear into his room, song rong and sun yongren immediately rush to every corridor that yuelou will have to walk through to exit the building, telling everyone not to initiate any conversation if their boss pass them by to avoid making the bureau a blood painted crime scene.

"don't- don't talk to chief jiang when he walks out, understand?!" sun yongren repeats the same information to some rookies coming in for their night shift before running to other corridor. the young officers, still with their idealism and lack of experience, take it with a grain of salt.

next thing they know is they freeze under the wall-mounted lamp as jiang yuelou grimly walks down the corridor. noone says anything to him, not even looking up from the carpeted tiles after they nod to salute him. his subordinates immediately clear out of his way, bumping their shoulders into the wall to avoid bumping into the walking wrath instead.

the said chief passes by the rookies too, giving them a side-eye, and they feel like they just get caressed by death. the yellow lights from the filament lamp falls on his pale white face, clenched jawline, and riled expression every two meter, making his appearance more hair-rising due to scanty lighting and blank spots. in addition, winter wind is particularly strong this week, easily slipping inside from the gap between the window frame and the stone surface. the corridor, dimly lit and gravely chilling, feels like a gate to the underworld and yán wáng is coming to take them personally, for a good minute.

the chief keeps striding without diverting his attention anymore, eyes fixed forward to shove everyone aside. he only has one destination set in his mind now and before he gets to it, his revolver will aim towards whoever gets in his way and extricate them his way, which usually is... freestyle.

when yuelou arrives in front of yuzhi’s front gate, he can’t help the bubbling anger overflowing his already small pot. the wooden doors are closed, tight, locked, yelling at him “no chen yuzhi today.” noone in this world would understand the immense effect this sentence can do to jiang yuelou who has grown a co-dependency with the doctor. today is marked as yuelou’s worst setback in life.

the chief exhales loudly, admitting his defeat to the universe, and makes his way towards his house with heavy shoulders. the rage and anger he wanted to lash out recklessly towards chen yuzhi douses entirely by the fact that the doctor’s not home to listen to him vent. thank goodness the snowfall is not heavy today unless he’d bury himself under the thick snow in one of jing city’s darkest alley. it’s sad that he is alone in this big, big world today. dramatic, but valid.

just when he’s about to open the gate to his house, he sees they are already unlocked. jiang yuelou never forgets unlocking his own house. facing unforeseen danger on daily basis, yuelou immediately slips his hand into his jacket and pulls out the revolver from its holster. he opens the wooden gate slowly, trying not to make even a creak from the rusty hinge and accidentally announce his appearance instead.

slowly but steadily, the gap widens and he steps inside with his arms are stretched out, his revolver is ready for some quick shooting. but he is welcomed with his brightly lit house in lieu of a group of opium dealers whose lives he ruined in the past. his eyes widen in disbelief upon seeing steam rising from freshly cooked foods on his dining table. yuelou freezes from his place, his arms gradually lowering themselves as well as his self defense.

soon, a man dressed in a warm ivory white knitted turtleneck appears with two plates of dish in his hand coming out from his kitchen and setting them on the table with other dishes. his hair, as usual, combed neatly—unlike yuelou’s hasty finger-combing technique. he is wearing yuelou’s slipper, the one he left behind in his living room when he was off to work. the moment the said man looks up and meets him in the eyes, a smile blossoms on his face, so beautiful yuelou can feel his heart wrenches from the mere sight.

"yuelou? you're home."

this is the view he's always dreaming of for God knows how long but never dares to tell. to come home to chen yuzhi dressed in a warm clothes, smiling under the bright light of jiang residence and welcoming him with a tight hug. and if he tells him he misses him into his ear, yuelou will pepper him with kisses all over his face, free of charge for undeterminable time, until yuzhi is tired from giggling and trying to escape from his iron grip. until he puts his palm over yuelou's lips as the last attempt to prevent him from attacking his face again and smile playfully at yuelou's temporary defeat. until the glint in his gleaming doe eyes changes into something like want, something that sounds like a request to kiss him properly if yuelou has some energy left to be wasted.

and jiang yuelou will not ask twice if he catches yuzhi's eyes flicker to his lips just once and goes back to meet his eyes. because yuzhi will see him doing the same thing too and he will understand that both of them want it.

jiang yuelou slams the wooden gate close, storming towards chen yuzhi whose eyes widen at his explosive reaction. impulsivity has neither been a best friend nor a rival, in yuelou’s case, but he learns to run for what his heart longs the most. and this is the first time his body really runs for what his heart wants. his heart wants comfort.

the chief throws away his revolver once he is inside his house and immediately reaches out for the doctor. one of his arm pulls yuzhi closer to his body as tight as he could while the other one is fixated on yuzhi's jawline, gently tilting it to a better angle ‘cause,

fuck this.

"yue-"

chen yuzhi never finishes his name as yuelou closes their gap and captures his upper lip, his teeth painfully clashing against yuelou as the latter miscalculates his strength. but yuelou doesn’t stop to apologize like every time he accidentally hurt him, instead crowding him against the dining table and kissing the light out of him as if the last time he had a meal was a thousand years ago.

yuzhi is confused, very confused. this is not their first kiss, but this is the first kiss that yuelou does so overly rough, messy, and raw, like a mass mayhem in a week long blackout. he knows yuelou tends to be stormy when his trauma is triggered or his mission falls by the wayside but he never lets this kind of weather affects his behavior and treatment towards chen yuzhi. after the doctor treats him routinely and he gradually gets better at controlling his emotion.

understanding and patiently waiting are yuzhi’s best weapons to pacify yuelou, returning him back to the ground until both of his feet firmly embed to the soil. he only needs to mold it into a form of physical affection without trying to change his pace. something that jiang yuelou will perceive as an act of submission. only this way, yuelou can and will melt. he is not a man who can be persuaded by asserting one’s power on him, and coercion is never chen yuzhi’s forte anyways.

the doctor gently squeezes yuelou’s shoulder once where he places his hands before and moves to hook them around his neck. he buries his right hand in his black hair, his fingers are warm and heavy against the skin of yuelou’s head. his thumb is rubbing a small circle on his back head tenderly, like a mantra he does it over and over again until jiang yuelou comes back to his sense.

that’s when yuelou’s grip on his waist loosens little by little, his turbulent kissing reduces to a slower and intimate one—the one that always trips chen yuzhi and makes him fall deeper for the other man and his enigma. soft moan slips out of his lips only to get muffled by yuelou’s inadvertent growl. 

they gasp for air eventually but never leaving their hands from each other’s body, not quite ready to let go. in between their huff and puff, yuelou steals a soft kiss on yuzhi’s cheekbone.

“i’m sorry, love. i was–” yuelou hesitantly looks up, straight into yuzhi’s eyes. the decision is a bad move, probably the only bad move that yuelou has ever made ‘cause the emotion in yuzhi’s eyes, they remain calm and considerate, far from judgmental nor do they spiteful. his lips are bruised as hell but his eyes, they never stop glistening with benevolence and never-ending patience towards his lover.

jiang yuelou can’t stand the guilt rising in the depth of his heart after seeing them. they are together, chen yuzhi chooses to be with him not to be his outlet of rage. the image of his defenseless late mother flashes in yuzhi’s face and he instantly regrets whatever he forced yuzhi into earlier. even if it’s just a kiss, something he did daily, routinely, sneakily, wholeheartedly, nothing really abusive and malignant about it but yuzhi might be hurt today. and if yuelou hurts him, he is breaking his own rule written on the very top of the list.

“yuzhi, i’m sorry i–” chen yuzhi slides his hands, cupping the older man’s face that looks like a 13 year old boy now under the weight of his guilt. smiling ever so fondly, he says, “you are tired, love.”

words stuck in yuelou’s throat for the third time upon seeing yuzhi’s eyes that have perfectly sensed his weary and withheld agitation. it’s his red light, then. it’s time for him to let yuzhi take control of the situation and do his part of the day. to do what he is the best at that yuelou is the worst at. any other matters can wait until yuzhi deems him to be fully loaded with ammo and health again.

jiang yuelou leans forward into chen yuzhi’s body, resting his feverish forehead on the crook of his lover’s neck, seeking comfort and humanly touch. yuzhi can’t help smiling at yuelou’s clinginess—he never says it but he absolutely loves it. love the idea to take care of the most troublesome chief officer in the whole jing city. love the way his toned muscles and tensed neck relax under his lithe fingers as he bathes him in a bathtub.

“let me prepare hot water for your bath.”

“will you wash my hair too?”

“hm.”

“what else will you wash?”

chen yuzhi presses a kiss on yuelou’s cheek, whispering “make a wish” before walking towards the kitchen, and disappear behind the white wall.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 22

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger! Go read Something’s Different About You Lately and all her other fics!

Life goes on.

Martin is shaken from his thoughts.

Martin’s footsteps did not ring out against the interior of the lighthouse. The sound did not bounce around and up the spire to return in earnest, filling the hollow space with noise as he walked. Around him the walls absorbed every sound, every scratch of his pen. Or maybe he’d just learned to quiet himself. It was difficult to tell at times.

Whether or not the place had changed didn’t matter. The echoes had become a taunt over the dragging weeks, his own voice hitting the walls and bouncing back to smack him in the face. If there was a ghost in those walls, it wasn’t trying to talk to him.

There had been no sign of Peter since he’d spoken of Martin’s good fortune. Peter had wanted to avoid correspondence, no doubt about that, and the letter had sent him on another boating excursion that very day. If Simon were to send another message, there would be no one to give it to. The satisfaction almost made his mouth twitch. 

The boat trip could’ve been a cover, but Martin liked to entertain the idea of Peter jumping into a row boat and furiously paddling away from the shore just to escape the skinny little man who dared want to speak with him.

He even understood the impulse. It wouldn’t be so bad to sit in a little boat in the middle of the ocean if it meant avoiding the horrible old men in his life. He didn’t have to do that yet, not when he had a perfectly empty spot right where he was. 

The weather had worsened considerably, three days of heavy sleet pushing him home without stopping. If he ducked inside a shop he wouldn’t want to go back out, and he couldn’t hide forever. Therefore, when on that fourth day it was closer to a sprinkle than a torrent, he finally took the time to get groceries.

He recognized some of the faces in the little corner shop, several regulars seizing the opportunity to stock up before worse weather settled in. They walked around diligently, considering their needs for the next week and not risking side conversations that could end long after the rain returned in full force. There was no chitchat or calming music, only the squeak of rubber wheels on the cold tile floor. 

Martin focused on the task in front of him. Frozen foods, mostly. At least there was someone out there pre-packaging things for people like him who came back from work tired and hungry. He'd never had much reason to be ambitious with cooking,  and never terribly good when he did try. No wonder dinners had been such a sad affair, but he was the only remaining judge.

As he selected bags of frozen veggies, it hit him that he’d taken far too much. He stared at the white plastic packaging, frowned, and threw it into his basket. Stocking up on long lasting foods would save him trouble in the long run, and changing the budget would’ve been a pain. 

He continued from aisle to aisle, grabbing what his hands were used to reaching for from the shelves and weaving between people who were too busy browsing to notice him. If someone was blocking him, he could loop back around and let everyone get on with their business.

As he eyed some flavorless oatmeal he heard the tiny bell over the entrance ring. He sighed to himself and wondered how crowded it would get if he stayed too long. The balance between moving quickly and not interrupting fellow shoppers was beginning to grate on his nerves, each go-around making him more and more aware of the ones taking their sweet time. 

He went around again, the same backs turned toward him in different configurations. If he kept circling around other shoppers would take their place while he was gone. If he waited nearby he would look impatient and agitated. If he made the loop again more people might be lined up at the queue when he was finally done and then he’d be stuck standing in line even longer, which could make it even more likely that he’d get stuck in sleet if it returned and he’d spend even more time waiting with everyone else, and if someone started chatting with the woman at the register which was very likely then who knew how long-

Heavy footsteps squeaked in his direction. The person who’d just entered was making a beeline for his aisle. Feeling a tiny jolt in his chest at the approach, he reflexively glanced over to see the older woman from the Fairchild house wearing a sensible coat and some sturdy waterproof boots.

She did live in town, then. Of course she lived in town. The Fairchild house was still part of town. Not that he knew for certain she lived there, but either way she would need to buy food. Someone in that big house had to, right? He’d never seen Simon walking about and couldn’t imagine him running errands. At this point he should’ve expected her to be around town, he thought, as his heart slammed against his ribcage.

He didn’t know her name. Presumably she was a Fairchild, what with the way that family worked, pulling like-minded people into it rather than building outward. Otherwise, she was just a person. Just another someone.

Someone he was openly staring at, and who had finally pinned him with a look of recognition from the other end of the aisle. He gritted his teeth, turned on his heel, and hopped to the aisle over. He had food to buy and no need for more… whatever it was she might do. Really, he’d grabbed enough to last him through the week, so why stay any longer in the stale air?

To his relief the queue was empty. Of course as he walked back to the front with his basket full of microwave meals he recognized the cashier. She was a former classmate’s mother, someone he would chat with on his little trips to the shop. As he placed his items on the counter he recalled that he usually asked after her daughter.

No one really liked small talk, and he was sure there would’ve been no change from whenever it was he’d spoken to this woman last. That was fine. Speech wasn’t going to come easy with the way his lips stuck together. He paid for the groceries, took his paper bag full of food and absconded into the night air. 

It was then that he forced his lips apart to breathe, clutching the bag against his chest and walking down the road. He felt the need to wipe his glasses, but his hands were full.

He had only made it a couple of blocks before he heard a voice from behind. “It’s rude to stare without saying anything.”

He stopped and turned to see the woman a few meters away with her arms crossed. Words failed him, so he said nothing and hoped his confused expression was enough.

“What’s your boss been up to? Slinking around I assume,” she asked.

Holding the groceries closer to his chest, Martin lowered his eyes to the ground.

The woman rubbed her forehead. “Of course. Should’ve expected as much from someone like you.” After a brief pause, she continued, “Look, I’m not sure what your deal is exactly, being so clearly new to all of this, but if you’re this messed up when nothing’s happened yet I suggest you leave.” 

She must’ve seen some twitch or twist in his face, as she said, “Fine, do what you like. He must pay really well to make you stay this long.” Then she shoved her hands into her coat pockets and walked back toward the shop.

He felt like he should’ve yelled something back, let her know exactly how much her unsolicited advice meant to him. Tell her to piss off, or to jump back into the sky or whatever it was her stupid group did. 

But of course he couldn’t say that, not then, not with how he was sure he’d sound. It would have come out cracked and raspy, as if he were a teen trying not to sound petulant. And he knew better than to try and argue with a person like her who knew that she knew more.

Instead, once he’d walked far enough that she couldn’t possibly see him, he considered what little she had said. Was this Simon’s idea, using her to push him in some direction that would agitate Peter? Or was she acting of her own will and giving him what she thought of as useful suggestions from one person working for an evil company to another?

If she really wanted to be helpful she could’ve said something informative instead of being vague and weird about it. Who knew what any of these people were thinking? It wasn’t his fault they all wanted to be cryptic. And no matter what she thought she knew about his situation, there was no leaving for him. He could feel it in his gut, in his throat, as easily as he could feel the ice beginning to pelt him from above. 

Leave, she said. What would leaving look like? Being chased down because he knew too much. An empty stretch of road leading him to rooms full of strangers. Leaving someone behind.

The worst was how she looked at him when she said it. He could list out to her all his reasons for staying, but somehow she would know he was full of shit.

--

Sasha: so there’s a wrench in things that’s taking longer than expected to fix, can’t get into the details but we’re working on it

Tim: should be back on track before you know it! 

Tim: so dont go making things exciting over there without us

Sasha: sorry to be cagey, it’s hard to explain

Martin’s mobile sat on the weathered wood of his front porch, his only light source besides the cracks around the front door. Giving the notifications a once over, he released a slow breath through his nose. It burned less than before, much less now that it had been a few days, and he’d come to an understanding that soon it would stop altogether. His own stubbornness exposed.

She couldn’t say she told him so. That was a sort of blessing.

When the light of his mobile winked out, everything was still but for the waves and the creaking of the old house. His old house. Its joints strained with the high winds and plummeting temperature, but it was built to last through such things. Each evening those noises greeted him when he walked through the front door and went with him to sleep, jolting him awake in the middle of the night with a loud snap as if the building had cracked its spine. The house persisted, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to complain about it the whole way.

Tim: in the meantime let us know youre still breathing

Tim: i know i ran out of material weeks ago but that doesnt mean you get out of pretending to think im funny

With a sigh, Martin picked up the mobile.

Martin: im fine

Martin: not much happening still

Tim: think the boredom will get you first?

He considered the message and then set the mobile back down next to him. The meeting with the Fairchild woman had been enough to drain him without him uttering a single syllable. Texting was easier but not by much, and he had nothing in him to keep up with Tim’s lighthearted attempts to engage.

The notebook tucked into his jacket had been the only good receptacle for words recently. His jacket protected the little record of his thoughts from the spray of water that slipped under the porch roof and misted over his glasses and hair and cheeks, blurring his vision and sucking the heat from his skin.

He found himself in a little bubble outside of time where clouds blocked out the sky and any hope of telling time with it. Fog hid the path up and away from his home, no entrance or escape from where he sat but for the wide expanse of salt water ahead. 

When was the last time he’d seen a boat on those waves? The trek down the cliffs would’ve made dragging one to the shore a pain, and there were no other homes left down on the rocky beach. Had they owned a boat when he was younger, some small thing never meant to fit more than one person but forced to fit two and a half? Did he remember something like that happening?

He sighed and pushed the false memory away with her inside of it, but the obstinate thing sailed right back into his mind. He inhaled and then let a sharp breath out through his nose. 

With some effort, he pushed out, “Stupid. She wouldn’t have needed to go out in a boat.” What a grating sound.

It wasn’t as if his house had a place for a boat. There wasn’t even an overhang to drag a dinghy under in a lazy effort to protect it from the elements. 

Had there been one once, though? He couldn’t see much from where he sat, the fog creeping in from the sides and obscuring his view to his right and left. That and his glasses made seeing his stiff hands a miracle.

His mobile lit up the space beside him.

Sasha: it won’t keep us much longer though. it complicates things, but waiting won’t do any good. 

Sasha: so sit tight and we’ll have a plan of action soon

Tim: seriously though even if nothing happens you should still tell us youre fine

Tim: a quick thumbs up or a ‘hey im good’ is fine dont need to start a whole conversation if theres nothing to report

Tim: but saying nothing implies a worst case scenario. i know everythings sort of come to a halt on your end but we dont know when something will happen

Tim: so text us after work

Tim: or at least respond same day

A new lecture, from Tim of all people. He’d forgotten to respond to the others for a couple of boring days in a long string of boring days and he was being told off. His day to day life wasn’t any of their business. He’d needed the time to himself, away from his phone and all that. And they knew he was mostly off on weekends.

At least Tim confirmed that all they needed was proof he wasn’t dead. He could keep that in mind in the future.

He wasn’t being fair to Tim, the one who at this point still attempted to talk with him when he didn’t need to. Of course Martin not responding would look bad- he was lucky they hadn’t broken down his door by day two. But at the end of all things the problem was him. The problem was his. 

Martin: i will

Tim: good

The rain began to pick up a little, splattering the screen and forcing him to pocket his mobile. It was as good an excuse as any to ignore more messages. He’d agreed to not leave them in suspense about his safety. It was all he could give them.

Pushing himself off the front steps, he stood just outside of the porch roof’s reach and inhaled. It did still sting, but that seemed to be the point of the exercise. It opened things up, cleaned him from the inside and washed it all away with an exhale. It was no wonder his mother had been so insistent with how much he found leaving him with every breath. 

He looked up into the sky with eyes squeezed shut for a few moments, then looked one more time at the black water ahead-

A thrashing in the water cut the silence in two, forcing a yelp out of his chest as he caught himself on the porch railing. Past the fog, just barely visible against the dark backdrop of sea and sky, was a figure hunched and formless and slowly shuffling out of the water.

Martin stepped backwards and half-fell back under the porch roof, wiping the rain from his glasses. The fog had grown so thick as to obscure the figure of any distinguishing features, and as he continued to back toward the front door he squinted hard to get a better look at the- the person? The thing? The-

It couldn’t be. No, it wouldn’t- she wouldn’t come back. It wasn’t possible. But if it had come from the sea (where else could it have emerged from so suddenly?), then there wasn’t another explanation.

His throat went taught with panic. He grasped at it, using his other hand to fumble behind him for the doorknob and hold it tight. He wanted to run. Run away, run up the hill, run straight at her and scream until his voice left him entirely. Anything but stand there rigid against the reality creeping toward him. Damn it, when had this fog rolled in so thick? What time was it?

The figure stopped, its crunching footsteps giving way to the sound of waves and pattering droplets. Martin held his breath and waited for something to give, whether it be his mother’s patience or his own two legs.

Then the footsteps resumed, more certain and definitely faster than he’d recalled his mother ever being. Right, she had always needed to be careful of her knees. The sea couldn’t just fix a history of osteoporosis.

This wasn’t a comfort. As the figure grew near and gained definition to its stick legs and shifting, asymmetric middle, Martin could only stand there frozen in terror with his hands gripped tight around the doorknob and his own neck.

An uncertain voice shouted over the drizzle. “Martin? Is that you? This fog is-”

Wait.

No. No that didn’t make any goddamned sense. He didn’t hear that.

And yet, out of the grey shroud, hair sticking to the sides of his face, walked a stiff and mildly embarrassed Jonathan Sims. He stopped just short of the porch steps, and then Martin couldn’t register anything else, his vision narrowing to the thing clutched to Jon's chest.

“Ah. Hi.” Jon adjusted the awkwardly folded seal skin in his arms and cleared his throat. “May I come inside?”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Crimson Shadows 2

Jercy Vampire AU: Percy

masterlist; information post for fic

I was debating whether i should change traditional things like greetings but then i realised this is my fic and im writing it for purely self indulgent purposes so like i could if i wanted. Thanks for joining in on my hedonism! Please enjoy.

Perseus steps onto the creaky wooden floor of his ostentatious 16th century mansion and mentally reminds himself for the two-hundredth time that he needs to get someone in to fix it. The worst thing about being immortal, he has come to learn, is that he procrastinates everything ten times harder. At least his teenage self would be impressed with his tactics, even if his mother was rolling in her grave.

The house is unusually quiet for an Orion morning and he strains his already sonic hearing to catch the sounds of silent footfalls and bustling bodies. But the wind rushes through the space and there are no other noises. A flutter gives in his chest as he steps into the kitchen to find breakfast waiting for him and a note folded neatly next to it.

Hey Doc,

Twins have gone to Bharatanatyam class and Hoku went to the beach. I’m just picking stuff up at the grocer, be home in a jiff.

- Keeya

He releases a breath and sits down at the table with a smile. The delicious smell of eggs and blood hit him as he takes off the cover to reveal a plate of eggs benedict, hash-browns and a small glass of ichor. He shoots down the blood, content to let it work through him as he gobbles down the heavenly breakfast. He knows Keeya cooked because she was always experimenting with food, always in here creating dishes and making them beg to eat whatever is giving off that sublime smell. Just as he cuts into a hash brown he hears the door shut and hurried footsteps rushing towards him.

“To the Sun,” Keeya flurries into the kitchen, face blocked by brown paper bags stuffed to the brim with what he’s sure to be her latest concoction.

“Amongst the Stars,” His lips twitch in amusement, “Early morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep so i-” Her voice muffles as she busies herself packing items in the pantry, “-thought I’d start on breakfast but while i was looking for an eggs benny recipe i came across this golden cake and-” Her head pops out of the pantry, black eyes flashing with excitement, “Doc when i tell you i almost died right there, it sounded so good. Anyway of course i had to leave immediately to get all the things we didn’t have.” She finally collapses onto a stool across from him and takes a breath.

He hides a laugh and waits for the rest of the story, because with Keeya there is always more. 

“Anyway i get to the shop-” She starts. He covers his inescapable laugh with a cough. “And they don’t have desiccated coconut. Can you believe that? I mean it’s the main ingredient in the damn cake. So I was panicking a little because it’s the closest shop open at that time, the others I'd have to take a train for which is so inconvenient?” She gives him an incredulous look. He nods seriously; inside he is fighting off giggles. “But they found some in the back, thank the stars, and then I just grabbed a few things because it’s ‘make your own pizza’ night and I think some people from the Araw house are joining us.”

“Sounds fun, is Elouan going to be here?” He pops the last bit of poached egg in his mouth and looks at her expectantly.

She makes a disapproving face, “No, he’s off with his new partner. I don’t trust them at all.”

“Why?” Perseus is on guard immediately, fingers curling, hair sensitive, and gums stinging with the need to unsheathe his fangs. 

“Their vibe is off,” Her nose scrunches up, “Like they’re used to getting into trouble and bailing out.”

“I’ll tell Elly to be careful but maybe go with him next time Kee,” He suggests, a tentative look in his eyes as her own widen.

“All we’ll do is argue, and besides, he hates me hanging out with his friends.”

“Ever asked him why?” He has a feeling about it but he’ll never voice it. No, the two can come to their own conclusions. After all, they had forever to figure it out.

“I don’t care why. He’s a dick and I'm not interested in anything he has to say.”

He shrugs but leaves the conversation, and the kitchen, so Keeya can do her thing. He has some admin to do anyway; a dreary task but one that must be done all the same. Besides without the twins and Hoku the house is absurdly silent, so he needs something to occupy himself.

His study is actually a little desk situated in their library. It’s his favourite room in the house for the opulent fireplace that stays lit through Baridi and serves as a soot-slide in Caldu, and of course the books which although he doesn't read many of, remind him of his mother. He has been alive for almost three hundred years and there is hardly a day that goes by when he doesn’t think of her. For every part of him that isn’t human, there’s a part of her that makes him so. He stares up at the portrait of her hanging near the doorway, painted by a friend long gone and with a loving smile gets to work.

He sorts, and signs, and stamps, and notes in an endless cycle until finally his finances are in order, his donations are chequed and his letters are sealed. He’s sure Hoku will groan endlessly about receiving yet another letter under their pillow and try to explain that email is much more convenient and faster for everyone. Perseus tilts his head to the ceiling and watches the stars dance as he plays out the conversation in his head.

“Doc, I really appreciate the effort you put into sending us letters but this is not the eighteenth century, just use email.”

“Hoku i like the letters, they’re personal and calming to write.”

“Doc, emails are more convenient and i can take them anywhere.”

“Okay I’ll stop giving you letters. I’ll just give the others.”

“What? No? That’s a terrible idea. I still want my letters.”

And they would have the conversation every month without fail. It is a rather amusing part of the routine and sometimes Perseus purposefully makes Hoku’s letters a little longer, just to bother them. A secret best kept as such, but funny nonetheless.

“DOC!” A voice screams through the house, shattering his ear drums.

The twins.

He steps out of the library, and half jogs to the source of the noise, which he discovers is coming from the entertainment room. 

“To the Sun, you two.”

Serafina looks up first, her brown eyes shining with never-ending energy. The anklets on her feet jingle as she runs towards him and slams her body into his. He holds firm as he catches her and wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“Amongst the Stars,” She mumbles, face buried in his shirt.

“How was Bharatanatyam?”

She gasps, stepping out of his embrace and squealing with delight. “Doc we have to show you what we learnt! Aaru come!” Her dark eyebrows knit together as she focuses on her brother.

“Tusa Aarush.” Perseus smiles, squatting down so he’s level with the boy. A little hand, the colour of cherry wood, reaches up to give him a high-five. A standard greeting for the quiet brother; a complete opposite to his outgoing sister.

“Aaru are you ready?” Serafina comes to stand beside them, after setting up the sound system.

He nods and moves so they’re in the middle of the room. Quickly they do the opening prayer before Serafina bounces to the sound bar and presses play. The sweet, sturdy music fills the room and then they're going through a whole routine. Stamping their feet in a rhythm that matches the beat perfectly. Aarush pinches his fingers and fans them out. A closed flower opening, he recognises. They do a series of moves all impressive and beautiful, before the music fades and they pose, breathless with exertion and excitement. 

He claps enthusiastically and opens his arms for hugs. “You did wonderfully!” Serafina slams into him. Aarush gives him another high-five. “When is the performance?”

“Not for a long time Doc.” The little girl says, as if he should know this. She heads off to fiddle with the speakers. 

“In two months,” Aaru answers. His voice is clear and even. He is quiet but not soft. “In Pluto.”

“Ah, I'll make sure I have it down in the calendar.” The little boy's face lights up like a stadium and Perseus’ heart clenches with love. The twins had only been living with him for half a century but within the first year they had him completely wrapped around his fingers. Their claimed age is ten but their true age is one hundred and two. He found them shivering behind a dumpster in Orman, their skin stretched across their bones and that rabid look of underfed vampire in their eyes. He had taken them in and given them blood and a bed for the night, which turned into a week, and then a month. Before he knew it he was bringing them to this house in Roshani where they had immediately fallen in love with the city and made it their home.

“Fina, i’m going to shower.” Aarush states and without further flurry he leaves.

“Is everything okay with classes? All of them, not just Bharatanatyam.” Perseus asks the talkative twin.

“Yes,” She nods, unclipping her anklets. Her voice lowers, serious bleeding in. It is hard to forget their age, true or claimed, when this happens. Because suddenly their bubbly little girl who flits around the house and talks your ear off and throws herself into everything with the vivacity of a ten year old, disappears. In her place is the century old girl who has experienced more of life’s pleasures and hardships than most of the world can only begin to imagine.

“We’re covered for everything. And Aaru starts teaching a new linguistics course on Monday so he’ll have some cash to fling around. Although,” She rolls her eyes, “We all know he’ll just put it in his account and let it sit like a fat cat.”

He laughs, flicking her nose at her distaste for her brother’s complete lack of spending. “He likes to invest in stocks and give it away. You know he doesn’t hoard.”

“I know i know,” She grumbles, scrunching her nose, “I just wish he’d spend some on himself.”

“I think he thinks you spoil him enough.”

“I don’t spoil him nearly enough. Most times I try to buy him something and he just shuts it down. Like last Draco i tried to buy him that new puzzle he was talking about and he just slammed my laptop shut.”

She looks so put out he can't help but giggle, and when she scowls at him for it he pulls her in for a hug and kisses her head. “He likes to do things with you. Maybe try getting things you guys can do together.” She brightens at that, and he can see the gears turning in her sharp mind. “Alternatively, save up all the buying for special occasions like Birthdays or Turning or Koro day.” She hums in acknowledgement but her thoughts are still going a mile a minute so he steps out and lets her work it through.

The house is alive again: Keeya is still in the kitchen, and by the sounds of it Hoku too, begging for something. Elouan still isn’t in and he cannot stop the trinkle of worry that falls between his ribs. Trying to keep it out of his mind he walks towards the noise and is greeted by the site of countertops covered in dishes filled with all sorts of delights. The smell is enough to put him in a coma. And Hoku sits on the counter, pale blue eyes puppy-wide with pleading. He glances to their wrist and sees the sunshine yellow band. She/her today then. It gets exhausting, she had told them, to continuously have to announce yourself to the world, especially when you didn’t know how the world would react. 

“Hoku,” Keeya sighs, “I am not giving you the poli until you go and change. You smell like seaweed.” The coconut-stuffed pastry pockets sit on the counter, still piping hot from the oil they had just been fried in. 

“Awww come on Kee, i just need one. I’ll pass out in the shower if i don’t get it and then it’ll be all your fault.”

Keeya’s eyes roll so far back he’s worried she’ll get them stuck behind her sockets. But they roll forward and give Hoku a very pointed glare.

“Get your ass out of my kitchen and go and shower, you irritation!” She scolds; rendered a little ineffective by the flour smeared across her cheek which is a startling contrast to her brown-scapolite skin.

“You are the absolute worst.” Hoku sulks as she slides off the stool and trudges to the entrance. "Tusa Doc.” The sigh is heavy and he struggles to keep in the laughter threatening to spill past his lips. It is never a dull moment in the Aarde House. Perseus collapses onto the stool Hoku had just vacated and lets loose the smile he had been trying to hide. Keeya returns it with one of her own and then launches into a conversation about her latest creations.

Hours later they had moved from food talk, which made him unfathomably hungry, to her teaching, to his own escapades and ideas. She laughed as he recounted the night out he had some weeks ago and the beautiful blue-haired person he had taken a bodyshot on. But soon the sun is sinking to the city floor and the people in the house emerge from their various rooms to congregate in the kitchen, which serves as the house hangout spot. Keeya had packed most of the food away, save for a loaf of fresh bread and the poli Hoku had been begging for. She puts the kettle on and starts up the coffee machine, chattering away as she did. 

Aarush shuffles into the room and immediately takes up a spot next to Perseus. Serafina and Hoku walk in next talking about knee pains and sore feet.

“Did you guys bother to put ice packs or kinaesthetic tape on?” Keeya raises an eyebrow. They both stick their tongues out at her, and move to sit on the opposite side of the table.

“Hoku,” Aaru settles his brown eyes on her, “Will you teach me how to do the splits? My Bharatanatyam teacher says i need to learn to be more flexible.”

Hoku is already nodding enthusiastically, “Of course A, i can absolutely teach you. But you should know flexibility doesn’t come from doing the splits it comes from muscle control and ligament manipulation.”

“I read up about it but i don't feel confident enough to try on my own.”

A gleam enters Hoku’s blue eyes, “You should come with me to a ballet class. Elouan is doing piano for us next week in preparation for our concert coming up. We’ll be able to get the studio to ourselves for a little while.”

“Sure,” Aru shrugs, “Sounds fun.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Serafina tugs her twin's sleeve, looking at him with hurt in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to bother you, and besides Hoku teaches ballet I figured she’d be the best bet for me.”

Serafina looks like she’s going to say something, argue maybe, but then the last of their little household walks in and conversation drifts.

“Past the Moon, Elouan,” Perseus smiles at the oldest of the group, save for him.

A floppy smile transforms a pasty face. As he hobbles towards them, leaning heavily on his walking stick, he mumbles a round of greetings.

“How are you?” Keeya asks once he’s settled into a chair next to her.

“I could do with some food and maybe some blood but otherwise just peachy.” His moonlight white curls fall into his face and he pushes them back absentmindedly.

“Can we finally have the poli now?” Hoku glares at their baker, rebellion already flashing in her blue eyes.

“Dig in you little heathen,” Keeya shoves the plate towards her and they all descend. 

Tea and coffee are passed around as well as small glasses of blood for any of them that need it. Perseus and the twins refrain, having had their fill at some point during the day but they happily dig into the coconut pastry and drink copious amounts of coffee.

“So,” Elouan says around a mouthful of poli, “Who’s coming with me to the Red Queen tomorrow?”

“Me!” Hoku shouts immediately. Ever the party animal.

“I’d love to.” Keeya mumbles behind her tea, suddenly shy.

“No thanks.” Aarush pulls a face and goes back to stacking the knives into a precarious tower.

“Fina? Doc?”

“I have to work on stuff for varsity but maybe next time.” Serafina shrugs a shoulder, her brown eyes glazing over as her mind goes back to working a mile a minute.

“I’ll let you know after our dinner tonight. I think some of the Houses want to call a meeting tomorrow to discuss funding and housing in a few cities.”

“You should invite them along,” His white eyebrows knit together in thought, “You guys should invite anyone you want.”

“What’s got you so friendly?” Keeya gives a suspicious look.

“Arrow said they wanted to meet you.”

Her face pulls into something resembling horror, “Uh never mind i think i have stuff to do, maybe next time.”

Elouan pins his honey eyes on her and they look more like the sting of the bee than the gold of the nectar. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I don’t trust them.” She bites out, setting her mug down with a hard crack.

“You don’t even know them. You’re just being judgmental because they’ve turned a few innocents.”

“It’s not just that Elouan,” Where he is the sky, Keeya is the earth. “They are leading you to the dens and soon you’ll be following in their footsteps.”

Perseus was content to ignore their argument and continue talking to everyone else or eating his way through the feast, but that angered whisper steals his attention. “You’ve been going to the dens?”

“I went twice and i didn't even do anything.” He rolls his eyes.

“It’s not about what you do El,” Keeya’s voice is lethal with fury, and worry. “It’s about what gets done in there.” 

“It’s not safe Elouan. Not only for you but if something happens you put a target on all of our backs. And I will not have you endangering anyone in this house just to look cool for your new partner.” There is no compromise in Perseus’ hard green eyes.

The younger vamp sees this and nods once. “I won’t go to the dens again, Doc.”

“Right now that we have that sorted,” He leaves no room for further say on the topic, “What do you need us to do for dinner before the Araw House gets here, Kee?”

He sees her hide the emotions still burning in her eyes before she claps her hands and puts them to work. And when the members of the Araw house arrive there is no lingering anger suffocating the kitchen. It is bright and loud and messy. It is home.

“Tamo, tamo, everyone!” Musical greetings come from the front of the house and a few seconds later Drew Tanaka and Charles Beckendorf appear in the doorway, as radiant and deadly as always.

Drew looks devastating in a blood red jumpsuit and a gold choker glittering at her neck. Charles has a hand wrapped around her and looks just as sinful in an emerald green suit lined with the most startling azure. His wedding band glints in the soft yellow lights of the kitchen and the two rubies encrusted in it match the band around Drew’s finger.

“Towards the Moon, old man,” Drew sits down with the grace of a dancer who has been perfecting their art for centuries. 

“Who are you calling old man?” Perseus scoffs, “I’m only one month older than you. Besides Charlie is the old man.” 

The subject in question rolls his eyes and shoves both their shoulders, flashing his fangs. His wife just laughs waggling perfectly sculpted eyebrows that suggest more than any of them are willing to interpret.

“Where’s the rest of your chaotic crew?” He motions to the lack of people that usually surrounded them.

“They’re all busy tonight, something about the Safe Haven Sound.” Charlie shrugs, “I’m actually surprised none of you guys went. It was apparently some big event.”

Hoku makes a face that means trouble. Nobody stops her. “It’s mostly for new vamps trying to enter the world. There’s a lot that can go wrong. We tend to stay away.”

Drew turns to her sharply, “Who runs it?”

“The Underboss.” Hoku makes another, more disgusted face.

“Actually,” Keeya says quietly, “It’s the Underboss’ lackey that runs it. The Underboss just owns it.”

“Ugh i hate that slimy little shit more than my ex.”

“Hoku,” Serafina frowns, “Give Luke some credit. At least he was hot.”

Perseus lets a smile loose at that. “Octavian is not ugly, he’s just ghaunt.”

“Doc,” Elouan raises a brow, “He is a ghost.”

“Literally? Aarush frowns, the first thing he’s said since their guests arrived.

“No,” Drew has a contemplative look on her face, “At least i don’t think so.”

“He was part of the Trials.” Charlie adds “That’s what i’ve heard anyway.”

Perseus shudders inwardly as he remembers those dark times. Power-hungry people, people who had no right to participate in their world, had taken it upon themselves to try and create their own supernatural creatures. It was a horrible, terrifying time for humans and duniyarall alike. They had stopped it before it had become the war it intended to be but it was deemed unethical to kill the products of those experiments. So, even today, a century and a half later, there are still Triallers- as they had been so creatively named- roaming, existing, living. For the most part they seem to be peaceful, despite being created for violence, but there are some like the Underboss’ lackey that still give an off-vibe; like feral is just around the corner, one blink away.

“How about we make some pizzas?” Keeya interrupts their conversation before they dive into what will inevitably become a two hour discussion.

“Let’s!” Serafina claps her hands, and Hoku matches her as they hop up and dive towards the fridge where cut and readied ingredients sit.

The evening is chaotic, and bright and full of laughter. They discover that between all their years of life, none of them had ever learnt how to toss pizza dough. Charlie and Keeya make a deal to go to Italy and learn before the decade is out. Drew sees the trip as a chance to get a tan in the beautiful Italian heat, and be fed delicious food straight from her husband’s hands. They make the most of the evening, a rare and peaceful one that recharges the energy in them like bolts of lightning. Perseus hasn’t felt this content in many many moons. 

Soon enough, however, it is just Elouan, Charlie, and Drew sitting on the velvet couches of their lounging area, chatting quietly as they sip various expensive liquor.

He looks at his friends, the gentle glow of the chandelier striking their features. They are beautiful. It is a warm kind of beauty, noticeable in the softness of an expression, or the happiness of a moment. They’re angelic.

“Doc?” Elouan drags him out of his quiet admiration.

“Sorry?”

“Drew and Charlie were just discussing what to do about the hotel on Palace road,” The moonlight caught in his hair ripples as he speaks. “They wanted to find out if you’d be okay with extraction?”

Perseus nods, considering the angles, the necessities

“I don’t feel it’s right to go in armed.” Charlie looks around the room, that composed intensity washing over them. “They’re children, and they’re probably scared.”

The frown between Drew’s perfect brows deepens. “I heard there’s cubs and sangrinos inside.”

“Who’s getting them food? How do they leave? What’s keeping them there?”

A loud ding sounds from someone in the room, and Elouan scrambles to reach his phone. The screen is bright in the dimly lit space and he has to blink hard to adjust his eyes, but then he lets out a curse and rushes towards the door, leaning deeply into stick as the anger worsens his limp.

“Everything okay El?”

“Just Arrow.” He waves it off, “I’ll be back before sun.”

Perseus just nods, watching as the large wooden doors slam shut behind the vampire. When he hears the front door bang, he stands, bowing to his guest in a sign of quick return and steps out of the room in search of members of their household.

“Keeya, Aaru.” He calls from the parlor.

They arrive within seconds, her with a face mask on and her dressing gown half tied, and him with charcoal smudges on his cheeks, and a loose paper in his hand.

‘Doc?” Keeya frowns, sensing the urgency in his aura.

“Elouan just stepped out to help Arrow. Please will you two trace him, make sure he isn’t going to the dens. Don’t make yourself known until you know it’s safe.”

“Armed?” The steel reflecting in Aarush’s dark eyes calm Perseus’ nerves.

“No.” He doesn’t need to cause trouble with the Underboss. “Just make sure Elouan is okay. No violent blood is spilled tonight at your hands.” The volatile expression on the little vampire’s face lessens only a fraction. They both nod at him and disappear into their rooms to ready themselves.

He goes back to the lounge, and continues his discussion with his friends. When he hears the front door close, the quiet click echoing in his mind like a drum, he tells Charlie and Drew what is happening.

Drew, ever the mother, is immediately righteous, demanding she send out some of her pack as scouts. Charlie just holds her hand and looks to him with that expression that so often graces his face: how can we help?

Perseus smiles at Drew and her anger, understanding how she feels. “It is okay Tanaka,” He reassures her. “I’ve got it covered. We should talk about the children.”

She growls, and he can hear the wolf in her throat. “You will let us know if you need help Perseus.”

“Yes,” Even Charlie looks adamant, unstoppable. “We will not be in the dark again. Not when it comes to our own.”

He breathes, and it has taken two centuries to get here. To this moment. “I will ask for help if the time comes.”

“The Underboss is holding them in the hotel, and bribing them with food to join her army.” Just like that they move onto the next problem. The next call for help.

“Well then,” Perseus grins, and it looks like the first signs of destruction, “i guess we’ll be paying the Queen a visit.”

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

Elouan my love what are you doing????? Also: Who do you think the Queen is? *sus eyes*

Tags (if you want to be added to/taken off the tag list all my channels of communication are open):

@msdrpreist; @sparkythunderstorm; @aalikun; @crazy-stupid-bean; @queen-of-demons-and-hell; @pjo-hp-things; @nishlicious-01; @spoopylucy; @larrikin-is-a-himbo; @cyra04​; @leydiangelo​; @elecsinnerz​

[jusauria]

Hotcattale (basic storyline)

Like every Story we have to start from the beginning of all.

Long time ago. In an AU of undertale there were monsters and humans. Both creatures needed the same kind of food to survive. The soul powers of the monsters scared The humans. The monsters were afraid of the soul energy of the humans. The fear turned into hate and a war began. In this war many lost their lives and both sides capitulated. The monsters were aware of the humans hate and so they moved out of all human villages to start a new life in peace. The only problem for the monsters in the mountains is the lacking source of food. Some of the best guards are hunting animals. The others are going to the cities to get other needed food supplies.

In these awful times of hate and rebuilding the life story of Sans and Papyrus begin. When the little skeleton opened his eyes he saw two taller skeletons in front of him. A huge smile were on their faces. They pick up the little skeleton and tell him: “My child. You made it. Of all the dead children's bodies, you made it to become a skeleton. We are so proud of you.” The surprised child looked around and saw something moving in the ashes. He started to move uncontrollable in the arms of the huge skeleton, only to tell them there was something. The female looking adult stuck her hand in the ashes and got out another little skeleton. The ashes made his bones look black and he sneezed a few times. The adults looked pleased. They grabbed their stuff and went to the forest where all the skeletons live.

Both kids grew up there and learned many new things. Even so they learned that skeletons can’t make kids like other monsters can. They need dead children in the age between 5-10 and have to put soulpower in them. Unfortunately not all kids become skeletons. That’s why the population of skeletons is looked over very careful. The two young skeletons knew they were from now on brothers and so they treated each other like. The smaller one got the name Sans, in the meaning of a calmness of the Ocean and the Sand. While the other one got the name Papyrus, in the meaning for the Power and Kindness from his soul. Sans was always the weaker skeleton of the both. He almost died of an unknown sickness and so his Heal Points (HP) went down to 1.

Papyrus and Sans often went outside to see others of their kind. But they never felt welcomed near them. When both got 15 they moved out. On that day all the skeletons in their villages said to them goodbye and wished them a ‘skeleton’ of luck. The brothers left the villages and walked many days to finally see the mountain they wanted to start a new life. They tardy walked in the entrance and asked other monsters where the king and queen were. On their way they met ,a bit younger as them, Asriel who showed them his parents. The royal family allowed the skelebrothers to live in the Underground. Toriel asked them kindly with a caring voice where they both want to live. Sans said: “I don’t mind any place. My bro should choose. He is the coolest in this stuff” Papyrus looked at the huge map on the walls of the gigantic room and pointed at Snowdin. He yelled: “There! This place should be as calm as Sans and as cool as me. Nyahaha.” Toriel looked at Asgore and both agreed. In snowdin was an old house where nobody lived. So the brother took this opportunity and made it their own.

Many years passed and the brothers grew in knowledge and happiness. While Sans found a job as scientist assistant in the labor from hotland. Papyrus made his hobby of cooking to his job in “Grillby’s”. But Papyrus' dream is to become a part of the royal guards. He wants to go outside and buy food for the monsters who need it. Sans and Papyrus are the only skeletons in the Underground. They always get from the town people rotten or spoiled food to eat and to cook with. They give this to the brothers not because they hate them. Generally because they don’t want to waste food. Even so skeletons can eat all kinds of food without getting sick.

One day the brother's knowledge about human and monster relationships broke apart.

Sans was in his room. All dressed in black and in front of his door was Papyrus in black too. He stared at the door wanting to knock but couldn't make him do it. He broke into tears.

Both had come home from the funeral of Asriel and his best human friend Chara. The brothers, Asriel and the twin sibling Chara and Frisk always have been very close to each other. One day when they were in a restaurant of all kinds Asriel and Chara got poisoned by the golden flower poison. The brothers ate the same dish. But because they are skeletons it had no effect on them. If Frisk had been there too, he would have gotten poisoned like his sister and the prince.

Sans was sitting in his room corner thinking why they couldn’t save them. Why they didn’t notice something was wrong. Papyrus otherwise was thinking how sad Frisk must be. Lost his twin sister and wasn’t able to be at the funeral because he is still ill.

A month later Sans and Papyrus are fine again. Of course they are still sad about the lost, but they need to work to earn money. Else they will lose the house and that’s what both don’t want to happen.

Sans walks nervous around in the labor and Dr. Gaster looks at him and asks kindly: “Sans. Do you think a maschine could produce all kinds of food, with water and the key atoms?” Sans stopped walking. He thinks about all possibilities and replies with yes. Gaster smiles and shows him a room which was always locked up. On the walls were plans for a food making maschine to solve the hunger of the monsters. The sketches and files amaze Sans . The doctor put his hand on his shoulder and whispered to him: “This will be your work from now on. Work on this machine and save the monsters. I will work on the core power machine in the meanwhile.” This is a huge job opportunity for Sans. After work he takes a shortcut to his home door and jumps into Papyrus arms. Both brothers walk inside the house. Walk to the kitchen, make tea and sit down on the table to talk about what happened on this day. They have no secrets from each other and speak open to each other. Papyrus tells Sans that people like the food he makes. The royal guard Undyne wants to teach him more cooking tricks. She was very impressed by his skills. Sans is happy for his brother and lets him talk for a while more until he tells him his news. At the moment Papyrus finished talking he tells him his whole day in detail. What a huge responsibility he has now. Even so he informs him that he will stay at the labor for a while. Papyrus stands up and hugs his brother.

The next day Sans walks to Papyrus and says: “Listen. I know you can stay alone for a while. Please be safe bro. I will be gone for about 2 or 3 months.” Papyrus looks at Sans and replies: “You don’t have to worry at all. The brilliant Papyrus will make sure everything is ok and safe! Be careful of your heavy bones”. With a last hug their paths split.

Stress is for Sans a foreigner word. He has never known stress until he sees the deadline for the machine to work and be ready to use. Sans calculations have to be all correct. Every mistake will take too much time to fix. So he worked fast but meticulous. Skeletons don’t necessari need sleep, so he had only 2 hours of sleep everyday. Gaster looks like a skeleton but isn’t so every night Sans is working alone in the labor. Often he gets scared that something will pop up out of the darkness. But this wasn’t a reason for him to stop working.

Day after day was hard work on his plan but 2 months later he finished the first machine of his kind.

In the 2 months Gaster hired a new assistant named Alphys. She is shy but it isn’t that bad to work with her. Sans invites Gaster for seeing and testing the prototype. Gaster sets up the maschine and pour the special liquid in the maschine. He starts the maschine and walks a few steps away from it. First all looks good but then Sans notices that the machine starts to form some cracks. He yelled at Gaster to walk farther away. But he was too late. A huge explosion is the result and Sans gets smashed to the wall behind him. He hits his head on the wall and his whole body gets covered in a strange hot liquid. He stands up and some of the liquid gets inside of his skull. The pain of the heat, how it burns through his skull and cracks it makes him faint.

When he opens his eyes he sees Papyrus and Alphys talking. He sits up and asks: “How long was I out.” Papyrus' face shows that he was sleeping for longer than 1 day. His brother jumps on his bed and gives him a strong hug. He cries in relief and Alphys goes outside to let both of them have some time for themselves. As soon as Papyrus finished crying himself out, Sans stands up. He sees in a mirror two cracks on each cheek and the almost full healed hole in the back of his skull. They go outside the room and Alphys asks Sans to do some task.

All monster kinds can use magic. Not all the same kind of magic, Skeleton uses bone magic.

She asked him to spawn some bones. Sans focuses and sees the bone in front of his spiritual eye. But at the moment he releases the power he spawns a hotdog which looks more cat-like. A hotcat? Sans tries again to make a bone but all he does is make hotcats. All in the living room are in shock. Sans runs upstairs in his room to do some more tests by himself. Papyrus walked behind him but he couldn’t enter the room in time. The still hurt skeleton tries harder than usual to make a bone but it doesn’t work. Only hotcats. He takes one and bite a piece off. It doesn’t look spoiled or anything. Warm is it too. All a sudden his back skull hole starts to heal up. Only a crack left. But cracks on his cheeks are still there. Sans calmed down and continued to test his other abilities. He still can do shortcuts and the telekinetic stuff. He can’t make bones and he is able to spawn two gaster blasters at the same time. To Sans' surprise the blasters can turn into Skelecats. He opens the door and Papyrus gets scared by the skelecats running out of Sans room. Alphys is already gone and both brothers walk downstairs in the living room to talk. Papyrus tells Sans that Gaster must have died. Not long ago a talking flower appeared after this bad event. Sans tells him that he not being able to make bowns isn’t as bad as he first thought. He can make food for other monsters and make them less starving and that he is more happier to be alive than dust.

A few weeks later Sans and Papyrus start to work together for Grillby and have a nice time. But then Sans got the idea to make his own little restaurant with papyrus. Papyrus agrees. With the help of their friends they build a little eating place which can move around hassle-free. The skeleton brother wants to become a travel food bistro. When they both are about to leave the underground, the royal family give them both a little present. A red scarf for papyrus and Sans gets a book full of jokes, to make them both laugh hard. This is a heartbreaking moment but the two boys know that this isn’t a goodbye forever. They walk away with the little bistro. Sans uses his telekinetic powers to move it around while papyrus is looking at the map where to go first. They decide fast where a good spot is to begin to earn money and a reputation. Sans walks around the small town offering humans and some monsters his hotcats. First they didn’t know what to think about this but soon everyone fell in love with these. It looks like the taste of hotcats varies from person to person. Some say it tastes sweet, some spicy and some salty. It depends on the person's preferences. The two make good money from them. Papyrus buys some food to cook healthy and taste food. Many humans and monsters love the taste of his dishes. The skeleton’s little restaurant becomes downright famous overnight. A few days later they closed the shop for the first time to get a small break. They walk around the town and talk a lot about what to improve and fix. In an alley Papyrus notices the talking flower he saw once in Snowdin and walks to him. The flower monster looks confused and a bit scared. Papyrus sits down in front of him and says in a kindly voice:”Hello little golden flower, why are you here in town? Are you following us?” He gets more confidence and replies to him:”Maybe. But I am here to see if you and the potato are doing fine.” The eye sockets from the huge skeleton become bigger and you can see sparkles in it. He hugs the flower and offers him to go on his shoulder so they can walk together around. The golden flower agrees and introduces himself to them as Flowey. Flowey tells them how he came to life and how confused he was first. Sans notices that the soul of the flower is awful similar to Asriel’s and asks him if he knew him. The bright yellow color from his blooms turns minor darker and he replies with a sad face: “ Yes and no. I somehow have his soul and heard his voice a few times. He told me one day that I am my own person and since then I haven’t heard of him.” Papyrus puts his hand on his head to make him feel a bit more comfortable. Sans starts to think and comes to the conclusion that the flower must be a by-product of the explosion he caused.

The sky went from a light blue to a red, violet color. The brothers arrive at their restaurant. Papyrus makes a movement to flowey to say that he can stay with them as long as he wants to. In Flowey’s face is happiness. Flowey became the mascot of the shop and is the first waiter too.

The next day the shop is booming. Many customers want to eat the special hotcat from Sans. Others some fresh made dishes from Papyrus. A human with brown hair and a yellowish skin comes to Sans and asks for the manager of this shop. He responds that he and his brother are the owner of this all. The human asks kindly if he can work there. Sans walks to Papyrus in the kitchen and asks if they should hire the human. Papyrus goes with Sans to the front and looks at the human diligent. He gasps and says that the human is Frisk. Frisk smiles and says: “Hehe. Long time not see you two. Sans to be honest, what happened to you? Did you fight with a dog and lost? hehe.” Sans explains all and both skeletons decide to hire Frisk in their small business. The not so tall human is already 19 and so he can legal work for them. At the end of the day all 3 monsters and Frisk help to clean the shop and set up a sleep area for Frisk.

They stayed 2 months in the small town and then continued their journey to another town.

After a year Flowey and Frisk discovered the other AUs. They told the skelebrothers about this. Since that day they are known as AU travel Restaurant “Hotcattale”. Which stays in every AU at least 1 week.

The end.

(I know. The story is not good. but it gives a good view about this AU and what makes it unique ^^)

[publiccollectors]

QUARANZINE #14

QUARANZINE #14: Rachel Herman. Rachel was diagnosed as a presumptive positive for COVID-19 after a test for Influenza A and B turned up negative. She's been fighting the virus for just over two weeks. Yesterday she posted this long message on Facebook about her experience so far and I asked her about publishing it in QUARANZINE. She had been thinking about reaching out to me, so we were both on the same page. The text is very long for the format I adhere to so the type is quite small, unfortunately. Here it is in its entirety: Dear friends,

This is the week many of us will get sick. Social distancing is working, but most cities waited too long to declare shelter-in-place orders and many others have yet to. So, we will see spikes in confirmed cases within the next week or so. I want you all to be armed with pragmatic and useful information if this happens to you or someone you care about.

I am on Day 14 of what was diagnosed as a presumptive positive for COVID-19 after a test for Influenza A and B turned up negative. (I am still waiting for my COVID-19 results.) I’ve had a relatively mild case, and I’m on the mend. My congestion is clearing up, I can breathe deeply again, and going up and down the stairs doesn’t make me winded. My energy and appetite are coming back though I still have had a fever of 100+ for 14 straight days. Most of us will get a mild case. 40-70% of us will get it, but so much of the media frenzy right now is focused on things that were important last week and yesterday (every day feels a year these days, though, to be fair). I have seen shockingly few articles or helpful testimonials advising how best to treat ourselves at home, and, trust me, I’ve been looking. So much of the information we’re focused on now is preventing transmission, but there is woefully little on what to do IF and WHEN we get sick.

Being waylaid during the time that so many folks have been still frantically trying to avoid getting sick has offered me a strange bubble of calm and insight. I’m grateful for that because the fear out there is palpable. I would like for this to be an offering to assuage at least some panic. That is my hope anyway.

The CDC and the WHO have labored and lengthy instructions on how to prevent transmission to someone else in the household or orders to quarantine. This creates a new problem for us as caregivers. A potentially critically ill person separated from everyone else drastically reduces a caregiver’s ability to monitor, replenish fluids, and generally take care of the person who is sick. On top of that, these two trusted sources offer only the most basic (honestly, negligible) recommendations for treating symptoms: sleep, keep hydrated, and take Tylenol (or the generic acetaminophen). This kind of bare bones advice is, well, skeletal. We all want to know how best to take care of ourselves and each other so that we can avoid having to go to the hospital. We want to be able to recuperate at home because we want to prevent putting a strain on the system and, face it, the idea of going to the hospital in this scenario is downright daunting. The better we know how to nurse ourselves back to health, the better our odds are healing well in our own beds.

So, I wanted to share what I’ve learned.

Caveat emptors/disclaimers because I’m making this public and shareable: This is based on my own personal, lived experience. I am not a doctor, so this does not replace or supplant solid medical advice from a professional you trust. I have had relatively mild symptoms but still a longish case. I am one of the freakish 5% who has had never-ending nasal congestion that went into my upper respiratory tract, but I somehow avoided the dreaded cough. YMMV (your mileage may vary). I have no underlying health concerns, I’m 52, a non-smoker, and fortunate. I have a comfortable apartment to myself, and I was able to spend $500 to stock up on essentials before the lockdown and before I got sick. (For the love of all that is holy, I swear I did not stockpile anything, especially TP. Stocking up is simply incredibly expensive. I dwindled my account down to almost my last dollar, since I’m adjunct faculty at two local universities and don’t make a whole lot.) Still, that is more than so many of us are able to do, and I am grateful for all that I have. What follows goes a bit beyond common sense, because this virus is unlike anything I’ve experienced before, even though to be clear, this is certainly a far cry from the sickest I’ve ever been. I hope it can be a boon to friends and strangers alike.

Here are the things I did that helped:

WHILE YOU ARE WELL

1) Start taking your temperature in the morning and at night so that you have a baseline.

One of the first signs of the virus can be a low-grade fever, though this virus does present in different ways. Full disclosure: I was one of those people who had to go to 3 different drugstores on Wed Mar 11 looking for a thermometer amid decimated shelves.

2) Before you get sick, change your diet.

Stop eating and drinking things that will make it harder to fight off the virus. Mellow out on the processed foods, dairy, and sugar (alcohol and gluten are in this category too, sorry).

Increase your intake of immune-boosting foods like green vegetables, fish and other omega-threes, garlic, ginger, and citrus. You don’t have to give in to the whole elderberry craze (though it does taste pretty good). Replace coffee with chaga, a fungal immune booster that you can brew into a strong, soothing tea, for a few weeks.

If you think these dietary recommendations are extreme, consider that you are in a temporary but dire situation where everything else around us is collapsing. Change your eating habits this month, even if it’s just a little for a little while.

3) SLEEP at least 8 hours a night. (I know, I wake up at 4am in a blind panic too. But, still, try.)

4) Make a pot of soup NOW while you are healthy or at the first sign of any symptoms.

This is especially important if you are sheltering in place alone. When/if you get sick, trust me, you won’t have energy to cook. You will barely want to eat anything anyway. But you will force yourself to have two bowls of it every day, and it will help. The pot should be big enough so that you can eat from it for a week. Make your favorite broth-based recipe: chicken, vegetable, or bone. Bone is most healing, obviously. Avoid dairy and noodles because these ingredients increase congestion and inflammation. Freeze it if you don’t have any symptoms at this point, so you will be able to thaw it when you start to feel oogy.

WHEN YOU GET SICK

1) At the first sign of fatigue, a tickle in your throat, aches, or a fever, go to bed and stay there. SLEEP. Don’t try to keep working. Your body needs to heal, and it can do that most effectively when you are sleeping.

Early symptoms reportedly vary. Some have aches and fever, scratchy throat, and chest tightness with a dry cough. Headaches, sneezing + nasal congestion, shortness of breath, nausea, and diarrhea have all been reported. I woke up on Mar 14 with a headache, body aches, congestion, and a fever of 101. My fever spiked to 102.5 on Day 2, and I’ve had a fever of 100+ every day since along with body aches, nasal congestion (my nose opened up like an actual running faucet on day 5), chest tightness and upper respiratory congestion, exhaustion, lack of appetite, and some lower GI distress (though not full-on diarrhea, everything just felt labored and different and, sincere apologies for the vivid image I’m about to put in your head, my poop seemed to be covered in a gauzy cloud). The two aberrations from most commonly reported symptoms: I have only had a negligible cough, and I never had a sore throat. My baseline temp leading up to getting sick was 99, but I am usually a straight-up 98.6 kind of person.

I had a dinner party the Monday before I got sick, and a friend who helped me in the kitchen came down with the same thing at the same time. My friend has asthma and has had a much harder time of things. But we are both on the road to recovery, in large part because we have been sharing what we’ve learned, checking in with each other, and doing some intense jobs taking care of ourselves while in isolation. (No one else from the dinner party has gotten sick to date.)

2) DRINK WATER, every 15 minutes when you are awake. Every time you wake up or roll over, drink. It should be room temperature, not cold. Cold liquids exacerbate the illness.

3) Drink WARM liquids like herbal tea and broth. Hot liquids keep everything in your system moving. Make soothing, healing, and warming remedies out of whatever inexpensive supplies you already have available.

4) In the giant void of an antiviral treatment that works on COVID-19, I have turned/returned to plant medicine, and it has helped me a lot.

My cousin, who is taking a Chinese medicine course in Singapore right now, sent me directions on how to make a ginger and licorice root decoction that was used throughout China during the Hubei lockdown. It’s easy to make. You bake the licorice in molasses, and then you boil the licorice root and the ginger for an hour. The ginger licorice decoction has really helped my friend who also got sick at the same time I did.

Making tea from Chaga – an Alaskan mushroom – has been so incredibly helpful. I’ve made a large pot of it every day, reserving the chaga and re-steeping over and over again for the past two weeks. Was it the chaga or the fact that I was drinking a gallon of warm soothing liquid daily, ladling out a mugful every couple of hours, that helped me get better? I’ll go with a little of both.

Other natural antiviral immune boosters that might help include vitamin C, C60, and olive leaf extract, oregano oil, and Manuka honey. Since stores are closed and Amazon has stopped shipping, we have to make do with what we already have. Make a tea with citrus peels and cloves and sliced ginger, if that’s is in your fridge.

5) The word on the street is to manage fever with Tylenol or acetaminophen or paracetamol, which are supposed to be more suited to treating respiratory illness than other alternatives. Frankly, I have been taking acetaminophen as sparingly as possible to avoid putting strain on my other organs. Cool compresses work too.

Some people are saying NOT to take Advil and its generic ibuprofen, as they have anecdotally said to propel otherwise healthy people to hospitals for oxygen. There is a lot of noise and confusion in this debate, and I’m going to sidestep this thorny conversation for our purposes.

6) Zinc lozenges and elderberry syrup help with a scratchy throat and cough. A friend of mine prone to bronchitis recommended Myrtol, a German cough syrup made from natural ingredients, including elderberry. If you have a pharma protocol in place for managing a persistent, chronic cough, you are probably already on it.

7) The fatigue is real. It also becomes really hard to think clearly. That’s why it’s so important to have soup and tea and other supportive supplies ready ahead of time.8) When you think you are getting better the first three or four times, STAY IN BED.

The arc of this virus is really rollercoaster-y: up and down and up and down. After the initial alarm passes, (and it is alarming at first because you don’t know which way it’s going to go and that seizing up can make everything feel worse), I was able to focus on getting better, calmly. I made it through the first scary fever spikes, but right when I thought I was feeling better, I would get knocked down again. There were critical junctures around days 3, 5, and 7 where I was certain I’d turned a corner, and, well, yesterday.

I’d get up and do dishes, take out the trash, take my dog for a walk around the neighborhood (face covered), and try to get some work done (end of quarter grades were due at both my schools and my departments have been preparing like mad to take our classes online in the spring). Then I would feel hot and light-headed again, taking my temp only to see it had sprung back up to 101.5. You will feel better and want to get back up and do things only to get knocked right back down. The moment I ease up on drinking water and tea constantly, I start to feel horrible again.

Remember: YOU ARE ESSENTIALLY PREVENTING YOURSELF FROM DEVELOPING FULL-BLOWN VIRAL PNEUMONIA. I would say the new mantra needs to be SLEEP + DRINK WATER. Start now, to the extent that you can. Please resist the urge to get up and do things. Rest. Do your Zoom meetings from bed with a virtual office background, if you absolutely have to be on a call. But, truly, you shouldn’t because this is the time to sleep sleep sleep and binge watch The Good Place (my choice for existential dystopian laughs/insert whatever makes your socks go up and down). For the past few days, my temp has been normal in the morning only to spring back up to 100+ if I try to do too much (e.g. read: ANYTHING). When I let myself sleep, my temp goes back down.

9) A humidifier has helped. Some recommend running a hot shower and sitting in your own makeshift bathroom sauna. Steam eucalyptus or rosemary, if you have any, and inhale deeply. I just made a homemade vaporub with a base of coconut oil and a few drops each of clove, thyme, rosemary, and peppermint oil. It is wonderful.

10) My breathing never got dangerously shallow. But this virus can potentially fill your upper and lower respiratory tracts with mucous until you feel like you are drowning. A physical therapist wrote with life-saving advice about the importance of Postural Draining, a method of draining mucous from the lungs using gravity and percussion. It involves physically moving your body so that you tilt your lungs and bronchial tubes upside down and then firmly clap the back or chest. This allows the mucous to flow up out of the lungs along with deep, prolonged exhales. Then you can cough it the rest of the way out. You can do postural draining alone or have someone perform it on you. Google postural draining diagrams – there are different for positions for each of the five lobes of your lungs. Do these exercises for 3-5 minutes a day before you get too sick. You can get into position in a chair or laying over a yoga ball, bean bag, or pillows for support.

Failing steps 1-10, if you have difficulty breathing or your temperature spikes beyond what you and your doctor are comfortable with (I’ve heard different numbers), please go to the ER immediately. Some of you will develop dramatic and dangerous symptoms quickly. Please do not wait to seek care if your lungs are struggling beyond what you can manage at home. My advice is geared to keeping as many of us comfortable for as long as it takes to heal, but that obviously is only going to go so far for those who suffer from chronic conditions, are older, or are immunosuppressed. If you have a finger oximeter, and are able to monitor your oxygen levels numerically, then you will know when you have to go to the hospital. But very few of us have those, and they are way sold out.

THE OTHER SIDE

Healing from even a mild case (and mine IS mild) takes about two weeks to a month.

As my dad would day, take it easy. It is unclear how immunity works with COVID-19. Some have said that there was a patient in Japan who tested positive a second time. There is speculation that this, in fact, was a relapse and not re-infection. We need more time to learn about the virus. In the meantime, please give yourselves time to heal.

We don’t know how long immunity lasts, and we don’t know about immunity to slightly different mutated strains even if we have recovered from one of them. I do hope that we get to develop a fair amount of herd immunity in the next year, but, again, there is a lot to learn. We will obviously still need to protect our vulnerable populations, and our society will continue to bend and contort itself around the virus.

But I hope to be in a position to assist when others get sick. I will happily help you to the best of my abilities. Looking to a future I can hardly conceive at the moment, I anticipate learning more about plant medicine. Scientists will develop new antivirals, retrovirals, and vaccines. I look forward to donating plasma as part of a treatment for those who get sick in the future, whenever that near-distant moment may be.

And thank you, friends. I am good. I have everything I need. My inner circle is incredible (I love you, mom!). I have been quarantined since developing symptoms and went out for a half hour only to get tested (thank you, Howard Brown for your invaluable service). No one else I spent time with beforehand has gotten sick (except my one friend whose illness coincided with mine, and they are also struggling a bit today with the ups and downs. Please hold them in your thoughts).

May you and your loved ones stay healthy. Or, more to the point, may we all get well and stay well. Sending love to all corners.– Rachel Herman

[cinnamonzor]

BrattyShipping Headcanons Pt. 3

Previous Posts: Part 1 | Part 2

The Heirs’ Game

- Victor ended up heading to Ballonlea on his own to help Bede and Opal, since he knew that Gloria heading there to meet them was almost definitely a bad idea. He’d primarily been sticking with Sonia to help track Swordward and Shielbert, but decided it was best for him to head over while Gloria, Hop, and Piers traveled to the other stadiums.

- Upon learning Bede had defeated the three rampaging Dynamax Pokemon by themselves, Victor congratulated them for their impressive victory, expressing genuine pride towards them.

- Bede challenging him to a battle was primarily influenced by this, as they felt a boost of determination from his subtle acknowledgement that only added to the confidence high of defeating the Dynamax Pokemon.

- Victor quickly recognized the significance of their respect for his capabilities as a trainer both before and during the match (i.e. the mid-battle dialogue), understanding the genuine compliment that Bede would never have given without meaning it.

- Hatterene wipes out half of Victor’s team on her own before her defeat, primarily due to her need to blow off some steam towards the source of her trainer’s irritatingly lopsided emotions. She decides it was completely worth the venting.

- Upon accepting Victor’s strength and exchanging rare League cards with him, Bede made sure to quickly and safely tuck it away as they went to clean the aftermath in the stadium. Victor did the same on his way back to Wedgehurst, storing their card in a pocket separate from the one he’d been collecting the other League cards in.

- Bede tacks the rare card to their vengeance board upon returning from the gym. They still don’t have any of Gloria’s cards and Rose’s letter has been tacked beside his card, indicating it as fulfilled. They continue to turn to it as a daily source of motivation in the morning.

More Pining (Don’t worry. We’re nearing to the end of this part)

- It takes at least another full year for their relationship to actually start. I mean, come on. This dynamic can only form via slow-burn.

- They continue to keep in touch during that time, primarily through texting and Victor’s occasional visits to their gym. During the League season, he makes a point to find time to watch at least one of Bede and Marnie’s gym matches per week for the sake of being a supportive friend.

- About a month into their training sessions, Victor starts bringing an extra lunch for Bede to ensure they aren’t neglecting themselves and to get a fresh opinion on his cooking. They initially scoff at how unfair it is that Victor is so unreasonably skilled at two fields of expertise, but always grants honest, thorough feedback on each of the meals he provides. It doesn’t take long before their lunch break becomes a highly anticipated element of their training sessions.

- Marnie sees Bede every so often due to gym leader business and, while neither has directly told her about their feelings for the other (particularly since Bede mostly considers her a work acquaintance at best), she manages to figure it out for herself fairly quickly. Victor’s growing reciprocation is also made evident by his increased attention whenever she brings them up in conversation.

- Victor’s interest in Bede is only self-confirmed as a full-blown crush half a year later while he’s watching them care for their Pokemon after one of their sparring sessions. He’s completely endeared by their rarely-shown soft side as they thoughtfully work with each member of their team to ensure each member is achieving their full potential when the “oh s**t” moment hits.

- Bede starts to realize the nature of their feelings toward Victor (with some subtle prodding from Opal and Hatterene) around the same time. They immediately attempt to deny it, only for Hatterene to indicate that she’s having none of that. Knowing fully well how seriously their partner takes the subject of emotions, Bede begrudgingly attempts to sort through their feelings in their typical logical fashion. And at this point, Hatterene is just overjoyed they’re headed in the right direction.

- It takes the two a while to really act on their feelings, due to Victor’s anxiety acting up and having him worry he’s overthinking Bede’s behavior and that admitting he likes them would ruin the rare friendship they’ve allowed him. You know, the standard stuff.

- Meanwhile, Bede most DEFINITELY has some pretty deeply ingrained trust and abandonment issues from both their parents and Rose ultimately casting them aside. It’s bad enough they’ve somehow managed to grow attached to Opal, but now they’ve got some random desire to grow equally attached to this stupid, overly soft, admirable idiot? As Hatterene has basically forced them to admit, yes. Yes they do.

- This goes on for the next few months. It’s hell for both of them, though the onlooking three grow increasingly invested. Meanwhile, Gloria and Hop still are completely unaware since neither of them even consider the possibility of Victor being interested in Bede and mostly just focus on their own endeavors.

Getting Together

- The two ultimately begin their relationship when they’re around fifteen. I have vague memories of someone stating that Hop and thee protagonists are eleven or twelve when the game starts, but I couldn’t find anything about their actual age when I checked, so for the sake of this series of ideas, I’m guesstimating them at around thirteen when the game starts. The main story takes place over the course of ten months (the average length of the soccer/football season, whichever you wanna call it), placing them at around fourteen during the Championship and fifteen after the following year of awkward pining.

- Victor ultimately is the one to admit his feelings first and sets up a picnic behind the Ballonlea stadium (what can he say? They were already there and he really likes the town’s aesthetic).

- Bede is somewhat confused, but doesn’t think much of it since they’re even denser about other people’s feelings than their own. They notice Victor arranged the contents of the food into the shape of an Applin and informs him that while the image is well-done, it likely would take too long to reasonably offer as a menu item.

- It’s at that moment when Hatterene bonks them over the head at how utterly they missed the point of the gesture, insisting they further analyse the implied meaning. Bede gets confused, but has a vague understanding of what Hatterene is trying to tell them, asking Victor if they were missing anything. Victor isn’t able to choke out much more than an old superstition about the Applins. It takes Bede a quick internet search on their phone to connect the dots. They manage to admit their reciprocation for Victor’s feelings as well.

- Bede is more surprised than Victor about the other’s feelings, as Victor had at least suspected Bede’s interest for a few months at that point. Bede, on the other hand, is still kinda garbage at figuring out other people outside battle and basic personalities.

- After some discussion, the two officially begin dating. And Hatterene’s unintentional torment finally came to an end.

And now, on to the truly adorable stuff!

[ericasean01]

Ecosole simplifies the management of the collection of edible vegetable oils

Waste oil or used oil is that which is contaminated with other substances and consequently is not quite as safe for use; it may be hazardous. The possible toxicity saw to the introduction of several environmental regulations that govern and also require for the safe disposal of these oils so that damages to the natural environment, living organisms and humans are reduced. Waste oil recycling has for that matter become huge company with the business needing cooking and motor oils. Waste oils can get cleaned up and then utilized in different industries. Once the contaminants have been removed, the purified variety can be utilized in electricity plants in the production of electricity for companies, schools and even homes. Utility and industrial boilers can also use it or it could be mixed for marine fuels. Lubricants are also obtained in the recycled refined oil. The other areas where the utilized recycled oil can prove to be beneficial are in industrial burners, molding firms to release products, for bitumen based products, hydraulic oil, as an additive in product manufacturing and even as transformer oil. To begin the recycling procedure, you can deliver your used oil into a nearby collection facility that may pre-treat and recycle it or perhaps sell to a specialized used oil recycler. There are so many used oil recycling facilities now and you may be certain you have played a part in maintaining the environment and saved energy at the same time whenever you have your waste oil disposed properly. Not so many men and women consider improper disposal of used oil and they'll pour it out without a care in the world. However, this improper disposal leads to the oil getting into back yards, landfills, storm drains as well as sewers. It usually means that the dirt, drinking water and groundwater may get contaminated and sewer treatment systems can also get damaged. When you recycle the waste oil, you keep it away in the lakes, rivers and streams in addition to the ground water sources which you get your drinking water from. Recycling oils normally saves the environment, conserves energy and keeps you protected from hazardous contamination. You can easily get motor oil from your boat, motorcycle, lawnmower, vehicle or truck recycled. It's in itself a show of commitment to maintain the environment secure, for the sake of future creation and also for the conservation of energy resources. In as much as it is important to choose your used oil to a collection and recycling facility for the same, you need to make sure that you properly handle the oil before it has accumulated. In case you have waste motor oil, maintain it in a container which has a secure and a tight lid to make sure that there are not leak risks. Milk jugs which have protected caps may very powerful storage units for the petroleum. Ensure also that you don't combine the waste oil using any other substance, whether it is transmitting fluid or antifreeze liquid. The containers should then be kept away from ignition sources and kids. Do not overfill. Make sure the parking brake is set and start the motors in a well-ventilated place after you change the oil. Its pressure light may be on, but it should go out after a few seconds. Once the light goes out, permit the motor to run for a couple more minutes. Display responsibility. Protect the environment and preserve resources by taking your used oil and filter to your nearest used oil collection center. My buddy visits a used automobiles centre in Alexandria after do-it-yourself oil change into dispose-off used oil. Used oil is a concern of every restaurant proprietor. This natural byproduct of deep frying foods creates an annoyance for any owner. What can you do would all of those gallons of oil generated every day that won't put a strain on your business's budget? Luckily, there are a number of recourses for disposing of oil and also an astute owner can even turn that waste to profit. Most restaurants still use conventional oil disposal solutions to haul off the huge quantities of used cooking oil which are created during the course of routine business. However, depending on where your business is found, you could have more choices than you understand. Having a rising demand for oil to be utilised in a number of products and in biofuels, restaurant owners are finding they no longer need to pay to get rid of their unwanted acrylic. Finding a service prepared to cart your oil away for free or, if you're lucky, one that's ready to pay you for it might be as easy as perusing your regional yellow pages. When was the last time you looked to get a petroleum service? If it's been some time then you may not be aware of how much things have changed. What used to be a bothersome waste product has now become a valuable commodity. A growing number of refineries are ready to pay a nice price a barrel of waste oil to be used in feeds, fuels and other products. Therefore, many waste petroleum services are prepared to really cover your used cooking oil. In some regions, where you will find local rendering plants and refineries that use waste oil within their production, waste oil collection services can amass an ordinary cost $30 per barrel. As a result of this high cost and the ease of collecting the oil from your waste oil bin, a number of these services are ready to pay upwards of $10 per barrel for your own oil. The waste oil can then be taken to refineries and rendering plants where it's used for a number of things. Waste oil is used in animal feeds as a source of high energy fat. Waste oil can also be utilized to create biofuels which are starting to replace traditional fuels in several of industrial equipments. For those owners who aren't concerned about making a few bucks from their oil, but would rather help boost their image locally, there is another exciting option to get rid of all that oil. Riding the wave of the present trend towards environmentalism, industrious"green" mechanics have begun a movement amongst environmentalist everywhere in the region of alternatively fueled cars. Individuals have begun to convert diesel engines to run on pure vegetable. Waste oil burns clean and gets surprising excellent mileage. By earning your waste oil readily available to the public you're playing a role in helping the environment and building your reputation as an environmentally friendly business. We are living in an age where the environment and the ozone need much care. If we don't take care of our planet now, there can be very little that we can do to fix it later. One of the regions where folks lack in is that of properly disposing of used cooking oil. I have seen that many people, from individuals to restaurants, find it hard to properly dispose of the used oil. They simply throw it down the drain or in the backyard. This isn't ideal since it may have adverse effects of the organisms living in the garden and it might lead to drain blockages that can be unhygienic. For that reason, it's of extreme importance that you eliminate your favorite sunflower oil at a healthy and hygienic manner. It is important for the health and the health of the eco-system. There are a number of ways which you can locate a used oil collector. These would be the people or companies which have the infrastructure to collect and dispose of the oil in a secure way. Firstly, you can find out from other restaurants that they use to collect the oil. Usually huge restaurants contract oil collectors to gather from them on a daily or weekly basis, depending on their volume of used oil. You could contact the local municipality and request a list of used oil collectors. Google, of course, is among the chief procedures to find what you're looking for. So it's also excellent place to search for reputable collectors. If they have a site, you could find out even more about how they do it or you can contact them directly to find out more about this process. These kind of businesses will typically collect the used frying oil from you and take it back to their premises where they will bottle it to recycling purposes or eliminate it in an eco manner method. The used cooking oil could be utilized as biodiesel or from the chemical market. It's very important that you do check the trustworthiness of the collector as a number of them might not be reputable. Used oil can be a harmful substance and incorrect disposal can be damaging to certain eco systems and to individuals. Figure out if they have a certification that verifies them to be used oil collectors and that the oil isn't recycled back into the human food chain. There are many ways to dispose of used oil, but it is best to get in contact with a respectable company that can do this. Our core focus at Golden Fry would be to provide specially customized goods and solutions to Restaurants, Take-Aways, Food Manufacturers, Caterers, Wholesalers, Supermarkets and Spaza Shops. We are a licensed used oil collector. Are you considering starting a mobile oil change business? Well, there are a whole lot of things that you ought to know, and I bet you are outside searching for information online are not you? Okay so, allow me to give you a few pointers and tips. Below are some questions which lately were requested of me by someone like you who wants to start their own mobile oil change business too. These questions must do with removal of used oil, and also what to do with it once its collected - where to take it. You will find DOT rules, EPA rules, and local principles most likely in your area. You have to adhere to every one of these. Depending on the amount that would need to put up a diamond shaped placard on your vehicle. To receive supplementary information on Raccolta Olio Verona please learn more here. And you'll need to ensure that you can include the oil if the used oil tank gets a leak. Wouldn't it have been fine if they had comprised the oil that spilled into the Gulf of Mexico and cleaned up on shore? See that point an why this is a significant consideration. Additionally that petroleum was crude oil, the petroleum that you collect from cars and trucks once you change the oil is filthy refined oil, much more serious into the surroundings. Today's high-performance CNC machines operate in extremely substantial levels of speed, requiring an oil mist eliminator to remove vast amounts of coolant. As an example, the Haas MDC-500 Mill DrillCenter features a high-volume coolant pump along with a 40-gallon coolant tank. Mist eliminators are intended to take out the oil mist and smoke from cutting fluids in metalworking environments. The health dangers of petroleum exposure associated with the machine tool sector have been well recorded. The websites for OSHA, NIOSH and the CDC provide an abundance of valuable information for both employers and employees regarding safety problems and cutting fluids. Among the most common afflictions of employees exposed to oil mist is Hypersensitivity Pneumonitis (HP). This can be an allergic reaction to machine lubricant which worsens with continuing exposure. HP is due to germs in the cutting oil that affect air sacs from the deepest part of the lung. Symptoms include fever, chills, deep coughing and shortness of breath. A mist eliminator accumulates and eliminates the damaging particles and smoke from petroleum jelly. Does an oil mist eliminator protect workers health, it may also help increase production and improve your shops overall atmosphere. It is undoubtedly very important to get your car's oil changed on-time. But since it's all about the very valued part of your vehicle, the engine, it is very important that you have essential information about it such as quality to use, timing of change (if it really is important to change car oil after 3000 miles), and many other tips. You might not be close to an auto mechanic or you just wish to home improvement, a friend of mine in Fairfax, VA gave quite helpful tips regarding this: Do not alter oil while the engine is hot. Let it cool for a couple hours. It can burn you badly. Allow it two hours at least to cool before beginning. When engine is hot, its temperature generally touches 250 levels. It may burn you badly. Another reason why you should cool down the oil is that all residue settle into the bottom of the pan. Oil chemistry and engine technologies have now improved to the point that most cars can go a few thousand more miles before changing it. So 3,000 mph change is not necessary for all the cars. Although most cars require 4-5 quarts of petroleum, you must nevertheless owner's manual for the recommended amount is necessary and more notably recommended grade of motor oil for use. If you're traveling on bike or automobile for a lengthy journey and you think your car needs oil change, here is a great tip to get assist. The natives can buy the used oil from you. They purchase and use it to paint on the underside and foundations of homes. It prevents termites from eating the wood. So, if you're on the street and want to change the oil, just walk up to a few of the houses and tell them that you need to change your oil. They will assist you if you request them to bring their own container to take used oil. Oil recycling company initiatives make it possible for restaurateurs and professionals from the food service industry to maintain the environment a cleaner and greener place. By using these tools, restaurants, specifically, can turn waste into profit in a short time period. Clients that use oil recycling include little cafes as well as large institutional facilities, like kitchens in medical facilities, prisons, or colleges. Assessing the use of animal and plant byproducts is one approach to reduce environmental waste. Oil recycling company services include everything in the pick up of cooking fats, regular grease trap maintenance, as well as the cleaning of grease interceptors and capture basins. Restaurateurs who would like to increase their bottom line or receive their establishment up to code may benefit from such services. It is irrelevant whether a facility produces just a couple gallons monthly or has a large grease trap that needs constant cleaning, all businesses or institutions in the food service industry can profit from this sort of recycling agency. Partner using an oil recycling firm whose primary aim is to maintain grease traps, so the amounts comply with your city's codes. As you do have to spend less on maintaining collection methods, the assortment of this oil or grease is entirely free. Therefore, recycling is a sustainable and cost-effective way for a company to increase its bottom line. The gas that is made from recycled oil isn't just renewable, it is a clean-burning replacement fuel which makes it possible for the U.S. to rely less on oil sources from overseas countries. Not only is biodiesel better for your environment, it produces more job opportunities throughout the U.S. EPA-designated fuels meet stringent technical qualifications for quality and performance in motors. As a result, biodiesel fuel that's created by recycled means may be utilized in all types of engines, and is even covered by leading engine manufacturers' warranties. Since the start of the 21st century, the manufacturing of biodiesel fuel has gone from 25 million to over one billion gallons. The biodiesel fuel industry jobs that it will fabricate approximately 10% of the diesel transportation reservations by 2022. If that goal is met, it usually means that the U.S. will depend less on oil imports, and that, in turn, will also lessen the trade deficit. Biodiesel plants are situated across the U.S., including all the facilities equipped to produce as much as three billion gallons of biodiesel fuel per year.

[shenlongshao]

Jam Kuradoberi: Extra Analysis

A few years ago, I made a character analysis of Jam Kuradoberi that cleared up common misconceptions about her personality. But there are some things I forgot to mention after re-reading my old post. There's still some misinformation spread about Jam, which I want to clarify so this will be a long post. First is analyzing Jam's Instant Kill called "Gasenkotsu".

Jam says "Ten! Jo! Ten! Ge! Yui! Ga! Doku! Son!"  

Now I'll show the given translation to this you've likely seen on Tumblr and other places.

Tenjou Tenge Yuigadokuson (Written in Japanese is  天上天下唯我独尊 )

“In Heaven and Earth I am all that is Holy!” / “Unrivaled Self-Conceit”

Gasenkotsu= Narcissism

If you focus only on 唯我独尊(Yuigadokuson), translators(both people and computerized) will automatically give you "conceited, narcissism, ego" etc. because they dissect each word within "Yuigadokuson". Narcissism, etc. are part of the list of meanings, but these aren't the only ones; it's important to know the context. The best way to get the correct meaning is understanding this is from Buddhism, which is known to be practiced in India, China, and Japan(and probably some other countries too). Buddha said the phrase "Tenjou Tenge Yuigadokuson" after gaining enlightenment. Since this is a real cultural saying with a specific meaning, it needs to be translated as a whole rather than in pieces. The real translation of "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson" is "In Heaven and on Earth, I alone am worth of honor." Since the phrase does involve speaking about oneself and one of the meanings of honor is high respect or great esteem, it's commonly mistaken for narcissism. But the real meaning of "Yuigadokuson" is "self-esteem" and "resolve" across Japan, China, etc. This is me explaining from what I know and studied of Chinese culture by reading books like "Speaking of Chinese" by Raymond Chang and Margaret Scrogin Chang. I've spoken with and observe some Asian people when I was in school or when order out to eat, etc. way back in 1994 before the era of the internet. I still take the time to make sure I learn and understand about Chinese culture, its language(mainly focused on Mandarin), etc. Now I'm going to show reliable sources and evidence.

1. SOTOZEN.NET (https://global.sotozen-net.or.jp/eng/library/glossary/individual.html?key=shakamuni): This explains the history of Buddha's life and its founder along with the meaning of "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson". This is an Asian themed site that's translated in many languages.

2. True Buddhism (https://true-buddhism.com/teachings/yuigadokuson/): This is a Japanese only site that goes into great detail  about "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson" and answers questions to common misconceptions about it. It will go into explanation about Buddha and his enlightenment, which you can just go the 1st website I linked to to understand the references. One of the things it mentions is how the saying doesn't mean "I'm the greatest in the world" or about being conceited, but about self resolve.  If you don't understand Japanese and just want a quick translation, you could use Google Translate to get the general interpretation of the sites, but it(Google Translate) is very weird at times, XD. I think using a good Japanese to English dictionary would help better if you're unable to contact a good translator.

3. Naoto Matsumoto's Video ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=2&v=NQRDZF7Hy_g&feature=emb_logo): Naoto Matsumoto is a Japanese man who teaches the meanings behind both Taoism and Buddhism. You can skip to 1:19 of the video to listen to the specific part of him addressing the saying "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson". He says, "The most humble way is being like the baby Buddha who said, 'Above Heaven, below Heaven, I alone am the most respectable being.' Tenjo--Tenge--Yuigadokuson. I hope you would understand this; this is not haughty at all. He is saying everything is one." This is the most important because it's from a knowledgeable native who naturally understands about his culture, which is the best way to truly understand something from another country. A good translator who isn't native to the country he/she studied about can be equally trusted if he/she has a great understanding of the culture. You'll be surprised how many translators know about something, but not have the full understanding cause of the false generalizations they have towards other countries.

This last one I'll link to isn't technically a information resource, but it's showing how the saying "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson" is used.

4. 雅 MIYAVI's Facebook Page(https://www.facebook.com/comyvzcrew/posts/2472543299438327/): Miyavi is a Japanese singer, songwriter, and guitarist. He has the tattoo of the saying on his body to strengthen his resolve to do what he loves, which is to keep playing music.

Jam is also using this saying to strengthen her resolve on the path she's chosen and enlightenment about herself. Also note from Jam's Instant Kill(how it was before Revelator) she's also being silly and embraces the part of her being a silly idiot, XD. Now to examine how her IK is in Revelator.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hkr-g2Z1uM4

You notice how it begins with seeing her restaurant destroyed. There's a comical shocked expression, but notice how she's using her tears for fierce determination while giving the final kick to her opponent. What she says after is random like "I passed the first interview!" or "Done and done!". All of this is about resolve, so below is the accurate translation.

Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson  (Written in Japanese is  天上天下唯我独尊 )

"In Heaven and Earth, I alone am worthy of honor" or "Above Heaven, below Heaven, I alone am the most respectable being" / "Self Enlightenment & Resolve"

Gasenkotsu= Self-esteem

Next is addressing what I've read detractors often say about Jam. “Jam is a gold digger!” This relates to the "greedy" part, which I already covered isn't true about Jam in the character analysis post (https://shenlongshao.tumblr.com/post/151953570662/character-analysis-of-jam-kuradoberi).   Let's look at the definition of "Gold Digger" according to Webster since people misusing the word. Gold Digger: 2. a person whose romantic pursuit of, relationship with, or marriage to a wealthy person is primarily or solely motivated by a desire for money. Next is comparing the top traits gold diggers have and see if Jam displays any of this behavior. TOP TRAITS OF A GOLD DIGGER ------------------------------- #1: A gold digger hates having to put hardwork or effort into what she wants. She doesn't have or even try to have her own goals or dreams because she wants to the wealthy man or one who has good income to do everything and enjoy the benefits. The only "work" she'll put in is trying to get a guy who has money and spending it lavishly.  #2. When first meeting a guy on a date or in general, a gold digger won't hesitate to ask him financial related questions like "What's your job?" "How much money you make in a week/month/year?" etc. If the guy doesn't have a high or good paying job or high social status, she won't care or interested in truly getting to know him as a person. She wants extravagant dates, things, and status to boost her ego. 3#. A gold digger is never a giver, only a taker. The concept of helping out financially like paying a bill or anything about doing her part unless she gets something out of it is foreign to her. She'll either make up excuses like, "Oh, I used all my money last week" or manipulate the guy in some way(like using her looks, sex, etc.)so she doesn't have to do anything.  #4. A gold digger is usually very high maintenance, spoiled, and entitled  in some way cause that's the treatment she's used to having. She has the "go big or go home" mentality and doesn't appreciate the simple and small things. EVIDENCE JAM ISN'T A GOLD-DIGGER ----------------------------------- Volume 2 of Guilty Gear X Drama CD shows a hint of Jam's earlier life before her video game debut. The chapter is called "Boiler-Maker", where she used to work in a tiny restaurant as a waitress with little to no pay. Here is the link to read that section. http://gearlegacy.tripod.com/rtt/id22.html She eventually gets tired of her working situation and quits, wanting to start her own restaurant; leading into the events of Guilty Gear X(Plus). Here is the translated prologue of Jam's Story Mode. Prologue Grilling, frying, boiling, deep-frying, washing, cutting, putting in oil. A cook who mastered the 100 martial arts of China. That is Jam. In order to found her new restaurant she set out on a journey. A journey to... the devil's forest. In there were said to be ingredients unknown to man. Source:  https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/ps2/536497-guilty-gear-x-plus/faqs/31309 The Prologue for Jam's story(and others) is explained through the perspective of the P.W.A.B.(Post-War Administration Bureau). She's one of the characters that have 3 different story paths depending on what you do, so I'll give a general summary. Jam finally starts her own restaurant, but an arsonist(Robo-Ky) sets her restaurant on fire. She fights him despite the heavy smoke, but Robo-Ky escapes and begins to chase after him. This leads her to initially mistake Ky Kiske to be the arsonist, but the story can branch out differently from here. Either way, it'll end with Jam needing to start over again with her restaurant. This has been an ongoing purpose for each game since so I'll show only one more official profile of hers. Jam Kuradoberi's profile from GGXRD Revelator 2: Jam Kuradoberi's Personality: Iron chef of Chinese food and master of Chinese martial arts. She is a bright and cheerful girl that has the ability to fight using her Ki force. Her dream is to open her own restaurant and have lots of people enjoy her cooking. She almost attained her dream, but was smashed down every time by unforeseen troubles. But her passion can't be stamped out, so she keeps trying. Source: https://web.archive.org/web/20180219014839/http://guiltygear.us/ggxrdr/characters/ (Note: You'll have to select Jam from the character list.) The Japanese version of the site phrases it a little differently, but it's basically the same meaning and description. From the beginning, Jam has her own goals and dreams; she's continuously worked hard for it by herself. This is the complete opposite trait a gold digger would have. Of course she would appreciate not having to financially struggle so much if with a wealthy man, but Jam is very driven and passionate about her dream. She would simply continue doing what she loves and contribute in the relationship. Her less-than-fortune upbringing and the fact of her having to work for everything in her life by herself means she has a greater appreciation for the smaller and simple things in life. Not even on her list of Likes on her profile states "money", it's only "Cooking, researching, youth, and handsome men". This should be enough proof by itself, but I see detractors labeling Jam's romantic interest in Ky to "she wants him cause he's a handsome rich guy, so she's a gold digger!" I'm laughing at this cause it's so easily refutable. I'm going to show the dialogue, quotes, etc. Jam has with Ky. They first briefly met in Guilty Gear Plus when Ky was on a journey to see Dizzy. (Below is from Ky's Story Path, but Jam's story path of their first meeting is generally the same with minor differences in dialogue.) GGX Plus Ky's Story --------------------- Ky: Excuse me, the forest ahead of here, how can I... Jam: (Aiya! What a nice looking man!) The Demon's Forest is very dangerous.     You should stay away. Ky: Thank you for your concern, but it's my duty... Jam: Then I must test if you're ready for the forest! Draw! Ky: W-w-wait a second! Jam: If you lose it's washing dishes for you! Ky: Huh? Wait! Source: https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/ps2/536497-guilty-gear-x-plus/faqs/31309 How is Jam wanting Ky do dishes if he loses being a gold digger? LOL! There’s no  part of her asking him what's his job and how much money he makes. Let's look at Jam's win-quote against Ky that's been the same throughout most Guilty Gear games until Revelator(I'll get to that later). Jam's Win-quote vs Ky: “Uu... Mada shibirete ugokenai aru. Doko ka ni kata wo kashitekureru  yasashii otoko wa inai aru ka?” (chira) Translation: “Ooh... I'm still shaking and can't move. Isn't there a kind man        around who'll lend me his shoulder?” (glint) There's no mention about Ky's wallet in this.  Pre-Battle Jam vs Ky: Uchi no mise, otoko ten'in tarinai. Anata boui yaru yoroshi. Translation: My store doesn't have enough male workers. You can work there. Once again Jam wants Ky to work for her at her restaurant, which definitely doesn't pay much in comparison to Ky's salary as an IPF(International Police Force). This isn't how a gold digger operates. Further proof is Jam's 3rd ending from Story Path 3 in Guilty Gear X2. I've referenced her dialogue with Ky in my character analysis to prove she is kind and friendly person and not a jerk. It also shows Jam is once again not a gold digger because she didn't pry about Ky's finances nor ever made it her main focus of why she pursues him. Lastly is Jam's win-quote against Ky in Revelator. Jam's win-quote against Ky: There is no finish line for cooking world. Only beginning. Same as when you find nice woman. You learn about her then find nicer woman. So...nicer woman right here, you know? By this point, Ky is a king of Illyria, another position with not only way more financial stability than Jam, but very high social status. Yet, Jam doesn’t refer to either at all. Next one! “Jam flirts with Bridget cause she told him to come back in 5 years! And says he's cute boy!” I can't believe how many people misunderstood Jam's win-quote against Bridget, which is this. Jam's Win-quote to Bridget: Ha! Kono nioi! Anata otoko no ko ne! 5 nen tattara mata kuru yoroshi!     Translation: Ha! This smell! You're a boy! Come again in five years, okay? Bridget is a cute boy in a adorable way and could potentially be a pretty boy if he's ever allowed to escape the gender-bender look and feminine mannerisms. But Jam is simply complimenting him when she says him being cute. The purpose of Jam's win-quote against Bridget is to suppose to let you and other players know 2 things. The first is letting you know Bridget's a boy cause otherwise we would've assumed he's a girl. The second is to hint of his age, which is likely 13 years old cause plus 5 would be 18 years. His body hasn't fully matured yet and 18 is the age mostly likely a person's body is reasonably developed. The fact she said 5 years should be enough to let people know Jam doesn't want a little boy. The context is actually her saying she isn't interested in him romantically. Jam doesn't flirt with Bridget at all, she sees him as a friend. Time for the next detractor statement~. “Not only is Jam after Ky, she's after his son as well!” This sounds like something from soap operas, XDD. I'll address this part cause there's some basis to it. Jam's smiles when Sin tackles her during his Instant Kill and says things like "You hug me harder!" and "Hey, you come work at my restaurant!"  There's her win-quote against him where she says has good basics and just needs to cook to be perfect man. And how she's willing to teach him cause she's a chef. Another part is Sin's win-quote against her is him mentioning of doing his best to hold back against her in a fight, but then becomes very nervous and saying like "get away from me!" which hints she got too close to him.  But these actually are meant to be strictly humorous rather interpreted as her seriously wanting Sin. Proof is this...

Sin's no where in that picture and the story states "man"(singular) and not "men"(plural) she's sets her sights on. Since I've already listed the quotes Jam says to Ky; compare those to what she says to Sin and other guys.

Another statement I read from detractors. “Jam forced Ky to go on a picnic with her!” Hahaha! XD Let's look at the part of Jam's 3rd ending from Story Path 3 with Jam and Ky to find this "evidence". Jam: It's such a nice day. How about we go eat somewhere? Ky: B-but, I should work... Jam: Ehhhh? Ky: I'm sorry for troubling you... let us go. Jam: Okay! Come on, cheer up! So Jam asking Ky about going on a picnic together and her saying "Ehhhhh?" in a disappointed and childlike manner when he first says he should work is forcing him? XD  Ky is a mentally functional and capable adult in his late 20s who's been in many leadership roles. In fact, Ky wasn’t obligated to stay and talk to her after saving her, yet he did of his own free will. Next is another one from detractors. “Ky would be Jam's personal punching bag.” ROFL! I won't spend too much time on this cause this is clearly out of no where to claim Jam would actually abuse or use Ky as a scapegoat in any way. It's perfectly okay to not like her cause everyone has characters they like and dislike, but making things up about her that aren't true makes people who do that very illogical and have poor comprehension skills. Now for the last one I think is the most interesting. “Why Jam does wear such a short skirt where you can see her panties?! This is so hentai!” There's actually a cultural reason why Jam and other Chinese girl characters like Chun-Li, Lei-Fang, etc. who show lots of legs nearly or up to their hip bone. Believe it or not, it's not strictly about sex appeal. The short answer is Chinese girls wearing a mini-skirt or dresses that show lots of leg, even to the point of possible pantyshots is the same level as a shirtless guy. This means it isn't considered sexual in China by itself if worn on a casually, but formal and holy places would obviously be inappropriate to wear it. It's even socially okay for a 50 year old woman to wear a mini skirt. But there an important part you'll also notice, Jam and other Chinese girls normally never wear low-cut tops showing their boobs. This is also a cultural thing cause in China, women are deemed good and respectable if not showing off cleavage even though their skirts are short. Showing cleavage, especially alot and if the girl isn't a model or etc. as part of a job, then it'll be the opposite; she'll be viewed as "very naughty" a.k.a want sex. This is why in Revelator Jam says to Elphelt, "You hide boobs more! You make me nervous!" and talk about some of the other girls' clothes. When thinking about in general, it's not really too different from what you may see in other places.

I hope you enjoyed reading!^_^ My next lengthy GG related post will be when Frosty Faustings arrives to analyze Faust's new design, gameplay, etc.!