#maurice beer

[ratatatastic]

"This is your third time here. Picked up any Finnish?" "No, no. I should from probably Niko Mikkola. I'm pretty sure he's swearing at me when he comes to the bench. It may not always be me, but I'm pretty sure he's swearing. Nobody's really sure but the other Finnish guys are laughing, so that's the only thing I know. That's as close as I can get to it."

media availability | 10.29.24 (x)

"And to follow up on Niko Mikkola...his sense of humour with him, like, maybe—lot of people don't talk—like, last night he was like, you know, he "woke Bobby up," or whatever. "Good thing Bob was awake—"

"He's a great personality and I've said this kinda during the year. And we've, you know, I mean we're always—...I was gonna say, "It'd be great if you guys could spend a lot of time with him," but then we spend a lot of time trying to make sure you guys don't spend too much time with our guys, so, there goes—so, forget that! But, he is an incredibly interesting guy. What's great is when he's coming to the bench... if there's something that's broken down, and I'm not sure if he's screaming in Finnish or it's in English, but it is funny as hell! And it's consistent. So, he plays really high-energy level. A lot of times these kinda big, lanky guys are... you don't really think they're moving that fast, but they are! He looks like he's getting across the ice, and, you know, he competes hard. That's what we like the most of him, but he talks at a high-energy level, too, on the bench. And that's great, right? We have some quiet players on our bench, and that's fine, that's who they are. But, those guys like Mikkola, who's got—nobody knows—Well there's four other Finnish guys knowing what he's saying, but nobody else knows what he's saying.

paul loves all his rascals and it is a joy to hear his takes on them its mikksys turn now!

media availability | 6.11.24 (x)

also if you want to see the moment mikksy is talking about in the interviews linked above because it is genuinely bonkers 10 or so seconds of hockey: here it is

[teddyreblogslotf]

the series of polls on this blog is for a drawing series that will be posted to @mccall-me-maurice so follow up there!

[gaystuffgarbage]

Dumb facts cause i'm bored:

Sonic is such an extrovert that he gets depressed if he doesn't have anyone to yap with for a day

Sonic's favorite music genre is 90's pop

Sonic's real name is Maurice, only his mom and Shadow (when he's angry with him) use it

Sonic's favorite colors are red and blue

Sonic's whole family has freckles, some just a few, some all over (Except for his dad, no idea where he is haven't thought about that enough. Dead? Perhaps.)

Sonic and Shadow huff and puff in their sleep

Sonic likes all the seasons, Summer is his favorite tho. Shadow loves Summer too but cannot stand Fall or Winter

Shadow is mostly vegetarian

Sonic can't cook and doesn't have the patience to learn, hence he always goes for take out or snacks

Sonic can't drive either. Too dangerous to even learn lol

Shadow loves karaoke

Sonic likes sweet drinks. Shadow sticks to mostly only beer, wine or whiskey

Sonic smokes sometimes (Gets the cigs from Shadow lmao)

[carrotcakecrumble]

“What about my books?”

“Leave ‘em too.”

“I shan’t want them after hall?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Tea’s more important than hall. It stands to reason — well what are you giggling at? — that if we follow a dyke long enough we must come to a pub.”

“Why, they use it to water their beer!”

Maurice smote him on the ribs, and for ten minutes they played up amongst the trees, too silly for speech. Pensive again, they stood close together.

(THIS SCENE !!! THIS BOOK !!! THEM !!!)

(I tried to make it book accurate but I forgot what book accurate was so maybe it’s just me accurate but🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️anyway💅 Maurice is on the right, I gave him his little tash)

[mauricemetsfan]

I think maurice needs a beer (but if we're talking butterfly maurice I guess he gets a really small beer instead)

Cheers.

I've never had alcohol before!

[scotianostra]

Happy 87th Birthday Ronald Grant Browne born 20th August 1937 in Edinburgh, Ronnie is a founder member of The Corries.

Born to John Albert 'Bertie' Browne, a truck driver, and Anne 'Nancy' Browne. He was raised in Edinburgh. Aside from singing, Browne's other abilities are painting, sketching and rugby, having once played as a winger for his secondary school Boroughmuir. He met Roy Williamson on the rugby field, as Williamson had played as a winger also for Boroughmuir's rivals Edinburgh Wanderers.

This led to meeting multi-instrumentalist Bill Smith at Edinburgh College of Art in 1955 and the formation of the Corrie Folk Trio in 1962. The group was expanded the following year with the addition of female singer Paddie Bell. Shortly after releasing three albums in 1965, Bell left to begin a solo career. With the departure of Smith, the following year, Browne and Williamson continued to perform as a duo now known as The Corries.

Browne and Williamson were regular performers on Scottish television shows and movies and in 1983 received an International Film and Television Festival gold award for their Scottish Television series, "The Corries & Other Folk". The 1996 film The Bruce features Browne's rendition of the Williamson-penned Flower of Scotland at the end. Browne appeared in the film playing the role of Maxwell The Minstrel.

Since Williamson's death in 1990, Browne continued to perform and record in the spirit of the Corries. He regularly led the singing of Flower of Scotland, de facto national anthem of Scotland, for the Scotland national rugby and football teams. During his performances, he was known to yell "COME ON!" to the audience during the opening line of the song he was singing and this has often been parodied by the BBC Hogmanay sketch show Only an Excuse?. As of 27 April 2015, Browne announced that due to emotional breakdowns during performances, he has put an end to singing in public.

Browne is now an accomplished portrait artist.

Browne met and fell in love with Patricia Elliott during secondary school, and the two married on 30 June 1959. Together they had two biological children: Gavin John and Lauren Anne Violet and one adopted son: Maurice Walter.

Gavin Browne is the eldest of the three, and has run The Corries Official Website since 1997.

Ronnie and Pat were married for 53 years until Pat died due to cancer in 2012.

Scotland the Brave Corries humourous version

Land o' the purple heather Land o' the dirty weather Land where the midges gather, Scotland The Brave Land o' the Pakistanis Andy Capp and Saturday sannies Land where they sell their grannies, Scotland The Brave Used to say in faither’s day You could hear the bagpipes play But now you hear the regal tones o' Elton John and The Rolling Stones Land that is full o' stinkers Wee fat Jews and VP drinkers Whisky put a lot o' stinkers into Scottish graves

Land that is full o' skivers Comic singers, deep sea divers Turbans on our bus condrivers, Scotland The Brave Land o' the brutal Bobbies Councilors wi' part-time jobbies Architects with paying hobbies, Scotland The Brave The tourists come here every year To see all our historic gear But all they see is loads o' navvies, high rise flats wi' concrete lavvies Land o' the artic' lorries Andy Stewart and the Corries Land where everybody borries, Scotland The Brave

Land o' the kilt and sporan Underneath there's nothin' worn!How I wish the wind was warm! Scotland The Brave I must admit it's pretty gruesome Walking about wi' your frozen twosome! It's all we've got - we mustn't lose 'em - Scotland The Brave Conservatives try to assure us Labour's hard-put to endure us The Kirk puts curbs on our enjoyment, government makes unemployment Never mind the day is near When independence will be here! We’ll drink a toast in younger’s beer to Scotland The Brave!

[brookston]

Holidays 10.19

Holidays

All-Ukrainian Day of Human Responsibility (Ukraine)

Change Your Life Day

Dress Like a Dork Day

Durin’s Day (The Hobbit) [Original Date]

Evaluate Your Life Day

Feast of the Wicked Scam

Freedom to Read Day of Action

Global Niemann-Pick Disease Awareness Day

Imagine a Day Without Water

International Day of Cathedrals

International Day of Service for Kappa Alpha Theta

International Freelancer Day

International Human Rights Day (Turks and Caicos Islands)

International Ska Day

Lawyer’s Day (Moldova)

LGBT Center Awareness Day

Make A Scarecrow Day

Maurice Bishop Day (Grenada)

Mother Theresa Day (Albania)

National Clapping Cheeks Day

National Clean Your Virtual Desktop Day

National Day of Remembrance for Steadfast Clergy (Poland)

National Friendzone Day

National Heroes Day (Grenada)

National Jared Day

National Kentucky Day

National Kiss Your Crush Day

National Payton Summons Day

National Psoriatic Arthritis Awareness Day (Canada)

National Thalassemia Day (UK)

New Friends Day [also 1.19; 7.19]

Oxfordshire Day (UK)

Peruvian-African Friendship Day (Peru)

Rainforest Day

Rescuer Day (Kazakhstan)

Samora Machel Day (Mozambique)

Technology Day (Thailand)

Tomato Day (French Republic)

Women Without Children Day

World Bioethics Day

World Breast Cancer Day (Colombia, Mexico, Peru, Spain)

World Day Against Breast Cancer

World E-Sports Day

World Humanitarian Action Day

World Pediatric Bone and Joint Day

World Slotting Day

World Vagina Day

Yabusame Festival (Koyama, Japan)

Yorktown Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Greasy Spoon Day

International Gin and Tonic Day

National Seafood Bisque Day

Independence & Related Days

Constitution Day (New Zealand, Niue)

Ikonia (Declared; 2018) [unrecognized]

Niue (1974)

3rd Saturday in October

Bridge Day (West Virginia) [3rd Saturday]

Frabjous Day [3rd Saturday]

Home Movie Day [3rd Saturday]

I Love Yarn Day [3rd Saturday]

International Archeology Day [3rd Saturday]

International Independent Video Store Day [3rd Saturday]

International Repair Day [3rd Saturday]

International Sloth Day [3rd Saturday]

National Bridge Day [3rd Saturday]

National Fetch Day [3rd Saturday]

National Harp Day (Ireland) [3rd Saturday]

National Mover Over Day [3rd Saturday]

National Paint Your Own Pottery Day [3rd Saturday]

National Slow Down Day [3rd Saturday]

National Surfing Day (Costa Rica) [3rd Saturday]

National Whole Hog Barbecue Day [3rd Saturday]

O. Henry Pun-Off World Championships [3rd Saturday]

Raw Milk Cheese Appreciation Day [3rd Saturday]

Sandwich Saturday [Every Saturday]

Sharing Economy Saturday [3rd Saturday]

Six For Saturday [Every Saturday]

Spaghetti Saturday [Every Saturday]

Sweetest Day [3rd Saturday]

World Singing Day [3rd Saturday]

Weekly Holidays beginning October 19 (2nd Full Week of October)

Finno-Ugrian Days (Hõimupäev; Estonia)

Festivals Beginning October 19, 2024

Apple Butter Festival (Lansing, Michigan) [thru 10.20]

Apple Dumpling Festival (Stuart, Virginia)

Apple Harvest Festival (Waynesville, North Carolina)

Borrego Days Desert Festival (San Diego, California) [thru 10.20]

Bowen’s Wharf Seafood Festival (Newport, Rhode Island) [thru 10.20]

Chatsworth Cranberry Festival (Chatsworth, New Jersey) [thru 10.20]

Chili Cookoff (Fort Pierce, Florida)

Cleveland Apple Festival (Cleveland, Tennessee) [thru 10.20]

Cochran-Bleckley Country Fest (Cochran, Georgia)

Conecuh Sausage Festival (Evergreen, Alabama)

Dairyville Orchard Festival (Los Molinos, California)

Deep Roots Festival XX (Milledgeville, Georgia)

Dessert Wars (Charlotte, North Carolina)

Detroit Fall Beer Festival (Detroit, Michigan)

Elkhorn's Oktoberfest (Elkhorn, Wisconsin)

Fall Harvest Festival (Mount Vernon, Virginia) [thru 10.20]

Gainesville Chicken Festival Chicken Cook-Off (Gainesville, Georgia)

Half Moon Bay Art & Pumpkin Festival (Half Moon Bay, California)

Herb Market (San Antonio, Texas)

Holy Trinity Heritage Food Fair (Baltimore, Maryland) [thru 10.20]

Hop N Hog Culpeper Block Party & BBQ Competition (Culpeper, Virginia)

Kenmare GooseFest (Kenmare, North Dakota) [thru 10.24]

Loris Bog-Off Festival (Loris, South Carolina)

Macomb County HarvestFest (Sterling Heights, Michigan) [thru 10.20]

Marunada Chestnut Festival (Dobreć, Croatia) [thru 10.20]

Missouri Chestnut Roast Festival (New Franklin, Missouri)

Mystic Apple Festival (Mystic, Connecticut) [thru 10.20]

NC Fall Liver Mush Festival: Mush, Music & Mutts (Shelby, North Carolina)

New York Empanada Festival (Newburgh, New York)

North Carolina Oyster Festival (Ocean Isle Beach, North Carolina) [thru 10.20]

NYS Sheep & Wool Festival (Rhinebeck, New York) [thru 10.20]

Oktoberfest (Campbell, California) [thru 10.20]

Outer Banks Seafood Festival (Nag's Head, North Carolina)

Pumpkinfest (Franklin, North Carolina)

Return of the Salmon Festival (Anderson, California)

San Diego Spirits Festival (San Diego, California)

Santa Barbara Vintners Festival (Solvang, California)

Seafood Festival (Cedar Key, Florida) [thru 10.20]

Springville Apple Festival (Springville, California)

Taco Fest (Scottsdale, Arizona)

Taste of Soul (Los Angeles, California)

Taylorsville Apple Festival (Taylorsville, North Carolina)

Tennessee Beer, Wine & Shine Festival (Nashville, Tennessee)

Town Point Virginia Wine Festival (Norfolk, Virginia) [thru 10.20]

U.S. National Oyster Festival in St. Mary’s County (St. Mary's County, Maryland) [thru 10.20]

Vimoutiers Apple Festival (Vimoutiers, France) [thru 10.20]

Wellfleet Oysterfest (Wellfleet, Massachusetts) [thru 10.20]

Westy Fest (Westminster, Colorado)

Whiskey Wine & Fire (Timonium, Maryland)

Yadkin Valley Grape Festival (Yadkinville, North Carolina)

Feast Days

Aaron (Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria)

Aquilinus of Évreux (Christian; Saint)

Armilustrium (Ancient Roman Festival of Mars)

Barbarella Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Bettara Ichi (Pickle Market a.k.a. Sticky-Sticky Fair; Ebisu Shrine, Tokyo, Japan)

Carista: Day of Peace in the Family (Pagan)

Desiderius (Didier) of Auxerre (Christian; Saint)

Diderot (Positivist; Saint)

Emma Bell Miles (Artology)

Ethbin (a.k.a. Egbin; Christian; Saint)

Frideswide (Christian; Saint)

Giorgio Cavazzano (Artology)

Henry Martyn (Anglican Communion)

Isaac Jogues, Jean de Brébeuf, and Companions (Christian; Saints)

Jerzy Popiełuszko (Christian; Blessed)

John le Carré (Writerism)

Paul of the Cross (Christian; Saint)

Peter Max (Artology)

Peter of Alcantara (Christian; Saint)

Philip Pullman (Writerism)

Pierre Alechinsky (Artology)

Prides (Christian; Saint)

Ptolemaeus and Lucius (Christian; Saint)

Rene Goupil (Christian; Saint)

Seek the King Week (Shamanism)

Theodoros Vryzakis (Artology)

Travel Poobah (Muppetism)

Try Not To Die Day (Pastafarian)

Umberto Boccioni (Artology)

Varus (Christian; Saint)

Veranus of Cavaillon (Christian; Saint)

William Carey (Episcopal Church)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Umu Limnu (Evil Day; Babylonian Calendar; 48 of 60)

Premieres

Angels in the Outfield (Film; 1951)

Antipop, by Primus (Album; 1999)

Believe, by Cher (Song; 1999)

The Boys Bounce Back or Springtime in the Rocky (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 312; 1964)

A Chorus Line (Broadway Musical; 1975)

Clerks (Film; 1994)

Counterparts, by Rush (Album; 1993)

Damn the Torpedoes, by Tom Petty (Album; 1979)

The Enchanter, by Vladimir Nabokov (Short Story; 1986) [published posthumously]

Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury (Novel; 1953)

Fried Chicken (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1930)

The Gay Divorcee (Film; 1934)

Honeyland (Ub Iwerks Happy Harmonies MGM Cartoon; 1935)

Hound for Pound (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1963)

Injustice (Animated Film; 2021)

I Second That Emotion, by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles (Song; 1967)

Le Belle Sauvage, by Philip Pullman (Novel; 2017) [The Book of Dust Trilogy #1]

Let’s Stalk Spinach (Fleischer/Famous Popeye Cartoon; 1951)

Looking for Mr. Goodbar (Film; 1977)

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (Film; 1939)

Mucho Loma, Part 1 (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 311; 1964)

Mulholland Drive (Film; 2001)

Mylo Xyloto, by Coldplay (Album; 2011)

Pin Ups, by David Bowie (Album; 1973)

The Planet Mouseola (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1960)

Prince, by Prince (Album; 1979)

The Razor’s Edge (Film; 1984)

Riding in Cars with Boys (Film; 2001)

Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, recorded by Brenda Lee (Song; 1958)

Sir Irving and James (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1956)

Stop Making Sense, by Talking Heads (Film; 1984)

Take On Me, by A-ha (Song; 1985)

Tally-Hokum (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1965)

Tannhäuser, by Richard Wagner (Opera; 1845)

A Tiger’s Tail (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1964)

Turtle Scoop (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1961)

Vs., by Pearl Jam (Album; 1993)

Waking Life (Animated Film; 2001)

Watership Down (US Animated Film; 1978)

Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M., by Simon & Garfunkel (Album; 1963)

Who’s Who in the Jungle (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1945)

Yule Laff (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1962)

Today’s Name Days

Frieda, Isaak, Johannes, Paul, Peter, Petrus (Austria)

Ivan, Izak, Joel, Pavao (Croatia)

Michaela (Czech Republic)

Balthasar (Denmark)

Stella, Tähte, Tähti (Estonia)

Uljas (Finland)

Cléo, René (France)

Frieda, Frida, Isaak, Paul (Germany)

Cleopatra, Felix (Greece)

Nándor (Hungary)

Isaac, Laura (Italy)

Drosma, Drosme, Drosmis, Elīna, Valts (Latvia)

Geisvilas, Kantrimė, Kleopatra, Laura (Lithuania)

Tora, Tore (Norway)

Ferdynand, Fryda, Pelagia, Pelagiusz, Piotr, Siemowit, Skarbimir, Toma, Ziemowit (Poland)

Ioil (Romania)

Kristián (Slovakia)

Laura, Pablo, Pedro (Spain)

Tor, Tore (Sweden)

Cleo, Cleon, Cleopatra, Howard, Howie (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 293 of 2024; 73 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 6 of Week 42 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Gort (Ivy) [Day 21 of 28]

Chinese: Month 9 (Jia-Xu), Day 17 (Bing-Chen)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 17 Tishri 5785

Islamic: 15 Rabi II 1446

J Cal: 23 Orange; Twosday [23 of 30]

Julian: 6 October 2024

Moon: 92%: Waning Gibbous

Positivist: 13 Descartes (11th Month) [George Leroy / Cabanis]

Runic Half Month: Gyfu (Gift) [Day 13 of 15]

Season: Autumn or Fall (Day 28 of 90)

Week: 3rd Full Week of October

Zodiac: Libra (Day 27 of 30)

[mariamariquinha]

Poker Games (Mike Duarte x f!reader) - Part 2

Summary: The story repeats itself.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: I still didn’t watch a single episode of Law & Order, so again, let’s pretend I did. A lot of bad words, unprotected p in v sex, smut, kinda of rough sex, slight mention of drug dealing and gangs. I guess. If there’s anything more, again, pretend you didn’t see.

Author’s Note: This story is proof that my word when it comes to Maurice Compte's characters isn't good for shit. I owe it all to the gifs of @thoroughlymodernminutia and @mysoulisasunflower, he looked way too good to not do something about it. 

Always safe to remind that Meaghan was the one who helped me, answering my questions about the show and the character. I hope I did a good job with your help, honey! 

Safe to remind that I don’t write for Law & Order fandom. Think of it as an outbreak.

ARE YOU A MINOR? CHOO! CHOO! THERE’S NOTHING FOR YOU HERE.

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

“Since when do you wear glasses?”

“Since I started needing to use them.”

“... Rude.”

“If this is a turn-off for you, don't worry. I can still see what I need without them.”

Mike didn't look at you, nor did he make any mention of it, but you saw the smirk on his face as he looked at whatever paperwork was on his desk. You, standing there in the doorway without an invitation to enter, made yourself welcome into his office space and closed the door behind you, holding a file behind your back as you paced back and forth, entertained by the lack of personal decoration there.

He flipped a page, then another. The place, all in all, was silent for a long time. It started to bother you after five minutes.

“Mike,” You said, standing in front of him.

“Mm?”

“Can you give me two minutes?”

“I can,” Eyes still on the pages. “But you can ask nicely, like the polite girl you are.”

“What do you mean?”

He pointed with a pen at the door, finally eyeing you from above his lenses. Are he-What a fucking bitch.

“You’re unbearable,” Your mumble didn't go unnoticed as you headed for the door, which gave you time to hear the 'you're not a walk in the park either' before stepping out into the hallway and standing in front of the closed door, face to face with 'Cap . Duarte' written on the glass.

You knocked twice.

“Who is it?”

“Are you serious?”

“Come in,” You knew he was smiling, being the fucking brat he was, and you even said ‘excuse me’ before entering again, this time closing the door with a touch of anger. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“Captain.”

“You seem bothered. What happened?” Mike pressed with a tease, this time well prepared to receive you with fucking attention.

“Not a fan of role play.”

“No?” Again, looking at you from above his lenses. “You’re really boring.”

“And you're turning my two minutes into half an hour,” You gestured the file in front of him, crossing your arms right after. “This is the guy you asked for. Background, parentage, everything.”

“I didn't know that you were the one who arrested him.”

“Surprised that I did my job?”

“I’ve never doubted you would be good at what you do,” Mike said. “But I’m surprised that you didn’t complain.”

“You made a point of giving me other reasons to complain.”

“Like my couch.”

After what happened, nobody brought it up. It was understood, between his attempt to put his pants back on and you finishing your beer, that it was just an isolated event, that besides not happening again, it would be reserved for the two of you. It worked. He was still him, you were still you - honestly, there wasn’t a single chance of you forgetting that he was still him.

Despite the subjective comments there, the lighter work dynamics here, the 'peace' treaty between you felt, as it should, a convenience, whether it was what you had talked about at that dinner or the consummation of a natural will between two single and, modesty aside, attractive adults.

But he was still him, always leading you to a lot of eye rolls, which was exactly what you did at the moment.

“I wouldn't complain if it was good,” Was your defensive answer, and he measured you from head to toe again before going back to his papers.

“I may need to speak to this suspect in the near future, gather more information,” Yeah, officially back to the professional Duarte. This time though, he let the comment hang in the air - when you didn’t answer, his eyes followed yours again. “Which can include your eventual participation.”

The change of demeanor put a big and ugly frown in your face, one that didn’t go away with his intense gaze. Instead of feeling the necessity of hiding it, though, you showed with all of your ‘intimacy’ that you noticed.

“It's fine with me.”

“So we are good, Lieutenant."

Your mouth opened, then closed - it wasn’t worth your worries. Duarte was probably using the small idle time to tease you in some way about what had happened, that seemed to make sense. He was still him. Being very pessimistic and realistic with yourself, he wouldn't even include you in that investigation.

And if you walked out of his office with the same static frown on your face, it was because of the abrupt way in which the matter was dropped.

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

It had been a busy day - a particularly tiring two weeks, in fact.

First, Christmas. It has always been one of the toughest times at the precinct and this year was no different. In the midst of it all, you just found out that the FBI took over a case you’ve been working on for months. Months. The investigation, the late nights, the fucking bureaucracy… Everything was lost. Your captain's pat on the shoulder didn't make up for one percent of how frustrating that feeling was.

And it got worse because of something really stupid.

All you had to do was have lunch too quickly, with too little time, for a nice sauce stain to settle on your shirt and you had to take the path of shame to the locker room where, at least, you had a spare blouse to wear. You went the whole way trying to clean up the damage with a useless napkin, muttering little curses, and when you got to the front of the locker, you saw that nobody was there. Of course not. Besides everything, you always had lunch at odd hours, trying to do the best work ever.

The idea of privacy appealed to you, so you abandoned your napkin in the trash with a sharp toss of the can and abruptly pulled your shirt over your head. Maybe it was your mind fuming with stress, because you didn't hear when someone called your name, or when the door closed and footsteps came towards you.

The fabric of the new blouse had just passed around your neck when you saw Mike entering your field of vision and turning his back immediately. You suppressed a scream of fear, both hands going straight to your covered breasts - half by the shirt, half by the not-so-sexy black bra you’re wearing.

“Sorry.”

For some reason, that made you sigh with a tired posture instead of yelling at him for privacy invasion. You weren't healthy for that at the moment.

“Something happened?” You asked, fingers pulling the fabric all the way to cover the rest of your torso in time for him to turn back. There wasn’t a touch of embarrassment on his face, but you didn’t comment - it would probably lead to a 'not something I haven't seen before' that you definitely didn’t want to deal with.

“I can come back another time.”

“Well, it's not like I'm having a moment here or anything.”

“I heard about the case,” He used a calm, even careful tone, making you see a full face of sympathy (not condescension). “Crap.”

“Yeah, crap.” There was a silence between you two, a dense one, and Duarte didn’t take his eyes off your face. When it dropped to your mouth though, slowly and a touch insistent, you needed to get your shit together because damn if your day wasn’t already messy enough for this type of… situation.

“Is it something about the suspect?” You asked with a breathy voice, clearing your throat and turning your face away from him.

Duarte considered you for a bit longer before nodding.

“Just a second opinion.”

“One more, you mean.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You hid a small smile, the folder in his hand taking place in yours right away. Being really honest, you tried not to notice that he was still looking at your face when you gave you two a distance, eyes fixed on the document. You took a seat in one of the benches, reading what looked like a transcription of an interrogatory.

“You know I’ll need more time if you want me to verify this information, right?”

“Not so busy right now, are you?” Duarte teased and you didn’t suppress the urge to gaze at him before turning to the papers. The motherfucker was grinning like the menace he was. You should know better than to think that talk would be serious. “I talked to your Captain. Seems like perfect timing to borrow you.”

That sounded new, really new. You could count on one hand how many times you've had a collaborative work with Mike's team - significantly speaking, that would be a first. Admittedly, considering the history you two had, this was almost an impossibility, but apparently the scenario had changed.

You waited for him to say something about not wanting it as much as you did, but nothing came; probably because no one there was that dissatisfied with working together.

“Borrow?”

“You have more details on this suspect than anyone here, and you'll streamline our side by being a temporary consultant,” He leaned over one of the lockers, right beside yours.

“Consultant…” You murmured. “The most I can do is cross-reference information, Duarte, and even then it could be a dead-end street. This guy is a dealer, not a gangster.”

“If I told you that I trust your instincts, what would you say?”

“That you’re sweet talking me to do what you want.”

“I wouldn’t be able to do that even if I pointed a gun at your face,” There was a glint of mischief in his tone, justified by the way he smirked. “And let’s be honest, you’re already in.”

Then Duarte adjusted his position enough to have his full body turned to you.

“Remember what happened when you let your instincts lead last time?”

Amazing sex on a terrible couch? Of course you did. But of course you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“This isn’t a poker game.”

“But we can always have similar consequences.”

You resisted the temptation to say that you weren't too much of a workaholic to get certain kinds of pleasures out of a solved case, but you weren't in the mood to answer many provocations - especially coming from him. Admittedly, working so secondarily for Duarte was never a job aspiration, however, it wasn't like you really were at your best under the circumstances. With a case just taken over by the feds, you could use that parallelism to clear your head.

“Fine,” With one swift motion, you got up, gesturing with the folder in hand. “But next time, at least wait for me to get to my table.”

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

One thing you were sure of: working with Duarte was not like playing poker with Duarte. In poker, you had an advantage, falling back on the bitter and cruel experiences with your aunt who slaughtered Thanksgiving nights. At work, he was the dominant one, with firm words and definite directions that everyone obeyed because he lived up to his reputation as a tough but efficient figure.

There wasn't a joke or flirtation about your past aspirations in the month and a half you'd spent closest to the Gang Unit - he just talked about the suspect, the case, the strategies. It was better that way.

That natural efficiency of his team, with their almost superficial collaboration, dismantled an entire drug distribution network that provided money to a local gang, smaller but no less prodigious at getting more dangerous. It was fine. Amazing, even. A caress to your wounded ego and a new freshness for what was to come, for a good New Year and shit.

And you had someone to thank.

Most of the team had gone to celebrate, which seemed only fair, but you knew Duarte would stay a little longer to work out some final details with his natural perfectionism, so you said you had something to work out - which wasn't a lie.

Since the last few times you played poker in the first place, you've taken to keeping the deck of cards longer in your drawer, as well as real buy chips, just in case the opportunity for entertainment presents itself. With that in mind, you knocked on his office door, which was ajar but you'd learned your lesson the first time, so you waited.

“Won't you celebrate with your detectives?” The question caught him off guard..

“There’s a few things I need to finish,” He said. “You?”

“Later. I needed to talk to you first.”

“About?”

One of the things that felt like squeezing your toes was the fact that Duarte knew how to stare at people, mainly because you liked the attention. He took in every detail of your face, as if taking personal notes in his mind, and as much as it was a little invasive at times, you appreciated it because he had nothing to hide when it came to his reactions.

It was no different then. Away from the table with file boxes, he propped an elbow on one of them and turned to you, waiting patiently because this time, it wasn't like you interrupted him.

“I want to thank you for the opportunity,” Before he could argue with one of his realistic and literal arguments, you raised one of your hands to stop his mouth. “Yes, I know this was just a convenience because of my work and all, but still.”

Duarte considered your face for a moment, serious as a rock, then shrugged lightly and grinned.

“In that case I think it's more than fair to say I'm sorry for accosting you like that in the locker room. Anyone else would have misinterpreted or taken it the other way.”

It was a little surprising; first because he remembered it and second because he was apologizing. You opened and closed your mouth, then repeated the shrug he'd given you seconds before.

“So we agree to accept both.”

“Fine.”

You two exchanged a touch - a handshake. Not firm like a professional one, but soft as ‘this is the moment we have a temporary peace’, as a memory of that fateful dinner that sealed a tenuous truce between you.

The difference is that something had happened in the middle of it. The fact that the air was briefly thinned by that memory made the touch linger, at least enough to know it wasn't just in your head.

“... I want to give you something,” You said, reaching for your back pocket with nervous hands. The chip was caught between your index and middle finger, the symbolic hundred dollars stamped there. “I've tallied up all your masterful losses the times we've played, so I'm giving you that hundred-dollar head start next time.”

“Masterful losses?” He raised both of his eyebrows, taking the small thing with a defiant expression. “Did your aunt teach you how to show off like that too?”

“You wouldn’t stand five minutes with that woman, Duarte. Be thankful that it’s me.”

“Oh, I’m thankful. That's why we didn't play again.”

You frowned, but before you could say something, he anticipated the explanation.

“I'm a sore loser. Especially when it comes from distractions.”

That sounded sharper (no, it was sharper) and you hesitated almost immediately, because one thing was a joking comment, and another was… whatever the guys meant. He didn’t hide the way his eyes got to your cleavage then back to your face. You hated to be taken aback, but suddenly it was too late, too silent, too tempting. Again, you were reminded of Duarte - not the Captain, nor the insufferable guy, but the Mike. That Mike.  

Your laugh shouldn't have come out so embarrassed, almost shy, but the fact that you maintained eye contact and noted how serious he really was, made you feel like a touch of courage to the admission.

“This sounds more like you sweet talking to me.”

“And I told you that it would be stupid to do that to you,” Duarte gave a single step closer, enough to make you need to move your face a little. “But since we’re leading things this way-”

“We are?”

“Don’t you think?”

“Well, since y-”

“I haven't stopped thinking about you.”

Whatever taunt that was trapped in your mouth, it died at the same time as your ready little smile. Again, it was honest and direct, no frills. And you'd be lying if you said the idea didn't cross your mind as you ate one of your mother's puddings at Christmas or New Year's, while the two of you hung out inside the police station at an impromptu party with cheap soda.

“Duarte.” You warned. For what? For who? You couldn’t tell, honestly, because it didn’t make sense. There wasn’t someone to hide your interest - just you, him, and that damn attraction creeping through your lungs.

“I can see it in your eyes, remember? You’re not even a little subtle about it.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Your defensive tone made his smirk grow bigger.

“I’m not. We both know that.”

It was the end of the day, by God in heaven. He was still there, intact, collected, with the dark look of a truth he wasn't even hiding. Surely that would be a stupid decision, as it was the first time - but then he didn't even dare move, tease you with a touch or even explore the moment of privacy of the place. Duarte pushed you to the limits with words.

And you loved it.

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

The damn sofa was there, intact, in the same place as always. You wish you could, with all the provocation on the tip of your tongue, tease him about it, but at the same time this didn’t occur to you because no one there wanted to talk, even more about that stupid thing.

Duarte made his kisses more leisurely, because there was no rush and because you still had muscle memory from the first time. Your back was against the door of his bedroom and he didn't hesitate to grab you in every possible place on your body - waist, breasts, thighs, ass. You had both hands in contact with the skin of his lower back, pulling close, feeling his erection tight in his jeans. All of it, added to the friction of the contact and the slowly sensual kisses, had you flexing your fingers on his skin, humming against his lips.

Clothes started to fall from your bodies - shirts were tossed into corners, belts undone haphazardly, shoes discarded randomly, and pants pinned at the heels. When Mike managed to get your back on the bed, he still had a sock on his foot, and he made an effort to expose himself more, without improvising like before. His body hovered you with attentiveness, like he was everywhere all at once. While his teeth were nipping your chin and neck, one of his knees pushed up on your right leg, gently opening your thighs to fit in and rubbing his covered cock in your wet panties. The contact made you gasp for air, your eyes closed at the delicious friction.

In contrast to the way he wanted to undress you, Duarte lowered one of the cups of your bra instead of taking it off completely and nibbled on your nipple, already ruffled through the air in the room. You gasped, pulled his hair, but all he did was giggle against your skin.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

In fact, the bed was more comfortable and allowed you to move around without the hindrance of cruel upholstery for things or limited space. You could spread yourself across the sheets, squeeze them together as he teased your center with firm but gentle fingers, savoring every moment of that moment with the anticipation of the climax you both remembered well how to achieve.

No one thought about the bar, or the fact that everyone would ask about your sudden disappearance, but in the end none of that shit mattered. The next day or two, a good excuse would come, and you could live with a clear conscience of having a magnificent orgasm.

He penetrated you unreservedly, eliciting moans that almost didn't come out due to the friction of that intrusion. As he moved his hips, Duarte bit harder - the neck, especially, where he would leave a mark that would be difficult to hide. Your eyes opened with each friction with that part inside you that made you soften almost instantly, making you stare at the bedroom ceiling over his broad, firm shoulders, which you held tight enough to leave your own marks.

When he lifted his head and gave you a warm kiss, his tongue shamelessly massaging yours, he murmured a praise that would stick in your mind forever, whether it was the horny husky tone of his voice or the context of it all.

“You’ve ruined me, you know that? Couldn’t fuck anyone without remembering this pussy.”

And that could have sounded like a successful attempt to make that kind of encounter a regular occurrence, both for practicality and for the pleasure of seeing you let your guard down, even temporarily. You smiled at him, lowered one hand to his hips and urged him harder while the other pulled him in for another languid kiss.

“I’m already here,” You whispered with a weak voice, the first signals of your orgasm building inside of you. “What's your plan?”

“Give you the hundred-dollar head start.”

Of course, you didn't voice how much sense it made, or how whatever he had done to you was worth more than a bad joke, but your body's reaction said it all.

Mike Duarte has ruined you for every other man.

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

No pressure tags: 

@cheesybadgers​

@the-hinky-panda​

@bullet-prooflove​

@seaweeden (Tumblr don't let me tag you 😩)

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 10.10

Beer Birthdays

Patrick Perkins (1838)

Walter Jerome Green (1842)

George W. Schimminger (1857)

Barbara Groom (1946)

Thomas Cizauskas

Five Favorite Birthdays

Brett Favre; Green Bay Packers QB (1969)

Thelonius Monk; jazz pianist (1917)

Maurice Prendergast; artist (1858)

John Prine; folk singer (1946)

Bradley Whitford; actor (1959)

Famous Birthdays

Henry Cavendish; chemist, physicist (1731)

James Clavell; writer (1924)

Peter Coyote; actor (1941)

Paul Creston; composer (1906)

Dale Earnhardt Jr.; automobile racer (1974)

Jessoca Harper; actor (1949)

Helen Hayes; actor (1900)

Chiaki Kuriyama; Japanese actor (1984)

Bai Ling; actor (1966)

Gavin Newsom; politician (1967)

Jodi Lyn O'Keefe; actor (1978)

Chris Penn; actor (1965)

Harold Pinter; English writer (1930)

Nora Roberts; writer (1950)

David Lee Roth; rock singer (1955)

Robert Gould Shaw; Civil War soldier (1837)

Julia Sweeny; actor, comedian (1959)

Tanya Tucker; country singer (1958)

Midge Ure; Scottish rock musician (1953)

Giuseppe Verdi; Italian composer (1813)

Ben Vereen; actor, dancer (1946)

Jean-Antoine Watteau; French artist (1684)

Benjamin West; artist (1738)

Ed Wood; film director (1924)

Lin Yutang; Chinese writer (1895)

[marcmarcmomarc]

Kingdom Hearts IV predictions

Game Central Station (Wreck-it Ralph)

Takes place after the movie.

Is visited by Donald and Goofy.

The inhabitants are, of course, thrilled to see Donald and Goofy again, but are sad to hear about Sora’s sacrifice.

Starring the voices of:

Pamela Adlon as Lucy

Skylar Astin as Roy

Bella Blanding as Snowanna Rainbeau

Jen Brown as Nell

Adam Carolla as Wynchell

Sawyer Cole as Gloyd Orangeboar

Romi Dames as Adorabeezle Winterpop & Nougetsia Brumblestain

Brian T. Delaney as Wreck-it Ralph

Grey DeLisle as Mary & Meg

Jason Douglas as J. Norwood

Jamie Elman as Rancis Fluggerbutter

Don Fullilove as Nolan

Tucker Gilmore as Sugar Rush Announcer

Jess Harnell as Don

Rachael Harris as Deanna

Dennis Haysbert as General Hologram

Phil Johnston as Surge Protector

Maurice LaMarche as Root Beer Tapper

Katie Lowes as Candlehead

Jane Lynch as Sergeant Tamora Calhoun

Jack McBrayer as Fix-it Felix Jr.

Rich Moore as Sour Bill

Ed O’Neill as Mr. Stan Litwak

Raymond S. Persi as Mayor Gene

Chris Pratt as Duncan

Brandon Scott as Kohut

Sarah Silverman as Vanellope Von Schweetz

Josie Trinidad as Jubileena Bing-Bing & Citrusella Flugpucker

Melissa Villaseñor as Taffyta Muttonfudge

Cymbre Walk as Crumbelina Di Caramello

Jaeden White as Swizzle “The Swizz” Malarkey

Suzie Yeung as Minty Zaki, Torvald Batterbutter, & Sticky Whipplesnit

Back to index

[lumiereandcogsworth]

ough now I'm curious, what are adam and belle's drinks of choice and what type of drunks are theyyyy 🧐

YEEESSS!!! i have many a thought

okay so for belle, i think she probably had her first taste of beer at the pub when she was like. nine or ten lmao. and that’s not bad parenting on maurice’s part!!! it’s the 18th century!!!! he didn’t let her have a full pint on her own until she was more like 15, i think. but she definitely liked sneaking sips from his drinks when she was younger lol. same deal with wine too, though it was just more common for maurice to have beer, since he’d grab a pint with père robert semi regularly, and belle, as usual, would often want to join in on the fun. (and maurice would never leave her at home if she wanted to join, he wanted her to socialize and converse as much as she could!) anyway, so belle “grew up” pretty used to beer and wine. and she loves bitter flavors so the dryer the better, in her opinion.

this is then very funny when she ends up with adam, who not only has had a way wider pallet of alcohol, but also IS a sweet tooth and definitely prefers the sweeter wines, as well as fun cocktails. and don’t get me wrong, he’s downed plenty of bourbon and other strongly flavored STUFF, but for casual drinking he’d prefer a cocktail. in modern au i feel like he’d go for a cosmopolitan or something in that realm. belle usually gets a beer or a moscow mule, if i had to guess.

but anyway circling back to canon adam. he’s, of course, had far too much experience with alcohol! first time he got drunk he was like. 13. that’s when university started though!! everyone was doing it and he wanted to fit in and be cool :(( but anyway yeah that guy has tried everything - EVERYTHING - under the sun. and been drunk way more than anyone so young should have been. i like to think that when agathe resurrects him, she also gives him a brand new liver because babygirl i can’t imagine it was doing very well 😭 (i think she just gives him a whole new body. tip-top shape!! because i… don’t think he would’ve lasted very long in his current state. his father died at 47 and i wonder if adam would have even made it that far. BUT ANYWAY!!!!!)

i do often debate what his stance on drinking ends up being, later on when he’s a husband and especially as a father. i don’t think he quits cold turkey or anything, (it’s the 18th century french court. come on now.) but i do think he gets really on top of it. his main concern is that he never wants his children to see him even a little intoxicated. because, as you can imagine, that was how he often saw his father. and it’s not that he think he’d harm his kiddos if he was drunk, but he just doesn’t want them to experience that. and he also doesn’t trust himself or fully know what he’d do, so he just doesn’t wanna take any risks. he still does allow himself to get drunk, just mainly on special occasions. or if he & belle are away on a trip, he indulges more.

onto that topic! when adam is drunk he’s SO affectionate. he’s just soft and loving. way more talkative as well. before belle, the alcohol just made him very very sociable (and therefore, likeable!) and also more of a bitch <3 but once belle is in the picture, he’s still pretty talkative, but everything gets centered around belle. he’s just always leaning on her and kissing her wherever he can. he’s much more of a lightweight (even with all that experience 😮‍💨) so it doesn’t take long before he gets all 🥴🥴🥴 lmao. even his conversations always somehow circle back to belle. (though, that happens when he’s sober too. his wife is his special interest! sue him!)

belle isn’t a lightweight at all. i think it takes her a while to get Very drunk. but when she does, she just gets very like, amplified. and by that i mean both that she speaks loudly and she becomes like. belle+ sjdksj. like she gets REALLY hypothetical and philosophical and starts asking random ass people the biggest and most ridiculous questions. and she’ll really want to discuss it with them. her mind just starts questioning the universe and getting into crazy deep discussions. and they’re surprisingly coherent! but it’s funny when she’s doing this to adam, because he’s just leaning on her, kissing her neck, and she’s like “but how did we get here? is there a god? how could we know? what if plato’s allegory was true and we’re all just looking at shadows. love are you listening???” and he’s just sleepily kissing her neck like “you’re brilliant, darling. absolutely. tell me more.” afjsjdj

i think belle reaches another level of drunk (it’s like in brooklyn 99 where amy has a different kind of drunk for every drink she has) where she gets very playful and frisky and handsy and Horny. and she usually doesn’t reach that point until near the end of the night, so adam and belle Quickly make their escape to the bedroom. but sometimes it hits her earlier during the party and she’s like “get up beaumont i need you to fuck me agaisnt the wall in that empty room down the hall.” and he’s like ofhskfhskdj anything for you beyonce!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway they’re a nightmare <3

i’ll also just end on a sweeter note, lmao, here’s a tiny fic i wrote set on adam’s 31st birthday. he’s all drunk and soft and affectionate and tells his wife how much he loves her. that’s it that’s the plot 💖

[oury-boros]

16, 41, 47

🧡🧡

16. What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

Rude directors, his least favorite professor at drama school, his father.

41. What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms, did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

When drunk and/or in close company, he moves his hands just like his mother did. When sober and in public, his body language imitates Maurice's, his biggest fan and patron. Later in his life, he develops the ability to slam a beer just like Thadule (friend/landlord).

47. Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

Some of his drama school classmates still giggle about his terrible performances. If he knew this, he would count it as a win, because he never learned their names and they still talk about him.

Questions from this list of character building questions!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

THE 12 MOST UNFORGETTABLE DESCRIPTIONS OF FOOD IN LITERATURE

Haruki Murakami’s stir fry, Maurice Sendak’s chicken soup with rice—only the most gifted writers have made meals on the page worth remembering.

By Adrienne LaFrance for The Atlantic

In literature, references to eating tend to be either symbolic or utilitarian. Food can indicate status or milieu (think about all those references to Dorsia in American Psycho), or it can move the plot forward (Rabbit Angstrom’s peanut-brittle habit in John Updike’s final Rabbit book). Even in the hands of the greats, food scenes can seem less than central to a story, more filler or filigree than substance. There are exceptions, however—moments in which food unlocks a higher story form. Here are 12 of my favorites.

>>>>>

In addition to having one of the best opening lines of any novel ever, “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle”contains some of the most memorable meals in all of literature. In a novel that is all surreality, darkness, and rabbit holes, Murakami’s simple descriptions of sustenance have an almost metronomic quality—the only thing anchoring the story to reality as it slips away from its main character, Toru—while setting the tempo for a strange, unfolding mystery:

“At noon I had lunch and went to the supermarket. There I bought food for dinner and, from a sale table, bought detergent, tissues, and toilet paper. At home again, I made preparations for dinner and lay down on the sofa with a book, waiting for Kumiko to come home … Not that I had any great feast in mind: I would be stir frying thin slices of beef, onions, green peppers, and bean sprouts with a little salt, pepper, soy sauce, and a splash of beer—a recipe from my single days. The rice was done, the miso soup was warm, and the vegetables were all sliced and arranged in separate piles in a large dish, ready for the wok.”

Such scenes show up repeatedly in Murakami’s work. Every time, the effect is somehow both mouthwatering and unnerving. Note the simplicity of the menu, the methodical preparation, the sense of time and of waiting. Murakami’s descriptions of food do exactly what his novels do best—they take the mundane and make it somehow magical, take the real and warp it into a dream.

+

“Under the Jaguar Sun,” by Italo Calvino

Calvino’s particular skill is his dreamer’s eye, his ability to make stories of incredible lightness out of a too-complicated world. In “Under the Jaguar Sun,” a collection of three short stories that engage the senses, he describes the act of cooking as “the handing down of an intricate, precise lore.” Each dish can be a kind of story that reflects the person who eats it—one that attaches a meal to the ancestral. (Anyone who has tried to interpret her Italian grandmother’s handwritten recipes will see the humor and the profundity in this kind of bequeathed knowledge.) Calvino writes, too, of food’s unique ability to capture a moment in time. In one scene, he describes a couple sharing a meal in an orange grove in Tepotzotlán, Mexico:

“We had eaten a tamal de elote—a fine semolina of sweet corn, that is, with ground pork and very hot pepper, all steamed in a bit of corn-husk—and then chiles en nogada, which were reddish brown, somewhat wrinkled little peppers, swimming in a walnut sauce whose harshness and bitter aftertaste were downed in a creamy, sweetish surrender.”

With mesmerizing style, Calvino captures the way a perfectly prepared dish can, for an instant, become the very center of the universe, the way a meal between two people can hang suspended in an everlasting present.

+

“I Remember Nothing: And Other Reflections,” by Nora Ephron

One of the most durable things about Ephron, a decade after her death, is how easily brilliance seemed to come to her. That same sense of ease is apparent in her appetizing description of a ricotta pancake, from the collection “I Remember Nothing.”The recipe materializes unexpectedly at the end of a charming essay about the cultural meaning of Teflon, and it conveys just enough whimsy to inspire the reader to give it a go:

“I loved the no-carb ricotta pancake I invented last year, which can be cooked only on Teflon … Beat one egg, add one-third cup fresh whole-milk ricotta, and whisk together. Heat up a Teflon pan until carcinogenic gas is released into the air. Spoon tablespoons of batter into the frying pan and cook about two minutes on one side, until brown. Carefully flip. Cook for another minute to brown the other side. Eat with jam, if you don’t care about carbs, or just eat unadorned. Serves one.”

A few easy ingredients! A casual flip! Serves one! Ephron delightfully blends creativity and sophistication. Only real grown-ups are out there inventing new kinds of pancakes from things like ricotta, obviously. The truth is (I’m sorry, Nora) that this pancake is not actually very tasty, at least not when I tried making it. But she loved it, and that’s all that matters.

+

“Chicken Soup With Rice: A Book of Months,” by Maurice Sendak

Please tell me that you know of Sendak’s Nutshell Library, a tiny four-volume set, each roughly the size of a deck of cards, first published in 1962 and made in every way for the eager hands of early childhood. When I was very small, I treated my beloved copy—which remains in arm’s reach on my desk now—with something like religious fascination. Each book is a banquet of mischief and reverie. Picking Pierre as a favorite meal in literature—as you may recall, Pierre, the boy who doesn’t care, is eaten by a lion—would probably be more Sendakian, but to me, nothing can surpass “Chicken Soup With Rice.” This book of simple nursery rhymes takes readers through the months of the year, each one attached to a verse about the pleasures of eating chicken soup with rice in locales across the globe (“far-off Spain,” “old Bombay”) and ever more extreme conditions (the bottom of the ocean, a literal robin’s nest). The singsong, paired with darling illustrations and Sendak’s devil-may-care attitude winking from every page, is forever-enchanting stuff. I couldn’t possibly pick just one, but here’s September:

In September for a while I will ride a crocodile down the chicken soupy Nile. Paddle once paddle twice paddle chicken soup with rice.

+

“Swann’s Way,” by Marcel Proust

You were expecting this one, I know. The madeleine in “Swann’s Way” is so indelible, that, I will confess, I avoid eating them entirely, because a real madeleine would only ruin my memory of the memory described by Proust. On a winter day, the narrator comes home to his mother, who offers him tea and one of the “short, plump little cakes” called “petites madeleines”:

“Mechanically, weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate than a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, but individual, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory … I had ceased now to feel mediocre, accidental, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy?

Years after first reading “In Search of Lost Time,” I’m sometimes transported involuntarily to this moment—the minutes slow, my senses heighten, and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude that if you look at it just right, all of life’s pleasures can be found swirling in a cup of tea.

+

“Revenge of the Lawn,” by Richard Brautigan

“Revenge of the Lawn” contains, quite possibly, the most fully realized post-breakup scene of any collection of words I have ever read. A pot of instant coffee comes to serve both as a pretense for an invitation into a former lover’s apartment and a deathblow—the simultaneous familiarity and discomfort of being around a person you once knew so well. In the scene, Brautigan describes the stretchy quality of time after he persuades his ex to have coffee with him:

“I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October and there was too much water in the pan … I threw half the water into the sink. The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet. I looked out at the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and peelings and stuff. I couldn’t tell a thing. It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.”

Or, as Brautigan put it elsewhere in the story: “Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords.”

+

“Goodbye, Columbus,” by Philip Roth

Food, like sex, is everywhere in Roth’s work—sometimes inextricably. But let’s put aside the liver in “Portnoy’s Complaint,” the BLT in “American Pastoral,”all that Tiptree strawberry jam. Roth’s descriptions of food aren’t just prurient. They’re also wildly vivid, often preoccupied with class and abundance, and vehicles for the expression of his characters’ desires and resentments. In the novella “Goodbye, Columbus,” the protagonist opens the door of an old-fashioned refrigerator—actually, the second fridge in the home of his affluent summer fling—and discovers that it is overfilled with dripping, fresh, fragrant, expensive fruit:

“Shelves swelled with it, every color, every texture, and hidden within, every kind of pit. There were greengage plums, black plums, red plums, apricots, nectarines, peaches, long horns of grapes, black, yellow, red, and cherries, cherries flowing out of boxes and staining everything scarlet … I grabbed a handful of cherries and then a nectarine, and I bit right down to its pit.”

The bite, after the luxuriant description, is defiant, almost sacrilegious—perhaps his way of crossing an invisible line.

+

“Harriet the Spy,” by Louise Fitzhugh

No hero in literature is quite like Harriet M. Welsch—daring, terrible, perfect Harriet—who, by the way, took a tomato sandwich to school every day for five years. Fitzhugh’s descriptions of the sandwiches are not themselves memorable. (Each one is the same, after all.) But that simple sameness—not just the meal itself but also Harriet’s total commitment to it—makes these tomato sandwiches unforgettable. Harriet, while spying one day, encounters Little Joe Curry, the delivery boy for an Upper East Side bodega:

“Harriet peeked in. He was sitting there now, when he should have been working, eating a pound of cheese. Next to him, waiting to be consumed, sat two cucumbers, three tomatoes, a loaf of bread, a custard pie, three quarts of milk, a meatball sandwich about two feet long, two jars—one of pickles, one of mayonnaise—four apples, and a large salami. Harriet’s eyes widened and she wrote: ‘When I look at him I could eat a thousand tomato sandwiches.’” Or, as she puts it elsewhere, charmingly and succinctly: “There is nothing like a good tomato sandwich now and then.”

+

“Sentimental Education,” by Gustave Flaubert

Flaubert set out, he once said, to tell the moral history of the men of his generation. Across his work, food plays a prominent role in how some of his characters are condemned. The decadence of 1840s Paris is bewildering to Frédéric Moreau, the central character of “Sentimental Education.”

At one dinner party—held in a giant room “hung with red damask, [and] lit by a chandelier and candelabra”—overindulgent guests are served champagne-drenched sturgeon’s head, roast quail, a vol-au-vent béchamel, red-legged partridges, and potatoes mixed with truffles. In another memorable party scene, several bottles of champagne are opened at once, and “long jets of wine spurted through the air … each opened a bottle and were splashing the company’s faces” while tiny birds flapped in through the open door of an aviary—some of them settling in women’s hair “like great flowers.”

It’s no mistake that in the scenes where Moreau escapes Parisian society, such moments of culinary opulence and excess are conspicuously absent.

+

“After the Plague,” by T. C. Boyle

In the title story of Boyle’s story collection, the pandemic that rips across the planet is different from our own. Most of the world’s population is killed quickly and gruesomely, and the main character, Francis, is among a small number of the living who roam the overgrown wilds of Santa Barbara. At one point, Francis meets a woman, a fellow survivor, and they begin dating, helping themselves to the spoils of a civilization now abandoned:

I picked her up two nights later in a Rolls Silver Cloud and took her to my favorite French restaurant. The place was untouched and pristine, with a sweeping view of the sea, and I lit some candles and poured us each a glass of twenty-year-old Bordeaux, after which we feasted on canned crab, truffles, cashews and marinated artichoke hearts.

Boyle describes the magnetism of new romance with dystopian, aching imagination and humor—reminding us that humanity’s core impulse is toward survival and connection, no matter what hell our species endures.

+

Pachinko,by Min Jin Lee

In Pachinko, Lee’s gorgeous and epic tale of a family’s life in 20th-century Korea and Japan, food is a marker of passing time, of scarcity, of necessity, and of nature. Consider the soft blanket of mushrooms in the forest where Sunja steals away with the first man she falls in love with. Or the care and worry attached to her unlikely wedding: the thoughtfully procured rice, the strips of seaweed folded like fabric, the udon noodles steaming beneath the gaze of two soon-to-be newlyweds, a couple who barely know each other. Lee’s gorgeous descriptions of food demand the reader’s attention—and show us the labor required to transform nature into nourishment. The reader encounters savory pancakes made from bean flour and water, a pail of crabs or mackerel, homemade pumpkin taffy, stewed codfish, a soup kettle “half-filled with water, cut-up potatoes, and onions, waiting to be put on the fire.” No other novel I’ve read recently so effortlessly makes meals appear both meager and luxurious. Much of Pachinko’s power comes from its generational sweep, a story that shows just how long a life can be, and how resilience and sustenance can help us make it through.

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The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway

Anyone who has ever tugged on a pair of waders and stood thigh-deep in a cool river on a hot day, casting about for brook trout, then reeling one in, can tell you about the particular satisfaction that comes from catching, cooking, and eventually eating your own dinner. I think this is one of the reasons I can never stop rereading The Sun Also Rises, a book that poses several questions of life-shaping importance, not least of which is: Why aren’t I in Spain right now, trout fishing in the Irati river?

The Sun Also Rises has a quality I’ll never fully understand: It takes place a century ago and somehow feels fresh, still. I’ve found that you can read it at any stage of life and relate to Jake, the American narrator whose travels are fueled by his yearning for an unavailable woman. Another unforgettable scene sees Jake and a friend on a train from Paris to Pamplona, propelled by wanderlust and longing:

“We ate the sandwiches and drank the Chablis and watched the country out of the window. The grain was just beginning to ripen and the fields were full of poppies. The pastureland was green, and there were fine trees, and sometimes big rivers and chateaux off in the trees.”

Riding along with them, we see mortality and rapture commingling, vitally, just the way they do in real life.

(Follies of God)

[mauricemetsfan]

maurice?? more like WOKEurice🤣🤣🤣

I'm the old norm. I want normal beer.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Ooh, ooh, what about Crawly (at any point really, but probably earlier on i would guess) and Aziraphale meeting Death of Snakes? (Holds scythe wrapped in tail tip)

🐍☠️

Let's go with Crawly between Eden and the Ark (cause I refuse to believe that they didn't see each other again for a thousand years).

Warning: mentioned animal death (it's not seen, but we do see the Bone Snake)

On with the fic!

--

"Seems that the humans are doing just fine on their own here." Aziraphale spoke as he and Crawly walked through the streets of a newly established town.

It was small, most of the 'buildings' were temporary structures, though some of the humans were hard at work making mud brick homes. Aziraphale always enjoyed watching the humans as they went about the world around them. After all, this planet was meant to be explored!

"Of course they are!" Crawly scoffed, drinking from a clay mug that he was carrying around with him. Aziraphale had his own, gifts from a family that they had helped. Well, Crawly didn't help with fixing up a tent like the angel did, nah, he was busy entertaining the children and keeping them out of the way.

Still, it was nice to be paid in good, homemade beer, even if your deed wasn't as evil as you probably should have made it. Crawly said that he was doing something evil, but didn't exactly explain what it was at all, Aziraphale thought he was just trying to hide the fact that he liked to entertain humans.

"Angel, look out!" Aziraphale snapped out of his thoughts, being yanked out of the way of a fast moving cart, pulled by two oxen. He had nearly been ran over! Oh, what a terrible way to be dicorporated!

"Oh," he turned to the demon at his side, "thank y-!" A finger was pressed to his lips and Crawly hissed.

"Shhh! Not so loud, do you want the whole bloody village to hear!?"

"Well, that was..." Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Anyway, shall we continue?"

He turned to look at Crawly, but the demon was completely focused on something on the ground. Sadly, it appeared that a snake had not gotten out of the way in time. "Oh, the poor dear."

"Probably didn't even notice, too many people about, makes feelin' vibrations rather..." Crawly started but trailed off as the two of them noticed something that none of the humans saw.

A snake, made completely out of bones, slithered towards the fallen one. It wore a strip of black around itself, a makeshift hood covering over a portion of its face. Clenched in its bony tail tip was a miniature scythe.

Crawly seemed to be on high alert next to Aziraphale, blindly grabbing for the angel's hand. Aziraphale allowed for him to take it, feeling a rather tight, painful grip.

The bony snake made a small hissing sound before shifting the scythe around and they watched as the fallen snake seemed to shift, until a more faint version of it followed after the now-departing bone snake.

It turned back to look at them. GOOD AFTERNOON, GENTLEMEN. It said in a way that it echoed in their own skulls.

"A-afternoon to you as well." Aziraphale greeted, very aware that this was one of Death's friends.

Crawly was completely silent as they watched the two snakes leave this mortal plane. Aziraphale let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding onto. "Well, that... is often why I try to voice animal sacrifices and the like, always so uncomfortable when Death and his little counterparts show up, you know? Crawly?"

He looked at Crawly, who was quite pale and trembling.

Ah. Yes. Might be rather unsettling to come across the death snake, it seems. "Right, let's go find a tent that is making some wine, I think we need something stronger than beer." The angel stated, still holding Crawly's hand as he guided him away.

--

The only reason I know there is a death for different animals is because I just recently watched The Amazing Maurice and it seems exactly like something I'd come across in Terry Pratchett's work. (Mind you, I've only read Good Omens and have read a bit of the first book for Discworld, so... yeah. Still, a Bone Snake seems like a possibility and someone Crowley greatly fears).

(Also, I greatly enjoyed The Amazing Maurice and had no idea that the guy who plays Ligur was in it. That was cool to find out!)