#also the author is dressed up as a cow so that's neat
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FMA is fascinating because there aren't many works about what it means to be an atheist and a heretic to a god that you can not only see, but who has personally snatched body parts off of your living body and made fun of you for it.
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“My Girl Who’s Not Really My Girl, But Is My Girl Anyway.”
The Pacific One Shot
Summary: Snafu opens up to the guys and tells them about you, how you two are hook up buddies, and he ended up falling in love with you before enlisting in the war. After he returns home, you two make it official.
Pairing: Merriell “Snafu” Shelton x Fem!Reader
Non Requested
Tags: swearing, ethnic slurs, smoking, my shitty attempt at writing implied smut (not too detailed), mentions of war violence
Word Count: 1,753
Author’s Note: snafuuuuu!! i don’t write smut as its stated in my rules, but i thought i’d give this one a try lmfao and verdict: i’m not continuing on doing so because to me writing smut doesn’t suit me. likes/reblogs/feedback needed & appreciated <333
THE boys ganged up on Peck - but for a good reason. Peck was a man who mesmerizingly gazes at a photo of a chorus girl he met and fell in love with while his wife waits for him to come home every day, and is also the man who had gotten their mortar rounds with his own ripped poncho, resulting in getting a fellow marine killed after running to retrieve new ones.
Snafu was the first one to call him out for it. When it came to mentioning girls and whether or not each of them had one, Snafu was definitely going to be next to at least mention a name, or coat himself with a comment, and so he did.
“I don’t care what you think!” Peck exclaimed, annoyed by everyone, especially Snafu. “It’s not like you wouldn’t do the same.”
“Oh?” Snafu said, grinning. “I got a girl waitin’ for me to come home back in Louisiana.”
“Really?” Eugene raised his brow, showing a hint of curiosity that his friend never opened up about it until now. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”
He shrugged. “Nah. Well, she’s my girl who’s not really my girl, but is my girl anyway,” Snafu paid no mind to the twisted confused looks on everyone’s faces, he just continued lighting his cigarette with his filthy hands completely worn from the battle.
“What does that even mean? Is she your girl or not?” Jay D’Leau asked.
“We just fuck around, but we’re not together,” Snafu spoke with the cigarette lit in his mouth.
“Not surprised,” Leyden says.
“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means it’s not like you could hold down a girl for more than a week,” Peck says.
“You don’t got a say in shit, Peck. You carry a photograph of a Chorus broad while your wife dreads the day you die in the hands of a fuckin’ Jap,” he snaps. “I’m the luckiest son’a’bitch there ever was.”
“What’s her name?” Hamm asks.
THE tiny storage closet could fit up to only two people at a time, one if they were to bend over to get a hold of supplies from the shelves and bottom drawers. In that particular night was that storage closet used as a place of privacy for the extroverted Snafu, named Merriell back in Louisiana, and his girl who’s not really his girl, but is his girl anyway: you. Y/n.
People would have definitely heard you, whether they were walking past or were simply far away inside any seminar. The door to the closet was literally being pounded on by your back hitting against it with such force, after all. As for Merriell, he couldn’t give two shits. He’d let all of Louisiana hear you to let them know you belonged to him at that moment.
“You’re way too good at that,” you caught your breath moments after, straightening your dress despite its now developed wrinkles. Your hair was no longer neat and styled, but you did your best to fix it without a mirror.
“You’re experienced and lustful when you know what you’re doing,” he said so confidently.
“So when are you leaving?”
“Next week. Time flies when you’re having fun,” Merriell put his shirt on, exposing a bit of his chest from the buttons down, and realized you weren’t paying attention to his answer. “Ya hair’s fine, girl.”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t wanna walk out there and catch people staring at me, wondering what the hell happened to mess up my hair.”
“Oh they’ll definitely know what happened,” Merriell smirks. “They’re gonna know you walked inside a closet and got drilled by Snafu Shelton until the cows came home.”
You chuckled. “Snafu? Are you sure you want people to go along with that nickname?”
He grins. “As long as I go along with it first.” He tightened his belt, shuffling a bit around the enclosed space of the storage closet.
You ran your hands down his chest. “I’ll write to you.”
Snafu chuckles. “Don’t get serious on me now. I’ll be fine. And don’t write to me,” he then went ahead to button his shirt.
You frown. “Why?”
“It’s a waste of paper.”
“Don’t you wanna keep in touch? Or don’t tell me, you’re planning your proposal to some girl up north?”
“No girl. But there’s nothing we have for each other but a good fuck, that’s all.” And he opens the door, letting you walk out first. He followed you behind, wishing he could hold your hand.
OK. Perhaps that was a lie. He saw you more than a good fuck. He saw something in you that gave him a bigger motivation to make it to the end of the war, to do his part and come back home. He was gonna miss catching a whiff of your strong perfume that would make him cough and crinkle his nose from his sinuses deteriorating. He was gonna miss how your hair was in his hand as he played with it while cuddling at a movie theatre.
He was gonna miss you.
NIGHT fell when Snafu hopped off the train. Louisiana was still the way it was when he had left it. The same old calls from food stands, chatter from one group to another. It was nothing new, but it was home.
He stopped to take a moment first. He didn’t want to wake up Eugene, who had been fast asleep in his seat. Knowing he had something to say before bidding a farewell to his friend, he bit his tongue and kept walking towards the exit.
Snafu, of course, didn’t expect to have anyone wait for him at the station. No family, no friends, no girl. So... what now? He thought. Just find yourself an old man as your chauffeur home, grab a beer and a bowl of peanuts.
“Damn, you look like a lost puppy, Snafu.” Snafu froze in his tracks. He shifted his weight from his duffel bag slung over his shoulder to turn himself around, to find you standing out from the walking crowd.
A sight for sore eyes.
“Shit, you’re here. As loyal as they come!” A smirk appeared on his face due to the surprise unexpected surprise, even referring to him as “Snafu”.
“You really think I wouldn’t be here waiting for your ugly ass to come home?” you teased.
“That’s four years of waiting,” Snafu points out. “Maybe five. Shit, you are loyal as they come.” You smile, your eyes twinkling like Christmas was happening way too early near the end of August.
“I have my parents’ car. They told me to bring it back by nine o’clock. I just want them to give me a later curfew, y’know? At least now that you’re home, I have a better reason to borrow it more often.”
“Well all I wanna do is pop a cold one once I stretch my fucking legs. I felt sick from the train ride home.”
“Motion sickness? It’s just one way.”
“A mixture of smoke and onions stunk up the whole boxcar.”
You made a face at that comment, and walked Snafu to your car. He stayed in the passenger seat even though you had pulled up to the house and shut off the engine. You both sat in silence for a moment.
“Should I even ask how service was?”
Snafu answered your question by changing the subject. “I really missed you, y/n.”
Cocking a brow, you gave him a look. “You insisted for us to not write to each other.”
“I missed you, whether we wrote to each other or not.” Snafu looks ahead of the night through the opened car window. “It was hell out there. I felt like all of Louisiana could hear it. But I knew I would come home to see that pretty lil’ ass of yours again.”
You chuckle. “Snafu-”
“Merriell.”
You frown. “I thought that’s your name now.”
“It is... but when you call me by my Christian name, you chase the loud noises away.” It didn’t matter if that was a metaphor or if he was starting to hear things that could cause a trigger in his senses.
Either way, you just had to ask, “Merriell, is everything right?”
Snafu- Merriell- looked at you. “Yeah. I mean, I think so. Y/n, I think I’m in love with you. Is that all right?”
“Anything that’s been goin’ on between us is just fine, Merriell Shelton.”
“I’ve been in love with you ever since we started foolin’ around. I didn’t think much of it. I always thought a new broad would occupy my thoughts a week after, but each week passes and all I did was look forward to seeing you and you only.”
Sighing, you take his hand that was rested on his leg. Merriell came to realization that this was the first time you two ever held hands without it leading to sex right after. Physical intimacy, indeed. “Merriell, I had a feeling our hookups would turn out into something more.”
“Really?” he asks.
“We were there for each other no matter what. It’s like I found my ride or die - y’know before you rode out of America for the war trying not to die.”
Merriell stroked your hand with his thumb, his eyes locked onto yours. “You were always my girl. Someone special.”
“I wasn’t really your girl to begin with,” you laughed. “But I also wasn’t anyone else’s, either.” Merriell leaned in, kissing you deeply. None of you pulled away until you had to catch a breath. “We waited a long time to do this again.”
Merriell leaned in again, closer this time that he could go on top of you. He whispered against your lips. “And thank Jesus H. I’m back.”
You both kissed for a couple of minutes. It stopped abruptly when you remembered where you two were at the moment. “Shit, sorry. My dad could have opened the blinds. You should come inside for dinner. My mother would be thrilled to see you in a uniform.”
“Shit, I’m already meeting your folks?” he curls his lips to a nervous grin. “I know damn well ya Dad’s gonna stare me down across the dinner table.”
“As long as you don’t tell him that I call you daddy, too, then you’ll be fine.” You earned a laugh from Merriell Shelton, and you two got out of your car and both walked up to the front steps, holding your boyfriend’s hand.
THE END
#snafu shelton one shot#snafu shelton imagine#snafu shelton x reader#snafu shelton#the pacific one shot#the pacific imagine#the pacific x reader#the pacific#the pacific fic#snafu shelton fic#reader insert#one shot#imagine#mk's faves
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Thoughts, not even a review, of Terra Ignota
recently finished Will to Battle.
(Book 3 of Terra Ignota, preceded by Too Like the Lightning and Seven Surrenders. The sequel and finale, Perhaps the Stars, is expected in 2021.)
So I wanted to post some thoughts, not even a review, really.
The take away is that despite many of its major, fundamental features leaving me cold or even actively repulsing me, I overall very much enjoyed reading it.
This is perhaps a higher recommendation than unalloyed praise. The more I like something, the more I complain. For one thing, it's a kind of eustress: the perfect thing has no flaws to catch interest; for another, if I just plain dislike something, I wouldn't spare much thought on it to begin with, much less linearize so many of them into words.
So my mostly negative venting (consisting of immediate and thorough spoilers) beneath the cut
So right off the bat: I HATE the genius serial killer trope; and I detest SFF trolley problem analogs.
I was so irritated by the one-two punch of these big reveals in the first book that I actually let my hold on Seven Surrenders and read several other books in the interim. (I knew I'd be back though, I put a new one on both 2 and 3 next.)
Mycroft Canner... one who believes themself "free" merely because they can kill. It reminds me of something that's stuck in my mind for a long time: a guy calling other peoples cucks because they used alarm clocks to wake up. "I can't believe you let a machine boss you around."
Because I otherwise liked the writing so much, I kept trying to dredge up another layer of meaning to the treatment of Mycroft as torturer-rapist-murderer. For instance: "Oh, so many people around him being sympathetic and liking him is actually the narrative sneakily reminding us that the core trait of serial killers like this is a manipulative personality, which his savant abilities would only feed." Carlyle Foster even brings this up specifically in the scene where we first learn the specifics of Canner's crimes, but of course, their portrayal in that scene (which, reminder, is literally by Mycroft) is of one hysterical and unreasonable.
Palmer did achieve one of most author's highest goals in emotionally transporting me to one of their scenes, but it just really made me wish I was in Carlyle's shoes. To react with, rather than panic, the cold disdain merited by a creature so broken it is wrong about the ways in which it is broken. To spit on them and denigrate their feelings of uniqueness and specialness, arising both from the murders and from their oh so pitiable martyrdom and servitude now. "If only we could mercifully lobotomize away your personality and still use the savanthood modules so unfortunately stapled to them."
Mycroft: "Everybody seems to have one murder they thought was the worst. I thought yours would be []"
Me instead of Carlyle, snidely: "Is that a fun game for you, that speculation?"
(In another scene, the Major's sympathy to Mycroft and Saladin as "fellow killers" somewhat raised my hackles; my experience is military people expressing exaggerated disgust for "civilian" killers, perhaps as a way of mental separation between their acts. Though the revelation that the Major is Achilles, with an ancient's attitudes, perhaps ameliorates this.)
As for OS... if you've invented prophecy, there will be heaps upon myriads upon multitudes of miraculous ways to reshape the world before you reach a best value intervention of cold-blooded murder. I was, at least, amused by considering the linear combination of this limitation between the author and the characters. Palmer was quite clever in making sure that the mystical demographic math must be facilitated by humans (and the very odd set-set humans at that).
I admit I hold this philosophy a bit more strongly than my time investment in the fields merit, but I see it this way:
In physics, infinite, friction-less planes in perfect vacuums occupied by inelastic, spherical cows are a useful tool. They approximate things that are theoretically possible, absent the various extra forces.
In ethics, and in any system that is so truly complex, everything you remove makes for a completely different system. None of the elements are basically orthogonal to the circumstances the way air resistance is to a bullet.
These philosophical sorts of thought experiments are, at best, emotional exercises. They are not simplified tools to build a foundation for more complex issues, they're figments born of the phantasmal conditions possible only in the interior of the brain, and too much work with them will only foul both logic and intuition with garbage data.
As for what merely fell flat:
While I deeply enjoyed so much of the speculation about cultural changes brought about by technology, and travel technology specifically, the "no proselytizing" law felt quite forced. I can definitely believe such a law would be passed after the Church Wars described, but holding so strong for centuries?
There are all kinds of supernatural thoughts and beliefs people accept, and there simply isn't a neat threshold between those and religion. Even in the counterfactual world where there was one, it would be quite concealed by the sophistry that's metastasized through the entire discussion space around it.
I can think of a dozen questions off the top of my head that they'd have to decide. And while flipping a coin or an attempt at a definitional framework could answer them, it couldn't do it in a way that's strong enough to stand the test of time. Imagine Laurel/Yanny, the Dress, or if a hot dog is a sandwich, but with material-security level of investment in them!
I'm areligious (to put it... mildly) but for personal, psychosocial reasons, when I sit down to eat I spend a moment in mindful gratitude towards the plants and animals that gave their life for mine. Is that religious? Are ghost hunter shows illegal because they're proselytory for any animistic religion? Would acupuncturists be able to work, or is that a daoist superstition? Could my neighbor's still paint the ceiling of their porch haint blue? Are scientists allowed to register trials for psychic powers? Can schools teach the arguments for dualism?
That doesn't even get into the subjects that, in real life, yank out all the stops on linguistic-conceptual inventiveness! Europe has had a pestilential outbreak of sophistry around head scarves! Would the Alliance ban them for being religious garb? If so, would they ban clothing that covers the ankles as Calvinist religious garb? Or that covers the nipples? (Oh wait, showing the nipples is of significance in some religions! can't allow that!) Should they ban clothing that contains unmixed fibers for being a religious display!? They don't seem to do any of these things, but that's just as much a choice about the First Law as doing so.
Someone proposes personhood begins at conception; I claim that this is fundamentally a supernaturalist belief. Is one of us in violation of the first law? If a hive outlaws birth control, how are they investigated for whether this is a cultural or religious condition? What happens when, I dunno, a Cousin run campus has somebody that wants to put Intelligent Design in the biology textbooks? Most people (well including the people pushing it) know that it's religion wrapped in plausibly deniable words. So is that proselytizing, or is someone pointing it out proselytizing atheism?
Speaking of, there's a pretty good correlation of peace and prosperity with movement to non-religioun. It honestly doesn't seem like sensayers should have much work.
But we meet Bridger and his miracles right at the beginning of the book, before we know a thing about the Church Wars etc. And it's obviously a central tension of the story, intended to be coequal with the brewing war, and yet it quite failed to rouse my interest. The book would've been stronger without it.
Perhaps this *is* just a me thing, since my mind has held miraculous intervention as a solved problem for most of my life. If I were convinced of an event's miraculous character, the most parsimonious explanation is in the vein of, "We're in a simulation that's only been running for a week or so, either as a game or as an experiment, and now we're running under different rules than the ones our (artificial) memories imply." The probability of that happening is too low to waste time processing any other ramifications or possibilities ahead of time.
There is another, related layer of enjoyable consideration, which is of course the reliability of the narrator and his evidence. In Will to Battle, our author is revealed as explicitly delusional, suffering regular, presumably PTSD (and/or anti-sleep drug) related hallucinations. I wish I'd had the patience to do a very close read, or to do a second read—especially given the revelation that 9A edited some of the delusions out of the first two books. Diegetic skepticism is a regular part of the narrative. And there are lots of "rhymes" in the text to mundane circumstances. We're told Bridger looks like Apollo and Seine, and shown the artificial, parentless children, Ganymede and Danaë (crafted to be such a degree of hyperstimulus that among other things, Ganymede has an entire school of art dedicated to him). We're shown that perceptions are malleable, with Thisbe's "witchcraft" and Cato's magician like showmanship. We're constantly exposed to griffincloth and know that just its presence at JEDD's assassination spread skepticism. We're told that scientists proclaim Achilles to have Ancient Greek DNA and an adult's bone structure, but we're also constantly shown an incredible variety of artificial animals and related wonders, and told Apollo was a great scientist.
And yet, over and over the narrative rebukes skepticism. 9A endorses most of what Mycroft has written, and if we go so far as considering them (along with, eg, the officialese headings and warnings) as Mycroft's delusions too, we're at the point where we have to step back so far that the unreliable narrator is actually this "Ada Palmer" character, who is writing about things that don't exist in a year we haven't reached yet!
I was bothered that nobody who learned about it seemed ready to express the proper amount of disgust at the extra-incestuous politics of the world leaders, and honestly find it simply hard to accept that their consortium worked so altruistically.
Finally, ultimately, the central themes of the novel, about peace and war and complacency seem awfully poorly considered for the current era, where voting age children have never known a world without an official war, and the just grown generation is the first since the industrial revolution to be poorer and less healthy and more stressed than their parents. Not just this novel, but the world in general seems to be sorely missing the concept of the important qualitative differences between distress and eustress.
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I’ve been mentally plotting out a lot of stuff w/r/t actually writing that whole “gritty but lol in a daily-life way fantasy,” and am currently searching for the gumption and self-esteem to actually start writing on a regular basis. Rambling some notes here both as proof of effort and out of the hope that airing it out will make me feel a little less embarrassed about trying to write a thing.
Setting: one of those “JRPG-HRE” settings -- a medieval setting defined by the constant hum of conflict between various theocratic mini-states and secular merchant republics; an emperor who is omnipresent but rather ineffectual, ruling over lands so vast and decentralized that he’s mostly stuck with telling a guy to tell a guy to tell a guy that he shouldn’t do that one thing; and the worrying presence of disgruntled horse archers right outside the edges of the Empire.
Setup: The Chosen Hero (a mysterious orphan and sword lesbian tentatively named Sophia) has slain yon Evil Archbishop that had burned down her hometown as part his evil scheme. As a reward, she's granted (part of) the lands said Archbishop used to rule over, including her hometown, receiving a title around the Marquis/Landgrave 'tier' of nobility: not important enough to suddenly become a driving force of domestic/internal policy, but important enough to start having the occasional diplomat show up, and to have a regular stream of missives to attend to. Also has some relative freedom with how and where she spends her time, and the "rebuilding her home village" element gives her an impetus to get involved with the castellan-tier duties of said home village. (That’s one of the things I’m unsure about. I can kind of justify any level of involvement with “lol it’s a made-up place” but it’s surprisingly difficult to find an account of what your average count or marquis would do on just, like, a day-to-day basis)
-- Why that choice: it creates a suitable villain to have quested against, while also being a plausible reason for some land distribution and granting of new titles (maybe said Archbishop was so caught up in scheming that he never took care of the whole "pulling strings to organize a successor" thing.)
-- Future plot points to set up: The Emperor sees Sophia as a handy opportunity to marry one of his sons or cousins or nephews off to her, and then within a generation it'll be back in the Emperor's hands, a plan which Sophia is pretty obviously not fond of. The new title and rebuilding efforts also provide a handy cover for some land-grabbing/colonization, to nudge the borders East(?)wards into some of the fuzzy-border territory loosely occupied by the aforementioned horse archers. (and if they don't like it, the Emperor can, of course, blame it on Sophia. The Emperor's not an outright evil man, he's just got a bit too much Habsburg culticness for his own good, seeing himself as just one manifestation of a great and glorious dynasty whose needs rise far above the concerns of mere individuals.)
-- Questions: Any childhood friends or new acquaintances that tagged along with Sophia and were there at the final showdown at the opening? On the one hand I want Sophia to be a bit of a blank slate author-insert character, so caught up with fighting villains and nicking the occasional mythical sword that she's started to forget what day-to-day affairs look like for normal people. On the other hand, some immediately-recognizable characters would make an opportunity to flesh out the setting and help with pacing so she doesn't have to do everything herself. I've mentally plotted it out with 2-3 others with her, where they generally serve as some setup window-dressing and then go back to their respective homes because they aren't from the empire, but that might be a bit too 'neat' of a wrap-up. Some deeper connections with those friends/acquaintances would be good for just, keeping the story active and feeling... not-too-convenient/arbitrary. A reasonable idea I've rolled with is them becoming her courtiers, getting free room and board and money because Sophia's the exact type of new nobility who'd go "you're cool, come to my castle and I'll just give you some of our administration's money just to exist here."
-- biggest question: how 'visible' is the fantasy/magic? On the one hand, I like the idea of a world in which magic is indistinguishable from elaborate coincidence: less "sorcerers sling fireballs" and more "if you piss off a sorcerer then your cows will get sick and your roof will start leaking." One the other hand, I also like a certain 'mundanely magical,' like Kings of Dragon Pass-ish, with a local council for fey-related complaints and official legal statuses of ghosts. Leaning towards the latter.
Events/plot threads in mind:
* Sophia's attempts at handling the aforementioned border-pushing is further harmed by her thirst for a buff horse archer lady who's a locally important figure just outside the Empire.
* Sophia's territory has Imperial Immediacy. The nearby Duke doesn't like this. Sophia first tries to figure out what the hell Imperial Immediacy entails, then works to maintain it against the Duke's machinations.
* Sophia running into financial troubles because she likes her new reputation as a big local folk hero, and it’s hard to remain a folk hero while also, like, knocking on people’s doors and reminding them to pay their taxes.
Feel free to respond to this with whatever you like or don't like, or any suggestions you have. I'm pliable.
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Chocobox 2021 letter
I am laughingpineapple on AO3
Hello dear author! I hope you’ll have fun with our match. Feel free to draw from general or fandom-specific likes, past letters, and/or follow your heart.
All requests are art or fic - for art, the stuff I like is the kind that depicts the characters doing something. I’ll always be happier with a very simple drawing of two characters walking together or sharing a cup of coffee than with an ambitious composition that looks like an Avengers poster. I also enjoy seeing them wear different clothes, getting a feel of what their fashion sense is like beyond their canon outfit(s). Or dressing them up for some outlandish AU!
Likes: worldbuilding, slice of life (especially if the event the fic focuses on is made up but canon-specific), missing moments, 5+1 and similar formats, bonding and emotional support/intimacy, physical intimacy, lingering touches, loyalty, casefic, surrealism, magical realism, established relationships, future fic, hurt/comfort or just comfort from the ample canon hurt, throwing characters into non-canon environments, banter, functional relationships between dysfunctional individuals, unexplained mysteries, bittersweet moods, journal/epistolary fic, dreams and memories and identities, canon-adjacent tropey plots, outsider POV, UST, resolved UST, exploration of secondary bits of canon, leaning on the uniqueness of the canon setting/mood, found families, characters reuniting after a long and/or harrowing time, friends-to-lovers, road trips, maps, mutual pining, cuddling, wintry moods, the feeling of flannel and other fabrics, ridiculous concepts played straight, sensory details, sickfic, places being haunted, people being haunted, the mystery of the woods, small hopes in bleak worlds, electricity, places that don’t quite add up, mismatched memories, caves and deep places, distant city lights at night, emphasis on non-human traits of non-human characters (gen-wise, but also a hearty yes xeno for applicable ships), emphasis on inhuman traits of characters who were human once and have sort of shed it all behind
Cool with: any tense, any pov, any rating, plotty, not plotty, IF, nerdy canon references, unrequested characters popping up.
DNW: non-canonical rape, non-canonical children, focus on children, unrequested ships (background established canon couples are okay, mentions of parents are okay!), canon retellings
Bone
Every once in a while I’m filled with love for this comic and its cast. I’m a sucker for all the dream stuff, dragon stuff, looking at early chapters knowing about latter developments... and cows. I’m good with all readings of the Rose/Lucius situation (who’s still carrying a torch for whom, lowkey couple or still pining, etc).
Cows & Grandma Ben & Lucius: Lucius weighing in on a past Great Cow Race? Something happens to a cow? Cows and messengers between them?
Cows & Thorn: Thorn please make your grandma proud, wrt racing or otherwise. Dreams of cows...
Grandma Ben & Thorn: future fic or any missing moment after the royal reveal?
Lucius & Thorn: I wish we got more about them! Pre-canon moment in Barrelhaven? Any sort of weird thing can happen in the Valley after all, maybe foreshadowing her latter abilities?
Grandma Ben & Great Red Dragon: any other encounter along the lines of what we saw? I love them both but I also understand why they are like that...
Crossovers
What it says on the tin, basically. Peaks and KRZ can so easily blend into each other, Peaks and Piranesi much less so but a friend once said that Piranesi is very much a Coop and when someone’s right they’re right.
Albert Rosenfield & Joseph Wheattree: either during some Blue Rose trip or if Albert ends up stranded after the hot mess that is s3. Being the reasonable one, the one who chooses to remain on the surface while others disappear in the depths...
Carrie Page & Dale Cooper & Joseph Wheattree: I am very fond of |Laura| and |Coop| traveling forever on dark highways after the end and they’re gonna need a gas station at some point!
Donald & Gordon Cole: something something burning hopeless dreams, but also federal interest in Xanadu, and how would that go?
Dale Cooper & Piranesi: oh you know, split selves and the reconciling thereof. Successfully, in Matthew’s case... ...less so in Coop’s, at least last we saw him. I’m interested in seeing them meet at any point in their timelines (and as any part or rejoined part of their selves, Dougie&Piranesi as much as Richard&Matthew or any mix thereof) under either canon’s metaphysical rules! (DNW: Richard being “the real Cooper” - I think he’s the part of Coop who is not quite Mr C but still sent all his warmth and empathy away)
Final Fantasy VI
What I love in this fandom is intra-party interaction. They’re all wonderful and don’t get to speak to each other that much, if at all. I’d love to see scenes and/or little adventures during or after the game! I don’t really have ships here so any unrequested character is welcome to feature too but I would prefer gen.
Celes & chocobo, Sabin & chocobo, Celes & Sabin & chocobo: you get the idea. It’s CHOCOBOx ffs, I’ve been meaning to request chocobos for years and then I always forgot! Full kweh ahead! Hit me with all the chocobo feels, what it’s like to travel with these big fluffy birds for better and for worse, what it’s like for Celes, what it’s like for Sabin (I just picked two faves who also traveled together), all your chocobo headcanons, during the WoR serpent trench leg of the journey or anywhere else!
Edgar & Gogo: in my ongoing quest to throw Gogo at the rest of the cast and see what happens, I thought it’d be neat to have them hang around Edgar since one’s an accomplished mime and the other is perhaps not so accomplished as he’d like to be in putting up a persona. Canon-typical Edgar flirting is a-ok unless it hinges on Gogo being a woman. I use they pronouns for Gogo but I’m good with all options. I’d like for them to continue presenting as inscrutably gendered, however.
Ghost Trick
I am very interested in various characters finding about the erased timeline, but not getting their memories back, and having to live with being told about what they did but never remembering it. Exploring the ghost lore is great. All what-ifs welcome (what if they managed an acceptable happy ending but didn’t reset the timeline, what if a different party went back to the past and kept their memories, what if Alma’s ghost stuck around…) Also open to AUs here, especially for generic fantasy or sci-fi settings or the Final Fantasy ones I prompted last Yuletide.
For the non-canon sides of Jowd/Alma/Cabanela, please no infidelity? I’d be good with either setting the fic during the game timeline or some what-if thereof when the other spouse is dead or unavailable, or simply keeping them offscreen and not mentioning them (eg Alma/Cabanela beach day, Jowd/Cabanela precinct shenanigans)
For Jowd in general, I do love my big boy and enjoy milking that size difference for all it’s worth. In gen contexts too, it’s neat. him big.
For Cabanela in general, I am prompting scarf shenanigans, gen or shippy! It’s almost 4m of fabric... scarf used in clever ways, scarf getting in the way, scarf wrapped around one’s throat, scarf sticking out on a stakeout...
Alma/Cabanela/Jowd: maybe once Alma and Jowd have figured out he’s smitten and that they do in fact reciprocate... they tease him to death, slowly and deliberately? Is it even a Jowd romance if there’s not an exhausting amount of teasing involved, I ask? (sorry for repeating a prompt I got the perfect fill for last time - ...more teasing but this time with scarf, if that helps? Something with clothes? Clothes swap?)
Alma/Jowd & Cabanela: Cabs’ life is wild; his best friends’ home is a safe haven...
Bailey & Cabanela: Dance dance dance! Cabanela is not much one for _panic_ dances, but maybe other dances passed on in Bailey’s family could interest him?
Cabanela & Jowd & Pigeon Man: either as colleagues or Jowd trying to bring together these two weirdos who ended up meaning a lot to each other in the other timeline and thankfully didn’t get the same reason to bond now
Cabanela & Missile: off they go with their determination. And, critically, dog hair. The cat doesn’t shed for whatever reason but the dog sure does and that may just be the one tragic obstacle preventing an unstoppable partnership
Emma & Memry: oh so you know who ELSE has a penchant for romance cliches?
Jowd & Justice Minister: Did the Justice Minister ever go visit Jowd in the game timeline? How did he come to appreciate him as “the nation’s best detective”? Or in the new timeline, could Jowd’s insight help somewhat?
Jowd & Sissel & Yomiel: Sissel has two dads and they both love that cat very much. I’m all for the usual new timeline Jowd&Yomiel bonding tropes... with cat!
Kentucky Route Zero
I love the ending and I’d love to see its themes and setting explored. I’m all for exploration of any of the game’s themes and for including any staples from adjacent genres - wanna go full-on American Gothic? Dip into surrealism? Take a leaf from Twin Peaks with tulpa / split narratives to explore the characters’ issues? I love AUs so that’s an option too. Or of course there’s Xanadu at the height of its glory, an infinite what-ifs generator. Were the requested characters part of it, what were their digital counterparts up to? A Xanadu narrative would be great! I’d also love to hear about any new spot along the Zero or the Echo river, or an expansion of some place that’s only mentioned by Will in HATATE or only gets a few paragraphs of text. Mostly, I just love all these characters so much and I’m going through the tagset’s options like a hyperactive cat. Any fragment of their lives will make me happy.
For Lula and all the artists in particular (and Cate, depending on your stance on mushroom hunting, I suppose): please do lean into their art if it’s something you enjoy! Exhibitions, concerts, reviews... accidental reenactments of Robert Frost poems... all the discourse on the arts is my jam, if that’s your thing.
Carrington & Clara: will Clara manage to get in one (1) word in between Carrington’s merry infodumping?
Cate & Shannon Márquez & Will: Anything about these three, but I was thinking, postgame Shannon getting somewhere on the Mammoth and reconnecting with Cate and Will...
Cate & Val & Will: Mammoth slice of life pretty please?
Donald/Joseph Wheattree/Lula Chamberlain: so Lula went back to Mexico. Joseph is pensive. Did the events of the night shake up Donald, or what will it take?
Lula Chamberlain & Maya: I Just Think They’re Neat, no real prompts I’d just like to see them interact. Where do their interests intersect? Land art...?
Shannon Márquez & Weaver Márquez: Reunited cousins please. No hard stance on Weaver’s ghostliness from me (what even IS a ghost, feels like we spent half canon debating that), again I Just Think It’s Neat that she’s there sitting on the steps...
Pyre
I feel deeply for all of Pyre’s main themes - literacy, degrees of freedom, the fragile time that is the end of a historical cycle, nobodies rising up to the occasion, the revolutionary spirit that goes toward building a better society, and of course found family, “distance cannot separate our spirits” and all that jazz. Thoughts about finding oneself at the end of an age, as everything crumbles down to form something new. I love all the themes, the solemnity, the heart of this game. I adore everyone in that Blackwagon+Dalbert+Celeste, so if you want to add a Nightwing or two to any prompt, please do! I also love all the Scribes and find Erisa a compelling tragic figure. Out of the other triumvirates, I’m “love to hate them” for Manley, Brighton, Udmildhe and Deluge and would not like to see them featured in sympathetic roles. My main interest usually lies in post-canon exploration when applicable, but I’m also into various adventures during canon. Pick a location or a place outside the map and see what happens? As for the ending variables, I’d ask for a peaceful revolution and Oralech alive, but no preferences for who’s up and who’s down, pick whatever works best for any given plot bunny.
For any non-humans, if you like, do lean into their non-human traits! Curs gonna cur, saps gonna sap etc, different biology, different cultures...
Conversely, I regrettably do not enjoy an overwhelming majority of canon pairings so for Pyre, DNW unrequested ships period. The only exceptions are Soliam/Gol and Hedwyn/Fikani which I’d be happy to see featured wherever.
Barker & Brighton: it’s the sportsball bromance, you understand. I want to see these wildly incompatible individuals (Archjustice & Literally Exiled Due To Pissing On An Archjustice’s Statue) bond and maybe travel together due to their shared passion for the Rites and for Barker’s eventual invention of straight-up basketball
Big Bertrude & Celeste: who blinks first. They are... certainly two personalities, with primadonna tendencies perhaps (confirmed for Bertrude, but if I try to picture Celeste away from her job...). What if they clashed, is what I’m saying.
Big Bertrude/Pamitha Theyn: Pam returning from her travels, again and again, and finding a home in Bertrude’s lab, finding an understanding there... Bertrude’s attitude being thorny in a way that’s just what Pam needs to allow herself to open up... also: snake kisses.
Celeste/Jodariel: if the Heralds make it to the Union to get a shot at living a life of their own, and Tariq already has his friends and his interests in the material world, what’s left for Celeste? Maybe she could find herself unexpectedly close to Jodi, who’s good with distance and silence and also feels like the world doesn’t need her anymore...
Dalbert & Tariq: Any excuse for Tariq to hang out with the Fates for a little while, and treasure and be treasured by dear Dalbert...
Erisa & Volfred: what were they like!! What did Erisa think of this Reader and his Plan with Oralech, how did he approach her... how did they spent their time together...
Ignarius & Oralech: no no no listen, here’s the thing. If Iggy’s clearly got a thing for impressive horns and in general is quite stunned by other demons... ...I need him to see Oralech. Take this as seriously or as crack-treated-seriously as you wish.
Oralech/Tariq: I think there may be something about two individuals who got ultimately screwed by the final steps of the Scribes’ design (Oralech self-evidently; Tariq decides to rebel (!) to the planned end of his and Celeste’s mortal existences and stick around for a while). Learning to carve a niche for themselves...
Oralech/Volfred: waking up and remembering that the mourning that’s set deep in your roots is for someone who never died, waking up and remembering that the bitterness that consumed you had made up a betrayal that never was, finding each other through these crumbling walls... ...and/or Oralech being the government’s checks and balances aka the guy who knows Volfred and knows when to say Volfred _no_
Tariq/Volfred: Volfred’s zodiac sign is Cancer and Cancer is ruled by the Moon, so there’s that. I love how they both hold the other in the highest esteem, especially on Tariq’s part since he’s the immortal Herald of the Scribes and Volfred is, all in all, a history teacher, but listen to him and you’d think the roles were inverted. I love my nonviolent canon but could anything happen to either of them that may require a rescue, and/or some good old-fashioned h/c? What’s something that could make Tariq of all people lose it? How’s life 100 years on?
Oralech/Tariq/Volfred: Volfred has two hands, and sometimes miracles happen twice? How do they balance each other, what’s the Oralech/Tariq side like and what’s Volfred’s perspective on it? Is Tariq a constant part of their lives or does he fade in and out?
The Silver Case
I‘m all for the surrealism, big things being introduced and never picked up again, Rashomon’ing it up with six explanations for the same thing where no single one can be true, people dying and then popping up again like nbd... maybe the thing I like the most is characters transcending their humanity and looming over the dystopian world like ominous avatars. Correctness’ first ending had me swooning, that kind of mood is unparalleled. I have played TSC, FSR and 25W so far and have vague memories of K7. I’m aware of the “everything’s connected” readings and they sure seem to check out but that’s not my main interest in these games. For FSR-focused requests, I see Lospass as a real island but also a metaphysical place of transformation first and foremost, where strange things happen that don’t make sense elsewhere.
Toriko Kusabi & Remy Fawzil: What’s Toriko up to when she’s not chasing Chris? I think it could be fun to throw her at Remy and see the island from their point of view!
Tetsugorou Kusabi/Sumio Kodai: Tetsu picked one hell of a crush, huh! What’s it like in the aftermath of the games, when Sumio is Like That? How does Tetsu grapple with Parade? Is Tetsu an anchor of sorts for Correctness Sumio, who seems (at best) to be existing on a slightly different plane of existence at any given time and could disappear if you blink too hard?
Tetsugorou Kusabi & Shinko Kuroyanagi: I’m joining the “let these two be foulmouthed friends” masses - who’d be more fed up with the other’s nonsense, and in which ways would they be an unstoppable team?
Shinkai Tsuki & Tetsugorou Kusabi: Both of them end their stories in the shadows one way or another, and defending their protégé may have had a hand in their misfortune one way or another. What kind of understanding could they reach? What IS Tsuki up to anyway?
Christina & Catherine: anthro Catherine, as per the Placebo bonus chapter Yami, was unexpectedly charming. What was Chris before reaching Lospass, and did he also have a chat with her on the plane or on the island?
Shinkai Tsuki & Tokio Morishima: not unlike Tsuki&Tetsu, I’m intrigued by their 25W endings and I wonder if they could have a little lowkey, off-the-grid teamup maybe?
Tetsugorou Kusabi & Toriko Kusabi: a sweet father-daughter bonding moment on Lospass perhaps, both orbiting around Sumio’s nonsense in increasingly bizarre ways? What’s their take on the island?
Twin Peaks
Case fic but they don’t find out jack shit, someone disappears, David Bowie was there, it’s complicated. Fragmented, shifted, mirrored identities. New Lodge spaces. The risks of staring into the void for too long. Gentle illusions. Transcendence. The moon. Static buzzing. Any title from the s3 ethereal whooshing compilation used as a prompt, actually. Twin Peaks is all about the mystery to me, the awe of mystery and unknowability and the human drive to look beyond and the risks of getting a peek, and about shared consciousness and trauma taking physical form in an uncaring world. Go wild with the ethereal whooshing! But I also love the human warmth at the heart of it all, and sometimes it’s enough to anchor these characters and let them have a nice day. A fic entirely focused on some instance of coziness against the cold chaotic background of canon would be great too.
Canon-specific DNWs: any singular Dreamer being the ‘source’ of canon, BOB (let alone Judy) being forever defeated in the finale, Judy being an active malevolent presence in the characters’ lives, clear explanations for canonical ambiguities, ‘Odessaverse’ being the reality layer, the Fireman’s house by the sea being the White Lodge, anything that 4 hours Twin Perfect video says is the explanation of Twin Peaks
Albert & Hawk: I love Hawk’s constant snarkiness in TSHOTP and I think it would work very well with Albert’s, so I’d love to see them either snipe at each other or work together to demolish... idk, Ben or whomever. They also share the peculiar brand of skepticism of someone who has been stewing in supernatural nonsense half their lives and that’s cool too I think
Albert & Windom: speaking of people who should snipe at each other...! Were they forced to work together at some point or did they bark at each other during an office party or? (and when did Gordon start pretending that Windom never even existed, incidentally?)
Albert/Coop: fiery early days? Dream meetings that Albert will inevitably write off as a product of his aching subconscious? Post-finale where Albert has made his peace with Coop not being part of this world and not even deigning to greet him, except one day Coop is back - with apologies? Post-post-finale where they’re peacefully living out their days as best as they can?
Albert/Harry: did they tragically fall into each other’s arms in the wake of Coop’s disappearance? Did they realize they’re so good for each other, but neither of them was willing to give up their life? And/or was the wound of Coop’s disappearance too fresh for them to try to heal? Do they keep in touch throughout the years? Does Albert resign on the spot with a resounding fuck it after the s3 finale and rush to see Harry? Does he stay this time?
Coop/Harry: Harry seeing his Coop again… somewhere, somehow. Maybe he perceives him in the woods, maybe Coop isn’t all human now. Monster cuddles very welcome. Could be canon divergence but could very well be post-s3. Harry getting closure for waiting all that time in front of Glastonbury and never giving up on Coop… they can live in the woods together…
Albert/Coop/Harry: basically the sum of the three sides of this triad… give them peace, given them nice things, give them so much love… Coop finding his place in the world and making up for lost time… give time to these old wounds…
Bobby/Shelly & James: I am very fond of all three of them and I’d like for James to have friends maybe? Shelly thinks he’s cool! If he and Bobby can get over the decades-old rift due to Laura’s affections...
Cynthia/Tammy: the FBI and USAF supernatural branches meet again after Douglas Milford’s times... what’s their attitude toward it (who’s the Mulder and who’s the Scully......), in what ways does their respective task force’s past inform their views, is there more hope for a new generation who saw the trauma of the past without living it firsthand? LET TAMMY KISS ALL THE GIRLS BUT THIS ONE IN PARTICULAR
Frank & Margaret: extremely bold of Frank to pretend nothing weird whatsoever has ever gone down in his life when he grew up in town and presumably was still around when Margaret became the Log Lady. I’m interested in this clash between his “not my division” attitude and an actual oracle. On the other hand, they may have things in common...
Laura & Monica Bellucci: go wild. I’m good with the wildest theories on what Monica Bellucci actually is/represents. Out of all the people she could interact with, I’m glad Laura was nominated. Lodgey nonsense ahoy!
Margaret’s log & Hawk: reportedly, the log stayed with Hawk and hasn’t said a thing YET. That’s what fanfic’s for, right?
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This crazy thing called love. || 2
Authors Note: Hi!!! I swear this was a lot better in my head, but oh well! I am kinda really excited to be writing this. Enjoy !! Xx
Part One, HERE
I tap my fingers on the bartop, anticipating for the bartender to subsequently give me the time of day as he bustles around tending to everyone else's needs.
"Ah, finally found ye'," Harry's voice takes my attention as he leans his forearms on the bar, cocking his head to look at me with the same green eyes and crooked grin.
I playfully scoff and roll my eyes, I'm very aware he wasn't trying too hard to find me; I'm ceaselessly at the bar by this time of the wedding. "You weren't trying too hard to find me... flirting with one of the bridesmaids again, Styles?" I tease, subtly flicking my eyes to the towering blond in a cocktail dress that excellently shows off her flawless, long legs.
To my surprise he doesn't jerk his head in the direction of the lady, instead, he side-eyes her, not giving her the time of day before his eyes are back to rest on me. "Yeah, I wasn't trying too hard to find you, but for your information, love, I wasn't flirting.."
"Quickie in the coat closet?" I smirk, watching him bite his lip, his nose crinkling, brows knitting into a frown.
He gives a bitter laugh, "One time, it happened once... in my defence I was drunk." He mutters, "and if I remember right, you got me drunk." He nudges me benevolently, turning his attention to the bartender, flicking his hand to grasp his attention.
"I did no such thing," I defend unostentatiously.
In my defence, harry and I can't be left unattended at weddings, one of us perpetually gets on the tipsy side, habitually, it's him. Again, it's probably the commitment issue that throws him into the deep end of hard liquor.
"Two Jack and Cokes, one tall and on the rocks, one neat," Harry orders graciously.
I give Harry a generous smile, "Just what I was wanting,"
He nods, "It's what we always order,"
"I've been sitting here for a while waiting for one."
Harry lifts his shoulder in a half shrug, "You just don't know how to work a charm with a busy bartender, you're too sweet to show force."
"I am not," I shake my head, "you're just cocky," I respond, pointing out the obvious, as I always do.
He is never too shy when it comes to being assertive and getting what he wants, he knows how to get what he craves, he knows how to be firm, straightforward, and most of all, he knows his power and charm, he uses that to his advantage.
"Mmm, perhaps," he acknowledges, "or am I just overly confident and determined?" he challenges with a lacklustre smile, one that undoubtedly possesses all the women he comes across.
"Cocky, Harry."
"Well, cockiness got you your drink." He responds, propping his chin on his hand, his eyes beaming brilliantly at me.
I tilt my head in a nod, appreciative of him ordering me a drink the exact way I desire to take it. Harry’s attention is taking by his phone and he gets himself lost in it while I rotate between tapping the air with my foot while drumming my fingers against the bartop, doing my best not to entirely complain about my boredom. Harry isn’t always the best wedding date, he tends to lose himself considerably often at these things, again—commitment— it is a bitch to him. I rest my cheek in the palm of my hand, observing the people across from me chuckle to themselves and share loving gazes between each other, not shy with making it known they’re madly in love with each other… something I hope to one day have in my life— love.
Harry inhales a deep breath and blows out slowly, my attention moving to him, my head cocking to the side as he belatedly seems to come back to reality away from his damn phone. He bites his lip before turning his back to the bar, causing me to swivel round in my chair so we are facing the same direction. “My stalker is here,” he murmurs, his head subtly turning to keep his eye on her. I do my best to follow his eyes and I chuckle when I find the woman he is talking about.
He rocks back and forth on his feet and I let out a sigh,“ Harry, stalker is not polite,” I inform him, reminding him that it is not respectful to designate people names, no matter how possessive or obsessive they may be of an individual.
“She is obsessed with me, let’s go,” Harry mumbles and I slide off the bar stool, “Fuck, hide me,” he attempts to position me to hide him, epically failing due to our height difference. “Come, let’s dance,” he takes my hand and stagnates me towards the dancefloor being vigilant to do his best to keep himself out of her view. One hand presses to his shoulder and the other clasps with his as he leads me, his hand caressed to my lower back as we step delicately around the dance floor. I smile to myself, considerably savouring the closeness of the two of us and the delightful scent of his cologne that I honestly swoon over every damn time he wears it.
“It is good to know your dance skills have improved since the last wedding,” I whisper, quite impressed with how well he is doing, he has yet to step on me or make a fool out of himself. Very surprising.
He leans closer, his lips close to my ear, “Practiced just for you,” he elucidates, unquestionably joking, not able to come up with any sort of witty response.
He abruptly jerks me, cursing harshly under his breath, “She saw me, fuck,” he grunts, his lips pursing into a straight line before immediately turning into a faked smile, his eyes crinkled with frustration.
“Harry,” his stalker, as he names her, approaches comfortably with a cow like stare, absolutely infatuated with the man who is still in front of me holding our slow dance position.
He clears his throat, “Hello,” his greeting is well-bred but very forced, “Have you met my girlfriend?” he immediately brings me into the situation, her eyes spontaneously rolling towards me with a gimlet-eye stare, very unrelenting like.
She manages to peel her eyes away from me after looking me up and down, a clear indication she is probably going to have an X on my back pretty soon. Brilliant.
“I have not,” she bitterly returns, her eyes stirring towards him as he takes my side and places his arm around me. “I saw you in New York, your promo was great,” she begins and I stifle a laugh, now, that sounds stalkerish.
“Thank you, Oh, no.” he sighs, “I am so sorry, it seems my sister is eagerly gesturing for you to go to her,” Harry flicks his head over to his sister who is standing with a bridesmaid, a flute glass in her hand. The woman keeps her composer and smiles towards both Harry and me, graciously excusing herself before wandering towards Harry’s sister.
“You’re harsh,” I acquaint him, well aware that his sister does not want to be disturbed by the lady. He shrugs, removing his arm from around me like it's nothing.
“Okay, I’m done dancing,” he completely steps away from me, causing me to sigh. He could have at least finished the slow dance with the song.
He turns on his heel when he notices I am not following, I stare at him on the dancefloor, “You coming? The cake is wonderful,” he flicks his head towards the cake table.
I inhale a deep breath, mentally rolling my eyes before giving him a small smile and nodding my head, “Of course,” I step towards him, pursuing him towards the cake table.
Harry and I do the same thing we always tend to do, we both get difference slices so we can both end up tasting each others slice. We sit, excluding ourselves from everyone else, devouring the two slices of cake and talking. If I can give him any sort of endorsement, it is that he sure does know how to keep a conversation going with such ease.
"So, when are you going to host one of these?" I challenge as there is a petite dead silence between us, our forks both fighting each other for a piece of cake.
He snorts and shakes his head, permitting me to take the last piece of his cake, "I will not be getting married anytime soon, you know that. Why commit when I am content with how things are?" he challenges and I shrug. He does have a point, but at some point, it all has to get exhausting and dull, surely he wants to be able to go home after a long tour of some sort and wander inside to his wife waiting up on the couch with a warm blanket around her. Surely he wants to feel what it is like to be in love.
"Do you not want love?" I softly ask, watching as he glances up at me, his eyes focusing solely on me for a moment, he takes a breath and licks his lip before persuing his answer.
“Some day, but not today,”
“Oh wow, how deep of you,” I roll my eyes at his ridiculous and somewhat generic response. “Do you not want kids, Harry? You have to admit, we aren’t getting much younger.”
“Oi, you callin’ me old now? If I remember right, you’re the one that is still single… At least I have an excuse,” he throws the ball into my court, somewhat shining the spotlight on me.
I frown, not wanting to discuss myself, I am the one asking him the questions, my love life is a lot better than his… surely, it is. “This isn’t about me, Harry.”
“It is,” he nods, “You’re single too, what’s with that? Huh.”
“I am busy with work,”
“I am too,”
“No, you’re just afraid of commitment,” I shake my head, once again turning the conversation back to his commitment issues, at some point he is going to have to entirely grow up and realise that maybe the part of him that is missing is the right woman to love him.
He scoffs, shaking his head rolling his eyes, “I am not...You’re also single, at least I am getting satisfied every now and again,” he softly informs me, causing my eyes to grow wide and his lips to escape a chuckle.
“Harry,” I softly scold, “that is not what we should be discussing, and I get satisfied, thank you very much,” I mutter, placing my fork down and crossing my arms over my chest as he leans back in his chair, his eyebrows raised, ready to challenge me.
“Uh-huh…I think you’re grouchy because you don’t get satisfied, you’re too involved in your work.”
“I am not grouchy,” I defend instantly, “And, look who is calling the kettle black, you are constantly working… That is about the only thing you’re committed to.”
“Mhm.. but again, I at least get satisfied, when was the last time you had sex?”
I arch a sly brow, eyeing him, mentally trying to think of the last time that anything happened far beyond a simple kiss. “I am not discussing this with you,” I mutter, realising that Harry, does, in fact, have some sort of a better love life than me, even if his are more friends with benefits.
With a cocky wink and confident smile he responds, “I rest my case,” he chuckles, “Alright, you’re in a room full of men, take your pick, go on.” he gestures towards all the guests around us.
“Harry this is stupid,” I sigh, my eyes scanning the room as Harry waits for me to pick someone in the crowd. “He’s cute,” I subtly gesture towards a man by the bar, his tie loosely around his neck, a dainty smile drawing me in as he stands beside his mate.
Harry turns to take a look before he turns back, disapproval written all over his face, “He’s engaged,” he informs me. Go figure.
Harry and I spend a few minutes chuckling and pointing out different guys, all of them having some sort of issue, not getting the approval from Harry, not one. I heavily sigh and press my cheek to the palm of my hand, “Harry, this is stupid.” I huff, his smile making itself known again as he looks at me.
He leans across the table and takes my free hand with his, “It is okay, love… I know you will eventually get laid,” he grins and I pull my hand away from his.
My lips screw into irritation and I huff deeply at his comment, “Fuck you,”
“Really? Right now?” He jokes, purposely irking my nerves. Maybe this is why his ass is still single, he is a pain in the ass. “Okay, okay, don’t get mad… How about we leave? Go for a walk?” he offers and I take his proposal, there is no need for us to stay at a wedding that we are secluding ourselves from anyway.
---
Harry and I walk side by side while passing the bottle of wine between the two of us, we somehow managed to steal a bottle on our way out. I giggle as he takes a drink, his tie now hanging loosely around his neck, his hair beginning to fall into its usual position of lose curls.
The crisp air brushes around us as we make precise strides, doing out best not to be too loud as we wander around the outside of the establishment. “Love, up here,” Harry detours our walk from the sidewalk, stepping towards a staircase that leads to only God knows where. I gaze at him with a saucy grin, his eyes shining radiantly in the dim lighting of the moon etched above us. “Come on,” he holds his hand out towards me,
“I don’t know, Harry,” I sigh, unsure of whether I am up for some sort of adventure, I have no idea where this leads, for all I know we could end up being arrested for trespassing.
“Take a walk on the wild side,” he steps closer to me, taking my hand and gently tugging me towards the stairs. “Sweetheart, take your heels off, they’ll fall through,” He chuckles, making me aware of the terrible design of the stairs, steel and cratered with square holes.
I press my hand to his shoulder and keep myself balanced as I slide off my heels before promptly climbing the stairs beside Harry, hand in hand.
We reach the top of the stairs and to my surprise we are on the roof, overlooking the enchanting city lights and what the town has to offer. I stare out at the city, mesmerised by the landscape and the fog in the distance that creates a comprehensive sort of illusion.
I feel the chilled air brush against me before it abruptly stops. I smile to myself as Harry's suit jacket is draped over my shoulders. He doesn’t say a word as I smile at him, he just nods and grins before handing me the wine bottle. I press the bottle to my lips, abruptly wishing it wasn’t the only things lingering on my lips.
I swallow the wine and can’t help but find my eyes mesmerised by him, I can’t seem to take my eyes away from his. Every nerve in my body begins to pulsate, almost as if the breath is about to be knocked out of me.
He leans closer, subtly licking his lips. I grin the second I feel the tender touch of his hand brushing a few strands of hair behind my ear, “You look lovely tonight,” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming flawlessly, captivating my heart, breaching my every defence.
“You always say that,” I whisper, shivers settling down my spine as he smiles at me,
“You always look lovely, darling,” he beams, slowly leaning in.
WIthin the moment, I feel as though the universe stops, there is nothing but the two of us as we inch closer, our lips anxiously craving to taste the others, my heart races the second I feel his lips brush against mine, just enough to ignite a fire within my soul.
“Harry,” A voice startles us before either of us can manage to go further than our lips briefly brushing.
I promptly step back and Harry sighs, his head flicking towards the sound of the voice. “I have been looking all over for the two of you,” his sister comes into view, “Mum said she saw the two of you leave with a bottle wine, figured you wouldn’t be able to drive.” She steps closer, “Keys, Harry,” she holds her hand out in front of him, not giving him a chance to object. He mumbles under his breath and extracts his keys from his pants pocket, “I’m leaving in ten minutes, if you’re not in the car, you’re on your own,” she smiles at the two of us before promptly walking away.
Harry clears his throat and I nervously take the moment to make eye contact with him.
‘What did we nearly do? DId we… Did we just nearly kiss?’
He stays withdrawn for a moment and I accidentally allow my lips to move before thinking “I uh, I have an early flight, I should get going,” I mumble, doing my best not to make too much contact with Harry.
He nods, “Yeah, uh.. This way,” he gestures towards the stair case.
We step wordlessly towards the staircase and step down them without saying a word, not one.
I step get myself lost in my own thoughts, my head swirling with the fact that we almost kissed… I am sure it is undividedly just the wine that made us do such a thing. The last time we did that, we were six years old and holding hands at the park while out Mothers’ drank tea. I am pretty sure it was the wine, especially on his behalf, he isn’t thinking straight and neither am I.
“Careful, love,” Harry's voice rings through my ears as I perceive myself buckling and collapsing from the last steps. I discover myself in his arms, my heart once again stopping, this time not because we are inches away from kissing, but because in this moment, I crave nothing more than to be inches away from kissing.
He clears his throat and carefully helps me regain my balance. I caress my hand to his shoulder and proceed to slip my heels on. I gaze at him and he gives me a small smile before offering his arm as he always does. I clasp my hand to his arm before we begin to walk silently to find his sister.
Thoughts?? Message them to me!! Part 3? Xx
#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfics#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfictions#harry styles writing#Harry styles imagines#harry styles prompt#harry styles prompts#imagine harry styles#harry styles blurbs#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles preference#harry styles preferences
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Natural Disaster // Moon Taeil
-
the prompt: what if Taeil is a florist who never give any girls a flower before but one day he met a girl who asking him to teach her about flower language and making boquets, since he getting extra money he finds with it but the more they spend time together the more Taeil attract to this girl till he cant help but kiss her after that she never coming back to continue her lesson later Taeil found out that the flower boquets was for her dead lover after that is up to you.
words: 1983
category: angst
author note: angst and i have a relationship that shall never be destroyed. but there really isn’t that much angst in this and it’s kinda messy pls forgive me my brain is fried. also sorry for killing taeyong.
- destinee
-
Another slow day at his family’s florist. Taeil figured he couldn’t complain. It really was an easy job. All he had to do was arrange bouquets and recommend them to people. Besides, he loved flowers. He loved flowers so much he was hoping to be given the flower shop when his father retired.
The door opened, and the cool breeze told Taeil that someone had entered. “Hello, welcome to Moon’s Arrangements. How can I help you?”
When he looked up, however, he felt heat creep up the back of his neck. You had sunglasses perched on your head, keeping your hair out of your forehead. Your eyes were clear and resolved, and Taeil found himself forgetting how to speak for a moment.
Luckily, you spoke first, showing him a gentle smile. “Hi, I’m Y/n. Can you tell me what flowers mean?”
Taeil furrowed his eyebrows, “Pardon?”
You chuckled nervously, lowering your gaze to the floor. “Well, I heard from my aunt that you know a lot of flower meanings. I was hoping you could help me put together some bouquets. I’d pay you, of course.”
Taeil scratched the back of his neck nervously. Was this a trick? How else would a beautiful girl come into his shop, wanting to pay actual money to spend time with him? Okay, the payment was for lessons, but still.
“Well, what do you want to know?”
You pulled a notebook out of your purse, “Tell me everything you know.”
“Alright,” Taeil said. “Come back with me.”
The two of you walked behind the counter and into the back room, where the arrangements were made. Snippets of buds, leaves, and stems littered the tables. There was a refrigerator just to your right, playing house for many readymade arrangements.
Taeil took a large composition book off of one of the tables and opened it to a random page. “Okay, you want to learn the name and you want to know what they look like, right?”
“Absolutely,” you answered. “I want to be able see a flower on the side of the road and know exactly what it’s meaning is.”
“Okay,” Taeil said. “I’m a bit unprepared this time, but if you come back tomorrow, I’ll have fifteen flowers ready to go over with you.”
“I’ll be back at eight in the morning,” you said.
“I’ll be here,” Taeil answered, his heart already pounding at the thought of seeing you again.
-
You sat across from Taeil, sipping an americano. You had been here for hours, and save for the breaks Taeil took to take care of other customers, you had been working solely on memorizing flowers and their meanings.
Taeil held up a flower. The lily-shape was one hint, along with the startling orange and yellow color. “What’s this?”
“That’s a Alstroemeria,” you answered with ease. “It means aspiring.”
“Good,” he praised you. He held up a second flower, this one purple and somewhat bell-shaped. “Try this one.”
“Amaryllis. Dramatic.”
He nodded and held up flower after flower. You got them all right.
Finally, he held up the last flower: one with yellow petals and a raised middle. “Last one, Y/n. What’s this?”
“Black-eyed Susan,” you said. A grin appeared on Taeil’s face, prompting you to keep going. “It means encouragement.”
“Excellent!” Taeil said. “If we do this every day, you’ll become a pro in no time.”
“I’ll see you later, then,” you said, packing up your stuff to leave quickly.
Taeil watched you go, with no courage to ask you to stay a little while longer.
-
“So, you’ve got your primary colors and your secondary colors, as well as your shades,” Taeil told you, “the trick is making sure there is just enough amount of each without overdoing it.”
“Great,” you said. “Where do we start?”
“We’ll start with three colors,” Taeil said. “Try using one of each category.”
“Okay,” you grabbed three different colored roses: pink, yellow, and white. “What about these?”
“Good for a first try,” Taeil said. “Now arrange them and try to tell me what they mean.”
You did as he said, clipping the stems like he showed you. You then arranged all of the roses into one vase. “Okay. Pink means admiration. Yellow means friendship, and white means purity.”
“Great!” Taeil said. He watched your serious expression as you arranged the bouquet. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want to learn all this?”
“Hmm?” You lifted your gaze to his. “Oh, I’m just curious and have a lot of time on my hands.”
“Really? It’s like school, though.” Taeil handed you a rose, and you thanked him. “Are you looking to become a florist yourself? Make your own arrangements?”
“Something like that,” you answered. “I’d like to make the perfect arrangement one day.”
“Well, I hope I can help you make the perfect arrangement.” Taeil found himself staring at you. The way your hair was messy from the humidity, hastily hidden under a baseball cap. Your lips were pursed as you critiqued your work.
He could really describe it. He supposed, however, that he had been around natural beauty all his life. He knew what it looked like.
There were flowers the color of the sunset. Trees twisted and tangled just like the clouds. There was beauty in planting a man made garden. There was beauty in watching a natural, wildflower garden grow.
Your beauty was natural, all right. Taeil could tell that you never wore makeup. Even when you did, it was in the softest colors. Pretty oceanic hues and sunrise shades.
Taeil wanted to get to know you better. He wanted to discover your secrets and find out why you were so closed off towards him.
It wasn’t like you didn’t talk to him; you did. But it was about surface subjects. Things like school and work and flowers.
He didn’t know the deeper context of your life. He wanted to, though. However, he knew it wasn’t his place to pry, so he never intruded.
Still, he wished you would open up to him.
-
“So, Cosmos?”
“Peaceful.”
“Ginger?”
“Pride.”
“Iris?”
“Inspiration.”
“Pansy?”
“Loving thoughts.”
“Good,” Taeil said.
You smiled proudly, “I’ve been studying, Taeil. I think I’ll come back tomorrow to make my perfect bouquet. And then our lessons will be over!”
Taeil smiled sadly, “Well, hopefully you’ll come back to see me, right?”
You smiled back at the boy who ha become somewhat of a friend to you. “Right, Taeil.”
-
You returned the next day and made your way to the back room while Taeil helped a few of the usual morning customers.
You carried a notebook with you, effectively labeled with certain flowers Taeil had taught you about over the few weeks .
Striped carnation: refusal.
White carnation: remembrance
Geranium: comfort
Lilac: first love
Red roses: passionate love
Heather: solitude
Daffodil: rebirth and new beginnings
Your list wasn’t long, but each flower held a special meaning you wanted to convey in your arrangement.
Taeil came in as you were gathering the flowers. He watched from the doorway as you grabbed a beautiful black vase.
“Wouldn’t you rather a brighter color?” He asked.
You jumped, finally noticing his presence. Only when you looked up did Taeil notice you were dressed twice as nice as usual, and your hair was tied up in a neat bun. “Going somewhere special?”
“You could say that,” you whispered. “And this vase is fine, thanks.”
Taeil walked up and read from your list before looking at the the flowers you’ve collected. “Y/n… these don’t match.”
“I know,” you said simply.
“What about what I taught you? Colors matching colors and meanings matching meanings?”
“Those don’t matter,” you answered. “I’ve already decided to make this bouquet. I’m paying for all the expenses, so it won’t matter.”
You were still so cold towards him. A natural blizzard, rejecting any friendly advances he made towards you. Although you smiled for him and engaged in conversation, you still seemed a thousand miles away.
Taeil sighed and leaned against the counter, grabbing a pair of shears. The two of you prepared the bouquet in silence. A silence you seemed comfortable with.
However, to Taeil, it was a cloudy silence filled with questions. He craved anything that would bring him closer to you, the mysterious girl who showed up at his flower shop one day.
Suddenly, you smiled. Dimples appeared on your cheeks and Taeil found himself grinning at your innocent giggling. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing.” You shook your head. “I was just thinking about something my mom said.”
“What’d she say?” Taeil asked.
“Just a small joke.”
“Tell me,” Taeil begged.
“Okay,” you cleared your throat and turned to him.
Hiding the giggles behind your palm, you straightened up, “Okay. What’s a cow’s favorite color?”
Taeil chuckled at your cuteness, “I dunno. What?”
You giggled, “Burger-dy. Get it? Like burgundy?”
Taeil nearly face palmed at the lame joke. “Wow.”
“What?” You pouted. “It was funny.”
Taeil couldn’t really help himself. In that moment, you looked so unapologetically beautiful. He couldn’t help but blurt, “Can I kiss you?”
-
Your eyes widened as the boy suddenly leaned in, his lips inches from yours. You were frozen, unable to answer him. Instead, you simply nodded, thinking it would be okay.
It’s been almost a year, Y/n. It’ll be fine.
But it wasn’t fine. Because Taeil’s lips were nothing compared to his. Taeil’s touch reminded you of the way he used to hold you.
You pushed Taeil away. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
You dug your wallet out of your pocket and extracted some money, placing it on the counter. In a rush, you spoke to Taeil as you grabbed the bouquet, “I have to go.”
“Wait!” Taeil grabbed your wrist. “Did I come on too strong? I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that,” you answered, offering him a sad smile. “It’s just that I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Goodbye, Taeil.”
He let you go, and you could hear his soft voice as you went, “Goodbye, Y/n.”
-
It had been two weeks. Taeil didn’t know where you were, for you hadn’t returned to the flower shop.
He wondered if it was his fault. Maybe he had read your signals wrong and you hadn’t wanted to kiss him. Did he scare you?
He pondered this as he walked to the local church, a bouquet of roses in his hands. He was to deliver them to the church, where there was a piano recital for the children.
He took in his surroundings. The steeple of the church in the distance, the graveyard, the children’s playground…
Taeil did a double take at the graveyard, his eyes falling on a familiar bouquet. The red of the roses, the pink of the geranium, the yellow of the daffodils… it was your bouquet.
Hesitantly, he walked through the gate of the cemetery. With no one around, he crouched down at the grave and read the label.
Lee Taeyong: a son, a lover, and a friend. 1995-2017
It all made sense. Your closed off personality, your unwillingness to get close to him, your will to learn about flowers and their meaning. All of it was for this Lee Taeyong, who, judging by the meaning of the flowers, was your boyfriend.
It hadn’t even been a year. No wonder you hadn’t kissed him back. You could still feel love for your late boyfriend. Or maybe you felt guilty to kiss someone so soon after his death.
Either way, Taeil couldn’t say.
He paid his respects before standing up and making his way back towards the church.
He wished he had gotten your contact, or anything really. He just wanted to be the friend you obviously needed; romance could wait on mourning.
But he couldn’t find you, and he was afraid he would never find you again.
~the end~
#nct#nct 127#nct u#nct au#nct scenario#nct scenarios#nct imagine#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct angst#nct u au#nct u angst#nct u scenario#nct u scenarios#nct 127 angst#nct 127 au#nct 127 scenarios#nct 127 scenario#moon tail#taeil scenarios#taeil au#taeil angst#taeil scenario#taeil imagine#taeil imagines#destwrites
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Jewish Summer Camp With Campfires, Crafts and No Lights Out
As if on cue, the first camper I meet is a guy named Josh: a nice, 27-year-old Jewish boy with kind eyes, a subtle smile and the same name as my husband, another nice Jewish boy, back home.
“Do you know where Malbec is?” asks this Josh, Josh Blake, rolling his eyes, and then his suitcase, over a wide dirt path flanked by rickety cabins that have been renamed for the weekend. (Malbec and Cabernet, for the men; Pinot Grigio and Rosé for the women; Raisins for all.) “I don’t want to walk all the way over there, if it’s back there …” he says, sounding not unlike Woody Allen.
I don’t blame him. The camp is desert-hot and dusty. And he’s ultimately here, he later admits over bagels, because his parents paid the all-inclusive $525 for him to be. They met on this very land, albeit half a mile away. “Talk about pressure!” he says, laughing.
Ilana Rosenberg, 31, sitting nearby, agrees. “My mother said, ‘Have fun! Go meet your Jewish husband!’ My sister was like, ‘Mom, she could find a Jewish wife, too, you know’.”
American Jewish University owns these 2,800 acres in Southern California’s Simi Valley, which is home to rolling hills and herds of cows, the university’s Brandeis-Bardin Campus and Camp Alonim. Over the next three nights and four days, this 66-year-old summer camp for Jewish kids has been commandeered by a new kind of summer camp — Trybal Gatherings, for Jewish adults.
Trybal Gatherings was founded by Carine Warsawski, 34, a buoyant, Boston-bred M.B.A., with the goal of fostering lasting community among Jews in their 20s and 30s, and, ahem, a few in their 40s.
She held her first Gathering at Camp Eisner in the Berkshires in 2017, roping in mostly friends of friends. Over Labor Day weekend, it sold out, with 125 campers and a wait-list dozens’ deep. Last year, she added Wisconsin; next summer Atlanta, and has plans to expand from Seattle to Austin to Toronto.
Whereas traditions like Birthright Israel offer free trips to the homeland, Ms. Warsawski’s aim is to offer an immersive, low-commitment experience closer to home — one rooted not in Zionism or religious doctrine, but in the shared nostalgia of a Jewish-American rite of passage, complete with archery and horseback riding, and a roster that reads like it’s from the Old Testament. (At one point, I’d forgotten my name-necklace. “That’s O.K.!” someone joked. “It’s probably either Sarah or Rachel.”)
There are two main differences between Jewish kids’ camp and Jewish adults’ camp: No bedtime, and booze, lots of it. Kiddie-pools brimming with hard seltzer at Bubbe’s Beer Garden. Bottles of cheap wine at supper. Compostable flutes of bubbly at Arts & Crafts.
Also, adult campers have careers, though no one talks about them. Web developers and screenwriters, wedding planners and wardrobe stylists. And yes, a few doctors and lawyers. The majority came solo; others hand-in-hand and interfaith or happily married in matching outfits, like Emily and Rachel Leavitt — my Secret Santa, er, Mystery Moses.
It’s a mix of die-hard camp people reliving their glory days, once-homesick campers redoing their awkward years, and first-timers wondering what all the fuss is about. “My parents were immigrants from Iran! They didn’t know about camp!” says Baha Aghajani, 30. Neither did Saraf Shmutz, 39, who moved from Tel Aviv to San Diego. “My summers were ‘go play soccer and bug off.’”
As a writer who hasn’t been back to her camp, Young Judaea, in New Hampshire, in 25 years, I signed up to learn what’s moving Jews to opt for uncomfortable bunk beds and kosher-style mess halls, in lieu of a real vacation.
Trybal isn’t the only over-21 camp cropping up these days. Nor is it the only Jewish one. Camp Nai Nai Nai, which also operates on both coasts, and attracts a post-college, more conservative crowd. And “55+” Orthodox Jews have been davening at summer retreats for decades at places like Isabella Freedman where campers crochet kippahs and take day trips to Tanglewood, in the Berkshires.
Trybal is arguably the only camp, though, that starts the day with an “Abe Weissman Workout,” a calisthenics routine straight out of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.” (Tomato juice refreshers included, but no rompers.)
It’s also, explains Ms. Warsawski, “a place for people who are more -ish than Jew.” Like Molly Shapiro, 28, of Berkeley. ““This is my jam!” she says. “Synagogues today aren’t really designed for us. We want something less traditional, more affordable, more fun. I mean, playing cornhole isn’t Jewish, but we’re playing cornhole together!”
Togetherness is what Trybal is all about. The schedule is packed from early morning to midnight with get-to-know-you-games and group activities like partner massage and mah-jongg, pickling and pool time.
The next morning, I pass up dreamcatcher-making for challah baking. “Oh yeah, this is what I’m here for,” says Abel Horwitz, a young Robert Downey Jr., kneading dough we’ll later braid and adorn with toppings beyond the traditional sesame. Rainbow sprinkles. Peaches. Jalapeños. “Will 20 loaves be enough for all 60 of us tonight,” some Jews worry.
Next, it’s a tossup between the relationship workshop and the ropes course. I decide I like humans more than heights and head over to hear what the visiting Rabbi Sherre Hirsch, has to say. She reads a passage from the 20th-century philosopher Emmanuel Levinas and tells us to partner up. A 26-year-old named Sam and I stare into each other’s faces for a full five minutes. “Sit with the discomfort,” the rabbi urges. Reluctantly, I do. I smile. He winks. I wiggle, examining his wrinkle-free forehead and bushy eyebrows bound to grow bushier in old age, until my awkwardness turns to calm. I’m overwhelmed by a deep feeling of curiosity and compassion for this man, for myself, for humanity.
“That was a good reminder,” Ms. Aghajani says afterward. “To give people more of a chance. To not swipe so fast.”
After a grilled cheese buffet, there’s solar art and yoga and Slip-n-Slide kickball. I head for the hammocks, where a guy with long red hair is lounging in a tie-dyed Helvetica T-shirt that reads “Falafel & Sabich & Hummus & Schwarma.” It’s his third Trybal. He is the camp guitarist, and a rocket scientist in real life.
“I come to be a kid again,” Jeremy Hollander, 34, says. He pauses. “And to, you know, be with my people.” In real life, he doesn’t bring up the fact he’s Jewish. “‘Hollander’ isn’t ‘Schwartzenbaum’. People see me and usually think I’m Scottish or something.” He feels safer that way. Especially today, he says, with rising anti-Semitism. “The flame is being fanned. You never know who has what opinions. Here, I can let my hair down.” (Although, technically, it’s in a ponytail.)
“The only one thing I have to worry about at camp,” he says, “is when am I going to squeeze in a shower?”
Still, before sundown, we all emerge from our bunks neat and clean and dressed in white. “Can you believe I got this for $2.99 at Saks Off Fifth!” exclaims Lauren Katz, a volunteer staffer wearing lace. (We can’t.)
Picture time. “Say Cheese!” the camp photographer instructs. “But we’re lactose intolerant!” someone cries from the crowd.
We gather in a stone-lined grove, to sing and sway and cheek-kiss “Shabbat Shalom,” before making our way to the dining hall for a sit-down dinner of roast chicken. And, of course, plenty of challah.
It’s all so familiar to me. The tunes are different, but the Hebrew words are the same. The trees are eucalyptus, not pine, and Mr. Hollander is not the longhaired, tie-dye-clad musician from my old camp, and yet — he could be.
I agree with what he said earlier. There is something easy and assuring about spending a summer weekend like I used to (albeit for eight whole weeks): with my people. Or, at least with people who remind me of my people. New friends bonded by old memories.
Trybal is like a modern millennial shtetl, where gesundheits fly. And “Hava Nagila” plays at a Hawaiian luau. And campfire stories include, “How I Became a ‘Nice Jewish Guys’ Calendar Model.”
It’s an alternate, insular world where I find myself running through a field, streaked in war paint, chanting: “We have spirit, because we’re Blues! We have spirit because we’re Jews!”
It’s a universe where conversation flows from the Netflix show “Shtisel” to the lack of Jews in Santa Barbara to the universal disdain for online dating (despite the fact that Trybal is sponsored by JSwipe), to whether Ms. Rosenberg indeed met her future husband.
“We’ll see,” she says, smiling. She did make-out at Arts & Crafts with the Trybal barista: a boy she barely remembers being at her bat mitzvah.
On the last night, I slip quietly out of the luau, where the D.J. is rocking “Lean On Me.” I leave the Leavitt ladies in their twin Hawaiian shirts and my Rosé bunkmates dancing the macarena. Mr. Shmutz and the Cabernets are making reunion plans. Mr. Blake is flirting with one of his crushes.
I have an early flight to catch. Back to my husband and kids and, in a way, the future. In the morning, I’ll miss the friendship bracelets and the compliment circle and, like a true last day of camp: tears. For a moment I have FOMO. And then I realize, it’s fine. Sometimes an Irish goodbye is just as good as a Jewish one.
Rachel Levin is a contributor to the Travel section and the author, with Wise Sons Deli, of “EAT SOMETHING,” to be published in March, by Chronicle Books.
52 PLACES AND MUCH, MUCH MORE Follow our 52 Places traveler, Sebastian Modak, on Instagram as he travels the world, and discover more Travel coverage by following us on Twitter and Facebook. And sign up for our Travel Dispatch newsletter: Each week you’ll receive tips on traveling smarter, stories on hot destinations and access to photos from all over the world.
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Restorative Yoga 101: 7 Must-Know Tips to Get the Most Out of Your Restorative Practice
Whether you're new to restorative yoga or a seasoned pro, little tweaks can help you get more relaxation out of your practice.
In YJ's newest course, Restorative Yoga 101, Jillian Pransky, director of Restorative Therapeutic Yoga teacher training for YogaWorks and author of Deep Listening, will have you rethinking rest one deep breath at a time. This four-week program offers students an in-depth look at eight essential poses that will help you elicit the relaxation response, simple prop setups that will help encourage deep mind-body release and healing, guided meditative sequences and breathing exercises, mind-body alignment lectures, and personal inquiry. Eager to learn more? Sign up now.
Whether you're new to restorative yoga or a seasoned pro, little tweaks can help you get more relaxation out of your practice. From longer holds to deeper breathing to props to prep, here are 7 ways to get the most out of your restorative yoga practice.
1. Timing is everything.
A typical vinyasa class may offer a 5–8 minute Savasana. Usually, just when you've stopped wiggling around, you slide into stillness. Restorative yoga offers you time to adjust, and readjust, and readjust again, which helps you settle and drop in. Time is essential in this practice. In order for the brain to get the message that you are safe enough to switch off your stress response and turn on your relaxation response, it is said that your body and mind need to be at ease and your breath full and deep for approximately 20 minutes.
Generally, restorative poses can be held anywhere from 5–20 minutes or longer. The more you practice, the easier it will be for you to stay longer in the pose. On the flip side, the more frequently you practice, the more quickly you may settle. Plus, repeated practice helps you re-establish relaxation more quickly and easily over time.
2. Grow still but let your breath flow.
Restorative poses create good alignment to make space for the breath to flow freely. As you learn to let your body truly rest on the ground and be held up by your props, you make more room for the breath to flow through you. Full, deep, natural breathing sends messages to the brain that you are safe, which deepens relaxation and furthers the healing potential of the practice. Learn more about how to breathe in restorative yoga.
3. To feel more spacious, prepare your space.
Relaxation is enhanced when the area where you practice is as stress-free as possible. The room should be neat, warm, and softly lit. Before you begin, be aware of what props you need for your whole practice. Have all your props ready, e.g., blankets folded and towels rolled and arranged around your mat in an organized manner.
4. Keep it simple.
I like to plan each sequence so I can use the same props for each pose that I do. This helps promote relaxation, as I am not busy pulling in, taking away, or re-folding. And remember that less is more. Two well-constructed postures with time to sink in are more beneficial than half a dozen poses done quickly or poorly propped.
5. Warm up.
I offer my students (and myself) a gentle warm-up of gentle rhythmic movements before practicing restorative poses. This usually includes breath-based slow flows such as Cat-Cow and easy half Sun Salutations, as well as Low Lunges, twists, and reclined hip openers. Warming up creates an opportunity to shed some of the body and mind’s restlessness so that it will be easier to settle into a place of stillness. It also helps ready the muscles to release tension, allows for deeper and freer-flowing breathing, and draws attention to your body. Sometimes students enjoy repeating some of the warm-up movements as they transition between poses. Just make sure your movement is not too stimulating, as that may prevent you from settling in.
6. Stay warm.
Make sure there are no drafts in your space, and have an extra blanket nearby. Dress in layers. Consider leaving your socks on, as you may feel cooler as you progress deeper into stillness.
7. Use music (or don't).
Personally, I love music—but not always. Sometimes it's perfect, and sometimes it gets in the way. Also, while some students love music, others don't. If you choose to use music, ensure that it is non-invasive. Don’t choose music that requires "listening." Restorative yoga is a meditative experience that allows you to move inward, so you don't want something that pulls you "outward." I prefer instrumental music or chanting. When I need more grounding, I use warmer, lower sounds, like the incredible Garth Stevenson, and when I need more expanding, I go with softer, higher sounds like the angelic vocals of Wah!
Ready to learn more? Sign up for Restorative Yoga 101: Journey Into Stillness With the Tools and Practice to Heal, Restore, and Rejuvenate.
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