#i will never attempt digital oil painting again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

licieoic · 4 years

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“Pour One Out” - Digital Oil Painting

Inspired by Suptober, theme: Pour One Out. Bartender/Patron AU! This one was actually inspired by a number of themes from Suptober including “Family Business” and “Favorite,” as shown in the ficlet below the cut. (It’s PG, though Dean is having some more adult oriented thoughts, LOL.)

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“Hey.”

Looking up, Dean saw his brother, Sam, sticking his head into the brewing room. It had to be nearly time for his shift, he already had his abundant hair pulled back.

“Your favorite’s here,” he said.

Dean straightened up so fast, he nearly dropped the pitcher of beer he’d been pouring so carefully. “Trench Coat?” At least, that was the name he used with Sam; he didn’t want his brother knowing what he called the quiet man in his head. He’d never quite had the courage to ask the man’s actual name and since Winchester Bros was cash only, he couldn’t sneak a look at a credit card either. He’d considered asking for his ID, as that was perfectly acceptable in a bar, but since he was clearly over legal drinking age it would just make Dean look like he was stupid or an ass.

“Usual spot,” Sam answered before popping back into the main area of the bar.

He got up close to the shiny brewing vat in front of him and tried to check his appearance, but the metal didn’t make for a good mirror and left him looking deformed. Damn… He hoped there was nothing to worry about, like food in his teeth or crustiness in the corners of his green eyes, and that his light brown hair was just the right amount of tousled, leaning more toward ‘I woke up like this’ and less like ‘I use a lot of product.’ Then he reached into the pocket of his apron for the breath mint he always kept there, on the chance that his favorite patron would stop by.

It was easy to remember the first time he’d ever seen him, he doubted he would ever forget. Five months after he and Sam had opened the bar, they’d had to strike a deal with the Devil (Dean’s private name for their wealthy investor, Crowley) in order to save it from going under. It had always been their dream to start up a family business and they’d each quit lucrative careers (Dean as a mechanic, Sam as a lawyer) to open Winchester Bros. It had taken every penny of their life savings to do it, they just couldn’t give up so soon.

Pride still smarting with the knowledge that they’d be under Crowley’s thumb for the foreseeable future, Dean hadn’t exactly been the friendliest bartender that night. After being short with a small bachelorette party, Sam told him to concentrate on the solo patrons at the bar who usually weren’t the chatty types and leave the groups to him. Dean hadn’t argued, they needed as much patronage as possible, he could ill afford to turn what could be repeat customers into people who never came back just because he was in a mood.

Down at the far end of the bar, he saw a man with dark, messy hair hunched over the bar. He wore a slightly dirty trench coat over a deep navy suit and had a five o’clock shadow darkening his jawline. All in all, a fairly standard-looking barfly, if he were judging a book by its cover. Dean leaned both hands on the bar and tried not to sound too brusque as he asked, “What can I get you?”

Then the man looked up… and Dean forgot everything. He was lost in the bluest eyes ever to blue, bluer than the tie hanging crooked from the man’s neck. Dean’s mouth might have gone slack, he wasn’t sure. They were like angel’s eyes, almost too pretty to be real.

“I don’t know,” said the man, immediately dubbed Angel Eyes. He seemed kind of down, but that wasn’t unusual for a lone bar patron. “Do you have a menu?”

“W-we do,” said Dean, pulling over the list printed on laminated cardstock once he remembered how to speak. The line at the top read ‘Winchester Brews,’ which he’d thought damn clever at the time, now he worried it was corny. “Ahem… Everything on offer is brewed in-house, plus I can make you just about anything you like.”

“Anything, huh?” He looked at the menu, but didn’t really seem to be reading it. “I don’t know,” he said again, “surprise me?”

Something was really bothering this man, Dean could tell, his bartender instincts were jangling like crazy. His bi-dar, however, was all over the place. He never had a problem flirting with the ladies who came in, but it was always hard to tell if he was clear to make a pass at a man. That kind of thing could get dangerous, depending on who it was and what kind of attitude they had.

“Surprise you,” Dean repeated, reaching below the bar for a tumbler which he filled with a few ice cubes. “Well, you look like a man of… discerning tastes.” He followed this with a wink to test the waters. To his delight, Angel Eyes smiled. And Dean’s heartbeat doubled. He turned around and took a surreptitious breath in an attempt to calm it down, but it didn’t work.

From the back shelf, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey with a simple handwritten label on the front that read ‘Winchester Special #5’ and turned back to face him. As he poured, Dean said, “This here is our monthly special.”

“What makes it special?”

“It changes every month,” said Dean. “Afterward, we add it to the list of brews. And if you can guess the flavor, the inspiration behind it… it’s on me.”

“Has anyone gotten it right yet?” It was the nineteenth, he’d assumed correctly that some people had already tried Dean’s challenge.

He shook his head. “Not quite.” Gesturing at the tumbler, he quirked a brow and asked, “Care to try?”

Angel Eyes picked up the glass and took a sip. He tilted his head, appearing thoughtful.

“So?” asked Dean when he didn’t get an immediate answer. “What’s it taste like to you?”

“Hmm. Molecules.”

Dean laughed outright and Angel Eyes grinned. “Well, you’re not wrong!” he exclaimed. “Molecules, heh, can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before, but is that your final answer?”

Swirling the ice in the glass, Angel Eyes took a longer pull, maintaining eye contact with Dean as he rolled the whiskey slowly over his tongue. Dean’s mouth went dry as he watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down when he swallowed. Unconsciously, he licked his lips and those bluer than blue eyes followed the movement.

Angel Eyes clicked his tongue. “Blueberry…” he said, slowly. “But there’s something else… It’s sweet and… creamy?”

“No hints,” said Dean, but mentally he was cheering the man on, wanting him to make the right guess, and he was so, so close.

He took one last sip from the glass, finishing it off. “It’s good. I like it. It reminds me of a blueberry sour cream pie. Final answer.”

Dean grinned broadly. “We have a winner!”

He returned the smile with one of his own and it seemed like both of them had forgotten their problems prior to their meeting each other. “Really?”

Nodding, Dean poured him another. “On me. Since you’re the first correct guess.”

He picked up the tumbler and saluted Dean with it. “Cheers.”

Dean nodded, a little disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to keep their conversation going, and turned to go back to work.

“Oh, and—”

Heart in his throat, he looked back. Angel Eyes hesitated.

“Thank you,” he said, finally. “This… really helped.”

“Yeah?”

He made a vague gesture. “I don’t want to get into it, I know bartenders aren’t therapists,” he said. “Just some family issues.”

Dean’s heart sank. He had a family. Of course he did. “Well, you’re not the first guy to come here to escape his wife for a while,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, I’m not married,” Angel Eyes said.

“Girlfriend?” came out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop himself.

He shook his head. “One of my brothers is constantly going through a rebellious phase. Our father isn’t happy about it.”

“Ohhhh, well, I can definitely understand annoying brothers,” said Dean, aiming his thumb at Sam who was down at the opposite end of the bar, and forcing himself to swallow down any follow-up questions. He’d already said he didn’t want to talk about it, Dean wanted to respect that. “You should bring your family around,” he said, smiling. “It’s easier to open up after a few, you know?”

Angel Eyes chuckled. “I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. Besides…” He thumbed the rim of his glass before glancing back up, hitting him with that blue gaze all over again. “I don’t know if I want them coming around here. Maybe I want to keep you all to myself.”

Any thoughts of pushing for more patrons to offset his and Sam’s massive debt had flown away. Dean could only nod like an idiot, he knew what the man meant, of course, but the unspoken implications in the statement were pinging around in his head like a super ball. He might have squeaked out an ‘okay’ or a ‘yeah’ as he headed back to work, he didn’t remember. He did remember almost tripping over his own feet and not looking back, knowing his face would be bright red. He pretended to not remember hearing another chuckle.

Since then, Angel Eyes came in at least once a week, always sat at the end of the bar, and always ordered the monthly special, even though he paid for each subsequent drink following his correct guess. He was never wrong about the flavor either, which amazed Dean, he even got the lemon meringue right. He’d been so sure that no one would get it – he’d heard lemon-vanilla, toasted marshmallow, all kinds of other things because who guesses ‘meringue’ for a whiskey anyway? Apparently, a man with gorgeous blue eyes in a slightly dirty trench coat. Three months in, he was the only person who’d figured out that Dean based all the specials on his favorite pies and it only made his guesses come that much quicker.

As he headed out to the front, he dropped off the pitcher of beer and grabbed #15 from the shelf. He almost couldn’t believe it had been ten months since his favorite patron had first come in. Tonight was the night, he resolved, he would ask for Angel Eyes’ actual name. Maybe in another ten months, he’d work up the courage to ask for his number. Dean internally rolled his eyes at himself. He was truly pathetic.

Angel Eyes perked up at the end of the bar the moment Dean emerged from the back, yellow light from a nearby neon sign on the wall reflecting off his dark hair, almost like a halo. They smiled at each other and Dean’s heart was immediately doing flips, seeing how obviously happy he was to see him. Could be the Crush Goggles, but still…

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Dean, filling the glass with ice and setting it down on the bar. “I was wondering when you’d be in to try the latest special.”

“I’m just hoping it isn’t Pumpkin Spice,” said Angel Eyes. Being that it was October, it was a fair comment. You couldn’t go ten feet without encountering something bearing that smell and/or flavor.

“I do like pumpkin pie,” said Dean, pouring the whiskey. “But I think it’s more of a November flavor.”

Dark brows lifted. “A hint? This is new. What did I do to deserve that?”

Dean laughed. “Maybe I’m in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Me too. It’s a good night.”

“Hopefully, about to be better,” said Dean, nodding at the glass.

“I don’t need to drink to have a good time,” he said, but picked up the tumbler all the same to have a sip.

“Your continued presence at my bar says otherwise,” said Dean.

Angel Eyes swallowed. “There are other reasons a person might come to a bar.”

“Such as?”

“Good ambience.” He took a longer sip and let his eyes wander over Dean before traveling back up as he swallowed. “I like the company.”

Dean hoped he wasn’t blushing but he couldn’t hold back a goofy smile. “You do get to meet all kinds of people in a place like this,” he said.

“Yes, though I was referring to one specific person.”

“Yeah?”

He finished the whiskey and set down the glass, meeting Dean’s eyes head-on. “Yes.”

Mouth dry, Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh…” He gestured at the tumbler. “Any guesses?”

“Maybe.” He trailed one finger around the rim of the glass. “If I pay for the drink, can I have something else as my prize? If I get it right, of course.”

“Uh.” He swallowed hard. “S-s-sure.” He could hardly manage the one word; he couldn’t even summon the brain power to ask what it was he wanted.

Smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Angel Eyes considered his answer. “This is a good one,” he said. “Definitely not pumpkin, but it has sweetness… and a note of tart as well.”

“Are you a sommelier?” Dean asked suddenly. “That would sure as hell explain a lot.”

He laughed, the bright sound so incongruous with his gravelly voice, it had quickly become one of Dean’s favorite things about him. So much so, that he would go out of his way to come up with a corny joke or allow himself to be a little clumsy, just for the chance to hear that laugh.

“No,” he said, still smiling. “Disappointed?”

“No. I just can’t figure out how you’re never wrong.”

“I haven’t made my guess yet,” he pointed out.

“And?”

Deliberately, he reached into his glass and retrieved a small ice cube. Before Dean knew what was happening, Angel Eyes was popping it into his mouth and sucking on it while he thought about what answer to give.

Guh. He has to be doing this on purpose! Dean thought. How does he make everything he does so sexy?

Still keeping eye contact with Dean, he bit down hard. Crunch! If he kept this up, Dean would need to run to the bathroom and readjust his jeans. To try and diffuse some of the tension in the air, Dean attempted to make a joke like he usually would.

“You, uh, you know what they say about people who chew their ice, don’t you?” he asked, almost tripping on his own tongue.

“No,” he said, to Dean’s surprise. “What do they say?”

Well, this backfired spectacularly, thought Dean. “They, uh… that they’re, well, you know…” Those clear blue eyes wouldn’t give him an inch, Angel Eyes sat patiently waiting to hear the punchline of Dean’s naughty joke like they were talking about the weather. He had no choice but to quietly stutter, “That they’re… s-s-sexually frustrated.”

“Oh.”

Really? That’s all you have to say, ‘oh’? thought Dean, incredulously. While he watched, Angel Eyes fished out another ice cube and crunched down on it viciously, all while holding Dean’s gaze, as if to punctuate his statement. Heat creeping up into his cheeks, Dean took a steadying breath. Curse blushing, he thought. Curse the noun, curse the verb, curse the act!

“H-have I finally stumped you?” Dean asked when his tongue decided to work again.

“Caramel apple rhubarb,” he said, definitively. “Final answer.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Dean, pounding one fist on the bar. “You did it again!”

All he did was smile in response, the handsome bastard. As he reached into his coat pocket, he casually remarked, “You know, your freckles disappear when you blush.”

He blinked. “They do?”

“Then I get to notice them all over again when they come back.” Retrieving his wallet, he pulled out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the bar between them. “It’s what I’ve been calling you in my head all this time. Freckles.”

“Well, that’s kind of rude, how would you like it if my brother and I were calling you Trench Coat behind your back?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, good, because that’s totally what we’ve been doing.”

They snickered together.

“Out of curiosity,” said Dean, “what were you calling Sammy?”

“Manbun.”

Dean snorted. “I’m absolutely going to call him that.”

“So, his name is Sam? You don’t wear nametags, so I’ve only ever known your last name.”

“Nametags are lame.”

“They are. What’s your name, then?”

“Is this what you wanted instead of a free drink?”

“No, this is something I should have asked ten months ago.”

Fair point. Dean held out his hand. “Dean,” he said.

His fingers were cold from the ice but his palm was warm and smooth. “Castiel.”

“Wow.” It wasn’t a name he’d ever heard before; surprise mixed with his pleasure over finally learning the name of his long-held crush. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Not sure. Probably something anti-climactic, like Steve.” He picked up the ten with his other hand. “I’ll get you some change.”

Castiel tightened his grip when Dean would have let go. “Keep it,” he said. “Consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” Dean said, slowly, tucking the bill into his apron pocket.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” asked Castiel.

“No.”

He grinned and it put all of the smiles Dean had received before to shame. It held a hint of mischievousness as he said, “That’s what I want.”

“You-you want—what? D-dinner? W-with me?” Dean couldn’t quite believe his ears. He’d barely been able to hope for a first-name basis tonight, he couldn’t possibly be so lucky as to score a date. But then, considering they’d been dancing around each other for ten months, maybe Castiel thought if he didn’t make the first move, it would never happen.

Bringing up his other hand, Castiel sandwiched Dean’s between the two as he said, very deliberately, “I don’t believe I’ve guessed wrong.”

Dean could be pretty dense sometimes, but he knew unequivocally that Castiel wasn’t talking about the whiskey. “I’m off in half an hour,” he said, smiling like an idiot.

“I’ll be waiting… Freckles.”

Okay… so maybe blushing wasn’t such a bad thing.

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maybe-your-left · 4 years

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Can I get 49 and 51 from the smut prompt list with Daniel Jones? I love your writing ❤️

You waited up all night for Dan, his work schedule usually left him there for a while, but tonight he didn’t even stroll in after midnight. Getting too tired to sit and wait at the front door for him like you usually did you peeled off your surprise outfit for him and threw on one of his sweatshirts, completely bare underneath. You huffed as you fell onto the mattress, you had the whole night planned for the two of you. Going out shopping for a new lingerie set, Dan’s favorite color even, and had gotten some new massage oil to use on him. But no he didn’t deserve it now, you weren’t going to indulge him because he didn’t even call to let you know!

Laying in your cocoon you glanced at the clock, 2 AM. “Ugh what the hell Dan…” you whined, you had been so good for him. Not once pleasuring yourself for the anticipation for what you had planned for the evening, Dan didn’t like it when you did that. He wasn’t allowed to do it when you were away so you had to follow the same rules… however, your vibrator was looking really inviting placed on your bedside table. “Maybe one wouldn’t hurt,” you mumbled. Already feeling the arousal bloom from the images of Dan fucking into you, pinning one leg to his shoulder while he plowed. Leaving kisses on your ankle, rubbing his hands up and down your calf, praising what a good girl you were. Your sweet Dan, always so put together during the day, but not for you. His hair would be messy, chest heaving, cheeks rosy pink from the strength he drove into your aching cunt.

You snatched the vibe, immediately placing it on your throbbing clit. Sighing at the contact, letting your free hand drift down to play with your entrance. You closed your eyes and imagined Dan, sucking on your clit and his fingers teasing you. Just the tips dipping in and out, smiling into you as you begged for him to put something, anything, into you. Sliding a finger in you gasped, your cunt clenching around your pitifully small digit, it would never be like him but two would have to suffice. You ground your hips into your hand, stroking your walls as you turned up the vibe. So close to release, eyes squeezed shut from the bliss, fingers fucking into you as fast as you could go.

“Hi baby.”

Your eyes flew open, immediately throwing the vibe across the room, still buzzing on the hardwood floor. Instantly shutting your legs and removing your hand. It was glistening in the moonlight from your slick, you subtly tried to wipe it on the comforter. Dan was standing in the doorway to your shared bedroom, his work clothes on. Bag slung over his shoulder, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoes still on. His face was neutral, too neutral, eyes slightly squinting at you. A hand came up to brush his hair out of his face, sighing as he stepped forward, “What are you doing princess?”

You gulped, his words usually made you feel warm but his nickname for you was laced with anger. Still unblinking as he walked to the foot of the bed. You couldn’t respond just sinking back under the covers as best you could. “Why weren’t you at the door?”

Silence.

The only noise in the room was the vibe still on in the corner. Dan clicked his tongue, dropping his bag from his shoulder before turning to the toy. He stepped over slowly, hands back in his pockets. Lifting a foot he placed it on the toy, rolling it to the side as he inspected it. Like he didn’t recognize that it was the vibe he had picked out for you many months ago, bringing both of you pleasure weekly. “What's this?”

“Hi-i baby,” you voice shook as you tried to speak, “I was j-just laying-”

Dan's head snapped up, “I asked you a question. What is this?”

You curled into a ball, trying to put on your best puppy eyes hoping he would cave and just come to bed. “That’s my toy,” you mumbled, suddenly the bed sheets looked way more interesting than meeting his stony gaze.

“And why was it out?”

Silence again.

Dan hummed, leaning over and picking it off the floor. Turning it off as he walked to the foot of the bed again. Throwing the toy on the mattress as he started to peel off his blazer and tie. “I’m going to ask you a question, and you better be honest with me. Okay?”

You nodded, slowly extending your legs towards him.

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

You looked back down at your hands, you knew he knew the answer. He had caught you with your hand halfway up your cunt, but he wanted to hear you say it. Your eyes flashed back up at him, jaw clenching as he took in your silence. “Okay.” he mumbled, hand reaching out and quickly dragging you by the ankle off the bed.

Your ass hit the harsh floor, “Fuck Dan, what the hell!” you screeched, attempting to pull your ankle from his hand. “No you stay right there,” he growled, other hand fumbling with his belt as he stared at you. “You know the rules and you broke them.”

Pulling your leg again he released you, moving in between your open legs on the floor. You looked up at him, his hair already falling in his face as he pulled his cock out of his trousers. “Are you going to be good and take your punishment?”

You scrambled up to your knees, desperate for him to give you anything. You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out and giving him a glimpse of how eager you were. Dan gave you a small smile, stepping forward and placing the tip on your tongue. He looked down at you expectantly, lightly tapping it to egg you on. You wrapped your lips around him, hands flying up to grasp the base of his length. Moving up and down slowly on his cock, savoring the taste of him. You swirled your tongue around the tip before taking more and more of him. Dan was softly moaning above you, tips of his fingers pulling back the hood of the sweatshirt. His fingers running through your hair as he softly pushed you further down on him. You looked up at him sweetly, humming when you saw his flushed cheeks and mouth slightly agape.

“You look so good on your knees like that baby,” he whispered. Hands suddenly gripping into your hair and harshly forcing his cock all the way down your throat. You gagged and choked, trying to get used to the intrusion as he held you there. “Good girl, relax for me. Fuck your throats so tight,” he groaned above you, “I think I need to fuck it more, don’t you?”

He gently lifted you off enough for you to catch your breath, spit falling from the corners of your mouth. You coughed and wiped the tears that fell from your eyes, eagerly nodding and pulling him back to your mouth. Dan gave you a smirk, “Are you sorry for breaking the rules?”

You hummed on his cock, trying to deepthroat him while he held your head still. He sighed above you, allowing you to take him deeper. Dan slowly began fucking into you, cock nudging the back of your throat as he worked his way down. Each stroke stretching your lips around his base, Dan moaned as he thrust harder into you. Gripping your hair into a makeshift ponytail, losing his rhythm as he edged closer to his release. You raised a hand to play with his balls, softly rolling them over and over as he gasped above you. “Fuck I’m gonna cum, paint your pretty little throat with it.” You moaned around him, begging for his cum. Dan stalled, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a feral groan as he came. Cock pulsing in your throat as he released, not pulling out until he was sure the last drop had been given to you. You sat back smiling at him, hoping for praise after your loving display. Dan ran his hand through his hair, shucked off his pants, and patted your head, “Let go to bed, I’ll spank you in the morning.”

Anon... thank you. lets make out.

#anon #anon answered #adam driver #adamdriver #dan jones #is a hottie #kylo ren #clyde logan #charlie barbr #smut prompts #i love dan

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asablehart · 3 years

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@nectargrapes thanks for the tag!!

RULES: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5/10 favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works <3

1) The Third Son - third draft/rewrite I’m about 30k words into this rewrite (I started in 2020 ok, it still counts) and even though I’ve only been working on the writing portion for a few weeks, I’ve been mulling over this rewrite for months. I’ve said this before, but this draft really feels like The One, and that just makes me so excited.

2) Meridian - the completed first draft! It’s been so long since I’ve finished a novel that I was pretty convinced I would never do it. I started Meridian back in Nov 2019 for nano, got 17k words in and quit haha. I’m so glad I went back to it because the characters really stuck with me, and I already have a clear plan re: how to fix the plot near the end of the story for draft two.

3) I Returned in the Night I wrote this short story years ago and picked it back up because I’m in love with it. I made some really fundamental changes and now it’s going to be published in an anthology! Stay tuned 👀

4) Daughter of the Woodsman, also here’s a link to my digital art progress post Quarantine really helped me set aside the time to practice my artwork. This piece specifically is where something clicked and I really got comfortable with portraits.

5) Lady Mayfly I also got back into oil painting during quarantine and I had such a fun time with this piece! I suppose there isn’t much to say about this one, but it really is a relief that I know I can pick up a medium I haven’t used in years and still rely on my background to create pieces that I love. I also think practicing portraits digitally helped me out a lot, because I’ve never done a portrait in oils before but it felt much more natural than it would have if I’d attempted a piece like this at a different time.

6) Started drawing Malory again What can I say? He’s my muse

7) The Bloodhound - first draft/novella I wrote this novella in what seemed like a fever dream and honestly? It’s so weird and I love it, even if publishing it is completely infeasible. Sometimes you’re in the middle of applying to schools and you just really need to write porn.

tagging: @clypso @castironbitch @sprigofbasil @vitrichor @jauntymushroom @kessler-writes

#tag game #my writing

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maxbradley · 3 years

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Don’t Even

I can't stay here. I can't take any more of this imprisonment. I need to get out. Blindly I splash a glob of red ink onto the stretched canvas. Hot air escapes my quivering lips. I can barely breathe. I find myself searching for that box again… There's got to be something better tasting than this crap. I open a gilded window to let the thin trails slither out from my lit torch. Only when I can think clearly again I look back into the depths of my private studio. Well, actually, it's my bedroom. My dad's refused to set aside one of the countless rooms in the house for my only source of pleasure in this strange world. I take a deep token before coughing again; I keep on smoking to ease the mental tension, "I want to get out." This is only wishful thinking. I've always thought about running away, but then… I look at the stretched canvas again, running fingers across my mother's hair, deep red. I prop my hand's tips to the background and prod continuously and haphazardly to create blossoms on the leave's green. Wiping the ink away, cigarette still in my mouth, I take up a brush and dip it into oil paint, watching it create wild blue streaks around her, above her for the sky… A dove in her palm takes on a definitive look. I fight myself from changing her into an angel, wings and halo and everything. She needs to be alive.

With the color still drying I place the half finished work next to a raven, the yellow of its eyes staring me down. I try not to trip over a small stack of blank paper and pens on the floor, backing away to observe the rest. A myriad of senseless patterns and shapes and many hues overwhelms me. Yet, here in the isolation of my own little world, I'm home, away from Home. I can't just leave my art here! … I need more paint. "Master Bradley?" "Don't call me that, Yoli!" putting out the light against the window sill and striding across the hardwood floor to reach the door. I open it and poke my shagged hair out, "Something wrong?" It's a shame that my father would take this wonderful, exotic woman and reduce her to nothing more than a servant out of many in this estate. The afternoon sun glistened on dark mahogany braids and shone on her deep tan complexion. I barely paid attention to the direction of the corners of her bright red lips, "Bradley! You been smoking again??" She smelled the tobacco on me and within my room. No use trying to hide anything from her. Yolanda knows about life far more than I ever will. "Yes m'am." I about scoffed at my sad attempt at formality, "He doesn't care what I do." Her face nearly fell, "Don't say that, mi'jito." She places her sweaty palms to my face. I just realized I'm about her height now. "I'm sure he loves you very much. He just can't show it well." … You've got to be kidding me... I feign a smile. "Can you bring your dirty clothes to the laundry room for me?" She never buys it. Sometimes I wish she could. I need to work on my acting skills. ----- I force a part of my head through the iron gate and play "jail time" with my hands gripping the bars. You think I'm playing? Getting out is not as easy as asking, "Hey Dad—can you let me out? I wanna go somewhere." It's harder when you've developed the inability to make close friends that can bail you out. Whatever they spin about my dad, whatever wealth he might have—how famous he is among those big company names—I don't care. Not about what he has. Not what he is, either. I let go of the bars and whisk my way back to the mansion. My personal Alcatraz. What I wouldn't give to visit that place; we're all the way on the East Coast. New England. The place itself, where I live (unfortunately), is rather secluded. Walled in, whitewashed concrete slabs covered with ivy like an infestation. Nothing but trees with fallen leaves—a meadow practically—for a good 5 miles all around. It would be easy to follow the paved road to civilization… My dad would freak. He always wants me home, besides time away at school. His excuse? "I won't lose you like I lost your mother." I'm smiling now, peering up at the cotton clouds, shot with the brightest pink imaginable. It was almost nauseating, had it not been for the warm orange ribbons leaving their marks as well. Yeah; good plan, Dad. I don't want anything to do with you. A small breeze brushes my hair; it's in my eyes, "pfft!" … It's gotten chilly. I can't be back in there. Not now. I finally spot a foreign car parked next to our own on the opposite side of the gate… Not back there. ----- "Why are you here again?" That wasn't actually said; it was just thought out loud. A buxom woman settled in a seat a far ways next to me, I shuffling farther away. She let out a tiny pout before trying to get on my good side again, "Please, Bradley—let me get to know you this time;" I pull my hand away from hers, burning holes into her being with a leer— "You know me very well. I don't want you here!" This faceless lady flushed like the rest of them before distancing away, just in time for the host's entrance. "Is my son giving you any trouble??" I turn away from his stern face. "Not at all" she giggled. Makes me want to— Calloused, rough hands run through my hair. I can't tell whether he wants to harm me or comfort me, "Bradley. Pay your respects— One of the servants rolled in with the dinner cart and gave me a knowing look. I can't look my father in those soiled, mossy eyes. I bite my lip. "She's our guest." ". . . Yes, Sir." My appetite was long gone. My energies were spent on this lady. It was obvious she wanted to gain his intimate trust. "Business meeting" or not, she was a flirt. "Elaine" needs to get out of this house now, before she gets any ideas. Any attempts to reach me were answered by my cold shoulder. I'd only talk to her openly if he happened to be there at the table with us. I could see Elaine getting annoyed with me now. Finally; she should be going home … It was now a quarter past ten—long after our mundane meal. I've been spying on them ever since they left the dining room, after helping out wash some of the dishes (there was little else to do). What could my dad see in her? What chance could she have to be a replacement for— True to his word, they were talking about the adult world of business and nothing else, sharing their third glass of wine together. While wondering how he could ever control his drinking in front of his guests, it was time for this Elaine to leave. But not without a goodbye kiss. He returned it on the cheek before leading her out the door and into the yard; I stayed behind. To see what they might be doing now would be devastating. "Bradley?" Yoli startled me, "Why aren't you in bed?" "I don't have curfew." My baggy eyes weren't helping my cause. "Tomorrow's a school day, young man." ----- The light's still on in my room; I can't sleep. I felt a need to continue the painting of my mother. My angel. The reason why I exist! … There was no right to take her away so soon. If she had been there longer, "things could have gone differently." I had forgotten to check the time on my red digit analog clock. "Kid." My skin crawled when he opened the door. It was far too late to hide away my work, which my dad caught sight of. Clearing his throat, "She told me how rude you were being, Son." This was typical of most women. With their sweet deceitful wiles. It made me sick.

Alphonse Uppercrust is only a foot away from my perch on the stool. He strode past by me and felt around my open window, "What's this??" I continue dabbing the color back into Lillian's face. The gilded pane is shut just in time, "What are you doing?" "Painting." He grabs my collar to force eye contact—"No, kid." holding the discarded torch in front of my face, "Where'd the hell did you get this? At school?? On the street." My face is stone; I dare not say a word just yet... "Was it from one of them?" "You got a lot of nerve, Dad—bunching up your servants with criminals." He nearly threw me off the seat; I made it much easier on him and landed on my feet. He was right; a servant did sneak it to me, but only with a hefty bribe attached. We are filthy rich, after all. "You," he breathed, "have a lot of nerve to be talking back to me, Bradley Uppercrust. Don't forget where you came from, and don't forget who you're destined to become—I had to laugh at this new scrap of a monologue— "I came from Hell, and I'm destined to become another You? Not a chance—What now?? You're going to hit me again after 3 accident-free years?!" Dad was livid, hand raised and my back against the wall. The sight of my art to my left assured me that everything was going to be all right. I'm just glad he was still relatively sober for those moments. "… Son, I'm trying." No pity from me this time. "I really am." The hand goes down on my shoulder where he keeps a strong grip, "I'm not doing that anymore, the affairs. Don't worry. I've learned to control my fleeting emotions— Except when you're drunk—"Are you ever going to forgive me?" My neck still craned to see past his façade; I'm trying to see past the reddened eyes and the watering of his sockets—"No, Dad. Never." I wrench myself away from the wall and, out of personal rebellion, I fish out that box of independence, imagined freedom… 3 years of not hitting me when he's sober. That's a good record. I'm sure he felt bad after… I could see the dejectedness in his whole frame as I continued breathing in toxins, "What? You drink. I smoke. It's only fair." Immediately he resumed composure; weakness is not an option in this household if you want to survive for 16 years. "Know what, kid? I understand what you want now. You want to follow what the outside world has to offer. The common folk? I'll tell them to unlock the gate. You can get out of this house whenever you'd like. No restrictions. No curfew—I'll let you live your own life!" I've kicked off my shoes and sat in my bed, close to the backboard. My eyes and ears are open wide to this titillating information— "You've proven that you're so mature now. Let's all hope you make the best of it!!" The slamming of the door shocks the hallway. I'm puffing out rings and singing a little tune to celebrate a premature victory.

#bradley uppercrust #an extremely goofy movie #disney #fanfiction #headcanon #family #background info #prelude #family drama #teenager #bradley uppercrust iii

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brooklynislandgirl · 4 years

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18. Marriage Proposal {Keni}

In Your Head || {Selectively} Accepting

There have only been a handful of moments in the entire course of her life that she would admit to feeling petrified. The moment when her Master chose her amongst all of the other Padawans. The moment when Kenobi had not. The night before her Trials for knighthood, when her entire future was on the line. Hearing Master Yoda summoning all the Temple’s remaining bodies that weren’t Guardians. The heavy weight of her sabre as they travelled to Geonosis to mount a rescue. She should have been thinking of the safety of the Senator. Instead all she could do was to will Anakin to hold fast.

All of them, cut out from memory and strung together with emotions too vast and varied to define in succinct fashion. Perhaps terror isn’t exactly the right word for it. The gnawing sensation at her insides, organ and bones alike. The tremour in her limbs that have never know such a thing before. That forces her to take a seat and examine herself critically in the polished stone mirror. It guides her hand to take a tindertwig from it’s small box, strike its head until flame comes to life in a hiss of awakening, and then she sets it to the wick of the candle in there.

She closes her eyes and blows gently across the blue flame until its ember grows dark again, snuffed out. She watches the ghost of it spiral upward into the air before dissipating to nothingness. But the prayers she utters, hold overs from when she was a very small stripling dwelling in this self-same room, is not to beautiful Bellatrig, the pallid purple orb that had always been her favourite of the three that were looked on. The one whose light she sits in, careful not to be touched by any of the others. Lashes brush her cheeks as she closes her eyes, the flame casting green-glowing light against her lids as she pushes everything else out and away. Privately reaching out for the Living Force, desirous to seek out a certain facet of it. Mental fingers pour through her connection with the cosmos, the souls that are and the ones that have passed beyond. Time dilates and contracts in such a way that it is impossible to tell how long she searches through emotions and fleeting wisps of intangible that pours through her fingers like river water. In that indeterminate time she doesn’t find what she is looking for, and maybe it didn’t exist though she doubts that as deeply as any conviction she holds dear. The best she can surmise in her meditation is that perhaps she isn’t sure what to look for exactly. That she simply assumes she would feel a touch of him ~far removed and much more faint~ and she is wrong.

But it isn’t in her nature to give up so easily. She offers the vast and unfathomable depths of the Force those words she could not speak for she has no real language for them. She offers them into the Force because she would not see this thing asked unless she had the courage to seek what should have been easy to find; permission, given down by the only person who really mattered in the end.

Sweet Mother. Borrowed Mother.

Let him say yes. Let his heart be moved, because he is mine. I will be a good daughter. A good wife. There is no place for me in this galaxy without him in it. If you see fit to-

She shatters out of her reverie at the feel of a hand against her skin, fingers caressing gently the arch of her cheek. Soundless and almost a blur her own hand comes up and wraps digits around the wrist there, enough pressure to have broken normal bone for the offence of interrupting her attempted communion with Shmi.

The slow, murderous roll of her kohl rimmed eyes lands her gaze on her father’s features. His own is soft. It is nostalgic and she knows he is for the moment misremembering her as a small child, one far removed from the dreams of becoming a Jedi. Before she had met Anakin. It is not a comfortable feeling and she shies away from it, gaze falling back to the top of her vanity. Slides past the flickering candle flame and to the small stone pot and the brush that lays beside it, waiting for her to pick up and use. Too sacred in the moment, she doesn’t reach out for it. If she did, he would see her hands shaking. He would sense the nervousness arcing across her nerves.

There should be a river of words overflowing her banks but those do not come either as she settles back into her bones. “This should be one of your happiest of days, blossom.”

“Yes, father.” “And you are not, because....?” She hesitates. To admit fear is not what she was trained to do. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to... But she could never hate Anakin. There is nothing he could do to ever make her feel that way. So why does it bother her? Because... the basis of that fear is a sense of profound loss. She could survive many things, but never that. Never losing Anakin. She slicks her lips and continues to look her father’s handsome and youthful face despite the century of age that exists between them. She has no words to verbalise what it is that bothers her. Why she sought answers from the Force instead.

It must be the wisdom of parents then that he dips his head in a nod and brushes a thumb across her cheek, before he turns her away from the mirror. He bows his great height, just a shade taller than Anakin, to kneel before her. He picks up the sable brush and dips it into the small pot, coating the fine bristles in the fine bark powder contained therein. He then lifts it toward her oil anointed brow. Her stomach tightens as she less watches him so much as breaks down the motion to it’s constituent ritual parts.

Moreso, how there’s threadbare patches in the tapestry of it. His mother is beyond mortal reaching, so thoroughly steeped in the Force that she could not sense even the smallest fragment. She is certain that there was a womb in which she was grown but has no mother at all. If she did not share so many common features with Reliru, she might have suspected she had been a nursery seedling. Therefore, she was left alone to paint the cartuche down her brow, except that he is doing it for her. The gifts were not handed from woman to woman, a contract unspoken for their children. Instead she will have to face him and the potential of his rejection. And while she doesn’t doubt Anakin in any way, it is possible, even a little bit, that all these years she’s misjudged the meaning derived from their closeness. Just the spectre of his Senator... There is no turning back from this moment. He begins to scrawl Anakin’s name upon her brow. His breath warms her face and he is far steadier than she could ever be, every bit the battle hardened general and the erudite Prince he has always been, both greater and less than Keni herself. His voice is a low thunder that resonates in the deepest parts of her, edged by the ferally sharp smile.

“What is meant for you, will reach you even if it is beneath two mountains, galaxies apart.”

The ghost tips of the brush sweep across her skin. Not only his name but imparting with it luck, joy and beauty. They would fade into her skin before they return to the Temple, before anyone could see it, but will stain through her layers all the rest of her days. “And what isn’t meant for you, won’t reach you even if it is between your two lips.” Her father’s words raises a mist of green bright as new leaves throughout her entire body. A hue and meaning that pulls out a darker laugh from somewhere in his depths, amused for having caught his daughter in a moment of panicked shame as she scrambles for the words to deny the accusation. He shakes his head. “My little flower, did you think I did not know? From the moment I saw the way you look at him I have known. That you not only love him with the entirety of your being but too that your life together is not as chaste as you would have anyone believe. Physical expression of that love is to be indulged, not shamed into dust easily blown away by the wind. I would say the same to your young man if I did not think he would disintegrate from mortification. He does have a bit of a delicate constitution, does Knight Skywalker.”

Discomfort doesn’t even begin to describe how she feels about hearing this from her father, but at the same time she is also glad he makes no reference to his own husband in the matter. Some things can never be unheard once spoken. Though strangely enough, it bolsters her own resolve. If someone else can point to an expression, a softly intoned word, or Anakin’s very presence in the Force that isn’t coloured by her own bias, then perhaps this isn’t all folly after all. They fall into silence as he finishes the task and the benediction at hand. When he sets the brush down, he takes her hands and brings her to his feet, inspecting her as critically as he would a soldier, as Anakin has done a hundred times with his Clone Troops. Head tilted and hand framing his chin, eyes narrowed in thought. He reaches out. Lithe fingers adjust a few strands of her hair, recentring a few of the flowers braided into it, these even smaller, more simple than those that occur naturally in the dark locks. She has learned to stop hating them from the moment she realised they intrigued Anakin. Enticed him to touch. After a moment, he nods. “He’s waiting for you in the study. And do not fear. The boy would have to be insane to reject you.”

If he only understood.

Squaring her shoulders, almost wishing that she had her sabre at her side rather than a basket, she half-glides and half-marches from her chamber. Anakin had never really been in his right mind, by the standards of anyone in authority. The Council never fails to point it out. Their clan mates. Friends. Everyone believes so, and so... Anakin believes too. Doesn’t seem to realise they don’t bother her at all. The constant motion, both in his body and in his mind. She doesn’t get bothered by his long meditative forays into the Force because she knows he will always come back to her, and they spend most of their time lost within it anyway. All the things he hates and fears and worries will drive her and others away, every flaw he sees in himself whether real or imagined, they are just little things to her that make him Anakin, and therefore she loves. Would miss if they changed, if he changed for her.

Maybe it is because she’s always accepted these facets. Maybe it’s because they are so foreign, so alien as to be the exact opposite. She does not feel things as deeply, except this. She does not feel the urge to never stop, the desire to fly which she believes he associates with freedom. She is still. Rooted. That rings a smile to her lips because that is the very terrible kind of joke he would make, then point out it’s on account of her being a tree and all. Right before he runs the backs of his fingers down her bare arms. Across the small of her back. Groan and gripe as she might, she does think it funny. She just can’t tell him so.

It’s also in the way he can trip over his own limbs, the way his words are stilted and off-kilter and sometimes blur between his languages. It’s the compassion in him that will bleed him dry the moment he lets down his guard. It is the innocence he still keeps despite the worst things he has seen and experienced. Every ounce of her adores this. Every ounce of her craves to bask in the light of his Presence, and be the sheltering shadow that protects him.

Her hand hesitates on the door. Absurdly paranoid that she should knock instead of just entering the study. Absurdly sure that the pounding chlorophyll in her veins announced her to him ten minutes before she actually arrived, because it is doing that. Thundering like marching Troop movements. Pulsing at the edge of her vision. She takes a deep, centring breath.

As she expected, he’s running his fingers along the books on the shelf. Actual ones, not just copies on flimsi or datapads. The leather and velum having withstood decades, words from actual ink telling stories and legends, histories and battles, nightmares and romance. Her father’s collection is extensive, just one of a thousand luxuries. And a snake of jealousy snaps in the back of her mind. She could keep him in the fashion his Senator could, maybe better. After all, they have what the Naberries do not: aeons of selective breeding. Born to command, to conquest, to privileged, not elected.

“Za’lali.”

He turns. It is perhaps that spark of bitterness that spurs her to action. She sweeps into the room, her thin silks whispering across the plush rug at her bare feet, giving him the comeliest of views: long and toned and dusky limbs. Perfectly shaped if smaller than his by a long-shot. Shadows that are suggestive in just the right places, the gown only covering a small margin of her.

She stops a few meters away from him.

And suddenly the traditional speech, the one she has practised and practised until she could recite it by rote in her sleep....fails her.

She dry swallows, but a little of the lump in her throat refuses to go down. She feels as if she’s immolating from the inside out and is genuinely surprised there is no smoke. “...” She looks down when a second attempt yields only silence.

She looks up at him again and stricken by the look on his face, she tries a third time. “...Wh-when I look into your eyes, I can see a reflection of the two of us. Of the life I hope we’ll share together. And when we’re apart, it feels as if every light that has ever glimmered is gone, carried inside of you. Because I love you. And I am in love with you. And there is no one in all of the systems in all of the galaxy that I want to be with, for as long as you’ll have me.”

And once those truths spill forth, the rest comes with greater ease. She crouches down and sets the basket before her. “If you accept this as my truth, I promise you...” She unfurls a blanket, soft and colourful, locally woven by women of her city. “That you will always have warmth from the long cold of night.” A New shirt tailored to him, including the arm that isn’t flesh. Thistle coloured and long enough for him not to exactly need pants. “That you will always be clothed in glory and honour.” And lastly, a strange container, that she opens, and fills the room with a mouth-watering aroma. She produces a fork as well. “And that I will nourish our bond with everything I am and will be. This is what I offer. Would you, Anakin Skywalker, allow me to make a husband of you?”

#mynameisanakin #Images of Broken Light|Anakin Skywalker #Pools of Sorrow-Waves of Joy|Anikeni #Across the Universe|Star Wars AU #Warfront|The Clone Wars

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asfeedin · 4 years

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Mother’s Day Gift Guide | Serious Eats

Gift Types

Batch Cocktails: Make-Ahead Pitcher Drinks for Every Occasion

Serious Eats’ former drinks editor Maggie Hoffman has packed this book with 65 terrific make-ahead cocktail recipes. Entertaining guests while serving them libations should be stress-free, and this book makes it so.

Sorghum Syrup

Sorghum syrup is made from the pressed juice of sorghum grass, which grows prominently throughout the American South. This amber-colored syrup has a unique, nutty flavor that’s both sweet and savory. And since the 1960s, the Guenther family of Muddy Pond, Tennessee, has been making some of the best.

KitchenAid Pasta Attachment

This is hands down the KitchenAid attachment I use most often. It takes all of the frustration and fussiness out of making fresh pasta, and, unlike the manual alternatives out there, it’s incredibly easy and efficient to operate on your own. Hello, homemade ravioli!

Cacao Barry Extra Brute Cocoa Powder

It’s almost impossible to find good-quality Dutch cocoa in supermarkets, so make it easy for your favorite baker to whip up the best possible chocolate treats. This cocoa powder is unusually dark, with an earthy chocolate flavor for out-of-control brownies, devil’s food cake, and ice cream.

Pineapple Tumbler

Your mom might already be the ultimate entertainer, but this gift will make her parties even more fun. Sure, you can serve crushed-ice cocktails in a regular old glass, but these shiny pineapple-shaped tumblers really up the ante and make a tiki-themed evening feel special.

Sorghum’s Savor

Kentucky-based writer Ronni Lundy is an expert on the foods and foodways of the Mountain South. In her book Sorghum’s Savor, she explores the history and folklore, and the many uses, of the region’s staple sweetener. Recipes range from fried chicken to sorbet.

Durable 3-Quart Saucier

How do you make perfect caramels, ice cream, gravies, and reductions? A nifty pot called a saucier. The durable stainless steel is cladded with aluminum for even heating, essential for temperamental ingredients like caramel and egg custards. A curved bottom makes whisking a snap (no more lumpy gravy!), and the wide top encourages evaporation for fast sauce reductions. You can buy cheaper versions than this All-Clad saucier, but this is one piece of equipment in which quality really makes a difference.

Le Creuset Wooden Scraping Spoon

I have a problem with wooden spoons. I collect them like nobody’s business. But there are a few I always turn back to, and this one, from Le Creuset, is one of them. It’s gorgeous to look at; it has a flat front, which makes it great for scraping up fond or stirring vegetables; and it’s got a smooth, ergonomic grip that makes using it a joy.

OXO Pop Containers

Not all containers are built the same. OXO’s Pop Containers stack neatly in the cabinet, make it easy to see exactly what’s inside, and have a neat push-button top that forms a perfectly airtight seal, keeping your dry pantry goods fresher for longer.

Colorful Tea Towels

Heavy-duty kitchen towels have a tendency to accrue big, ugly stains. That’s why it’s nice to keep a separate set of more attractive towels for gentle drying, transporting too-hot-to-handle serving dishes, and lining bread baskets. These colorful, summery tea towels instantly brighten any kitchen or tabletop, while still doing a stand-up job at the tasks they were made for.

Terra Cotta Cazuela

Daniel’s owned these terra cotta dishes in several sizes for many years now. They’re attractive enough to go straight from the oven to the table, and versatile enough to be used as baking dishes for cooked foods or as serving dishes for snacks when you’re hosting guests.

Hawker Fare: Stories & Recipes from a Refugee Chef’s Isan Thai & Lao Roots

Hawker Fare is a wonderful introduction to some of the flavors that make Isan and Lao cuisines unique. The recipes are excellent, but what we find so compelling about the book is Syhabout’s story: a refugee who arrived with his family in the United States at the age of two, Syhabout went on to pursue a career in fine-dining. Only after establishing himself did he embark on a personal journey of discovery to find out more about the food of his forebears.

Bangkok: Recipes and Stories from the Heart of Thailand

Bangkok is a great gift for anyone who loves cooking Thai food at home and wants to expand their culinary repertoire. It’s a steal for the noodle soups alone, but we particularly enjoy Punyaratabandhu’s seafood recipes, like the pan-fried salted king mackerel steak.

Unicorn Magnum Pepper Mill

I’ll admit it: I’m a pepper mill snob. I need my mill to produce a shower of evenly crushed peppercorns. I want to be able to control the size of those grains, from a rough crush to a fine powder. Not only that, I want my pepper mill to last. With a solid metal burr and a unique easy-to-load design, this is my favorite pepper mill of all time.

The Noma Guide to Fermentation

The hottest new nerdy book of kitchen geekery has to be The Noma Guide to Fermentation by Rene Redzepi and David Zilber. If you know someone who’s mixed koji up with dried fish to make a kind of fish sauce, this is the book for them. Also a good gift for anyone who’s into drying meats or pickling—it details methods and processes that take those hobbies a step further.

Pretty Pinch Bowls

These colorful bowls make setting up your mise en place a little more fun, but they’re also great for bringing extra seasonings to the table, like fennel seeds and pepper flakes for pizza.

OXO Stainless Steel Scraper

A good bench scraper is one of those tools people don’t think they need until they start using it. I use it for everything from transferring chopped vegetables or herbs from one place to another, to portioning dough, to giving my cutting board a quick clean. Next to my chef’s knife, the bench scraper is the tool you’ll see in my hand most often.

Smuggler’s Cove

This remarkable book, from Martin and Rebecca Cate of San Francisco’s Smuggler’s Cove, traces the birth and evolution of exotic drinks and tiki bars—bars that embodied an American escapist fantasy. A lively exploration of our country’s drinking history (and the current tiki scene), it’s essential reading for rum lovers, offering the best categorization we’ve encountered of the head-spinningly diverse spirit. The mai tai recipe is great, too.

Digital Electric Gooseneck Kettle

This is the electric kettle of my coffee-delayed dreams. It has an elegant gooseneck spout that makes pouring a thin, controlled stream easy (very helpful for Chemex and other pourover coffee methods), and a base with controls that allow you to set a specific temperature and hold it there.

Citrus Press

For years, I thought citrus presses were overhyped, absurdly specific, rarely useful, space-consuming, money-wasting gadgets. But it took only one use to see just how wrong I’d been—not only does a citrus press guarantee that you’ll get way more juice out of every lemon and lime you squeeze, but you can say good-bye to stinging papercuts and all those infuriating attempts at pinching slippery stray seeds from your salad dressings and cocktails.

Zingerman’s Gift Certificate

It’s hard to find a better-curated food catalog than Zingerman’s. They are righteous folks, they know seriously delicious food when they come across it, and they sell it at a fair price. Nothing in the catalog is cheap, but then again, good food rarely is. So whether you order cheese or olive oil or bread from Zingerman’s, you can be confident you’re going to be very happy when it arrives at your house.

Dish Towel and Apron in One

Kitchen towels are always welcome in any cook’s kitchen, but these can also double up as a half-apron in a pinch. Plus, they’re of a nice enough quality to show Mom that she didn’t just raise a practical child; she also raised one with an eye for flair.

Cast Iron Skillet

Old cast iron has a perfectly smooth nonstick surface that’s surprisingly easy to maintain. You can sear, bake, roast, braise, stew, and deep-fry in it, and there’s nothing more thoughtful than a gift that you have to expend a bit of effort to find (check out eBay, yard sales, and flea markets). Of course, these modern Lodge pans will do in a pinch if vintage isn’t in the cards.

Tajine

I’ve been lusting after one of these hand-painted ceramic tajines since seeing one in a cookware store a couple years ago. They require some special care, and possibly a heat diffuser to prevent cracking from intense direct heat, but I think they’re worth it just to look at, even if you never cook in them. If you do, a future of flavorful North African stews, presented beautifully at the table, awaits. They also come in a variety of designs and colors, meaning there’s the perfect pick for any home.

Uuni 2S Pizza Oven

There are a lot of custom-designed pizza ovens out there in various price ranges. I haven’t tested all of them, but my favorite so far is the Uuni 2S. It consists of a small stainless steel box with a pizza stone set inside it. You load up a hopper on the rear of the unit with wood pellets, light it up with a torch or lighter fluid, and let it preheat. About 15 minutes later, you’re ready to cook. This little powerhouse hits temperatures in excess of 900°F and bakes up Neapolitan-sized pizzas in just 60 to 90 seconds.

Elizabeth David on Vegetables

Published on what would have been the late British author’s 100th birthday, Elizabeth David’s On Vegetables will teach you how a bag of grocery store onions can be transformed into an unforgettable roasted side dish, and how some fresh shelled peas can yield the most vibrant soup you’ve ever tasted. Filled with recipes that are simple, straightforward, yet often revelatory, this book also features a few of David’s best essays, as well as gorgeous photography.

Paring Knife

Paring knives don’t need to cost a lot to do their job—questions of balance and build quality matter less in a knife that fits almost entirely in the palm of your hand. Of all the ones I tested, this inexpensive blade from Wüsthof came out on top, with a razor-sharp edge and comfortable grip. This is my new go-to paring knife, and I already have several of them at work and home.

Chinese Tea Set With Gaiwan

Do you know someone who’s getting into tea? Like, really into tea? This is the tea set to get for that person. It comes with a traditional Chinese brewing vessel (a gaiwan), a decanter, four tasting cups, and a beautiful wood tea tray with a rack to store all the pieces. At $120, it’s not cheap, but it’s a bargain compared to other well-made tea sets, especially when you consider the high-quality, paper-thin porcelain. For tea lovers looking to dig into tea ceremonies, this set has everything you need.

Presto Tilt-N-Fold Griddle

Presto’s Tilt-n-Fold model is very simple to set up and operate, and it has a compact design that makes it easy to store in kitchen cabinets when not in use. It has a large, smooth, nonstick cooking surface that heats mostly evenly, can be set at an angle to drain grease, and is easy to clean. We love the price, too.

Awesome Chef’s Knife

High-quality Swedish steel and Japanese design, along with great features like a perfectly balanced handle and blade and an ergonomic bolster, make the Misono UX10 Santoku the most-used knife in my arsenal.

Black Matte Dinner Plates

Get these if you want to up your Instagram game! These are the plates we use the most in our photo shoots—the matte texture makes a great surface on which to make any food pop.

Redbreast 15-Year Irish Whiskey

For those who find Scotch too smoky, bourbon too sweet, and rye too spicy, Irish whiskey is the ideal gift. Redbreast emerges from the barrels complex and substantial; some of the whiskey is aged in sherry casks, lending it a weight and dark hue, while some is aged in bourbon casks, imparting characteristic vanilla flavors. There’s a hint of fruit up front and spice on the finish.

Mandoline Slicer

Does your mom love to make fancy salads, crowned with delicate ribbons of carrots? Is she obsessed with serving the perfect potato gratin at holidays meals? There are some kitchen tools that make the difference between amateur-looking food and pro-level stuff. A small mandoline is one of them. This one, from Oxo, is compact, easy to use, and very sharp. It only has three thickness settings, but in my experience, that more than covers most home slicing needs.

Otherland Candle

This handpoured soy-wax candle will look beautiful on your kitchen table— and the scent of Champagne, saffron, and leather, is just fragrant enough to offset any accidental burnt foods that no one needs to know about. Plus, the packaging, which comes with a customizable matchbox makes the candle an impressive (and affordable) gift.

Embossed Rolling Pin

For the baker who has it all, embossed rolling pins can make even the most traditional shortbread seem exciting again. I love this large, open paisley pattern so much, I used it for the cookies on the cover of my book! Its design works well with many styles of dough, so it’s a great starting point before you experiment with pins that have a more intricate pattern.

Recipe Journal

Trying to get your mom to finally write down all those family recipes? This sleek Moleskin journal will get her organized and become a precious family heirloom in the process.

Salt Cellar

Proper seasoning is one of the most important parts of cooking, and if you’re still using plain table salt from (heaven forbid!) a saltshaker, you’re shooting yourself in the food. Using kosher salt from a salt cellar lets you feel exactly how much salt is getting into your food, whether it’s a tiny pinch or a big ol’ wallop.

Liquid Intelligence

Dave Arnold (you might know of his bar, Booker and Dax in NYC) won’t just accept the common assumptions about cocktail technique—his mission in this excellent book is to dig into the science of how the very best drinks are made. This is a must-read for inquisitive types who like to host cocktail hour at home.

Round Griddle

My mom’s signature dish is her homemade lefse, a Norwegian potato flatbread, rolled gauze-thin and cooked on a round griddle at a blazing hot heat. Her old one has finally crapped out after many years of service, and I want to treat her to the best model on the market. If you’re not into the Scandi thing, you can use this griddle to make crepes, injera, or regular old pancakes.

Electric Countertop Pressure Cooker

A pressure cooker is a cooking vessel that just keeps on giving: Once you discover the time-saving feats it’s capable of, you’ll never look back. The good ones aren’t cheap, but man, is it ever worth having one. A countertop electric model gives you set-it-and-forget-it convenience. With the Breville Fast Slow Pro Cooker, not only do you have complete control over your pressure cooking (including any pressure level from 1.5 to 12 psi), you also have a slow cooker and a rice cooker built right in. It’ll even sear meat for stews.

The Apprentice

Insightful (and very well-written) memoir by the elder statesman of food and cooking in the United States. From his early memories of picking salad for his mother to his recollection of eating raw clams on a Connecticut pier, the book shows how food is not just a passion or a career; food, for Jacques Pépin, is life.

Rose and Orange Flower Water

Forget flowers, they’ll be dead by the end of the week, but these flower waters will last a lifetime. Mostly. Both rose and orange flower water will last just about forever on the shelf, and just a drop or two is all that’s needed to give any recipe an aromatic boost. Try a splash of rose water with a strawberry or rhubarb dessert, or orange flower water in a classic New York cheesecake, where their gentle perfume can work wonders.

Louie Mueller’s Beef and Jalapeño Sausages

When I had these Texas beef sausages delivered to Serious Eats World Headquarters, people were skeptical. The moment they took their first bite of these supremely juicy links, though, the office became totally silent. Louie Mueller’s beef and jalapeño sausages reduced the entire office to stunned, rapturous silence. And these suckers are so affordable, even with the shipping, that they’re perfect for serving at parties. You just might want to hand out bibs to protect everyone’s shirts. Phone orders only: 512-352-6206.

Meat Cleaver

This meat cleaver has a well-balanced weight, sharp edge, and solid construction—a boon since a lot of more-affordable cleavers like this one feel very cheap and after repeat use get wobbly around the handle.

Marble and Acacia Wood Cake Stand

Like a pretty Bundt pan, a beautiful cake stand has an aesthetic value of its own, even without a cake—but present it with Mom’s favorite cake on top, and it will also be a nice reminder of the day.

Meathead: The Science of Great Barbecue and Grilling

In this book, Meathead Goldwyn, the founder of AmazingRibs.com, distills decades of research on the art and science of barbecue and grilling into a single volume that shows not just the best ways to take food to live fire, but why the techniques work. Far more than a recipe book alone (though there are tons of bulletproof recipes), this text will teach your favorite barbecue lover the hard-tested fundamentals of outdoor cooking, giving them the confidence to cook anything, even without a recipe. The myth-busting and equipment tips alone were enough to get me hooked.

Lewis Bag

If you’re following my advice to buy your Mom some julep cups, you might as well go all the way and grab a canvas Lewis bag as well: It’s used to smash ice into a fine powder with a mallet. Unless, of course, she already owns an ice crusher.

Preserving the Japanese Way

If her first two books are any indication, Nancy Singleton Hachisu is poised to become the Julia Child of traditional Japanese home cooking. In this, her second book, she tackles the deeply fascinating—and even more delicious—world of Japanese preserving. From easy pickles made by packing foods in miso (kabocha squash! eggs! apple pears!) to homemade miso, salt-rubbed vegetables, and air-dried fish, this should be the next frontier in all your home preservation undertakings. I’m getting excited just thinking about it.

Fixed-Cup Spice Grinder

The sleek and minimalist design of the Krups means it’s easy to hold, handle, and store—perfect for anyone tight on space. Even without a removable bowl, cleanup is a cinch because spices never get trapped beneath the blade, and there are no unnecessary ridges or notches to clog with spices. The one-touch operation makes it easy to use, and it quickly yields a fine and consistent grind in both large, tough spices and smaller seeds.

Taketsuru Pure Malt Japanese Whisky

Anyone who appreciates Scotch (or good spirits in general) will embrace Nikka’s exquisite whiskies. The Taketsuru Pure Malt is named for the company’s founder, who studied in Scotland before bringing whisky distilling back to Japan. This bottling has a slight fruity character, with lingering sherry on the finish.

ThermoWorks Thermapen

The Cadillac of kitchen thermometers is indispensable when you’re roasting meat, cooking steaks, making candy, deep-frying, or carrying out any other task where precise temperature control is needed. It’s got a big display and a blazing-fast measuring time of under two seconds—you won’t find a better, easier-to-use thermometer out there.

Simple Coffee Maker

The Bonavita is one of the faster models we tested, and it earned high scores in nearly all of our tastings. A single switch governs all of its operations, making the brewing process incredibly simple.

Fancy Cheese Knives

Spending $50 on cheese knives feels a little silly, especially when a regular knife does the trick just fine. But that’s why they’re the perfect gift—arguably unnecessary, but nonetheless useful, they feel like a real luxury. I’m pretty sure they also raise your “real adult” status by at least 10 points. Especially when they’re these beautifully crafted Dubost Laguiole knives. I like the simplicity of the olivewood handles, but they do come in other colors and styles, with the same high-quality blades.

Be Your Own Bartender

This is a fun, interactive book featuring over a dozen flowcharts to guide you to the perfect drink for every mood and occasion.

BraveTart: Iconic American Desserts

Where pastry wizard Stella Parks goes deep on science for Serious Eats, her book BraveTart explores the secret history of iconic American desserts, along with updated recipes for all the classics you know and love. The perfect cookbook for any mom with a sweet tooth.

Wooden Pizza Peel for Launching Pizzas

Wooden peels absorb excess moisture and have a rougher surface than metal, which means that your stretched and topped pizza dough will remain loose and easy to launch far longer, saving you from potential pizza-spilled-all-over-the-oven accidents. Though there are cheaper options around, I love my Perfect Peel Baker’s Board, handcrafted to last a lifetime from gorgeous solid cherrywood. They’ll even put initials or a logo on it if you’d like!

Breville Espresso Machine

If you want to start making legit espresso at home, this machine from Breville is a great investment. We like that it has a built-in burr grinder that will stay set at whatever dosage you’ve decided is best for your shot, as well as an adjustable pre-infusion time. Getting the hang of it—and dialing in—takes a while, but ultimately, the results are impressive.

ThermoWorks ThermoPop

In the inexpensive-thermometer department, the ThermoPop comes in an impressive package. An easy-to-read display rotates at the touch of a button, so you don’t have to twist your head to read it. It takes a few seconds longer to read temperatures than its big brother, the Thermapen, but it’s every bit as accurate.

Korean Fermenter Crock

These fermentation crocks come in a variety of shapes and sizes, but they all have the same smart design: An inner lid can be pressed down against the surface of the brine, ensuring the vegetables remain submerged (and thus don’t rot), while the lids lock into place to keep bugs out.

Carbon Steel Omelette Pan

A good carbon steel has many of the qualities that make cast iron great—it’s durable, it forms a completely nonstick surface if cared for properly, and it’s inexpensive—but it’s lighter and easier to maneuver, making it great for sautéing and searing everyday foods.

GelPro Floor Mat

If you love to cook and host parties, you’ll know that a lot of prep time is spent on your feet. Why not make at least the cooking part a bit more comfortable with one of these gel mats? It’ll provide some nice cushion under your feet, so when it’s time to put on your party shoes, you’ll be ready.

Snowe Flatware

Functional, but with an elegant twist: The width of the forks and spoons is just slightly smaller than that of your standard set, and they feel slightly longer in the hand. This set is a good and long-lasting upgrade to those starter Ikea sets.

Anova Precision Cooker

Sous vide cooking—cooking foods in vacuum-sealed pouches in precisely controlled water baths—is no longer the exclusive preserve of fancy restaurant kitchens. The Anova Precision Cooker is the best home water bath controller on the market, with an easy-to-use interface, Bluetooth support, rock-solid construction, a sleek look, and an affordable price tag to boot.

Recchiuti’s Chocolate Mendiants

These thin chocolate disks have a creamy, melt-in-your-mouth texture and a complex, pleasantly fruity bitterness. But it’s the scattered cacao nibs on top that take them from memorable to exceptional. The crunchy bits of bean are toasty and flavorful in their own right, but Recchiuti goes the extra mile, tossing them in caramel and fleur de sel for a brightly salty-sweet finish that electrifies each bite.

All-Clad Two-Quart Saucepan

This small 2-quart saucepan is perfect for making and warming sauces, cooking small portions of grain, and heating liquids.

Brooklyn Bartender

If you know someone who has a taste for a well-made cocktail, but lives far from the heart of the Brooklyn drinking scene, this book is the perfect gift. It features 300 innovative and classic drink recipes from the best bars of the borough; every cocktail we’ve tried from it so far has been killer. The drinks Carey Jones has selected aren’t dumbed down at all, but, for the most part, you’re not looking at mile-long ingredient lists, either.

Charcuterie

Ruhlman and Polcyn do a great job of demystifying one of the more abstruse cooking arts, and, while charcuterie may seem daunting, it can be gratifyingly easy. Start simple, with the pancetta, confit, rillettes, and duck prosciutto, and you’ll find yourself with a mold-inoculated curing chamber in no time.

Bourbon-Soaked Cherries

An ideal gift for any Manhattan, cherry, or all-around whiskey lover. These cherries trade the cloying sweetness of maraschinos for the boozy bass notes of great whiskey. Use them in your go-to whiskey cocktail, or to top a favorite dessert.

An Everlasting Meal

We don’t know if there’s a book about cooking that we’ve thought about more than this one by Tamar Adler, a former Chez Panisse cook who was once an editor at Harper’s Magazine. It’s about cooking simply, and enjoying the simple meals that naturally follow from thinking about your ingredients in cycles. We forget, sometimes, that the leftover stems from blanched broccoli are wonderful cooked with olive oil and piled on toast; that their cooking liquid could be the base of a soup; that the stems of greens like Swiss chard and kale make a lovely pesto. She reminds us that stale bread can make something delicious and that yesterday’s bean broth could be the start of a pasta dish today. This book sends the valuable message that dinner doesn’t always need to be a big deal.

Paleta Iberico de Bellota

The best ham on earth doesn’t come cheap, but this is the caviar of pork: jamón ibérico puro de bellota, from purebred Ibérico pigs raised on acorns for a ham that’s nutty and sweet, with meltingly soft fat.

Dansk Kobenstyle 2-Quart Casserole

A few months back, Kristina’s mom stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted a pair of Dansk Kobenstyle pots in the window of a cookware store in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. “Can you imagine doing a fondue party out of one of those?” she squealed. If there’s one thing Kristina’s mom loves, it’s a themed party, especially one with cheese involved. And Kristina has to agree that these little guys are perfect for all your entertaining needs—they look great on a table, and the lid doubles as a trivet to protect surfaces while you’re serving.

Metal Pizza Peel for Retrieving Pizzas

Wooden pizza peels are too thick to easily slide under a pie once it’s hit the oven. For that, you’ll want a thin-bladed metal peel. Basic models made of thin-gauge aluminum, like this Kitchen Supply peel, are just fine for the occasional baker, but they’ll bend and warp eventually. If you’re going to be making pizza multiple times a year for many years to come, you might want to spring for something a little more heavy-duty. I use the KettlePizza Pro Peel, which has a thick-gauge aluminum body that extends fully past the solid teakwood handle.

Pistachio Spread

Since first getting his hands on a jar of this pistachio spread, Sasha hasn’t shut up about it. Made from Sicilian pistachios, olive oil, sugar, and sea salt, it’s sweet, slightly salty, incredibly creamy, and just flat-out delicious. While it’s not cheap, this is one of those specialty products that are actually worth the price tag, and it makes a great gift. Spread it on bread, drizzle it over ice cream, or just eat it by the spoonful straight from the jar.

Smeg Toaster

After years of putting up with a cheap toaster that I picked up at the supermarket, I recently upgraded to this super fancy Italian job in cool mint. It’s sleek design and soothing pastel color transform the kitchen’s most boring appliance into a statement piece, and it really does a good job with the toast itself. Plus, I mean, it’s really dang pretty. If nothing else, you owe it to yourself to read this toaster’s priceless reviews.

Frankies 457 Olive Oil

Fancy olive oil always makes a good gift, but there’s a difference between fancy olive oil and good fancy olive oil. The house oil from Frankies 457 Sputino in Brooklyn is delicious (i.e. great on fresh bread and in dishes), is DOC cerified, and comes in a chic tin that prevents the light from spoiling the product.

Vietnamese Food Any Day

An eloquent ambassador for Vietnamese cuisine whose recipes are always reliable, Andrea Nguyen is one of our favorite cookbook authors. Vietnamese Food Any Day educates the reader about a variety of Vietnamese techniques and provides recipes that are eminently cookable—part of Nguyen’s goal with this book was to avoid calling for any esoteric or hard-to-find ingredients, so each and every recipe can be made with items that are easily found at a large grocery store.

Pretty Carving Board

What’s the point of perfectly roasting that turkey or prime rib if you don’t have a pretty surface to carve it on? I love this teak cutting board because it’s large enough for major projects, but lighter than thicker boards, making it easy to move from the kitchen to the dining room. It’s made from scraps of larger teak products, making this cutting board a good environmental choice as well.

Marble Pastry Slab

With their smooth surface and cool temperature, marble pastry slabs are a baker’s best friend. They’re great for rolling out pie crusts, laminating doughs, and tempering chocolate—plus, this one’s pretty enough (albeit heavy) to use as a serving platter.

Mortar and Pestle

A large mortar and pestle is one of the most underutilized kitchen tools. Not only is it faster than a spice grinder for small amounts of dry spices (particularly when it comes to cleaning), it draws out more flavor by crushing rather than shearing. It’s also the perfect tool for making pastes out of moist ingredients, like herbs, garlic, and shallots.

Stovetop Pressure Cooker

I tested dozens of stovetop pressure cookers before settling on Kuhn Rikon’s Duromatic. It has a heavy sandwiched-aluminum-and-steel base that gives you even heat, and a pressure gauge that makes telling exactly how much pressure has built up inside visual and intuitive.

Collapsible Freezer Lunch Bags

I don’t really consider myself a lunch-bag person, but when I have something cold to transport, there’s only one carrying case I reach for. These PackIt cooler bags come in a variety of sizes and styles, and all of them can be collapsed and chilled in the freezer overnight to provide refrigerator-level temperatures for a 12-hour period. I use mine most for bringing beers to the park or beach, or transporting raw meat to barbecues and campsites.

Ceramic Utensil Crock

To store tools like spatulas and whisks, a good old-fashioned crock will do the trick. We like this ceramic one, which looks extra pretty on the counter. Keep it right next to your stove so your most-used tools will be at an arm’s length whenever you need them.

Now & Again: Go-To Recipes, Inspired Menus + Endless Ideas for Reinventing Leftovers

This cookbook by Julia Turshen, author of Small Victories and Feed the Resistance, is full of simple, delicious meals for everyday eating, parties, and holidays. Better yet, each one includes a bunch of suggestions for how to remake it as leftovers. It’s a trove of great, creative ideas, and a must for any bookworm.

Wine Tote

This customizable (and monogrammable!) tote plus a bottle of Sancerre will make any wine drinker’s day.

Donabe Cookbook

This cookbook has been my guide to learning how to use my donabe cooker, and thus far it hasn’t let me down. It offers a wide range of recipes to help give you an idea of just how many one-pot dishes can be made using a donabe, plus background on the history and variety of donabe cookers.

Miracle-Gro Twelve Indoor Growing System

After previously lauding Aerogardens for how easy they make it to grow herbs at home (and how having a constant supply of fresh herbs has changed her cooking), Ariel’s upgraded to this larger system from Miracle-Gro. The increased size—it’s about as big as a side table—and bright lights allow you to grow a bounty of lettuces, herbs, and other greens, and you can program the app to turn the lights off and on according to your schedule. An expensive but excellent gift for anyone who loves fresh produce and fears their own black thumbs.

Granite Mortar and Pestle

With both parts made of rock-solid granite, the Thai mortar and pestle is (literally) a heavy hitter, and arguably the most versatile type of large mortar and pestle you can own. Its heft and weight, especially when combined with the stone-on-stone action that the all-granite build provides, make it ideal for one of its intended uses: making a Thai curry paste.

Baratza Virtuoso Coffee Grinder

Baratza’s Virtuoso coffee grinder is routinely picked by pros as the home grinder to beat and for good reason: Its well-made conical burrs produce a wide range of grind sizes, the results are consistent, the machine is solidly built from both metal and plastic, and it’s all backed up by good customer service.

Le Creuset Stoneware Rectangular Dish

When fall and winter roll around, I start thinking about rich, comforting casseroles, which means that these stoneware baking dishes get pulled out, filled, and popped into the oven at least once a week. They’re great-looking on the table and provide gentle, even cooking all around for really nice, crisp edges on your lasagna.

Acaia Pearl Coffee Scale

Coffee geeks will have a lot of fun with this coffee scale. It pairs with a smartphone through Bluetooth, and an accompanying app helps walk you through the brewing processes, like pourover and French press, calculating bean-to-water ratios and brew times. It can handle customization, so with each successive batch, you can really dial in on the variables to make the cup that tastes best to you. It can also be used as a basic kitchen scale with a maximum weight of two kilograms (about four and a half pounds), so it’s versatile beyond its primary purpose.

Messermeister Knife Case

Most professional cooks own a knife bag so they can tote their knives around from one job to another. But knife bags can be really useful storage options, as well. They’re compact, they can hold many knives, and they can be moved around as needed, which means you don’t necessarily need to have a dedicated knife drawer as long as you can find somewhere safe to stash your knives.

World’s Fair Barbecue Rub

Ariel discovered this spice mix 11 years ago, and it’s still one of her favorite things to give as a gift. It’s a perfect blend of everyday ingredients (shallots, garlic, paprika, and sea salt), but with unusual flavor notes from grains of paradise. She buys it by the pound to dump on meat, seafood, and even eggs, but you can start by picking it up a reasonably sized jar or bag.

The One-Bottle Cocktail

Organized by spirit—vodka, gin, agave, rum, brandy, and whiskey—with an additional section devoted to specific seasons and occasions, The One-Bottle Cocktail makes it easy to figure out how to polish off that lingering liter of rum and is guaranteed to expand your cocktail repertoire for your go-to bottle. It does so by forging surprising, nuanced, eminently sippable flavors from commonplace liquors and fresh fruits, herbs, and other seasonal ingredients, as well as vinegars, spices, and sodas. This is the kind of book that every home cocktail-maker should keep on their shelf.

Big Ice Cube Tray

If you like your whiskey with a giant ice cube, then you’ll really be into Mammoth Cubes—unlike ice cube trays from current competitor brands, these make eight cubes (not six) and are actually stackable, so they don’t require a section unto themselves in your freezer.

Joe Beef: Surviving the Apocalypse

This is a book for people who like to live extra large, and by that we mean people who are intrigued enough by the microwaved foie gras recipe to consider trying it some day. It’s a text that espouses an eating- and cooking-philosophy as much as it is a collection of recipes.

Small Baking Steel Griddle

These days, I keep this solid slab of steel permanently atop one of the burners of my stove. One side has a pebbled surface—ideal for getting extra-crisp, better-than-a-baking-stone crust on homemade pizzas. And, unlike a baking stone, this thing is going to last forever. The griddle arrives as shiny steel, but with just a few uses, it seasons up into a dark, slick nonstick surface that can be used for everything from pancakes to eggs to hamburgers to grilled cheese.

Joule Sous Vide Circulator

The ChefSteps Joule is the smallest circulator on the market. It’s sleek, compact design fits in a drawer and it heats quickly and accurately. It has the advantage of the ChefSteps community and legacy content built into its app, though its one downside is that it requires a smartphone or tablet along with a registered account to operate.

Buvette

Manhattan chef Jody Williams’s Buvette: The Pleasure of Good Food is as charming and inviting as the restaurant that inspired it. This is a book to get greasy and damp as you cook through its pages, and it’s a nightstand read, dreamy and warm, to flip through as you wind down. Channeling a traditional French bistro, with a bit of Italy and a touch of New York thrown in, the recipes are classics, both inspirational and totally doable. Some are so simple that they hardly count as recipes at all—they’re more like suggestions for how to better your day with a plate of food, from breakfast through dessert after a lingering, late-night supper. Perfect for your impossibly, effortlessly stylish friend.

Culinary Coloring Book

I’ve long been a fan of Jessie Kanelos Weiner’s vivid and imaginative watercolors—she’s done the art for several of our stories. But when Weiner released Edible Paradise: An Adult Coloring Book of Seasonal Fruits and Vegetables, I discovered a new affinity for her work. See, like many children, I grew up with coloring books. But, unlike most adults, I continue to buy them—and fill them—to this day. For that I can thank my mother, a licensed art therapist who has long promoted the pastime as a therapeutic outlet. Far from pushing a think-inside-the-box mentality, coloring provides a healthy space for self-expression and experimentation. And, for those who enjoy it, coloring can leave you with a profound sense of zen-like relaxation and accomplishment. Weiner’s fanciful landscapes are organized by season; they’re a riot of vegetation, edible plant life, and tantalizing market scenes. They’ll encourage your mom to paint (or pencil) the town red—in any colors she likes.

Anchovy Colatura

If you want to give the gift of umami, you owe it to your intended recipient to check out this aged Italian fish sauce. Hailing from the town of Cetara on the Amalfi Coast, colatura is made by aging anchovies and sea salt in chestnut barrels for roughly three years, producing a rich, deeply savory fish sauce that can be used as a flavor enhancer for meats, fish, or vegetables. Or, try it as the star of the show in spaghetti con la colatura.

Noodle Basket

If you make a fair amount of noodle soups at home, particularly for multiple people, you should pick up a couple of these baskets. (They’re also great for blanching small quantities of vegetables.) The baskets are cheap yet sturdy, and they’re smaller than a lot of the fancier ones out there, so they’ll fit in pots that are more home kitchen–sized.

Misono UX10 Chef’s Knife

A deft and nimble blade, Misono’s UX10 is one of the lightest-weight knives we tested. It’s razor-sharp right out of the box and handled every task we threw at it with ease, dicing an onion as if it were as soft as a blob of Jell-O and making paper-thin slices of smoked salmon as if the knife were a true slicer.

R. Murphy Duxbury Oyster Knife

I’ve used many, many oyster knives in my life, and the R. Murphy Duxbury knife is my hands-down favorite. It has a fat, grippy handle that’s easy to wield, and a short blade that tapers to a point and always manages to find the sweet spot on an oyster’s hinge. Pop! The slightly sharpened blade edges make slicing through the muscle and removing the top shell as smooth as butter.

Mercer Serving Bowl

With a neutral color and simple silhouette, this serving bowl is versatile enough to complement any table setting. It’s also big enough to accommodate a big salad or crowd-sized portion of stew.

Zahav: A World of Israeli Cooking

I’ve never been to Zahav, the Philadelphia restaurant where Michael Solomonov serves his Israeli cuisine, but its namesake book has nevertheless changed the way I cook. His recipe for tahini sauce, which includes a novel technique for incorporating garlic and lemon, is alone worth the price of admission. I’ve loved the Yemenite beef soup (and the accompanying hot sauce), his wide focus on vegetarian-friendly dishes, and a host of homemade condiments that will elevate almost any meal, even if you don’t follow full recipes from the book.

Diaspora Co. Turmeric

This turmeric is as bright as a bar of gold, with a lovely, sleek label to match. Apart from the high-quality turmeric and nice packaging, the spice comes with a feel-good story: Diaspora Co. is run by queer women of color, and each jar purchased puts a much-higher-than-average amount of money back into the turmeric farmer’s hands.

Provisions: The Roots of Caribbean Cooking

Hoping to familiarize yourself with Jamaican food beyond jerk chicken and curried goat? Want to learn more about the evolution of Caribbean cuisine? Provisions: The Roots of Caribbean Cooking is the book for you. Suzanne and Michelle Rousseau share 150 bright and exciting vegetarian recipes inspired by the women who first taught the two sisters to cook. The recipes are accompanied by gorgeous photos, and a thorough history of Caribbean foodways. It’s an inspiring—and delicious—ode to the women who make Caribbean food great.

Fancy Glass Pitcher

I actually received this classic Waterford pitcher as a wedding gift, and my mom’s been eyeing it enviously ever since. I can’t say I blame her—it’s become a workhorse in my home. When I’m not using it to decant wine, it’s hard at work serving cocktails, ice water, and juices. And in between any special occasion, you can drop in some fresh flowers and use it as a vase.

D’Artagnan Porcelet Shoulder

It can be hard to find skin-on, bone-in pork shoulders for roasting, but luckily D’Artagnan has got us all covered with their fantastic porcelet shoulder. We think everyone should ditch the tired holiday spiral ham this year, and slow-roast a milk-fed piglet shoulder instead. We promise it won’t disappoint.

Season: Big Flavors, Beautiful Food

Beautiful photos accompany Nik Sharma’s impressive recipes. The best of the bunch embody the kind of inventive cuisine that draws from multiple cultures to produce dishes that can only be described as emphatically, joyously American, like the roasted carrots with sesame, caraway, chili, and nori. Great for cooks looking for inspiration yet still hopelessly devoted to classic, comforting dishes.

Staub Heritage Baking Dish

It can be easy to brush off appearances as unimportant, but tableside presentation is a big part of a baking dish’s appeal. If you want excellent performance combined with a handsome and classic design that will look great on your holiday table (or on your Instagram account), Staub is your best bet. This heavyweight dish heats evenly in the oven at temperatures up to 575°F (300°C) and has great heat retention, keeping food hotter longer when you’re serving. The generous four-quart capacity is ideal for large roasts and extra-deep casseroles.

Pedra Artisan Oval Platter

A large platter is a must-have for any household, especially during the holiday season. This oval platter has high enough sides to accommodate saucier dishes, while the gray-and-white hand-glazed finish gives it a one-of-a-kind feel.

Chocolate-Hazelnut Spread

Marco Colzani is a great Italian bean-to-bar chocolate maker, with a number of excellent products under his brand, Amaro. But it’s his spreads that have Ed addicted, particularly the Cacao Nocciole, or hazelnut-and-chocolate variety. Imagine a Nutella-like substance, but made with the freshest roasted hazelnuts and extra-chocolaty high-quality cocoa powder. It’s a lot to pay for a small jar, but my guess is that your mom is worth it, and more.

Wusthof Classic Chef’s Knife

If you’re dead set on a traditional German knife profile—characterized by a more curved blade that’s bigger and heavier than the Japanese options—the Wüsthof Classic continues to be a stalwart. It weighs more than most of the other knives tested, giving it a solid and sturdy feel, but it still handles well and has a sharp edge.

Wine Fridge

Take it from us: Living in hot urban apartments makes storing age-worthy wines nearly impossible, unless you don’t mind risking the life of a pricey Burgundy by putting it through years of extreme temperature swings. Anyone with an interest in building even a modest collection of special-occasion bottles should get a wine fridge. It’s a small investment that protects your real investment.

The Cooking Gene: A Journey Through African American Culinary History in the Old South

A wonderful gift for anyone who is interested in history, food, the history of food, and this terribly flawed but nonetheless beautiful thing we call America.

Plenty More

Plenty More highlights the versatility of vegetables with 120 inventive plant-based recipes. It takes a degree of commitment to cook through this book—many, though not all, of Ottolenghi’s recipes require extra time spent sourcing unusual ingredients or toiling in the kitchen—but the reward is food that is enigmatic and downright dazzling. The ideal gift for anyone who thinks vegetables are boring, and for those who know they’re not.

Chetna’s Healthy Indian

Chetna’s Healthy Indian is a bright, colorful ode to Indian home cooking. Written by Chetna Makan, an avid home cook and semifinalist on The Great British Baking Show, it offers an array of quick, wonderfully flavorful recipes. From a simple green bean, coconut, and tamarind salad to fish wrapped in floral banana leaf, this cookbook has something for everyone.

Jerusalem

One of the best cookbook gateways into Middle Eastern cuisine—an obsessive and personalized exploration of the many cultures and traditions that make up Jerusalem’s culinary world. What will you find here? A recipe for the best hummus of your life, for starters; messy-beautiful dips and salads; and the delicately spiced soups, grains, and vegetables Yotam Ottolenghi has become famous for.

Julep Cups

I don’t often recommend single-function items, but for the cocktail enthusiast, a couple of julep cups really are fun to have. There’s nothing like holding that metal cup frosted with ice on a blisteringly hot summer day—glass just doesn’t pull the effect off in the same way. If your Mom doesn’t have an ice crusher, check out my Lewis bag suggestion as well.

Serving bowl

There’s no such thing as too many serving bowls, and this simple two-tone piece goes with virtually everything. At 11.5 inches across, it’s the perfect size for mom’s favorite side dishes; in my house, it’s go-to for salads, roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, and pasta.

Nordic Ware Platinum Collection Heritage Bundt Pan

A Bundt pan is essentially a functional sculpture that can spruce up an open kitchen shelf quite nicely, even if it never gets any use. Give one to the baker (or bakeware admirer) in your life, and, as long as you promise shared cake, I’m sure you’ll be allowed to borrow it any time.

Fish Scaler

A hefty weight and a narrow head design make this an extremely efficient fish scaler. I’ve used it on smallish porgies, bigger black sea bass and fluke, and just about everything in between. It’s a significant improvement over the clamshell I used to use, and something about its design reduces the spray of scales.

Donabe Cooker

I got one of these traditional Japanese clay pots for my birthday this year, and it’s quickly become an obsession. Not only can you cook perfect plain rice in it every time, it doubles as a vessel for flavorful one-pot stews and hot pots, and an infinite variety of noodle and rice dishes. Anyone interested in Japanese home cooking should have one.

All-Clad Immersion Blender

A high-speed hand blender is great for whipping up silky soups and purées, making emulsions like mayonnaise and Hollandaise, or smoothing out sauces, all right in the pot. No need to dirty up an extra blender jar!

Vacuum Sealer

Know someone who’s interested in sous vide cooking? They’re gonna want this. And it’s handy for way more than just sous vide cooking. A vacuum sealer makes it really easy to save meats or other foods in the freezer, and it keeps air (read: freezer burn) off it all. The Oliso sealer uses a unique resealable-bag system, which means far less wasted plastic than a conventional cut-and-seal vacuum sealer.

An Amazing Bottle of Rum

Drinking Diplomático Reserva Exclusiva Rum—with its dark caramel and vanilla on first whiff, and its rich and velvety-smooth feel as you sip—is like drinking a crème brûlée, but with a long, dry finish. Add an ice cube if you must, but it’s really worth it to give it a try without first.

All About Braising

Winter is all about slow-cooked braised dishes, and Molly Stevens’s text is the bible on the subject. Stevens first devotes dozens of pages to discussing the equipment and technique behind braising in incredible detail. Then she provides unfussy but impressive-sounding recipes to make the most of your newfound braising skills. A little hint: The vegetable recipes are some of the best.

Flavor King Pluot Jam

There are a lot of artisanal jams out there, some good and some grossly overpriced. Though I’ve tasted hundreds of them, I still haven’t had any as good as those made by Oakland’s June Taylor, who has been making what she calls “conserves” out of superb Northern California produce for more than 25 years now. The Dapple Dandy pluot conserve tastes like you’re taking a bite out of the juiciest pluot in the world, with just enough acidity to offset the sweetness.

Baratza Encore Coffee Grinder

There’s a lot to be said for Baratza’s entry-level Encore grinder, which comes in a lighter-weight, all-plastic housing. It packs the same motor as the more expensive Virtuoso, and it includes a slightly less effective burr set that grinds nearly as well as—and slightly more slowly than—the Virtuoso. Also worth knowing is you can upgrade the burr set in the Encore to the one made for the Virtuoso, if you do ever end up feeling like the Encore isn’t quite cutting it.

The Dumpling Galaxy Cookbook

While you certainly can make dumplings on your own, it’s always better (and more fun) with company. Give your mom the gift of this amazing compendium of dumpling recipes, along with a promise to join her in the kitchen for a good old-fashioned dumpling party.

Espresso Cups

Pretty espresso cups make a nice hostess gift and stocking stuffer on their own for coffee fiends. But when they’re Le Creuset, they’re even better—mostly because everything from the French heritage brand is aesthetically pleasing and built to last. Oh, and these cups might be the most affordable Le Creuset pieces on the market. So, if you want in on the trend for a moderate price, they make a good starter item.

Ultra-Deep Cake Pans

Whether you’re baking cakes from scratch or from a mix, giving the batter more room to grow will minimize doming, for thicker, more level layers. Light, reflective metal also minimizes browning to keep the cake crust delicate and pale. Because the pans are nonreactive, they can also be used with poke cakes that involve acidic liquids, like lemon juice.

Louie Mueller’s Brisket

Brisket is Texas’s best-known contribution to barbecue culture, and, though you can now get slow-smoked brisket in just about every major American city, you still need to go to the source to get brisket so good it will make you cry. But if you can’t make it to Texas, ordering Louie Mueller’s brisket is the next best thing. The Muellers have been smoking brisket since 1949. The key here? They ship the whole brisket, which means you get plenty of the critically important fatty half. Why is it critically important? Because we all know that fat is flavor. Phone orders only: 512-352-6206.

Elegant (But Dishwasher-Safe) Wine Glasses

These wine glasses feel fancy enough for an elegant dinner party—and you can throw them in the dishwasher after, which is a pretty rare attribute. Their sturdy construction means you (or your giftee) can expect to hang on to these for several years.

MAC Professional Santoku Knife

This santoku from MAC’s professional line is an absolute pleasure to use, no matter the task. It’s lightweight, well balanced, sharp as can be, and comfortable to hold. It made perfect carrot cuts, broke down a chicken with ease, and filleted a whole fish as if it were a fish-shaped block of butter.

Good Kitchen Shears

A good pair of kitchen shears is one of those things that are hard to appreciate until you have them. Sure, there are all the obvious uses, like opening food packages with a snip and cutting up poultry, but that’s just the start. Take another look at those things. Yes, that’s right, they’re also a nutcracker. Aha, yup, and a bottle opener. Did you see the flathead screwdriver built into them? Handy, right? Oh, they can also be used to unscrew stubborn jar tops. They’re way more than just a pair of scissors. Plus, the two blades come fully apart, so you can wash them really well—no icky chicken juice hiding in the recesses. Isn’t avoiding salmonella poisoning a gift worth giving?

The Food Lab: Better Home Cooking Through Science

A New York Times best-seller! The Food Lab: Better Home Cooking Through Science, by J. Kenji López-Alt, is his column by the same name on this very website, blown up to 900-plus pages (and seven-plus pounds) of concentrated culinary science. Gorgeous color photos, detailed how-tos, and elaborate explainers cover ingredients, technique, gear, and the secrets of the universe underneath it all. May include puns.

Chef’s Press

If you love beautifully seared steaks, golden-brown grilled cheese sandwiches, and crispy-skinned fish and poultry, this is a great thing to have in your kitchen. Chef’s presses help you get even contact between ingredients and your skillet. They’re vented, so you won’t accidentally steam your food, and they’re stackable, so you can get a couple for weighing down heftier items.

Extra-Large Silicone Ice Cube Tray

Souper Cubes is the brainchild of two Serious Eaters, Michelle and Jake, who wanted to develop a better way to portion and freeze soups, stocks, and stews. The food-grade silicone mold features four one-cup cube molds, perfect for meal-prepping and stocking up on winter warmers for the long, cold months ahead.

Effie’s Oatcakes

They may not come in the most festive or glamorous packaging, but you can’t go wrong with Effie’s Oatcakes. Buttery, crumbly, nutty, and salty-sweet, they’re insanely addictive. Case in point: I’ve eaten three in the last 10 minutes. My advice? Purchase them in bulk so you can gift a few backages and hoard the rest for yourself.

Egg Cups

Any mom who loves soft-boiled eggs deserves the perfect cup to eat them from. These sturdy stoneware Le Creuset cups come in a range of beautiful colors. They’re totally classic, which is a good thing because they’ll also last for generations to come.

Modified Martini Glasses

Ah, martini glasses: so angular and sexy, so prone to making me look like a drunk as I struggle to keep a generously poured beverage within their confines. The traditional wide bowl, delicate stem, and sharply sloping sides are meant to enhance the botanical aromas of the gin, keep the drink frosty-cold, and provide a comfortable wall for a cocktail pick to lean against, respectively—but in practice, all those features feel like bugs for clumsy-fingered folk like me. So I sought out a design that wrapped up those attributes in a more user-friendly package, and discovered this lovely set of glasses. The broad mouth remains, but the conical shape has been softened and the stem fattened (which, if I’m being honest, will make me all the more inclined to actually use that stem instead of clutching the bowl for dear life). Got no space for uni-tasking glassware? These double nicely as pretty dessert dishes.

Portable Kitchen Timer

I can’t tell you how many times I burn bread crumbs or forget about the nuts I’m toasting in the oven. At least, I used to. That was all before I got myself a couple of these easy-to-use, loud kitchen timers that I can hang around my neck, so I never forget about something in the kitchen, even if I leave the room.

Vitamix Blender

Oh, man, do I love my Vitamix. Whether I’m making super-quick smoothies or the creamiest, smoothest purées and soups imaginable, the Vitamix is unparalleled in its power. Best gift I’ve ever received (thanks, dear!).

Tacos: Recipes and Provocations

My good friend Jordana Rothman cowrote this thoughtful ode to tacos with Chef Alex Stupak, and it’s a must-have for any Mom ready to take a deep dive into corn, masa, tortillas, and everything—modern and traditional—you can stuff into them.

Heilala Vanilla Extract

This is one of the more complex vanillas Stella’s come across. It has the same grassy, vegetal aroma of a freshly split vanilla bean with a flavor that’s both earthy and deep. It’s a double fold vanilla, which means you can get away with using half as much in your favorite recipes—something worth remembering when you consider the cost.

Stainless Steel Food Scale With Pull-Out Display

A good digital scale is an essential tool for bakers or home charcuterie makers. The OXO Food Scale comes with an easy-to-clean, removable stainless steel weighing surface; great accuracy and precision; and a backlit pull-out display to make measuring easy, even for large or unwieldy items.

Ice Cream Maker

Homemade ice cream tastes better than almost anything you can buy in a store, and it’s a snap to make. This ice cream maker, from Cuisinart, is all the gear you need: an easy-to-use workhorse that makes delicious ice cream every time. The simple construction means that there are few moving parts to break, and the wide mouth at the top makes it easy to add mix-ins and scoop out your ice cream when it’s at its fresh, creamy best.

6-Quart Instant Pot

The Instant Pot Duo60 is a fantastic value and performed almost as well as the top pick among countertop pressure cookers we tested. It’s easy to use, the company has a reputation for great customer service, and there’s an avid and helpful community of users online to boot.

Mixing Glass

This hand-blown and -etched mixing glass from Japan looks stunning on a bar cart and even better in action, whether you’re stirring a Negroni, a Martini, or a Manhattan. Mixing glasses made from two parts joined together sometimes split at the seam, but this version, made in one piece with a beaker-like spout, can stand up to heavy use.

Bread Knife

When I tested bread knives earlier this year, I was absolutely blown away by the cutting quality of Tojiro’s bread knife. It surpassed every other serrated knife I tested, cutting beautifully clean slices of even the most tender bread, and making quick, neat work of ripe tomatoes. It’s a must-have as far as I’m concerned.

Pasta by Hand: A Collection of Italy’s Regional Hand-Shaped Pasta

No pasta machine? No problem. This book is devoted to the art of handcrafted Italian dumplings, from yeasty spindle-shaped cecamariti to classic gnocchi to golden-brown parallelograms of deep-fried crescentine. If the adage “practice makes perfect” fills your mom with excitement rather than dread, this is the kind of book that will make her utterly determined to prevail.

Pastry Tips for Decorating

This epic set of stainless steel pastry tips is perfect for the home baker with professional-grade aspirations…or the food-enthused, arts-and-craftsy Mom in your life. With this kit in hand, nothing but practice stands between her and gorgeous piped flowers, leaves, stars, and beyond.

Mastering Pasta: The Art and Practice of Handmade Pasta, Gnocchi, and Risotto

If you’re looking to give your mom the one definitive primer on pasta-making in its myriad forms, this is it: Superlative step-by-step photographs take the guesswork out of potentially intimidating fundamentals like mixing and kneading dough, as well as more intricate tasks, like pleating teardrops of corn- and cheese-stuffed culurgiònes. Better yet, Vetri arms you with the tools and knowledge that allow for controlled, intelligent experimentation and exploration before sending you into the fray.

Blade Protectors

At a certain point, you need to give up on proper knife storage and just think safety: How can I toss this knife into a drawer and not cut myself on it later when fishing around for matches? The answer is blade guards. It’s smart to put them on knives in a knife bag, but they’re also essential if you’re keeping any knives in a place where they’re free to bang around—they’ll protect the blade edges and you.

AeroGarden Harvest

Cooking with fresh herbs makes every recipe better. Cooking with fresh herbs that you grew all by yourself makes life better. The AeroGarden takes the guesswork out of growing herbs inside, with an automated light to keep your parsley and thyme thriving and weekly reminders for water and nutrients. Just prepare yourself for epic amounts of basil.

Baking Steel

I’ve cracked my way through quite a few baking stones. With the Baking Steel—a solid sheet of steel designed to replace a baking stone—that’s a thing of the past. Not only will it last forever, but, with superior thermal properties, it produces the best pizza crusts I’ve ever seen in a home oven.

Pizza Wheel

When it comes to portioning pizza, a knife simply won’t cut it. At least, not if you don’t want to drag cheese and toppings all over the place. For my money, nothing beats a traditional pizza wheel.

Best All-Around Pepper Mill

On more than one occasion, I’ve been tempted to try out the cool new pepper mill on the block, but none of the ones I’ve used have held up over time. That’s why I’ve settled on a good old classic, a wooden Peugeot pepper mill. The steel burrs last and deliver whatever grind I want, from fine-as-silt to chunky and coarse.

Straight-Sided Sauté Pan

When my little sister first moved out and started cooking on her own, this straight-sided sauté pan from All-Clad was the first gift I sent to her. It has a wide, flat base for searing off big batches of meat, and high sides so you can braise, stew, or simmer several meals’ worth of food directly in it. It’s the ideal vessel for stove-to-oven dishes like this Braised Chicken With White Beans, or a one-pot pasta dish like our Macaroni and Beef. Versatile and robust, it makes comfort food all the more comforting.

The Chili Cookbook

This isn’t just a chili cookbook. Robb Walsh digs deep into the beloved dish’s ancestry, tracing threads through Mexico City, San Antonio, and Santa Fe—as you might expect—but also Hungary, Greece, and the Canary Islands (off the coast of North Africa). Walsh is one of food writing’s best storytellers, so the book is satisfying even if you never whip out your Dutch oven and get cooking. You should, though: The fascinating tale is best enjoyed with a big bowl of chile con carne. (Walsh’s recipe from El Real in Houston is killer.)

Espro Press P5

Thanks to a few simple innovations in the filter and beaker design, this French press fixes some of the brewing device’s biggest drawbacks. The result is a cleaner batch of coffee that won’t accidentally over-steep.

The One True Barbecue

Race relations, religion, the New South versus the Old: These are just a smattering of the heavy issues Rien Fertel writes about through the lens of—well—smoked meat, in this new book. And, while you might be thinking, “Oh, man, another book about barbecue?”, this one stands out from the crowd thanks to Fertel’s superb writing and storytelling skills. In a book that’s part culinary history, part personal narrative, and part tale of an American road trip, Fertel travels throughout the South, documenting the men who have long stood behind the fires practicing the time-consuming pursuit of whole hog barbecue—the ones who have been keeping alive the embers of what once seemed like a dying art, and the ones who are inspiring a new generation of pitmasters today.

Countertop Seltzer Maker

Make your own seltzer water at home with this easy-to-use unit. It comes equipped with LED indicators displaying three levels of carbonation and a BPA-free bottle that locks into the unit with no twisting, and it requires no batteries or electricity to operate. This model fits 14.5-ounce and three-ounce CO2 cylinders, which can be traded in for just the cost of the gas at your local hardware or home-goods store.

Estela

We usually aren’t the biggest fans of the big and beautiful cookbooks put out by super fancy restaurants, in part because they have limited appeal to most home cooks, even if they are fascinating windows into the processes and methods of some of the best chefs in the world. We’ll make an exception for Estela by Ignacio Mattos, though, since it’s as inspiring as it is informative.

Ceramic Sangria Pitcher

If there is sangria on the menu, Kristina’s mom is ordering it. It’s an endeavor she’s tackled at home only a few times, but with this pitcher on hand, she might be more inclined to make it regularly. The pinched spout is a genius detail that keeps all the fruit and ice from splashing into your glass, and when it’s not filled with sangria, it can be used as a vase. We love a two-fer!

Mediterranean Mortar and Pestle

In the south of France, Italy, and other Mediterranean regions, marble mortars with wooden pestles (often made of olivewood) are quite common. It’s next to impossible to find this variety in US stores, unless you get lucky and find one at an antiques shop or estate sale. They can, however, be ordered online. We got ours through an Italian vendor on Etsy, and it’s an object of pure beauty. More importantly, it excels at making pesto and similar sauces, as well as emulsified sauces like mayonnaise and aioli.

Island Creek Oysters by Mail

Few things get me as excited as a good raw bar, but most of the time, I eat far less than I want because, after the first couple dozen oysters or so, it just gets to be too expensive. That’s even truer when the oysters are top-notch, like the briny little suckers from Island Creek up in Massachusetts. But here’s the good news: You can order Island Creek’s oysters online by the 50- or 100-count for much less than they cost at most restaurants, and have them in your hands the next day for an at-home shucking extravaganza. (Obviously, it helps to learn how to shuck first.)

Wine Carafe with Oak Stopper

I spent most of 2018 getting into wine, and one of my biggest takeaways was that most wines could benefit from a decant. Does a wine feel closed—like it has only one note on the nose or the tongue? Then it definitely needs to aerate in a decanter. This one is an inexpensive glass model with a chic wooden topper, from the Scandinavian brand Sagaform. It looks just as good on your bar cart or shelf as it does on the dinner table, and will give your Bordeaux a little room to breathe.

The Cocktail Chronicles

Having The Cocktail Chronicles at your side is like having a friend who always knows a good drink recipe for whatever you’ve got on hand. It doesn’t talk your ear off or suggest something with a dozen ingredients. Instead, it shares classics, recent spins on classics, and drinks you’ve never heard of but can easily mix up and enjoy, and the introductions are never preachy or boring. This book will appeal to full-on cocktail fanatics and newbies alike; there’s something delicious on every page.

Cast Iron Revolving Cake Stand

I can’t fathom decorating a birthday cake without this sturdy, heavy-bottomed stand. It speeds the process of crumb coating and decoration, while allowing for a whole new array of finishing techniques. It can also double as a lazy susan, so it’s often on my dinner table, piled with condiments and toppings, even when there’s no cake in sight.

Beyond Curry Indian Cookbook: A Culinary Journey Through India

Indian food has a reputation for being difficult and time-consuming, with hard-to-find ingredients and new techniques. I get it. It’s intimidating. But in this book, Serious Eater Denise D’silva Sankhé breaks Indian cooking down into simple techniques that any home cook can master to produce amazingly flavorful dishes with minimal effort. Over the course of more than 100 recipes, Denise introduces us to simple cooking from every region of India, focusing on home-style dishes that move well beyond the world of curries. I’m also super stoked that she’s included notes with every recipe on whether it’s vegan, vegetarian, and/or allergy-friendly.

Microplane

Another essential kitchen tool, the Microplane grater does fine grating work way better than those tiny, raspy holes on a box grater. Whether you’re quickly grating fresh nutmeg or cinnamon, taking the zest off a lemon, or turning a clove of garlic into a fine purée, the Microplane is the tool to reach for. It’ll make a great gift for the budding cooking enthusiast.

Intense Drinking Chocolate

This isn’t your standard hot cocoa. It’s a rich drinking-chocolate mix, made from organic, 74% cacao single-plantation chocolate from the Dominican Republic and 68% cacao wild-harvested chocolate from Bolivia. Whisk the ground chocolate with warm milk for an intense cocoa experience: It’s silky and deep, with hints of orange zest, cinnamon, and juicy berries, tempered by a subtly bitter edge.

Hero Dinners: Complete One-Pan Meals That Save the Day

Marge Perry and David Bonom’s cookbook is perfect for the giftee who loves to cook but hates a mess. Each recipe requires just one pan (or sheet pan), allowing the cook to enjoy precious downtime with family—and spend less time at the sink.

Tsukemono Round Pickle Press

The quick pickles common in Japanese cuisine that go by the name asazuke, or “morning pickles,” are typically made in a contraption similar to this one. The screwable tamper is spring-loaded, which exerts consistent pressure on sliced, salted vegetables, which presses out excess water and creates a highly seasoned brine, which then flavors the vegetables. The small size is perfect for anyone who wants to experiment with the technique.

Cuisinart Blender

The Cuisinart is an easy-to-use, powerful blender that aced many of our tests. This model’s dashboard is intuitive, and it features a built-in timer that counts down for you or can be programmed to stop after a certain number of seconds.

12-Inch All-Clad Stainless Steel Pan

The slope-sided skillet, like this one from All-Clad, is a chef’s best friend and one of the most versatile pans in the kitchen, whether you’re sautéing vegetables, searing meat, or cooking one of our dozens of one-pan meals. The best have solid stainless steel construction, with an aluminum core for even heat distribution.

Punch Bowl Set

We have this 10-piece punch bowl set in our office, and it’s been put to very good use. It’s big and impressive while still being affordable, which are the best qualities you can hope for in holiday-party decor.

Zojirushi Rice Cooker

A couple years ago, I managed to convince my wife of the necessity of buying a rice cooker. Not just any rice cooker: a Zojirushi. The only concession I was willing to make had to do with the size, since she wisely noted that we didn’t have the counter space for any rice cooker at all, let alone the kind of rice cooker that I had in mind. So I bought a little guy that fits, max, three cups of rice, but really is only usable for about two and a half. She’s since come around to the indisputable excellence of the cooker, and she loves everything about it, from the wonderful rice it makes to the “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” it plays when you turn it on. But since we’re moving to a bigger apartment with counter space enough for a small rice cooker, I think it’s high time we got an upgrade, so Mother’s Day seems like a perfect opportunity to get the 5.5-cup model.

All-Clad One-Quart Saucier

The low, sloping walls of this small 1-quart saucepan make whisking easy, perfect for making and finishing delicate sauces, and reducing small volumes of liquids. It’s also small enough to double as a butter-melter.

Le Creuset Cake Stand

If you’ve ever been given a homemade birthday cake, return the favor by buying your favorite baker this iconic cake stand. Its heavy base keeps cakes secure and makes all types of decorating techniques a breeze.

Rice, Noodle, Fish

Warning: Reading this book might lead to the purchase of some very expensive plane tickets. The Roads & Kingdoms crew will get you hungry for a journey to Japan, for onigiri basted with chicken fat, juicy one-bite gyoza, milky-white tonkotsu ramen broth, and briny sea urchin. Is Japan the best place on earth to eat? This book will convince you that it is.

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webcricket · 5 years

Text

Looking Glass

Chapter 21 - Eisodos

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 2105

Summary: Written erotica content warning! The reader comforts Cas who is brooding after killing his AU alter ego. They finally get some much needed and uninterrupted alone time at the resistance encampment.

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

If Cas hears you coming, heels tramping the graveled-earth of Bobby Singer’s salvage yard as you traverse a path through bits and bobs of decaying metal, shattered glass, and the overgrown vegetation arising to swallow the remains of humanity’s vehicular ingenuity whole, the brooding stillness of his figure sat upon the rust-eaten frame of a vintage VW bug doesn’t betray acknowledgement of your approach. Sam said you’d probably find the angel out here, and here he is, eschewing social interaction in favor of isolation; or rather, seraphim segregation. Not that you blame him – half the people at the encampment think the only good angel is a dead angel, and the other half don’t trust him as far as they can throw him, which given the muscular build of his vessel and angelically weighted advantage, isn’t very far at all. The thing about people is, they tend to talk; and angels, well they can’t help but hear hushed murmurs in deafening detail.

From the vantage point of a dozen or so yards away where you slow to circumnavigate what looks like a hunk of an armored tank, Cas appears engaged in rapt observation of the vine-swathed backend of a white delivery van parked opposite shedding flecks of paint like snow on the surrounding soil; moving nearer in night’s shroud of dark, borders of blackness illumined faintly by flame flickering from barrels for warmth for those patrolling the perimeter, you see the intensity of his concentration bends not outward, but inward – inwardly sulking, you surmise.

“Hey, Cas.” Your breath fogs in greeting.

“Y/N.” The stern set of his jaw softens to form a slender smile around the utterance of your name; the respite sparked by your presence spreads to pink his pale expression and relax the stiffness of his shoulders into a rounded slump. His regard reels sidelong to settle on you; the grey already veiling his typically lustrous blues dims his gaze further in squinting distress at the sight of the five-fingered bruised imprint left by his doppelgänger deeply purpling your throat and imbuing your voice with a hoarse timbre.

Sensing his surge of remorse over the mark he didn’t create, you flip up the flimsy denim of your jacket collar to conceal it. Leaning against the hood beside him, palms flattening over the peeling paint to support your slouching frame, you avoid the imploring heat of his look. He offered earlier to heal the superficial, admittedly sore, reminder of the other Castiel; you refused, counseling him to save his grace for more important matters – after all, you aren’t home safe … yet.

In the distance, the stalled engine of the school bus Dean and Bobby are attempting to resuscitate explosively sputters and dies. Dean bellows a bitter note, quickly outdone by Bobby’s gruff rejoinder. The acrid odor of burnt oil wefts through the atmosphere, singeing the nostrils. They still have a couple of hours to get the boxy behemoth running. Faith – buoyancy of wellbeing unfamiliar to you from long disuse – that everything will be fine cushions any anxiety you might have about getting out of here; you attribute the mind quieting comfort mostly to the seraph who saved you in more than just the literal sense.

Cas’ continual steady stare, the silence encumbered with his desire to mend despite your protest, and the brisk bite of pre-dawn air coalesce as a spine-tingling shiver to prickle the tiny hairs at your nape. You want to return the favor of faith, save him too, even if it’s merely from himself. “Sam said you were out here avoiding everyone,” you remark to break the ice.

“Not everyone,” he corrects. Without looking, he shifts his hand, seeking and covering your own where it rests on the domed hood next to his leg.

At the tender touch, natural and totally unhesitating on his part, he earns a half-grin tossed backward in his direction gratifying enough to mollify his fretting, for the moment, over your minor wound.

“How’s it going?” you ask, wriggling your hand to fit and flex your fingers snugly between his.

“It’s quiet,” he states, wrongly inferring you’re asking about his self-assigned post as sentinel when you really want to know how he’s doing. “No sign of angels out there. Well, except Gabriel and Lucifer and Ja-”

“I meant” –you pivot, slotting your hips between his splayed knees. Reaching up to tuck a wayward curl overlying his temple neatly back into the hairline, two more dark-brown locks rebel to take its place– “how are you? What you did back there – I can’t imagine what that feels like, smiting yourself.”

Conflict contorts his countenance. Somberly glazed eyes tumble downward to the tangle of your hands. He pulls the bundle of digits into his lap where a thumb extricates itself from entwinement to swipe circles over your knuckles as he stalls to answer.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you stammer, suddenly self-conscious about the accuracy of your supposition; laying a palm to his cheek, meekly smiling, you offer him an easy out of the awkward inquiry. He said it before – killing Castiel cleanly saved him from a worse fate for sparing you. Maybe it is that simple – a soldier’s mercy with no lingering regret. Maybe you misread the moping.

“No, it’s okay. You’re not prying.” His head shakes, unshaven chin scratching at your skin. “It’s just-,” he sighs, searching for the right words to describe the emotion swelling in his heart. Lifting your held hand to his lips, he presses a light kiss to the delicate digits. “It’s different to have someone care enough to ask me how I’m feeling. You asking, it’s … nice.”

The damp gathering on his lashes attests to how meaningful the cognizance of being the one cared for is to him. Not that he believes the Winchesters don’t care about him, but so long as the brothers have each other, neither of them is falling on their sword in sacrifice for the seraph self-sworn to stoically watch over them. Besides, Sam and Dean’s modus operandi relies on masking emotions and telling themselves and each other heavily tailored truths about how to feel as a sort of shield for coping with the bad day after day.

Killing Castiel was a mercy, for the reason he told you – the angel would have faced Naomi’s wrath, been forced to torture soul after soul until the day humanity ceased to exist, and then be left to endure unending eternity ostracized from his kin as an outsider, belonging nowhere and to no one, burdened by everything he’d done and lost. What he hid was the fact killing him was a mercy for Cas, too; a profound relief, because that version of himself – heart all but carved out of its celestial core with nothing except the fragile link Castiel witnessed and felt drawn to in your memory left to mitigate the capacity for cruelty – absolutely terrified him. His mouth motions to speak, to share with you the unabridged truth – no sound escapes except a smothered sob.

“C’mere.” Jerking at the lapels of his coat, encouraging him to slide to his feet and stand, you fold him to your chest.

The intimacy is the solace he needs. He nuzzles the sensitive stretch below your ear; scenting the dried sweat of day salting your skin, the sweetly exotic essence of you, a grateful growl of contentment hums in his throat for your existence. Winding his arms firmly behind your back, a climbing caress follows up the ridge of your spine to clutch you tighter. Anchored fully in the security of fondness found in your embrace, he tries once again to summon the words – they emerge, a secreted whisper upon your ear.

“Seeing what he was capable of, knowing his thoughts, so similar to mine – to look into that mirror and perceive what I would have become if not for Sam and Dean’s friendship, if I’d never learned what it feels like to … to-” he falters, confidence wavering in affront to the significance of what he’s about to confess and what it will change between you. Surely after everything you’ve been through together, you know; and yet doubt forever dogs his conviction, viciously barks qualms, and nips at his heels for each step he dares take in pursuit of personal fulfillment.

Kneading the nervous knots coiling at his shoulders, you incline backward to examine his features in earnest. “To what, Cas?”

The candor contained in your countenance, the collected pinpricks of light sparkling as a universe in the swirling color of your irises and burgeoning black of pupils, the sanctuary he perceives therein, a desire to lose himself in you unlike anything he has ever experienced before, overcomes all doubt. “To” –fingers braced at your nape, tips splaying to tenderly cradle your head, he leans in to impart the answer directly upon your lips– “love.”

Breathing in the single syllable sentiment, you surrender to the pliant mold of his mouth and insistent exploration of tongue. The hot honeyed taste of him flows thickly over teeth, tongue, and down your throat where arousal roots and blossoms; fronds of passionate fire unfurl from your heart, torrid tendrils traverse flesh and limb. Body pleasantly ablaze, overwhelmed outside-in by the seraph, your mind dizzies itself in a swoon.

Releasing you from the all-encompassing kiss, he bolsters your swaying body and rests his forehead to yours while you gasp to regain breath.

You blink several times to compel your blurred vision to refocus on his besotted blues. “L-love? Are you saying-?”

He nods, nosing your cheek and smiling against your questioningly parted lips before you can finish the question.

“Mmm-me too,” you mumble into the kiss, chirruping in surprise when he swiftly scoops you by the waist to spin you round, pinning your body between his quickening vessel and the hood. The bumper below you squeaks, breaks free, and bounces into the dirt in inanimate comment to his vigor.

Lavishing kisses along your jaw, his lips latch to your neck where it lolls to expose the unsullied side for him to savor. Easing you onto your back, his fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, delightfully ticklish in their calloused fumbling and tearing buttons from flannel in impatience. His thumb tarries at the strap and padded barrier of your bra; tracing the laced edging to the center of your torso to unlatch the hook, he moves his ministrations – molten kisses melting downward – to the newly bared breasts. Nipples pertly bud in the humid breeze of his breath, gentle brush of fingertips, and rough twirl of his tongue.

Teasing your fingers through his hair, legs wrapping his hips to draw him nearer in a bid for friction, a needful moan of his name mingles misty into the cool of night.

He stops to peer up at you, blue eyes blown to oblivion when they meet your fevered gaze.

“Cas,” you say his name again, giving a tug at a fistful of his hair. “Angel, need you … now.” You need him before the interruption of a rainstorm, a Winchester, a witch, a road trip, or a rift can interfere. Maybe you have hours, maybe only minutes, however much time you have before the next intrusion upon your intimacy, you don’t intend to squander it wondering or waiting. Groping a hand between your bodies, you grasp and yank at his belt buckle just in case what you need from him isn’t clear.

“Now,” he echoes your demand aloud in a husked rasp – understanding eradicates all but the slimmest rim of sapphire sparkle from his eyes. Understanding hastily shoves pants and boxers down around his muscular thighs as you wriggle out of your jeans and pull him back to your body using his tie for leverage.

“Now,” you whisper the word across his lips, gazes locked as he reaches down to stroke the thick curve of his cock, positioning and sinking into your slick.

Bliss flutters your lashes. Balance bending backward, you brace your elbows on the hood.

Broad hands cup your bare buttocks to guide you closer, your sultry skin sticky as it slides across the metal hood until he buries himself fully into your silken heat and drops his chin to your clavicle with a low worshipful growl. Tilting your pelvis to adjust to the divine burn of deep penetration, you tighten your walls in a pulse of encouragement. His hips piston and slam forward – the now no longer needs saying.

Half-dressed, urgently coupling beneath a starless apocalyptically hued sky, survivors, human and angel from different worlds, it’s certainly not the love you imagined – it’s so much better.

Next: Ch. 22 - The Devil Made Me Do It

#castiel x you #castiel x reader #spn x reader #castiel reader insert #castiel series #castielxyou #castielxreader #cas x you #cas x reader #you x castiel #reader x castiel #castiel fanfiction #spn fanfiction #castiel fanfic #cricket writes cas

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transformationstuck · 5 years

Text

More commission work, same commissioner as the last one. It’s an inanimate tf story about Aradia becoming, well... I guess you can check the tags for spoilers if you want.

“It’s… a carousel.”

“Yep! That’s the one!” Aradia confirmed, practically climbing over the fence as she leaned up as close to the old ride as she could reach, her eyes and smile competing to see which could widen the most.

“I repeat: A carousel. That. That’s what you wanted us to see.” Vriska said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot, not entirely convinced that Aradia wasn’t just pulling her leg, but growing impatient with this seeming waste of her time.

“I-I-It could be a… r-really fast… carousel?” Tavros suggested, holding up his hand as if trying to ask for permission before offering his advice.

“I’ll ask.” Vriska grumbled, “Aradia, is it really fast?”

“Nope!” Aradia answered, not even a bit of her excitement lost to Vriska’s cynicism, “But it is a really GOOD carousel! I ride it every solar sweep!”

“Ah… Not this sweep… I’m afraid.” Came a low voice, its owner standing right behind Vriska and Tavros and breathing very heavily, “The old girl is… out of order… she won’t be ready… until we get some new parts.”

“GOD fucking DAMMIT Equius! I told you not to do that!” Vriska yelled, suddenly whipping back around and glaring up at her old neighbour, jabbing a finger against his chest and quickly regretting it. She wasn’t sure what was soaking his vest more: Sweat or motor oil.

“Sorry… Vriska…” Equius said, nodding his head, acknowledging the three. He sounded out of breath with how often he was pausing to inhale, but to Vriska this was just how he knew Equius to talk. “You three… may want to go find other rides… I don’t know if this one…”

Equius trailed off a bit, suddenly gulping, his STRONG throat ensuring that the sound was enough to turn heads, “They don’t make her parts any more …We may have to put her out to pasture.”

“WHAT!?”

“Well, you heard the man.” Came Vriska, patting Aradia on the back, a little more firmly than was absolutely necessary, but still meant to be comforting, “Sorry about your musclebeast ride, or whatever… I’m gonna take Tavros on one of the cullercoasters. You can join us if you want.”

Aradia didn’t reply, still smushing her face against the bars that kept her from joining the line to her once favourite part of the entire park.

“…I’m taking him on the one for weenies that switches tracks to the Deathnado at the last second.” Vriska added, figuring Aradia might at least snap out of it if it meant helping Tavros, but received no response from her one way or the other. “Well…….. BYE!”

“Not fair…” Aradia muttered, finally pulling her face away from the bars, feeling her skin pop away after having spent an hour stuck up against them, “They didn’t shut down the Voodoo Train when it started leaking curses… or the beecups when the bees stopped stinging… There’s just no damn justice any more…”

Aradia let out a sigh. It was her last time to ride the musclebeasts that had been with her since pupation. The joyous little ride that crackled out its nostalgic tunes through those well-worn speakers and the colourful little cartoon equines had entertained her for these past eight sweeps, but she supposed she was an adult now… maybe it was time to grow up.

…Or maybe that time could wait until tomorrow.

Today was a time of reflection. A time of sorrow. A time of jumping the fence when no one was looking and making a mad dash over to her most cherished of all attractions.

“Ponilo! I missed you!” Aradia cried, wrapping her arms around the plastic animal’s neck as she rubbed her cheek up against its face. The thing may not have physically returned her affections, but Aradia was content to believe that it would be saying ‘I love you’ just as it always would if only it could move its mouth. “And I love you too!” She giggled, petting its head gently as she began to wander about the tiny little ride and examining every little bit of its brightly coloured interior.

“Horzzi! Houfer! Saudle! Buccoe! Pegaus!” Aradia chimed, petting each of the familiar musclebeast ponies as she went. They were all just so pretty and unique and full of character! Not like the seats in the other rides. They had their own hairstyles, colour-schemes, and even poses, like Houfer, who looked like he was in the middle of leaping, and Buccoe, who was appropriately in the middle of trying to kick the imaginary foe behind him. To Aradia, they were all her best friends, and if she could just find a way to start things up to give them one last ride…

Ah, but she’d never be able to figure it out. These rides were designed to be tamper proof just in case of people like her, and even a tiny ride tucked away in an obscure corner of the park wasn’t just going to have the keys in the ignition and the controls readily labelled where any idiot could start playing with them.

But then again, a broken-down ride that was days away from being retired was bound to have some loose wires.

Kzzt!

“Ah! Ow.” Aradia pulled her hand away from the decorated pole that she’d just brushed her hand over. It was the same as any of the other long, golden poles that held the horses in place and caused them to bop up and down, only with one obvious part missing. “Did there… used to be seven of you?” Aradia asked, now suckling upon her electrocuted fingers as she looked around the carousel. She only remembered there being six musclebeasts, and yet here was a gap in the ride that seemed to indicate there was a seventh one unaccounted for.

“Horzzi, Houfer, Saudle, Buccoe, Pegaus, Ponilo…” Aradia repeated to herself, trying to think if there was a name she’d missed. It just didn’t add up! There were only meant to be six of them, yet the pole coming out of the ground and its twin hanging from the ceiling above would say otherwise. Was that just it? Had the machine broken down because they’d tried to add a seventh pony and it fucked the whole thing up? Why mess with perfection?

Aradia suckled harder upon her fingers as she pondered the problem more and more. The shock hadn’t been that painful, but it had certainly made her hand feel a little numb. More than just a little numb, actually, as Aradia soon had to pop her fingers out of her mouth just to make sure nothing was wrong.

Her digits glistened from the saliva coating them, and while there wasn’t a burn mark or other sign of damage, Aradia had to gulp as she realised that she couldn’t move them an inch. The other two fingers were still moving alright, albeit a little stiff around the joints, but not a single one of her shocked knuckles would bend, no matter how hard she willed them to close or split apart.

Okay, that was probably enough hanging around condemned amenities for today! This probably wasn’t serious, but she’d rather not risk losing a hand to a stupid electric shock! But… she felt she should at least get a picture with Ponilo before the poor beastie was gone for good. Slipping both hands into her skirt pockets, she dug out her phone and squatted down, posing next to her favourite plastic animal as she held her fingers over the button.

And… nothing happened.

“Oh, come on!” Aradia groaned, pulling her phone around to take a look. At the very least, the problem was solvable. The device was scanning her fingerprints, and it seemed that holding both fingers so close together was preventing it from reading properly. At least it was an easy fix, she thought as she shrugged, reaching over to pry apart her two paralysed fingers and… accomplished absolutely nothing. Even bringing her teeth down to wedge them apart only left her with a sore mouth. What was going on here? Had the shock been so bad that it locked up her finger muscles? Was that even a thing?

With a bit of struggling to angle her rigid fingers just right, Aradia finally managed to snap the picture, and even with recent events weighing on her mind, she couldn’t help but grin as she turned the screen around to see her photo. …and promptly dropped it to the floor. “Awhoops!” Aradia went, quickly moving to snatch it back up. Only… she didn’t pick it back up. She tried to use her thumb to brace her phone up against her immobile fingers, but when she went to lift it, her thumb’s grip failed her. “Oh hell…” Aradia grumbled, giving her hand a hearty shake as she reached out with her still functional hand to finally inspect the picture.

That was… odd. She thought there was just a mark on her screen, but when it didn’t rub off, she thought for a moment she must've gotten some of the peeling paint on her nose, because on her otherwise grey face, there was a nice big splotch of a deep, dark red that just barely didn't match her blood.

Aradia gave her nose a rub, and while she definitely felt something there, it was a something that didn't seem to want to come off, even as she upped her efforts, attempting to scratch it away, only to find no gap between the smooth substance and her skin. Well, that ruled out dried paint... maybe something splotched her earlier in the day and Vriska just didn't tell her. That bitch, embarrassing her in front of her inanimate pony friends!

Turning off her phone, Aradia squinted into her dull reflection, the miscolouration on her face a little hard to make out, but it was at least visible enough for her to know where to aim. Good hand holding the phone, she awkwardly twisted about her paralyzed hand and aimed her middle finger right at the edge of the weird blob. "Hrrgh... Come on..." Aradia grunted, able to feel the difference in texture between her soft skin and the smooth paint, even through what should have been dulled senses. She could even feel that the red spot was slightly raised relative to the skin around it, so it should have been a simple matter of finding the gap and getting a nail under it, but no matter what she tried, her fingers seemed to slide right over it.

...And that was because Aradia's hand didn't seem to have any nails on it left.

The shock of seeing her equally red fingers in their new, deformed state was enough of a shock to make Aradia practically throw her phone as she recoiled in shock. Her hand had become engorged, the gaps between her fingers reduced to tiny little bumps between her fingertips, bumps that she could see gradually smoothing out with each passing second. "No no no no N0!" Aradia cried, gripping her hand tightly around the base of her wrist, hoping it would stop or at least slow down if she cut the circulation.

It did not. In fact, it only seemed to speed things up!

Aradia gulped, screwing up her face a little as she swallowed, and feeling a slight resistance in the skin on her nose. She had to assume it was linked, for what good that did her.

"Nnnngh!" Aradia grit her teeth, shuddering. As the swelling sped up, what had formerly been a numb sensation was starting to become anything but. She could feel her hand twisting around itself, the individual senses of her fingers merged together into an unfamiliar tube shape, even her wrist starting to lock in place as a burgundy redness took to welling up under her skin and subsuming it into the same hardy substance as her face.

"Stop! Suh... ST0P!" Aradia cried, striking her fist into the ground, not even caring about the potential pain. "HMMmmmngh!" She bit her lip, immediately regretting the decision. While the stumpy, flat underside of her fist had been unharmed, the point where the solid parts connected with her flesh immediately felt the impact, enough for tears to well up in Aradia's eyes. At least until she felt the effects trickle on over the injury, almost making Aradia shudder in relief. It was like having someone trickle a viscous fluid over her, only it permeated through her entire arm, flesh, bone, and all.

CLONG!

Aradia struck the metal bars that covered her exit, careful this time not to inflict herself any more undue pain, “Hey! Heeey!” She called out, praying someone would find her in this deserted corner of the park. “Equius! Tavros! …Vriska!?” She shouted, striking the bars again with her almost completely tube-like forearm. She wanted to climb the fence, but with her useless appendage, she didn’t want to risk leaping over the spike-tipped metal bars.

“Oh come on… this is the best part of the entire park…” Aradia grumbled, looking around at the desolation that was the surrounding picnic area. Even the bathrooms were completely abandoned as people ignored the carousel in favour of bigger, ��better’ attractions.

Aradia sighed, bumping her head back against the metal pole, hearing a ‘tink’ noise as the swelling on her face bumped against the metal bar. She couldn't feel anything from the splotch on her nose yet, but it was only a matter of time before it too began to accelerate. Even if the effects wore off and Aradia’s hand returned to normal… could she survive having the same thing happen to her face? Would she be able to breathe?

A shudder ran down her spine as she felt the molasses-like sensation reach her joint. Aradia cursed as began to bend her arm rapidly, hoping that by keeping her elbow moving she’d be able to resist the paralysis. But even as she tried with all her might to hold off the encroaching anomaly, it still forcibly slowed her movements down to a crawl until all she could do was watch as the swelling covered her arm, one red splotch at a time.

“W-Why is it so… smooth?” Aradia asked herself, shaking a bit as she dared to run her hand across her ‘skin’. She knew touching it was stupid. It had seemingly migrated to her face just from suckling on her fingers earlier, but she was in such dread that all she could do was admire the source of her potentially upcoming demise.

One thing she hadn’t noticed was that around where her wrist should have been, there was a slight kink, curving her nubby hand into a strangely familiar shape.

“Oh my fucking god.” Aradia blurted out, taking a big step back, her eyes widening as she stared at her arm—no… her HOOF. Her big, plastic, cartoon-pony hoof!

“Not a word!” Aradia snapped at Houfer, pointing her entire arm at the mini musclebeast, albeit with the kinks at her wrist and elbow ensuring that her aim was more than a little off. This plan was stupid. Desperate, even! But if the shock was turning her into a musclebeast, then it couldn’t have been an ordinary shock! And if it wasn’t an ordinary shock, then that couldn’t have been ordinary wiring!

Aradia let out a heavy breath as she lowered her arm to her side, who knew plastic could be so heavy? Aradia rested her bad arm against the inner wall of the carousel as she peaked into the pole, careful to keep her fingers away from the ends of the wires as she fiddled them about, just trying to see if there was anything behind them.

"Nnngh..." Aradia winced. Suddenly feeling as if something was pulling upwards on her nose. She'd been afraid of this. The changes to her face were getting faster, she could even see before her eyes as the bridge of nose was pulled up, bulking outwards as splotches grew outward, replacing her skin with more shiny plastic.

She gulped, trying to shake it off, pushing the wires to one side to peep down the entire pole, hoping she might be able to make something out further down, but barely able to see a thing. Nothing except for her other fingers starting to merge together!

"No no no no no N0!" Aradia yelled, striking her arm against the pole. The plastic was growing so fast now that the pain went away as soon as it started, redness now approaching her shoulder, the sensations now sickeningly wet, like someone was coating her in fresh paint. There had to be something else she missed! She couldn't meet her end becoming a plastic pony! She just couldn't!

"Mh! Hggh!" Aradia let out a sharp whine, suddenly feeling the plastic on her face reaching up to her eyelid. Immediately she went to try and rub it, but had to stop herself as she felt the way it forced the lid to open past its bounds, her eye coming with it, stretching out so much her vision was starting to become lopsided. Another sudden sensation around her eye was enough to make Aradia forget herself and attempt to rub away the irritation.

That... should have hurt. She couldn't fully close her eye, and clumsiness with her paralyzed fingers had made her jab herself right in the pupil. It was plastic. Plastic... and absolutely huge! She closed her other eye, perhaps the last time she ever would, and gulped as she realised she could still see.

Aradia laughed, her warped nose turning it into a snort. As a lover of doom in all its forms, this sure was a unique one. She’d be a fake musclebeast in less than twenty minutes at this rate. “Hooray, I’m gonna die!” She cheered, a crooked smile on her face as the hopelessness of the situation started to weigh on her, “I-I’m gonna be a ponyyyyy.”

Aradia felt a shudder down her right leg. Oh, goodie. She must have brushed her arm against it while she was walking. She tried to take a step away from the pole… and felt a familiar stiffness in her knee. Looking down at it, splotches of red were making their way up and down her leg from there. For a few moments Aradia stared off into space, wondering if she’d at least be as pretty as Ponilo, until she heard a familiar voice.

“No, I bet you she’s still fuckin’ moping about her damn musclebeast ride.” Grumbled Vriska, though at a volume that hardly counted as grumbling.

“I-I didn’t say anything a-about Aradia…” Tavros whimpered, clutching at his head as he stumbled around dizzy.

“Vri-hhhhka!” Aradia cried, only to clutch her partly hoof-ified hand around her throat. Her voice was hoarse. She tried to swallow, only to feel her throat not quite properly constricting. “Ta-avrohhh…” She cried again, desperate to make herself heard.

Whatever! She didn’t need a voice! One look at Aradia and her friends would try to help her in a heartbeat! Her right knee was a rigid block, but she could still limp over to the fence! “Ahhhm cohhhhming!” She called, making a hobbled step over to the gate… and immediately feeling something tugging at her belly.

“W-Whuh…?” Aradia almost hit herself in the face as she brought her hoof up to her mouth in shock. All four of the pole’s wires had slipped under her shirt and embedded themselves right into the middle of her stomach.

Aradia tried to strike at the wires, but her semi-transformed limb was doing no damage, while the other could barely even move. She tried to take another step away, but felt as they instead tugged her in the other direction, forcing her to fall belly first on top of the pole.

“N-Nuhhhh…” Aradia squirmed, kicking and squirming about with every part of her that still could. Her right arm hung at an angle, the fabric of her sleeve seemingly being chewed away as the splotches made their way over her collarbone. Her left arm faired better, but her elbow was less than a minute away from going rigid. She could still freely move her hips, but the plastic on her right leg was reaching down to her ankles faster and faster. She could just barely scrape the ground with her left leg, but there was nothing she could do to get herself free from the pole.

“Vrihhhhhhh…” Aradia tried her best to scream, but her voice was becoming fainter and fainter. She could feel the plastic making its way up and out of her throat, solidifying the back of her tongue as her jaw felt like it was being compressed and stretched at the same time. She couldn’t even bend her neck! She was losing it! Even her hair was starting to change! Her luxurious curls stopped blowing in the wind, and instead stuck to her neck and back, gradually becoming heavier and heavier as the strands became nothing but texture on a big blob of sculpted plastic.

And then the music kicked in.

“D-D-D-Doo-wapwap-dooooo-wapwap-doooooble-dooble-wapwap!”

It crackled and buzzed as the tune came ringing out of the speakers as it had done a thousand times before, Aradia squirming ever harder as she felt the wires come to life inside her. One last gasp escaped Aradia’s lips as she felt the ceiling-mounted part of the pole come slamming down into her back, sinking a half inch deeper into her flesh than it should have. Thw two sets of wires met inside her, letting out a shock that caused Aradia to squirm even harder.

And then… the spinning.

Momentarily Aradia got some better footing on the floor, only to lose it almost immediately as the ride bobbed her back up again. She wanted to foam at the mouth. There was a new sensation hitting her now, it felt like her soul or some other ethereal part of herself was being twisted up around her midsection. She clenched down, trying to keep herself together, yet feeling like her insides were being sucked into a drain of some kind. She could no longer breathe, and now she felt like she could no longer think.

Each upward bob briefly gave her a moment of lucidity, only for it to then be crushed as it went back down again. Each time she felt new thoughts popping into her head… her fears of being stuck like this, or just thinking back to her old hobbies and memories. She’d feel a brief euphoric sensation as those thoughts became her entire world… then want to groan as it all came crashing down, shattered into pieces and crushed into dust, never to enter her head again.

When the ride went up, she kicked her legs with joy, practically prancing through the air, only to flinch and go rigid as she came back down again. The plastic hadn’t stopped spread, either, and soon more of her clothing was being burned away, or being moulded into the shape of saddles and bracelets and other manner of decorations.

By the time the ride finally came to a stop, the girl-come-pony realised all she had left was a barely twitching left leg, and a pupil that could only shiver and shake. Still she tried to squirm her way free, but she couldn’t even contract her stomach muscles. She was… She was a… p-pony? …What was her name, again?

“So, you actually got the missing piece?”

That voice… it sounded familiar.

“Y-Yes… seems some anonymous benefactor dropped it off. She is a fine specimen.”

That voice… no, she felt nothing for that voice.

“Uhhh… do you think we should go look f-for Aradia?”

That one… she liked that one, at least. More than the other two, especially the first one. Did she… maybe… hate the first one?

Aradia suddenly felt a heavy weight on her back as some bitch’s ass landed right upon her saddle. For some reason that didn’t make her very happy. She wanted to tell her mean words, but wasn’t really sure how she’d even do that. Why would a pony even need to do that?

#Mod O #Aradia Megido #inanimate tf #pony tf #carousel tf

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 6 years

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Lots of writing! | Writing Update #1

Hey People of Earth!

I have many a things to update. mwahaha

The first of which is this bad boy!

FISHBOWL was a one shot-ish thing I worked on in mid August because I didn't want to write the scene I had to write, but also didn't want to write outside of my universe. Soooo, of *course* your girl wrote herself some more fanfiction because? I mean? Why not!

It’s not unheard of on this blog that I ship (and then, subsequently cannoned) my boyz Lonan and Harrison. I’d written the first chunk of this story on mobile, just in a note, because I’d gotten an idea for some dialogue. (I had the whole story written besides the beginning and end.) The struggle was figuring out how to start the story. I toyed with a couple ideas, writing a million different first sentences. Frustrated that I wasn’t feeling any of ‘em, I shelved the project for the night and went to bed.

The next day, I came back to FISHBOWL, and I looked over the random first sentences I’d jotted down. One caught my eye, and so aha, I found my sentence. (I struggle with writing openings, so once the first sentence is nailed down, I usually am able to get a good flow rather quickly). I wrote the entire thing in one sitting, and while it’s disjointed and weird, I had a lot of fun.

EXCERPTS:

The story itself is basically plot-less since it was only meant to entertain myself, but I think I wrote some cool stuff, and explored a setting (Lonan’s room) with a lot more diligence than I have before.

This excerpt’s first line inspired me to write the rest of this story (lol my only motivation). It’s not even a favourite line, it just helped me wrap my head around the language a bit/gave me the idea to have a fishbowl-lens look on the story.

The bottle is crystal edged. Half drained. A kaleidoscope through his eye.

He passes it over with ease. Harrison can’t tell if he’s done it because he’s drunk, or because he doesn’t want questions.

“My mom likes this shit,” Harrison says, fingering the bottle, like he’s holding a memory and not jade-tinted glass. Careful, so he won’t shatter it. It’s almost like he’s a child again.

I also lluuuurve this next paragraph, just because loppy IS SUCH A NICE WORD. loppyloppyloppy. I just like the personality of the objects in Lonan’s bedroom (because he’s got none). Like his poor depressed lonely fishbowl, poor slothy aloe, poor upset betta.

Harrison watches the fishbowl on the nightstand. He should change the water. It’s aglae’d and forgotten, almost, like the loppy potted aloe on his desk. The blue betta hardly slashes through the water. Ris reaches over and unscrews the pot of pet store bloodworms, sprinkles in a pinch of the pellets. The fish cuts around its browning bamboo stake, and vacuums two into its mouth. Its fins wiggle like ink drops.

This is the last paragraph of FISHBOWL, and I mean, I like her tho?

The betta fish glugs through the water in a flowery whoosh. Bottom feeds the last of the bloodworms. The takeout containers are empty, and rolled onto their backs. Stained rusted orange with dried chili. The aloe plant is still curved instead of straight. Harrison makes a note to water it in the morning. The digital clock bleeds 6:22 in neon cherry light. When it bounces off Lonan’s eyes, they look purple.

So that’s it for FISHBOWL! I had a lot of fun writing this lol. Maybe too much. I must be stopped.

CHICKEN NOODLE is chapter 14 of REWIRED, and to be frank, it was a bit of a pain to write. I’d churned it out after writing a really intense scene previously, and couldn’t really feel into the flow of the words as easily as I’d done before. The first scene took a chunk of time to write, because I wasn’t sure where I was taking it. After finally nailing a concept, I did complete it, and I’m rather happy with how that section of the chapter turned out.

However, lol, scene two is a mess?? In my opinion at least, I did read this chapter to @sarahkelsiwrites last night, and she rather enjoyed it! Because it was SUCHHH a mess, and I had no motivation to write it, I, toward the beginning of the month, adapted the scene to screen.

Stripping back the scene really allowed me to figure out how I wanted it to end (which was exciting!). Obviously, it isn’t a very good screenplay, but it was exciting to have a different take on the scene/focus on a new form to learn instead of self deprecating!

The following excerpt is from the beginning-ish of the chapter and sets up the concept:

Maybe this is how it feels. To be a child, or a fetus, or a cell, or a human, stuck in the womb of a mother. Sloshing in amniotic fluid. Doing little fetal summer saults. Eating what she eats. Drinking what she drinks. That last serving of apple crumble. The remnant touches of cognac stuck to her lips. A dog and a bone, a human and its lung, a plant and its gardener, a mother and her child. Can’t live without her, even when you want to. Bitter dependency.

my favourite parts of this are ‘fetal summersaults’ and ‘human and its lung’ like ooooh. I’m like not 100 on it but I don’t mind it!

PEACH is chapter 15 of REWIRED, and oh boy is she a CHAPTER. I drafted this one as well as 16 over three days (they’re both super short), and I’m shook??

Chapter 14 ends with Reeve saying some *very* horrible things about another character (Emily), and her relationship with our boy Harrison. Because of this, she’s finally decided to check out Emily for herself, and see if she’s really as horrible as Reeve (who’s assumed her to be a Lolita figure), has anticipated.

Here’s an excerpt:

Emily and I sit on her pull out. My mother would haphazardly call it tacky—blue gingham, red quilt—but I almost like it. With its coffee stains, and holes that vomit polyester. Second-hand charm. Maybe Harrison toted it off some suburb’s curb for her.

So this is the final chapter I’ll be updating you guys on (because it’s the most recent one that I’ve written lol).

LOLITA, LOLITA, takes place in short succession after PEACH, and deals with a familiar theme--romanticizing/glorifying a female figure (sorta similarly to Lolita, which contributed to--of course--the title). This chapter is sort of the tail end of the ‘whimsical’ adventure Reeve has had entering Emily’s world, and has a lotttt of French inspiration.

Emily, as a character, does study the French language/culture a bit, and Reeve really clings to this particular detail. I think in a lot of ways, she does this because this is a detail she previously ridiculed (in the line: The kind of girl who learns French in her spare time and smokes essential oils, from chapter 10).

Here’s the first one (I think it’s kind of clunky honestly but I like the idea so when I revisit, hopefully with some editing I can clean it up):

We split a brownie over a glass of Pinot Noir. She says it’s a French thing, and I imagine the bottle emptying on the veranda of a politician’s off coast villa. My lipstick stains the rim of the glass in a ruby porthole. It tastes like fruity hand sanitizer to me.

I also really like the next one, particularly the end. Like with before, I think it’s kinda clunky but I ain’t all that mad:

She’s pulled her hair into a bun. The gold ridge of a bobby pin peaks out from behind a twist. Hiding between the white of her scalp. My nails have dried, now, and she’s gifted me her peach lip gloss, which I wear gracefully on my lips like it isn’t second-hand, but a lavish salve made in Europe. Tested on the eyelids of a fetid rabbit. Warm and licked at on the mouth of a rich young woman. An off brand perfume clings to her throat. The plastic breath of amber and ylang-ylang. I’ve tried to mimic her up-do, but my hair falls, even when I pump it with hairspray. Je suis amoureuse. I should tell her. I am in love.

^^ the perfume in question in my head is like a bootleg version of Chanel No. 5, hence some of the perfume’s classic notes!

The second half of this update deals with Reeve *attempting* to talk to her brother (@Lonan @Lonan). They’ve now migrated to his room, which she notes, is vastly different to Emily’s.

The first excerpt is a line I find kind of funny because a) food b) relatable c) lol Lonan’s ideas for gifts tho d) SAME e) grapefruits ?? f) it’s kind of adorable

He’s brought me half a grapefruit and a spoon. A surrender, or a lost attempt at a gift. The flesh wet, and pink.

like tbhhh grapefruits as presents sounds litttt

The next is actually sort of stolen from FISHBOWL, ha. FISHBOWL takes place in Lonan’s room, so I *very much* stole all the description from there and shoved it into this chapter. oops lol.

His room feels smaller, somehow. I think he’s moved the bed. Or it might be the new coat of paint. The addition of small things, like houseplants, candles, miniature replicas of American landmarks. A wilted aloe plant. A fish bowl. The blue betta inking the water in bored compliance. I think to ask him if he’s made the space more claustrophobic on purpose, but don’t at the last second. Lonan’s never been one to collect clutter.

And lastly! Not my favourite but eh:

I say, “I like what you’ve done with the place,” even though I don’t. “What kind of plant is that? This one?” I get up from my spot on the floor next to him. Touch at the pot next to the watering can. Finger the waxy leaves. Anthurium, peace lily, ficus? Probably a ficus. “I think Mom would like these. You should take a picture to show her later.”

I like the tone of this scene a lot because it’s so dissociative. Almost underwater. It’s kind of a very thin version of my usual style, but I think it works for what I was going for for sure (I hope lol).

So that’s about it for this update! I know it was a lil different, but I hope you guys enjoyed regardless! As always, thanks for reading! :)

--Rachel

#writing #writerblr #amwriting #writingupdates

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allpaintbynumbers-blog · 5 years

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Diy oil painting by numbers digital oil painting

Painting by Numbers is the detect a picture is separated into shapes, each unique with a number that identifies with a particular shading. You paint in each shape and as time goes on the picture makes as a finished the course toward painting.

The paint by numbers approach is ordinarily derided as being mutilated, uncreative, and condition based. I trust in it's critical in getting over that a pearl is made through various conditions of shading. These shapes regularly don't look extraordinary self-rulingly, nor show up anything "veritable", yet accumulated as a get-together they make the image.

The running with stage in making as a painter is to fathom how to see such shading shapes for yourself, without the guide of a printed graph. Completing a paint by numbers experience supports you fathom how to inspect a subject and watch areas of shading. It strengthens you move a long way from focusing on what the finished subject will look like to looking zones and what shading these should be painted.

"'Painting by numbers' may not be as compromising an energy as one may imagine. Leonardo himself envisioned a kind of it, designating collaborators to paint zones on a work that he had starting late portrayed out and numbered."It's luring to paint with the objective allpaintbynumbers that you complete a piece of the picture at some unpredictable minute, yet that will require a lot of brush washing and waste paint. Or on the other hand possibly paint one shading at some unpredictable minute, from the best regions of this shading to the most diminutive. Working from the most basic inspiration driving the craftsmanship down stays away from unexpectedly bothering wet paint.

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By starting with the more unmistakable ones you'll be legitimately overseen using the brush and paint when you get to the humblest territories, which can be fiddly to paint. Painting by Numbers is an amazing activity in brush control. You know unequivocally where the paint should go in that capacity can focus absolutely on getting it down there, and just there.

Having the brush control to paint successfully up to an edge or unequivocal point is an essential cutoff that each beyond any doubt gifted worker needs to make. You'll use it, for example, when painting an establishment behind an article, uniting shading in an eye, or obscuring an embarrassment as a vase, and wherever you need a hard edge on an object.The brush gave is usually somewhat one, to associate with you to paint the humblest shapes in the imaginative creation. It can make painting increasingly noticeable shapes dull along these lines, if you have a continuously noteworthy brush use this too.

Start with either the darkest shading and end with the lightest or the an other way, districts that have a mixed shading (twofold number) till last. The reason I propose doing the shades in get-together from lessening to light (or the an other way) this draws in you locate a little about the tone and chroma of tones.

Keep a holder of clean water for washing your brush (persevering through it's an acrylic Paint by Numbers unit) to hand, in like manner as a surface for cleaning and drying the brush. Try not to dunk the brush into the paint past what many would consider possible up to the ferrule, essentially the tip. Maybe get paint significantly more customarily over have a glob of it tumble off onto made by workmanship.

Be gainful! Endeavor not to spread out the hairs of the brush attempting to paint in a locale considerably more quickly. This will quickly squash the brush and beat the fine tip. Apply fragile strain to wind the tips of the hairs fairly and drift the brush along the surface. Think of it as the paper (or canvas) pulling the paint off the brush as opposed to using the brush to push the paint down.You'll see a few shapes have two numbers in them, not just one. This shows you need to join two tints. Square with degrees should give you a sensible shading, at any rate don't hop your brush from one paint compartment into the running with as you'll sully the tones.

Mix a slight bit of the two tints on a non-penetrable surface (like an old saucer), by then paint the territory. In case you endeavor to mix the two shades on the picture itself (as in the best photo), it's obviously not hard to wrap up with a gigantic measure of paint and going over the edges of the shape. Plus, to wrap up with unevenly mixed paint.Be watchful about cleaning the brush before dunking it into another shading. You would lean toward not to taint a shading. A slight bit of a diminish shading very quickly makes a perilous circumstance of a light shading! In case you do curiously do this, don't mix it in yet use the side of a perfect material or bit of paper towel to endeavor to cleanse it.Paint by number or painting by numbers outlines packs having a board on which light blue or dull lines show zones to paint, and each territory has a number and a relating numbered paint to use. The units were sorted out, made and appeared in 1950 by Max S. Klein, an architect and owner of the Palmer Paint Company of Detroit, Michigan, and Dan Robbins, a business artist.[1][2]

In children's development books, some prompt activities are habitually acquainted with children that are called shading by numbers. Right when Palmer Paint agreeable shaded pencils with clients, they likewise posted pictures online for a "Pastel by Number" assortment.

Paint by Numbers treatment has distinctive central focuses. Also as extended power, it would all around have the ability to upgrade motor aptitudes, the ability to control hand and arm movements and the entire body and help people with slight tremors. It's in like path seemed to extend concentrationIn 2011, the Museum of Modern Art in New York saw four early structures of paint by number by Max Klein for its Department of Architecture and Design, given by Jacquelyn Schiffman.

In May 2011, Dan Robbins and Palmer Paint Products, Inc., together made and passed on to pitch another 60th-celebration paint by number set.[9] This gatherers' set was made in memory of the survivors and the overall public who had lost their lives on September 11, 2001, and depicts the Twin Towers staying in soul over the Manhattan skyline. A portion[clarification needed] of the advantages from this set is being given to the liberal affiliation Voices of SeptemberOrder a pack. Typical size for most painting units is 40X50 Cm or 16X20 In. You will get paints, brushes, canvas, screws, gets and direct card. It is endorsed to create an edge with canvas.Stretch the canvas. Set up your contraptions. Have a bowl of water close by for washing brushes. Match the number from the canvas with the paint and start painting. Starting from the most lifted inspiration driving canvas is recommended.Step by step and number by number when you have completed it, you will be stupified by its immensity. Edge it, hang it, see it and smile :) goodness better trust it, make a point to send us a photo review.In March 1951, clients of all ages slid on Macy's in New York City's Herald Square. Despite how the events were for quite a while completed, fortified customers stuffed in for a gander at the first in-store appearing to be another workmanship experience called paint-by-number. They swarmed the demonstrators and got distinctive sets unequivocally. Anyone present could see that the unit had mass interest. As articulation of the free for all rehearsed the yearly New York City Toy Fair happening a couple of squares away, orders began pouring in from retailers around the country.In March 1951, clients of all ages dove on Macy's in New York City's Herald Square. In spite of how the events were for quite a while completed, tense customers stuffed in for a gander at the first in-store show of another distinctive quality experience called paint-by-number. They swarmed the demonstrators and procured unmistakable sets convincingly. Anyone present could see that the unit had mass interest. As articulation of the free for all developed the yearly New York City Toy Fair happening a couple of squares away, orders began pouring in from retailers around the country.

There was just a lone issue: The customers were fake. Or then again regularly fake. The creators of the wonder would never know certainly. The flood on Macy's was to some degree a legend among the most brilliant presentation stunts ever of or business. Regardless, the thing itself was empowered by an other virtuoso—Leonardo da Vinci.

Right when Dan Robbins, the thirteenth specialist of Detroit-based Palmer Paint Co., read that da Vinci showed his understudies the stray bits of painting by using numbered models on a canvas, he expected the idea may have ceaselessly far reaching interest. So he endeavored to put out something different that would interest certain specialists everything considered.

Unfortunately, no one required his Craft Master paint-by-number packs. Most retailers feared customers wouldn't get the thought or wouldn't need such a helpful workmanship experience. Finally, S.S. Kresge (later Kmart) put everything on hold and put in a basic intrigue. Before long, in view of a packaging calamity, the paints for two units got swapped: Colors made amusement arrangements for "The Fishermen" ended up in boxes for "The Bullfighter." Hobbyists looked blue-caped matadors drawing in green bulls, considering where it had all turned out gravely. Hit with deals for purposes of repression, Kresge dropped each and every future intrigue.

Tense to recoup its thing on racks, Palmer Paint remembered it expected to act snappy. Max Klein, the connection's facilitator, had an idea. Klein and Robbins started by asking the Macy's toy buyer to empower them to show their packs in-store, promising that any unsold stock could be returned worthless out of pocket. Macy's had nothing to lose by watching out for. By then, Klein got two reps

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xensilverquill · 6 years

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Count the Ways

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandoms: Transformers - All Media Types; The Transformers (IDW Generation One) Relationship: Cyclonus/Tailgate Characters: Tailgate (Transformers), Cyclonus (Transformers) Additional Tags: Transformers Spark Bonds, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Conjunx Endura, Conjux Ritus, Body Paint, Body Worship, Size Difference, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bathing/Washing

Summary: "Enough." Again, the other mech seemed to read his mind, both Cyclonus' firm tone and servo sliding into his own silencing the doubtful whispers in his mind. The warrior tugged gently at him. "If I am not allowed to fret, then neither are you. I wish for this as surely as you do. I desire no other but you, Tailgate." Silence spread between them for a long moment before the smaller mech's helm fell forward. In-venting shakily, he willed his spark to stop spinning so fast in his chest. He laced his digits through Cyclonus' own, squeezing lightly. "All right," he replied simply as he stepped over the stones and into the circle proper.

[A union long overdue -- the conjux rites of Cyclonus and Tailgate. Set post-Lost Light/Lost Light #18.]

"You are certain you want this? If even some iota of doubt lingers in your spark, I would not force something of this magnitude upon—"

"Primus help me— The only thing that's going to give me any doubt is you constantly trying to talk me out of this."

The scolding in the minibot's tone was softened by the playful dancing of his field against Cyclonus' own. Hopping on the berth, he was quick to take the old warrior's helm between his servos. Any rebuttal he might have been formulating was lost to the aether as Tailgate lightly pressed his mouthguard against the other's lips. Cyclonus' frame, going stiff for a moment, relaxed minutely as he leaned into the motion. When Tailgate eventually pulled away, his white arms remained looped around the other's neck.

"I wouldn't be here and doing this if I didn't want to be. I want this, Cyclonus — I want you . End of discussion. Now—" If he had optic ridges, they would have been waggling quite rakishly. "—are you going to paint me like one of your Praxian mechs or no— Ow! Hey!"

His attempt at bringing a bit of levity to the moment was not appreciated in the least. The purple mech was quick to flick him in the helm for his troubles, optics narrowing slightly even as a smile twitched at his lips.

"None of that now," Cyclonus rumbled. Ex-venting slowly, he stepped away from the berth and flicked a clawed digit at the other. "Sit. I will call for you when I am prepared."

The minibot huffed lightly as he rested his helm on his servo, but otherwise he did as he was told. Chagrin and impatience soon turned to curiosity as he watched the other go to work.

The first order of business was setting up the proper space for the affair. In the privacy of their habsuite, there were no distractions for them, save each other and any poor spark who might have been foolish enough to interrupt them.

First Cyclonus went about cleansing the air. In transparisteel containers about the room, he placed joss sticks cut from crystal trees and soaked in sweet-oil. The fragrance and smoke of the incense drifted through the room like a sigh, soothing down to spark and protoflesh alike. It reminded the minibot of a scene out of an old holovid of the temples of the Primal Basilica before the war: acolytes led by priests in the holy rites, light and psalms alike fluttering up to the vaulted ceilings above.

Next the warrior began scattering half a dozen different crystals and tumbled stones upon the floor. Or so Tailgate thought until he realized the other was carefully placing them in an intricate pattern.

"Precious stones, in prayer and supplication to Primus," Cyclonus explained, sensing his questions before they were even spoken aloud. "Sodium for protection against evil. Obsidian to banish ill fortune. Quartz for clarity of mind." He arranged the crystals into the outline of a circle, forming rectangular patterns on the border. "Citrine to hold fast to the present. Aventurine to bless the future. Amazonite to establish and strengthen ties of affection."

When he had finished, he placed still more incense on the edge of the arrangement. Then, dimming the overhead lights, the horned mech at last stood and faced him again. He extended a clawed servo towards Tailgate. Those red optics burned soft and warm as a brazier in the smoky twilight of the room, full of affection the warrior still struggled to give voice.

The minibot's plating ruffled and flared as he slipped off the berth and stepped forward. In spite of his brave words earlier, his field was still prickly with nerves. Cyclonus had talked him through the rites a dozen times already, and there was no one else in any other reality or timeline with whom he would ever want to tie himself. Yet, despite that, the little voices still nipped at the edge of his processor, insisting that he was in no way worthy of this—

"Enough." Again, the other mech seemed to read his mind, both Cyclonus' firm tone and servo sliding into his own silencing the doubtful whispers in his mind. The warrior tugged gently at him. "If I am not allowed to fret, then neither are you. I wish for this as surely as you do. I desire no other but you , Tailgate."

Silence spread between them for a long moment before the smaller mech's helm fell forward. In-venting shakily, he willed his spark to stop spinning so fast in his chest. He laced his digits through Cyclonus' own, squeezing lightly.

"All right," he replied simply as he stepped over the stones and into the circle proper.

The two of them knelt across from each other, the ring of crystals just large enough to hold them both comfortably. Producing several small canisters from his subspace, Cyclonus opened each in turn. Each was revealed to have powder, each of a bright and distinct color. The warrior reached within in his subspace again, this time pulling out a bottle of solvent. A splash of it in each of the canisters before he set to work mixing each to a paint-like consistency.

"Cyclonus?" the minibot spoke up again as he watched the other work.

"Hm?"

"Have you—" He nodded vaguely at the crystals and the incense and the paints. "—done this before?"

"Hardly," he chuffed, a slight smirk pulling at the edge of Cyclonus' lips, as if he found some amusement from the question. "Do I strike you as the sort to take another mech through the Conjunx Ritus on a whim?"

"N-no, but... It just seems like—"

"In my youth," the warrior cut in, "I was witness to the rites of a few of my fellows in the Clavis Aurea. Such ceremonies were far more commonplace in those days." After he finished mixing the solvent and powders, he carefully cleaned his claws on a meshcloth.

"It was once a custom in much of Upper Tetrahex to mark one's intended in such a way. Dating back to the days of the Golden Age, when it is said that all Cybertronians once looked the same. The marking would separate one’s conjux-to-be from the others. Every color, every pattern — every detail, however small, speaks of the qualities the one finds admirable in the other, as well their wishes for their union."

Cyclonus took hold of Tailgate's servos once more and pulled him up to stand on his pedes. Silence spread between them. They remained that way for a few moments: the warrior kneeling before his intended, the minibot leaning slightly forward with his digits stroking lightly across those ancient and scarred palms.

Not for the first time, Tailgate mourned his lack of a proper mouth, that he could not map the rough yet warm metal with his lips. All the same he brought one of the mech's servos up to his face. Ex-venting softly across the silver plating and offlining his optics, he rubbed his mouthguard against the warrior's palm. He swore he felt a fission of thrill race through the other' ever-controlled field, a little zing! that wiggled under his plating and straight to his spark.

"... I invoke the gifts of the Guiding Hand," Cyclonus began, "so that I might be worthy of the one I will call my own."

He first dipped a claw in the indigo paint. Meanwhile his other servo came up to brace Tailgate's leg, as carefully and reverently as if the other might break at the lightest touch. Bending his helm, he traced a careful and precise path beginning at the tip of the white pede. Delicate, winding patterns and ancient glyphs that the minibot could not decipher — Cyclonus painted these with all the care of a master at his craft. And as he marked the his intended, he spoke.

"I call upon Mortilus, Death-Bringer, to grant me strength. Strength of frame — that I might always walk by your side and protect you with all that I am. Strength of spark — that my affection may never falter. I devote myself to you wholly, and to no other."

One leg he marked, and then the other, from pede-tip to flared plating of his outer thigh. Tailgate watched in silence, marvel at the intricacy of the patterns all but stilling his venting cycles. And not once did those sharp, expert claws scrape or scratch at his plating.

— a volley of shot firing plasma lasers piercing metal energon and death in the air but not his own "Goodbye, little one." no Cyclonus no no Primus no don't leave you can't leave —

"No matter what distance or time passes between us," the minibot replied, reciting the vows the other had taught him, "no matter what designs of the gods might keep you from home, always I will wait for you, patient and faithful. I devote myself to you wholly, and to no other."

Cleaning his claws as he had before, Cyclonus reached for the scarlet this time. He continued his path up the minibot's frame. The fiery hue shone with a glory of its own against the blue of his slim hips. Strong servos turned him around when the warrior had finished there, continuing up the plating over his spinal strut.

"I call upon Solomus, Wisdom Incarnate, to teach me faith. Faith in myself — that the strength of my convictions may never fade. Faith in you — that I might never doubt you in the face of adversity and darkness. I will never betray you in our intimacy, and put my utmost trust in you in turn."

Now and then Tailgate would feel the buffeting of the other's ex-vents against his back to tickle at his protoform. It took considerable effort not to ruffle his plating at the sensation, and his voxcoder clicked a time or two before he trusted himself to speak.

— they walk the edge between life and death the land of the divine the Afterspark home "Why take that—? Because you, Cyclonus! Pretty much the answer to everything is you." together again don't let go —

"Never will I doubt you," he breathed, "and never will I lose faith in us. No matter what trials we face together or what misunderstandings come between us, I will always choose to believe the best in you. I will never betray you in our intimacy, and put my utmost trust in you turn."

When he was turned back around, the warrior did not immediately set himself to the next task. Rather he allowed himself to bend forward until his temple was pressed against Tailgate's abdomen. His flight engines purred lightly, even more so as the minibot took advantage of the opportunity to stroke at his crest and horns. It was a klik or two later before he finally pulled away, taking the lavender paint in hand.

"I call upon Epistemus, Knowledge Personified, to inspire me to learn. To learn every facet of you, to know you through all your triumphs and tragedies. To learn of all the virtues and sins that have forged and tempered your spirit, to see the beauty that lies therein. I open myself to you likewise, and there shall be no secret of mine left to disclose."

— the bar on Hedonia his nerves and mask go with the high grade he's a nobody he's a nobody oh Primus he's going to be found out "I sing because I miss Cybertron. It helps." maybe he's not alone —

More shivers passed through the minibot's frame as Cyclonus' claws passed up his belly. Designs were etched carefully around his vents. Every inch of his torso was painted, save for the plating over his spark chamber. Tilt his helm back so that he other might have easier access to the plating and cabling of his neck, he offlined his optics as he spoke his next line in turn.

"May each new day bring a new lesson, a new story of you. I take you as you are, for all the light and darkness in you. I vow to spend the rest of my life learning every inch of your frame, of your spark. I open myself to you likewise, and there shall be no secret of mine left to disclose."

Teal was the next color to grace his frame. Cyclonus' servo trailed up his arm, claws lingering a moment to dip beneath his wrist plating and stroke at cabling and protoflesh. The little squeak that pulled from Tailgate's voxcoder inspired a chuckle from him. He nuzzled at the minibot's crest this time as he took hold of the smaller mech's elbow. From the arch of his shoulder armor to the tips of his servos he painted, the teal as bright and vibrant as the sky the smaller mech had witnessed on the day of his forging.

"I call upon Adaptus, He Who Is Blessed with an Infinity of Shapes, to move me to change. To change, to never become complacent and take for granted the blessings I have been given. To change for the sake of you who inspires the best in me, to rise above my fears and misgivings to be the mech you deserve. All that I was, all that I am, all that I shall become — I proffer myself to you, freely and willingly."

— he can't let Cyclonus die for him not again "I don't want you to leave me." he's going to have him this time "But Cyberutopia..." even if it kills him "... is nothing without you." —

Oh, slag it all, but how he wanted to simply wrap himself in the warrior's embrace at that moment. Were it not for the paint still drying on his frame, Tailgate might have done just that, the solemnity of the rites be damned!

— "I knew you'd find me." —

"To change is the birthright of all born of our Creator. Transformation, adaptation, compromise — there can be no lasting peace or love without them. So, if we must change, we will do so together. All that I was, all that I am, all that I shall become — I proffer myself to you, freely and willingly."

For just a nanoklik, the minibot swore he saw a shimmer in Cyclonus' optics. Was the old and hardened warrior about to—? No, he could not possibly be—

— "New deal. Never again. No separation, no goodbyes. Never again." —

Before he could manage more than a glance of his intended's face, however, the mech had already looked away to take the fifth and last canister — a color of sunlight, rosy and golden as the dawn. Ever so slowly he painted over the smaller's mech's face and helm. Only his chest plating was left bared when Cyclonus finished his work at last.

"And at the last, I call upon Primus, Giver of Light and Life, to light my path and bind me eternally to these vows. Tailgate of Rivets Field..."

Taking his wrist, Cyclonus pressed the minibot's servo flat upon his chest plating. The warrior held it fast there with his own servo laying over his, thumb feathering over the white plating. Tailgate could feel the pulsing-spin of his ancient spark beneath, alive and well. When their optics met again, all of Tailgate's breath left him in a rush. Not since the Benzene Cluster had he seen that look: that spark-breaking mess of vulnerability and fear and hope he had hoped never to be the cause of again.

— "Shut up. Shut up and let me say this while you're still around to hear it. Because I don't care: real, fake, alive, dead... I love you." —

"... will you take me as your conjunx endura?"

Though there was a stinging in own optics, there was no hesitation in the minibot now as he mirrored Cyclonus. The other's servo was large enough to nearly engulf his chassis, and Tailgate's spark fairly thrummed beneath it.

"I will," he answered, strong and clear and more sure of anything than he had ever been in his life, "if you'll take me as yours."

"I will," the warrior breathed in turn. He lifted Tailgate's servo and butted his helm lightly against it. Then he pressed a proper kiss there, fangs scraping and catching at plating and delicate circuitry. "I will. I will..."

All of a sudden he lifted the minibot in his arms. His helm bent so that he could bury his face at the juncture of Tailgate's neck and shoulder. Whispers of praise and love were left there as Cyclonus' long strides made short the distance to the washrack, Tailgate answering with his own soft sighs and wandering digits over the back of his conjunx's — his conjunx, his conjunx! — helm.

Those clawed servos, so careful and worshipful in their caresses, left him only to set a hot solvent running from the showerhead. The larger mech guided them both under the stream, shifting now and then to help clean the other. A light hiss escaped Tailgate at the heat of it though he knew it was necessary to seal in the colors and designs the warrior had so lovingly marked upon him. Cyclonus soothed away the slight pain with a kiss against his cheek, stroking down his shoulders and back.

Steam gathered on his visor and obscured his vision, and yet still he could see the rivulets as the excess pigment was washed away. He was reminded of the colorful mixed drinks Swerve would whip up from time to time. For a few brief moments a liquid rainbow flowed over his white plating. What was left behind had him speechless, and when he glanced up he saw that same awe shared in Cyclonus' face.

Elegant lines covered him from helm to pede. Colors that would only grow more vibrant in the cycles to come stood out starkly from his blue-and-white plating. Every vow they had made to one another was embodied in every glyph, every pattern, every inch of Tailgate's frame — a living display of the bonds now solidified between them.

Well, almost solidified.

A few kliks later, Cyclonus took his time in toweling him down. Now and then he would stop to let his claws and gaze linger over a spot on the minibot's frame. As if he were imprinting the image on his processor, as if he were afraid he would wake up to find all of this a dream. Yet Tailgate reassured him at every turn, stroking and nuzzling every part of his conjunx that he could reach.

"I'm here," he murmured as he pressed himself against the other's front. "I'm right here."

This time Tailgate took the lead. Tugging on the warrior, he guided them both towards the berth. Lying back, Cyclonus took the minibot with him, arms wrapped so tight around the smaller frame. White servos came up to cradle either side of the other's helm, thumbs trailing around the edges of the gaps in the warrior's cheeks. Both shuddered, their fields begin to entangle as their frames already had.

Tailgate stroked coaxingly over the seams of the other's chest plating, and a moment later they parted to reveal the bright crimson of his lover's spark. He wasted no time in baring his own blue one. A light moan escaped him as their coronae met, their light filling the gloom where the glow of incense had long faded.

"I love you," the warrior whispered, optics as bright as his spark lifting his helm so that their temples touched. "I love you."

"Oh, Cyclonus," he breathed, pulling a husky cry from the other as he finally pushed their chests together. "I love you, too..."

And, at long last, they were one.

#cygate #cyclonus #tailgate #maccadam #the lost light #transformers

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blizzweirdo · 6 years

Text

“No Omen, No Country’s Cause” Ch. 11

Sorry this is late, y’all. I became suddenly ill this weekend, and I’m still pretty x_x Hopefully this chapter is not weird because of it. I wanted this chapter to be dual perspective, but it just didn’t happen. This chapter follows Marín as she inadvertently discovers Nova’s mission and defends the Tyrador system against the UED, Stukov, and the Tal’darim.

Marín couldn’t sleep. In the darkness of her quarters, she laid staring at the grey, metallic ceiling above her. She tried to count the rivets to calm her mind, but she kept going back to the battle ahead and the plans, and choices they had made. Marín was still disheartened by their decision to not help Stukov. Asking for help from Artanis and Vorazun would even the odds, but they would need extra time for the evacuations of both Tyrador IX and VIII, and Stukov’s help would increase the UED’s momentum. Other than the protoss, nothing had really changed on their side. Her fleet had been able to replace what they had lost (and were working to add to the fleet), but the Republic had not—they had lost a lot of their production when Tarsonis was captured. The shadowy Moebius Corp. was the only fleet that had increased its number, pulling resources from somewhere beyond Umojan and Republic territories. Marín had encountered possessed Moebius troops during the End War. Controlled and abandoned by Amon, those who hadn’t died had been left to the Void. But Valerian still owned the laboratories and had a majority share in the company. He quietly began recruiting again when the dust settled—another sketchy detail that had been exposed by her government, the Umojans. With such mercurial allies and unpredictable enemies, the battle for the Tyrador system left her uneasy.

Marín looked at the clock on her nightstand. It was three hours before she was due on the bridge. She decided she would go ahead and get up. She slipped quietly out of bed, trying not to disturb Vermaak who slumbered next to her. His sleep was untroubled by worry; he was steadfast in his duty and unquestioning of his orders in a way that she was not. Snoring like the engine of his vulture, he didn’t even move as she grabbed a uniform from the cabinet, dressed quietly in the bathroom, grabbed her datapad, and left.

As she neared the lift to the bridge, she found herself going back over Stukov’s extraction plan and the information he had included about his son—what he looked like and where he was being held. Stukov had identified a crucial weakness in the carriers which could be exploited in other ways, and even an abortive attempt would have most likely put him on their side. She had toyed with going slightly rogue and assembling a rescue herself with those loyal to her—Ahlberg, Barre, Jansa—but if any of them were lost because of it, she couldn’t live with herself. Disobeying Augustin was also something that she was loathe to do.

The night bridge crew greeted her with surprise. She told them that nothing was wrong; she was just going to her office—but then she was distracted by what the bridge crew was watching. Projected holographically was a field of thousands of golden orbs, glistening in the light of Tyrador’s distant star.

“Is that the protoss minefield?”

“Yes,” a commander on the watch said, “the last few are being set now.”

“This is Karax, phasesmith to the Golden Armada. The last mines are away. Initiating shadow mode.” The globes disappeared in a wave of gossamer colors as if they had never been there. Marin stood staring, trying to pick them out against the dark of space. But she of course could not. The orbs were undetectable

Marín had always been in awe of the protoss and their technology. Umoja had always been slightly more advanced than the other terran colonies, but the protoss made them all look like Neanderthals. And despite the Olympian task they had undertaken—enclosing both planets with a self-replicating shield of mines—they were ahead of schedule. Marín walked into her office and sat down at her desk, pulling up all the Core Fleet requisitions for the battled ahead. It didn’t hurt to make sure that there were no mistakes. She thumbed through them, page by page. But then she stopped; something wasn’t right. Among the orders was one for her wraith—and not for her use. She didn’t normally even submit a requisition for it; it wasn’t even in the normal manifest. The authorization code that had been used was hers, but there was no pilot attached. Her wraith was set to be prepped and launched in thirty minutes—before both she and Jansa were on duty.

Marín activated the comm unit on her desk to see if she could get in touch with the engineer that was slated to oversee the hangar at that time. There was no response. A feeling of foreboding set in, and she wasn’t sure why. It was most likely a mistake. A weird one, but a mistake. Someone missed a digit somewhere—or I did—and the wrong bird was pulled. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that multiple mistakes would have had to have been made for something like this to happen, which made it very unlikely that it had been an accident.

She called Jansa in her quarters. The comm rang more than a dozen times before Jansa answered. When she did, it was obvious that Marín had woken her. Her light-blond, curly hair that was usually trussed into a tight bun, radiated from her round face like a halo from a medieval Earth painting.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dani said grumpily.

“Is that any way to speak to your commanding officer?” Marín said sarcastically.

“Do you know what time it is, Admiral?”

“That’s better… You know anything about someone else needing to fly my wraith?” Dani looked at her drowsily, not really fully comprehending what she was saying.”

“No…”

“There’s a requisition in for it, and I didn’t place it. Will you meet me in the hangar? It’s slated to leave in twenty-five minutes.”

“What?” She said, still confused. “Okay? I’ll… I’ll be down there in a minute. I gotta… get on pants.”

“Yes, that’d be a good idea. See you in five?”

“Eh. Yeah.”

Jansa ended the call. Marín stood to walk to the door, but she hesitated. Thinking better of it, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and took out her stun pistol, affixing it to her belt. She wasn’t sure what she would find when she got there, but she didn’t want to be caught by surprise.

Marín met Jansa outside the hangar. Jansa hadn’t taken the time to pull back her hair. It bobbed as she jogged down the hallway. She finished fastening her coveralls as she stood next to Marín.

“Show me this requisition order.” Marín handed Jansa her datapad. Jansa looked at the order. “That’s your authorization code. But no pilot? How would you even make an order like that in the database? It shouldn’t let you.”

“I know. That’s what I thought.”

Marín and Jansa walked into the hangar bay. It was still early, and so it was eerily quiet.

“Who’s on duty right now?” Marín asked.

“Uh, Erik, I think. Let’s see who’s in the shack.”

The shack was what Jansa called her office, which was a large shipping container that she had converted for her use and shared with the other engineers. Jansa entered, followed by Marín. There were shelves lining either side of the windowless room with random parts and scrap stuffed into every inch. Cables hung from above and everything was covered in oil.

“You know, you could get someone to clean in here. We have people who do that.”

“I did!” Their camaraderie was interrupted by Jansa’s yelp of surprise. On the floor behind her desk was Erik, her night subordinate. He was out cold. Marín checked his pulse.

“He’s breathing. His pulse seems fine. He doesn’t look injured…”

“I’m going to call a med—”

There was a sudden crash from outside in the hangar. Both women instinctively crouched down lower.

“What was that?” Jansa whispered.

“Do you have a surveillance feed?”

Jansa quietly stepped over Erik and pulled up the hangar’s security feed on her console. The perspective flipped a few times before it landed on Marín’s wraith. A tall, blonde woman in the uniform of a Terran Republic ghost was preparing to board it. She was stooping over to pick up her rifle and lean it against the wraith again. It must have fallen over. The wraith was not on the path of the launch rack yet and was still resting on its docking supports.

“Do you recognize--?”

“No idea who that is. You stay here. I’m going to go find out.”

Marin took her pistol from her belt and slowly and quietly made her way out of the shack. She crept towards her wraith, ducking behind liberators, banshees, and tanks while keeping in line of sight of her wraith. Carefully, she inched forward, making sure to keep an eye on the ghost. If she didn’t, the woman could cloak and get the best of her. Between them was the rack’s deep-set track, yellow “DO NOT STAND” sings on either side of it. The woman continued to place items in the wraith—grenades and other armaments, she realized—until Marín was a few meters from her. She raised her pistol.

“Hands up! Put your hands where I can see them!”

The woman’s shoulder’s slumped, and she let out an annoyed sigh.

“You Umojans sure are a nuisance.”

“I’m going to be a ‘nuisance’ to anyone who injures my people and tries to steal my bird. Turn around and face me—slowly.”

The woman turned. Her goggles were down, but the coldness of her gaze made Marín’s stomach flutter.

“Kick the gun towards me…”

The woman deftly touched her rifle with the tip of her boot and pushed it towards Marín. It skipped over the launch rack’s grooved path in the floor and slid next to her.

“You’re making a mistake,” the woman said. “I have an important mission. And I’ve been ordered to let no one stand in my way—even you, Admiral Marín.”

“Why do you need my wraith? How did you get my authorization codes? I need to know now.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”

Marín felt invisible fingers tightening around her neck. She took a deep breath while she still could and fired at her. The woman tipped Marín’s hand at the last moment, and the shot went wide. The ghost angrily stepped forward, tightening her telekinetic grip on Marín’s throat and taking her weapon out of her hand. Marín’s vision started to tunnel. But then there was a sudden rush of wind and a deafening roar—and the woman and the sensation of being strangled were gone. Marín took in gasping breaths and looked around. The woman was lying in a heap on the floor several meters away. The booster on the launch rack had engaged without the wraith and had hit her. Then the emergency brake had engaged because the hangar door was closed, catapulting the woman down the hangar. She should have been much further away than she had landed. In the seconds before the impact, the woman must have been able to telekinetically slow the rack. Marín heard Jansa’s heavy boots pounding the hangar deck as she ran to her.

“That was quick thinking.”

“I was just waiting for that bitch to step on that track.”

Marín laughed and started coughing. “You call that med team?”

“No…”

“Well, call them now and tell them we need some psi disrupter restraints. Let’s get whoever this is patched up and maybe we can get an explanation out of her.”

As the med team came in, Jansa directed them around, leaving Marín to sit on the floor and rest. Her neck was badly bruised, and it was still hard for her to breathe. She watched as they loaded the ghost onto a gravsled gurney, restraining her and putting a psi disrupter collar around her neck. A nurse came, scanned Marín’s neck, and gave her an injection for pain, telling her she’d be fine. Marín got up, retrieved her datapad from the shack, and followed the gurney to the med bay. Ahlberg, her XO, was waiting outside. His face was flushed as if he had ran all the way there. He had obviously dressed quickly; the asymmetrical zipper on his uniform jacket was unzipped.

“I got a call… You were down…”

“I’m okay, thanks to Dani.”

The gurney passed by him as they glided her into the med bay. His eyes widened.

“Is that a Terran Republic ghost?”

“Looks like it.”

“They sent her to assassinate you?” Ahlberg said angrily. “Did Horner do this? I’ll bet it was Valerian! What do they think they are doing sending…” Marín watched as his blood pressure started to rise, the reddening of his skin even visible under the short-cropped hair at his temples.

“Anders. We have no idea why she’s here, and I have no idea what her mission was. And I’m going to need your help finding out.” She slapped his broad chest with her datapad. He reflexively caught it. “Go in there and get her prints and run them through the Republic database. I doubt anything will come up, but even a response of ‘classified’ will tell us whether she was actually working for them or not. I’m going to call Vermaak. I need a shadowguard down here.”

“Right!” Ahlberg stomped into the med bay. Marín put her hand to one of the unbroken line of touchscreens that ran along every hallway on Umojan ships. A UI popped up on screen, recognizing her handprint. She opened a comm to her own quarters. A brief thought came to her: Why did Vermaak not come to the med bay? Surely someone thought to tell him I had been injured. But maybe not. It was logical to notify her second if she was incapacitated, but not “next of kin.” She hadn’t died, after all.

Vermaak sleepily answered the call, shirtless and having just rolled out of bed.

“Hello?”

“Hey, uh, there’s been an incident down here. I need a shadowguard.”

“What? What do you need a shadowguard for?” Vermaak said, his eyes narrowing.

“We had a security breach. There’s a Republic ghost down here that was messing with my wraith…” Vermaak looked irritated, which Marín thought was odd. “She attacked me.”

“She what?” he exclaimed. There. That’s the right reaction. He paused for a moment and sighed. “I’ll send Baze. Where are you?”

“Med bay. They’re working on the ghost right now.”

“Okay. I’m coming down there.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“Fine. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Vermaak started struggling into his uniform as he cut the comm. Marín wandered back into the med bay, questioning the doctor on call about the ghost’s status. She learned that she had a few broken ribs and a slight concussion, but that she would be fine in a few moments. As a precaution, they were keeping her heavily sedated. “Baze” arrived soon after. Marín was not familiar with any of the shadowguards on her own vessel, which was by design. She could make requests for their deployment, but they were under Vermaak and Oyaleni’s control. Even then, shadowguards would sometimes deny requests from them because of their own internal command structure. No one knew any of them on sight, no one knew their true leader, and no one knew their real names. He appeared in traditional shadowguard garb with a mask and breathing apparatus obscuring his face. She had probably seen him before in the mess, cleaning the deck, Or, heck, pouring me a pint in the bar. All of them live on the ship, and I have no idea who they are in their “real” lives—if their more mundane lives are their “real” ones.

“Baze?”

“Good morning, Admiral.” She shook his hand as he calmly extended it. All of his movements were controlled. He was short but lithe, his presence ominous in his black environment suit. “This is her? The Republic ghost?”

“Well, we’re not entirely sure of where she came from, but her uniform would suggest it. I was hoping you could… Get something from her.”

“I can try. She’s sedated?”

“Yes, and we have a disrupter collar on her.”

“You’re going to have to take that off… It will disrupt me as well.”

“I can’t do that…”

“But I can activate her neural inhibitor… Take her down a few notches.”

“What’s that?”

“The Dominion implanted most ghosts with inhibitors as a way to shut them down if they go AWOL. We don’t use them, but we also don’t brainwash our operatives, so they… Don’t tend to go rogue as often. I can activate and tune it to try and shut down her defenses. We used to do this if we got in range of Dominion ghosts all the time—but you have to get really close.”

Marín considered this for a moment. She was unconscious, so it should be okay to take them off.

“Remove the collar please, nurse.” Once it was removed, Baze pulled up a chair next to her bed. He removed a small tool from his pocket and placed it against her forehead. It buzzed slightly. The ghost’s brow furrowed.

“I’ve activated the inhibitor. Now, let’s take a stroll…” He sat there unmoving for several minutes. Marín didn’t know what to do with herself. Could she speak to him? Was she disturbing him? She locked the outside med bay door and ordered the nurses away. Finally, he sat back in the chair. He shook himself briskly, as if waking from a deep sleep.

“Anything?” She said. He sighed.

“This is a dangerous girl. I… Haven’t seen someone like this in a long time.”

“What do you mean by ‘dangerous?’”

“PI of somewhere around ten, more or less.”

“What? That’s…”

“Extremely high. The highest, actually. Her name is Nova. The mission wasn’t about you. Something about the zerg? That’s all I’ve got. Sorry.”

“That’s better than nothing.”

“And you’d better get that collar back on her. That inhibitor won’t be enough once she’s awake.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“If you need anything else, let me know… And if you end up keeping her around…”

“Yes?”

“I’d like some time with her… Just to see what someone like that… Is like.”

“I’m not keeping her on this boat any longer than I have to, sorry.”

“Understood.”

Baze left quickly. Ahlberg slipped back in through the door as he was leaving. Marín called a nurse in to replace the psi disrupter collar.

“Was that… a shadowguard?”

“Yeah, I thought one might help.”

“Did he?”

“Yes and no. You get anything?”

“I confirmed she has a record. It appears to be Dominion, so she’s been active a long time. And, of course, it’s classified.” He returned the datapad to her.

“Sounds like Horner and I need to have a little chat.”

“You think he ordered this?”

“No, but he has to at least have known about it.” Marín looked at her datapad. The UED fleet was due to attack in thirty minutes. She needed to be on the bridge. “Let’s get out of here.” Marín told the nurse on duty to call her if Nova awoke.

Just then, Vermaak entered. She waved Ahlberg on.

“Is that the ghost?”

“The one that tried to strangle me? Yeah.”

“Strangle you?” Vermaak said, more loudly than he intended. “Are you okay?”

“Some bruises, but you probably can’t see them now.” Vermaak stroked her neck gently.

“Faintly. They’re there. What did she want?”

“My wraith? I don’t know what for.”

“Why didn’t you call me,” Vermaak said. “I would have dealt with it. Security here is my concern.”

“There wasn’t time.” For the first time since it happened, Marín allowed herself to be scared. The attack, she realized, would be something that would haunt her. She was used to gunfire, she was used to death, but psionic powers were something that were outside her frame of reference. They were something invisible and unobservable; they were something she felt shouldn’t exist like magic or the supernatural. But the fingers around her throat had been as real as if they were Nova’s fingers, her flesh-and-blood hand at her throat. Noticing her fear, Vermaak pulled her in and held her.

“You’re fine. You and Jansa handled it. But…” There’s always the “but,” Marín thought. “You need to quit going off on your own. You’re the commander of the Core Fleet. People depend on you. You can’t go off in your wraith or walk right up to a ghost. Let your people handle it. That’s what we’re here for.” She pushed him gently away.

“I had no idea there would be a Terran Republic ghost waiting for me in the hangar bay. That wasn’t me ‘going off on my own.’”

“I know. But you worry me.”

“And I worry about you. And you’re right. I have people depending on me. I need to be on the bridge right now, actually.”

“Yep. Next time someone tries to requisition your wraith, you’ll talk to me, okay?”

“Yes, fine.” She squeezed his hand, “I’ll see you later.”

Marín left and headed towards the bridge. The UED would appear soon, but she needed to talk to Horner. Something nagged her as she entered the lift to the bridge. “Next time someone tries to requisition your wraith…” Did I tell him that? I don’t remember. I must have, she thought.

As she walked onto the bridge, she felt ready to confront Horner.

“Barre, get me the Hyperion.”

“Aye.”

“Oh, please bite his head off. Please, Admiral. That’s something I need to see,” Ahlberg said from the other side of the bridge. She shushed him.

Horner’s face appeared above the holographic war table.

“Admiral Marín, what can I do for you?”

Keeping her face as neutral as possible, she began her interrogation. “You could answer some questions. Do you know a ghost… By the name of Nova? I believe she’s one of yours?” Horner went white and suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “That’s what I thought. What were her orders?”

“I’m… Not at liberty to say…”

Marín could feel the anger rising in her. She had a lot of respect for Horner, but she had no time for him hiding behind whatever security the Terran Republic had hiding this mission.

“You’re the president-in-exile of the Terran Republic. If you’re not at ‘liberty,’ then who is? Is Valerian who’s really in charge of the Republic’s fleet? Wait, you know what? It doesn’t really matter. Because both of you are in a lot of trouble. Your ghost assaulted a flag officer, which makes you in violation of our treaty.”

The bridge crew started murmuring behind her. Barre looked on with rapt attention. He’s always been a gossip. He’ll get out the popcorn in a minute.

“What? Who?” Horner shouted, panicked.

“Me! You sent her here to steal my wraith and you didn’t think I’d figure it out? What the hell do you want with it, anyway?”

“The mission… It didn’t involve you; you weren’t the target. You have the last working wraith in the fleet, and that’s what Nova needed for the mission…”

“What mission?”

“To… Eliminate Stukov.”

“You can’t help him, but you’ll kill him? How was she going to do that?”

“Nova… Was going to use your wraith to get close to his vessel if he got past the minefield. Moebius’s techs figured out how Stukov was seeing through our cloaking technology. She… made some modifications to it... Even without them, after your meeting with him, Nova thought she could bluff her way onboard… Her mission was to get on the Aleksander and take him out. With the new cloaking system and her abilities, he wouldn’t have known what hit him.”

“So, not only were you going to have her use my wraith, but you were also going to have her impersonate me and squander what good will I had been able to build with Admiral Stukov?”

“I wouldn’t… put it that way… Look, it wasn’t my idea.”

“If it wasn’t, does she work for the Terran Republic or Moebius?”

“Neither. Both? Mostly Valerian.”

“Well, that explains a lot. I could think of a thousand better uses for a ghost that powerful…”

As she said it, half of an idea came to her.

“Look, I’ll recall and reprimand her. I admit… Valerian’s getting a bit out of hand.”

“No, she’s staying here until she can answer for her crimes. And she’s in no shape to go anywhere anyway. We’ll discuss the ramifications of Valerian’s actions when we’re not about to battle the UED. And the next time you two rub what few braincells you have together and come up with something stupid like that again, maybe inform your allies, okay? Marín out.”

She made a motion across her throat for Barre to end the transmission. Ahlberg started clapping slowly.

“That’s just like the Dominion… I mean the Terran Republic. Just do whatever they want whenever they want and deal with the consequences later.”

“We’ll just have to remember that when it’s our turn,” Marín said.

“We got that on video, right? I mean, on the bridge recorder?” Barre said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna watch that again later. Maybe do an edit…”

“Please don’t. Okay, enough. How much time’s on the clock?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Get us a visual, Barre.”

The visual feed above the war table changed to that of the “minefield” outside, hidden from view, and the protoss fleet sitting just behind it. Beside them was the combined might of Moebius, the Terran Republic, and the Umojan Protectorate. For the first time, she felt as though they had a chance. And if they successfully defended the Tyrador system, they could push the fleet back to Tarsonis, cut off their supply chains, and force them to surrender there.

She addressed the fleet as she always did, and let the clock run down. Right on schedule, UED ships began slamming into view on the other side of the minefield as they dropped out of FTL. Karax had positioned them in such a way that getting any closer in FTL would be perilous because of the two planets’ gravity wells. Beside them, bloated leviathans appeared, and the flying monsters of the zerg. She knew that among the battlecruisers, infested ships, and leviathans was the Aleksander. And just hours ago, they had been discussing a peaceful accord. But once again, they were on opposite sides of the conflict.

“Hold, everyone. Wait until they’ve entered the minefield.”

The UED ships first started striking the mines. A few battlecruisers were taken out. A science vessel tried to EMP a small area but ended up EMPing a few of his compatriots—the ships were too packed together for EMP to work effectively and any mines struck by a EMP were replaced through replication by a neighbor. The zerg units held back, as if considering their options. Or waiting for something.

Another vessel, large and dark, dropped out of FTL. Its black hull and the clutter of UED ships around it made it take her a few moments to recognize it—the vessel was a Tal’darim mothership.

“The Tal’darim?”

Gasps of horrified surprise echoed across the bridge. At the same time, Tal’darim interceptors began launching from the mothership, creating a cloud of destruction in the minefield. The rest of the Tal’darim fleet, starting with void rays, began warping in behind the mothership. And then, suddenly, the Mothership was gone. All at once, the Uhuru’s visual field changed.

“Barre, what am I looking at—,”she said, then realized what the red glow that was taking up the entire holographic image was: the underbelly of the Tal’darim mothership. “They blinked right on top of us! Get us out of here!” Proximity klaxons began ringing, and liberators started screaming by chasing the Tal’darim interceptors. “Fall back!” As the Uhuru backed away, Marín’s hope for Tyrador began to fade.

#no omen no country's cause #tal'darim #alarak #starcraft #starcraft2 #starcraft 2 #alexei stukov #stukov #valerian mengsk #valerian #nova terra #matt horner #matthew horner #brood war

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