⁅𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄⁆—⁅𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋⁆

[innerwarx]

I enjoy the wild things, Call me at 3 am and tell me you're waiting at my door. Give me sunsets in different cities and road trips on dirt tracks not sighted on maps. Whiskey for breakfast & cheap thrills for dinner. Give me happiness in a smile and nothing of certainty but the way we make each other feel. There is so much life in living while you're alive & I’d give absolutely anything to have it all with you.

                    𝐸𝑢𝑝ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑎 ❛ 𝐸𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑒 ❜ 𝑅𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟, 𝑛𝑒𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒  — ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏɢᴜᴇ ʜᴇɪʀ,                                          thirty-seven year old war correspondent and co-owner of 𝑅𝑒𝑑 𝑉𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑡 𝐵𝑢𝑟𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑒.

ＡＮＡＬＹＳＩＳ  ↔   ;     ANCILLARY. HEADCANONS. WANTED. 

[innerwarx]

what women may do — marco + euphemia.

location.   effie’s   apartment   in   chinatown.   |   time.   seven-thirty p.m.   |   for.    marco   ricci.  

       “Before  you  do  anything,  try  this  and  tell  me  what  you  think.”​

        It  was  too  easy  with  him,  too  easy  to  smile  and  surrender  to  this  facsimile  of  domesticity.  an  illusion  with  no  definite  lines  in  the  sand,  no  strings  attached.  That  was  what  she  wanted  right?  Except  she  was  violating  her  own  accord.  Guilty  of  treasonous  thoughts   of  some  shared  cookie  cutter  future  that  neither  of  them  currently  wanted,  let  alone  were  ready  for.  

        It  was  too  easy  standing  in  front  of  the  stove  with  a  spoon  in  her  hand  like  it  was  an  extension  of  her  arm,  stirring  a  method  around  in  the  sizzling  cheese  sneaking  out  the  sides  of  the  bread.  She  was  made  for  this,  the  care,  the  softness  that  she  hadn’t  allowed  herself  to  feel  after  separating  from  her  husband  ——  she  was  perfectly  fine  alone,  but  the  last  seven  years  had  been  a  wonder  to  come  back  to  actual  home  with  someone  she  loved  dearly  waiting  for  her.  Now  she  had  made  a  friend  of  another  man  ——  and  a  lover  of  him  as  well;  all  the  pleasures  without  the  consequences  (  and  so  if  there  was  a  peace  huddled  into  the  cusp  of  her  sternum,  then  that  was  surely  the  cause  ——  and  not  the  feather-breath  brush  of  lips  up  her  exposed  neck  ).  “I  may  not  be  a  hot  shot  chef  like  you,  but  I’m  no  fucking  slouch  okay  ——  I  got  this.”  She  shrugged  into  the  wedging  of  the  spatula  turning  beneath  the  crisped-golden  edge  of  the  bread  to  push  it  onto  the  other  side.  It  was  all  brilliant,  butter-gleaming  along  with  the  cheddar  tilting  toward  that  melting  ooze  that  strung  between  teeth  and  tasted  and  felt  like  comfort.        

        There  was  no  hint  of  black  in  the  brown;  the  half  of  the  bun  casing  the  simplicity  and  perfection  of  a  grilled  cheese  sandwich  done  right  was  all  bronzed,  brushed  from  end  to  end  with  the  right  amount  of  coating.  Euphemia  nudged  the  edge  of  it,  testing  the  give  of  the  filling,  noting  the  soggy  corners  still  pressed  flat  to  the  warm  part  of  the  skillet.  “My  sister  taught  me  this  when  she  used  to  take  care  of  me  since  I  hated  our  nannies  and  would  raise  all  kinds  of  hell  ——  anyway,  she’s  always  been  a  perfectionist  and  even  when  it  came  to  grilled  cheese  she  absolutely  dominated.  Till  this  day  it’s  been  my  lifelong  comfort  meal.”          

[innerwarx]

prodigal — olivia + euphemia.

location.   ricci’s.   |   time.   six-forty-five p.m.   |   for.    olivia   pratt.

         Improvised  dinners  with  her  older  sister  was  as  close  to  civil  as  Euphemia  came  to  family  members  without  expecting  anything  in  return.  Sure,  there  were  Christmas  cards  and  birthday  text  messages,  but  she  did  her  best  to  otherwise  distance  herself  from  the  Barlowe  family.  Casual  conversation  was  one  thing,  but  intimate  dinners  with  anyone  other  than  her  sister  sounded  like  absolute  torture  (  and  really,  as  difficult  as  Olivia  was,  Effie  adored  her,  understood  her,  knew  she  did  the  best  that  she  could    ).  So  there  she  sat  at  their  usual  restaurant  (  Ricci’s  )  and  their  usual  table  (  a  comfortable  distance  from  any  windows  to  avoid  the  paps  )  with  a  glass  of  wine  and  the  menu  folded  in  front  of  her.

          When  her  sister  did  make  her  appearance,  Effie  smiled  from  her  seat  and  lifted  her  glass  as  if  to  toast  Olivia’s  entrance.  Starting  without  her  didn’t  bother  Effie  in  the  least,  especially  after  the  day  she  had  ——  there  wasn’t  much  use  in  waiting  around  when  their  dinners  tended  to  go  the  same  way.  Despite  that,  she  continued  showing  up  and  enjoyed  a  few  hours  in  the  multi-hyphenate’s  company.    

          As  Olivia  made  herself  comfortable,  Effie  indicated  the  menu  in  front  of  her  but  not  before  she  examined  her  sister  throughly;  taking  in  the  smallest  of  changes.  “Don’t  worry,  I  haven’t  ordered  yet.”  Save  for  the  wine,  but  she  assumed  Olivia  would  be  able  to  figure  that  out  on  her  own.  And  thus,  Effie  was  thrust  into  her  least  favorite  part  of  dinner  ——  the  mind-numbing  small  talk  between  them  before they  would  actually  cut  to  the  chase  concerning  why  they  really  were  here.  "The  brown  looks  good  on  you…"  She  braced  herself,  kept  her  smile  on  with  practiced  ease,  "brings  out  your  eyes.  You  should  keep  it  that  way  for  a  while.”

        Her  fingertips  undid  the  button  of  her  neatly  pressed  black  silk  button-up  blouse,  thumb  inching  between  the  threads  with  a  deftness  and  purpose  that  almost  belied  the  taunt  wire  of  her  muscles  and  the  exhausted  ache  that  threatened  to  take  over.  Cupping  the  base  of  her  wine  glass  between  her  fingers,  half-filled,  Effie  kept  her  pale  eyes  trained  on  her  sister’s  body  language;  searching  for  the  things  she  already  knew  that  Liv  would  never  dare  say.  It  was  a  trait  they  shared  ——  being  reluctant  to  talk  about  their  more  emotional  difficult  circumstances;  though  for  completely  distinctive  reasons.  “...so,  really,  how  have  you  been?” 

[chewbacca]

VEEP (2012-2019) 3.09 • “Crate”