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lumelii · 3 years

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PANDA ~|~ NANAMI x FEM!READER

Summary: Nanami and Yuuji stop into the local bakery. Nanami finds something he wants that’s off the menu.

Content warning: fluff, little bit of pining, child-parent relations, singledad!Nanami

Note: thanks again to Moni for beta-reading 🥰

word count: 1.6k

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“Daddy! Look!”

It was a bakery they had passed multiple times on the way home, living just next door to it. It was small, tucked into one half of the ground floor of the low building it occupied, sharing a wall with a pharmacy. It served reasonably priced pastries and sandwiches, as well as some of the best coffee in Tokyo. Nanami usually took Yuuji there once or twice a month and let him pick what he wanted for breakfast.

The window display was almost always the same, Nanami would have missed the slight change as he tried to juggle the various bags they had accumulated from their early Saturday morning errands if his young son hadn’t pointed it out. He looked over to see the small bag of fruit he had asked Yuuji to carry on the sidewalk, a lone apple rolling away while his son stood on his tiptoes, his nose practically pressed to the glass.

Instead of the standard fare on the very top shelf, there was a row of buns in the shapes of various animals, with different fillings for each shape written neatly on cards next to each. Nanami had to admire the work, they were incredibly detailed.

“It’s a panda!” Yuuji looked back at Nanami and pointed at the aforementioned bun in the middle. “Can we get one?”

Nanami caught himself before denying Yuuji outright. He had been especially good today when they were running their errands, not complaining once as his father dragged him through town and entertaining himself in the various shops without getting into trouble. And they could go to the park later so Yuuji could run off his energy. A little sugar wouldn’t kill him.

“Sure. Go pick up your bag, though.” He pointed to the forgotten paper bag.

Yuuji quickly ran to pick up the bag (as well as the apple, adding it back to the bag before Nanami could tell him no), and grabbed his father’s hand to all but pull him into the bakery. It wasn’t as crowded as Nanami would have thought for a Saturday morning, something for which he was grateful. When there was a crowd, Yuuji liked to use people as obstacles and run around and through them as fast as he could. Only the obstacles moved, and he usually ended up on his butt more times than he would have liked.

They were able to go straight to an empty table to drop off their shopping before moving to the counter, and after a few seconds, one of the workers packaging cookies turned around, and Nanami’s breath caught in his throat.

It wasn’t like the bakery didn’t have pretty women working there-there were several, ones who would shamelessly flirt and try to butter up Yuuji as a means to get closer to his father, but Nanami didn’t indulge or even notice them. He was polite, got what he needed, then left. He never played into whatever fantasies the cashier of the month decided to dream up.

However, this time, it was hard to remind himself of that conviction when easily the prettiest worker he had ever seen there walked up to the register and smiled at him. Was she new? She had to be new, he’d never seen her before. He would have remembered seeing someone like you.

“Hi, welcome in.” You greeted and leaned against the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“Panda!” Yuuji yelled, his nose peeking over the top of the counter as he looked at you.

“Yuuji.” Nanami scolded and picked him up so he could actually see you. “Ask politely, son.”

Yuuji smiled at him then turned to smile at you. “Can I please have a panda bun please?”

You smiled and nodded. “Of course, sir.” You replied, making him giggle. Your smile widened and you finally looked at Nanami. “And for you?”

“I’ll just have a black coffee.” Nanami didn’t think he could focus on eating without choking if you were going to be walking around the bakery.

“Me too!”

“He’ll have a hot chocolate.”

“I want what you’re having.” Yuuji pouted. Nanami sighed and turned back to the counter.

“Make mine a hot chocolate too.”

You took his money and handed him a number for the table. “Give me just a second, I’ll bring everything to your table. Make yourself at home.”

Nanami nodded and lead Yuuji away from the big display case by the register back to their table, helping him out of his heavy winter coat when he was seated safely. He tried his best to listen to his son as he talked about a dog they had seen earlier today during their shopping trip, but he was finding it very hard to focus.

His eyes kept wandering back behind the counter, watching as you made their drinks and talked with the other workers, laughing along with them at a joke someone had said. He’d never felt this kind of attraction toward another person. It was irrational. He didn’t know you. Yet he still felt that draw.

There had been other women before Yuuji had come into his life, even a few dalliances on nights when Gojou would take him out and Toji would stay home to watch the kids, just to satisfy that primal need. There was even a girlfriend at one point. But Yuuji had declared he didn’t like her after several months, and that was enough for Nanami to end the relationship. There was no point in pursuing a woman who couldn’t to get along with his son.

So why was it now, after finding contentment in being alone for so long, that all he wanted to do was go up and ask you, a complete stranger, on a date?

“You boys are lucky.” Nanami looked up and saw you were now standing next to their table, placing their to-go cups in front of them as well as Yuuji’s panda bun. “This was the second to last one.”

“Do you normally sell out quickly on the animals?” He heard himself asking, like the back of his neck wasn’t on fire right now.

“We only just started making them this week, but for the most part, yes.” You straightened from setting the food down and hugged the tray to your chest. “The red bean panda usually sells first. I suppose people are more used to the flavor.”

“What’s your name?” Yuuji asked suddenly, taking a big bite out of the head of his panda.

“I’m Y/N.” You smiled at the young boy. “What’s yours?”

Thankfully, Yuuji took the time to actually swallow his food before speaking, which was uncharacteristic of him. “My name is Yuuji.” His son said proudly. “I’m five.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Yuuji.” Your eyes turned to Nanami expectantly. “And your name?”

“His name is Dad.” Yuuji told her before Nanami could reply. She laughed, and he thought he hadn’t heard anything quite so wonderful today.

“And is that your first or last name?”

“Our last name is Nanami.” Yuuji answered again, cutting off his father as he opened his mouth to speak. “We live in the building next door.”

“Really? So I do. I just moved in. We’re neighbors.”

“Can I come visit you?” Yuuji asked excitedly.

“Yuuji, let’s not take up any more of the lady’s time.” Nanami interjected, noticing another customer had walked in, but also slightly embarrassed at his son’s oversharing.

“You’re fine, don’t worry. We already had our big morning rush.” You leaned in closer so the young boy wouldn’t hear what you were saying. “I put a shot of espresso in your cup. It should help if you need the caffeine.”

Nanami merely stared back when you pulled back and smiled again. He didn’t know how to respond to this kindness from a total stranger. You didn’t even know him, yet you spoke and cared as if you had been acquainted for a lifetime.

“Y/N!” A voice from the kitchen yelled before Nanami could open his mouth to thank you properly. “We’re almost out of spritz cookies!”

“Coming!” You yelled back and bowed slightly to Nanami. “It was nice to meet you, Dad-san.”

You were gone before he could reply. “It’s Kento.” He murmured to himself. However, Yuuji heard him and fixed him with a frown.

“Your name is Dad.” Yuuji said resolutely.

“I had a name before you came along.”

“And now it’s Dad.”

They sat quietly finishing their drinks, Yuuji swinging his legs happily as he finished his bun and watched the people coming and going in the bakery with wide, curious eyes. Nanami tried hard not to stare at you behind the counter as you worked, but his eyes kept drifting your direction of their own volition. He’d never felt this kind of pull before. He had to be imagining it. He was being irrational.

His line of vision as he watched the door to the kitchen, waiting for you to come out again after disappearing several minutes ago, was blocked when another server came up and set a brown bag with the bakery’s logo on the table. Nanami immediately picked it up and tried to hand it back.

“We didn’t order this.” He told the teenage boy.

“They’re on the house,” was all the boy said before going back behind the counter.

Nanami looked behind the counter and saw you had appeared again, now watching them. When he caught your eye, you smiled widely and gave him a small thumbs up. Looking inside the bag, there was a pair of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, along with the last panda bun. When he turned the bag to put it in with one of the larger shopping bags from their trip, the black ink of a marker caught his eye. Pulling the bag back out, he noticed the same neat handwriting from the display case.

‘Thanks for coming in, neighbor ^_^’

He was truly fucked.

tags: @oikawaandkuroostan (let me know if you want to get added to my tag list-either for this story or any of my writing!)

#growing pains #single dad!nanami #nanami x y/n #nanami kento #itadori yuuji #fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #dadami

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phykios · 3 years

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honesty and promise me, part 3 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Several more weeks and hookups later, Annabeth thinks she should probably come clean. Some people might bury it deep, and for sure, Annabeth’s considered it, but, well. It is kind of embarrassing that she didn’t know Percy’s name at first. Stuff like that doesn’t usually bother her--she’s had nameless one night stands in the past, and despite Thalia’s ribbing, she knows that Thalia doesn’t really care either. It’s just that, you know, he’s Thalia’s family, and they’ve seen each other a few more times, and they are planning to continue to see each other a few more times in the future. Or more than a few times.

Anyway, she kind of feels like she owes it to him. Like he deserves this small nugget of truth, payment for all the times he’s fucked her blind. It’s nagging at her, and she hates feeling like she owes anyone anything.

Piper certainly seemed to think so, when Annabeth had told her over their monthly brunch date.

“It’s just common courtesy at this point,” she said. “Like, what if you guys end up married and then sell your story to Hollywood, they cast my dad as the male lead, and it comes out in interviews that you didn’t know his name for like a month? He’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure which part was more ridiculous: the movie, Piper’s dad being involved, or them being married.

Anyway, sharing some of her avocado fries, Piper had reminded her that being mean wasn't very punk rock, shutting her up effectively.

She’s out on site in the Lower East Side, taking measurements for plots of land, writing down sun angles and measuring the wind velocity between the brick buildings, when she gets a text from him.

I’m on a break and I’m starving 😩 Want to grab something to eat?

It’s 2pm on a Thursday and he wants to grab something to eat. If Annabeth didn’t know any better, she’d say that that sounds like a real, honest-to-goodness, bona fide date. (Meeting up at and subsequently leaving bars together does not count as a date, she’s pretty sure. Neither do the booty calls.) He’s been getting a little free with his texts, that boy, sending her selfies and memes and questions about her day, and now this? An invitation to their first, actual date? She should block him on principle, just for the sheer audacity.

sure, wya

520 8th, text me when you get here 😁

That’s another thing: Percy loves his emojis. If this is going to continue, they’re going to need to have a serious talk about that.

She doesn’t need to text him when she gets there; he’s already outside, leaning on the stone edifice of the building like a particularly jacked rent boy in his tight t-shirt and broody look, cigarette between his fingers. The sweatpants sort of ruin the image, though. He looks particularly comfortable in a way that warms Annabeth right from the inside out. “You know, when Nico said you smoked, I honestly didn’t believe it.” she says, not even bothering to say hi.

He looks up from his phone and smiles, the sun behind his teeth. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself.” She doesn’t even hesitate--she plucks the cigarette out of his hand, taking a drag off it herself. “You been smoking for a long time?”

“Who do you think taught Thalia how?” He raises an eyebrow, bemused. “Is that a problem?”

It is, but it’s not like she can tell him that without losing some of her credibility. “Wouldn’t smoking fuck with your cardio?”

Percy shrugs, conceding. “A little. I used to be a lot worse, but I just can’t quite kick the habit. It’s mostly a stress thing, anyway.”

“Rough practice?” she asks, putting just enough effort into her lip wobble to make it abundantly clear that she’s making fun of him. “Were the other boys being mean to you because of your tights?”

He grins at her, saucy. “Annabeth Chase, do you really think that NYCB rehearses here? In the Garment District?” But he laughs before she can stammer out an answer (and thank God, she’s lived here three years and can barely keep the boroughs straight, let alone the neighborhoods). “I just wrapped up teaching a class. I don’t have to be at rehearsal until 5, I was thinking we could hang out? Bryant Park?”

A first date at the New York Public Library. She almost hates to admit it, but Percy Jackson might be kind of her dream man. “I believe I was promised food,” she sniffs, but she does hold out her hand, and when he takes it, lacing his fingers through hers, she’s sure that he can feel her heart beating, palm to palm.

Twenty minutes later they’re settled on a bench in the corner of the green, Annabeth halfway into a ham sandwich and Percy juggling a salad and an iced coffee. He’s been regaling her with tales from the more exciting side of ballet, a side she hadn’t even imagined could actually exist. “So by the time I land in Paris,” he says, taking a sip of coffee, “the guy’s foot has swollen up to, like, twice its original size, and when I finally managed to find some wifi to check my phone, there’s, like, eight missed calls from my mom and my agent, and an email from her that just says ‘READ THIS,’ in all caps, and of course the article is in French, which I didn’t really speak at the time, and I was so stressed that my ADHD made it so I couldn’t even read the Google translation, and I had to ask someone to translate it for me.”

“Oh my god,” she says, struggling to keep it in.

“And that’s how I found out that I’d been moved up to first cast in Le Corsaire, from the poor barista at a coffee shop in Charles de Gaule!” He laughs.

“That’s insane,” Annabeth says. “And the show was the next day?”

“It was that night! I had to haul ass to the opera house and get warmed up, because I was going on in about four hours. You should have seen the looks on everyone’s faces when I stumbled in, I’m sure that they all wanted to kill me.” Percy chuckles, taking a bite of leafy greens. “Now I wasn’t just the twenty-year-old upstart American, I was the twenty-year-old upstart American who skipped town when I wasn’t supposed to.”

“How did it go?”

“Killed it, of course,” he says, deservedly smug.

Despite her best efforts, she’s absolutely entranced; he’s a great storyteller. “I bet you break that story out at parties all the time, don’t you.”

He laughs. “Whatever gets the donors to open their checkbooks, right?”

“I can’t believe you lived in Paris. I’ve always wanted to see it.” She’d had a few chances to when she was in college, the semester she’d studied abroad in Rome, but she just never got around to it. Just another item on her long, long list of regrets, placed somewhere between the sketchy burrito from last week and not telling her mom to fuck off earlier when she’d had the chance. “If I were you, I’d never leave.”

Percy shrugs. “It was amazing, I won’t lie. But towards the end I just really, really missed it here. All my family is in NYC, you know? My mom, step-dad, and my sister live here, and Thalia and Nico and Hazel, too. I tried to come back and visit whenever I could, but being away from them was really hard.” There’s something soft and inviting in his expression when he says, “I’m really happy to be back home.”

“What are they like?” Annabeth asks. “Your family. Your non-mob family, I mean.”

He rolls his eyes, but he grins another one of those blinding grins, too. “My mom is the most amazing person you will ever meet. Not only did she support my dance habit, she did it as a single working mother who had to raise an angry, ADHD asshole of a son who didn’t always appreciate her. I don’t even want to know how many hours she had to work or how many scholarships and grants she had to track down in order to pay for me to go to SAB, but somehow she made it work, and managed to write her novel at the same time. She married my step-dad the summer I turned sixteen, and my baby sister was born the next year.”

Even Annabeth, cynical and black-hearted as she is, has to smile back. The love he has for his mom is so palpable, so tangible, she can practically see him glowing. “And the…” What had Thalia called them? “The ‘Cousin Consortium’?”

At that, Percy laughs, full-bellied, unrestrained. “The name was Nico’s idea. I didn’t really have many close friends when I was a kid, apart from my buddy Grover--he had to wear this really gnarly leg brace and I liked to dance, so you can imagine how much we got picked on--but we were all really close growing up, since our dads were all assholes. They may have left us emotionally scarred, but at least we had each other’s backs the whole time.”

This is a very Percy thing, she’s starting to realize: he can not and will not hold back on his feelings. He simply refuses to. Where most guys might try to hide or downplay their affection for their friends, Percy’s is written all over his face. Maybe it’s a byproduct of doing ballet, but he’s so unashamed of his love for his friends and his family and his art, that maybe Annabeth kind of wishes she could be included in that love too, if it always feels this warm and joyful.

“I think it’s amazing that you guys are so close. I only had the one cousin when I was growing up, and we didn’t really talk all that much,” Annabeth says, almost without her permission. Something about him, it’s just so easy to talk to him. He makes it safe to open up.

“The med school guy, right?”

Annabeth nods. “Magnus. Fifth generation Harvard student. We’re all very proud.”

Ugh. Even she has to wince at the false cheer in her voice. Percy gives her a half-smile, sympathetic and soft. “Harvard not really for you, then?” he asks, picking up the threads of a long and complicated story, and one that she absolutely does not want to get into right now. Or ever, if she can help it.

“More like I wasn’t really for Harvard.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had been good enough for the university in Cambridge, Mass--good enough for two degrees and graduation with honors--but she had never been good enough for her mother’s capital-H Harvard. Never good enough for her mother at all, really.

Percy takes her hand. His fingers are cold from his iced coffee. “Hey. It’s their loss,” he says, with a sincerity and an intensity that makes her blush.

Every part of her wants to pull away. His thumb is rubbing against the joint of her finger, soothing and sweet, and she thinks she may break out in hives from it. “Damn right it is,” she mumbles.

He is so nice. So nice and hot and sweet. Objectively, what she’s about to do is a terrible idea, and might torpedo a really good thing that they have, but if she doesn’t come clean now her own guilt is going to drive her insane.

“Okay, I have a confession to make.” Percy raises his eyebrows, slurping the last dregs of his drink. “When we met… and then when we hooked up the first time… I may have… thoughtyouwereJason.”

He blinks. “Pardon?” he asks, mumbled around the straw.

Annabeth buries her head in her hands. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“You… thought I was Jason?”

“Well,” she sputters, glaring at him through her fingers, “you were being all bro-y with Thalia!”

He is valiantly trying to hold in a smile. “You know, I distinctly remember telling you my name that morning.”

“I was really hungover,” she whines, “and you were shirtless and making breakfast so I wasn’t really… paying attention.”

“For a whole week?”

This is so embarrassing, why couldn’t she just keep her stupid mouth shut? “Yeah.” She slumps her shoulders, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely sure what she expected: at best a couple of weird looks and a tentative promise to meet up later that would end up not working out, at worst she thinks he’ll just get up and leave her here at Bryant Park. Either way, they’d be doomed to months of awkward interactions, until eventually they wouldn’t be able to be around each other, and Thalia would have to pick a side--and Annabeth’s seen what Thalia does to people who cross her family. She’s seen Thalia beat a dude to pulp for calling Nico the f-slur. Picking Percy over Annabeth? That’s nothing.

So when he starts laughing, Annabeth is completely at a loss. Slowly, at first, then all at once, he’s laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and he has to put down his salad so it doesn’t topple over onto the grass. His head is tilted back in joy, the grey, late afternoon light adamant that Annabeth can see all of his features clearly, from his screwed up eyes to his bright, white teeth to the single dimple in his cheek.

Of course, even his laughter is hot. Asshole.

“You thought I was Jason!” He shrieks.

Annabeth crosses her arms, scowling.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he giggles. Annabeth can feel her own giggle rising in response, and she ruthlessly quashes it. “I can definitely say I’ve never heard that one before. You do know Jason is blond, right?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not. Besides, you and Thalia look exactly alike.”

He scoffs. “No we don’t.”

“Uh, yeah you do. You, Thalia, and Nico are all basically clones of each other.”

“Okay, Captain Glasses, whatever you say.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth feels like she has to say again.

He cocks his head. “For what? For thinking I was Jason? He’s a pretty cool guy.”

“No, for,” she blushes again. All this blood rushing to her head can’t be good for her. “For sleeping with you when I still thought you were Jason.”

Percy scoots closer to her, throwing her a grin and slinging his arm over her shoulders. Without even realizing that she’s doing it, she settles in beside him like she’s been doing it her whole life, slotted up against his torso, tucking her booted feet beneath her legs. “I am choosing to take that as a compliment,” he says, smirking. “You couldn’t resist my charms, even when you thought I was a brogrammer.”

Annabeth can’t help herself. She kisses him, wiping that smug grin right off his face, and when she finally retreats, after what feels like hours, he looks so dazed she could probably keep calling him by any name she wanted and he wouldn’t even realize it.

After their lunch, they meander for hours, headed in a vaguely southerly direction, holding hands the whole time, a steady, uninterrupted flow that took them all the way from Midtown to Greenwich Village. He tells her about his first day at ballet school; she tells him about her favorite monuments. “There are two architectural environments in America,” she says, ranting, speaking with enough force that she might forget the feeling of his hand in hers, “endless dead suburbia, or cities where every single building is either a concrete or a glass block--and not even Brutalist concrete, just shitty, poorly designed, paint-by-numbers concrete. It is an absolute travesty of modern government that they don’t fund any public works projects anymore.”

“That’s why all the gardens and stuff?” he asks.

“Nowadays everything is built by the lowest bidder. At least I get to add some beauty back into the city.”

“I know what you mean,” Percy says. “Paris is practically overflowing with public works, you almost forget about it sometimes.”

She sighs. “You’re so fucking lucky. Paris is so beautiful and everything in New York is just hideous.”

“Aw, come on,” he says. “Not everything. What about the Empire State Building, or Central Park?”

“Well, obviously, those,” she says, just a teensy bit flustered, but she’s not about to give up the argument without a fight. “I just mean like, normal, every day buildings: offices and apartments and stuff. It’s all so samey and boring.”

He looks to her right, pointing at the building they are passing. “What about this one?”

She turns.

If she had known they were headed this way, she never would have taken them past here.

“It’s… okay, I guess,” she mumbles, staring up at the arched windows, pedimented doors, and Rococo details of Miss Minerva’s Private Pre-College Prep School. A shudder goes down her spine, like someone walking over her grave. “There are better Beaux-Arts buildings.”

Sensing her discomfort, he picks up the pace, and changes the subject.

Finally, he stops outside a nondescript building, turning to face her. “This is me,” he says, a little bit mournfully, squeezing her hand. “Are you okay to get home safely?”

This man is ridiculous; it’s not even dark out. “I think I can manage a few blocks,” she says, lightly swatting him. “Isn’t it kind of early for you, though? It’s only four o’clock.”

He flushes faintly, one hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Uh, well, I always give myself a little extra time--you know, time blindness and everything.”

“You baked in extra time in case I wanted you to walk me home, didn’t you?” She mock-gasps, secretly delighted. “Scandal!”

“Guilty,” he grins. “You’ve been to mine so many times, I was curious.”

She just barely stops herself from laughing out loud at the very idea of Percy coming to her apartment--as if. Thalia hasn’t even been to her apartment. Nobody knows where she lives, none of her neighbors know who she is, and this is entirely by design. “Cut me some slack; a girl’s gotta have some mystery. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I?”

“I have a feeling you’ll never make things easy for me,” he says, white teeth gleaming.

“You better believe it,” she smiles back. “Now that I’ve foiled your plans, are you going to be too bored?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” he shrugs. “I’m very resourceful when it comes to boredom.”

Inspiration strikes, and she grasps his hand, pulling him down the alleyway. She almost hates to admit it, but she has something of a Pavlovian response when it comes to hanging out with Percy. Annabeth has come to expect some really excellent sex whenever the two of them meet up, and maybe spending all afternoon with him has made her a little bit horny.

She presses him up against the brick wall, hidden from the street by the long afternoon shadows, and kisses him. His hands flounder for a second, before coming up to rest on her shoulders, this thumbs tapping against the base of her neck, fingers fluttering on her jacket. It’s an intimate touch, kind of chaste and very respectful, and he holds her with precision and grace. He wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t want to. This is a date with no expectation of sex on his part. But Annabeth does not want grace right now, spooked by the ghost of her old school. She does not want precision. She just wants him. She just wants to keep him on his toes, keep him interested, blow his mind a little.

She just wants to blow him, to be honest.

He squeaks into her mouth as her hands fly to his belt, deft fingers practically ripping it off of him in an increasingly familiar motion. “H-hey,” he says, squeezing her shoulders, “this is--”

“Do you not want me to?” she asks, one hand playing at the top line of his underwear.

“No--I mean, are you sure? I’m-I’m okay with this, I just want to--”

“I know.” She kisses his cheek, then drops to her knees. “But we’ve got some time to kill, don’t we.”

Afterwards, when she’s finished with him, Annabeth wipes her mouth, and he whimpers.

“Ho… holy shit,” he pants, flushed and trembling.

She tucks him back into his boxers, doing up his fly. “There we go. That was better than being bored, right?”

He nods wordlessly, swallowing, shaking. His eyes are glassy and glazed, stupid like he’s just shot out his brain through his dick.

In the short time they’ve been together (though, honestly, this might be the longest relationship she’s ever been in before… and they haven’t even broached the “dating” conversation yet) Annabeth has been on the receiving end of several different Percy looks. His face will light up with joy when he first lays his eyes on her, so happy to see her (though she can’t really fathom why), glinting like the sun on the water. His eyes will narrow, glaring, even as he furiously tamps down on his growing smile when they start arguing over something stupid, like Annabeth’s affinity for olives. He’ll grin at her, knife sharp and slanted, licking his lips and looming over her after she comes down from yet another orgasm via his mouth or his hands.

Percy looks at her now like someone took a bat to his head, and instead of seeing stars, he sees little miniature Annabeths flying around.

He pulls her to him and kisses her, entirely too sweet for what she’s just done to him, but that is also a very Percy thing. And when she leaves him with a final kiss on his cheek and squeeze of his ass, she can feel that look burning a hole through her jacket, following her down the alley and around the corner, and she finds that she doesn’t mind the weight of it at all.

#my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #ballet au #darkmagyk #woot!!!!

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aboutcaseyaffleck · 4 years

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BOSTON BY CASEY AFFLECK

October 25, 2020 For the record, what follows is nostalgia, false memories, and generalizations. But it’s all true. I grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts, across the Charles River from Boston proper. Cambridge was one of the most diverse, multicultural cities in America. It was a beautiful, colorful, vibrant place. People from all over the world lived there, all mixed-up together. It is the place I was born and will return to, God willing. It is the city with the smells and sounds and tastes and people I love the most. Despite how much I loved it, when I look at old photos, I often look like this:

I’m in the front in the blue shirt. My best friend was Michael, the tall kid in the red shirt, whose family came from Barbados. Through the middle school years, anytime we weren’t in school we were roaming the streets like Dickensian urchins.

In the ‘90s, Cambridge got rid of rent control. Families who had lived there for four or five generations were squeezed out. Now the city is gentrified; but when I was growing up there, it was scrappy and beautiful. It was mostly working people, except for West Cambridge—where wealthy families lived, where professors lived. Where Cornel West, Yo-Yo Ma, and the Governor lived. East Cambridge was working-class Portuguese families, butcher shops, funeral parlors, and tow yards. Cambridgeport, where I lived, was mostly poor, Italian, Black, Greek, and Irish families. North Cambridge had some big housing projects and the school where my mom taught fifth grade—in a gigantic cement structure called The Tobin School that felt like it was far away because I would have to take a train AND a bus to get there. In reality, it’s like three miles from where we lived.

This is me hanging out in her classroom:

As people and places evolve, the past always reveals blemishes unseen at the time. However, Massachusetts manages, as time unfolds, to be a place that was so often on the right side. Not always, but often enough that I am proud to be from Cambridge, Massachusetts, no matter what.

From Massachusetts came the first national publication denouncing slavery, America’s “first feminist”, and The Cambridge Woman’s Suffrage League, which formed in 1886. My high school had the first girl to play tackle football in that division. Cambridge voted-in the first openly gay African-American mayor in our country. Right now our mayor is a very popular and forward-thinking Muslim woman who immigrated from Pakistan named Sumbul Siddiqui. We have marvels of architecture, science, and tech. It was in Cambridge that the very first email was ever sent (and received). And every year the Red Sox stand up to the wealthier bullies from the Bronx. These are all things we are immensely proud of, but nobody is resting on these laurels.

I am going to tell you about the places I remember fondly, whether they are still there or not.

Luckily, the city’s history isn’t going anywhere, and it hasn’t lost all of its charms. It is a place best seen by walking. So just walk. It’s also seasonal. Different activities for different seasons. But if you can hoof it for a few miles do this: start at the Old North Church and go by Paul Revere House, through Faneuil Hall, by The Old State House through Boston Common, through the Back Bay, go left and pass through Roxbury, another left, and go through South Boston till you hit the water and go left till you hit the Children’s Museum. Sit down and relax. If you just want a path, walk that. Map it or wander around. The city is full of little back streets with lots of character.

MY BOSTON FAVORITES

When looking for things to do and see in the area, you can ask ten people and get ten different answers. You will get a long list of historical buildings, or you will get names of some of the country’s prettiest parks, or you will get pointed toward the campuses of some of the very best schools in the world. But for every Bunker Hill, there are ten other places you haven’t heard of. So I am going to tell you about the places I remember fondly, whether they are still there or not. The thing about Boston is you can miss all the best stuff, and you will still leave thinking it is one of the best cities on Earth. Have fun.

Pinocchio Pizza, Harvard Square. I asked my son to describe it. He says, “the food is good but the vibe is fire, old school; whatever, just get a slice and sit on the ground. That’s why I like it.” I have no idea why he wants to sit on the ground, but I guess that’s part of the charm of the place. We’re both vegan so we both scrape the cheese off and eat bread and sauce. That should tell you something.

Oleana Restaurant on Hampshire Street in Cambridge. Chef Ana Sortun is a baller. The food is Turkish inspired, and it is delicious. Always. Friendly people, pretty inside, and it is in a nice residential neighborhood. My dad lived in an apartment a few blocks away behind a Store 24 until he was evicted back in 1989.

Maharaja, Harvard Square. Incredible Indian food. And it has one of the only third-story views of Harvard Square.

Veggie Galaxy is great diner food. It is vegan. It has breakfast, lunch, dinner, milkshakes and other deserts. All day and all night food that is filling and really good.

Life Alive Organic will serve you the healthiest and heartiest meal you can find anywhere. It’s across the street from City Hall, the post office, and the oldest YMCA in the country.

Cantab Lounge, where my dad was a bartender, and then a janitor when he was too drunk to be a bartender. I drank six thousand ginger ales, sitting in the corner at a sticky table while he worked. Forever it was a bar for postal workers that opened at 10 am, where alcoholics ate hard-boiled eggs from jars that had been sitting on the bar top for two weeks. A couple of days after initially writing this, I got an email from the owner. It is being sold after tens of thousands of years. I don’t know why I care because I don’t exactly have any fond memories from the place, but seeing the brick-and-mortar of your childhood torn down is a kind of mid-life, coming-of-age moment. Life is change.

Darwins Ltd coffee shop and attached mini-grocer and sandwich spot. If you get a coffee and then walk west two blocks on Mt. Auburn St. you will discover on your right a nice little park with a fountain to hang out. It is called Longfellow Park. Or you can look to your left and you will see the Charles River, and you can stroll there.

Fomu for dessert.

Zhu Pan Asian Cuisine and True Bistro for good vegan food.

Newbury Comics is famous and cool.

Million Year Picnic is for comic connoisseurs. They are both great. And they were both plagued by roving bands of middle school thieves in my day. The most notorious was named Mathew Maher. He is now a well-known theater actor on Broadway and appeared in the comic book movie Captain Marvel. But back then he stole shit.

Harvard Coop is the best place to browse for books. Especially the kids section. We spend hours there and nobody kicks us out.

After the game ended everyone would come out and buy sausages [from me] on their way home, then I would clean up and go into a bar outside the park, where my boss was drinking and I’d wait till he was done so I could get a ride home. I was 12 years old. A couple of years ago I threw out the first pitch. Life is change.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is my favorite museum in town, maybe anywhere. It was once her home and it features an indoor garden that is perfect. It also has a great collection of art from around the world. Back on March 18, 1990, two famous paintings were stolen from the museum. As I remember it, a couple of guys showed up in the morning in police uniforms and the guard let them in. They tied the guard up and took a dozen paintings—Vermeer, Rembrandt, Degas—and vanished. The FBI never found them and never found the art. There are two plaques below two empty spaces on the walls to this day. On some days, classical musicians perform in random rooms while you walk around. You won’t want to leave.

Fenway Park. Greatest professional sports arena of any kind. I used to sell sausages in front of the Cask ‘N Flagon, a bar behind The Green Monster.

It is the best baseball bar in the country. When everyone was in the park watching the game, and there was nobody buying food, I would go in and find a seat and watch the game with whoever I was working with; I have seen hundreds of games from every part of the park. After the game ended everyone would come out and buy sausages on their way home, then I would clean up and go into a bar outside the park, where my boss was drinking and I’d wait till he was done so I could get a ride home. I was 12 years old. A couple of years ago I threw out the first pitch. Life is change.

Plimoth Plantation is a living museum in Plymouth, which is 40 minutes from Boston. It is amazing. The actors working there are some of the best I have seen anywhere. If you are even mildly interested in history you have to go there.

Fresh Pond is where you can go running or biking. Two and a half-mile loop.

Or you could hit The Emerald Necklace which is a great run that hits many of the best green areas, Franklin Park included. When we were young we would hop the fence and swim in the water. That isn’t done anymore ever, and everyone has grown up and leading better, more responsible lives.

John Weeks Footbridge is a very pretty, very old, brick walking bridge that spans the Charles River. Watching the Charles Regatta from here is awesome. That is in the Fall. But it’s also great any night.

The King School is a grade school not too far from there. It has maybe the best playground in the city. If you are there in the summer you can just walk on. When I was a kid, the King School is where a girl went who I was head over heels in love with. I finally got a shot at winning her heart in my early twenties and blew it.

Mount Auburn Cemetery is beautiful if you like that kind of thing. Lots of cool people are buried there, and the trees and stones are really nice. It’s a maze but just walk uphill. You will reach a monument with a great view of the city.

The American Repertory Theater puts on good plays. I grew up going there cause a friend of my mother’s directed many of the shows and could sneak us in the back. I wasn’t the adult making that decision; had I known better I would have scraped together the ticket price and supported the arts.

Boston Common is beautiful but you have to avoid all the shopping around it. If you have to shop go to:

NOMAD on Mass Ave in Cambridge is a store that you shouldn’t miss. In a world lost to chain stores and general homogenization of everything, Nomad is the real deal. Deb Colburn has been curating this place since I was ten. It is her store, and she has been trying to wake people up to folk art from around the world since Reagan was in office.

Bodega is a hidden high-end sneaker and casual wear store that must be entered through an unmarked door inside a bodega on a nearby side street. It’s cool how they have done it. Great presentation. Kids will like it.

KIDS ACTIVITIES

There are lots of things you can force your kids to do—things they won’t like the sound of at first, but will ultimately enjoy.

IMAGE CAPTIONS, LEFT TO RIGHT

On a rainy day, hop on the T and ride around town all day reading comics. Then stand outside in the warm rain (kids from LA don’t get this much).

Looking at murals. Cambridge has great murals everywhere. They are old and, incredibly, not vandalized. This one has been on this wall near the river since I was a kid. The child is mine and he is sick of walking around Cambridge.

If you feel like a pilgrim hit the gift shop at Plimoth Plantation.

Playing chess at Leavitt & Pierce Tobacco. You can inhale the scent of pipe tobacco without smoking it, and rent a chess set, clock, and table for $2 an hour in a beautiful old, wood-paneled shop with great ambiance.

Going to the oldest YMCA in the country.

Kayaking on the Charles River. You can get your kayak on Soldiers Field Rd. Take it east under all the bridges until you get to the inlet at Kendell Sq. It will all be clear. It will take about an hour.

Climbing the stairs at Harvard Football Stadium.

Reading books at the Harvard Coop.

NEARBY BOSTON

If you wanna go a little farther, go out to Gloucester for the day. Swim, eat, walk around, go back.

Whale watching sounds like a lame tourist trap but seeing whales up close will change the way you think about life on Earth.

You can take the ferry from Downtown Boston to Provincetown. It is a great place to visit or stay a few days while in town. Ptown is the eastern-most point on the continent. I might be making that up, but it’s close. It’s an arm that sticks out into the Atlantic. It’s really lovely there with a great vibe all around. You can’t have a bad time and everyone is super happy to be there. The beaches are all beautiful. Sharks mostly only eat the seals and won’t come any closer to shore than two feet—but if you want to see a great white up close, we can make that happen.

Cape Cod has some great flea markets. If you plan on spending time on vacation with your family you can find some essentials, like a medieval battle helmet, at the flea market.

SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS

30 minutes on the local train line from downtown. Made famous by the Salem witch trials; a fun place to visit and walk around for about 128 minutes. Newburyport and Rockport lines, which depart from Boston’s North Station, stop at the Salem station. You can go into the homes of people who lived during the witch hunt.

The House of the Seven Gables, made famous by American author Nathaniel Hawthorne‘s novel The House of the Seven Gables, is a 1668 colonial mansion in Salem, Massachusetts named for its gables. The house is now a non-profit museum, with an admission fee charged for tours, as well as an active settlement house with programs for children. It was built for Captain John Turner and stayed with the family for three generations.

The Jonathan Corwin House in Salem, Massachusetts, known as The Witch House, was the home of Judge Jonathan Corwin. It is the only structure still standing in Salem with direct ties to the Salem witch trials of 1692, thought to be built between 1620 and 1642. Corwin bought it in 1675 when he was 35, and he lived there for more than 40 years. The house remained in the Corwin family until the mid-19th century and is located in the McIntire Historic District.

A MECCA FOR ARTISTS

Lastly, for centuries, Cambridge has been a mecca for artists, especially writers. Here are some spots to see if you like that kind of thing:

The corner of JFK Street and 1390 Massachusetts Avenue. This is a good spot. Here is why: America’s FIRST PUBLISHED POET was a woman named Anne Bradstreet who died in 1672 and lived on this spot! It went through lots of changes, and 300 years later, by the time I was walking around, it became a great burger place called THE TASTY. In 1996 or whatever, The Tasty appears in the movie Good Will Hunting in the scene when Matt Damon kisses Minnie Driver. It might have also appeared in the film Love Story back in the 70s. I mix them up. Now it is a CVS. God help us.

The Longfellow House. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived at 105 Brattle Street. The great poet taught at Harvard and lived in the Georgian mansion from 1837 until his death in 1882. Before the author, George Washington used the house as his headquarters during the Siege of Boston. The house is open to the public, and it is where I had my eighth-grade graduation ceremony. The mayor attended and forgot the name of our school in his address to the kids. I heard people mutter that he was drunk. I can’t blame him. I had my first drinks hours before that ceremony.

71 Cherry Street, Cambridge. The woman considered to be American’s FIRST feminist, Margaret Fuller, was born and lived here.

Henry and Alice James lived at 20 Quincy Street. The house was knocked down in 1930 and the Harvard Faculty Club was erected there.

W.E.B. DuBois lived at 20 Flagg Street. The writer and pioneer of civil rights rented a room in this Cambridgeport home from 1890 to 1893. This is blocks from my childhood home. He was the first African American to receive a degree from Harvard.

Robert Frost lived at 35 Brewster Street. Frost, who attended high school in Lawrence, Massachusetts, lived in the West Cambridge home from 1943 to 1963.

T.S. Eliot lived at 16 Ash Street.

E.E. Cummings lived at 104 Irving Street. He was an innovator. He also wrote a poem about “Cambridge Women”. He lived at the Irving Street home from 1892 until about 1917.

Also you can find homes of the genius Nabokov and the great and beloved Julia Childs if you look around.

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#casey affleck #quote #feature #boston

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theurbansquared · 3 years

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Guide To Avoiding A Loser Brokerage

by James Hill | theurbansquared

Brokers can be bastards and some even get better at it while other brokers are legitimate life-changing business Sherpas

A broker is supposed to guide you through a career in real estate much like a coach or pimp - offering protection and how to understand a complicated system better and direct it to revenue without getting your neck broke while playing the game. I created and ran the most well-reviewed, largest full-service brokerage in the fastest-growing city in America. This gave me access to nearly ever broker and their broker's pay structure and innovations. I also got the agent's version of my same broker buddies brokerages when they eventually joined my brokerage; hovering anywhere from 20–60 agents. Trending insider chatter has blame going to real estate brokers of decades past (and current) and how they’ve managed their agents - - letting unsupervised agents with no experience run wild on the streets practicing on the public wearing out Realtor love and making a need for all the Mountain Dew-made Zillow-y options that currently exist.

Brokers are out of touch more than ever with today’s current media load, having to understand and use social media platforms for their advertising (since the private Town & Country affair that real estate once was is forever over and the landscape is a bit more like a half Juggalo, half programmer flea market).

Let’s dive into some situations and tenets that most agents don’t consider when choosing a brokerage.

Sales Volume

This is a bit of negotiating psychology and due diligence. Simply ask how much sales they (the brokerage) did last year and how much they’re currently at. If they don’t know these numbers they’re goons. If they don’t give it, you guessed it - they’re hiding something; their lack of revenue. I’ve hired and fired hundreds of agents and in interviews so few ask this question but it’s one of the most important questions you can ask as an agent and you need the information. An agent that doesn’t ask this has already given a tell that they’re not a top producer since they’re not interested in the production capacity of the team they may join. No bueno. Creep the brokerage as well obvi -- reviews, FB & IG engagement and current running ads, and make sure the company Christmas Party isn’t catered by Chic-fil-a at a Burnet Road dive bar.

Office

40% of your learning and 350% of your work will be done at the office. Those numbers will make sense 90% of the time after a few years in real estate. The rest should be on the streets - your car, properties, driving 75 mph talking and sending out docs, gorging on breath mints. Office, home, tiny homes, motorhomes have all blended into one larger conversation where work/live ethos are all in re-definition.

But, when you do need a more savvy moment in any market when people talk about borrowing or selling something that’s over $100K they don’t want to hear some bullshit too loud pedantic conversation seated right next to them at Starbucks or the local kooky coffee shop. In real estate Murphy’s Law is always in effect. The super important listing sign off that has to go well and they want to hear you pitch again before deciding? There will be someone (at this super ‘caj’ coffee house meeting) there projectile vomiting, or throwing cats, or something else tiresome or bad that takes more calls.

Speech and body language are massive parts of sales so when the entire set is thrown because a barista is running through a whole Sublime album. You want the most inviting cool office you can ever pull off at any given moment in real estate . Was that ever a question? There's a balance -- you can't afford that year one or three, but it’s called real estate for a reason. Sexy, exciting buildings is what the brochure said when I joined. Also, it’s about style not size.

If you haven’t lost business to coffee house back pressure you really haven’t failed at agency properly.

Social IQ

Social reach is the only conversation now. Many brokerages won’t make it as the lead generating aspects of the industry aren't powered by a private MLS anyone and the publicly-hated ‘Realtor’ designation have both brokers and agents guessing about tomorrow. Calendars, best practices and free shitty tips & templates are the du jour of the day for anyone trying to get an agent's eyes. You can Google and get all the ‘basic’ social media dance steps, but with everyone at the same happy hunting spot, you’re being covered up, which leaves all your new artistic efforts fruitless and also squandering winning time.

Traffic, leads and engagement are all separate areas that have to be fulfilled properly and even this is in flux with historic corporations and current start ups all on the same advertising playing field. Social reach and engagement is about going to the consumer direct and becoming their friend with soft bribes -- free food, gifts, prizes (trips, events tickets) or industry work tools. The great news is, real estate has always been mostly consumer direct - start up a convoy at the grocery store (bar, church, meetup) and you’re in the car that weekend looking for houses with a new client. While you, your brokerage and the world are figuring out their exact social media mix, you need to make sure a brokerage isn’t lost on social media since many won’t be able to stay in business in the next few short years. Your brokerage needs to have a plan and and at best some presence on social media. Plus, they should be running low-cost performative marketing ad campaigns to get a feel for what and if set user groups are responding to ads. Anyone can post on IG but people engage on IG when they become inspired. A brokerage should have some sort of inspiration and relationship tied in with the local allure of their city -- or heading that direction.

Mentoring

Much like a neurotic buyer chasing an interest rate for their home mortgage (and then never buying a house) agents too focused on commission may miss the essential career need for mentoring -- for their clients and career. I had a 5 deal minimum for my new agents before they were ever unsupervised and received more commission. I've had new agents with celeb clients in hand and celeb agents with no clients in hand. No one wants to do business with someone with absolutely has no, experience but they do it because they like you as a friend or fam. Your mentor is the person riding shotgun with you at the beginning of your career. On many levels you want to be this person since they embody the position and role. You're literally and figuratively are borrowing experience from them and they deserve to be paid for it. You always have to strengthen your brand outside of your brokerage but if you don’t have any experience your brand doesn’t have ‘strength’ you simply have a logo and a drag & drop website where you're possibly talking about yourself and love of unicorns or football shit but the big boat deals you dream about in bed aren’t gotten this way. Remember, no unicorn could ever throw a football good without a lot of practice and a good mentor.

Support

Support in a brokerage is really communication and solutions for small problems, and systems for managing bigger ones with people. Most of the annoying things in real estate happen outside of the deal - contracts, calls, emails, docs, signatures, more docs. You typically want a super admin, broker, or agent manager that you can call and they pick up the phone. It’s pretty simple. With a mentor, admin, or broker you’re going to have a n 8:30 PM question or deal that’s going down. You’ll need printer help. Real estate always happens now (this was one of the main mantras in my office). Printing, prequal, weekend support and constant post dinner shenanigans.

Training

Meet Frank Miller, David Mamet, the Sex Pistols, Tony Robbins, Wayne Dyer, Hendrix, Tom Hopkins, The World’s Greatest Detective and Conan The Barbarian. We had a lot of different inspirations for the style and ethos of our urban brokerage. The World’s Greatest Detective is Batman. It was a moniker that became popular in the seventies. We used this example about how important due diligence and proper Fact Finding techniques are for serving and closing deals for clients. (It’s almost essential to be inquisitive in real estate esp about property/development to have success). Training is largely your sales meeting(s). Although I don’t come from a car background I’ve mentored many car guys transferring to real estate (they typically are out of the industry within 2 years and are there only for boom markets). Car guys have meetings every morning 6 days a week and they’re not at 9 or 10 am. They’re already working.

free module: The Burger King Phenomena: Why Agents Do Less Working For Themselves Than If They Were Working At Burger King

Many brokerages have no training/meeting schedule (monthly doesn’t count -- that’s a meet and greet company pump and catch up meeting). If a brokerage doesn’t have training on a schedule then there is no training. You’ll possibly be thrown a 3-ring binder, or given some PDF’s, or links to old bizarre training videos or a soup sandwich of all three and sometimes even a bill for the training. An agent’s training/meetings and their attendance to them are the difference between an agent making it or not when you’re 24 months or less in the role as an agent especially in the fast turbulent waters of the current 2021 market where brokerage and agent purpose and pay are under attack. From my experience, new agents that hide die.

Media

Having a background as a creative director I’m aware with great detail of agency and brokerage media needs, the cost and time they extract, and the corresponding revenue they’re projected to bring back. Brokerages are looking for their purpose now as simply having a brokerage doesn’t bring in leads like it used to. This is fitting, since the digital dumbass brokers that that didn’t understand the importance of ‘the web’ rickshawed our MLS data and sold the agent/broker centric real estate system for their benefit while current agents are left with an empty greasy enough to-go box to curl up with. Brokerages were never media houses or ad agencies but now that consumer level graphic programs and website builders are ubiquitous and any agent after being licensed for 10 days can drag & drop a website up in 4 hours and make it look like a brokerage that’s been around for years. I know I’m going wide on the subject here but stay with me because this is the crux of where the industry and consumer are renegotiating roles.

A brokerage’s value proposition has changed drastically with the telecommute revolution that was only sped and strengthened by Covid. Also, generational knowledge base gaps in technology are more apparent than ever with technology as younger agents can often be more media savvy than their broker. The market is flooded with self appointed companies or gurus that are taking on the role of the classic ad agency (Mad Men) or media production house. Also beware of real estate coaches with little or no real estate experience offering to guide you in social media. Okay media can’t be used in apex situations (such as the luxury listings you’re after) and doesn’t draw apex listings. Beware of tapioca room temperature tips and general lists from companies that can appear informative but are really boilerplate low grade data to get your attention to ultimately upsell you on a paid service.

As an agent or a brokerage, consumer level graphic and website building programs can be a death ticket to your business as your competitors have the same tools and are cranking out the same type of style of messaging you are now. Now agents, principals, admins and in art class creating flyers. This has been done since the nineties as the valleys of dead agent careers is full of 2-day Microsoft Word (or any of their shitty office offerings) seshes to produce nasty flyers and presentations. These programs are fun and making bad flyers absolutely work related - the kind of work you don’t want’ related to your business because it’s adult crayon coloring. Activity does not equal production. Staying busy doing the wrong things doesn’t make money in real estate. Rather than spending agent winning time staying in the wrong lanes for way too long, get with a team or brokerage that are providing the most exceptional visual media you can find in your market. It used to be cool 2 years ago, now it’s the only thing that matters. Visual content.

free module: Better Agent Media, Less Agent Money (media tips and hacks).

Access

This is access to your broker. Brokers with families are typically less available. Your best bet as an agent is looking for a grinder broker who sleeps on the couch at their office. This person doesn’t have kids to build into so they’ll build into your career and you’ll get the most out of these brokers. Beware of cheesedick, apathetic, rich boy, bored brokers not around and more concerned with projects like a shitty vanity wine brand that their wife’s forced them to launch since she’s not living her best life anymore as an agent.

Style

What kind of style is your brokerage? Is there an opportunity to bring more style sophistication to the market -- standout in a smaller market? Or, are you in an ultra stylish market currently and butt hurt because you already have a little story about how you’re going to keep it real and be a Dockers wearing slob for eternity? The thing about style in agency is you always need to look like you can list a million dollar house. Oh, is it really that simple? Yes it is. You complicated it. Clients always care about their housing a little bit more than they care about your real estate career. They don’t have time to figure out why you’re wearing shoe styles from 7 years ago. Don’t make it hard for people to do business with you. If you’re ugly, even better. It can be a massive advantage. Everyone on the planet loves when someone who doesn’t fall into our general current ‘attractive’ spectrum doesn’t give af, looks great and puts themselves together in a stylish way that the viewer can understand (can I get away with Teen Wolf?). A great side benefit from this step in the right direction is it’s a great way to make someone who is conventionally attractive insecure.

You want to be in the same style as the people in your area but the secret is you need to lead that style pack if you can -- you always lead and dress apex. Years ago this was anecdotal but after over 100K hours in real estate a good suite (tailored) saved my ass and literally got me business. I listed the largest house in east Austin because of a suit (and got a front page story on the newspaper real estate section for free because the owner saw me walking into the next door neighbor’s house).

Offices, dress, logo, email signature are all elements of you and your brokerage’s style. Style in and of itself isn’t enough to be a top producer in real estate. I’ve had stylish and even celebrity agents that didn't do zilch, but style often is a fingerprint to something more.

Picking the right elements for your agent style is an art because you have to offer something from yourself that’s unique enough as well as something familiar (a bridge to your uniqueness). I have a background as a musician and also as a merchant sailor. Fortunately those are easy convo starters. You could be a philatelist and have some challenges, but regardless it absolutely will take a year or three to develop your own angle and style towards the market as you learn it and the agent role more.

Things that look attractive and familiar puts client’s psychologies at ease. So, if skinny jeans are in you better get in them (that’s like five years old now). You’re on stage. You don’t wear what the worker people behind the camera wear. If you want to wear boring shit get on the other side of the camera. If you want less leads saddle up to a forgettable brokerage. People have hard days. They want you to put an effort into your real estate agency role. Currently it’s a fried role so you’re dealing with that too. People love to be smiled at and sold and especially from someone who smells good. It doesn't ever get old. Don’t make them beg for your charm. Be a nice charming person with a shirt that fits good, it’s a powerful combo.

Get My Damn Paper

If you’ve never seen a werewolf in daylight mess with an agent’s commission after the deal’s done and funded. Admin? Who is the damn person who does the admin? (accounts payable is the icey pro word if you like). That person that you contact to get your commission check cut? If that person is a weirdo, or there’s an unfriendly or sketchy quality to the office or admin staff, do not go forward (don’t confuse this with new people or industry jitters). Grab some free coffee, leave the smarm and jet to the next brokerage blind date.

Software

CRM is an annoying conversation. Here’s the things with CRM’s - for all the work CRMs curtail, because of their complexity and existence and the work(time) they take to interact with you need to consider how much work you’re putting into operating the CRM software verses how much time it’s saving. Many times brokerages have expensive yearly subscriptions with per agent fees for their CRM which can make the brokerage have a zealot meth thing for the ‘team’ software and promise you can’t have a career without taking a bump too. To understand CRM better before it was a name, Client Relationship Management is what analog Proximity became. Let me explain - being close to people in Church, bar, school, same building -- all give proximity. This becomes familiarity, then ease, then trust. People do business with people they trust & like. Once people disconnected physically and started using other means more contact attempts have to be made to work for or ‘prove’ worth.

Follow Up is a large component of most CRM’s and there are gobs of money for agents who follow up meticulously. Simply ask the broker what CRM they use and research it. Something to remember - unless you’re extremely busy with your career you don’t need a CRM. You can manage & database your clients & leads ‘by hand’ and strap it to the cloud with G-Suite/Google Sheets.

Brokerage Name

A small but important aside, if a brokerage have named themselves after a precious metal or a gem, or if it says elite in the name then it’s not elite. If it has the words prestige or worldwide or international it may not be any of those either. I know a handful of exceptions to this rule but this is a great dirty primer to use when choosing a brokerage that’s going to propel your career and have shrimp options at the Christmas Party.

#agent #realtor #realestateagent #broker #brokerage #newhomebuyer #coach #businesscoach #entrepreneurs #new agent #zillow

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underoossss · 4 years

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Dancing Under the Rain - H.O

CHAPTER 1 [prologue]

pairing: detective!Harrison x female reader

warning: some angst but the fluff makes up for it, mentions of death

AN: this takes place a little bit after the prologue, I hope you guys like it. I would love some feedback

---

The cool, salty breeze surrounds you and takes all of your worries to the sea. They float over the water and go beyond the horizon until you can’t see them anymore. That’s what your grandma used to say, anyways. She used to live in Maine and you visited her every summer with your brother. She took both of you to the beach every morning to watch your grandpa’s boat in the distance as he returned from fishing lobsters. Grandma is gone now, so is grandpa. Your mom had said it was the heartbreak because of your brother’s death; she had moved to Maine shortly after that. She left you alone in Cambridge to finish university and then move on to grad school, because that’s what parents with money do. They think money solves everything and anything. That’s why you loved your grandma, she thought the sea and the breeze solved things. They don’t. They haven’t yet, so jury’s still out.

You squint your eyes at the sun and take a deep breath, then a gentle squeeze on your hand brings you back to the present. “This reminds me of my grandparents.” You smile at the sea before looking to your right and meeting Harrison’s gaze.

The detective looks so different than how he did eight month before. His shoulders don’t look so tense, his face is relaxed and there’s an easy smile on his lips. He looks content just by standing there staring at the ocean with a cream colored sweater and jeans; a stark contrast to his usual button downs and suit jackets. You like seeing him like this, projecting his soft character out to the world, something he’d only done some mornings when talking to you at the bookshop.

---

The bell on top of the main door rings as someone steps into the bookshop. It isn’t normal for you to close the door, but it was a chilly October morning and there’s nothing worse than your coffee growing cold right after it’s served. You look up from the book you had been reading behind the counter and smile when you noticed Harrison was sitting down by the window. The smile only lasts for a few seconds though and soon changes into a frown when you notice his demeanor. You can practically see the stress coming from him and that is enough for you to move towards the expresso machine and start making his usual coffee. A latte with no sugar but some cinnamon on top, unlike the rest of the officers who routinely ordered americanos. ‘Too bitter,’ Harrison had said when you pointed it out once.

The coffee is ready a few minutes later and you make your way to his table also carrying a plate with a ham and cheese flatbread you had toasted for him. He’s resting his elbows on the table when you reach him, his hands are in his hair and his eyes are closed. “Good morning.” You say, placing the plate and mug in front of him.

You take a sit across from him, there weren’t many customers in the shop and everyone already had their order. Besides, Harrison looked like he needed to talk to someone.

“You look stressed.” You tilt your head to your right, frowning slightly at the dark circles under his eyes. “And like you haven’t eaten in two days.” Your eyes move down to the flatbread in front of him, a silent way of saying ‘eat.’

“You shouldn’t have bothered.” Harrison finally speaks up, getting rid of his initial shock of you probably reading his mind and getting his order for him without asking first.

“I won’t hear any of it. Go on, the best detective in town needs food to think.”

Harrison opens and closes his mouth, pausing for a second to debate what he’s going to say next but settles with shaking his head. “Is it really that bad?”

“You want me to be honest?” You lean your chin on the palm of your hand and smile when Harrison nods. He picks up the sandwich and takes a bite, it gives a satisfying crunch and the detective sighs at the taste.

“You look like you could use a whole week of sleep and a month of yoga for how stressed you look, detective.” A chuckle leaves your lips when he rolls his eyes.

“Please, YN, call me Harrison.” Harrison shakes his head, covering his mouth with his hand as he chews. After a few seconds he swallows and wipes his mouth with the napkin next to his plate. He leans forward and lowers his voice to speak again. “We haven’t gotten any new leads in a while, and the evidence so far is only circumstantial. It’s taken a toll on all of us.”

You nod your head in understanding before voicing your worries to him. “It’s good that you’re taking a break then. You can’t let the case drain you Harrison, it won’t do you or anyone any good.”

“I just need to solve this case, Y/N, that family is depending on us, on me to get answers. I can’t imagine their despair, and how much worse it would be if whoever did it gets away with it.” He shakes his head, putting the sandwich down again and picking up his coffee.

Your breath catches in your throat for a second. The worst case scenario he is trying to prevent is something you had already lived. Seeing it now from an outside perspective, having first-hand experience of that unbearable pain, you understand Harrison’s urgency to bring this family some peace of mind. You constantly wish you knew who did that to your brother and you don’t wish that pain upon anyone. Well, anyone except for the person who did it. That bastard’s the only one who deserves it.

Harrison sighs at the delicious coffee smell, his shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit and his features softening. He takes another sip of the coffee before speaking again, “This is really good. As always.” He smiles slightly, though his eyes still look a bit lost when they meet yours. His smile is enough to push the bitter thought to the back of your mind.

“I wish more people in the world could be like you.” You smile, shaking your head a bit. Your heart bursts with fondness towards the detective in front of you. You’re in awe of his selflessness when it comes to helping others, his determination and his strength. A lot of people might have given up at this point so it is reassuring to know how resilient Harrison is when it comes to this case. To know there are people who care enough to pull all nighters so they can try to help others. If only they had assigned your brother’s case a detective like that.

Harrisons eyebrows furrow at your words so you decide to elaborate. “Someone who genuinely cares about others’ wellbeing. I can tell how much this case means to you.”

He nods his head and for a brief moment, his face sheds the mask he wears all day long as a detective. It softens and his smile is more genuine than it had ever been, though it looks a bit broken like there’s something else stressing him out than just this case. “Thank you, for everything Y/N. Although, you’re giving me too much credit. You care about others’ wellbeing too. This is being an example.” He gestures towards his now empty plate and half drank coffee cup.

‘Are you feeling better?” You ask, resting your chin on your palm. Your ears feel like they’re on fire at his compliment. I care about you.

The detective nods his head. “Much better, and not only because of the food.”

You laugh softly, looking down. Gosh you really like him. “I’m glad.”

----

“It does?” He tilts his head to the right, a subtle invitation to elaborate if you wished to do so.

“Mhm, they lived in Maine. My grandfather had a lobster fishing business and my grandma did all the selling for him.” You move your gaze back to the ocean. “My brother and I used to wait with my grandma at the beach for him to come back every morning.”

“Was this in the summer?” Harrison asks, his voice is soft. It’s as if he doesn’t want to disturb the memory you’re replaying in your mind. You nod your head and he squeezes your hand again. “It must have been nice.”

“It was.” You nod your head again and smile at him. It’s one of the memories that brings you joy, which is unusual considering all memories you brother in it make your heart ache. “This is a good look on you, you know.”

Harrison chuckles, looking down at his clothes. “Don’t miss my suit and tie?”

“I don’t mean the clothes specifically.” You shake your head at him. “It’s not very often I see you this relaxed. I like it.”

The detective takes a deep breath and basks in the sun for a few seconds before meeting your gaze once more. “There’s no case urging me to solve it at the moment, that’s probably why.”

“Even if you had a case to solve right now, you deserve little breaks you know.” You tug at his hand and continue walking along the shore. Your shoes are on your right hand and your feet are cold as they leave their prints on the sand, it’s lovely.

“Not working… it leaves you alone with your thoughts.” Harrison’s voice is quiet again, like he doesn’t want you to hear it. But you do and you understand what he means. “I don’t like that.”

“I get that.” You say looking down at the sand. “I used to be afraid of having any free time because that meant I had time to think about things I’d rather pretend didn’t happen.”

Neither of you speak for a minute or so before you take a deep breath and look at Harrison. He was already looking at you which brings you face to face with worried blue eyes. “That time you asked me questions for the case and I told you there was a death in my family and that’s why I moved here… It was my brother. Bryan.”

Harrison opens his mouth to say something but you shake your head. You trust him and for some reason you think he’s the only person in this whole town that you can talk to. Really talk to. If this thing between the two of you is going somewhere, he needs to know, so he can choose if he wants to back out while he can. “Someone killed him, they found him at the soccer field after practice. They, umm, they never caught the person who did it and closed the case. My family was known among a lot of people so everyone found out. I fled and came here the moment I finished grad school. Fresh start.” You feel Harrison’s hand slip out of yours and before your heart can despair he puts his arm around your shoulders and brings you closer to his side. “So, I know what it’s like to be alone with your thoughts. I used to be afraid of falling back into grieving my brother but things like this bring you joy and eventually make all sad thoughts go away.”

The breeze.

It might not solve things like your grandma said but it helps.

You hear Harrison take a deep breath and you look up at him again to see worry in his eyes. “I’m alright though, I think I’m getting better at handling it. But not knowing… it doesn’t help with the pain. I think that’s why my mom left Cambridge too, to avoid the uncertainty coming from everywhere she looked.” You shrug your shoulders and let out a long breath, feeling a heavy weight lift from your chest. Not all of the pent up pain, but still enough to let you breathe more easily than before. It is only then when you realize how much you needed to talk to someone about it, needed someone to know. Someone finally knows I’m not all smiles as the town believes.

You realize Harrison’s been quiet for a while, so you look up at him again to try to reassure him. There’s a tightness around in his eyes and his jaw is clenched while he looks at the ground. “Hey, don’t be so worried I’ll be fine.”

“Let’s have a seat over here.” He says quietly, and clearing his throat. He avoids your eyes and looks at the sea instead, his hair is being pushed back by the wind and his eyes still squinted at the sun. It almost looks like he’s in pain. You nod, feeling anxious at his change of demeanor all of a sudden but settle down on the sand anyways, tugging on his hand so he can sit too.

Harrison sighs, letting go of your hand as he starts fiddling with his fingers instead. He opens his mouth as if to say something but he stops himself before he can speak. This happens three times before you get so worried you have to say something. “Harrison please say something, it’s me you’re worrying now.”

He nods, still not looking at you and clearing his throat again. “About 3 years ago I was an assistant DI for a case, a woman had been murdered and it was one mess of a case. Our leads were dead ends and after a year the detective in charge of the case closed it. He didn’t keep trying to solve it and left this family with unimaginable grief in their hearts. I felt so disappointed in our team, my worst fear had come true, I wasn’t enough and let people down. We failed them and a killer stayed on the loose. I begged our superiors to let me finish working the case but it didn’t work.”

He swallows loudly, like it it’s hard to do so. The way it is when you’ve got a knot in your throat that hurts whenever you speak. “The look on their face still haunts me. They were so disappointed, they cried and asked us over and over again to open the case. I work so hard on cases now because I want to be a better detective than I was three years ago. I want to prove myself that I’m not the poor excuse of a detective I think I am… and yet it took me eight months to solve this case.”

“But you solved it.” You speak up, not wanting to hear him talk himself down like this anymore. You’re shaking your head, you know firsthand how much having a case closed and not getting the answers you need can hurt. But it wasn’t Harrison that closed it, he tried to get it open again, and solve it for that family. The fact that he tried shows the kind of person he is, what an honorable detective he’s always been even before you knew him.

“I almost didn’t… I’m what has caused you so much pain, Y/N. A pathetic detective that get cases solved by sheer luck. One that didn’t solve that murder case and couldn��t give that family any answers.”

“It’s not luck! I’ve seen you work, I’ve even been interrogated by you and your team so I know firsthand your thought process and your quick way of thinking, your perseverance and your kindness. All of that combined makes you better than any other detective in all of England. You haven’t caused me any pain, you know who did? The person that killed my brother and broke my family. It wasn’t you!”

You both stay silent for a minute, your eyebrows furrowed in anger and pain. It hurt you to know that this is how Harrison thinks of himself, when he is nothing other than wonderful. We all have insecurities, but the proof of his abilities is right in front of his eyes yet he fails to see how many people he helps. Then there’s the fact that he thinks you’d change your opinion of him because he couldn’t solve a case years ago because his superiors closed it and somehow blames himself for your pain ever since your brother died.

“Is this your way of saying that this won’t happen?” You gesture between you two, your hand cold now that Harrison isn’t holding it. “Because I want it to happen, I want to give us a shot. I’ve denied myself from being happy for so long and when I’m with you I feel all the happiness I thought I’d never feel again.” Your eyes stay staring at the horizon, your heart is hurting and you’re willing the pain to leave with the breeze. Go to the ocean, leave me alone.

“I want it to happen too.” Harrison speaks up, you see him shake his head from the corner of your eye. “I fell for you months ago and I’ve wanted to hold your hand ever since. I just… You can do so much better.”

You turn your body to face him, your eyebrows still furrowed and all your emotions probably showing in your eyes. “Don’t put me in a pedestal, Harrison.” Your hands reach for his face, letting his eyes linger on yours. “I’m far from perfect and so are you but we can’t let the past keep haunting us. I know problems don’t just fly away, but I think we’re both done with facing them alone.”

Harrison closes his eyes, his face falling as your words sink in. He’s so lonely, he’s terrified of not being alone anymore. If only he knew I’m just as scared. You feel tears come to your eyes, why are the kindest and most selfless people the ones who get hurt the most? You press your forehead against his and take a deep breath to keep yourself from crying. It’s quiet again, except for the crashing of the waves and the eventual cries of some seagulls. The sun shines brightly above the two of you, you can feel the heat on your skin and the salty breezy surrounds the two of you again. It’s trying to take all this sadness away and leave us with the happiness and love I feel for you instead, you think to yourself.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Harrison speaks up, his voice is quiet between the two of you. His hand comes up to you cheek as he moves away to look into your eyes. “I want to be with you, I really want this.”

You give him a watery smile, warmth spreading through your chest at his words. “Me too.”

“You have no idea how happy I am when I am with you.” His thumb caresses your cheek as he returns your smile. “One smile and I’m a goner.”

You chuckle at his words, your cheeks are burning but you can’t look away from his eyes. “I can say the same thing about your eyes. I also really like it when you come to the bookshop.”

“Well, I always want to see you.” Harrison says softly, his forehead comes back to rest against yours. “Would you like to have lunch with me?”

“Like another date?” You ask and then smile when he nods his head. “I’d love to.”

“Well then.” He says standing up, holding his hand out to you and helping you get up. “How does Mrs. Pacelli’s sound?”

You twine your fingers and swing your hands back and forth as you walk west, back to town. Your stomach grumbles in agreement and you smile at the thought of Mrs. Pacelli’s homemade lasagna right away. “It sounds amazing, her place is actually my favorite restaurant in town.”

Harrison chuckles and nods, “It is really great but my favorite place is further down the street.” He brings your hand to his lips for brief second before smiling down at you. “It’s a lovely bookshop with the best coffee.”

“Not a restaurant, though.” You smile back, heart beating wildly in your chest. The blue of Harrison’s eyes is even lovelier now that some of his worry was left behind at that spot in the sand; you can’t help but stare.

“You’re right, it’s not. But it is my favorite place, almost as beautiful as the owner.” Harrison shrugs as if he didn’t just flirt with you for the first time since you’ve known each other.

You push some hair behind your ear and lean your head on his shoulder, not used to what you’re feeling. Not after so long at least. Neither of you are perfect and you never will be, you’ve been shaped by your past and it’s left a scar in both of your hearts. Not letting it control your future though, that’s what makes all the difference. You had given up on love and happiness for years, but as your stomach buzzes with excitement and you feel those emotions again you can’t help but be glad that you took the chance. Uncertainty is usually scary, and you know more than anyone how much helplessness it can bring. This time however, something tells you that things will start to look up and even if you don’t know where this will lead, you’re not scared anymore.

Maybe the breeze does solve some things after all grandma

---

if you want to be tagged, let me know!

#Harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield fic #haz osterfield x reader #haz osterfield #pauwrites #dancing under the rain fic

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kat-feinated · 4 years

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My favorite Denver restaurants

How was your week?

My week included being invited to have a threesome with two of my work clients, who are both meth addicts and lost custody of their child due to said meth addiction.

My boss asked me to send the text to her and just replied “FOR GOD SAKE” and I feel like that’s the perfect summary of my year.

Speaking of meth, we finally finished watching “Tiger King” this week. I know I know, that show is so one month ago. But I have a lot of thoughts that I need to share with the world.

1. Did anyone else find Joe really sympathetic and felt bad for him? Yes, I know he’s unstable and probably killed animals and stuff but I found him...endearing!?

2. Doc Antle is the creepiest ever ever ever.

3. Jeff Lowe sucks. And his wife is way too young for him. And THE WHOLE THING WITH THE NANNY I JUST CAN’T.

4. The guy with no legs whose name I can’t remember was my favorite character. And just seems so normal. How did he end up there!?

5. I’m proud of Saff for standing up for Joe in the aftershow...everyone else just sold him down the river!

6. Howard Baskin. Howard Baskin singing. Howard Baskin’s wedding photos with Carole Baskin. The show is worth watching just for Howard Baskin.

7. Do I think Carole murdered her husband and fed him to a tiger? Yes. Would I still hang out with her in a heartbeat? ABSOLUTELY.

8. I’m extremely mad that I didn’t come up with “hey all you cool cats and kittens”. And now it’s already over-used.

Do you miss eating at restaurants as much as I do? (Probably not because you’re probably a normal person who has friends and other hobbies). I miss restaurants so much it HURTS. I miss looking up menus and deciding what I’m going to order days before I go. I miss people-watching and commenting on everyone else’s food. I miss kind servers bringing me baskets of bread and drinks that I didn’t make. I MISS RESTAURANTS YOU GUYS.

So, while I’m eagerly waiting for restaurants to start re-opening, I thought it would be fun to share my very favorite places to eat in Denver. Share this list with your favorite Denver local! Or better yet, come visit Denver and try these spots out (and invite me!!).

Cuba Cuba: This was the first restaurant I tried in Denver, because it’s across the street from our old apartment. It’s located in an adorable blue bungalow but is surprisingly spacious on the inside. For drinks, order their house made mojitos or a pina colada. For appetizers, order the plantain chips with guacamole and garlic sauce (YUM) or the empanadas. Everything I’ve eaten there for dinner has been delicious, but I especially love the coconut shrimp and the chimichurri steak.

Perfect for: a date night or girls’ night where you feel like getting a little dressed up (but you’d be fine going there dressed more casually).

Rioja: This is my mom’s favorite Denver restaurant, and she insists we go every single time she’s in town. It’s located in Larimer Square, the cutest and most charming street in downtown Denver. It’s a bunch of old Victorian buildings that have been converted into restaurants and shops, and the street is decorated with twinkly lights and Colorado state flags so it’s a great spot to get a touristy picture when you visit.

The menu changes constantly, so it’s hard to recommend exactly what to order, but you can’t go wrong with the pasta dishes. They are known for their artichoke tortelloni and it’s honestly the best pasta I’ve ever eaten in my life. Last time we also ordered the tagliatelle and clams which was fantastic. For starters, order the smoked pear and raclette if it’s available-so yummy.

Also, Rioja makes all their bread in house, and it’s probably our favorite part of the restaurant. Waiters literally come around with a giant tray of bread and I always try every single type. The lavender sourdough and rosemary biscuit are life-changing.

Perfect for: when your parents come visit (and pay!) or a special occasion like an anniversary or birthday dinner. It is on the pricey side.

Work & Class: This is probably the Denver restaurant I’ve eaten at the most. Located in the very hip Five Points neighborhood, Work & Class is always busy and does not take reservations, so I would recommend going on a random weeknight vs. a Friday or Saturday. If you do go on the weekend, plan on an hour plus wait-the good news is you’re surrounded by bars and breweries to help pass the time.

Work & Class is a South American/American fusion restaurant, and everything is served tapas (small plates) style, so go with someone you are cool sharing with. They have fabulous in-house cocktails which change seasonally, so definitely order one while you peruse the menu. It’s hard to make food recommendations since I’ve probably tried everything on the menu and have never been disappointed, but some of my favorites include: the lamb, the empanadas, the mac & cheese, and any of their vegetable side dishes.

Perfect for: your group of friends who you’re comfortable sharing with (eating off of each other’s plates!).

Mercantile Dining & Provisions: This is another spot that my mom insists on visiting every time she comes to Denver. It’s located in Union Station in downtown Denver, which is itself a great spot to visit. It’s an old train station (that is still a working train station) but also home to a hotel, an ice cream parlor, a bookshop, a florist, and every other small adorable business you can imagine.

Mercantile serves breakfast, lunch, and dinner (I’ve had all 3 there), but my mom and I have created what we believe is the perfect system for dining there. We always go on the day she is leaving town, since she can take the train from Union Station to the Denver Airport after our meal. We try to go around 11am, and we order a raspberry muffin. My mom doesn’t even like muffins, but these are no ordinary muffins-not too sweet, perfectly fluffy, moist (I’M SORRY) -just sheer perfection. After sitting and people watching for about an hour, we then order a short rib sandwich around noon, as soon as they start serving their lunch menu (it gets quite busy at this time). SO GOOD. SO TASTY. Plus, the restaurant itself is so cute-it looks like Joanna Gaines designed the perfect black-and-white chic modern farmhouse.

Perfect for: brunch/lunch after a morning exploring downtown Denver, or a quick bite before catching the train to the airport.

Lowdown Brewery: Is it cheating that this is actually a brewery and not a restaurant? I say it counts because they make all their food in house. I don’t always love going to the popular breweries around Denver because they’re usually packed. I’ve never seen Lowdown packed and in my opinion it’s the best brewery in Denver in terms of food and ambience-and the beer is good too!

Not only do they make and sell their own beers, but their menu always features a seasonally rotating list of Colorado beers as well. They have a lot of IPA’s (which I despise but everyone else seems to love). I’ve tried their blood orange wheat, selfish (pale ale), and their blackberry sour and have enjoyed all three. In terms of food, you can’t go wrong with any of their pizzas, salads, or sandwiches, but I personally can’t get enough of their beer cheese dip (served with broccoli, apple slices, and soft pretzel bites-I’M DROOLING).

Perfect for: sitting out on their patio with friends in the warm weather. Bring your dog!

El Five: El Five has one of the coolest views of downtown Denver, not to mention delicious food and drinks and great service. Their sangria is the best I’ve ever tasted, but they have tons of great cocktail, beer and wine choices if that’s not your thing (but also what is wrong with you). For appetizers, try the spreads of the med-a platter of house made pita, hummus, and veggies. For their traditional tapas, I’ve tried and enjoyed the patatas bravas, the shrimp & calamari, and the goat cheese croquettes. Then, of course, you must try their paella. I’ve tried both the Valencian (made with rabbit confit!) and the seafood and would recommend either. Be prepared to log roll out of the restaurant when you’re finished because you will have gained 100 pounds.

Perfect for: a festive date night, dinner with your parents, drinks with your girlfriends-just be prepared for an expensive bill.

Stowaway: I’ve only been to Stowaway once, right before the shelter in place order started, but I’ve been dreaming about it ever since. First of all, it is tucked into the cutest former warehouse-turned-hipster-coffee shop/brunch spot, complete with exposed pipes and red brick walls. I AM HERE FOR IT.

We went on a Sunday morning with some friends who warned us to expect a bit of a wait. Fortunately, the Denver Central Market is just a few blocks away so we were able to enjoy some cocktails and/or coffee while we waited.

When we finally got in, I ordered the Colorful Colorado (an egg dish) because of the 8 million reviews I’d read ahead of time that told me I must order this dish or live a life of unending misery and regret (ok, that might be a slight exaggeration but it was something along those lines). I also split the fruit toast with Joshua because I have to order something sweet and something savory when I go to brunch (I know I have a problem, just leave me alone). Both were so freaking good. I can’t wait to go back soon and try everything on their menu (or more likely, order the same two dishes over and over again).

Perfect for: brunch with your favorite hipster friend.

Linger: This is the one restaurant on my list that I love more for the location/ambience than for the food, though the food is certainly tasty. Linger is located in my favorite neighborhood in Denver (LoHi or Lower Highlands) and the building it’s in USED TO BE A MORTUARY. Like, WHERE DEAD PEOPLE WOULD BE SENT AFTER THEY DIED. I personally find this so cool, and if this freaks you out, you would never know except that I just told you (sorry). It’s very airy inside with cozy mood lighting and exposed brick walls. This is another place that does small plates and they’re all globally-inspired street food dishes-the menu is literally divided by continent (i.e. Asia, Africa). For drinks, order the turmeric mule. For eating, you really can’t go wrong, but some dishes I’ve enjoyed include: the bao buns, the impossible burger persian sliders, the tuna tostadas, and the potato masala dosa. Skip dessert because right around the corner you’ll find Little Man Ice Cream-one of my favorite ice cream spots in the city.

Perfect for: a first date/date night, a girls’ night, or a summer brunch on their rooftop bar.

Snooze: Full disclosure-Snooze is a chain and is not just located in Denver; they have locations across Colorado and in a few other states including Texas and California. That being said, I just have to include it on my list because I believe it is completely worth the hype.

Because there is always a long wait (I’m talking 2 hours sometimes), we always go on a Monday morning when there’s a federal holiday that other people don’t get off, such as Columbus Day. Don’t kid yourself-there will still be a wait, but it will hopefully be closer to one hour. Plus, they give out free coffee while you wait!

I don’t even like pancakes, but I always order the pancakes here. ORDER THE DAMN PANCAKES PEOPLE. You can even get a pancake flight where you can sample three different types of pancakes (I highly recommend the blueberry danish pancakes and the sweet potato pancakes). If I’m in a savory mood, I’ll order the breakfast tacos with a side of one pancake.

Perfect for: brunch with your friend, brunch with family or anyone with kids, brunch with your arch nemesis, brunch with anyone.

Hopefully this list made you excited to go back to restaurants again in the future, instead of depressed! And please send me your best restaurant recommendations! These conversations are what I live for.

#denverrestaurants #denvereats #restaurants #food #foodie #denver #colorado #tigerking #carolebaskin #joeexotic

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purplesurveys · 5 years

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560

What's your favourite type of bird? I...‘ve never really had a favorite bird. How many friends do you have on Facebook? Good for you, I’m not feeling lazy to check tonight. 629. What was on the last sandwich you ate? This question was also in another recent survey I took haha. Ham and cheese. What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? It was punk rock that mostly carried me through high school, but I also listened to some pop rock and alternative rock from time to time. Do you prefer gold or silver jewellery? Silver. I reeeeeeally am not into gold.

Have you ever gotten back together with an ex? Yes. How far away is the closest store to your house and what is it? There’s a 7-11 and a drugstore just across the main gate of our village, but you have to take a u-turn to get there because it’s in the main highway.

What is your favourite Thai dish? Pad thai and green curry. How many contacts do you have in your phone? Too many. There was a time when I used Gab’s number to sign up for some stuff online so her contacts got synced to mine as well, so it doubled the amount of contacts on my phone. When was the last time you made out with somebody? Tuesday night. What month of the year was your mother born? September. Do you have any friends that seem to know all the hot gossip? Kate, but she graduated and she’s working now and not very gossip-y these days :’( Second to her would probs be Angela. Are there any candles in your bedroom, and what scent are they? No, I don’t really spend on candles. What tv show(s) have you been watching currently? Just Friends. I want to continue watching Queer Eye, though. When was the last time you went to a birthday party? I’m not sure about birthday parties per se but the last celebration I went to was the birthday dinner Angela hosted at Frankie’s. How many apps do you have on your phone? Meh, I have quite a lot and now I’m too lazy to count. What pet names do you use with your significant other? I’ll take a pass at this question lol. Do you have to wear a name badge where you work? I don’t work but some college buildings are stricter about IDs than others, yeah. Do you have a dress code or have to wear a uniform where you work? There is no dress code in UP, which is one of the reasons it’s the best (and top) school in the country. What brand is your toaster, if you have one? We don’t have one because we wouldn’t really use it if we got one. Have you ever dated a smoker? If not, would you? I guess I am dating one now. Gab started vaping recently and I hopped on the same train not long after. LOOOOOOOOOOL I am such a CLOWN Are there any movies you've seen so many times? Two for the goshdang Road. And the first Twilight movie. What was the last thing you purchased with cash? Pad thai and this iced drink called choco coffee at a Thai food stall in school. I don’t usually treat myself to that much food but it was my last day of school before the 5-day weekend started, I had just finished a brutal workout in PE, and I just felt like I deserved some kind of reward. Can you hear anything right now? The whirring of the electric fan across me. Is there anybody else in the room you're currently in? Nope, just me. What's the name of the store you usually get your groceries? We don’t have a permanent grocery but my mom would typically go to SM groceries or in a local grocery called Freshto that’s really near our village. Would you rather travel to Japan or Scotland? Japan. Does your house have a porch/balcony? It originally had one, but we refurbished the balcony and turned it into my brother’s room. We still kept a part of the original balcony intact though because it’s where my dog got used to peeing, and we didn’t want him to lose that space. We might’ve lost the balcony but we still have a rooftop if we wanted a view. What's your usual order when you go to a coffee shop? It depends, because the coffee shops I usually go to each have different drinks that I like; like I’d get an iced caramel macchiato in Starbucks, an iced mocha from Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, an iced hazelnut drink from this other local cafe we go to, etc. But I think in general, my security blanket is caramel macchiato. Have you ever seen a theatre show? Not a professionally-produced one. I’ve seen many recitals and amateur productions, though. What was the last movie you saw and who did you watch it with? El Camino. I watched it alone. What is your mother's first name? Abigail. Do you like to dance? Only when I’m super super super tipsy, haha. And even until then it’s still a hit-or-miss if I’ll end up dancing. It’s just not my thing, overall. What's your favourite type of bread? Brioche. Do you receive catalogues and brochures in your mailbox? As far as I know, we don’t.

What colour is the sky right now? Black. Do you share a middle name with any of your siblings? Nope, my parents didn’t do that to us. We obviously all have the same maiden names, though. Have there ever been any bushfires/wildfires in your area? No. Have you ever taken a ride in an ambulance? Nope, never happened. How would you label your sexual orientation? Demisexual, which is under the umbrella of asexuality. When was the last time you took a nap during the day? Just yesterday. What did you have to eat for dinner last night? I skipped dinner last night because of my toothache, so I stuck with the potato chips that my sister had bought that day but never got to finish. Have you ever been a member in a band? Nah, I never really wanted to be in a band. I wanted to learn the drums, but it didn’t mean I also wanted to have a band of my own. Are you double-jointed? I am not. What was the last thing you had to drink? Coffee. Do you currently have any bruises on your body? Not right now, no. Or at least none that I know of. Who was the last message you received from and what did they say? “Impossibleeeeee” from Gab when I told her I saw someone selling AirPods for way cheap. They were selling it for P2,400 or something like $46 lmao it’s ridiculous. What colour are your eyes? Black. Can you cry on command? If so, have you ever used it to your advantage? No I can’t. Do you consider your goals easily achievable or are they pretty grand? They’re pretty grand. What's your favourite kind of accent? You know how Claire Foy speaks in The Crown? That’s my faaaaavorite accent. What time does the sun go down where you live at this time of the year? By this time of the year, the sun sets preeeeeeetty dang early. It’s completely dark by 5:30 PM. Do you prefer beer, wine or spirits? Spirits, def. I hate the first two, especially beer. When was the last time you ate Mexican food? A couple of weeks ago. My mom has loved this Mexican place for ages and so we went there for lunch. Have you ever watched yourself on video? Of course. I think that’s pretty unavoidable by the time you’re 21, lmao. What time did you wake up today? I woke up at 11:30, probably because I took two painkillers the day before. What time will you go to sleep tonight? I have no clue. I still have an entire cup of coffee to finish, so we’ll see how that goes. Do you have separate emails for personal and business? Kinda? I use my personal email for social media stuff, and my school also provides us with our own emails for more academic, serious-y, professional matters, but not necessarily business. Are you the eldest, youngest or a middle child? I’m the eldest. What's your favourite vegetable? Broccoli. What colours are you wearing today? A grey sweater that’s like 4x my size. Do you have a subscription to any streaming services like Netflix? I use Netflix and Spotify but I’m not the one paying for both. Would you rather eat Italian or Indian food? Indian. Are you sitting, standing or lying down right now? I’m sitting up on the couch. Have you ever missed a flight? Nooooo no no my parents would make sure that never happens. Are you someone who always needs a coffee before you can function? No. I can do fine without coffee. Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them? I’m sure some of them do, but seeing as I don’t really talk to our neighbors, I obviously have never met their pets. When was the last time you washed your hair? This afternoon. What colour is your bedroom door? Brown. Have you ever seen a lunar eclipse? Yeah, I saw the super blue blood moon last year. Pretty fucking wicked. Do you know your significant other's passwords? I know the password to her laptop, but that’s it. What was the last thing you said aloud? “Nope, I’ll do it” I told my sister when she asked if I wanted her to turn off the AC in the living room. Do you know anyone who writes huge essays when they message you? Not really. People tend to type in short, quick messages when they wanna say something long haha. What's your favourite type of salad? Spicy tuna saladddddd.

#survey #surveys

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fanficimagery · 6 years

Text

Imagine being the step-sister to Pepper Potts. When the rest of your family decided to take their anger out on you and put you down every chance they got, she and Tony Stark decided to take you in. There were rules to living with them, obviously, but you didn't mind. Especially since Tony granted you an entire floor of Stark (Avengers) Tower in the underground basement levels when you expressed not wanting to be anywhere near his explosions.

Bucky X Reader (Gen Fic)

Living in the basement levels of Stark (Avengers) Tower was... not quite what you expected. Pepper had first set you up in the upper levels of the Tower in a rather swanky apartment, but it just wasn't you. Sure having superheros as next door neighbors was pretty legit, but never knowing when Doctor Banner would go green or when one of Tony's experiments would explode left you in a constant state of anxiety. And just when you thought no one was paying you any attention and saw how uncomfortable you were with everything, Tony swooped in and escorted you to the lower levels of the Tower.

Your new apartment ended up being an entire floor of said tower, it being an open floor plan. That said, the only doors your apartment consisted of where that of a few closets, the bathroom, a pantry and the kitchen cabinets. Everything else- your bedroom, the kitchen, a small art and crafts area, and the sitting area- is accessible without having to go through doors or walk around a wall. It left room for no privacy, but it was absolutely perfect in your eyes.

Finding a job, which was part of the rules to being taken under Pepper's wing, was harder than expected. Fortunately for you, Tony Stark had come through yet again. The job wasn't something usually sought after since being a barista didn't have the benefits one needed to stay afloat as an adult, but being a barista in the coffee shop located one floor above ground level inside Stark Tower came with a lot of pay and surprising benefits. The hours were from six in the morning to three in the afternoon and you've never had it any easier.

And though the other Tower occupants knew of your existence- you had nothing but friendly encounters with the entire team in passing- they opted to leave you be unless you sought them out.

After nearly a year, however, things were bound to change up. So it's no wonder that one day after work, you walk into your apartment and find one lost super soldier standing beyond the elevator and glancing around in confusion.

"Uhh... Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky Barnes turns around, sparing you a long look before facing your apartment once more. "There are no windows," he mutters. You huff a laugh and walk around him, heading for your coffee table to set down your phone and wallet. "Why don't you live upstairs with everyone else?"

Shrugging, you plop down in the armchair and keep your eyes on him. "I know pretty well what the outside looks like. As for my living arrangements, I'm just more comfortable this way. I adore the team, but living up there with them would be constant noise and that's draining to me."

Bucky hums and you gulp as he heads over to your art center, his gaze trailing over the various canvases you have hanging around. "You paint all these?"

"Yeah. I get bored very easily and teenagers will surprisingly pay money for something painted from one of their favorite fandoms. It's easy money."

"Ever paint the team?"

You snort and stand up, cautiously walking towards the super soldier. "Thor is the most popular right now. He's the first to sell out when I post pics of what I'm selling." Then walking further into the art center, you pull free a folder that has various rough sketches in pencil and hand them over to Bucky. "When I run out of inspiration, I ask people what they would like to see. They'll describe what they want and I sketch it out. If it's to their liking and are willing to pay, I'll put it on a canvas for them. Tony and Bruce have a few of my things in their rooms. Natasha, too, if I remember correctly."

"Your Miss Pott's sister. Right?" He asks while thumbing through the sketches, stopping on a sketch of himself and Steve from the first war they fought together- the both of them dirtied and laughing. "I think I've heard about you."

"Mhm. Pleasure to finally meet you, Sergeant. I'm Y/N."

"Bucky. All my friends call me Bucky."

"Well then, Bucky, since we're friends and all... if you want that sketch you got there you can keep it." His lips faintly twitch and you can't help but smile. "Or if you want me to paint it, put the sketch on top of the pile and I'll start on it after I get my new batch of canvases in."

"What does a painting of yours usually run for?"

"For you? Free." He sharply looks up at you, expression blank. You shake your head at him. "I didn't charge Tony or Bruce or Nat. I'm not going to charge you."

Bucky frowns, but eventually nods. "Okay. When you have the time, I think I'd like a painting of this."

As he moves the sketch of his choosing to the top of the papers in his hand, you grin at him. "You got it."

The next time you see Bucky is two weeks later while you're at work. He walks in with Steve and the both of them place their order, you then making their drinks for them. As you're bagging their treats, you smile kindly at them while handing everything over.

"Miss Y/L/N," Steve greets.

"Y/N." Bucky nods in greeting.

"Gentlemen," you grin. "How's your day going so far?" Bucky shrugs as he accepts his drink, carefully sipping it as Steve tells you of the boring day they've had so far. Then as they're leaving, you remember you have something to tell Bucky. "Hey, Barnes! If you want, you can drop by tonight and pick up your painting. It's finished."

Steve's eyebrows raise in surprise as he glances between you and his best friend, the darker haired of the two faintly grinning. "Already?"

"Yep. Didn't have any plans, so I got a lot of work done."

"Okay. I'll be by later."

"I get off at three!" You shout after them. "Any time after four is good though."

Outside as the two super soldiers make their way down a short hallway and stop before the elevator, Steve clears his throat. "So Y/N... I didn't know you two knew each other."

"Drop it, punk."

"What? I'm just saying."

"Mhm." Bucky then sighs, knowing full well Steve won't leave it alone. "I noticed people talking about Miss Potts' sister, but realized she didn't live on the floors higher up. I got curious and found her place."

"And she painted you something?"

"...yeah. I think you'll like it. We can hang it in our living room."

Over the next few weeks, Bucky becomes a constant visitor to your apartment. If he's not watching you mix colors to get the perfect shades of blue, purple and greens for a galaxy piece you got inspired to paint, then he's either playing the video game console or muttering remarks about your terrible taste in movies.

"Are you planning a party?" He wonders one day as he eats a bowl of cereal at the kitchen bar. "I've noticed there's more food than usual in your fridge."

Glancing up from carefully packaging your latest painting for a tumblr follower, you nod. "Sort of. The Super Bowl is in a couple of days and my favorite team is playing."

He quirks an eyebrow at you. "You like football?"

"Duh. I'm from Texas. I spent my entire junior high and high school careers attending football games every Friday night, Barnes. It's in my blood to get hyped over football, but especially this Super Bowl since the Dallas Cowboys are playing."

"Who else is coming?"

You open your mouth to answer, but realizing you hadn't actually invited anyone you let your mouth snap shut and sheepishly smile. "No one. Wanna join me? I'm making some snack foods to eat throughout the game."

Huffing a laugh, Bucky shrugs. "Sure. Should I bring anything?"

"If you want. I'm making some wings, loaded cheddar and bacon potato skins, and some sandwiches."

"So drinks and chips? I can do that."

"Okay. And if you come over wearing even a hint of orange, I will punch you in the throat and kick you out."

"Then what colors am I allowed to wear?" He smirks.

"Navy blue. The Cowboys are blue and silver, but your arm's got the silver down so you're good on that front."

"Whatever you say, doll." As Bucky stands to rinse his bowl off in the sink, he looks over his shoulder at you. "Can I invite Stevie? I'll make sure he wears orange so you can punch him."

"You're hilarious, Buck. Now if you don't mind, can you please mail this for me?" You ask while sliding the large box over towards him. "I have to start picking up around here and get a start on the laundry."

"Mhm. Whatever you need." Before he takes his leave, you can't help but grin as he gives you a side hug, he then subconsciously pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'll be back later." He actually pauses as he picks up your package, his actions registering in his mind. Various emotions seem to pass over his features and you laugh while pushing him towards the elevator.

The affection given by Bucky is fairly new, but it's not exactly romantic. However, it is a huge improvement since what you've heard of him before you got to know him painted him as a sulking shadow to the Captain, and you're glad he's opened up to you and offered his friendship. He threw a wrench into your plans to just exist without surrounding yourself by anyone other than Tony and Pepper, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

#imagine #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel gen fic x reader #steve rogers #fanficimagery

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dothewrite · 6 years

Text

pieces, number nine

Stay with me, on winter’s eve.

On a rare clear night such as this, the billboards and neon lights glittered even brighter around Piccadilly circus. The massive snow cloud haunting the city the past few weeks had worn itself out, and the near blizzard had abated into an unusual but not unwelcome emptiness, with only a few brisk gusts to usher people on with their evenings. Tonight, of all nights, was Christmas Eve, and most people were being very much ushered into their shamefully last-minute Christmas shopping. Everyone seemed to be scurrying somewhere with exasperation plastered all over, and no fewer than eight people had swung their hulking great bags into your shins in the time it took for you to cross a few streets to the pub.

There weren’t any customers loitering outside the wooden doors this evening, even if there had been a steady stream of people heading in all sort of directions along the pavements nearby. It was left free for you to shove your shoulder against the handle instead of having to pull your hands out of your warmed pockets.

You looked up when the small welcome bell hooked above the doorway didn’t ring, missing all the daggers shot your way for letting in the frigid air.

“Close the bloody door,” someone hollered from the back, and there was a laugh, and the barkeep’s familiar voice cut in before anyone could start cussing.

He pointed at the brass bell above your head. “It froze over sometime last night.” Wisely, you let the door fall shut behind you to avoid being mobbed. “Haven’t had the time to sort it out yet, but we’ve all got eyes, don’t we? Don’t need a blooming chime to see a grown man walk though those creaky doors.”

“Oh yes,” agreed someone else, slow and drawling and doing a terrible impression of being serious. “I think we can all attest to your eyes being abnormally functional.”

The barkeep rolled his eyes and continued wiping down the beer nozzle. “You’re welcome to hop over the counter and keep this business afloat with new folk coming in here trying to scurry out before paying their tabs.”

“You’d think it’d be better in Central London,” added another, over the rim of a wooden mug so huge it was almost a tankard. You slipped past a few seats to catch sight of Daichi with what looked like a miniature barrel of mulled wine tucked in-between his hands (it was always mulled wine in winter; he hated beer and tried his best to avoid downing apple cider in front of such disreputable company), nodding along to the barkeep’s next complaint and flashing you a warm grin. Sat next to him was Ushijima, body loose and draped over the bar table almost casually and five different sized glasses, all empty, were strewn about him. It was Kuroo’s doing, of course, who was sprawled like a resplendent ghost of Christmas to come, watching Ushijima’s development rather smugly.

Daichi gestured at the empty stool between him and Kuroo. There was a cup of something frothed perched on top of it to keep it warm for your bum and a thick plaid blanket sat happily next to it, messily folded and all ready to be shaken out by a shivering customer. When you stood there motionless for a little too long, Kuroo tapped the stool with the toe of his boot and gave you a long look.

“Come on, it’s cold by the door. Daichi even got you a drink.”

Someone’s bag caught you by the ankles again as you headed towards your seat obediently. Calmly, Daichi set the drink on the table in front of you whilst you unfurled the blanket and huddled underneath it. Sneaking your hands out of your mittens and around the steaming mug, you took a massive gulp, ignoring the burn of heat down your throat. Ushijima made a small sound of surprise from a seat over and before you could burn your mouth to death, he leaned over the table and gently pried the cup out of your grasp, and to your right, you heard a quiet sigh.

The three of them were quiet for a moment, sipping their drinks and attempting to watch you without you catching on as the hum of muffled chatter in the background filled in the empty spaces. Even the barkeep was unexpectedly polishing his wares in silence, but not before he slid a platter of freshly baked scones over to your small party on one of his ghastly vintage plates.

“Thanks,” you managed from underneath your scarf, and he nodded.

It was almost ceremonial, how the three of them would be here on Christmas Eve. As the collective backbone, founders and continual authority of Thursday bar nights, it was fitting that they would be here in your group’s favourite pub with your favourite owner, underneath holly wreaths, flashing tinsel and drunken carols to herald in a new Christian year. Not that anybody gave a second shite about baby Jesus or the three wise men, but it was undeniably the best holiday of the year and such communal goodwill and cheer was not to be left unexploited by a few blokes who really liked drinking in crowded places.

There were occasionally more people in attendance, but that varied with each Christmas. However, these three were here unfailingly year after year and every year like so, you would sit in the chair sandwiched between them as they pressed in closer with their pointy elbows and loud laughter.

Slowly, you would put out of your mind the question of what comes next, after the glow of giving slowly evaporated from the masses and London once again returned to its dreary politeness and the ungenerous atmosphere of rush-hour traffic.

“Harrod’s is green this year,” Kuroo said. “It’s a bloody good change from red all damned season, I say.”

“It’s green because it’s Christmas,” Ushijima pointed out. “It’s quite literally the only other option.”

“Is that so? What about the North Star, or the national colours of Jerusalem? Couldn’t have someone done something with those colours? You’d think Father Christmas would be sick to death from seeing green and red for fucking millennia.”

“If anyone would know,” Daichi said with a wry smile, “I think it’d be you. How is Father Christmas this year, by the way? Feeling the full weight of those presents and adult responsibility on his broad, aching shoulders yet?”

That pulled a snort of laughter out from you, imagining Bokuto in his annual role as Father Christmas at home for his army of nephews, nieces, and an infinitely extending family. Akaashi would be there, of course, bearing all his antics as gracefully as possible, but anyone who knew him well would easily spy the tell-tale flush on his cheeks and the way his lips would be twitching upwards, his eyes soft and curved. And, through all of that, Bokuto would probably be attempting to scale their long defunct chimney, closed due to modern fire hazard reasons, trying not to snap his neck into an early grave.

Kuroo sniggered. “His third cousin’s given birth to twins, and they’re not gonna let him off the hook any earlier than two in the morning.”

“God forbid he takes off the costume,” you murmured, “I don’t think any of the kids in his family are old enough for the crushing reality of ‘guess who really pays for those presents, and it’s not a happy fat man’.”

“Hah, that’d be a sight for sore eyes. Can you imagine? Reindeer? In London? Do you know how many residents are going to file complaints for deer shit on their rooftops after Boxing Day?”

Ushijima sighed emphatically. “You’d think that grown men and women would be able to climb up their very low houses and pick up a few lumps with a plastic bag. No reasonable person should ever see shit on their roofs and think, ‘I know who I’d nominate for the job: The Chief of Police.’”

You took another draught of your drink. It was a latte—which pubs definitely didn’t sell—meaning the barkeep must’ve gone upstairs to his flat for his coffee machine especially. Belatedly, you noticed that it had already half disappeared. Along with quite a bit of your sense of taste, thanks to its temperature.

“Ushijima, you’ve just described the entire country’s current pet climate.”

“It’s quite a bother sometimes when they poop right after you’ve run out of bags or paper.” Daichi sighed heavily, the echoes of personal trauma ringing after it. His dog, although very large and very lovely, was also infuriatingly picky about his excretion. Many people—all strangers—have yelled. “But at the very least I can say that I’ve never called the police for it.”

“Pet owners don’t call the police,” said Kuroo bitterly, also a regular attendee of Traumatic Pets Anonymous, “they have the police called on them by heartless, petty neighbours.”

You frowned. “Your cat tore up someone’s sofa.”

“You’d want me arrested because of some claw marks?” Kuroo asked, affronted.

“They’d probably be there to prevent her from murdering you in the kitchen,” Ushijima muttered, and Daichi burst out laughing. “It’s Italian leather,” you protested, and they chimed in halfway with what they had heard a thousand times before.

Oh, someone was bound to say something about your sofa next, and if only you had someone to bet against, you’d double your entire fortune on that person being Kuroo and his charitable comments.

“I’ve never understood why there’s this queen of bloody furniture sitting in the middle of your living room when your mattress is still second-hand IKEA,” said Kuroo. “I mean, we’re all adults here so fuck it—are you or are you not afraid of cum stains? Don’t—” he quickly cut you off when you opened your mouth for a poor explanation, “—don’t deny it. They are there. They are always there. You think university students don’t fuck any chance they get, their own fists not excluded? You have a job, woman, stop collecting hand-knitted throws and start saving towards a new Sealy’s.”

You were cut off again by a very amused looking Daichi on his second tankard of wine. You had to agree that they really did look very authentic, and if you didn’t know better about the high rent prices, you’d think there was a storage room in the back just full of little historic mugs being aged properly in the dark, dank cold.

“I reckon it might have to do with how much one of those things cost, Kuroo. You could afford a new car with just three of those, four if you’ve a big family. Besides, we’re still young enough to endure a few more years of poor spinal support, don’t you think? And stains aren’t something that a new bedsheet can’t solve.”

Kuro leant in closer to you, and you caught a whiff of the rich liqueur of hot eggnog on his breath.

“I am offended on your behalf.”

His eyes were narrow and focused, the heat of questions you knew he wouldn’t dare ask in the middle of a pub thinned his lips and you were barely aware that time had suddenly slowed, and your breath building up in your lungs.

It could have been after the rest of the evening or an entire month, you weren’t sure, when Kuroo finally leant away from you again, resting on his elbow and an inscrutable expression dancing along his brows. You turned back with a faint breath to your drink, now slightly cooled from neglect, and found Ushijima watching you as intently as was politely possible. Daichi was clearly not looking, instead interviewing the barkeep about something related to cider and buckets.

A thick lump swelled in your throat, clogging your voice and suffocating it underneath its sour sting, and something else had been birthed in your gut, writhing, furious and slowly wrapping itself around your insides, throttling the feeling out of your lungs and creeping up your trembling hands. But all you could see was your splotchy reflection in your mug, pale, still and your cracked lips frozen into a thin, straight line that did no favours for your dull eyes.

You tried to smile, to break into a laugh to brush the atmosphere away, but you were met with only a grimace in your cup.

There was suddenly a squeeze around your arm and all too easily with a heartbeat so slow you might as well be catatonic, you turned to look. Kuroo watched you, his hand wrapped around your bicep firmly but softly, and his arm twitched, like he couldn’t decide between shoving or pulling.

And because you couldn’t, you shouldn’t, and you most certainly didn’t deserve to, you looked into his worried eyes and permitted yourself to feel absolutely nothing. Someone could have slapped you across the face and you’d have stared back at them with your parched, stern stare.

“I’m fine,” you said, even though nobody had asked.

The hand tightened a fraction, but Kuroo finally looked away and dropped his hand. “I’m fine,” you repeated, this time with more feeling, and he nodded once, unable to meet your eyes. You could see the line tense in his jaw as he clenched it, and barely, just barely, did you tamper the urge to say something completely inane because you’d more or less come to ruin someone’s evening. It made it no easier to know better than most that Kuroo deserved a festive night without the pressure of your charming presence.

You wondered what had happened to the mindless chatter a few minutes ago. Your stupid leather sofa had seemed so important then, and the mentions of friends in warmer places—it was almost as if nothing really mattered as long as everyone was appearing to have a good time, even if they were in the middle of London with a bunch of drunkards instead of setting up their Christmas trees with their parents.

The dull throbbing in your head in part wished Daichi would stop talking to the barkeep, and that Ushijima would stop staring at you as if he could flip through all the pages in your book if he wanted to.

But that would be ungrateful, and you needed to be anything but that if you were to make it through the rest of the night.

“Are you all going home tomorrow?” You asked, swallowing the last vestiges of your coffee, and faster than you could blink, the barkeep set down something else in front of you. You did your best to offer him a reassuring smile when he only seemed to frown even deeper. The drink looked as brown as the rest of the pub in the dim lighting, and it took you a sip to identify it as a glass of hot buttered rum before adding, “I assume everyone’s here because they’ve done all their obligatory shopping.”

Ushijima gave you an odd look, but when he opened his mouth Daichi cleared his throat and shook his head ever so slightly. Looking no less troubled, Ushijima fell back into his seat in silence.

“You know I’ve done all of mine last month,” said Daichi. “Stores start selling Christmas things in late October, and they almost always hike up the prices mid-December.”

“To punish the slothful, I know, I know.” You huffed. “Always the saint.”

Daichi laughed and winked at you. “It’s the secret to affording decent mattresses, my dear. You’ve got to get ahead of the curve.”

“Wait a minute.” Kuroo frowned and stared accusingly at Daichi. “What about your rounds? Do you do those in November too?”

A silly tradition they shared was their open-door policy nearing the hols. It was the only time of year where everyone’s houses effectively transformed into revolving doors. Combinations were shared and spare keys passed around, and any time of day someone could be wandering into their friend’s house, sneaking a wrapped parcel underneath their mandatory Christmas tree and then prancing off into the night unseen. Oikawa was always the man to go to each year—he unofficially ran the black market for everyone’s keys and passed out individual schedules in exchange for favours, and in no small part due to his dizzying success after Boxing Day, he was always bullied into being the host for the New Year’s Eve bash at his vast, vast apartment. Or at the very least, that was the way it had been the last time you showed up, four years ago.

Daichi’s face fell blank and if he looked any more innocent, a choir of angels would feel compelled to descend in song in praise of his name. “Don’t be daft,” he said. “Where would I put your gifts in November without your trees ready?”

“He has his ways,” Ushijima offered sagely, a veteran of the magic that is Sawamura Daichi’s responsible adulting. “It’s possible he’s actually gotten all the Christmas shopping completed for the next ten years and he’s just stored them in a hidden compartment in your storage cupboards. You’d never know.”

“Stop unveiling all my secrets,” Daichi muttered, giving Ushijima’s thigh a lazy slap. “I take the Magical Statute of Secrecy very seriously, I’ll have you know.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Musing, you rolled the image over a few times in your head. “You’d be one of those people at their boring desk jobs at the Ministry, and we’d only realize on your death bed that you’ve been secretly researching spells of mass destruction.”

Daichi reached out for a scone and bit into it with relish. “Hardly. Mass destruction is not my style.”

“Right. Serial mind-control, perhaps?” Kuroo suggested. “A drinkable Imperius?”

“I see you’ve been confusing me with Koushi.”

“Please. You know he’d offer to be a Dark Lord just for fun.”

Daichi shrugged. “He’ll suggest a Harry Potter themed Christmas one of these days, just you wait. You can tell he’s bursting at the seams for a holiday where everyone’s together and we march down the street demanding equal rights for muggle-borns and non-magical folk.”

“Do you?” Ushijima wondered aloud. “Do you think we’ll manage a Christmas where we’re all together?”

“We’d probably have to rent out Westminster cathedral to fit us all,” Kuroo grinned, clearly picturing the scene it would make—a mix of professionals, professors and national athletes all dressed up and pointing sticks at each other in robes along the antique pews. The collateral would be horrendous. They’d end up having to pay for the damage with indentured servitude.

Ushijima and Daichi smiled into their drinks, a little longing flavouring their sips. It was the warm, soft sort of longing that one reserved for wishes for happily ever afters and cosy family occasions, where they usually thought ‘this would be lovely’ and proceed to feel satisfied enough to simply imagine it. It was always better for images to replace reality; they were kind, fluttering things that diffused just enough warmth to forget the cold seeping in.

And although dreams ruined more lives than drugs have, you allowed yourself to bathe in the fleeting comfort of being surrounded by laughing, hugging people who looked at each other—and you—as if they were all the most important things in the world to each other.

“We’ll do it,” came Daichi’s voice on your left. The distant warmth faded as you raised your head to meet his eyes. His gaze pinned you down with that enveloping, unconditional kindness of his that you often wondered if it cost him a little of his soul each time he shared it with another. “Within the next five years,” he insisted, “we’ll do it. Suga will plan it all with fervent enthusiasm and we’ll get everyone together, like we’ve always wanted.”

Who, exactly? You wanted to ask, because the ‘we’ve’ seemed laden with suggestion, seemed a little to firm for it to be believable, and your chest ached at Daichi’s earnest gaze that seemed to eat through all your thoughts.

You took another sip, and although the rum was cooled by now, the burn of the alcohol still churned your insides with a shovel.

“If everyone wants to,” you said, your voice sounding far off even to yourself. Daichi’s expression darkened, and you studiously ignored it for the brick wall behind the bar.

A hand fell on your lap, squeezing at it tightly so that you couldn’t possibly pretend you weren’t the one being addressed. You wondered if Ushijima would be watching as intrigued as he had been earlier, and if Kuroo was the one pretending not to hear a word this time. No, he would be listening with that tick in his jaw and a simmering frustration that you were always the cause of.

“We’re not all going home tomorrow,” Daichi said quietly, pitched so low that only you could hear. “We’re not just here tonight because we don’t have anything better to do.”

Your voice wouldn’t come, and your cheeks burned as your heart hammered against your ribs as a lunatic does against his walls.

“I’m happy to see you tonight,” said Daichi. “I really am. We all are.”

“I come every year.”

“And?” The hand squeezed tighter, and for a moment you felt a flash of worry jolt through you—perhaps you’d managed to anger even the one person who only had indiscriminate acceptance to offer. That just perhaps this Christmas was the last where people still bothered with you. “We’re here every year too. I know you got up, changed, threw on that scarf of yours and came to have a drink with us for a reason. Why do you—still?” He took a deep, halting breath. “Don’t. Just let it be.”

There were so many things you felt like you could cry into the night, that you could quite credibly protest with, but they all snuffed themselves out halfway into a thought. In the face of such devoted conviction, no matter how misplaced, anything else you wanted to say would only break Daichi’s bleeding heart, and you weren’t sure you could handle watching his face crumble with disappointment. You had enough experience in that department already that it was meaningless to hasten what would always, always come.

Was there a way to be kind even as one said ‘no, thank you,’ to someone offering their love? You considered trying it one of these days; Christmas was as good a time as any for revelations when everyone was always uncomfortably free with their kindness and tended to only retract it after the new year passed.

You nodded, and Daichi seemed to relax his grip on you after a second of study and sat back in his seat.

Everything had been signalling that this was a poor idea, but the passing years brought no wisdom to your door as you made the same mistake time and time again of indulging your impulses.

At home, nobody expected anything of you and nobody had to waste their evening throwing a pity party for a guest who seemed determined to disappear into the cracks. But as the carols outside grew bolder and the children started to shriek with joy in their little voices below your window, the longing grew stronger; the pull at your heartstrings wrapping their spindly fingers along the edge and tugging you closer and closer to the soft rug of fresh snow. The flitting visions of Kuroo cackling, Daichi’s knowing smile and Ushijima’s heart on his sleeve seemed so forgiving from far away, and with the vignette of the mind’s eye, you could almost picture yourself in the middle, as if you belonged, as if you could smile easier with people who would accompany you grin for grin.

Once, a very long time ago, you thought if you begged for something hard enough, life would take pity.

And then you grew older, and learned that your yearning was second to nobody else’s, and that life didn’t celebrate Christmas. Everyone had their sorrow; everyone suffered. You weren’t special. You would never be and had never been.

For a long time, you learned to acclimate to those rules that had revealed themselves too late. Things could be borne, aches could be weathered. You too, had bought gifts and distributed them to everyone in secret, and doing it in part gave you a little hope for some festive spirit, knowing that despite it all you’ve managed to do something for someone else, feeling alive in the spur of the moment.

But those shadowy little doubts that held bonfire dances around your demons waged war when the bells began to toll around the city. On your walks alone, you noticed tiny gift stockings beginning to dot various kids’ parks. Affection would perfume the air, and couples had their arms wound tighter around each other. Parents would come out of hibernation and send a myriad of cards to their children’s friends, and you could see the shine in the eyes of passers-by as they brainstormed all the ways they could bring joy to the ones they loved.

It was easier to convince yourself that you were faring just as well as the next person when they weren’t glowing with it.

“I know I invite you each year,” Ushijima broke the silence slowly. “But you’re still welcome at my house tomorrow. My mother’s always glad to see you.”

“Thank you,” you said, even managing to sound enthused. “But I’ve already made plans to stay at home.”

“Are you quite sure?” He leant on his elbows and held onto you with his hazel eyes. “We have our spare room fixed up for guests each Christmas.”

“I’m quite sure.” It warmed you, just ever so slightly, and your mouth curled up into a faint smile. It was comforting, even if it couldn’t possibly work out, to know that Ushijima always spoke what he meant. “It’s waking up to family that’s the best thing, after all. I’d just be too tired, besides.”

Ushijima stared for a few moments, and you were relieved when he let it go. He shrugged.

“Goshiki’s coming in the afternoon. Satori’s not too pleased about it, but it’ll work out somehow.”

“Really? Your mum’s a brave woman. Did she do the invites?”

“She always does. It’s festive, to have lots of people together, even if Satori would like as few people together as possible.” Ushijima barked out a short laugh. “He’s quite contrary for family occasions. But still, mother’s house, mother’s rules. Goshiki will be complaining how he’s not in the big city with the rest of us again.”

“Like his mother would ever let him go,” Kuroo snorted. You startled at the sudden noise, and realized he’d been silent so long that you’d almost forgotten he was sitting there. When you dared a peek at him, you felt an unfamiliar wash of relief when he looked every bit as normal as before, glorious and dangling his glass precariously between his fingers.

He caught you watching before you could look away. After a moment’s hesitation, he smiled, and dipped his head in a small apology.

There was clearly nothing he could be sorry for that you could figure, and the bafflement must have shown on your face as his face stretched into a grin and he shuffled his stool an inch closer towards you. Don’t worry about it, he mouthed, and turned to listen to Ushijima again.

“I can understand her,” Ushijima was saying, “but I can’t really empathize. Mine couldn’t wait for me to get out of the house, even if she demands me back every other weekend.”

“Kicking the eagle out of the proverbial nest,” said Daichi. “You must’ve been an overly capable youngling. Do you bring gifts and stuff with you each time you visit?”

“Of course. I’m a filial son.”

The two other men laughed, and you cracked a small grin. “That’d be why.”

“What, why she wants me gone, or why she wants me back?”

“Both,” you said, reaching out for a scone. “Mothers are fickle beings; very difficult to get a grasp on, especially during festive seasons.”

“They’re most easily observable during early evenings,” Kuroo boomed in his best David Attenborough impression, “as they flock to their kitchens with pots and pans, and their habitat is quickly overwhelmed with sounds of vigorous dicing.”

Ushijima rolled his eyes. “My mother’s terrible at cooking. She does all that stuff, but it’s my father who sneaks in and fixes everything before she can burn the house down.”

Daichi wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “What a beautiful love story. And nobody dies, which is even better.”

“Not yet,” Ushijima said sombrely. A chunk of the weight on your chest lifted when they chuckled around you, the stickiness of liquor still dragging their voices down in a low chorus. “It’s only time, mark my words. We’ve all got the hospital on speed dial the moment someone inevitably keels over after a stray bite of pie.”

The smile remained ghosting along your lips as Kuroo said something vehement about the theory of pies and how they were literally flour bits stuffed with mystery meat that could be human for all they knew, and Daichi seemed to be nodding along happily to every single point made and throwing little inflammatory comments at the rights moments. Ushijima looked as if he was arguing for his own liberty, his eyes flashing in the dim light.

It was better when they were all smiling, laughing. It was the evening they deserved.

The barkeep wandered up towards you in the middle of their conversation. He had been keeping an eye on the four of you, even when you’d completely forgotten to keep notice as he poured drinks at the other end of the room.

He gestured at the scones, now almost all gone. “Did you enjoy those?” He asked and broke into a beam when you nodded. “Third batch, those were,” he said vehemently, “first two were little explosions on the baking tray; you should’ve seen them. I’ve got some peppermint sea-salt crumbles huffing away upstairs right now. I’ll bring ‘em over right as they’re done.”

“Thanks,” you said for the third time that evening. “I can’t wait.”

The barkeep smiled but gave you a firm looking once-over. “You look like you could do with some mint to pep you up tonight. Them three treating you alright?”

“Always,” you told him honestly, and he puffed up with satisfaction.

“If they’re giving you any trouble,” he barked before turning back to the wine rack, “just holler, and I’ll give them a quick boot up their arses.”

Without a moment to respond, he vanished past the corner and down the cellar. Daichi sipped wordlessly at his drink beside you and Kuroo rested his head on his palm as he watched the man leave.

“He’s clearly never heard of the evils of favouritism,” he muttered under his breath. “Blatant bias is what this is.”

Daichi took a particularly loud slurp. Beside him, Ushijima grinned.

“Right,” he said slowly, “and will you be informing him of them tonight?”

“Think that lowly of me, do you?” Kuroo said indignantly. “Or are you just plotting to have all the mint biscuits to yourself?”

“Hardly, considering his favouritism,” Daichi supplied, and you smiled. “You all know what miracles that man can achieve with some Himalayan sea salt.”

“How on earth is he not married? Why is he still working on Christmas eve?!”

“How should I know? Go ask him out if you’re so heated up about it all.”

Kuroo only snorted and threw up two fingers at Daichi, who received it with a blown kiss. “You’re not getting all the biscuits either.”

Ushijima blinked. “Oh, so he is learning.”

“Careful now, I’m sure he’s only feeling magnanimous during the hols,” said Daichi. “You’d better lube him up with some more drinks otherwise he’ll remember this come January and get back at you.”

“Hullo,” Kuroo said, turning to face you fully, his head wearily in his hands. “Not only am I daft, now I’m deaf too, apparently.”

Taking a drink from your own glass, you turned to face him too for the first time that evening. He looked… melancholy, despite his signature smirk, and when you weren’t required to speak, you watched him intently. He was on his third drink, which was nothing considering anyone under three found themselves painfully sober, but he often glanced at the contents as if it was withholding the secrets of the universe in its depths, and only if he could drain it all would he find it scrawled into the bottom of the thick, tinted glass.

You couldn’t remember much what he seemed like earlier, but you could swear that his sighs were lighter and his eyes a lot more generous with their creases and laughter. You wondered if it was because of you—all the bland, insensitive things you seemed to say without a filter, or the fact that you were sat next to him and your misery was contagious.

If only there was a magic to Christmas and it would make him happier, you would pour what was left of your own joy into his dwindling glass and bring it to his lips. You’d watch it disappear down his throat and he would glow softly, the edges to his hardened lips melting away with eggnog spice, and he would lean closer with a sparkle to his eye and speak to you as if he held the key to festivity.

It was what he could be. If there were other people here, if you didn’t simply sit there dumb and motionless, staring at him like a silent film in an empty cinema.

Because there wasn’t magic, and you couldn’t do a thing about it, you opened your mouth to talk instead. “Would you prefer they plotted behind your back?”

“That depends,” he said after pausing to consider it, “would you share some of the biscuits with me if they did?”

Stone cold sober you were, yet you found yourself admitting, “I’d share anything you wanted, if it meant you’d feel better.”

Kuroo started, stunned and eyes glimmering like the fairy lights behind him. You could feel your sad, lethargic heart beat a tiny bit faster from fear, the adrenaline kicking in as your dull expression froze onto your face.

“You know,” he finally said, and your hands felt so cold you’d almost lost all movement in your fingers, “I never thought you’d notice.”

You most certainly deserved it, but hearing it stung more than you anticipated. Yet oddly enough, it was exactly what you needed for your face to work again, and you smiled. It likely broke the record that evening for the most disingenuous expression in the room.

“Right.” Because I’ve been so pathetically self-absorbed all evening? “Sorry.”

“No, I meant—” he broke off, looking angrily at his hands for a moment before schooling his expression into something less vicious before looking back to you. “I thought I was not showing it as much. I thought I was better than I felt, to be honest.”

“So, it wasn’t nothing.”

“What?”

“You said not to worry about it earlier. It.”

Kuroo glanced quickly at the other two, and relaxed when he saw that they were wrapped up in another conversation entirely. “I was just thinking too much, that’s all. It still is nothing.”

It was obvious you weren’t idiotic enough to believe a word of it, but it was easier to nod and say nothing, and Kuroo seemed to accept that just as well. You watched as he traced his finger over the rim of his glass, occasionally catching a note with the condensation clung to it.

“I heard what Daichi said to you a few minutes ago.”

You let out a little sigh, unsurprised. “Which part do you mean? He said quite a bit.”

Kuroo’s lips twitched. “That he did,” he said, but turned serious again. “I mean the part about letting it go.”

“Alright. Did you want to add to it? Or do you agree?”

“Of course I agree, you daft nit.” He flicked the back of your hand irritably. “I just wish I had been able to offer something useful of my own, instead of getting in a huff.”

“Well,” you said, spreading your arms out to gesture at yourself. “Go on.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of his old smile returning. “Don’t be a twat. All I can do now is do my best to make tonight as fun for you as possible. It’s what Christmas is for, after all.” He drew in closer to you, nose pointy and eyes as cool as flint as the smile vanished. “I won’t push you into anything, but you need to know that we’ll be here for as long as you want us.”

“And you?” You countered, your chin held high and teeth ground tightly together. “Do you want to be here? How could you?”

“How could I not? C’mon,” he said, his voice cracking near the end and you watched as he, like Daichi, crumbled a little because he simply had too much love to give. It would be easier, you knew, if they learned to withhold it from the undeserving. “I just want you to smile again, that’s all. You told me you used to love Christmas as a kid.”

“I did,” you said, not bothering anymore to pretend to not be saddened by the memory. It had come out one evening when a bunch of you had camped out, semi-drunk, at Bokuto’s apartment waiting for the fireworks to start. “I think that I would have been a very different person if I had people like you to celebrate with me back then.” You laughed shortly. “But it was easy to be excited about things you’ve heard stories about when you’re five and have the memory retention of a golden retriever.”

“I’m here now. We all are. Even the barkeep and his scones.”

“I know.” You said, and pulled back from Kuroo’s earnest gaze, too weak of spirit to hold it any longer. You’d rather he glared or curse, or anything other than—than that. “I know. Kuroo, I know.”

You watched his blurry shadow shrink, and you knew he had drawn back into his seat.

“I don’t want to ruin the rest of your night,” he said, voice thick. “This isn’t the time or place.”

You didn’t have the heart or energy to tell him that nights couldn’t really be ruined if they weren’t much in the first place. What a dreadful thing to be thinking—even though you’re happy that you’re out here, and people are talking to you and you’re surrounded by noise that isn’t your own fumbling about in an empty apartment, you can’t feel a single iota of it. Your pulse is still as slow as earlier, beating away at the pace of a cadaver.

Truthfully, you wouldn’t be able to recall the last time you felt happy even if someone pressed a gun to your head. Christmas was the pinnacle of not feeling miserable, and even then, it wasn’t enough. You still couldn’t prevent yourself from dragging everyone else down to your murky depths, still couldn’t bring yourself to not let everyone else down, even if you were old enough to not be berated for it.

Sometimes you still were. That voice would never leave you, shouting things and sneering and scoffing—it’d hang about the hallways whenever you felt particularly down, and it would shriek at you with words you’d memorized until you marched yourself down to the pub again, soothed by the murmuring crowd.

People didn’t like sad people. Especially ones who didn’t have a reason to be. What a failure.

“Hey, hey.”

Both Daichi and Kuroo had their hands on your shoulder, shaking you gently. You looked up to see the barkeep, lips almost twisted into an upset frown, as he held a large plate of pink cookies on a porcelain plate.

“Are you alright?” He asked and turned to the guys when you seemed to be incapable of speech. “Is she alright?”

“Not at the moment,” came Ushijima’s comforting tone, “but we’ll make sure she’s better before she leaves.”

“You’d better.” The barkeep’s voice was stony. “You four finish those biscuits, understood? You’re not passing through those doors without someone laughing their way out, I swear to god.”

“We promise,” Daichi said. “They look delicious, if she’ll share some with us.”

“For fuck’s sake—of course I will.” With vehemence that surprised even you, you snatched up one of those genuinely beautiful looking biscuits and stuffed it into Daichi’s mouth. To his credit, he barely blinked, and chewed on it thoughtfully.

“Just the right amount of peppermint. Is that strawberry I taste?”

“I think it’s cherry,” Kuroo said in between bites of his own. “Or, wait. Maybe you’re right.”

“It just tastes like fruit punch,” Ushijima confessed. “Kind of like a really light sangria.”

“Does your mum know you drink?” Daichi asked incredulously, “why is almost everything to do with alcohol with you?”

Ushijima shook his head, but you noticed him peeking at you in his peripheral vision. “Definitely not. I do not look like someone who drinks as a hobby.”

“Literally your only saving grace.” You brought yourself to smile faintly before he grew so concerned he toppled off his stool. “Best not to piss Satori off tomorrow in case he spills all in front of her.”

“Oh,” he answered darkly, “he doesn’t know half the things I could spill about him.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing. His hand hadn’t left your shoulder for a second, and he squeeze it gently, hooking his ankle around a leg of your chair.

“Well,” he announced, giving the massive plate of biscuits a quick shake, “we best get to work, hadn’t we?”

And get to work you all did. The tension dissolved as quickly as the sugar did in your mouths, and with enough blind determination, the chatter seemed to return again effortlessly with Ushijima’s apparent treasure mine of dark Satori-related secrets that had you laughing despite everything else. A time of sharing indeed, considering some of the things you learned that evening, and you were almost touched that he had deigned to share them with any of you.

The next time the barkeep reappeared was when he came to collect the esoteric looking plate, and this time he seemed a lot more pleased when you gave him a smile, deeming you fit enough to face the rest of the holiday without his supervision.

It was a start, if nothing else. Most of the bar had disappeared by the time the clock chimed one, and even Daichi was yawning at half past, on his fifth mug of wine, and suggested reluctantly that perhaps it was good for you all to head home before someone got into an accident from being too sloshed.

They all offered to walk you home, Ushijima almost demanding you to go home accompanied as a lone girl in the wee hours of the morning, but Daichi fended him off just in time. Kuroo was the last to leave your side, gazing up at the slow return of a light snow, and he bid you goodbye with a wave that looked almost sad in the orange lamplight.

There were very few people on the streets by then. A few clubs here and there still had pounding music shaking the grounds, but all the storefront lights had been turned off, and London looked almost like normal again, shrouded in fluorescent orange and the whistling gusts of wind about your ears.

You tucked your hands back into your pockets, now chilly after the warm pack had died an hour back, and turned to head home.

#kuroo tetsurou #sawamura daichi #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #female original character #pieces series #sfw #i writes the haikyuu

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letterfromtrenwith · 6 years

Text

Grand Jeté - Ch. 7 & 8

When George Warleggan quits a high powered job in the City to take care of the finances of the South West Ballet, run by his friend, Francis Poldark, it changes his life - even more so than he expected.

Elizabeth Chynoweth came to the South West to come back home, take on new challenges, and leave behind a less than perfect time in her life. She intends to focus on her art, but everyone knows what they say about best laid plans…

Ch 1 & 2 Ch 3 & 4 Ch 5 & 6

Chapter 7

“Did you read the email from the Box Office? Another Christmas matinee sold out!” Rosina peeped over the top of her computer, an excited grin on her face.

“I did. They’re doing really well.” George allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. Although the Company’s Christmas show already had a few matinee performances, he had suggested adding an extra few especially aimed at children, with discounts offered for schools and other groups. There were other performances in the Hall over the season, concerts and a pantomime and suchlike, but there had still been a few open daytime spots. The Hall management hadn’t needed any convincing – more bums on seats meant more money for them, too.

The excellent reception for Rodeo and Dracula had helped The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe sell tickets apace. Even the more obscure de Valois duo had sold well. According to Rosina, the current season had already seen a 10% increase in those becoming ‘friends’ of the company – those who paid an annual membership in return for reduced ticket prices and invitations to special performances.

George was under no illusions that this was all down to him – he hadn’t been here that long, for one thing – but he had been pleased to be able to identify some ways they could improve. Rosina had done a fantastic job with the social media – it wasn’t something George was especially interested in personally, but even the bank had employed a social media manager.

He’d only suggested the additional matinees because he’d known full well they would sell out – he’d checked the records and last year’s Christmas show had been oversubscribed. The show had originally been budgeted to cover costs, so extra performances would generate more revenue to be put back into future productions. Demands for tickets to the Company’s shows had actually been rising steadily for quite a while, which was all down to Francis’ hard work. The Company’s talents spoke for themselves, all that was really needed was some more organised management.

“So is the Minack Theatre finalised?”

“Yes, the Company is officially booked in for two weekends in June – eight performances, including matinees . Francis, Anne and Ellen are going down there for a visit at some point soon so they can start thinking about staging – and then I can start budgeting!”

“How’s that going for the rest of the season?” It was very early days but if there was one thing George had been able to transfer to this job from his last it was the importance of planning ahead. Marie Antoinette and Midsummer Night’s Dream were likely to be quite expensive, requiring more elaborate staging and costumes, going by the paperwork he had pulled from previous, similar productions. He was still getting used to all the details, but he was starting to feel a little more confident in his knowledge. Working in investments, he’d had to read up on quite an array of things over the years. Ballet at least had the advantage of being a lot more interesting than most of them.

“We’ve made a good start.”

“Good…When do you think we’ll be able to start advertising?”

“Not until early next year, I imagine, but that’s up to the creative team and the Hall management, really. Next time Francis comes in ask him to make sure you’re CC’d in on everything and then you can deal with the Box Office re the social media when the time comes.”

“Can I just say…” Rosina chewed her lip, thoughtfully. “Can I just say thank you for giving me this job to do. It’s really – I’m really enjoying it.”

“You’re really good at it, as well.” Rosina picked up her handbag and rummaged in it to hide her blush.

“Well, I’m going to take my lunch, do you want anything from the sandwich shop?”

“No, I’m, er, I actually have plans….” He tried to say it as casually as possible, pretending to be very interested in reconciling the Company bank account.

“Oh, meeting Elizabeth?” Rosina grinned as she headed out the door. “Have fun!”

With a sigh, George shook his head. He and Elizabeth had tried to be discreet about seeing each other, but it had been completely hopeless in a ballet company full of perpetual gossips. It was only a couple of weeks since that first date, but they’d met up a few more times since, including that Sunday lunch the following day. Elizabeth had taken him to a fantastic pub where he’d eaten some of the most delicious roast beef he’d ever had in his life. Since they’d both been busy, and Dracula had been in full swing, they’d been limited to a couple of coffees and one late supper after a performance. He’d driven her home afterwards, and for a moment as she’d glanced back at her door, he’d wondered if she was going to invite him in. She hadn’t, but in light of the way she’d kissed him before she got out of the car, he hadn’t been at all disappointed. He glanced at the clock – 12:35. The dancers would be breaking for lunch soon. As if on cue, his phone buzzed.

“So, Francis told the company about your Minack idea.” Elizabeth smiled, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. They were in the Hall café; it was busy today, filled with mothers with pushchairs, artists based at the Hall, and a few schoolchildren enjoying their half-term holidays.

“He mentioned me specifically?”

“Of course! It was your idea, after all. Besides, he doesn’t want to take the blame if we all get rained on!” She laughed, a lock of hair failing out of her bun over her face. Without thinking, he reached across the table and gently pushed it back behind her ear. She glanced down, biting her lip and then smiled. George couldn’t help but smile back – she really was incredibly beautiful, glowing with her morning’s exercise. “Seriously, though, it is a wonderful idea. I’m really looking forward to performing there. When I was with the English National, we performed outside at Somerset House; it was really lovely.”

“And did it rain?”

“Yes it did, as it happens. It was quite fun!”

“What was the ballet?”

“Macbeth, so it really worked, actually!” They both laughed. Abruptly, Elizabeth frowned a little. “Listen, George…”

“Hello!” Morwenna dropped herself into the chair between them, trying and failing to steal a crisp from Elizabeth’s plate. “Having a nice lunch?”

“We were…” Elizabeth gave Morwenna a look, which her cousin gleefully ignored, glancing between the two of them with a smile. “By which I mean…shove off.”

“Rude.” But with another grin, she picked up her bag and disappeared off towards the company’s wing. Elizabeth watched her go and then shook her head with a smile.

“Honestly! I blame Caroline, she’s a terrible influence.”

“I’m sure Caroline would be happy to agree with that assessment.” He paused. “Were you going to say something, before?”

“Yes. You know Dracula closes this week, and then we’ve got a few days before the final prep for de Valois. So…I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner on Saturday.” George frowned. Elizabeth looked oddly nervous about asking him this, but he couldn’t imagine why.

“Of course I would.”

“At mine.” She added, softly. Ah.

“Well, then, I definitely would.”

Chapter 8

Elizabeth couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so nervous before a date….Well, maybe before her first date with George. Of course, that had been her first date in ages, despite Caroline’s best efforts. Her previous relationship hadn’t exactly left her with a great desire to get back in the dating pool with any haste. Until now, that is.

She hadn’t cooked for anyone in she couldn’t remember how long. Well, unless she counted making cheese toasties for herself and Morwenna when they had a movie night. When the other girls came around, they usually ordered in. Anything she made for herself was usually very quick and simple.

So, she’d spent most of Thursday (after waking up late following the Dracula closing night party) Googling recipes, and then a good hour or so on Friday dithering in Waitrose. In desperation, she’d bought the ingredients for a few possibilities and texted Caroline for advice.

Chicken and mushroom tagliatelle, paella or fish pie?

I think you’re probably fine with anything that doesn’t have garlic.

More importantly, what are you wearing?

I haven’t decided yet, probably just a skirt and top.

Yes, but what about under that? :P

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation.

You are no help whatsoever!

Finally, she’d decided on the pasta, and went back on Saturday morning to buy a lemon mousse to go with it. Annoyingly, Caroline was a tiny bit right – she had also gone out and bought some new lingerie. Maybe it was being just a bit presumptive, but she hadn’t missed the look in George’s eye when she’d emphasised that she wanted them to have dinner at hers; and she certainly hadn’t misinterpreted his reaction when, at the Dracula party, she had led him away into a quiet corridor and kissed him. The way he’d pressed her against the wall, his hand sliding up her side… Remembering it made her shiver.

She managed to push away her nerves while preparing the ingredients, focusing on chopping and measuring. However, when she was standing in front of her open wardrobe – having left her pasta sauce gently simmering on the hob – the nerves came back in full. Along with throwing dinner parties, dressing up was something else Elizabeth didn’t do very often. When she was working, she lived in leggings and dancewear; the rest of the time she preferred jeans and comfy jumpers. Her few party dresses weren’t really the right thing for tonight, she felt. Just as her sauce was getting close to setting-on she impulsively grabbed a soft, cap-sleeved, blush pink top which left a couple of inches of bare skin above the waistband of her skirt. The colour suited her, and the outfit flattered her figure. If only she’d picked it out half an hour earlier…

She was just boiling the water for the pasta when the buzzer went. 7:30, exactly the time they’d agreed. Elizabeth really didn’t know what it said about her that George’s excellent time-keeping was one of the things she found very attractive about him. When she opened the door, he was holding a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers; he started to hand them to her, but stopped, his eyes widening slightly.

“Wow, Elizabeth, you look…amazing.”

The dinner turned out very well, if she did say so herself. George complimented her on the food, and even asked for seconds, the hint of a cheeky smile on his face. They lingered over the dessert and the wine; the conversation flowed as easily as it had on all of their other dates, but there was an invisible undercurrent, a note of tension…of anticipation. Both of them knew where this night was heading, what Elizabeth’s intention had been in inviting him here, but it was almost as if they drawing it out somehow. Elizabeth was, in a way, certainly not because she was having second thoughts. It had been a while since…well, and she didn’t want to rush into anything.

It would certainly be easy to. George looked very handsome in his dark red perfectly tailored shirt, more so as the wine and the late hour relaxed her. The way he’d looked at her when he’d arrived had made her draw a breath, but it was nothing compared to how his intent gaze was making her feel now.

“Coffee?” She asked, aware of a slight hitch in her voice. George coughed slightly, glancing down, a hint of a blush colouring his cheeks. That did not help her at all.

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Why don’t you – er – why don’t you take a seat on the sofa?”

“Oh, okay.” She heard his footsteps on the carpet as she busied herself with the coffee machine. “Oh, I like this!”

“What? – “ She glanced back to see him looking at her picture collage. With a smile, she went back to pouring. “Oh that…I made a little collection of photos when I was at RBS, for homesickness you know, and it’s just kept growing over the years.”

“It’s nice. Really nice.” There was a touch of wistfulness in his voice which made her wonder. She carried over their coffees, setting them gently on the table before kicking off her shoes and sitting down, tucking her feet under her. George smiled at her, almost shyly. He picked up his coffee, letting it cool for a moment and then taking a sip. There was a short silence and Elizabeth couldn’t help a little laugh bubbling out of her, making George look at her in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I – just – I feel like I’m out of practice at this sort of thing. It’s – “ she bit her lip. “It’s been a while.”

“If you want me to go – “

“No! No, I definitely don’t want that.” She shifted closer on the sofa, meeting his gaze. His eyes were so blue. “Completely the opposite in fact.”

“Oh.” Gently, he rested his hand on her knee. The effect of that light touch through the material of her skirt was incredible, and she let out a shaky breath. She covered his hand with hers, stroking the back of it gently before intertwining their fingers. Their eyes met again, and she leant forward slowly, George coming to meet her. It was almost as if it was their first kiss, it was so electric, and she sighed into it. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, even that slight caress making her shiver. The way she was sitting, she couldn’t get close enough to him and she hummed in frustration. Eventually, they had to pull back to breathe, but neither of them went far. When George spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur. “It’s been a while for me, too.”

Without replying, Elizabeth stood, George never taking his eyes off her as she did. Wordlessly, she held out her hand; he took it, rising to his feet and let her lead him towards the bedroom. There was no more hesitation now; she turned towards him at the foot of the bed, sliding her arms around his neck as she pulled him close for another kiss, relishing the press of their bodies together at last. He rested one hand on her hip, slowing stroking upwards to brush the bare skin above her waistband; his fingertips caressed the small of her back and she moaned. God, if just that touch could have this effect on her she could only imagine what more would be like….

It took quite surprising amount of effort to slide her hands down his chest and undo the buttons of his shirt. He sighed softly when she stroked the skin over his collarbone. Elizabeth pulled back slightly, and George reached up to brush her hair off her face.

“Yes?” He whispered. Elizabeth pressed a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

“Yes.”

#poldark #george warleggan #elizabeth chynoweth #elizabeth warleggan #george x elizabeth #grand jete #au #f: ge #f: au #fic #m: fic

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angel-with-a-pipette · 6 years

Text

@terraweek

Title: Caramel Cappuccino

Summary: Terra works part-time as a barista in one of the university's coffee bars. Little did he expect to meet a particular blue haired customer who wouldn't leave his mind...

This is an entry for Terra week 2018 on tumblr, prompt “Modern AU” and a companion piece to @0littlelight0 's gorgeous art. Please check it out!!

Rating: K

Also available on: ao3 | ff.net

Please enjoy!

“Enjoy your coffee.”

At the start of his third semester, Terra had been lucky enough to get a job as a barista at his own university. Studying for his degree in sports, most of his lectures didn't start until 10 am or even 12 pm, but he had always been an early riser, waking up at the break of dawn to go jogging or to meditate before he started his day. Taking over the early shift at the campus coffee shop fit perfectly into his schedule, earned him surprisingly good money and looked good on his curriculum even though it wasn't connected to his field of study. All in all, it was a win-win situation and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't entertaining to see zombies turn into sentient human beings in the morning.

The girl he had just served grabbed her cup and flashed him a short smile in thanks before leaving, making way for the next customer in line. She stepped forward and all Terra could see was blue: Blue hair, blue sweater, blue messenger bag. Stunned for a moment, he shook it off and forced a smile back on his face.

“Hello, what can I get you, miss?”

“Hi, excuse me,” the blue haired woman answered slightly distracted as she rummaged around in her bag, clearly in search of something, likely her purse. He saw her eyebrows draw together as she let go of her bag only to wiggle around and bury her hands in her pants pockets (a pair of blue jeans, Terra noted), her eyes now at least studying the large menu board that hung over counter.

“I'd like a – a-ha!” she exclaimed happily and pulled a small pouch out of her back pocket (at this point, Terra was surprised that it was orange and not blue), counting a few coins in it. “Can I have a cup of chamo-” She froze as her eyes finally fell on him.

Terra shuffled a little uncomfortably.

“Are you feeling alright?”

That seemed to pull the girl out of her stupor and she let her eyes roam around the room, awkwardly fumbling around with her pouch.

Was she avoiding him? He couldn't recall ever meeting this girl before.

“Y-yes, I'm fine,” she answered, much more timidly than before, as her eyes came to rest on the special menu card next to the cash register.

“Cappuccino!” She blurted out, and at that a slight blush started to dust her cheek as she winced. “I mean, can I have a –“ she looked at the card again, “Caramel Cappuccino, please?”

“Coming right up,” Terra answered her with a nod as he accepted her coins and started working on her order, but not without giving her a discreet look over.

She was cute, he had to admit. Her hair color was very unusual and she was tall for a girl (still roughly half a head shorter than him, though), with a slender built as far as the sweater allowed him to judge.

He was intrigued. Maybe if he turned a little to the left and leaned over, he could throw another short glance –

“Shoot!” Terra grumbled loudly as hot steam from the milk frother blew against his hand. He quickly turned off the steam and jumped to the sink to run cold water over his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, fine,” he grumbled, annoyed at himself, “I got distracted for a second there.” He quickly dried off his hands, wincing a little at his now sensitive skin and returned to the coffee with a frown. Served him right for gawking his customers, he figured. Finishing up the order and drizzling the ordered Caramel over the drink, he turned back to her, handing her the cup.

At that moment, she took his breath away.

He hadn't realized how well her hair complemented her eyes – her eyes that shone like the ocean back in his home town. They immediately sought out the patch of sensitive skin on his arm (when had she grasped his hand like that?) and she gingerly turned his lower arm left and right to see better in the dim lit room.

“It doesn't look too bad, but you should still be careful. I'm sorry you got burned because of my order.”

He wanted to tell her that it was nothing – and it truly was, it's not like it was his first burn and it wasn't even serious – but the words got stuck in his throat.

“Thank you,” he replied instead, slightly breathless before he swallowed deeply, “I'll take care.”

He was met with the most dazzling smile he had ever seen in his life. He didn't register her thanks and her “Have a nice day” or even the next customer clearing their throat impatiently.

At that moment, he fell hopelessly and irreversibly in love with the blue haired girl.

Thankfully, she dutifully returned to him – his coffee – every single morning. In the first few days, she kept asking him about his burn, but soon, the two of them fell into companionable silence, communicating more with their eyes and smiles instead of words. And Terra loved observing her every day. The closer winter and its cold temperatures drew, the bigger her sweaters became until he had to nearly send a search party into her clothes to find the girl underneath them, bundled up for warmth. Rarely, she dressed in a more fancy, more adult way – once it was during their university's big job fare, he noted, so he assumed she had important meetings those days. Those were the days where she would wear subtle but classy earrings and a light dusting of make up, making her eyes – her gorgeous eyes, he swooned – shine even more. Other days, she opted for the complete opposite, being super comfortable while still being dressed nicely; in contrast to other students, he never saw her turn up in sweatpants or anything comparable.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but seeing her in the morning quickly became his favorite part of the day.

Spring had finally arrived and the end of the semester was coming near quickly. Having already passed all but of one his exams and being good on time with his assignments, he hadn't minded taking over today's afternoon shift for his sick colleague, even though it was unnaturally busy due to the university holding its open house day today. As such, tons of soon-to-be-students flooded the campus, chattering excitedly among themselves and – of course – trying to figure out where to buy the best food and coffee.

When lunch time was over and most of the caffeine deprived students were satisfied, business came to enough of a slow, allowing Terra to sit down behind the counter and pull out his sport medicine notes, learning for the last exam he had to take at the end of next week. Engrossed as he might have been in his notes, there was no way goosebumps wouldn't spread all over his arms as a familiar voice drifted to his ear.

“And this is the best coffee shop on campus!”

Terra immediately felt heat rise up his cheeks and scrambled to his feet, dropping his notes unceremoniously to the floor just in time for the blue haired girl to step up to the counter, eyes widening slightly as a huge smile started to spread over her lips.

“You're here!” She exclaimed more than asked and her smile was contagious.

“My colleague is sick so I took over his shift,” he replied before he noticed the blond boy trailing behind her, roughly a head shorter than her, with a huge grin plastered on his face. The tell-tale red fabric bag most of the student representatives were giving out to the visiting pupils was slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” the girl addressed Terra warmly and he was about to melt into a puddle of goo at the sight of her dazzling eyes.

“Hey,” he breathed in response, but caught himself at the boy's snicker and cleared his throat.

“What can I get you?”

“A hot chocolate and a Caramel Cappuccino, please.”

She slid a bill over to him and he quickly gave her back her change before he stepped to the machine, starting the hot chocolate first as the girl and her companion stepped away from the counter.

“So, do you want to take a break here or do you want to continue the tour? They also sell sandwiches if you're hungry again.”

“I saw all the lectures that interested me the most so I'm open to anything. But the question is – do you want to take a break here?”

“What do you mean?”

“C'mon, Aqua –“

Aqua. Her name was Aqua. It fit her perfectly.

“– do you think I'm blind? Tell me, since when exactly do you drink coffee?”

“Since I started university? It keeps me awake in a morning.”

Terra heard a snort.

“Yeah, right. Says the girl who effortlessly got up at 5 am when she was still in school. The girl who called me up at 4 am this morning even though I could've easily slept until 6 am! You live on campus and the pharmacy building is five minutes away from your dorm. You do not need coffee to wake up.” A short pause. “Also, you hate the taste of coffee.”

“It's an acquired taste,” Terra heard Aqua's voice answer indignantly, “I got used to it and now I like it.”

“Back home, you spent endless days lecturing me about how bad the regular consumption of caffeine is. But I get it –“

The boy's voice lowered and subconsciously, Terra leaned further into the espresso machine, closer to his customers to pick up on their conversation.

“– I mean, you totally have the hots for the barista.”

Terra felt as if his heart stopped beating. Was it possible, that she was actually interested in him?!

“I-I do not!”

“Yes, you do!” Terra heard the boy snicker, but he had the decency to continue whispering, “Look at you, you turned as red as a tomato! And it would make sense why you started drinking coffee suddenly even though they also sell tea here: When you're embarrassed, you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind! You probably saw him, saw the cappuccino and boom, that's what you ordered!”

Well... she did look at the special menu that day, didn't she? And she did blurt her order out... right? Terra bit his lip, daring to hope that it might be true.

“Ugh! Ven!” Her voice sounded muffled now and as inconspicuously as possible, Terra rose to his tiptoes to throw a glance over the machine. Aqua had thrown her hands over her face and the fierce blush that spread onto her neck kicked Terra's heart back into thumping furiously. “I am not having this kind of conversation with my baby brother!”

“Hey! I'm sixteen already! And you know I'm righ–”

“Not. Having.This. Conversation,” she all but squeaked out in response, but Terra barely registered it. He felt his heartbeat inside of his ears and felt his throat constrict as he reached for his book bag, fishing out one of his Edding pens.

It was all or nothing now.

With a shaky hand, he scribbled his telephone number on Aqua's cup and finished up the order as fast as he could before his courage left him again. Just as his stomach constricted painfully, he reached out for the tiny bell on the counter and ringed it. Aqua and Ven who now stood a meter away turned back to him, with Aqua still looking slightly flushed and Ven sporting a shit-eating grin.

“One hot chocolate and one Caramel Cappuccino.”

Terra didn't think his heart could beat even faster, but it did when Aqua stepped forward to reach for the cups. Their hands touched and as Aqua looked up at him shyly, Terra swallowed the big lump in his throat and leaned forward ever so slightly.

“I'm Terra,” he whispered, letting go of the cups and he caught a glimpse of another blush spreading over Aqua's cheekbones before she turned around with a breathless “thank you” and hurried over to Ven. They left his field of vision quickly and with a relieved sigh, Terra let himself fall back to the chair behind the counter, trembling slightly. He felt his head spinning and his heart continued strumming so powerfully inside of his chest he nearly missed the soft vibration in his back pocket.

Terra flew out of his seat and nearly dropped his phone when he opened his text messages.

My name is Aqua. Nice to meet you, Terra :)

#terraweek2018 #Terra #Aqua #Terraqua #KH #0littlelight0 #Alja's fanfictions #terraweek

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feuillyys · 6 years

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Tbh, what do you think the Les Amemes™ would do for jobs?

(i realized halfway through this that you might have meant for this to be about 100% less serious than it ended up being but)

enjolras becomes a motivational speaker, and it’s something that shocks everyone. he spent a lot of time in college unsure of what he should do that would have the most positive impact on society and on the people in his life, but it all started by accident when he was filmed going off his soapbox and getting emotional and somehow went viral. he becomes really well known for helping inspire people to overcome their temporary situations, for feeling comfortable in their own skin, for coming to terms with and accepting their gender and sexual identities even if no one else does. he gives a TEDtalk once and all his friends make memes out of it but it stays in the top ten most viewed for weeks after it airs. he finds the best way to make an impact is to inspire others to start trying, too.

grantaire is the art teacher at an elementary school. he had a little bit of success selling his own artwork but put it aside when he found out how fun it was to spend day after day with little kids. he found it wasn’t so hard to get up in the mornings when he was doing it for something he loved. (plus he invested in a really good coffee machine. like. a really good one). he loves teaching the young ones because they don’t care about balance or lines or composition, they just want to create and he misses how simple it used to be. he has an entire scrapbook at home filled with every creation he’s ever been given and when he’s feeling particularly low he pulls it out and smiles at all of them and then let’s himself paint for fun, just like them.

courfeyrac spent a lot of his years struggling to decide what he wanted to do with his life. he didn’t decide on purpose to become a teacher, but it seemed like the logical choice as soon as he filled his schedule with education classes. he’s the teacher that everyone loves, eccentric in his fashion tastes and always making the assignments crafts, but his success rate is exceptionally high and he genuinely cares about his students. he teaches them to be kind, and accepting, and helps them come to terms with their passions regardless of what they are.

combeferre becomes a pediatric surgeon. it’s hard at first, and he comes home to his apartment some days during residency and just cries for hours until his phone rings and he has to go back. but he turns out to be exceptional at it, and he turns out to be a phenomenal teacher to all the residents who come after him. kids adore him because he talks to them like regular people, he teaches them about the medicine and space and moths and Star Wars and any other interests they have, and parents love him because he’s the best there is at ensuring that their kid wakes up safe and sound.

feuilly is a social worker, specializing in children, families, and schools. he takes special care in following up on all of his cases, and he always finds the perfect family for a child to stay with. he takes on a lot of pro bono cases—god knows he can afford it with all the random jobs he takes on the weekends. he has an eery sixth sense for knowing when a fit is right or wrong, but he never closes a case unless he’s certain he leaves a family more whole than when he met them.

bahorel tried law school, he really did, but his passion laid elsewhere. as soon as he dropped out, he convinced his family to help him open a youth arts center where he devotes his time helping kids of all ages advance their skills in drawing, painting, acting, singing, dancing, all of it. the kids he sees come and go often tell him they owe their successes to him, and he cries and hangs up copies of their graduation pictures or stage productions on the wall of his office.

joly gets his medical degree and promptly decides to open up a free clinic. he raises awareness for chronic illnesses and specializes in treatments for amputees, he starts a foundation that is constantly raising money, proceeds going to his clinic so that he can continue treating people but also going to research because medicine is about progressing. he doesn’t necessarily want to be the one to do the research, he chose to work as a doctor in a clinic for a reason, but he knows it’s important.

bossuet becomes a therapist. he’s hand rounds and bouts of bad luck but it’s left him with lots of advice and lots of empathy to give. he makes sure to let each of his clients know that their choosing to come must be on their own times and he takes special care getting to know each and every individual one of them. sometimes when their eyes go tight at the mention of money, bossuet will wave them out the door at the end of the session laughing about how the credit card machine is broken, isn’t that silly, it’s just his luck—and his patients come back the next time extra grateful for him.

jehan is a writer; but the kick is they write under a pseudonym and only a few people in the world actually know. when they finished their first official work, the fame wasn’t as important as the message seemed, so they searched for a publisher who would support the pseudonym and has only told a few people outside of that what they actually do for a living. the rest of les amis assume they just work odd jobs whenever they feel like it. but jehan writes, and sells a lot of copies, and they love it endlessly.

marius is a professor of linguistics at a university. he knows so many languages and is so fiercely passionate about the way language is structured and formed and evolving—his classes almost always fill up first, and have waitlists that are pages long. the students love how interesting he finds words, many of them are entranced by the way he always sees the world through rose-colored glasses, and a lot of them are there to giggle at the way he blushes and stutters just so when someone compliments him in any way.

cosette gives music lessons out of her house. there’s literally not an instrument she can’t pick up and have mastered in five minutes, so she teaches it all. piano, guitar, harp, accordion, a didgeridoo one time, a cello, a trumpet once, singing, even dancing. she just cares about music and wants to give everyone the chance to learn. her youngest student is four years old and her oldest is eighty three, and alongside teaching them musical theory she shows them how to use music to always see joy in the world.

éponine models for a while, before she finds her groove more comfortably in designing clothes. she gets a lucky break when a successful model catches sight of one of her designs, and begs her to let him wear it on the next catwalk. when she isn’t designing clothes, she’s helping r out at the school and teaching new techniques to the elementary kids who hang off of every word she says. she’s always dressed to the nines, but unbeknownst to the majority of the fashion industry is the way she spends her free time making clothing to give to people who can’t afford it. she donates a lot of her creations to homeless shelters, and often enlists gavroche to help her find places to give out clothes.

musichetta owns a restaurant chain. it started off as just a small café hidden behind the streets of paris but got really popular for its delicious sandwiches and atmosphere. her shops are social media famous, and many people visit her now just to take aesthetic pictures of the shop and order a panini and a coffee to go. she beams with pride and her creation but still works at the original, wiping counters and greeting guests and, even occasionally, taking pictures when asked.

bonus;gavroche wants to be just like his sister when he grows up. his style in clothes is a lot different from her edgy chic vintage, but he loves how much she loves it and finds his own ways to make his clothing unique and fun.

#les amis #les mis #les miserables #headcanons #this got wildly out of control and i cried at least twice bc of how soft i am for my boys so #anyway #remy rambles #asks #anon

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thecontentedkitchen · 4 years

Text

Winter getaway anyone? Neither our vacation bank account at work, nor our actual bank had enough margin for us to head south for a week like all of the other cool kids, so we decided to have an alternate adventure. Where can you go for a few days that will give you lots of ad hoc options if you don’t feeling like planning, and will leave with a feeling like you had a bit of adventure? Easy to get in and out of, a subway that let’s you minimize winter cold exposure, and plenty to see and do? Toronto.

Typically I like to plan our travels, well before arriving I know where we are staying, what restaurants we are going to, and which attractions we are seeing. This girl likes surprises, but not really.

This time however, I just wasn’t feeling the love of planning. Maybe because I had already been a few times and already had a loose idea of what I wanted to see, or maybe because after all of the work around Christmas I had become apathetic and gave up? Both options are real and viable. The only must do was hitting up a Brazilian Steakhouse. My husband had been to one a few years earlier and getting back there was the only must-do on his list.

We took the train there because if you are going to the core of Toronto it is the absolute easiest way to get there. The train station is within walking distance of the CN Tower, the waterfront, shopping, the financial district, a subway connection, and a myriad of other things. There are also plenty of hotels right there and fortuitously, for a cold January, the best deal we found when looking was actually at the Fairmont Royal York, across the street but attached by the underground. Almost like the whole thing was meant to be.

Checking in, our first “win” was a free hotel room upgrade. The are in the midst of renovations and we were moved to one of the newer rooms. True to legend the rooms are indeed smaller than many other hotels, the hotel itself was built in 1927-1929 and things were smaller then. The doorways and hallways all just slightly shorter/smaller than say a hotel built more recently. But the luxury was another thing all together. The hotel is gorgeous, ornate even, built with the best materials by the best craftsmen is what comes to mind when you walk up the polished stairs, across the thick carpet through the hand carved wooden elevator doors, into your spotlessly clean elevator. Amazing.

Day one, we might have to call brewery day.

We got there early on day one and managed to drop our bags with advanced check in. Clock-ticking as the train home left in less than 48 hours, we headed right back out to find some lunch. We walked straight to the waterfront, I don’t care where I am or how cold it is, I always want to walk along the water if I get a chance to. If there is another me in an alternate universe, I sincerely hope she lives by the water. Discovery number one was the Toronto Police Marine Unit which carries out specialized emergency response. The doors were open and it was really neat to see all of the boats. I’m a nerd at heart so sue me.

The second discovery was the Amsterdam Brewhouse, located on the lake. Brewery and restaurant, it was a bit of one stop shopping you could say.

They have a wood fired pizza oven, smoke their own brisket on site, and of course brew some beer. We ordered a burger and a brisket sandwich and each tried a flight of beer. Food was delicious and soul satisfying, beers were all good although on this particular day the winners were their 3 Speed lager, Big Wheel Amber, and a raspberry farmhouse ale called Eye Candy. A great start to a mini vacation.

Next, we walked out the door and headed north to Steam Whistle Brewing. A less than five minute walk and right beside the CN tower. Once upon a time this brewery situated on a former locomotive repair facility used to give out free samples of their wares. The policy has since changed, likely due to people taking advantage of the program, but the beer is still good and a favorite we buy at home.

We did not have any samples and had just missed the free tour but we did take the time to visit the gift shop to pick of a few cans of beer that Steam Whistle will be brewing and selling in Canada for US company New Belgium. We also grabbed a copy of the official Steamy Men of Steam Whistle calendar because it was hilarious and 100% of the proceeds go to charity.

Next stop we headed back to the hotel for a mini break and a change of clothes. We had arranged to meet a friend for dinner, and she had to get off work first.

Now friends are good to have and there are many different kinds of friends, but it is good to have the kind of friend who adds just the right amount of adventure to your life. I can’t tell you what your right amount is, but for me, the right amount is Brooke.

Brooke is one of the most fascinating and fun people I have ever met. What I call a social ringer, you can invite her to any gathering and she will help to make it better. She is genuinely kind, but also tells it like it is, will call out your crap. She has no time for xenophobia, racism, misogyny or homophobia and will tell you eloquently and elegantly why you are an ass, so be warned. She also, is a continual learner, a lover of adventurous eating, practices martial arts, and has traveled enough to have excellent instincts and ability to read situations. Our best adventure might have been the time we rented a pick-up truck and drove to the Grand Canyon while in Las Vegas for a course. My second best memory is that same trip where we visited old Las Vegas and found a legit seen better days piano bar slightly off the beaten track. Man, that was awesome.

Planning things with Brooke is always a win because you just know something unexpected and good is going to happen.

So dinner with Brooke was at Bier Markt (brewery #3 if you are counting) where they brew Goose Island IPA on sight. It was also a great meal, a great venue, and on another night, a spot for live music. All within walking distance from the hotel again.

And then Brooke offered up those magical words that I was hoping to hear because she is from Toronto and knows all the good things.

“I know this microbrewery where a friend from high school works as a bartender. It’s a little out of the way if you are interested.”

Yes, please, absolutely. We finished dinner and headed to brewery #4, Blood Brothers Brewing.

Living up to her reputation for delivering unexpected adventure, it took two subways rides and a 15 minute walk across train tracks into a loosely industrial area to get there. By loosely industrial I mean it was sandwiched between a seafood distributor and a hydroponics supply store. The brewery itself is unassuming but we had heard good things about them from reviews we had read previously. It is a converted garage with a bar, some tables and a kitchen. Everything is brewed on site. The decor is a goth meets mystic meets wiccan sort of affair and if I was having a Halloween party this would be the place to throw it.

Their beers are produced with fruit, grape skins, and barrels from the nearby Niagara winery region, and as we do also enjoy wine, we were curious and a little bit excited to try some. They all have names befitting the branding, Bloodvar, Fall of Thebes, Paradise Lost, and Trans Human State were among the fine choices. We each had a flight and circled back to our favorites. I find that it is not typical for a brewery to do a variety of beers and do them all well, but not so here. These were good beers. I have to give a special shout to their imperial stout, a surprising smooth number entitled Balam which is produced with an exactly perfect balance of smoky malt, coffee, and vanilla.

Brooke’s friend from high school was indeed there and I tried without luck to get some dirt on her from high school. No dice, he was a loyal friend. Funny and friendly, I was kind of sorry when our visit came to an end. It was late, we said goodbye to Brooke and took an Uber back to the hotel.

Day 2

Our hotel package came with breakfast and before we left, I probably said the wisest thing I ever said: Don’t wear your hoodie to the restaurant.

Even in office casual, we were woefully under dressed for breakfast, which I kind of expected being so close to the financial district but wow. I have never seen so many people so well dressed for a breakfast business meeting. There is not blending in, and then there was not blending in. Clearly there were only two tourists in the room and they were us.

No matter, the food was excellent and the staff equally attentive and fantastic. Highly attentive, attention to detail, friendly and considerate. We enjoyed our meal and headed off to adventure.

Bucket list adventure time. Did I mention I was a nerd? We went to the Royal Ontario Museum, aka the ROM. When I was little the King Tut exhibit went on tour and spent some time in Toronto at the ROM. I begged my parents to take me but for lack of a better way to put it, we were working poor. If they could have, they would have taken me, but for lots of reasons it didn’t happen, and that’s OK. As an adult I’ve been to many a museum, I’ve still got a few on my wish list, and while I never did see Tut, I have seen my share of mummies, so we are good.

My husband likes the ROM for the dinosaurs so that was a must, but they also had a special exhibit of award winning wildlife photography, and a sweet little number entitled “Blood Suckers: Legends to Leeches”. How fun is that? We hit all three, but I can not tell a lie, my favorite was Blood Suckers because I spent too many years working as a phlebotomist and am fascinated by the history of it.

They also had giant mosquito and black fly models, a section on vampires and other mythical creatures. Yay!

Kudos to ROM as well for also having a decent cafeteria and lunch offerings. Not fancy but great variety and good quality for the most part. And again, terrific staff.

That really killed much of the day, we took the subway back, walked around Toronto’s PATH system for awhile to check out the shops, and otherwise enjoyed exploring until dinner.

We went to the Copocabana, but not the one with Barry Manilow. This one was the Brazilian steakhouse and it was everything my husband promised. You pay one price, there is no menu. A great salad and side dish bar but really the main attraction is the meat. Servers walk around with different grilled meats on large skewers. Try as much or little as you wish, and you can choose from multiple beef, chicken, or shrimp dishes. They keep coming until you admit defeat. This is a special occasion come hungry sort of place. I was impressed by both the variety of side dishes as well as the grilled meats and we had a fun time. My favorite though might be this sign by the bathroom:

There is one bathroom door with one wall of sinks. The stalls themselves are floor to ceiling stalls and unisex. One common bathroom for all of the patrons. When we walked into the bathroom my husband was afraid he’s walked into the women’s room, when he left, a woman coming in thought she had walked into the men’s room. When I was washing my hands, a man from another stall came out and washed his hands, slightly awkward because this isn’t the norm yet but it was perfectly functional and perfectly fine. Welcome to the 2020’s, everybody survived.

This girl was tired and we had had enough beer the day before. The best plan was to walk off some of the meal we just shared and that’s what we did. We walked to the Eaton’s center and explored Hudson’s Bay. They were selling overpriced Dolce and Gabbana toasters which reminded me of Harrods in London, so lets just call the whole thing posh. I confess that I did find the kettle cute but at $800 I left it there.

We walked by and spent some time by city hall and Nathan Philips square. Lots of skaters out there, but I was after a picture of the Toronto sign.

That’s probably as Canadian as it gets.

Back to the hotel to pack our bags and have a good sleep before the next morning’s train ride home.

The verdict: Toronto is fun, easy to navigate, lots to see and do, even better if you have an adventurous friend acting as a tour guide. Completely acceptable for a mid-winter getaway if the beach is too far to get to.

Two Days in Toronto Winter getaway anyone? Neither our vacation bank account at work, nor our actual bank had enough margin for us to head south for a week like all of the other cool kids, so we decided to have an alternate adventure.

#Beer #breweries #Canada #friend #friends #friendship #general #getaway #random #Toronto #Travel #vacation #winter

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rockformed · 7 years

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1-100 for that ask thing. Cuz fuck you

JESUS CHRIST WILLim putting this under a read more fuck you too

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora?

soundcloud!!

is your room messy or clean?

always messy, last time it was clean was when we first moved in lmao

what color are your eyes?

very dark brown

do you like your name? why?

i do!! cause it means “helper”!! and i love to help vv

what is your relationship status?

single as fuck, ive never been in a relationship ;;

describe your personality in 3 words or less

shy, creative, and passive

what color hair do you have?

natural redhead babeyyyy

what kind of car do you drive? color?

i dont drive ;;

where do you shop?

usually i get my clothes from a place called torrid, they sell plus sized stuff!! but i get all my t-shirts from redbubble and thinkgeek!

how would you describe your style?

all over the place lmao, messy

favorite social media account

tumblr is m fav just cause the site works the way i think it should, in chronological order

what size bed do you have?

double

any siblings?

yep!! 2 step brothers, 1 half brother and 1 half sister

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

a small cabin on a riverside with self-sustainability. i just dont wanna have to worry about stuff and be left to myself in a cute little cabin!!

favorite snapchat filter?

THE TIGER FACEMASK ONE

favorite makeup brand(s)

dont wear makeup :p

how many times a week do you shower?

i uhhhhh try to shower once every day but i have a hard time remembering a lot ;;

favorite tv show?

atm i dont have one, i dont really watch tv! im excited for the return of steven universe tho

shoe size?

8 womens

how tall are you?

5′3″ last time i checked!!

sandals or sneakers?

SNEAKERS, i hate sandals :(

do you go to the gym?

used to every day, stopped cause we moved away from my gym and i have no way to get there :(

describe your dream date

oh gosh, i dont really know, something chill where i could get to know the person a bit, maybe lunch at a cute airy restaurant vv

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

i have misc change and a 15 dollar red lobster gift card lol

what color socks are you wearing?

im not wearing any!!

how many pillows do you sleep with?

3, and many stuffed animals :3

do you have a job? what do you do?

i do commissions, but i dont have a 9-5 “job” yet

how many friends do you have?

oh gosh, uuummmm 2 really good ones, maybe 7 others?? im probably forgetting ;;

whats the worst thing you have ever done?

when i was 5 i stole a harmonica from a cracker barrel and swore on the bible that the woman at the counter let me have it ;;;;; it haunts me everyday for real

whats your favorite candle scent?

i dont have a specific, but i love sweet scented candles, and holiday ones :p

3 favorite boy names

Ben, Oliver, and Andrew

3 favorite girl names

Lily, Genevieve, and Lorelei

favorite actor?

Robin Williams %100 forever

favorite actress?

amy adams

who is your celebrity crush?

Chris Pratt i guess??? i dont pay too much attention to that stuff :p

favorite movie?

ever, is wreck it ralph, atm is beauty and the beast (not the remake)

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book?

i dont read too much anymore, but my favorite book(s) is the Doll People by Ann M. Martin.

money or brains?

brains if by brains you include personality

do you have a nickname? what is it?

a lot of people on here call me Rock, but i dont have a real life nickname!!

how many times have you been to the hospital?

one, when i was born lmao

top 10 favorite songs

GOD fuck umm, Overwhelming by Jon Bellion, Fiddle and the Drum by Perfect Circle, 24 Karat Magic by Bruno Mars, Ticker Tape by Gorillaz, Separate Ways by Journey, I Believe in a Thing Called Love by The Darkness, Beautiful Girls by Sean Kingston (i know, i know), Kill Your Heroes by AWOLNATION, Clocks by Coldplay, and Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap.

do you take any medications daily?

nope!!

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

soft vv cause i drink so much fuckin water lmao

what is your biggest fear?

uhhh my loved ones dying and not knowing if i’d be okay if they did??

how many kids do you want?

NONE

whats your go to hair style?

natural i guess, i dont really do up my hair :0

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc)

ideally, id love one of those micro-houses and to travel the country with my house, but if that doesnt work out id like a shotgun style!

who is your role model?

Robin Williams, again :p

what was the last compliment you received?

“i love the way you color” was the last one!!

what was the last text you sent?

“my feet are gonna fall the fuck off” sent to my mom sjhdfjhdjfs

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

i didnt grow up believing in santa, my mom always just wrote her name on my presents!

what is your dream car?

a tucker, even tho thats very VERY unlikely lmao

opinion on smoking?

dont do it

do you go to college?

no, but i want to!!

what is your dream job?

character/concept designer for a film or game studio

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs?

rural!!

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels?

no >:(

do you have freckles?

lots on my arms, none on my face anymore :p

do you smile for pictures?

yep!! i have a bad sameface problem lmao

how many pictures do you have on your phone?

100+, my phone doesnt tell me an exact number

have you ever peed in the woods?

yep, once when i was younger i got locked out of my house on the way home from school so i had to pee in the woods behind our house and wait for my mom to get home

do you still watch cartoons?

yeah, its the only thing i really watch lol

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?

Wendys, but Mcdonalds has better fries

Favorite dipping sauce?

sweet BBQ

what do you wear to bed?

sweatpants and a t-shirt!

have you ever won a spelling bee?

no, but i one a book fair contest once!

what are your hobbies?

drawing, singing, music in general, video games, and seeing how long i can stay up without passing out lmao

can you draw?

i like to think so

do you play an instrument?

flute, but i think ive forgotten how by now

what was the last concert you saw?

i havent seen any, but im going to see one next week!!

tea or coffee?

neither, unless we’re talking sweet tea lmao

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

AMERICA RUNS ON DUNKIN YOU FOOL

do you want to get married?

yes, id like to!! but if the person i end up with doesnt want to im cool with that!

what is your crush’s first and last initial?

im not answering this fkdjgghjdhf

are you going to change your last name when you get married?

depends on the other persons last name and if they wanna change theirs!!

what color looks best on you?

green!

do you miss anyone right now?

yeah, a friend of mine and my dad :(

do you sleep with your door open or closed?

closed and locked lol

do you believe in ghosts?

somewhat

what is your biggest pet peeve?

when people are rude or self-absorbed ://

last person you called`

my mom

favorite ice cream flavor?

cookie dough!!

regular oreos or golden oreos?

regular (put them in the fridge first, they’re better cold!!)

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?

i hate sprinkles :p tastes like paste

what shirt are you wearing?

a fallout t-shirt!

what is your phone background?

cinderella’s castle, a pick that i took last time i went to magic kingdom!!

are you outgoing or shy?

shy :3c

do you like it when people play with your hair?

yeah!! but only if i know them fkhgdfg

do you like your neighbors?

some of them, our neighbor to our right is really nice but past that we have two trump supporters and on the left we have a couple thats really really mean lmao

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

in the morning!!

have you ever been high?

nope

have you ever been drunk?

nope

last thing you ate?

a subway sandwich!!

favorite lyrics right now

???

summer or winter?

WINTER PLS

day or night?

Day, specifially mornings :o

dark, milk, or white chocolate?

milk!!

favorite month?

december :)

what is your zodiac sign

cancer!!!

who was the last person you cried in front of?

uhhhh my therapist lmao

FUCK YOU WILL THIS TOOK ME AN HOUR

#idontknowhowtorespondtothis #about me #hfjghjhawhdgbhjsgdfgs

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emerygoat26-blog · 5 years

Text

Author Nathan Englander Gets His Syrup in New Hampshire - Grub Street

At Mike’s Coffee Shop in Clinton Hill. Photo: Christian Rodriguez

At 30, Nathan Englander was the youngest ever recipient of the PEN award for “excellence in the art of the short story,” and this week he published his fifth book, the comically probing kaddish.com. His writing has been called “genre-hopping” and several variations on “playful,” descriptions that might also apply to his relationship with eating. Like many food lovers, Englander can appreciate a great restaurant as much as he can a well-written recipe — but he also isn’t above eating his daughter’s leftovers. “My wife can’t believe it,” he says. “I’m like, ‘Oh, yeah, I am definitely more than happy to find myself eating the kid food.’” Over the past week, he also had time to eat stoop pizza, consider the qualities that make a neighborhood diner great, and think, wistfully, about bagels. Read all about it in this week’s Grub Street Diet.

Thursday, March 21 I wish this had started Wednesday night. My wife and I actually got a babysitter, and went to a grown-up restaurant with another couple. One half of that couple was our friend JJ, who writes cookbooks, and when you go to restaurants with him, things you didn’t order just appear — “lamb chops, compliments of the food mafia!” — and I think that would have been a fun meal to share. But my Grub Street Diet started this morning! And I was doing drop-off, and was late getting our 4-year-old daughter to preschool — as I am every day.

While I packed her lunch, I ate a piece of wheat toast and drank a gallon of Kitten Coffee’s Tandem blend. I don’t like that super-black, melt-your-tongue coffee. I drink way too much coffee for that, and Kitten’s is just the perfect live-on-it-all-day roast. Also, I was once leaving the coffee shop on our corner, and the Kitten guy was delivering, and I screamed, “Hey, I love your coffee.” And he said, “Try this, I think you’ll like it,” and he threw me a pound of something new they were making, and I swooned with neighborhood good cheer.

So, my book was coming out on Tuesday and I was in prelaunch madness. I was stuck in the house, doing assignments, like 500 words on fingernails for Fingernail Digest, and I had a half-hour phone interview that somehow ran to an hour and a half and I was going to miss eating lunch. But JJ checked in, as he does about a million times a day. He was over on Henry Street, and he texted me a picture of the sandwiches chalked up on the board at Lillo, and offered to deliver. And, as with the Kitten coffee, it’s that kind of neighborly niceness that just kills me. He brought me the Mediterraneo, as ordered. It’s Italian tuna, arugula, sweet marinated onions, and tomato. It was delicious. (He also brought a couple of desserts, which I put aside.) And we both worked on our laptops at the table for a while.

Also, while I was waiting for JJ to show up, I ate the cold tortellini from Olivia’s dinner the night before. I’m all about the cold kid noodles from yesterday’s dinners. I enjoy that stuff. It’s not just that I’m eating it, I actually love it. I am definitely more than happy to find myself eating the properly aged fish sticks, and the apples with bites missing. I think that’s a big parent thing, to be like, “Now I’m going to have a second meal that I found on the counter.”

A friend I hadn’t seen in years was in town visiting, and she was coming by for dinner. So, at the end of the workday, I ran over to Mekelburg’s for a loaf of She Wolf sourdough (which we’re crazy for). I also got Firehook sea salt crackers, and some cheddar and manchego and our favorite cheese, Délice de Bourgogne, which is about one inch away from just eating butter with a spoon. I got olives and radishes, and I also got all the fixings for my red lentil soup. I served it over brown rice, and finished it off with wilted spinach and some Greek yogurt, as the recipe recommends. My wife, Rachel, made a butter lettuce, endive, and grapefruit salad.

Also, it was Purim, and Rach got some hamantaschen that we served along with the desserts that JJ had brought. One was a kind of Italian version of a Boston cream doughnut, and there was a blueberry tart with a lattice top.

Friday, March 22 I made Olivia French toast, which was not at all a weekday thing, but she asked for it, and getting to school on time, as I’ve said, is not my strong suit. I had Greek yogurt, banana, and honey. And coffee. And Rach had a version of the same.

It was Friday, which was a gym day. So we do speed things up as best we can. We’ve been working out at CrossFit South Brooklyn for years, even though it’s over in Gowanus. But we love it, and it feels like family now. And we’re pretty religious about our Monday-Wednesday-Friday class, which is a kind of body-weight-centric thing that we love.

When I need to do busywork before writing, I often head to Three’s Brewing, one street over from the gym. It’s not for a post-workout beer. The brewery is closed during the day, but they have a cozy little outpost of Ninth Street Espresso inside that uses the space during the daytime. I headed over and got a coffee and, to ruin any gym-related gains, a cheddar and chive scone (which is just to say, I should have had the French toast).

Let’s sing the praises of leftovers. I cook so much more lately,, and the more complicated or ridiculous, the better. That, is I like to make the things where people say, “Ummm, you know, they sell that at the grocery store. You can buy that a lot more easily than you can make that.” I was recently cooking Middle Eastern food and I was like, “Well, I should also make the pita,” and there were a million steps, and I was really proud, but, man, that dinner would have been a lot easier if I’d just run to Damascus Bakery, or, you know, any supermarket in the whole city. I think it ties in to the writer brain. If I need to fix something I’m writing, I will stay up all night, and I will do it again and again until it’s where it needs to be.

Anyway, there was the leftover lentil soup and the cheese and that giant loaf from She Wolf waiting. And I had plans to meet my publicist, Jordan. We were both swamped, and so she swung by, and we set up shop at our dining room table (by which I mean, our only table), and we had a super nice lunch, but with screens out, typing away.

Rach and I are nutty for Ethiopian food. It’s a favorite. And, luckily, there’s a fantastic restaurant over on Fulton, across from Greenlight Bookstore, my local. It’s a big corner for me: books and Ethiopian food. The restaurant is called Bati. And the owner, Hibist, is an old friend. Back when I started writing and lived on the Upper West Side, I used to go do my work at the Hungarian Pastry Shop. I mean, I sat there all day, every day, and often closed the place down. And Hibist used to work behind the counter. And I love when a person’s dreams come true. That is, I remember Hibist pouring coffees in the ’90s and now she owns her own restaurant — and it’s the best. Also, they’re really nice to our daughter, who has gone from eating everything to a very beige-focused food phase (possibly inherited from my suburban, white-bread roots).

Anyway, we packed her a little dinner of her own as an emergency backup, which they were really nice about. And as for ordering at Bati, Rach and I haven’t touched a menu there in years. We always, always get a vegetarian combo for two — which had a bunch of things on it, gomen, and buticha, and key sir, and — what really matters to us — always lots of shiro. And, at Bati, I don’t even need JJ for special treatment. They always keep an eye on us and make sure there’s shiro on the tray.

Also, they were out of St. George beer that night, so I had a Walia, which was equally great.

Saturday, March 23 If I’m being honest here, this was a record amount of time for me not to have eaten a bagel. This diary should have already had five dozen or so in it. Anyway, I ate the She Wolf Sourdough toast, day 400 on that bread. If you amortize the initial investment, I was pretty much making money on that loaf.

After dance class (my daughter’s, not mine), we headed over to Tacombi with friends. It’s a great Mexican place with locations in Manhattan, but now we’ve got one across from BAM. I spotted one grown-up couple having beers in the main room when we got there, but otherwise there were lots of kids, and lots in tutus — it seemed to be the new post-dance hangout. We had a big order of kid-friendly plain versions of things, which the staff was really nice about (that is, quesadilla with nothing, rice and beans with nothing). As for this grown-up, I had the seared fish tacos and their Naranja, which is a papaya, carrot, pineapple, and orange juice.

So, it was the Montclair Literary Festival — go NJ! My event was near the end of the day, and, after it was over, I went straight into Joyce Carol Oates’s. Then there was a cocktail party for the festival, and I ate I don’t know what, some hummus and pita, and had a glass of white wine. And Joyce had invited me to dinner with friends, and we headed to a place called Scala del Nonna. The joint was jumping, it was packed out and loud and Saturday night-ish, and one table kept knocking over the wine bucket.

As for wine, apparently Montclair has some ancient liquor law thing, and the restaurant was dry. So my friend Julie ran out to the store next-door and bought a bottle of Gavi, and Joyce’s friend ordered porcini risotto with peas for the table. I got the branzino alla griglia, which was marinated sea bass lightly grilled with scarola Siciliana. And, well, if you replaced all the fish I ate this week with candy and bagels, once again, it would better represent my normal diet.

Sunday, March 24 The day was packed with playdates, which was lovely. My daughter and I headed over to a friend’s who has twins and lives right next to the bagel store — my chance to make a move. But when we got into their house, Melissa had already made a mountain of whole-grain silver dollar pancakes, and a fruit plate with strawberries, watermelon, and pear. And, as always, she put a cup of coffee right into my hand.

We all headed to the park. As the twins headed off, another friend of my daughter’s showed up with her dad. After another couple of hours of wildness, we took the girls for a slice of Luigi’s Pizza and sat on the stoop outside. My slice turns into two, and they keep their seltzers properly freezing in their fridge. Slices on a stoop make me extraordinarily happy in a New York way: I was being nostalgic while it was happening, like, “This is the life.”

For our third and final playdate of the day, we had another of our daughter’s friends over to the house, with her folks. I’d been wanting to make chili, and offered to do so, but — if I’m allowed to break the fourth wall — Oriana, the visiting mom, is a huge fan of this column. She said chili is boring. So we ordered in Vietnamese from Mekong Delta. The restaurant is in one of those neighborhood locations that never works out and keeps changing hands. But Mekong Delta seems to be doing great. We all shared a papaya salad, and I got chicken pho and shrimp summer rolls.

Monday, March 25 It felt like maybe it was one of the last cold mornings before spring kicked in, and even with the pancakes yesterday, I always need to make sure I’m getting enough maple syrup in my diet. Point is, I made oatmeal, and ate it with bananas and blueberries and maple syrup that we buy by the jug when we’re up at our friend’s farm in Sandwich, New Hampshire. So, yes, for the best maple syrup in the world, I’d head straight for the sugar shack at Booty Farm on Mt. Israel Road.

I really want to state again that my body mass is probably about 80 percent bagel. If you cut me in half, I imagine mostly sesame seeds would pour out — as that’s my bagel of choice. So I really can’t believe I haven’t had one since this diet started — it’s the longest stretch since we got back from a year in Malawi (where I broke down and made bagels from scratch).

It was the day before launch. I owed everybody a million things, and was sure I’d be working until the middle of the night. At 2 p.m., I ran over to Mike’s Coffee Shop to grab something. Mike’s has been our home diner since we moved to Brooklyn from Manhattan around a decade ago. And we love it. It’s super homey, and they’re super nice, and it has a proper diner-y, pressed-tin ceiling, and a proper neon sign in the window. You always bump into friends there, and the kids are often given lollipops when you pay, whether they need a lollipop or not. Also, the owners are really good about calmly managing the weekend waiting list when it’s chaos and the throngs of folks are roaming outside waiting on tables.

I sat in the last booth and I ordered a coffee and a tuna sandwich on wheat toast, with lettuce, tomato, and onion. And a pickle spear! If there’s a picture of me up above with a sandwich in front of me, that’s the one. If there’s a picture of me without it, it’s because it’s already in my belly.

The last supper. So, a friend was having a dinner party, and I did not go to that dinner party — though, again, I’d be killing it with the food over there. But, the next day was the launch event at Greenlight Bookstore, and I’d start traveling the morning after that, and except for a night here and there, well, I’ll be hawking books on the road like a brush salesman for the next few weeks. This was basically the last night I got to be home with my wife and daughter and Calli the dog until tour slows down. Also, I usually come home from tour looking like I’ve eaten a bag of salt. That is, I’m so thankful to get to do readings and meet readers and shepherd the novel out into the world, but I will be eating a lot from after-hours menus, and CIBO Express airport food, and the day was gray and cold and some comfort food at home sounded nice.

So Rachel started kid dinner, and my daughter and I ran out to the supermarket around the block. We love going to the supermarket, me and her. We were getting ingredients for my friend Kitty’s chili recipe. When my wife was in grad school (she’s a professor), we lived in Madison, Wisconsin for three years, and our friend Kitty gave us a little book of her very Wisconsin-style dishes, which are great for this kind of weather. At the store, we also got the stuff for a green salad, because it sounded nice and I also wanted to keep my heart from exploding on the road.

At home, while my daughter ate, I got the chili into a giant pot and let it simmer until — as happens in our building — the whole floor smelled like cayenne peppers and onion. For the salad, I just used lemon and olive oil and salt, which is my single favorite dressing. And after our daughter fell asleep, Rach emerged and served up the chili. I chopped up some cilantro and chives for toppings, and we sat down at the table and dug in, with the dog underneath the table at our feet, which is my kind of dinner.

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Source: http://www.grubstreet.com/2019/03/nathan-englander-grub-street-diet.html

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